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Authors: Shana Mlawski
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a fit of rage, he could have killed my mother himself, just as he killed Luis de Torres’s brothers in Granada.
I could feel my uncle’s gaze pushing against me, as if he were standing right behind me, just out of sight. It’s from your father, Diego had said of the necklace. For your protection, he said. It will help you. And my uncle had laughed, too, though I could hardly figure out why.
I sat on the edge of the bed and again lifted the necklacebefore my eyes. I didn’t get it. Gold was worthy of protection, sure. But how could a necklace possibly protect me ?
Unless . . .
Unless there was something inside that gold charm. Only one way to find out. I clicked open the necklace.
And was blasted back against the wall. My head thunked against the wall behind me, and most of the breath shot out of my lungs. The golden charm jumped out of my hands, its glittering chain waving behind it — and then I knew I had gone completely mad.
Because it appeared to me that the charm was bouncing across the floor with purpose, as if it were trying to get from one place to another. In fact, it was trying to get to the exact center of the room. Once there it stopped short and sat itself upright, as if someone were balancing it there with the tip of an invisible finger. When the charm was perfectly perpendicular to the floor, a stream of gas began hissing out, filling the room with plumes of purplish smoke.
In a panic I covered my face with an arm and threw open the attic window. With a stubborn bang the shutters slammed themselves back shut. Above me, purple clouds swirled about the ceiling, sending jagged bolts of violet light toward the charm vibrating on the floor. Every moment, the vibrations grew more urgent, and the clouds above the charm swirled faster. Until —
An unnameable mass spewed out of the necklace. I ducked as it bounced off the wall right next to me. It flew past me so quickly that a gust of wind blew up the hair around my ears. Still ducking, I watched the glob zoom around the attic. It banged off the dresser, the shutters, the attic door, the opposite wall. As it flew, the glob spasmed and squelched, raging against itself, writhing. At last, it reached its dizzying peak in the center of the room, spinning faster and faster until it was a purplish blur.
And then, of course, it exploded.
Tears stung my eyes. I squeezed them shut. The popping sound of the explosion had temporarily deafened me. I could hear nothing but the dulled sound of my barking coughs. But gradually, I thought I heard something else, too. Something like girlish sneezes. I waved the smoke away from my eyes and was astonished by what I saw.
A slight girl sat on her knees in the middle of the room, surrounded by dissolving puffs of smoke. That fact alone was enough to make my pulse stop short, but when the smoke finally cleared that’s not what surprised me most.
What surprised me most was that the girl’s head was on fire.
The girl sat frozen in the center of the room, a lithe reddish-brown figure with black flames ravaging her skull. The girl sneezed again — a series of three quick, short achoo s that together sounded something like a birdsong. “Excuse me,” the girl said. Her voice chimed, nymphlike, through the attic.
From my place on the bed I took in this spectacle, my back perfectly flush against the wall. The girl swept her flaming head from side to side. “You’re not Amir. What is this place?”
My hands gripped the bedspread, my only link to reality. Obviously the girl in front of me was a demon. At the same time she appeared to be a girl of eleven or ten. Her eyes were violet, friendly and warm, and her mouth soft with the loving amusement of a grandmother. Glittering jewels of every color covered her fingers and bare toes, and half a dozen diamonds hung in neat rows under her batlike ears. The ivory dress she wore was cut from some rich material too, something like whatever flower petals are made of.
The
I could feel my uncle’s gaze pushing against me, as if he were standing right behind me, just out of sight. It’s from your father, Diego had said of the necklace. For your protection, he said. It will help you. And my uncle had laughed, too, though I could hardly figure out why.
I sat on the edge of the bed and again lifted the necklacebefore my eyes. I didn’t get it. Gold was worthy of protection, sure. But how could a necklace possibly protect me ?
Unless . . .
Unless there was something inside that gold charm. Only one way to find out. I clicked open the necklace.
And was blasted back against the wall. My head thunked against the wall behind me, and most of the breath shot out of my lungs. The golden charm jumped out of my hands, its glittering chain waving behind it — and then I knew I had gone completely mad.
Because it appeared to me that the charm was bouncing across the floor with purpose, as if it were trying to get from one place to another. In fact, it was trying to get to the exact center of the room. Once there it stopped short and sat itself upright, as if someone were balancing it there with the tip of an invisible finger. When the charm was perfectly perpendicular to the floor, a stream of gas began hissing out, filling the room with plumes of purplish smoke.
In a panic I covered my face with an arm and threw open the attic window. With a stubborn bang the shutters slammed themselves back shut. Above me, purple clouds swirled about the ceiling, sending jagged bolts of violet light toward the charm vibrating on the floor. Every moment, the vibrations grew more urgent, and the clouds above the charm swirled faster. Until —
An unnameable mass spewed out of the necklace. I ducked as it bounced off the wall right next to me. It flew past me so quickly that a gust of wind blew up the hair around my ears. Still ducking, I watched the glob zoom around the attic. It banged off the dresser, the shutters, the attic door, the opposite wall. As it flew, the glob spasmed and squelched, raging against itself, writhing. At last, it reached its dizzying peak in the center of the room, spinning faster and faster until it was a purplish blur.
And then, of course, it exploded.
Tears stung my eyes. I squeezed them shut. The popping sound of the explosion had temporarily deafened me. I could hear nothing but the dulled sound of my barking coughs. But gradually, I thought I heard something else, too. Something like girlish sneezes. I waved the smoke away from my eyes and was astonished by what I saw.
A slight girl sat on her knees in the middle of the room, surrounded by dissolving puffs of smoke. That fact alone was enough to make my pulse stop short, but when the smoke finally cleared that’s not what surprised me most.
What surprised me most was that the girl’s head was on fire.
The girl sat frozen in the center of the room, a lithe reddish-brown figure with black flames ravaging her skull. The girl sneezed again — a series of three quick, short achoo s that together sounded something like a birdsong. “Excuse me,” the girl said. Her voice chimed, nymphlike, through the attic.
From my place on the bed I took in this spectacle, my back perfectly flush against the wall. The girl swept her flaming head from side to side. “You’re not Amir. What is this place?”
My hands gripped the bedspread, my only link to reality. Obviously the girl in front of me was a demon. At the same time she appeared to be a girl of eleven or ten. Her eyes were violet, friendly and warm, and her mouth soft with the loving amusement of a grandmother. Glittering jewels of every color covered her fingers and bare toes, and half a dozen diamonds hung in neat rows under her batlike ears. The ivory dress she wore was cut from some rich material too, something like whatever flower petals are made of.
The
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