Something's bothering her dad and she can't quite put her finger on it. His magic is toned with something like disappointment and concern (the taste of bitter herbs, the kind she would take as medicine as a baby), but it's not directed at her. Thankfully. She doesn't think she could handle the disappointment that comes from a loved one like her father.
His is a heavy type of dread. Of anxiety.
When she asks, he mentions Tom and it takes Ximena a moment to remember him properly. His pasty skin and awkward way of attempting romance. The cloying smell of his magic and the strong betrayal at knowing he took her bracelet away. The warm gratitude in knowing he reunited her with her father.
She used to call him little buddy in her head, back at Hogwarts. He was over a head shorter than her (perhaps two heads?) and hard to spot unless one was looking for him. It's a little upsetting he didn't stay so small, but it's good that he's healthy. Or at least, as healthy as he can be: the boy looks gaunt. Like he hasn't eaten in months.
"What did he do?" She asks her dad, resting her cheek on her closed fist.
"It's not what he did, it's what he'll do." He frowns, "Something stupid."
"Hm."
She likes it when he's stupid. It's the only time he's charming, she thinks. When he's stupid or when he lets his very guarded guard down. When he's ugly and himself. A monster. It's fun to tease him, push his buttons and see how many shades of pink and red she can get him to turn. Cruel, but fun. Especially when he pushes himself to try and be what he thinks is romantic—He tries so hard to do a good job. Like he's competing with some imaginary rival Casanova. His kissing needs a lot of work, but the effort is touching. Knowing his pride is on the line, that Ximena is worth putting effort into. It feels nice, to be wanted.
She wonders how long his little crush on her will last. It seems to have been brewing under his skin for a while, and it's all coming out at once. A geyser where there was once just a little leak. He's intense sometimes, the way he looks at her. Like if she left the room, he'd be swallowed up by a black hole. Like he wants her to eat him. To look only at him.
It's funny. Cute. A nice distraction. But it can't be permanent (nothing ever is with her), even if she likes him.
Nora was fine with the breakup, because they weren't really together. Not like that. Not official. Nora travels a lot, and rarely is able to visit. Plus, she didn't like Carlos, and that always caused problems. At least Tom pretends to tolerate him, but Ximena can smell his jealousy from a mile away. He's not very subtle. Or, well, he is, but now that she's behind the curtain, she's noticing many things about him. Things others miss. On purpose or by mistake.
It's a strange kind of privilege, knowing him. Seeing him at his worst, his most vulnerable. You think you know someone, someone from childhood, and suddenly they're just different. Other. They murder their grandparents in front of you and obliviate their father and uncle. Who knows what other crimes he has under his belt? He's grown up so fast. Was he ever that little? Was she? What would his younger self see and think if he saw himself? What would her younger self say if she saw him?
"Are you ready?"
Ximena looks up at Wáng, small suitcase in her hand. "Yeah." Since she was six.
Yami's home is a different type of hot. Not in its dryness or humidity, but in its mood. Its feeling. When she shares this with her, she raises a brow but doesn't otherwise contest it. Says that they both have senses the other one doesn't have and speaks no more of it.
Her servants offer Ximena sweets while she waits for her host.
Wáng knows Yami's mother, Ajay, and has been trying to obtain some rare object from her for years. It's something dangerous because Wáng won't tell her what it is and when Ximena asks Yami, she purses her lips and calls Wáng a fool and leaves it at that.
Ximena is here because she wants to talk to Yami. She wants something different from this household. Less tangible. More risky. With great reward.
Yami asks her about the rakshasa summoning and how it went. Marvelous, Ximena replies back with gusto, putting her hands together, "My offerings were taken well, and he gave me wonderful advice."
Yami hums, curious or judgemental. Or both. "He didn't try to eat you?"
"Several times." Ximena curbed its appetite with rotten food and glasses of milk. "He bit the end of my ring finger," She shows off the finger in question, "Nana had to re-grow it."
Her ex-housemate snorts. "It was probably an omen. You'll marry a demon."
