A Request From the Grave

“Stop fidgeting or you’ll mess up your Calavera.” Evita tried to remain still and let her cousin Blanca finish painting her face in a sugar skull. Tonight was Día de Los Muertos, the day of the dead. 

In a few hours, Evita would find out if she got appointed as the heir to the Perez’s ancestral magic. As much as she wanted to be a part of Wiccan Warrior of Protectors she yearned to see her mother more. This last year without her had been the toughest year Evita had ever faced. She doubted she’d even get the magic her intention became ominous after her mother got into a car accident. 

Lydia Perez was too young, beautiful, and amazing to have died at thirty. She and her father had her as teenagers. Their union put an end to the witch hunts. Her father came from a long line of hunters and her mother a long line of witches. Not any witches, protectors. Goddess who kept the balance of the world in order among the chaos.

Evita dreamed of using her newfound magic on getting vengeance on the hit-and-run driver. She would deliver a spell that stopped his heart.  

Every day she arrived home to emptiness. Her father was still a hunter. He worked for the government and hunted down rogue supernatural creatures. Sometimes his assignments took him away from home for weeks at a time. Her mother spent most of her time in the kitchen where she performed her magic. Her mother protected love. The man who struck her mother down with his car and left her for dead killed a cupid. No babies in diapers, bow and arrows. A sweet, compassionate soul who believed in the sovereignty of love and nurtured it.

Whenever she reached home, she found her mother in the kitchen trying to come up with original recipes. She owned a famous bakery downtown. People stood outside the bakery, coming from miles away. Word spread that a bite into her cupcakes would allow you to meet your soulmate the next day.

The day her mother died, she came up with the ideal recipe for her Christmas themed treats. Cinnamon and dark chocolate lingered in the air for weeks. The chocolate and gingersnap cookies were a favourite at the bakery, and her mother never got to celebrate her success.

With only the magic she was born with, Evita tracked down the hit-and-run driver. Blanca stopped her from going after him, urging her to stick around until after Día de Los Muertos.

“Finished.” Blanca packed away her makeup kit and rose to her full height of 5ft. “Do you want to wear a flower crown too? I have one in purple that’ll match your Calavera.”

“Sure.” Evita grabbed the crown and snagged her duffel book filled with things for the ritual. “You got the candles?”

“Check. Grimoire?”

“Check.”

“You know how to get to your mother’s gravesite by yourself, don’t’ you? Each time we’ve gone, your dad or my mother has taken you.”

“That’s not something you forget. Let’s go, grab the pupusas. No tamales my mother hates them she might not show up if we try to give them to her.”

“She has to show your her only child. Unlike my mother, she could always wait for one of her other four children to bring her offering.”

Evita felt nervous. She wondered if her mother felt this way in anticipation of her arrival. She gathered her dress in her hands and walked out the door. The night was a typical one. All the other families on their block finished their Halloween celebrations. The more elaborate houses still had up their decorations.

“Why are rituals always in graveyards? It’s a little creepy.” Blanca asked the closer they got to the cemetery.

“Scared ground. Evil can’t touch you in a cemetery.”

“Humans can. Should we have waited for Uncle Jackson? I think we should wait for your dad. Yep, that’s what we should do.”

“Would you come on, Dad can’t be part of this, you know that. Only Perez women. Fair warning you’ll probably be the one to carry our torch. This last year I’ve crossed lines.”

“You grieved, they’ll understand. Can I tell you a secret?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to be a Wiccan Warrior. Grandma died before she was thirty, Aunt Marisol died at the same age. I’m not sure it’s worth it. Humans aren’t that great. Why do all supernatural creatures have to protect them? Angels, witches, hunters. Sometimes I think demons have the right idea.”

Evita spun around to face her cousin as she saw the hard lines in Blanca’s face she knew Blanca meant every word she was saying. This wasn’t something she said to make her feel better about wanting to go after the hit-and-run driver.

They were in big trouble if neither of them got the Perez magic. Ancestral magic protected all the witches in their family line. Witches who got denied had to resort to dark magic to keep themselves safe from their enemies. Demons went after them to feed on their souls. The magic that lingered in their bones from birth tripled the strength of a demon.

Evita didn’t have a good feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Once they got to the cemetery, she placed the food on her mother’s grave and lit the candles. She grabbed Blanca’s hand and began the ritual they’d chant from dusk until dawn. Once the sun was up in the sky, they’d have their answer. At the core of her being, Evita wanted it to be her. She didn’t dare desire such magic when she knew a dark part of her wanted it for nefarious reasons.

Heart to heart

Soul to soul

I call on the sleeping daughters of the Perez line.

Tonight I bring you offerings to celebrate a warrior’s life.

The night air grew chiller and their chant grew softer from dried out throats. Blanca’s grip on her hands tightened. Evita knew she tried to keep her legs from giving out. Standing up for so long was a testament to how much they would endure for their ancestors. Evita wouldn’t give up. She continued the chant until dawn broke and her mother appeared in an orange glow.

Evita’s emotions overtook her body, and she fell to the ground sobbing. Her mother wrapped her arms around her and stroked her hair. The numbness inside her chest ebbed away. Warmth soothed her soul.

“Give up your desire for revenge, sweetheart. I don’t want that for you. Say yes. The ancestors have decided you’ll be the one to carry our magic. You’ll do so until the day you have a daughter, then you’ll train her and prepare her as I have done you.”

“I hate him for stealing you from me. I’ve missed you so much it hurts to breathe.”

“Evita look at me.” Evita looked up into her mother’s cocoa bean eyes that mirrored her own. “He’ll pay for his crime one day. Not by your hands. We are to keep balance in this world that is the job of witches. If you start on this path, you’ll be no different from a demon. I didn’t raise a demon I raised a strong, beautiful young woman who’ll pick herself up and make me proud. Si?”

“Si. I love you.”

“And I love you.”

Evita closed her eyes and inhaled her mother’s scent of cinnamon and chocolate. She knew when she opened her eyes she’d be gone and she’d have a job to do.