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granddaughter’s wavering gaze.
    “I’m not interested in ancient history, Nana. I just want my sister back,” Xochitl said sadly.
    “I know,
mi’jita.
” Nana squeezed Xochitl’s hand. “I wish Graciela were here, too. But…
al vivo la hogaza y al muerto, la mortaja.
We must live by the living, not by the dead.”
    Not another
dicho, Xochitl thought wearily. She wished she could shout at Nana and tell her to stop lecturing. But she didn’t dare. Nana was kind but tough, and would not tolerate any disrespect.
    “You have been given life, you must live. To do that properly, you must engage.” Nana patted Xochitl’s chest like she was trying to wake up her heart, but Xochitl could only sigh. “Now quiet down, I am going to pray for you to find friends.”
    “Nana,” Xochitl protested. She pulled Nana’s arm to keep her from performing her ritual, but her grandmother easily broke her grip and marched to the altar.
    Nana pulled out another votive candle, placed it in the center of the altar, and lit it. Xochitl watched the bright flame flicker. The
curandera
sprinkled more of the pale yellow copal resin onto the burning charcoal. The heavy, musky scent of deep magic filled the room. The air felt charged with electricity, like during a storm.
    Up until three months ago, Xochitl believed in Nana’s powers and her ability to defend, protect, and heal. But the loss of Graciela put a dark shadow over everything Nana had taught Xochitl. Even so, when Nana began to meditate, Xochitl closed her eyes and concentrated hard on becoming weightless. Within seconds, her skin felt flushed and her body felt like it was floating. Xochitl wasn’t sure what to do now that she was invisible, but as long as she stayed this way, at least Nana wouldn’t be able to see the look of doubt on her face.

Five
    M arina leaned back against the footboard of her queen-sized four-poster bed and stared at the circle of candles and popcorn. She had to admire Fern’s ingenuity. It really looked like a ritual was going to take place.
    “What do we do first?” Marina nibbled nervously on the cuticle of her index finger.
    Fern pulled Marina’s finger out of her mouth. “Stop that.”
    “Well, what if the store owner in Moonlight Midwifery was wrong, and casting spells isn’t at all the same as prayer? What if a bolt of lightning strikes us from above?” Marina glanced at the ceiling as if she expected shards of electric light to burst through any minute.
    Fern burst out laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding! How did you get so much guilt?”
    “The Catholic religion,” Marina said resolutely.
    “But you’re not Catholic,” Fern said.
    “I know that,” Marina retorted. “But I’m the first generation in my family to not be raised in ‘
the
religion,’ as Grandpy would say. I think I got Catholic guilt through osmosis.”
    Fern stared at Marina in disbelief. “So does your brain ever turn off? I mean, how do you come up with these ideas?”
    “Do you think it’s possible to pass guilt like some defective gene?” Marina insisted as she toyed with the hem of her kelly green Pink sweats.
    “Maybe in your case,” Fern said. “Not to mention a case of insanity and runaway anxiety. When will you ever learn to trust me?”
    “When you say something sensible.” Marina poked Fern on the shoulder. “How is any of this going to work? We don’t know what we’re doing.”
    Sitting cross-legged, Fern teetered side to side. “I’ve got it all figured out. I’ll cast a circle and lead the meditation. Then we raise a Cone of Power, call in the quarters, welcome Spirit, and do the spell. That’s probably when we make the god’s eyes. Then we eat,” she added lovingly, patting the bag of caramel popcorn. “Lastly, we lower the Cone of Power, give thanks, say farewell to the quarters, and erase the circle.”
    “How do you know so much?” Marina was awestruck at the command Fern had over this project. She herself was never that