"Is that a promise?"
Ximena can tell that Yami thinks she's strange. No matter, because she's still helping her with her curse. That's all that matters to her.
Dinner is an extravagant affair. Ajay Acarya seems to be eager to show off her obscene wealth to her guests and serves dishes in fine china and gold plates, brought to them by a seemingly endless supply of servants. Their reaction to Wáng and Ximena's thank yous isn't to the degree of houselves, but rather like they had just heard something irrelevant and interesting. Ah. So this is where Yami learned to treat wait staff: that lunch in Hogsmeade was never quite forgotten in Ximena's head.
Yama Acarya is what some would call a total opposite of her sister: warm and inviting. Smiling and hospitable. Her modesty is particularly noticeable next to her mother and younger sister, the both of them covered head to toe in gold and jewels. Her magic smells like metals being smelted. Like the earth turned hot.
Ximena does not trust her. The same way she did not trust Eric Acwellan. There's just something about older sisters, she supposes. She wouldn't know. About older sisters, or their apparent power over others.
"Ximena!" Yama's smile is that of a snake's, she knows it well. "Tell me about your studies, Yamuna dearest tells me you've talked to so many creatures—a hulijing?"
Ximena doesn't feel like being polite and just shrugs her response.
The item Wáng wants off Ajay Acarya is a jug. Old by even his standards, and rarer than several items in Nana's personal collection. Ximena's not sure what the jug does or what's inside it, but she's composed enough to know not to ask at the table (she's gotten better at that: at reading a room, being present in the moment).
Hm. Tom would probably figure out what the jug was for. He's too curious for his own good, breaking into her father's study like that. Maybe that's why the man was bothered? No. No, it's something else...
Could it be because they're involved? No no, Ximena knows that her father knows about her and her little buddy (he's not so little anymore! She's reminded every time she looks at him), and it surprises her (and yet it doesn't) that he doesn't mind it. Papá never likes any of her little flings, citing her terrible taste in romantic partners (is it romantic? She never feels romantic, she just feels physical). But he and Nana seem to approve of Tom. Probably because he's smart, and Ximena doesn't usually pick people who are smart.
Luckily he's moronic in other ways. Emotionally. Spiritually.
Yama expresses her condolences over Ximena's curse and separation from her family. Ximena can smell the insincerity off of her.
-
Yami doesn't say anything to her after dinner, but Ximena can tell that she doesn't like her sister either. It might have been something she heard of while in school, or maybe her powers of observation are getting better, but every time the two witches are in the same room, Yami closes like a clam. The woman is already cold, but her sister makes her frigid.
And then there's the extended family: Yami's aunts and cousins respect her and her immediate kin well...But there's some disconnect there that Ximena recognises. Like the main branch was full of foreigners, not belonging. Outsider to their own blood. Ajay and Yama are either oblivious to it or uncaring, but Yami...
If she's not affected by it, then Ximena's not sure what she senses. Why the bitterness of not belonging stains the air between the two branches.
Instead of asking about it, Ximena asks to see the family library.
She's escorted by Yami herself, naturally—Not that they know Ximena well enough to know how much she's scorned by librarians everywhere—it's just that there's probably some secrets in here that aren't meant to leave the bloodline. The Acaryas are very particular about their bloodline. Evidently.
Ximena picks out a book in Greek. The words translate before her eyes into her native language.
"What spell is this?"
"One invented by my ancestor, Ijaya Acarya." Yami explains, "We have family in several countries, several tongues. You understand."
She does, somewhat. Even if not everyone in her family can speak Spanish, there's usually enough people who know the same language or a similar one to get around. Can you teach it to me?"
Yami purses her lips. "No."
"Not even for a trade?"
"..."
She knows when she has interest hooked. Ximena hums and looks down at the book, skimming through it and gazing at the diagrams of death masks[1], "Have you read this one?"
"I've skimmed it." Yami glances at the page, "Horcruxes, yes? Those are evil things."
