The Witches of El Paso

Chapter 12

12

It had been a week since Nena was taken from her home. Her skin crackled with La Vista, frightening her. Though she was glad for her deeper connection to La Vista and her newfound friends, she wished she could send her sisters a message that she was being fed and taken care of, that she hadn’t been hurt or killed, and most importantly, that she hadn’t intentionally run away. What she wouldn’t tell them, even if she could, was that she was now a real bruja, inducted into dark ways. When she ate the brebaje, she’d brimmed with the energy of destruction, drunk on death. The healing song, in turn, had made Nena able to fly, or at least to hover, and it had made her feel wonderful, but there had to be a cost for that.

The thing Nena most feared was that by participating in the ceremony she had bound herself even more firmly to this time. If Nena could leave the convent, there were probably adventures to be had in this time, but figuring out how to leave seemed almost as impossible as getting back to her own time. In this El Paso, she knew no one. She had no money. Sister Benedicta would hunt her down. Nena hated the vicaria for luring her away. Hated her for every cruel thing she’d done since. If Sister Benedicta died tomorrow, Nena would thank God for his kindness.

When Nena went to confession that week, she had many things to admit to, but none for a priest’s ears.

“Did you ask Sister Benedicta for more chocolate like I suggested?” Father Iturbe asked.

“No, Father.”

“Why not?”

“I’m sorry, Father. I forgot,” Nena lied.

“Something’s happened. Has Sister Benedicta disciplined you too harshly? I’ve heard reports from other nuns about how far she goes.”

“She hasn’t done anything to me,” Nena said, dead certain that if she complained, it would get back to Sister Benedicta.

“Strange stories have been shared with me about happenings in the convent. I was hoping you might tell me what you’ve seen.”

“Nothing, Father.”

“Some sisters have confided in me that they find it difficult to wake up in the morning, like they’ve been put under a spell.”

“Well, that hasn’t happened to me.”

“Sister Manuela told me she found a hole cut into her habit. A week later, strings of rotted embroidery thread came out of her when she passed water. And Sister Manuela swore that there was blood on the threshold of the chapel.”

“Padre, no, I have no idea where the blood would have come from,” Nena said, though she knew of one way. She pictured the animals fighting each other to fit themselves in the pot.

“Women often make up stories, and I don’t believe everything I’m told,” Father Iturbe said.

“Yes, Father,” Nena said, believing it best to agree, even though she started to grow hot, angry, at what he was suggesting.

“The stories may be preposterous, but the sisters are complaining for a real reason. The nun in charge is failing in her duty to keep the sisters in line.”

“You mean Sister Benedicta? She’s the vicaria. It’s her job to be strict.”

“Don’t disagree with me.”

“I’m sorry, Padre,” Nena said, making her voice small.

“There, there. Don’t cry,” he said, even though Nena wasn’t crying. She never cried. “I’ll take care of her, don’t you worry.”

“Yes, Father.” What was he planning on doing?

“Will you do one thing for me?”

“Yes, Padre?”

“Put your fingers through the grill.”

“Pardon?”

“Let me see the tips of your fingers.”

Nena did as she was asked, feeling the smooth wooden slats of the grill slide against her fingers. A wetness spread on her fingertips, and at first Nena thought the priest was anointing her with oil, like for a blessing. Then she heard a sucking sound, and felt the nibble of his teeth on the end of her index finger. She snatched her hand back, wiping it on her habit as she jumped back, banging against the wall. She fumbled with the handle of the confessional, wrenching it open, then stumbled out of the box and ran out of the chapel, through the courtyard, and into the kitchen.

The kitchen was loud with the sounds of chopping, the crackling of the fire, the clang of pots in the washbasins, sand scouring copper. Nena felt like her brain was trying to detach its strings from her body.

What had she done to make Father Iturbe act that way? She hadn’t meant to do anything. Eugenia was in the corner, peeling potatoes. With each swipe of the knife, she carved off huge chunks of white potato flesh along with the skin. Nena tied on her apron and tried to steady her hands as she started peeling alongside Eugenia.

“Eugenia,” Nena whispered urgently. “I have to talk to you about something.”

“Please don’t tell me I’m peeling the potatoes wrong,” Eugenia said, frowning at the pile of mutilated potatoes. “Carmela already scolded me, and I’m doing the best that I can.”

“That’s not it.” Nena lowered her voice. “Has Father Iturbe ever done anything strange to you?”

“What do you mean?” Eugenia asked.

“Has he ever, I don’t know, made you do something you didn’t think was right for a lady to do?”

Eugenia threw her knife down on the table. “How dare you accuse me of that.”

“But I didn’t—”

“I knew your family was no good, that you had bad morals. Even thinking a thought like that. Disgusting,” Eugenia said, her face red.

“So, he never—”

“No! The only thing Father Iturbe has done is listen to me. I told him that we’re so burdened by all the extra chores we don’t have time to pray. I shouldn’t be treated like a servant. Nor should I have been humiliated like that by Sister Benedicta. She had no right.”

