THE HOUSE OF MEMORIES [J. GRACE]

EIGHT

leo's mind was reeling. the adrenaline coursing through his veins along with the usual adhd caused his fingers to twitch with the need to be fiddling with something. he couldn't believe he'd stood up in front of a bunch of stronger, braver demigods, and volunteered for a mission impossible leveled death wish, a mission that would more than likely get him killed.

leo hadn't mentioned seeing tía callida, his old babysitter, but as soon as he'd heard about jason and chandler's vision, the lady in the black dress and shawl, leo knew it was the same woman. tía callida was hera. his evil babysitter was the queen of the gods. stuff like that could really deep-fry the frontal lobe.

as the pair stumbled almost blindly toward the dark woods, where surely a ravenous dragon with a reputation of deep frying campers, and other un-namely creatures lived, leo tried not to think about his childhood. he tried not to think of all the messed-up things that had led to his mother's death. but he couldn't help it.

the first time tía callida tried to kill him, he must've been merely the age of two. tía callida was looking after him while his mother was at the machine shop. she wasn't really his aunt, of course— just one of the old women in the community, a generic tía who helped watch the kids. she smelled like a honey-baked ham, and always wore a widow's dress with a black shawl.

"let's set you down for a nap," she said in a croaking voice the leo thought nothing of, but recalling it once he was older always sent shivers down his spine, the voice never leaving his memories. "let's see if you are my brave little hero, eh?"

leo was sleepy. she nestled him into his blankets in a warm mound of red and yellow pillows. the bed was like a cubbyhole in the wall, made of blackened bricks, with a metal slot over his head, and a square hole far above, where he could see the stars. he remembered resting comfortably, grabbing at sparks like fireflies. he dozed, and dreamed of a boat made of fire, sailing through the cinders. he imagined himself on board, navigating the sky. somewhere nearby, tía callida sat in her rocking chair—creak, creak, creak—and sang a lullaby. even at two, leo knew the difference between english and spanish, and he remembered being puzzled because tía callida was singing in a language that was neither.

everything was fine until his mother came home. she screamed and raced over to snatch him up, yelling at tía callida, "how could you?" but the old lady had disappeared.

leo remembered looking over his mother's shoulder at the flames curling around his blankets. only years later had he realized he'd been sleeping in a blazing fireplace. the weirdest thing? tía callida hadn't been arrested, or even banished from their house. she appeared again several times over the next few years. once when leo was three, she let him play with knives.

"you must learn your blades early," tía callida insisted to leo, handing him one of the sharpest of the bunch, "if you are to be my hero someday." leo managed not to kill himself, but he got the feeling tía callida wouldn't have cared one way or the other.

when leo was four, tía callida found a rattlesnake for him in a nearby cow pasture. she gave him a stick and encouraged him to poke the animal. "where is your bravery, little hero? show me the fates were right to choose you." leo stared down at those amber eyes, hearing the dry shh-shh-ssh of the snake's rattle. he couldn't bring himself to poke the snake. it didn't seem fair. apparently the snake felt the same way about biting a little kid. leo could've sworn it looked at tía callida like, are you nuts, lady? then it disappeared into the tall grass.

the last time she babysat him, leo was five. she brought him a pack of crayons and a pad of paper. they sat together at the picnic table in back of the apartment complex, under an old pecan tree. while tía callida sang her strange songs, leo drew a picture of the boat he'd seen in the flames, with colorful sails and rows of oars, a curved stern, and an awesome masthead.