Bruja Born by Zoraida Cordova

Author:Zoraida Cordova
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 2018-03-22T04:00:00+00:00

20

Pero he descubierto que el veneno más puro es la amargura en los corazones humanos.

—The Art of Poison, Angela Santiago

Bay Ridge is bright with new shops and an excess of hipsters priced out of Williamsburg. I don’t come down this way a lot, but the pizza and bagel shop Dad used to love is still open, sandwiched between a barbershop and a dollar store, where bearded old men bake in the sun on a rickety wooden bench. Kids about our age gather in groups at bodega corners and under the shade of bus stops, cutting school because it’s June and the end of school is so near you can taste the sweetness in the summer heat.

Alex and I cross the street and turn a corner that marks the start of the poor side of town. Within a block, the houses are more rundown, more worn. Not even a fresh coat of paint would fix the cracks and lopsided porches or tilting foundations.

A group of guys whistles at us, but we keep walking, linking our arms together. They laugh and shout out obscenities. Alex’s hand tightens around mine and the surge of her magic prickles my skin.

Something pops, and I whip around to see a lamppost shattering over the catcallers. Some of them scream. Some cross themselves. None of them bother us anymore.

Alex’s smile is feline and I can’t help but laugh. But a block later, when we reach the little bakery with frosted windows, we stop.

The awning over the store is ripped, and though it’s a dirty brown now, I can see splotches in the fabric where it used to be red. There’s a wreath on the door I recognize as a protection spell. Black branches are twisted into a ring, and at the center is a cat’s cradle of copper wire with a glass eye at the heart. El Mal Ojo. When I was little, and I saw other brujas place the eye on their doors or walls or wear it as jewelry, I thought the eye could truly see. Even though now I know it doesn’t, it still gives me the creeps. I always thought it was strange that a curse and the thing that protects you from the curse are called the same thing.

When we open the door to Angela’s Bakery, the bells at the top jingle a pleasant chime. Despite the shabby exterior, the floors are clean, there are two tables where people can sit and eat their pastries, and the cloying sweetness of citrus and lemongrass clings to the air.

“Hello?” I call out.

No one comes to the door, despite the chiming bell.

“Deos help me,” Alex says, pressing a hand on her belly and shutting her eyes. “It smells incredible.”

We both inhale dreamily. Butter, fresh bread, and burned sugar waft across my senses, and, for the first time in so long, my mouth waters with hunger. I press my hands against the glass separating me from rows of decadent cupcakes topped with sugared rose petals. They almost look too pretty to eat and remind me of the canto Alex used to do for me.

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