Summer of the Mariposas by Guadalupe Garcia McCall

Author:Guadalupe Garcia McCall [McCall, Guadalupe Garcia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: butterfly, mariposas, butterflies, aztec, JUV037000 JUVENILE FICTION / Fantasy & Magic, JUV013070 JUVENILE FICTION / Family / Siblings, JUV011030 JUVENILE FICTION / People & Places / United States / Hispanic & Latino
Publisher: Lee & Low Books
Published: 2012-10-02T07:00:00+00:00

LA MUERTE: “Jugando con la muerte,

nadie tiene suerte.”

THE DEATH: “When playing with death,

nobody has any luck.”

It was dark in the cave. I tried moving but my arms were aching. Then I realized my hands were securely tied behind my back as I lay on the dirt floor in a corner of the cave. Juanita was still passed out beside me. Looking around, I saw that all of us were in the same predicament. Every one of my sisters was tied up on the floor beside me.

All around us, on the dirt, lying sideways over jutted rocks and tangled in the dusty threads of the telarañas, the webs of a hundred black widow spiders, lay the corpses of our beloved friends, the snout-nosed butterflies. Their delicate winged bodies, prone and limp, were snarled in the girls’ hair, attached to their clothes, even stuck to their bare arms and legs, like dried pressed flowers.

No longer disguised as a domesticated donkey, the nagual, dressed in a soiled black robe, was standing over a huge bubbling cauldron. His long, white hair hung from his face in a stringy disheveled mess along the sides of his lean, angular face. He moved slowly and hunched over the cauldron like he was a hundred years old. I watched him without making a sound as he chanted something vile and wicked, something that made my heart flinch in my chest.

“Well, hello. Welcome back, preciosa,” the nagual said, showing his green-gray teeth as he grinned at me. “I see you’re ready.”

I rocked myself into a sitting position. My head was spinning from the effort, but I managed to sit up on my knees and face him. His eyes were two small, dark slits that glittered with amusement as he watched me struggle. His skin was so sallow and dry, he looked like an old rattlesnake. I half expected him to lick his lips with a forked tongue. “Ready for what?” I asked.

“This. The final stop on your journey,” he said, stirring the contents of his cauldron so furiously that it spun like a whirlpool. The fuming concoction sent swirls of steam up to the cave ceiling, where bats flapped their wings, clinging upside down from their claws, and pit vipers uncoiled themselves from thick iron hooks.

“And what is that?” I asked as I tried in vain to loosen the ropes at my wrists.

“This? This is my masterpiece,” said the nagual. “My own personal recipe, perfected over the last four centuries. A potion so strong, so powerful, you won’t feel a thing as you perish. Once I put you inside and close the lid, you’ll cook almost instantly. Then you can take your place in my favorite collection, the lovely bones of a thousand children, sacrificed with Cecilia’s blessing. Your death will release me from this curse. No longer will I have to dwell in a cave. No longer will I have to wander the earth in the shape of a beast. With you —

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