Rogelia's House of Magic (22 page)

Twenty-four

O
n the drive to St. Joseph’s, Mrs. Fuego noticed Fern’s trembling hands. “You really care for Rogelia?” she inquired.

“Yes,” Fern said. “She’s been very helpful lately.”
And reliable and available.

Fern’s mother looked remorsefully at her daughter. She reached out and squeezed Fern’s hand. “Rogelia will be okay.”

“Uh-huh,” Fern agreed, although she didn’t sound convinced.

As the looming structure of the hospital complex came into sight, Fern felt her heart race. She had developed a dislike for hospitals and a distrust of doctors after they misdiag-nosed her appendicitis when she was nine. From that moment forward, Fern only used naturopathic and alternative remedies if she became ill. She hadn’t even been able to bring herself to visit Pilar in the hospital when she’d given birth to Danny or Miguel.

Since it was after business hours, the parking lot was nearly empty. Fern’s mother drove under the raised arm of the gate and found a spot. Fern opened the door before her mother’s car had come to a complete stop.

“Uno momento, mi amor,”
Fern’s mother said.

Fern jumped out and waited for her mother to emerge from the car. Together they raced under the long and winding outdoor corridors to the hospital entrance. Fern glanced around the waiting room but didn’t see Marina or Xochitl sitting on any of the steel-blue chairs.

Fern’s mother approached the woman sitting behind the reception counter. “Is Rogelia Garcia registered here?”

The woman scanned the computer on her desk. “She’s just left the ER. Are you family?”

“Yes,” Fern’s mother answered immediately, staring the woman directly in the eye.

The woman nodded and peeled off two orange visitor passes. Mrs. Fuego glanced sideways at her daughter and gave her a sly wink.

The woman looked up and handed the stickers to Fern’s mother. “Go straight down the hall, turn right, up the elevator one floor, left, then right again. She’ll be in room two-twenty-nine.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Fuego said, taking the passes. She handed one to Fern, who stuck the pass on her shirt. Mrs. Fuego led Fern down the hall. “If she’s no longer in the emergency room, then they must have her stabilized.”

They passed pictures of donors and members of the hospital’s board of directors. Several passages from the Bible were painted in calligraphy on the walls, and the gift shop was filled with balloons, flowers, and little get-well bears. Fern screeched to a halt.

“I need to get something for Rogelia,” she said to her mom.

“I’ll wait for you out here,” Mrs. Fuego said. “And I’ll keep an eye out for anyone from the neighborhood.”

A bell tinkled as Fern entered the gift shop. She dazedly scanned the aisles.
What happened to Rogelia? How will Xochitl handle another death?
she wondered.

Fern selected a small ceramic angel and paid for it, almost forgetting to wait for her change. When she came out of the gift store, she felt disoriented and couldn’t find her mother anywhere. She wandered the halls, trying to block out the medicinal smell and the urgent calls over the intercom.

Clutching the ceramic angel tightly, Fern located the elevator, stepped inside, and allowed it to take her up two flights. Her mind flooded with memories: Tristán’s kiss, the first spell she and Marina cast, the day when she’d had aura overload and Xochitl had taken her to see Rogelia. Fern hadn’t known Rogelia long, yet the
curandera
had not only healed her but had also helped her uncover a talent that made her feel totally empowered. Fern felt that she and Marina, and maybe even Xochitl, owed Rogelia for their new spiritual lives.

The elevator doors opened, and Fern stepped out onto the third floor. She wandered down the stark halls until she reached a sign that read
THE CANCER INSTITUTE AT ST. JOSEPH’S HOSPITAL.
Without knowing why, she didn’t immediately return to the elevator, even though she was obviously on the wrong floor. Fern stopped outside the first door in the ward. She looked inside and saw an older woman with short salt-and-pepper hair holding the hand of a young man in his late twenties who lay propped up in a bed. The thin skin on his face stretched over his skull, giving him a skeletal appearance. The woman patted his hand. “We’ll be okay. You’ve been a good son, Jeff.”

Jeff smiled at his mother, then sat bolt upright and reached out like he was taking somebody’s hand. In that moment, Fern saw his spirit separate from his body, which fell limp. Jeff’s spirit floated in a circle around his mother, gave Fern a wink, then soared out of the window.

Fern gasped and quickly scurried from the door. The mother’s wail pierced her ears. A buzzer went off. A nurse sprinted past her to Jeff’s room. Just then, a gray light very similar to the aura she had seen over Tristán cloaked every visitor pacing the halls, vibrating slowly.

