Brujas TOC
2001 AD
Jutting out against the horizon, a low mesa sat striped with layers of life turned into fossils, shaped by wind and water — a monument to the unstoppable, everlasting force that is Change. To the right of the mesa, dark green shrubs and the occasional thin-trunked tree dotted the landscape and bordered the long stretch of road leading out of the valley.
At the end of the road, an orange dust cloud grew closer every second. High above the billowing dust, a group of about fifteen red-tailed hawks circled slowly, riding the air upwards in a wide spiral.
Catriz rapped the dry pod of mesquite seeds against her palm as she watched the orange haze rise from the wheels of the silver car and dissipate into the late afternoon air. The rattling of the seeds against the thick shell reminded her of the tails of the snakes she often found up in the hills.
A snake slithers this way, indeed.
Heaving a low sigh of frustration, she tossed the seeds into the dirt and dug into the left pocket of her big skirt. She fished out her crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter. The flame caught the tip of her cigarette and glowed brightly as she took a drag. Her right hand slid into her right pocket and grasped the old revolver there.
"Mierda."
Turning toward the house, she left her post by the old mesquite tree and made her way along the stone path to the metal gate at the front of the property. Old hinges whined and the crash of the latch on the fence post sounded as the gate closed behind her and she called out.
"Elvis! Ven!"
An elderly black goat trotted out from the side of the house and met Catriz at the porch steps. She scratched the goat's head and the two of them climbed the steps slowly.
"Looks like we’ve got guests today."
Catriz seated herself on a rickety wooden dining chair facing the road, while the goat sat next to her on the weathered gray boards of the porch. They watched the approaching car, whose silver shell reflected the sun, turning it into a blazing white comet streaking across the valley floor.
She tucked her cigarette between her lips and pulled the revolver out of her pocket, setting it on her lap, and keeping her hand curled around the handle. She rested her left hand on the Elvis's back, patting the old goat gently. They both disliked visitors.
With a quiet screech, the car came to a halt at Catriz's gate. Two people sat in the car for a moment, murmuring to each other. She could tell they were both young women with dark skin.
"Hm. No gringos, thank God," she said to Elvis. The goat kept its eyes on the car.
Both heads in the car turned to her then. She couldn't see their faces well, but the whites of their fearful eyes seemed to glow in the dim interior of the vehicle.
Catriz raised the revolver in her right hand and waved it in greeting. Elvis huffed at her side. The two women turned back to each other and began arguing, their voices raised but muffled.
"Don't worry — I won't do it."
The goat shifted anxiously next to her. Catriz had a bad habit of firing warning shots when impatient, bored, or drunk.
At last, the doors of the small sedan opened and the women stepped out, choking on the lingering dust in the air. One was short, one was tall, and both had dark hair. The short one looked younger and more like the desert people who had inhabited the valley for centuries — the same people Catriz called her own.
The two unwelcome guests made their way to the gate, whispering angrily the whole way but keeping their nervous eyes on Catriz.
The taller one with a big halo of curls and island eyes put her hand on the metal gate.
"Hold up, stranger."
Catriz cocked the revolver in her lap and aimed it at the two women, keeping it low, her finger off the trigger. She lifted her other hand from Elvis and steadied her cigarette as she took a long puff.
At the sound of the revolver's hammer clicking, the goat's ears perked up. It shot Catriz a side-long glance and huffed again.
When the two women registered the sound, they both stepped back instinctively, the short one looking like she was ready to jump back into the safety of the car.
"Catriz Moreno?" the tall one held her hands up over her head as she shouted.
The woman on the porch did not answer. A large plume of smoke rising from where she sat could be seen from the dirt road.
"Catriz," the woman called again, "It's me, Kim Divata. You used to babysit me?"
Again, there was no answer. The shorter woman whispered something to Kim, but she waved her away. Another cloud of smoke rose, temporarily obscuring their view of the homeowner's face.
