Doña did not come. Jacinta woke up in a cold sweat in the afternoon, panting, clawing at the sheets. She shot upright, checked the time—late. She was off on Saturdays. Joe—she’d need a few days off…
She checked her phone—Silas left a message.
Coffee?
…and he texted it two hours ago. Great. Whatever—she told him the place and time: near the passage portal, an hour and a half. Up in the Bronx, their Little Italy—Arthur Avenue.
Jacinta got ready, cleaning the apartment, washing up, calling Joe.
“Joe—my sister was taken by some group. It’s a long story. I…need a few days off. I’m sorry—I need to figure out who took her. I know it’s especially hard without Roxanne during the lunch shifts, too, but—”
“It’s all good.” Joe stated, voice behind the sizzle of meat along the flattop. He took a long pause. “Just get your sister…I need you back, though. So don’t get in…too much trouble. If you have a free point, come and I’ll give you the last week’s pay, with the bonus for that SEE agent, alright?”
Jacinta sighed in relief. “Thanks so much, Joe; I—”
“I gotta go.” he told her, bell dinging, and hung up.
Alright. That was…surprisingly easy. Albeit strained. Jacinta held the phone for a moment. Oregon was rubbing up against her legs.
“You should’ve told me. I’m an adult. I can handle it.” He purred sadly, ears lowered, saddened.
“You’re three.” Jacinta chuckled, mostly to dispel the tension. “But yeah. Cat years and all. I’ll get her back…and she’ll give you extra tuna. I’ll see you later, Oregon; don’t eat Ivy’s catnip unless she offers, alright?”
Oregon purred and hopped up to see the window, tugging back the blinds with his jaw. He said nothing. He wasn’t listening.
Cats…
Jacinta’s phone buzzed. She glanced down.
Be there in 20.
Perfect.
***
A crowded subway ride and a few street musicians later, she was there. Brick buildings, street signs, the smell of coffee and fresh bread and zeppole. She saw a sign that read, “Street Fair for the Feast of the Visitation of Mother Mary—May 31st!” and immediately thought of when she and her family used to go to the street fails—Saint Anthony, saint Theresa. She’d ride with her sister on their shoddy, dangerous rides, eat delicious food, get her face painted—the thought made her smile.
She spotted the coffee shop and walked in. It was a local place; in the back, scattered bottles of different syrups and alcohols. Men were drinking espresso and reading newspapers, others crunching on cannoli, biscotti, croissants, and lobster tail pastries. A mother and a baby—was the kid drinking…coffee? She ignored the sights and glanced up, eyeing the menu behind the workers—
“Well, I guess you do have taste.” Silas’s voice crooned. Jacinta turned aside, scowled—he was staring up at the menu, giving her no care in the world. “Though it was still quite a trip. Why come all the way here? You find something?”
Jacinta’s lip twitched. She debated her options.
“Yes. But you’ll have to go first before I say anything.”
“Not even a hello?” Silas chuckled, stepping onto the line, giving her an expectant brow-raise. Jacinta rolled her eyes.
“You didn’t say hello first. But yeah. Hello. And I’ll take a café latte and a chocolate-dipped cannoli—I’ll get us a seat.”
She sat near the back, eyeing her phone, the address of the passage portal. It should’ve just recognized her, as a supernatural, and let her in that way. Silas wouldn’t be able to get in, even if he tried. Powerful wards and protective magic…
Alright, the woman was a ‘high priestess’—half psychic, half witch, all Italian, according to what Banu told her, which made them both laugh, enjoying the humor and pride. But all Jacinta saw on the text was a vague location in code—they had to be careful.
She glanced up; Silas had two drinks. Glass cups, foam—Jacinta thanked him and took the cup; he returned with the plates—he had a biscotti.
“Cameras are angled at the door.” he noted, lifting his latte to his lips. “We’re good to talk.” And anyway, it was busy; they were fine.
Jacinta said nothing, waiting expectantly. Silas sighed and pulled a small, folded piece of paper from his pocket, sliding it across the table. She took it, unfolded it—and saw the contents. Text details of a world, of magic signatures; it was like a Wikipedia page of a general overview of a…country, with a picture and all. Second page were more minimal: details of stolen magic; vague hypotheses, but nothing more.