A terrified Fern turned back and ran to the elevator. She frantically pushed the fourth button and felt the car ascend. Why was she seeing auras and spirits everywhere?

When the doors opened, Fern felt the distinct change of energy on this floor. The vibration was buoyant and happy. Fern stepped out of the elevator and realized she was in the maternity ward. Fascinated, she watched the spirit of an unborn child float beside his pregnant mother as she waddled up the hall. The auras around the visitors and parents were pastel yellow and pink, much happier colors than she had seen downstairs.

Then an idea dawned on her. Hospitals are pretty much a breeding ground for emotions. Most everyone is experiencing some raw, intense feeling right out in the open for a clairvoyant to see. What if colors in an aura reflected the
mood or state of mind
you were in, not the kind of person you were?
What if auras are like crayons?
Fern thought.
I choose which colors to draw with based on my feelings. When I’m happy, I choose joyful colors. When I’m sad, I pick dreary ones. And since there are such strong emotions in the hospital, that’s why I can see so many different auras.

Fern raced back to the elevator and got out at the second floor, where her mother was waiting for her in the hallway.

“There you are,” Mrs. Fuego said.

She and her mother found room number two-twenty-nine, but the door was closed. Marina and her mother came sprinting down the hall. Through the long window on the side of the door, Fern saw Xochitl and Mr. Garcia standing on either side of the bed, holding Rogelia’s hands. Tubes lined Rogelia’s wan face. A machine was monitoring her slow heartbeat. At that moment, Xochitl looked up and upon seeing Fern, waved her inside.

Fern opened the door, and Xochitl melted into her arms. “Xochitl, I’m so sorry.”

The doctor, a tall man with thinning hair and glasses, came in. “Mr. Garcia, may I see you for a moment?” Mr. Garcia nervously stroked his mustache as he followed the doctor into the hall. Fern, Marina, and their mothers entered Rogelia’s room. Fern strained to listen to the conversation in the hallway.

The doctor began tentatively. “We don’t know exactly what is the matter with your mother. There are a few additional tests to run, but frankly, right now, we’re baffled.”

“I didn’t realize doctors could confess to not knowing something,” Fern whispered to Marina.

Marina just shrugged and cast an anxious glance at Xochitl, then at Rogelia.

Fern looked up, and for the first time, she saw an aura around Marina. The light emanating from her friend was not a happy color but a bleak gray light that was pressed against her. It looked exactly like the gray light Fern had seen around Tristán on the first day they had met, around Ruben, and around all those people in the cancer ward.

“How are you feeling, Marina?” Fern asked.

“Really frightened,” she mumbled. “I’m scared for Rogelia.”

Marina was feeling frightened right now. What if fear was associated with the color gray? That would explain the gray auras she saw in the cancer ward
,
but why had Tristán felt fearful on the day they’d met?

Fern instantly recalled the screeching tires, the powerful jolt in her stomach, and the crushing metal of the fence. It had been pretty scary. And when Tristán had first seen Fern, she was slumped over, as if she’d been knocked out.

He was probably scared when he saw me at the accident scene, and that’s the aura I saw
, Fern thought.
And the other day when we kissed, he was probably nervous. I know I was. So Tristán isn’t a bad guy after all. Oh, I
so
owe him an apology
.

However, with one glance at Rogelia, Fern knew there were more pressing matters to tend to. Tristán would have to wait.

“Mom, I want to stay until Rogelia wakes up.” Fern placed the ceramic angel on the table next to Rogelia’s bed.

“Honey, that could take hours, maybe days,” Fern’s mother said.

“Well, I’m staying here,” Fern said stubbornly.

“Me too,” Marina said.

“It will be good company for Xochitl,” Mr. Garcia said gruffly, returning from his conversation with the doctor.

After a few more minutes of debating, both Marina’s and Fern’s mothers relented. Marina’s mother would return at eight p.m. to take the girls home. After the mothers left, Mr. Garcia went to the hospital cafeteria to grab a bite to eat. Xochitl sat down and took Rogelia’s hand.

Fern looked at Xochitl, whose aura was not only gray but also had silver-blue lines swirling sluggishly through it. It was the saddest aura Fern had ever seen.

Twenty-five

X
ochitl held tight to her nana’s hand. She rubbed her thumb over the wrinkles. In light of the horrible truth that she could lose another person she loved dearly, it didn’t seem so important that Graciela had spoken with Marina. Xochitl looked at Marina, whose concern for Nana was evident in her worried brown eyes. What was most important was that they had each other. Xochitl needed to make sure they stayed together.

