From the Author
I’ve finally sat down to start writing a fantasy novel I’ve been kicking around for years. I’ll be posting it every two weeks if time allows, and I’d be very open to feedback. Thank you for reading, I hope you like it!
Chapter 1
Mila and her grandmother live in a corner unit on the 71st floor of the 200-floor Beuna Vista Luxury Apartments. The name is a misnomer, and anyone living in the apartments knows they are not luxurious.
The Buena Vista Luxury Apartments is a large rundown and broken stone and iron tower. Every inch of the building is covered in an unwashable layer of filth, and there exists an ever-present rotting odor that sticks to the skin. Some believe that the building was built intentionally faulty, smell and all. There is also the belief that the blackouts and leaks are planned and the appliances were designed to stay broken. Despite its many faults, it is widely accepted that living at the Buena Vista Luxury Apartments is better than living in the slums on the outskirts of the mega city.
Its residents, crammed as close together as the laws and regulations allow, may spend the rest of their lives not knowing their neighbor, but everyone in Buena Vista knows Doña Guille.
Doña Guille is an 80-year-old small brown woman with soft brown wrinkled skin. She keeps her hair short she dyes a regal shade of red regularly. Although her clothes are never new, they are always clean and well-maintained. She looks like a proper lady of society, and people treat her as such because Doña Guille is the tower’s bruja, their witch doctor.
There isn’t a baby in the building she hadn’t delivered, an illness she hasn’t cured, a fortune she hasn’t read. There isn’t a person in this building who hasn’t made their trek to floor 71 at least once. Whether or not they believe in witchcraft, there isn’t a person in the building who wouldn’t go to her at the first sign of illness.
Doña Guille lives humbly in the one bedroom she shares with her granddaughter. Those who enter find themselves in a room with a small plastic table and a wall of planters surrounding it. The purple light from their lamps spills over strange and exotic-looking herbs. Their sweet and minty scent fills the room and mixes with the strong incense that constantly burns. The scent masks the rotting smells and soothes the soul. The purple glow spills onto the plastic, reflecting off the dulling cardboard of the deck of Tarot cards that sits permanently at its center.
On the opposite wall is a wall of vials and jars filled with strangely colored liquids. Potions in miscolored glass that are constantly cycled. At the end of the room, there is a metal desk shoved against the wall. Spread across it are old broken appliances whose guts spill across every inch of the table. Wires and random parts almost spill onto the floor. There is an impressive collection of salvaged vintage tools that hang neatly across the face of the wall. A spotlight hangs recklessly over the center of the workspace.
Mila sits on a small worn stool behind the lamp light. Her gloved hand turns at a screwdriver. Her brown hair sits in a messy bun. There are splotches of oil and grease across her clothes and dark brown skin. Her almost golden eyes peer through the dirty off-colored goggles as she slowly takes apart the dented metal toaster.
A small wrinkled hand grabs at her shoulder and breaks her concentration. “Tienes habre mija?” Doña Guille asks with a smile.
Mila turns and removes her headphones. A low buzzing leaks into the room, turning into a barely audible rumble. Mila looks down at the old watch wrapped around her wrist. It was almost midnight. Her stomach starts to growl. “I guess I should eat.”
The table was already set. A plat of brown mush sits next to a glass of milk. “I made the oatmeal like you like it,” Doña Guille says as she sits in the empty seat across from Mila. She had eaten her dinner earlier that evening. Mila begins shoveling the oatmeal into her mouth. “Have you been practicing the spells I’ve taught you?”
Mila stops eating. Her eyes dark around the room nervously. “Um..” she begins, searching for an excuse. “Just a bit.”
A glimpse of sorrow seeps into Doña Guille’s eyes. She sighs. “I know its silly, pero es importante. You’re the only one left I can teach the old language.”
Gilt washes over Mila. “I know Ama, pero I’ve been busy with work orders. I’ll find some time, I promise.”
“I’m not going to be here forever you know. You need to take advantage that I’m here.” There was clear nervous urgency in her voice.
Mila puts down her spoon and looks over her old grandmother. At that moment, the wrinkles seemed deeper. There were new dark blotches on her skin and a few white hairs were beginning their defiant peer through all the red. Mila grabs her grandmother’s hand. Her warm soft skin feels good to Mila’s touch. “I’ll start tomorrow, I promise. Besides,” she smiles “I already know the word for fire.”
I knock at the door startling the two women. They stare at each other for a moment. “It must be more work,” Mila says as she gets up from the table.
There is a well-dressed man at the other end of the knock. He wears a new and fitted suit and his hair is slicked back with a product that doesn’t exist in this part of the megacity. His dark brown skin seems to glow even in the dim flashing light of the hallway. “Hola,” the man says as he removes his gloves. “I hear you can tell fortunes.” He smiles, flashing his white teeth.
“Ama…” Mila says, still processing the situation. “I think it’s for you.”
