The rata swiped the makeshift blade. Ignacio dodged right before the sharp edge found its mark. He dodged again. But he miscalculated the third time, and pain sliced through his bicep. He clasped a hand over his burning skin.
“Do not kill him!” the voice commanded. “We aren’t finished with him yet.”
Sizzling heat lanced through his veins where the stone had cut. He eyed the wound. Those familiar sparkles littered hisskin.
Had this been what Esmeralda felt when her gloves scorched her last night?
“Who are you?!” Ignacio yelled.
The voice laughed. “You should be askingwhatam I.”
Camila’s fingertips pressed into the mirror and the last of her black hair went bone white.
Her head knocked back and she howled in agony.
Holding his injured arm, Ignacio lunged forward. The rata dove after him but Ignacio dipped to the left, sidestepping him. He shoved Camila back and slammed his boot into the towering mirror.
The glass shattered.
The ground shook.
The bulbs dimmed and flickered overhead.
“No!” the monster roared. “Guard! Bring me the girl now. I am not done feasting. I need all of her!”
The rata barreled into Ignacio, and they went sprawling to the ground. Obsidian shards nicked his flesh and burned with biting heat. The rata’s grip around Ignacio went suddenly limp and the sound of something gurgling snagged his attention. Slowly, Ignacio turned his head. His insides recoiled. The guard had landed face-first on an upturned piece of obsidian.
Panting, Ignacio carefully crawled toward Camila, who was slumped over. He called her name, but she didn’t reply.
“Hey,” he said gently. He put his hand on her boney shoulder. “Let’s get you out of…” She faced him. And all the blood in his body drained to the floor.
She had aged by fifty or sixty years.
A soft cry escaped her lips. “Why?” was all she managed tosay.
Fury boiled inside his chest. Ángel had sent her here.
“Ignacio,”a haunting voice cooed. That monstrous face formed in all the mirrors that surrounded them. Camila flinched, and he wrapped his uninjured arm around her, shielding her as best he could.
“What are you?!” he shouted. “What have you done to her?”
“Come now, you already know. Your mother used to tell my story before you laid down your little head and drifted off to sleep.”
One of the mirrors blurred and Ignacio saw himself as a boy. He was in his favorite pajamas. He’d loved them because his mother had brought them all the way from the palace just for him. The child version of himself looked up at the mirror, gazing at it with hope and wonder in his eyes.
“Read it to me again,” he said.
He saw his mother’s reflection within his pupils. She had the prettiest smile. The kind that made a person feel instantly at ease. But there was a steeliness to her too, intense enough to command the king’s army.
“One more time,” she said warmly, and he watched himself nuzzle deeper into her lap.
Ignacio’s jaw went slack. He was witnessing the scene unfold through his mother’s eyes.
“This story isn’t too frightening?” she asked. “I wouldn’t want you having nightmares about it.”
Young Ignacio’s face grew serious. “I’m brave like you, Mommy.”
“That you are. But if you do get frightened, know that a man with a silly mustache was selling them on the side of the road.He said it would be perfect for spectaculous boys like you.” Young Ignacio giggled at the made-up word. “This story is a good lesson for us all, I think. There is evil in this world. Usually, we can spot it right away. But sometimes, when we least expect it, evil comes to us in disguise. Through gentle words, and alluring smiles, and, perhaps worst of all, the promise of magic. That sort of evil can sway even the kindest of men.”