“Is this all?” She asked, glancing up, grip tightening over the page. “It doesn’t do shit with me and Olivia, Silas…”
He remained calm, setting the glass down from a sip. “There’s nothing I can do for now, Jacinta. Nothing we can do. Any of us. Until we find a way to jump there with you being not reborn as a baby, we’re stuck. I’m in the process of contacting a guy or two to put a track on her magic signature…you have anything of hers? A wand, a—”
“She’s human.” Jacinta hissed in annoyance. “Well—half. We both are, blood-wise. But she has a negligible amount of magic. She doesn’t even know I’m a witch, or that our mom was. She’s lived a fully human life—and I wanted to keep it that way. Keep it easy for her.”
Silas blinked slowly. He huffed. “Well, I commend you for maintaining the façade. I…never even got her name, you know. You were clearly flustered last night, and I figured she was also off the grid, an—”
“She’s legal. In the country’s system.” she clarified.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
“Oh.” Silas’s brows rose. He dipped the biscotti in his drink, lips curling. “Interesting. Guess your mom knew she wouldn’t inherit the magic like you did…can I have her name? What about your mom, her name? She—”
“Your people took her and killed her.” Jacinta hissed, before reeling and leaning back and cursing under her breath. “I mean—SEE. And humans. But…she’s dead. Or…whatever the fuck you guys do. Her name’s—was—” Jacinta tried to say it, but her tongue twitched, shifted in the wrong direction. She cleared her throat, tried again—and suddenly had a coughing fit. A buzz in her head, pressure against her temples, growing—
A curse. Or rather, a protective ward…on Jacinta? To not say her mother’s name?
She was, before any other name, Mamá, sure, but—she—
“You…uh, having a stroke…?” Silas asked, leaning forward, uncertain but concerned.
“No! I’m trying to say her name—she fucking cursed me. I—I don’t get why…?” Jacinta rubbed her temples, sighing. “Nevermind. Just, uh—my sister. Olivia Maria Carter Suárez. Tilde over the ‘a;’ don’t forget that.” She squirmed in her seat, taking a nervous sip of her coffee. “I’m trusting you only to use that to find her. Nothing else. Right?”
Silas gave her a flat look; he was scribbling her name onto a piece of paper. “I had an endless number of opportunities to turn you in or leave you to die. We’ve been through this. I’ll get revenge on you breaking my nose later; for now…we focus on this.”
He glanced up. “Your mom’s last name is…Suárez?”
Jacinta nodded. “Carter was my dad’s. Before you ask—he’s out of the picture. Has been for years and years. Human, dunno what happened—and don’t care.” She’d already run through the endless possibilities of him, what he’d done, the connections. He severed himself from the family, and that was enough. “Promise me you’re just doing this to help Olivia, and not putting her on any lists…”
“Cross my heart and hope to die? What do I need to do to prove it to you?” Silas mimed the action, brow raised. “Seriously…”
Jacinta sank in her seat, dipping her head. “Sorry. Right. So. You take me and my friend off your search?”
Silas gave a single nod. “I figured that’d be one act of goodwill. I jumped on that earlier than I should’ve, but they were making progress…and I can’t afford to lose you yet. As for the information on Fernanda, not yet. I need some things from you first.”
“There’s a reason why I brought you all the way here…like you noticed.”
“Good.” His expression brightened. Jacinta eyed him for a moment—he, with his features and his smirk and wallet, was a man of endless opportunity and second chances. His brown hair was light, almost blonde in the light. Golden boy.
And he undoubtedly was. Already holding weight in SEE…
“What drew you to them?” Jacinta asked, curious. Too soon? Sudden? Maybe. But she’d only seen SEE in the way that a mouse would study a cat: cautiously, distantly. The power was out of her hands; instead, within the iron bullets in their guns. They were a masked, looming enemy—and was that a problem? Yes. But she had no alternate option, when her very existence was a threat to them.
There couldn’t be shades of gray when any bit of their darkness, their ink, would kill her.
Silas snorted, leaning back slightly. Confidently. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Jacinta’s jaw clenched. “What would you like to know about witches that you don’t? We trade. Info for info.”
He nodded. They both were too curious. “Fine. I go first—magic. Does it…hurt? While it’s just…in your body idly, or in-use?”