The shadows from the low shrubs lining the fence grew longer. Evening insects began their low, humming song and the desert air became noticeably cooler. The two women stared up at the flat facade of the small adobe ranch house, seated on a very slight incline.
Leading up to the brown house was a stone pathway that wound in between patches of herbs and yellow-flowered bushes. Chickens of varying colors pecked at the ground, unfazed by the visitors or the tension in the air. The women at the gate could see bright blue curtains in the deep-set windows and a red front door. The porch guarded the front of the house, protected overhead by an old wooden awning.
To the left of where they stood, outside of the fenced-in property, there grew a massive mesquite tree, whose branches spread out in a big dome of foliage. A small fire pit near the base of the tree contained black, cold ashes and a few sun-bleached white bones. The sunset twinkled in various shades of red, orange, and pink between the leaves of the tree as a light breeze stirred.
Catriz stood and descended the steps casually, holding the gun down at her side, her skirt fluttering about her as she walked. Elvis trotted closely behind, tail flicking to and fro.
Both women backed up another step as Catriz approached the gate. She was short, with her hair in two long dark braids, dressed in a boxy white and blue floral top tucked into a light gray cotton skirt that fell to her ankles. If they looked closely, they could see the beginnings of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Otherwise, the sharp-featured face appeared much younger than the surmised 42 years it owned.
The older woman took stock of the two behind the gate, noting that she did remember Kimberly. The short woman Catriz did not know, but she looked familiar, with her angular features and high forehead, much in contrast with Kim's round details that began and ended with curved lines.
"I remember you," Catriz said without emotion, "You still got that island way about you, even if no one else can see it. You had that weird mom, yeah?"
Kim's eyes darted toward her companion before answering.
"Yeah. But she's — um — she died."
Catriz slowly uncocked the revolver at her side and tucked it into her skirt pocket. Kim's companion heaved a sigh, then flinched as Catriz focused on her.
"Y ella?" Catriz jerked her chin up at the short woman, "Who is she?". She looked back to Kim for the answer.
"Her name is Loré. She was a friend of Jenna's. You remember my cousin?"
Catriz let out a whistle.
"The güera? Pues, sí. You don't forget a girl like that, even if you try."
She turned back to Loré.
"I do not envy you. Jenna's got issues."
Loré looked like she was about to speak, but thought better of it. She nodded and shifted her gaze to the goat behind Catriz.
"That's Elvis," the woman said, studying Loré.
Elvis nodded twice, gray-streaked black hair bouncing and fluttering out like a bedsheet in the wind. The goat's red eyes were oddly friendly despite their strange color.
Kim spoke again.
"That's why we're here. Jenna, I mean. We're in," she hesitated, "some trouble."
Catriz did not move her gaze from Loré while she spoke. Her questions came out flat, as if she preferred not to know the answers.
"Hm. And you came to me? After all this time? Why?"
"You're the only one —," Kim started to speak but Loré cut in, now staring boldly back into Catriz's eyes.
"Because you're a bruja."
Her voice was harsh and her bottom lip trembled — with fear or rage, Catriz could not tell. Kim tensed and glared at Loré. It was clear that she had told her to keep quiet.
Catriz squinted at Loré for a moment before shrugging and looking past her at the hawks still climbing higher and higher in the sky.
"I wouldn't call myself that, but I know the rumors."
She lifted the metal latch on the gate and pushed it open, before turning to walk up to the house.
"Come on in."
Cover art comprised of original images by K. Mitch Hodge and Mulyadi, edited under the Unsplash license.
What a delightfully dusty and sharp-edged story. Like a rattlesnake with a wink. You’ve captured that shimmer between threat and belonging beautifully. It’s as if the desert itself is leaning in to eavesdrop. Can hardly wait to see what is next.
This is a great start! I love Elvis! First time I’ve ever said that lol but the goat has my heart. I can’t wait to see how this unfolds!