Xochitl slowly let go of her nana’s hand and turned to face Marina. “I’m sorry I got mad at you.”

Relief softened Marina’s worried expression. She scurried around the hospital bed and embraced Xochitl. “I am so sorry I hurt you.”

Xochitl hugged Marina tightly. “I felt like you had come between my sister and me. No one had ever done that before. I tried for so long to talk to Graciela,” Xochitl pulled back to look into her friend’s face. “It seemed impossible that you could do it after such a short time.”

“It doesn’t feel like anything I’ve accomplished,” Marina said with a shrug. “It’s more like a radio that suddenly gets turned on inside my head. I barely understand how to adjust the volume, much less how to figure out how to change the channel and purposely talk to one person over another.”

Fern laughed. “Next thing you know, you’ll be doing commercials.”

“Nah, it’s not like that.” Marina took Xochitl’s hand. “Do you forgive me?”

“Yes, if you’ll forgive me,” Xochitl replied, smiling.

Marina looked at Rogelia. “Is there anything we can do to help your nana?”

“If there is, then I don’t know what it could be,” Xochitl muttered.

“What about making a potion or something?” Fern suggested.

“Shouldn’t we know what the potion is for?” Marina asked. “We don’t even know what we’re trying to fix.”

“Did you see what happened, Xochitl?” Fern asked.

“She ate a flower, then collapsed,” Xochitl said.

All three girls turned their attention to their mentor. Xochitl felt the prickles of magic race down her forearm. At that moment, Rogelia’s eyelashes fluttered and she opened her eyes. She seemed disoriented and didn’t say anything at first.

Xochitl held her breath.

Rogelia looked around at her protégées.
“Mi’jitas,”
she said hoarsely.

“Don’t try to talk,” Xochitl said.

“I must.” Rogelia cleared her throat and clasped her fingers around her granddaughter’s hand. “I need your help.” She smiled wanly. “Sometimes
curanderas
take on so much fear, pain, and sickness, it sticks to our insides and we can’t heal ourselves, or anyone else.”

“How can we help?” Xochitl asked.

“Work together, stay connected. Use the tools I have given you. I’m counting on you.” Rogelia closed her eyes and lapsed back into unconsciousness. Xochitl, Fern, and Marina exchanged looks before each returned her gaze to Rogelia, as if waiting for a better explanation.

“We need to get outside,” Xochitl said, suddenly confident.

“Why?” Marina asked. “I don’t think we should leave her.” She picked up Rogelia’s hand and caressed it.

“I’m listening to my intuition, just like Nana said we should.” Xochitl marched out the door, and without another moment’s hesitation Fern and Marina followed close behind.

Xochitl watched the elevator doors close and felt the car lurch as it descended. She scanned her brain for a memory of a healing ritual Nana might have taught her. All the work she and her nana ever did required herbs and prayers under a wide-open sky. They needed to be outdoors if they were going to help her nana. After that, though, she had no clue what to do.

Xochitl shook her clammy hands, trying to work up a breeze that would dry them off. She could not handle another death, especially not Nana’s. But Xochitl didn’t feel ready to lead a ceremony as important as one to restore her nana to health; she didn’t feel as if her faith was strong enough, and faith was the core that gave magic its power. Still, Xochitl had to find a way to believe in herself. She had to try.

“We’ve got to do something,” Fern insisted. “A ritual for healing.”

“Another ritual?” Marina asked. “What if we do it wrong and Rogelia gets worse? I don’t know if I want to do magic anymore.”

“You can’t turn off your connection to the supernatural like a switch,” Fern said as the elevator doors opened.

“But—” Marina began to protest.

“This isn’t a game you can just quit,” Fern insisted as she strode out of the elevator and down the hall. They passed a carved statue of St. Joseph standing in an alcove in the wall. Several votive candles sat at his feet.

“We went down the wrong path once. Why should we try it again?” Marina asked as they hurried through the lobby and out the door.

“Con amor todo se puede,”
Xochitl said automatically, remembering how nana had proclaimed that
dicho
to her and Graciela all the time in Mexico.

“With love you can do anything?” Marina translated. “Is that right?”

“That’s right. We can’t back out now,” Fern said as they reached the end of the outdoor corridor. The blue of the early-evening sky was just beginning to deepen. A lone star winked at them. “Walking around the hospital tonight, I saw a spirit for the first time. Seeing beyond the physical is part of me now. I can’t walk away from this. No matter how scared I get.”

Marina looked around nervously, like a child lost in a department store. “What are we doing, anyway?”