“I get to ask two questions—that’s two in one. First, while magic’s idle—no and yes. At least for me, it’s like…period cramps, sometimes. Magic is stored in the blood. It’s just…a biological component of myself, heightened with the blood witch…stuff.” She tucked back her hair. “Sometimes it doesn’t even show up biologically, or even cause any pain at all. Think of it like periods. Well—not like you can relate.”
Silas chuckled, sipping the last of his drink. “Right.”
“And as for magic in-use. Yeah, it fucking hurts. A lot. It’s like your body’s turned against itself, like you’re pulling out your own veins, I dunno—but you’re expelling a part of yourself and channeling it into something else. It’s painful, well—usually. It depends on the magic, but usually, yes. You know how it goes: all magic has a price. Nothing without nothing. People still don’t know shit about magic, but we still haven’t figured out about a lot of things. Like what—the particle and the slits? Observation shifts its direction. And—”
“Particle duality with the double slit experiment. Quantum weirdness. You know about that?” Silas’s incredulous gaze swept over her.
Jacinta’s chest puffed. “Of course I do. Just because I’m a witch doesn’t mean I’m dumb. Education sucked but I—”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Silas cut in, raising a hand. She continued to glare, silent. “Well. I meant it in the sense of your…schooling, not you individually; even I recognize the diff—”
“Right.” Jacinta waved a hand. “At least you’re on the right track, with the save there. Nice job. Should I clap?”
“I always enjoy applause.” The agent’s response was smooth. Trained. Unfortunately.
“I’m not clapping. And my question still stands.” she deadpanned.
“Short answer: my brother got into Fairy Dust. He was my half-brother, technically—ten years older. Got addicted, loved its high, lost himself in the process. You’re familiar with the stories, I’m sure.”
Jacinta’s expression shot solemn. She nodded.
“His isn’t different. He’s human, loved the feeling of having magic—he was strong. Weirdly strong, and capable. I can recognize the flaws; he got off, paid out—he’s a human trying on a supernatural costume; he can’t live your life. So anyway—he got in a mess. A few guys were killed. He wasn’t killed, but he ended up overdosing. I was thirteen.” Silas shrugged. “I wanted to stop, or at least regulate, the drug trade. They sell all this shit that’s cut with wild stuff. And you have blood dens for vampires, the human trafficking there; you have hitmen werewolves turning people without their consent—I mean. I wanted to be a hero.”
She could picture the posters in school: Be a hero. Join SEE. Bring order to this chaotic world. Bold men in uniform, images full of pride, of family, of service, all in red, white, blue, black.
Be a hero.
The witch didn’t know what to say. She swallowed, tilted her coffee cup back—nothing left, a drop—and swallowed, the porcelain clinking against porcelain. Heat brushed against her neck, palms. She wasn’t one of them. Well—she sometimes sold—
No. Not like that. And it was once, an emergency, and—
There was shared pain among supernaturals for all they’d gone through, but there was also betrayal—they had to do everything right. Extra pressure, extra eyes; any wrong move, and they all did wrong in-turn. Worked twice as hard for half as much.
Jacinta swallowed the regret, the thorn. The latte suddenly felt bitter on her tongue. His tragic backstory didn’t absolve any of his bad choices. He wasn’t blameless—nobody was.
She trained her focus back on him. “I’m sorry about your brother. Really. Fairy Dust…I stay away from it. That’s…bad shit.”
Do you feel like a hero? A bitter part of her wanted to ask. She, once more, held her tongue.
“So I guess you were technically right on the only child thing.” Silas chuckled. “At least, for the latter part of my life. And I get what it’s like, to want to save someone so close to you.”
Silence stretched between them: awkward, heavy.
Jacinta swallowed. Cleared her throat. Glanced at the clock, their empty plates, back at him.
“We should go.” She still had to go through the passage portal, talk to the psychic—and actually…experience an Underland for herself. Underlands were the names for the spaces, generally small centers or towns, that were out of human eyes and within the passage portals. The portals were just the transit—the Underlands, the actual collective, recognized area.
Silas couldn’t go in, being human…so she’d feign confusion. Whoops.
He nodded and stood, collecting the plates in a pile, setting a cash tip behind. “Right after you.”
Jacinta forced a smile and walked to the exit, ready to see a part of the world she’d always hid from.