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

it swung from Brujo Rodrigo’s fingers, just within the boundary of the arena—and fed his soul a new target.

Immediately, he dove forward, claws extended. The spectators bellowed with anticipation. El Silbón leaned forward eagerly. As I had hoped, Coyote swerved just past Kit Fox, plunging his hand into the darkness at the edge of the ring.

His claw reached past the side of Kit Fox’s head, toward Brujo Rodrigo, and cut the leather strap swaying between his fingers.

A single, rugged pebble fell into the ring.

The floor started to crumble. But Coyote snatched up the stone before it could return to the desert, turned with a flourish, and threw it to me.

I caught the soul and held it close. “I win.”

Concrete silence. All eyes turned to me. Brujo Rodrigo’s mouth tightened, but he said nothing. I knotted Kit Fox’s leather necklace back together and placed it around my neck.

Kit Fox’s soul lit up inside my chest like stray sunshine and a freshly caught breeze. I placed my hand over his soul. This criatura should never have been in the hands of a Dark Saint.

“Can you believe it, comadres and compadres, brujas and brujos, criaturas and humans—” El Silbón’s arms shot into the air. “Cece Rios has just defied all expectations, stolen the Dark Saint’s criatura—and won the match!”

A deafening cheer rocked the mill. The sound almost made me jump after the stony silence. Everyone, even El Silbón, was leaping, whistling, shouting, their faces awed and ravenous at the turn of events. Everyone except Brujo Rodrigo.

His expression remained cold, calculating. He lifted a single hand and snapped his fingers.

Out of nowhere, two criaturas descended around him. The moment their feet hit the floor, the applause died. Terror gripped the room. No one dared look away from the Dark Saint. Not me, not Kit Fox, not even Coyote.

Brujo Rodrigo’s criaturas came into view. Criatura of the Gila Monster crouched directly in front of him, long claws already gouging out lines in the dusty floor. On his right hovered the Criatura of the Golden Eagle, his hair lined with telltale blond streaks and his talons twitching.

“Where did the cheers go? Everyone looks so frightened.” Brujo Rodrigo scanned the silent attendees, but there was a satisfied glare in his question. “You haven’t even seen the third one yet.”

Third one? He had another criatura that wasn’t with him? Brujo Rodrigo surged across the space between us. I locked my legs as he cut between Kit Fox and Coyote, his feet disrupting the chalk circle, his two criaturas following closely.

My breath faltered. I’d won the match by making his criatura incapable of fighting back, hadn’t I? I’d followed the rules. But his face was all the anger of winter and the bite of hunger, and it sharpened with shadows as he closed in.

Just when I was about to cower, a hand touched my back, and Little Lion stepped up beside me, his face hard and ready. He must have felt my fear and come inside.

“What have you done, Cece?” he asked quietly.

I didn’t have time to answer before Brujo Rodrigo stopped in front of me.

Behind him, his criaturas leaned forward, their eyes glinting. My gut clenched so hard I felt sick. Lion growled low in his throat. Brujo Rodrigo’s hand whipped out of his pocket. I winced and closed my eyes. There was a beat of silence. Slowly, I peeked an eye open.

Brujo Rodrigo held out a single white card. My hands shook as I took it.

The end of the canyon in the cerros, at the southern edge of Iztacpopo.

Just after sunset, when the moon is full.

The Binding waits.

“Congratulations, Bruja Cece,” Brujo Rodrigo said, though there was no celebration in his voice. “You’ve made it to the finals.”

I started to sweat as I read the card over again. This was what I’d been waiting for. But why did it feel like a threat? Brujo Rodrigo tapped the edge of the card, his smirk cold. Slowly, I turned it over to check the back.

See you soon, mija, was handwritten there.

Lion stiffened next to me, but I couldn’t look away from the writing. I’d been reading it in a red leather journal for the past week. My stomach folded over itself. Brujo Rodrigo knew my Tía Catrina. What did that mean for me?

Brujo Rodrigo’s lips pulled up in a slow, stiff smile as I lowered the invitation. Everyone was still watching us, but no one knew whether to cheer or not. In that uncomfortable silence, he put his hand on my shoulder, giving it a hard squeeze and then rocking it.

“We look forward to seeing you there tomorrow, Cecelia Rios.” His lashes came down heavy on his eyes. “So be careful on your way home.”

He released me, and he and his criaturas pushed past us for the exit. I couldn’t move. Somehow, I wasn’t dead. I’d won. And I’d even made it into the finals. So why did I feel like I was in more danger than ever?

Brujo Rodrigo and his criaturas disappeared through the front entrance. El Silbón stepped into the chalk circle.

“The third Dark Saint of Devil’s Alley, everyone.” His electric, scratchy voice didn’t stir excitement from the crowd the way it had earlier. “Good luck, Cece Rios. Let’s hope you handle the finals as well as tonight’s match.” He turned his shadowy face toward me, and everyone’s gaze followed.

The warning wasn’t lost on me. El Silbón served the Dark Saints. He’d probably been the one to tell them about me when I had first signed up, the little girl who looked out of place, the Rios chica whose sister had been stolen by El Sombrerón only a few days prior.

Lion stood on my left, and Kit Fox, staring at me with his mouth slightly ajar, stopped on my right. Coyote stood in front, and turned me around to face the exit.

“Let’s get out of here, Cece,” he said. “You’re one of the five finalists. That’s what matters.”

The sounds of another fight starting up trailed behind us. Kit