Rogelia's House of Magic by Jamie Martinez Wood

mother called from somewhere in the house. “We’re home! Where are you?”
    “It’s my mom,” Marina said apologetically.
    “We’ll wait,” Rogelia said. “Go see what she wants.”
    Marina pulled open Rogelia’s door and floated toward the kitchen, deep in a fog of concentration. She didn’t know what an
espiritualista
was, but it sounded good. No, better than good—simply sweet. Marina smiled, thinking how Rogelia had called her powers a gift. Pulling back her shoulders, she stood a little taller than usual as she walked down the hall.
    Her mother was sifting through the bills on the kitchen counter. She stood as formidable as ever in her silk blouse, pencil skirt, and heels, but for once Marina didn’t notice how intimidating she was.
    “What do you want, Mom?” Marina said impatiently. She was kind of annoyed that her incredible introduction to
curanderismo
had been interrupted.
    Marina’s mother raised an eyebrow in suspicion. “What are you so irritated about?”
    Marina stared off into the distance, not really paying attention to her mother. Everything became blurry as she concentrated on the slight sounds of her house, like the humming of the refrigerator, the faucet running in a bathroom, and her sisters, Samantha and Monica, arguing behind the closed door of Monica’s bedroom.
    ¡Marina, despierta!
a voice commanded in her head. The voice sounded young, like a girl her own age.
    Marina snapped her attention back to her mother, who suddenly came into sharp focus. She was watching Marina quite intently.
    “What are you up to?” Marina’s mother asked. “Where were you just now?”
    “I was just hanging out with Fern in Rogelia’s room,” Marina answered quickly. “Rogelia’s granddaughter, Xochitl, is here, too.” She widened her eyes to appear guilt free.
    Marina’s mother continued to scrutinize Marina for any detection of a lie, but finding nothing but benign innocence in her daughter’s expression, she returned to sorting the mail. “What are you doing in the maid’s room?”
    “What’s the matter with hanging out with Rogelia?” Marina asked defensively.
    Ever since Marina could remember, someone had cleaned their house, with the exception of the girls’ bedrooms. When Samantha was born five years ago, they got their first live-in maid, meaning that between Monday and Friday, Marina could leave anything anywhere in the house, and almost like magic it would be neatly put in its proper place within minutes of her walking away from it. It dawned on her that she had never paid one bit of attention to their former maids. What kind of person did that make her?
    “Hanging out with the maid,” Marina’s mother said contemptuously. “Next thing I know, you’ll be hanging out in the barrio.” Sarcasm dripped heavily from the last word.
    “Rogelia is more than a maid,” Marina objected. “She made us the best cocoa ever tonight.” She recalled how comforting that simple gesture had been.
    Marina’s mother glanced briefly at her, then flipped open her
OC Metro
magazine. “That’s why I hire Mexican maids. They’re always so devoted, domestic, and…you know, loving.”
    Indignation and confusion bubbled up in Marina’s head and heart. She watched her mother pour herself a glass of red wine. Why was she talking about Rogelia like she had been bought from a dime-a-dozen-maid service? As if you could hire someone to love your children. As if that was all Mexican maids were good for. “Why would you say something like that?” Marina snapped.
    Watchale,
came a warning voice in Marina’s head.
    Marina’s mother’s left eyebrow rose so far that it disappeared under her perfectly styled bangs. Her right eye lowered into a menacing slant. Her lips thinned and quivered with barely concealed anger. It was the look that could silence Marina and her siblings in an instant. “What did you say?” she asked in a threatening voice.
    “Nothing, Mom,” Marina said, smiling