She was right when she said we’d need it.” I peered at the map in my hand by the flickering light of our waning flashlight. “I’ve been using her amulet, this ear pendant, to call on her for help along the way. “That was the Great Mother, Tonantzin,” I said. “Who was that, do you think? Another witch? A sorceress?” Delia asked as we plodded along the moonlit path. It took us hours to get back on the right path, or at least, the path we hoped was the right one. To say that we found our way quickly would be to lie. With any luck, we’ll get to Abuelita’s house before dawn.” “Let’s sing the song of the birds and the rain and stay away from the dark places on this map. Mamá’s rain song came back into my head, and, without knowing why, I started to hum it as I pulled the map Teresita’s husband had given us from inside my pocket. From now on, I’m staying as far away from Mexico as possible,” Delia declared. I could barely see my hand in front of my eyes. “The best thing to do is keep moving.” We’d been passed out so long in the cave that night had fallen, but the woods were thick and the full moon was somewhat obstructed. I looked around for some kind of landmark.

I too had a nasty stitch pinching at my side. in a minute.” Juanita got the words out between labored breaths, and I knew what she was talking about. “Yeah,” Juanita said, pressing a hand to her side. “Do you have that flashlight, Juanita? I want to look at the map.” “What do we do now?” Velia asked when we finally stopped at the base of the hill to catch our breath and slow our galloping heartbeats. I looked back, wondering if I should have thanked the goddess before we ran. Juanita and I brought up the rear, making sure our hermanitas escaped ahead of us.

We ran like venadas, frightened deer, fleeing all the way down the hill toward the safety of foreign woods and eerie dirt paths. The Great Mother had saved us, and we escaped without looking back.

The rest of my sisters and I ran for the mouth of the nagual’s cavernous dwelling. Within seconds, a foul stench thickened and permeated the cave. Instinctively, I reached over to block Pita’s sight with my hands, but she pushed me away and stood staring at the gore before us without so much as a single tear in her eyes. The liquid in the giant kettle gurgled and splattered as it ate away at his flesh, and he screamed in what must have been excruciating agony. Unable to stop, a victim of his own momentum, he fell into the roiling mess. In his great haste, he tripped on the hem of his robe and ran right into the cauldron he had been boiling for us. Suddenly, as if in slow motion, he turned sideways and made a dash for the mouth of the cave. He reluctantly made his way toward the cauldron. “No, please,” the nagual begged, inching along the wall.

Juanita summer of the mariposas