The Evolution of Mara Dyer

22 BEFORE

WE LEFT, MY MOTHER MADE DANIEL AND Noah both swear to watch me every second and made me take my father’s cell phone too, for good measure. She would have fitted me with an ankle monitor if she could have, but I didn’t care—I was just glad to go.

We picked up Sophie on the way to the restaurant; she practically bounced into the car and kissed Daniel on the cheek. He totally blushed. She totally beamed. They were adorable together, I had to admit it.

The perfect pair talked about some concert some famous violinist was giving at the Center for Performing Arts next week, and I leaned my cheek against the cool window of Daniel’s Civic.

The drenched roads rushed by us. Street lamps cast yellow cones of light on the houses below them, which went from expensive in Sophie’s neighborhood to run-down as we neared the restaurant. At a red light, I noticed a cat watching us from the roof of someone’s parked car. When it saw me, it pulled its gums back in a hiss.

Maybe I imagined it.

The restaurant was lit with white Christmas lights outside, and the smell of frying dough invaded the damp air.

“Whatever that smell is,” Sophie said as we went inside, “that’s what I’m having.”

“Churros,” Noah said. “It’s a dessert.”

Sophie tucked her short blond hair behind her ears. “I don’t care. That smell is crazy.”

“So’s the line,” Daniel said, eyeing the assembled crowd. Dozens of people were standing, laughing, talking—all waiting for a seat.

“It’s always busy,” I said.

“You’ve been here?” Sophie asked.

“Twice.” Once on my birthday. And then the first time—the first time Noah and I went out. I smiled at the memory, just as Noah said, “I’ll be right back.”

The crowd pressed us against the bar. “Oh my God,” Sophie squealed, looking at a display of the restaurant’s green and white promotional T-shirts behind the counter. “Those are so cute.”

“You want one?” Daniel asked her.

“Would it be cheesy if I said yes?”

“Yes,” my brother said, but he was smiling.

She wrinkled her nose. “I love cheese.”

So did I, in small doses.

I discreetly inched away from them and toward the glass dessert case. I didn’t care about the food; my eyes roamed over the wall next to it, over to the fliers tacked on a giant bulletin board. That was how I first found Abel Lukumi. Maybe I’d get lucky again.

I scanned hundreds of words as quickly as I could when Daniel appeared back at my side. “Table’s ready,” he said. “Come on.”

“Give me a second.” My brother sighed and went off to sit with Sophie. But as promised, he didn’t leave me alone.

“Find anything?” Noah’s voice was velvet and warm next to my ear. I shook my head, but then four letters caught my eye.

kumi.

They peeked out from under the corner of another flier. I folded the top one over, feeling a rush of hope—

The full word was Lukumi, but as I squinted to try and read the small type, I realized I was having trouble understanding the sentence. Either the context was off, or my Spanish was already fading from disuse.

“It’s a church,” Noah said, reading the text along with me. “Church of Lukumi.”

I bit my lip. “Well, he’s a priest . . . maybe it’s his church?”

Noah withdrew his iPhone and typed something in. “Of course,” he said, sounding resigned.

“What?”

He showed me the screen. There were hundreds of thousands of hits—mostly referring to the Church of Lukumi and a Supreme Court case bearing its name.

“It’s another name for Santeria,” he said, and met my eyes. “For the religion. Whatever that man’s name was, it wasn’t Abel Lukumi.”

He had used a fake name.

I tried not to let my disappointment show as I ate, but it was hard. Sophie didn’t appear to notice, though, and Daniel pretended not to. When we finished dinner, we left the building loaded with Styrofoam boxes full of plantains and beans to spare.

“That was incredible,” Sophie said, her voice dreamy. “I can’t believe I’ve lived twenty minutes away and never knew about it.”

“Good choice,” Daniel agreed, chucking Noah on the shoulder. We all climbed back into the car, and Sophie put her iPod into the dock and played some tense, obscure piece she wanted Daniel and Noah to hear. But just as the music swelled to a crescendo, something small hit our windshield and slid down.

Sophie screamed. Daniel screeched to a stop.

The wheels skidded slightly on the wet pavement, and we found ourselves under a pool of light. The streetlamp illuminated a bloody smear on the glass and the windshield wipers swooped, spreading the stain.

We hadn’t even turned off of Calle Ocho, but it was late and rainy and there was no one behind us, so my brother got out of the car. Noah followed right behind him.

The car was silent but my heartbeat roared in my ears. They were outside for less than a minute before the car doors creaked open again.

“It was a bird,” Noah said, slipping into the backseat beside me. He laced his fingers between mine, and I began to calm down.

“A crow,” my brother clarified. He sounded drained and guilty.

Sophie reached over and put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

My brother just sat there, idling in the lane. He shook his head. “I’ve never hit anything in my whole—”

His sentence was cut off by another soft thump, this time on the roof.

This time, the car wasn’t moving.

“What the—” Daniel started.

But before he could finish his sentence, the thump was followed by dozens more. And not just on our car but also on the road, on the parked cars that lined the street.

We were shocked into silence as a murder of crows fell from the sky.