“We’ll start with the elements.” Xochitl took Fern and Marina by the hand and led them to a white gazebo. “Magic always begins with the elements.”

“How?” Marina asked in a panicky voice.

“I don’t know!” Xochitl cried.

“I’m sorry,” Marina said quickly. “I want your nana to get well. I’m just so scared.”

Xochitl sat down on the bench in the gazebo, and Marina and Fern did the same. She held her friends’ hands. “The answer will come. We just need to be quiet and sit still.”

An elegant woman wearing heavy perfume and a tailored suit walked to a garden next to the gazebo. She stopped before a three-foot-tall wooden carving of Mother Mary that was surrounded by rosebushes. The woman reached up, held the hands of Mary, and looked imploringly into her eyes. After a few minutes of prayer, she bent over and smelled the flowers at Mary’s feet.

Once the woman had stepped away, Xochitl stood up and walked to the statue of Mary. She bent down to look at the flowers and examined a tight rosebud. She could almost hear Graciela tease her about how her name meant “where the flowers bloom” and how Xochitl remained as closed off as this flower. She had refused to open herself and trust life, always using Graciela as a crutch and bodyguard until she arrived in America without her. Recently, she had been forced to welcome many changes and push way past her comfort zone.

For the first time, the meaning of her name felt more like a compliment than a burden or imposition to Xochitl. It was an invitation to grow, not an obligation.

“They find comfort where the flowers bloom,” Xochitl whispered.

“What?” Marina asked.

Xochitl looked at Marina and Fern, who obviously thought of Rogelia as more than just a teacher. Maybe all their love would help her nana get better. Together they were that much stronger. Suddenly, Xochitl knew what they had to do.

“The journal. We need the journal.”

“I’ve got it with me,” Marina said. “Graciela told me to grab it, so I stuffed it in my purse. Here it is.”

Xochitl took the journal and gave Marina an uneasy smile. Now was not the time to obsess over her sister. “Did you ever notice the sealed envelope in the back of the journal?”

“I thought you put that there,” Marina replied.

“No, it was there before I got it,” Xochitl said.

“It must be a letter from Rogelia,” Fern said with conviction.

“You think so?” Marina asked.

“She’s right,” Xochitl said. “I’m sure of it.”

Xochitl pulled out the envelope and began to read.

If you’re reading this, something has happened to me. Opening this letter means you have accepted responsibility for your ability to heal and do real magic seriously. Share your journal entries with each other. When you do this, light a candle for each of you and one to represent me,
por favor.
As you share with each other, you will break down walls that keep you isolated. By being connected, we will all receive a healing.

Con cariño,
Rogelia Garcia

“I hadn’t even thought to read what you guys wrote when I had the journal,” Marina said. “I just focused on my own thoughts.”

“I read Xochitl’s poem,” Fern admitted. “But I didn’t really get it.”

“Yeah, well,” Xochitl said shyly.

“So who’s going to read their entry first?” Fern asked.

“We need candles, though,” Marina said.

“I saw some inside,” Fern said. “I’ll go get them.” She jumped up and sprinted toward the hospital entrance.

“Isn’t that stealing?” Marina called after her.

“No, it’s
borrowing,
” Fern yelled back.

Marina looked at Xochitl anxiously. “Do you think this will work?”

“I hope so,” Xochitl said.

Fern returned with four votive candles and a stick of incense. “It’s a good thing we’re at a Catholic hospital.” One of the candles was already lit. “I didn’t have matches.”

Xochitl arranged the candles in a square on the floor of the gazebo. She held the incense stick to the candle and, when it caught the flame, blew it out. She placed the stick in the dirt of a nearby planter. Xochitl took the book from Marina and placed it in the middle of the candles. “Who is going to start?”

“I’ll read my entry since you two had to write in it first,” Marina said.

“Which way is east?” Fern asked.

“The mountains are that way.” Marina pointed behind Fern. “So that’s north.”

Xochitl turned to the right of the mountains and faced east. She held up the burning candle. “I welcome the Guardians of the East.”

She smiled when the wick caught the flame and flared up. Then she held the flame to the wick of the votive directly opposite the north.

“I welcome the Guardians of the South.” Xochitl lit the next candle in a clockwise direction. “I welcome the Guardians of the West.” When she lit the last candle and said, “I welcome the Guardians of the North,” it was almost as if Graciela was by her side, encouraging her to embrace the spirits and the true magic of friendship.

So Xochitl grinned at Marina without an ounce of anger in her heart and signaled with a nod of her head that it was time to proceed.