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

“Better?” I asked.

He nodded. I started to pull the plate back, but he grabbed my hand. I froze.

“Thank you,” he said, with a tone of surprise, like he hadn’t known he was going to speak.

Warmth filled my chest, either from his own soul or mine, I wasn’t sure. But I smiled. I straightened up and started stuffing my face full of the rest of my meal. “Now Little Lion, it’s time to get ready,” I said between mouthfuls. “The sun sets in thirty minutes.”

He hunched forward. “Okay, bruja.” he said. “Let’s see if you have what it takes to force me to do battle.”

“My name is Cece,” I said. “And that’s not the way I do things. Let’s talk tactics.”

15

The Lion Tamer

When we reached the abandoned factory, it was noisier than ever.

Even though the four-body elimination round should have eliminated three-quarters of the brujas and brujos in the tournament, there were somehow even more people in the crowd bouncing and hollering, roaring and dancing in the dust. Some of them looked like participants-turned-spectators who’d probably lost the first round but wanted to see who won tonight. Others were thrill seekers from Tierra del Sol and nearby haciendas.

Little Lion and I stood near the ring, waiting for our turn to be called, as the first round waged on. I tried not to look at the fight. Little Lion just glared into the crowd, arms folded. I nearly sighed. I wished Coyote were here, but he still needed rest.

“Their fight’s almost over.” Little Lion glanced sideways at me. “Remember, just give me your rage, bruja.”

I pursed my lips. Why did all criaturas run on anger? Coyote needed my fury, and now Little Lion wanted my rage. He’d told me to keep all other emotion out of it. Just the blind, burning fire of anger.

Everyone wanted fire from me, but my soul was cursed with water. I tried not to worry about what that meant.

El Silbón crowed the winner’s name as the losing criatura was swallowed into the crumbling floor. I cringed at the sight. Little Lion put a hand to my back and shoved me forward. I stumbled to a stop at the edge of the chalk circle.

“And our second fight begins with two more hopefuls, Bruja Alejan with her dark criatura, La Llorona, and Bruja Cece with”—El Silbón’s lips twisted in a wry smile—“surprise, surprise, a new criatura, Criatura of the Black Lion.”

The crowd rustled a little as Little Lion stopped beside me, all eyes turning to him. Most seemed surprised, a few glared with suspicion. I glanced around, wondering what everyone knew about my criatura that I didn’t.

“They’re not looking at me,” Little Lion muttered, like he knew what I was thinking. “They’re wondering how you can carry two criatura souls at once.”

I straightened up. He’d mentioned that earlier too. Was that unusual?

Little Lion elbowed me. “Just focus and do your job, bruja.”

I frowned a little. He stepped across the chalk and into the fighting ring. Everyone quieted for just a moment. Then my opponent’s criatura stepped forward, and my stomach dropped.

Her skin was pale white, her lips red, her hands curled around her long nails. I swallowed hard and had to lock my knees so I wouldn’t retreat. “Be careful of La Llorona,” Papá used to say. “Stay in your bed at night or La Llorona will crawl out of the town well to drown you, just as she drowned her own children.”

Papá had been adamant about keeping me away from water as I grew up. When rare rainstorms came in the summer, he’d usher me inside. When I volunteered to go draw well water (before we got a spigot of our own), he’d refuse and send Juana. Probably because he thought it would worsen Tzitzimitl’s curse. And to make sure I’d listen to his warnings, he told me stories about La Llorona, who haunted bodies of water at night. Because of that, she’d been the dark criatura I’d feared most growing up.

And tonight, I had to defeat her.

“Little Lion, what a pity to see you stuck in another bruja’s web.” La Llorona’s black hair stuck to her face as she circled Little Lion, her white, spindly hands twitching back and forth like a dying spider’s legs.

The sight nearly made me sick. Even so, I couldn’t help but notice she’d mentioned “another” bruja. So Little Lion had been in the Bruja Fights before.

Little Lion’s emotional feedback spiraled into me. His pebble grew boiling hot. I snatched his necklace out of my sweater, holding it out by the leather strap, before the quartz could burn my skin. I was supposed to push rage into him, but his soul was burning. I didn’t even want to get near it.

“Bruja!” Lion threw his head back and roared.

I jumped, struggling to summon anger into my body. El Sombrerón’s face nearly did the trick, but just as the feeling rose—

“Calling for a bruja to save you again?” La Llorona laughed. “You must like servitude. You little pet.”

Little Lion prowled around La Llorona, but he didn’t attack, his muscles trembling with uncontrolled anger. His feelings, filled with shades of red and painful orange, exploded back into me.

I pulled back from them and gasped. No way. His soul was a raw, aching place, and the fire, the anger, was so strong I could barely think when I’d touched it. How could he want my rage when he already had so much of his own?

Then I realized—that’s why he wasn’t attacking. La Llorona was taunting him on purpose, keeping him so wildly angry that he couldn’t think enough to make a move. And it was working. Because when Little Lion stopped to glare at me for not doing what he said, La Llorona took the opportunity to pounce.

She landed on him with her claw-like nails. I winced as she got one, two, three swipes in. She pinned him on the floor, her nails at his neck. He snapped