Rafi twists a napkin in his hands, slivers of paper falling to the dusty floor like confetti.
“My father tried to get me cleansed. For days he had me tied to my bed while a healer from the nearby village worked on me. It was ridiculous. I was so scared, Saskia. My mother was crying and screaming, telling them it was in my blood, that her own mother had been the same. The second time she said those words, my father hit her and told her to shut her mouth or the whole family would be ruined. Anyway, on the third day, a Spanish woman turned up. She had flaming red hair and, in fluent Arabic, said she was from a hospital in Europe. That the doctors there could cure me. I begged my father not to let me go, that I could control myself, but he literally turned his back on me and told her to take me. That woman was Maribel. I’ve been here ever since.”
“Maribel saved you?”
“Recruited me. The way she recruited many.” He smiles. “Don’t worry, I’m happy now. I belong here.”
“And that’s why you won’t speak to your father?”
He nods. “I didn’t even know he died two years ago until he came through to Jan — but I refuse to grant him peace in the afterlife. Not after what he did to me. I write to my mother now, though, and I’m in touch with my sisters again. It’s fine.”
“Parents have a way of fucking you up.”
“Maybe it’s a Mage thing,” he says through a mouthful of tortilla, “but none of my friends here have a happy home life. Beatriz hasn’t seen her ill mother in years.”
Beatriz’s mother is more than ill, but I don’t know how much she’s told them. “At least she has Xavi now.”
Rafi smiles. “Yeah. That guy is beyond cute. He’s good for her.”
“What about you and Jan?”
Rafi chokes on an olive, and I wait for him to spit the stone out. “There’s nothing going on between us.”
Ping! I tilt my head to one side and raise my brows.
“Mierda. Verity Witch. OK, yeah, he’s the Nox I was telling you about at dinner the other day. But...no. It was getting too intense too fast. I like to keep things casual.”
“Let him in, Rafi.”
He smirks. “I have.”
“You know what I mean! OK, well then tell me more about Luisa. She doesn’t talk to her family either?”
I think back to his earlier comment about them being dead to her. Whatever they did, it must have been truly awful. “What happened? Did they force her to do something against her will?”
He nods, happy to change the subject. “Yes, but not what you’re thinking. Unlike me, Luisa has known about her Touchmage abilities since she was tiny. Her parents weren’t anything powerful, just your average Seesages. They make a living in Sitges, southwest of here, reading Tarot for tourists. They have a small shop there too, selling crystals and candles and shit.”
It all sounds innocent enough.
“Were they angry about her joining the MA?”
“No, they signed her up when she was five, she attended the best Witchling schools, and they had high hopes for her. But not for her own benefit. Since she was little, they used to force her to help make them money. They made her walk around their shop, accidentally bumping into customers and forcing joy upon them. Through her touch, she would make them want to buy things, feel excited about a reading, and create an addiction to the shop so that business was always booming. As Luisa got older, she realized how wrong that was — that she was controlling strangers against their will, and that her parents were controlling her.
One day she refused, but her parents said if she didn’t help them, they’d stop her from going to the MA. So as soon as she turned eighteen, she told them to fuck off and moved to Barcelona. That’s when her Musemage powers came in — her art helps her through a lot of the pain. They send her guilt money now and then, but she refuses to talk to them. Every time they piss her off or she’s sad about something, the first place she goes is her studio. You know, the building where Estrella is? Ironically, her hatred of them has only made her magic more powerful. They truly do fuck you up, your mom and dad. What was your dad like?”
I peel the skin off a slice of fuet and think.
“Kind. I was ten when he died. I didn’t see him much, he was away on MA business a lot, but he was generous and funny and... well, he was on my side. He was big on justice.”
“So are you, Verity Witch,” Rafi says. “I’m surprised you’re an accountant. You’d make a good politician or writer.”
I take a gulp of my wine, but I don’t say anything further. I hadn’t realized how much I missed my dad until I heard his voice tonight. I feel bad that when he came through, I freaked out, instead of saying something nice.
“My dad kept the peace, you know?” I continue. “Him and Mikayla. But with both of them gone now, my mother is worse than ever. I don’t know how you can heal from that.”
Rafi’s mouth sets in a straight line. “There’s no healing, guapa, only surviving. Along with good food, good friends... and sex.”
I laugh and raise my wine glass. “Cheers to that.”
“Hey, Saskia,” he says quietly. “Everything is going to be OK.”
There’s no ping, because he truly believes it. And for a moment, one glorious moment, I believe it too.
Chapter Seventeen
It’s hot for March, and I’m standing outside the House of Bones – otherwise known as Casa Battló. The balconies towering above me are shaped like alien skulls, the outside of the building a kaleidoscope of colorful tiles.
I’m wearing a long black dress
