Cece Rios and the Desert of Souls by Kaela Rivera (online e book reading .txt) 📕

trash cans as police went by, but as if Juana were blessing us from afar, we’d made it without them catching us.

The moment we got back to my room, I’d bandaged his wounds and snuck him something to eat. He’d said he’d be okay, but he looked just as tired now as he had last night.

Coyote quirked an eyebrow at me when I didn’t say anything. “This is the part where you thank me because I’m so helpful.”

“Oh! Of course, yeah, thank you.” I looked down at the notebook. “So what does this criatura owe you?”

His eyes closed. “A lot.”

Okay, Mr. Dodging the Question. But he was hurt, so I’d ignore that for now. “What criatura is he? He’s not a snake, right?”

“No.” He rested his head back and smiled. “He goes by Little Lion. He’s the Criatura of the Black Lion.”

I went still. Black lions used to be a species native to our desert. In some towns, people even celebrated them on a special feast day. The way coyotes symbolized mischief and creation, black lions had once symbolized raw and indominable power.

But most of them had died out from overhunting years before I was even born. I thought they’d gone extinct.

I gripped the notebook between my nervous hands. I might’ve never seen one, but I knew one thing about the legendary black lions. They were powerful. Big. Strong.

“You think I can stand up to a black lion?” I asked.

“If it’s to save your sister, I think you can handle any criatura standing between you and her.” Coyote peeked an eye open. I smiled. Was that a compliment? He cleared his throat. “But there is a downside. He may try to kill you when you find him.”

I jerked my head up. “He’ll what?”

“He’ll probably try to kill you.” He shrugged casually. “Most criaturas don’t like being a bruja’s pet, but he’s especially defensive. Just show him my soul stone and he’ll listen. Probably.”

That wasn’t nearly as comforting as he seemed to think it was.

He pointed at the map again. “You should leave now. It’s a long journey.”

It took me a few moments of squinting and turning my head before I could orient myself on his rough depiction. He’d drawn me as a bald, smiling stick figure in my house—the starting place. A winding dotted line tracked my figure’s way through the Ruins, past the cactus plains and silver mine, and into the rocky cerros. He was right. This trip was probably going to take hours.

I closed the notebook with a sigh. I was tired, and my legs and arms were sore from carrying Coyote home. And now I had to trek hours out into the desert? I wasn’t sure if I’d make it.

My mind tiptoed back to what Dominga del Sol had said after she gave me the limpia. “. . . you are ready now, Cece, to take on whatever challenge is set before you.”

I straightened up. That’s right. I could do this.

I stuffed the notebook into my bag and slung it over my shoulder. “Is there anything you need before I leave?”

“No, the jerky is enough.” Coyote pulled the bag of dried meat I’d fetched for him this morning a foot closer and then curled up around his pillows. Doing that, he looked like a puppy, even though he was in human form.

I frowned a little. He was a criatura, not a puppy. I had to remember that.

Coyote side-eyed me from his nest. “You smell confused.”

“I just don’t know why you want to help me,” I blurted.

He looked at the floor. “You saved my life, remember?”

“I know. But that’s never been a reason for criaturas to help humans before.”

He shrugged. “You said it was your fault your sister was captured, right?”

Almost immediately, I felt my ribs constrict. I swallowed hard. “Yeah . . .”

“Well, it wasn’t,” he said. “It was El Sombrerón’s fault. So one criatura should help fix what another one did, right?”

“But—that’s still not . . .” My palms started to sweat. Sure, that sounded like reason enough, but El Sombrerón had stolen so many brides over the years. And other criaturas had never helped get them back just because. It didn’t make sense.

Coyote was a criatura, so he was supposed to be bad, but he’d only been kind and good to me. He was just like Tzitzimitl in that way. Just like Tía Catrina’s descriptions of her criatura “being good.” Thoughts of Coyote, my tía’s journal, and memories of Tzitzimitl jumbled up in my head.

“It’s—it’s like when you gave music and dance to Naked Man,” I said. “It didn’t benefit you, but you still helped them. I feel like I should be worried about why you did.”

He went still. “But you’re not.”

“Not as much as I should be,” I whispered.

That had always been my problem. To everyone else in Tierra del Sol, the fact that he was a criatura was more than enough reason to hate him. Why wasn’t it for me? Was Tzitzimitl’s blessing—I mean, curse—making me weak like Papá and Mamá thought?

I had a sister to save. I couldn’t afford to ruin things again.

I slipped on my shoes and pulled open the loft hatch. “Whatever you do, don’t go downstairs while I’m gone. Mamá is working in the maize fields and Papá is in the oil refinery, but they could stop in at any time, got it?”

When I glanced back at him, Coyote was already asleep. Or pretending to be so he didn’t have to answer. I frowned and started to climb down.

“Cece,” Coyote said.

I paused on the ladder. He’d turned away, so I couldn’t see his expression. But a tingling sensation built in my chest. Strong waves of anxiety and guilt wormed around my belly, and it took me a bit to realize they weren’t my own. Strange. The longer I wore his soul, the more powerfully his feelings seemed to come through.

“He will try to kill you,” Coyote spoke up. “I can’t go with you, so be extra careful.”

I rapped my fingers against the floor. “Don’t worry, I will.”

He