Rogelia's House of Magic by Jamie Martinez Wood Read Free Book Online Page B

her most annoying big-sister tone.
    “It wasn’t like that.” Fern bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying anything more. She tried to backpedal. “We lit candles, like in church. You know, for a prayer.”
    “You shouldn’t be playing with matches, either,” Pilar warned.
    Fern rolled her eyes. When would Pilar get over this protector routine?
    “If you forgot to put out a candle and something caught fire, I’d be in trouble.” Pilar quickly spat out the words.
    Fern was completely caught off guard. “
You’d
be in trouble?”
    “Remember the time you dropped my curling iron on your arm?” Pilar said defensively. “Your blister was the size of a tangerine.”
    “I was three!” Fern exclaimed. “What did you expect?” Fern glanced over at Pilar before turning down another street.
    “And I was only fifteen. How could anyone have expected me to be responsible for you then?” Pilar folded her arms over her chest in a very characteristic manner.
    “I didn’t ask to be the youngest in the family,” Fern snapped. “No one’s ever around. Mom and Dad are always out dancing or on some second honeymoon.”
    “Being the oldest was no picnic,” Pilar retorted. “Ramon and Raymond got all the privileges since they were boys. I had to wear dresses, tights, and party shoes every day when we lived in Colombia. And you get to run around barefoot with twigs in your hair.” Pilar pulled something out of Fern’s tangled locks and threw it out the open window.
    “Why take it out on me?” Fern turned to glare at Pilar, forgetting momentarily that she was driving a two-thousand-ton car. Without warning the road took a sharp bend to the left. Fern felt a powerful bump as the car went straight over the curb. A painful jolt shot under her rib cage, and her head whipped straight back. The car ran over the sidewalk into a low wall three bricks high, smashed hard into a chain-link fence, and settled on top of it. In immense shock, Fern watched a few grapefruits fall from the tree in front of her.
    A slightly built man with a barrel chest, a large mustache, and a Caesar haircut bolted out of the house, down the asphalt driveway with grass in the cracks, and up to the broken chain-link fence. Pilar jumped out of the car and approached the man, who had begun yelling in rapid Spanish as soon as he saw all the damage. In her patent-leather knee-high boots, Pilar stood a couple of inches taller than the man.
    Fern slumped over and rested her head on the steering wheel. Her arms dangled by her sides. She stared down at the fringes of her batik miniskirt as her eyes teared up. She’d never get her driver’s license with an accident report before she even got her learner’s permit.
    “Are you okay?” a voice asked.
    Fern jerked her head up. A really hot guy, probably sixteen or seventeen, with shoulder-length hair and gorgeous liquid brown eyes, was crouched outside her car, looking in her window. His long eyelashes and perfect complexion mesmerized Fern. Her heart thumped wildly against her chest as she checked out his muscular build through his white tank. Her eyes fell on the tribal-looking tattoo wrapped around his fine bicep.
    “Are you hurt?” Even his voice was hot.
    “No, I’m fine,” Fern purred. He had long, graceful fingers. Piano fingers, her mother would have said. She wanted to reach out and touch his silky-smooth reddish brown skin, but when she stared into his eyes again, the oddest thing happened. Flickers of light flashed like several small stars around his head. The lights sparked on and off at random. It was like watching a miniature fireworks show. She whipped off her sunglasses for a better look.
    The surge of loud voices caught her attention, and Fern turned to look through the windshield. Pilar and the man were shouting at each other, but to Fern’s utter surprise, Xochitl stood behind the man. In the middle of all the commotion, she heard Xochitl say,
“Papá, fue un