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

in on me. “You have Coyote. You didn’t need to save me.”

We stood practically nose-to-nose. Hot confusion radiated out of his soul, and it was clear he was mad at me. For saving him.

“I’m sorry you hate me so much,” I whispered. A deep ache bubbled up inside me. “But it doesn’t work that way in my head! I may have Coyote, but you’re a person too, and you still matter—”

“I’m a criatura,” he hissed. “Not a person.”

I bristled. The bubbling inside me grew, and my voice rose with it. “Who said criaturas aren’t people? You have a soul. You live, and you die, and like you said, you even love. Who says you don’t matter? Because I’m never going to pretend you’re expendable because you’re a criatura.” I jabbed a finger in his chest. “So get used to it.”

Our gazes met in a hard, silent clash. Slowly, Little Lion pulled back. I relaxed and all the tension that had built up in my shoulders finally eased away. His soul’s heat still radiated into my jacket, but it no longer felt like a threat.

“If you really believe that . . . then why are you in these Bruja Fights?” His voice was a bit weaker, and his eyebrows upturned.

“I told you, it’s for my familia,” I said. With his eyes drilling into me, I didn’t exactly feel up to sharing. So I kept it at that.

The vulnerable look disappeared, replaced by a smirk. “You think your family will benefit from the riches of Devil’s Alley?” He stepped back, so the cold night air filled the space between us. “Then you are just as much of an idiota as I thought.”

His figure blurred, and the next thing I knew, he was soaring over my head and landing on the roof. His dark figure disappeared beyond the adobe lip.

Well, I guess I knew where he’d be sleeping.

I shook my head. I hadn’t thought Little Lion was going to become my best friend anytime soon, but Moon above, I didn’t think he’d yell at me for trying to save him. Was it stupid? Probably. Did I regret it? Only a little. And only because my arm was throbbing with pain now that the adrenaline had worn off.

I needed to patch up the wound soon. I turned to the back door. It was locked.

Right. Mamá would have locked it and the front door before she left for the volunteer raids. I hadn’t thought about it because Lion and I left out my bedroom window earlier. My stomach tightened as I thought about her fierce expression from earlier. What would have happened if she’d seen me? How would I face her tomorrow, knowing we’d both been in the factory, but on opposite sides?

Beneath my hand, the door handle jiggled. The air in my lungs turned to concrete. Papá. Of course, Papá would be home by now. Holy sunset, he would be so mad to find me outside the house, and in my bruja outfit no less. How could I explain myself so he wouldn’t punish me?

The door opened, and I froze.

17

The Cerros of the Past

I opened my mouth, stalled somewhere between horror and trying to fabricate an explanation, when I realized the figure in the doorway wasn’t my papá.

“Coyote!” I whispered. “What are you doing down here? Your wound—”

“Shh.” He placed a finger over his lips. “Your father is asleep.”

I buttoned my mouth. He gestured me inside, and I moved as silently as I knew how. If I listened closely, I could hear Papá’s light snoring from beyond the curtain separating his and Mamá’s bed from the rest of the main floor. I sighed. He only snored when he’d been drinking.

Coyote and I made our way silently up the ladder to my loft. The candles were already lit, so I was able to bask in the comfort of the light.

“You smell like blood,” Coyote said once I’d shut the loft hatch. He stared at my wound through the tear in my jacket sleeve. “How bad is it?”

“It hurts,” I admitted and settled on the floor. “But it’s not too deep. Hopefully it’ll heal fast.”

Coyote sat down beside me and slipped both hands under my wounded forearm.

Heat filled my ears. Wow, he was really close. “Coyote?” I asked.

“I can heal it,” he said.

I started. “What?”

“I can heal it,” he murmured.

“I don’t remember that power in the legends.”

“I’m the Great Namer,” he said. “Before Mother Desert and the other three creation gods sacrificed themselves so the world could begin, she gave me her voice. With it comes the power to create and to destroy.” A crease appeared in his forehead. “That means I should be able to Name your arm healed.”

I tried to meet his eyes, but he was focused solely on my wound. A trickle of gray filled his soul.

“. . . You don’t remember how, do you?” I asked.

His eyebrows fell lower. “No.”

I smiled and slipped my aching arm out of his hold. “It’s okay. Most people don’t get to heal their wounds with magical powers. I’ll be fine once I bandage it.”

Coyote watched me pull away. Inside his soul, colors tumbled around, trying to decide something. His throat jogged. “Cece, if I were—if I weren’t the Coyote from legend you grew up hearing about—if I weren’t the hero you’ve always admired . . .”

He stopped there. The gray stretched out of his soul until my ribs went cold. I placed my good hand over the freezing stone.

“I already know you’re not the same Coyote from legend,” I said.

His wide, gold eyes shot up to mine, catching the candlelight.

“You’re only thirteen this lifetime. It’s okay if you don’t have everything figured out yet. I sure don’t, and I’m almost thirteen.”

He smiled a little. “That means you’re still twelve.”

“Ugh! So? You can’t know that much more just because you were born a couple of months earlier.”

“Well, at least I know how to handle Little Lion better than you do. I heard you two in the backyard.” Coyote sat back, and his face