“But—” Nena said.

“And I considered what you said before. It’s true. She’s been punishing me because she doesn’t want me to marry Emiliano. I’d like to see her try to stop me. She’ll regret treating me this way. Father Iturbe promised me that he would talk to the bishop about how this place is being run.”

Nena had never had a friend like Eugenia, a rich girl. Eugenia was smugly certain that she would always get what she wanted. She’d clearly never been told no until she walked into the convent.

Eugenia picked up her knife and resumed peeling. Two bright raspberries of color pulsed on her cheekbones. Maybe it wasn’t that she was mad at Nena’s suggestion of impropriety, but instead that she was embarrassed.

Other than Father Iturbe, the only men around were the majordomo, a very old man with a wattle, and the market sellers who came to the portería. Father Iturbe was a small man, with tiny hands, nicely formed, greenish hazel eyes. His skin was pale, but the healthy kind of pale, rather than the sallow complexion of the diseased or hungry. His lips were a bit too full, and his head somewhat large for his body. Most people would probably call him handsome, though now the thought of him made Nena sick.

It could be possible that Eugenia liked the priest. He could have done more than lick her fingertips. Eugenia was bored and lonely in the convent, but Nena couldn’t bring herself to believe that anyone would be attracted to a worm like Father Iturbe. If Nena’s suspicions were correct, Eugenia had to be using Father Iturbe to get back at Sister Benedicta.

Nena had to warn someone that Eugenia was in trouble. Madre Inocenta, unlike Sister Benedicta, wouldn’t immediately punish Eugenia. Madre Inocenta would see that the true culprit was Father Iturbe, and that the true danger to the convent came from him.

“I’ll bring the abbess’s chocolate to her today,” Nena said to Carmela, who usually took the tray to Madre Inocenta’s office. Carmela nodded her head.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you when I come back,” Nena said.

In her office, Madre Inocenta was kneeling on the tiles at the foot of the small shrine next to the fireplace. She turned around at the sound of Nena setting the tray down on the desk and gave Nena a look of great warmth. Nena released all of her remaining trepidation. Madre Inocenta rose to her feet, taking the cup from the tray and folding her hands around it.

“Thank you, mija. Would you build up the fire for me?”

Nena set gnarled sticks of mesquite onto the grate above the embers. The fire crackled as the water hissed out of the mesquite. Nena looked for the words to tell Madre Inocenta about Eugenia and the bishop, without revealing what Father Iturbe had done to her. Before she could begin, Madre Inocenta spoke.

“I am beginning to believe that there might be a way to remain in La Vista for longer periods of time.”

“Why would you want to do that?” Nena asked.

“Could you sing the flying encanto again?” Madre Inocenta asked.

Nena didn’t think that was a good idea.

“You want me to sing it now?” Nena asked.

“Yes.”

“Don’t we require our sisters for a meeting of the aquelarre?” Nena said.

“Do it, child.”

“If I sing the flying song for you, will you help me find the way home?” Nena asked. This was a trade she would make.

Madre Inocenta’s eyes went cold. “You’ve made the brebaje once, and you can do it again. Now, sing the encanto, enough with your stalling.”

Madre Inocenta was scaring Nena. Nena touched the silver cross, praying for access to the encanto. She opened her mouth in the hopes that the encanto would fill it with sound.

“What’s going on here?” Sister Benedicta asked as she walked into the room.

“I’ve come to tell Madre Inocenta about Father Iturbe,” Nena said, never happier to see Sister Benedicta. Maybe Nena had been wrong about the order of things, and it was Madre Inocenta she really had to fear.

“What about him?”

“He’s discovered that we’re doing things here, magical things.”

“I very much doubt that,” Sister Benedicta said.

“Father Iturbe told me that blood had been found on the threshold to the chapel. And Eugenia said that she heard that nuns have been leaving their cells at night. I suspect she told Father Iturbe.”

“Why would she do that?”

“I’m afraid they’ve formed a friendship.”

“Friendship? A priest and a ni?a can’t be friends. Say what you mean or say nothing.”

Nena blushed. “I think they may have become close.”

“I see,” Sister Benedicta said.

“She’s complained to him about you, Sister Benedicta, and he told her that he was going to see the bishop.”

“Did you hear that from Father Iturbe?”

“No, Eugenia did. But you shouldn’t punish her, she doesn’t know what she’s saying, what she’s getting involved in—”

Madre Inocenta cut her off with laughter, which confused Nena. What did they know that she didn’t?

“Thank you for telling us,” Madre Inocenta said to Nena. “Inform Carmela that you will be bringing me my chocolate tomorrow, too.”

The instruction earned Nena a poisonous look from Sister Benedicta, but she remained silent. Nena couldn’t trust either of these nuns. She was more afraid now than ever.