She tugged me back into a run. “Now come on, or we’ll be late!”
We flew through the streets of town, Juana dragging me closer to the sound of voices. Merchants flooded past us, headed northward. Some rode burros, and a couple of rich ones even sped off in motorcars, but all of them were in a hurry.
Tonight was Noche de Muerte, after all. The night the secret door to Devil’s Alley—the criaturas’ world—opened into ours.
And its criaturas swarmed out.
Only a few people outside of Tierra del Sol did business with us, since we were so isolated from big cities, but the few who did would disappear during the criatura months. This was not their birthplace, after all. They had no desire to defend it.
A few women in brightly colored dresses joined us on the road as we came closer and closer to the western edge of the town proper—the place where the desert and the Ruins met our months of preparation.
My heart pounded faster as we merged with the crowd, and the outskirts of Tierra del Sol came into view. The sun had set. Night blackened the Ruins and desert beyond. Normally, people wouldn’t come this close to the desert. But on Noche de Muerte, it seemed an appropriate place to face our ancient enemies.
The line dividing us from the dangerous landscape beyond was clearly marked. A Sun Priestess, Dominga del Sol, stood tying the red rope in place. Knotted clumps of basil bobbed along its length, nodding like living things.
Noche de Muerte was finally here.
“Juana! Cece!”
We turned as Mamá and Papá separated from the masses. Mamá grinned at us. Papá didn’t.
“Juana, you look like you’re made of fire!” Mamá enveloped her in her large brown arms. Juana laughed and looked to Papá. After a stony moment, he nodded. Juana beamed.
“We did a good job, huh? And look! Cece did my hem so well.” Juana twirled, showcasing our hard work. My chest swelled as the multitiered, wide, crimson skirt moved with her. She’d cut out the patterns and shown me how to stitch the fabric together, just as Mamá had first taught her. I’d spent months on the hem so it would look just right.
Papá reached over and planted a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Juana is beautiful.”
I stared up at his rough, oil-streaked face and tried to figure out if that was supposed to be a compliment.
“You did very well on Juana’s dress, mija.” Mamá came over and pulled my long hair into her hands. “But you didn’t finish getting ready! Where is your fire opal?”
At the question, a few people in the crowd turned to look at me. A couple clucked their tongues disapprovingly. A few scoffed. Mamá glared at them, and they turned away. Papá rubbed his forehead like he was tired.
I smiled sheepishly. “You know fire opal doesn’t work on me, Mamá.”
For most people, fire opal was the best defense against criaturas. Legends said fire opal drew on the inner fire humans inherited from the Sun god—so while it wasn’t lethal to criaturas who touched it, it could seriously burn them if the person’s inner fire was strong enough.
But since that night when I was seven, it had stopped working for me altogether. The stone didn’t even glow at my touch like it did for most people.
Mamá knit her brow. “But mija, you must at least give the appearance to criaturas—and the townspeople—that your inner fire is something to contend with. Or else they will only see you as weak.”
At times like this, I wondered if they’d ever forget—or forgive—what I’d done.
“Amenazante dancers!” The mayor’s voice carried over our heads. We all turned to look where he stood, by the red cord. “The criaturas approach. Come show our enemies what they have to fear.”
Chills ran over my body. Past the mayor, past the red cord, waiting in the darkness of the ruins, I spotted something. A flicker of red. Eyes catching the light of our torches. I let out a small gasp.
Fearlessly, Juana turned away from us and joined the other dancers at the front. They lined up against the rope that barred us from the coming dangers. Mamá took a deep breath as Juana, with the others, ducked under it.
“She will burn bright like the Sun,” Mamá whispered.
Drums filled the air. Something began to approach the dancers from the depths of the Ruins, and eyes opened in the darkness—yellow ones, purple ones, black ones, blue ones. And they were moving closer. I gripped Mamá’s hand and tried to calm my racing heart.
The dancers weren’t afraid. Even as the darkness-cloaked criaturas moved toward them, they took their first rigid, military steps. And as I expected, my big sister was the most ferocious one at the fiesta.
“Go my opal, heart, and hands,
filled with the fire of my land.
I’ll burn bright as child of Sol,
cower now, fiends from below!”
The dancers’ chanted warnings stalled the approach of the glittering, animal gazes. With every turn and flourish of Juana’s wide skirt in the torchlight, she appeared to catch fire. I clasped my hands together at the sidelines, in awe of her strength.
“Child of Desert, corre, corre!
Flee or you’ll be dead this day.
Fuego souls will make you fall,
avenge our own, and burn you all.”
The dancers pressed the war declarations deep into the darkness. The criaturas began to slip backward. Juana bared her teeth at the nearest one, where its clawed fingers were just visible in the light of the fire. It scuttled backward, swallowed by nighttime.
Suddenly, the dancers fell still. The oldest one stepped forward, face as dark as the desert beyond. “We will have no mercy if you provoke us, our ancient enemies!”
In unison, they let out a sharp cry. The last of the shadowy enemies scrambled away.
In the following silence, the townspeople held their breath. Hope filled the crowd—hope that the criaturas would stay afraid of us, and that for the
