Rogelia's House of Magic Read Free Page B

Graciela and Xochitl had been her best students, learning how to respect the life force in all things, trust in the miraculous, and believe in the power of tuning in to silence. But ever since Nana had failed to save Graciela, Xochitl didn’t believe in Nana’s miracles anymore.
    The wind sent ripples over the river. The water was low, really low. It was barely ankle deep, and yet it was as wide as a football field. Nana said there was a dam in the San Bernardino Mountains, and this river once caused murderous floods almost every year. The river god told her this truth. Even in dry riverbeds, the river spirits still lived there. Despite her doubts about magic and mystery, Xochitl wanted to believe that the spirit of the river—the spirit of everyone or everything, for that matter—lived on after its form on earth disappeared.
    If that was so, could she speak with Graciela right here, right now? Xochitl wondered. She had seen Nana speak with their dead relatives on
Dia de los Muertos.
Even during séances for people she barely knew, Nana had answered questions with information that was totally impossible for her to have known. Xochitl had seen it all. She had just never participated. And although she wasn’t sure she was up to the task of speaking to someone who had died, she was desperate to talk with her sister.
    First Xochitl closed her eyes and concentrated on the memory of her sister’s round, dark brown face with its slightly upturned nose. Next she tried to hear Graciela’s giddy voice in the wind that blew gently against her skin. The Santa Ana River carried the sea air from the Pacific Ocean a few miles west. The sweet desert smell mixed with a faint salty scent, reminding her of family vacations to Puerto Vallarta and late-night walks on the beach with Graciela. Xochitl opened her eyes and looked around expectantly for any sign from her sister.
    Xochitl chanted Graciela’s name over and over again in her mind, the only part of the séance she remembered. But the minutes dragged on, and Graciela did not appear.
    Xochitl shook herself free of the trance, frustrated, and instantly the wind stopped blowing, as if on command. Xochitl was so disappointed that Graciela hadn’t responded to her that she prayed La Llorona the Weeping Woman would come. La Llorona, a legendary ghost woman, cries for her lost children along rivers and is rumored to steal other children. At fifteen, Xochitl probably didn’t count as a child anymore. Maybe La Llorona would take her anyway. But where did she want to go? Where was home? This strange land they had moved to, or Mexico, where her choices were so limited?
    Just then, Xochitl heard the laughter of two boys riding bikes along the river trail. She closed her eyes and thought of being as light as a feather in her sister’s old, soft down pillow. She could feel her body becoming paper thin, and when she opened her eyes, she saw that her hands and feet were slowly fading away. By the time the boys whizzed past, Xochitl had become invisible and they didn’t see her at all.
    Both Xochitl and Graciela had learned this trick from their nana. While Xochitl would use her invisibility to retreat deep into herself when she was afraid or overwhelmed, Graciela had used it to play pranks on unsuspecting neighbors and deserving enemies. Although the twins had looked the same, their personalities had been quite different. Graciela had been the only one who could coax Xochitl out of her cocoon of shyness.
    Xochitl waited until the boys had turned a bend that followed the winding Santa Ana River. She then concentrated on the density of her bones and the feel of the warm sun on her skin and watched her body materialize. She hopped on her bike. As she pedaled for the Peralta house, where Nana would be staying, Xochitl began to wonder. If Graciela would not speak to her from beyond, how would she ever find a place of happiness again?

Three
    T he night after Fern and Marina bought
Magik for