They're not friends, not even close, but Ximena knows the other enough to know that the witch doesn't use that word lightly. "I've only heard of them." Her long fingers drum on the page, "Restricted section, you know?"
Yami chuckles under her breath, "I remember." She really should have given Ximena more detentions for wandering around the area. Not that she would have remembered to attend them. "You'll do well to stay away from horcruxes, though."
A lot of people have said the same to Ximena about many things she likes. Black magic, monsters, Carlos, summonings. Naturally, she's always ignored the advice. But something in Yami's voice... Something about the golden mask on the page before her makes her think...
"Why?"
"Your soul is cursed enough." Ah. Yes. The reason Yami looks at her like a scientist probably looks at a lab rat. "You don't need to go tearing it up."
Tearing a soul. It sounds absurd. But Ximena knows better.
She presses her lips together, "Tell me anyways."
-
Ximena's favorite memory is one of her dad finding her in a childhood game of hide-and-seek.
She was hiding under a pile of laundry, surrounded by a fresh, clean smell. The smell of her grandmother's clothes: she remembered because of the bracelet. Who Nana was, who Papá was. She was hiding under a pile of laundry and her father found her.
When she finally remembered it, she cried for a solid hour. A month later, she cast her first patronus charm: a little, playful bear cub that would run around the room and follow people when it had nothing to do. No purpose but to play. Unaware that its birth hinged on such a random series of events in her life.
She gives it a name. Keeps it close to her chest as it plays with the owl patronus cast by her father. She tells this name to no one, because names have power. It's what Nana taught her since she was a little one.
Nana still calls her little, chiquita, often.
"Tienes novio, chiquita?"
"No. Nomas un curiosidad."
Nana hums, braiding her tight curls into something manageable (when did Nana get back? When did Ximena get back from Yami's?) Ximena knows that means she approves. And yet, she's not used to this. What is there to do when you're not defending your choice in who you kiss? Hopefully Nana doesn't think it'll last. It's hard to tell with her sometimes. One moment she's a romantic and the next she's cynical. At least Nana's mother and grandmother are consistent: Ximena knows they don't like her little buddy. Her kitten-like little waif[2].
She wonders what he sees in her.
Nana compliments Ximena's hair and comments that she's a very pretty girl. Ximena shrugs and says she wishes her chest was bigger. Nana tuts, says that she has a very pretty slim figure just like her mother.
"Hmm." Ximena inhales, "Can you tell me about her again?"
Nana talks about a tall, slender young woman with dark skin and a bright smile. Who loved to dance and who made her son blush and stutter with only a look. That's how I knew she could keep him out of trouble.
It's strange to think of her father as being her age, once. As being in love. How did he know he was in love? How did he resign himself to it? To one person? What was it like when he told her mother about the curse and how it would affect her? What did she think? Feel?
There's no photos of Ximena's mother in the living room because they're all in her father's study. She wonders what Tom thought about them when he snuck into the room, all those weeks ago. Did he recognise who she was? Did he see a bit of herself in her?
When dad talks about her mom, it's in soft tones of remorse.
"The resemblance is ridiculous." He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, "People say you look like me, but the truth is you're her, rebirthed."
Rebirthed. Strange to think that she lives in a world where that might as well be true.
-
Jealousy is a great motivator.
Tom's been writing letters to her since he went back to school in January, but something must have happened because just before her birthday, his words and writing have gotten... They're different. Not in handwriting or syntax, but in how open he is about feeling. It's wonderfully odd. Strangely bold. The same person she's had to pull teeth from to say that he wanted something as simple as holding hands is the one writing to her about courtship and being his date to something called Slug Club (it sounds familiar and boring—only because she knows it's not a real slug watching club).
Courtship...? Hmmm. Maybe he's taking this a little too seriously. Which is a shame, she's been having a nice time with him, even with his strange little issues regarding touch—it's not a big deal, she just thinks he wasn't hugged enough as a child. One moment it feels like skin repulses him, and the next, he's very close to her and not wanting to dis-attach himself. Like a barnacle to the hull of a ship. As if he would die if separated from her: a very dramatic and alarming thought. Even Ximena survives when she's separated from herself, which is often.
