A burly security guard double-checks my name on the guest list and lets me in. I walk slowly, conscious of the fact my heels are scraping against a Barcelona heirloom. Like so many MA venues, this one is yet another fairytale mansion dropped into the middle of the bustling city.
If the outside of the building is all skulls, then the interior feels like I'm inside the ribcage of a mythical blue beast. I climb the stairs, gazing at the entryway made of sculpted sandstone with wall after endless wall of cobalt mosaics.
Tourists think this place is called The House of Bones because of its ivory-colored architectural curves, but the truth is the MA has been burying the bones of their Witches in its underground tomb for centuries. And just like the MA headquarters, this building was also designed by the famous architect Gaudí.
There’s a tug in my stomach as my father’s voice fills my head once more. Dreamt by a child, made by a master.
I can’t believe I spoke to him last night. Even though the conversation was riddled, I actually got to hear my father’s voice after all these years. It may have been brief and urgent, but it was so real. His voice. A voice I hadn’t heard in years. A voice urging me to steer clear of Solina. Too late now.
“Rough night?”
And here she is, my mother, slicing through my daydreams. She sweeps into view, her black cape trailing behind her, and I instinctively step back.
I lie. “I had a quiet night, actually. We don’t all have a Latin lover to keep us up.”
I immediately regret alluding to my mother’s sex life as she stares into the distance in contemplation. I disguise a gag with a cough and snatch a glass of orange juice from a passing tray.
“Today’s equinox luncheon is full of important people,” my mother says through the side of her lips. She nods in greeting at an officious-looking someone. “There are people here you should be speaking to about both Maribel and Mikayla. The evening ends with an award ceremony. At the MA, we like to reward promising Witches.”
I survey the thickening crowd of elites and their outfits, rivaling those of the ball. A woman walks by in a pulsating gelatinous dress, light rumbling through it like electricity along an eel’s skin. Another older woman is wearing a dress made of daisies, except the flowers are growing straight out of her papery flesh, their stalks protruding grotesquely through her bony clavicles. An Elemental, no doubt.
The walls of the building look like they’re melting, with curved stained-glass windows and an undulating ceiling sporting a ginormous chandelier. Shining beneath its glow, I spot Beatriz, dressed in midnight blue, chatting to a man adorned with medals.
“How come Beatriz is here, but Rafi and Luisa aren’t?”
My mother tuts with exasperation. “Beatriz is the treasurer’s daughter, she holds rank. Not everyone matters, Saskia.”
I roll my eyes to the ceiling. The MA has more nepotism than Hollywood. Solina welcomes another delegation, and I take the opportunity to hunt down some food. La Boqueria was amazing, but even that wasn’t enough for this hangover.
I spot a waiter and motion for him to come over. He dips his silver tray before me, and I pluck a tiny ceviche boat. As he goes to stand, his gaze catches mine, and I let out an involuntary yelp.
What the fuck?
A thin veil of lilac smoke is swirling in his eyes, making them look like a Seesage’s crystal ball.
“More ceviche, señorita?”
My mother is back at my elbow.
“I see you’ve found the food.” She nods at the canape frozen in place halfway to my mouth. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”
“More ceviche, señorita?” the waiter with the creepy eyes repeats robotically.
“Uh... no thanks...”
Solina pulls the food from my clamped fingers and sets it back on the tray, dismissing the man with a wave of her hand. He wanders off, his face expressionless.
“I was eating that!”
“I’m sure you will find more.”
Bitch. Another waiter walks by, and I grab a calamari ring, stuffing it into my mouth greedily to make a point. This waiter’s eyes are purple too.
“What’s with the staff, Mom? Did you bring them back from hell with you when you crawled out?”
She purses her lips. “Erasing spell.”
“Erasing spell?” I repeat with my mouth full.
“Honestly, Saskia, what’s this and what’s that. It’s like you weren’t raised with magic. It’s embarrassing. The servers are bewitched humans — employed and paid like normal waiters but enchanted to forget all they see. You don’t expect MA members to cater at our events, do you?”
I think back to Xavi and the waiter uniform around his ankles.
“I don’t remember purple eyes at the ball.”
“In the case of the ball, the event itself was spelled and warded rather than the staff. It’s safer that way because there are more guests, and it would be possible for a human to accidentally slip in unnoticed and see us in action. Enchanting the staff would not be enough, so we do it to the venue, warding it in a way where any human would forget what they saw there upon leaving.”
“So, these erasing spells don’t affect Paras?” I ask, again thinking of the crow Shifter.
Her eyes narrow on me. “Sometimes, not always. Why?”
“No reason, just curious.”
I look around at what must be a dozen or so waiters, all of who will be returning home with altered memories of this shift.
“That’s insane.”
“You are in constant mouth-gaping amazement,” my mother says irritably. “I’m surprised flies haven’t started a colony in a hole that big.”
“I could say the same for your vagina,” I mutter under my breath.
Fortunately, she doesn’t hear me as she calls out, “Jean-Antoine! I’d like you to meet my youngest daughter, Saskia.”
My mother’s disappointment clings to my skin like syrup,
