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“I want to know more about you, of course. And he was a big part of your life.”
“He was,” he says. Raúl’s voice is quiet, reverent. He tells me about his father’s work trying to unite the rebels Julian drew away. About how his father always took the time to listen to Raúl’s concerns and ideas. How he always set aside time for Carmen. I listen as intently as I can, loving the way he lights up when he talks about his father.
As my body shuts down, my thoughts turn to my own problems. I decide I will learn more magic without a grimoire. Not for altruistic reasons, to help those around me, like some pious angel. No. Hell no.
I will learn to find the truth about who I am. And if Mother stands in my way?
I promise it will be her undoing.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The next day, Mother calls me to the window so she can leave. My hands remain wrapped in gauze, since it would be extremely suspicious if my skin suddenly healed. Although judging from her comment yesterday, I don’t even know if she’d notice.
Mother climbs down my hair and is whisked away on the portal stone. I grin when she’s gone. Now it is time for experimenting. Since I’ve successfully completed two spells, I want to try something different today. Navigating to the kitchen, I reach down and find a braid, unraveling it a couple of feet. I gather a few strands and use a knife to cut them, making sure to get a good length.
I’ve never cut so much of my hair myself. In all my life, I’ve only kept it long, never daring to even trim the ends. If Mother’s actions at night were any indication, she must cut my hair with a spell. Today, I will find out what happens if no spell is uttered after a significant length is severed.
For the first few moments, there is nothing. Then I gasp, grabbing onto the kitchen counter for support. It feels as if a storm has entered my heart, thunder and lightning pounding against my rib cage. I struggle to breathe, gasping in air. The edges of my vision darken and I collapse to the ground.
After a few minutes, I adjust to the storm. I stare up at the ceiling, tears dripping from my eyes, watching the light catch on the window. When I can finally breathe, I sit up and wipe my face, glad the pain is tolerable now. I mentally scan my body and what I find shocks me.
The storm in my core is still there, but it holds a new energy. Not sure what to try, I turn to a dirty plate on the kitchen counter. I touch the energy, saying a quick spell to make the dish clean and pristine.
The magic thunders, and I wince at the sensation. A tingling travels from it and out the hand that touches the plate. I watch in awe as magic wipes the plate clean, leaving it shiny.
“Nava, do you see this?” I ask.
Yes, she says. Your power. I feel it, a buzzing on your skin.
My heart drops. If she could feel it, could Mother tell?
“Do you think Mother can sense it, too?”
I am not sure. Some witches can, some can’t.
That certainly clears things up. I can’t risk Mother finding out about my power. What if she uses a spell and takes all of my hair, hoarding my power to herself? I vow I will hide it from her as best I can. I grit my teeth. There is no way I will let her put me in a coma for her gain.
If I am sure about cleaning magic, that is what I will drain my reserve with. I glance around the room. Mother’s bags of food are strewn across the table, nothing in its place. I start there, mentally grasping the magic as I utter a spell for organization. The storm partly drains as the food whips through the air. Cabinet doors fling open with a bang, food flying onto the shelves. The cold box’s door opens roughly, shaking slightly.
I throw my head back and laugh. Mother’s impossible bean separating task will take less than a minute. Not that I’ll do it now. No, I’ll save that for her next trip to Ixtla.
I tie my braids up, then pick up my skirts and run downstairs. I survey my room, the dusty books in organized piles, but hard to navigate through. I close my eyes, imagining them against the walls, stacked as high as I can reach. Opening my eyes, I grasp the storm and use the same spell to make it happen.
Books levitate off the floor, spinning around, then flying to the empty wall. Dust gathers in a pile, creating a mini dervish. When they are completely finished stacking, the dervish disappears. My reserve is almost drained, just a little left to get rid of now.
I know exactly what to do with it. I run upstairs, my heart pounding as I fling Mother’s door open, running straight to the mirror. I pick it up and hold on to my magic.
“Where is Dreselda?”
The mirror immediately clears, showing an image on a map of a little town south of the capital. I stare at it, memorizing the picture before it disappears.
This will speed up our search, Nava says.
“Is Dreselda my mother?”
The mirror goes blank, and I try again, desperate to know. My storm is drained, though, nothing left inside except a hole where it had been, waiting to be filled again. I put the mirror back and swear. I should have asked that first. I could hold my hair, like last time, but I don’t want to risk using so much magic at once. No one is here to help me if it goes awry.
I run a hand down my braids, brushing away the sweat on my forehead. I turn to leave the room, heading downstairs. Finally, there is no magic left inside me. Nothing for Mother to detect. Just as I plop down into the chair, I hear a call from the bottom of the tower.