I'm too young to get married or anything. She writes. And so are you. That world isn't for us. They'd be at a disadvantage anyway. Hasn't he realized that? That conditional acceptance isn't worth it? That they would always be looked at as lesser? Different? Other? Or is his skull really so thick?
It probably is. He's stupid. But she supposes she likes that about him, alongside his unique ugliness. He was too pretty for her, at first, with his delicate features and elegant face. It was boring. Something seen in paintings and broody heroes of old. Who would want something like that to gaze at?
But then he showed that other side of him, the real side, and his face became ugly. Wonderful. Truthful. Truth is beauty, Wáng always said. And when Ximena saw Tom's enraged face spattered in blood, she understood. The modern Prometheus, the Wolfman, Dracula; he was all of them, then.
I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.
What a recitation. As if he were possessed. She thinks about it a lot. Often. At times when she shouldn't be. Tom lies, usually, but he wasn't lying there. Truth is beauty. Beauty is truth. In that moment, in more to come, he was beautiful to her.
But really, he has to stop trying to get her back to England. That country makes her feel like a dull knife. Something wilting and boring. All it reminds her of is her years away from home. Her days in a convent that felt endless. Her time waiting to be found.
His sudden want of tradition needs to stop. Next he'll say he wants to wait until marriage, and that's no fun. Not her style. He's lucky he reunited her with her father. Would she even like him otherwise?
She thinks again about his anger. His madness. About how fun it is to make him blush.
Maybe.
-
Yami writes back the day of Ximena's birthday. Notes and estimations on her curse. Theories, references, cross references. Titles of books she knows nothing about.
Yami asks if Ximena knows anyone who's a natural Parseltongue.
-
In the late hours of her birthday, she feels a surge of pressure in her chest. A rising tide in her magic, swelling. Her gut squeezing and body seizing her like a hand had picked her up and thrown her on the ground. The feeling is intense. Overwhelming. Overstimulating. Like she's been placed in the middle of a worshiping circle of witches. Like she's dancing naked underneath the protective light of a full moon: euphoric in her revel. Like her magic itself is being charged with her true name, over and over again.
She wakes, the feeling isn't a dream.
It's spiritually orgasmic. Her soul sings. Her magic blossoms. When the euphoria leaves, it leaves a pleasing, stinging sensation on her skin, in her bones.
What the fuck was that?
-
Her dad and Nana feel the change too, less than her, but still strongly. Enough to tell that something's off. In a good or bad way, they don't know. But Nana's mother contacts them from her travels and Titi stirs in her sleep from the attic. Awakens and asks strange questions about where her mother is and if the spell is broken yet. It takes three people to calm her down. Lull her back to her peaceful, sleeping draught slumber.
But the strangest behavior comes from Ximena's own father. She's never in her memory (which doesn't mean much) remember seeing her father so nervous. Like the curse was going to take her away from him again. He checks to see if the protective tattoos are still active. Recites incantations and prayers and touches her head with blessed water and hugs her tight like he used to when she was little. Still smaller than him.
She doesn't know how to comfort her dad. How to tell him that, she doesn't know how, but this isn't a bad thing. Not like the bad thing he's fearing. That her magic has never felt so absurdly powerful and infinite. Possessed by some ancient queen or being. Like when her soul connects with a summoned creature, and they give the knowledge barred from sharing with humans.
It's a lot like how it felt when she was inducted into the family coven.
Ximena doesn't know what's going on, but she has her suspicions. Very little magic could affect that of her family like this, after all.
Do you know anyone who's a natural Parselspeaker? Yes, actually. And he's been acting very odd indeed.
---
[1] Directly inspired by Seven Devils by sundersoul, which you should read because it's a great fic and the author, Sunny, is a delight.
[2] The period accurate version of 'little meow meow', probably
If you haven't already read it, LMR has a deleted scene between these two that might fill in a few blanks.
Thanks to Jac for beta-ing this