One would think that after quitting two soul-crushing jobs, life would finally become calmer.But no.At least, not for me.
That morning I was sitting on my bed, surrounded by papers, open folders, and the constant sound of notifications buzzing on my phone. Dates, requirements, copies, forms. Enrollments. Paperwork. Decisions.
I was preparing my school applications.
Communication.
Saying it out loud still felt strange, as if it weren't entirely real. I wanted to study again. I wanted to be a reporter. I wanted to have a future that didn't depend solely on surviving day by day.
As I reorganized my documents, I felt a light pressure in my chest. It wasn't fear exactly… it was something closer to vertigo. Like standing at the edge of something important.
Then I realized I was no longer alone in the room.
—Not bad —a female voice commented—, but shouldn't you look for something lighter in terms of course load? After all, you also have to study witchcraft.
I looked up.
Buganvilla was leaning against the doorframe.
In her bird form, she was enormous—far too large to be mistaken for anything ordinary. Her silhouette resembled an eagle, but there was something different about her: an ancient, dense presence, as if the air itself adjusted around her existence. Her feathers bristled slightly every time she spoke.
—Leave her alone —Iztli replied from my bed—. It's her life. We're just guests.
The jaguar was stretched out among my pillows, his head resting on one paw. He barely lifted his gaze, but his voice was firm.
—It was her decision to take that job —Buganvilla added—. She dreamed of something like this… now we have to help her.
Before I could react, she made a swift leap—far too agile for something supposedly natural. She landed in front of me and began pecking my face lightly with her beak.
—Hey— I protested, leaning back slightly.
—Look at her —she continued—. We have to take care of her. I don't want to see her with dark circles or those sunken cheeks.
—My granddaughter knows what she's doing —my grandmother intervened from the kitchen, her voice firm—. Don't interrupt.
I saw her appear in the doorway as if she had been there the whole time. She walked straight up to Buganvilla, grabbed her with both hands—as if she weighed nothing—and carried her away without any effort. The bird didn't resist.
—This girl needs to study —my grandmother added—. She needs options when this job is over.
—You're too soft —Buganvilla grumbled as she let herself be dragged away.
—Don't call me that —my grandmother replied without turning around—. Go check on your son. He's just lying there doing nothing.
Iztli growled, clearly offended.
I remained seated, the papers still in my hands.
That… was my life now.
That weekend I had discovered that I carried a shamanic and witch lineage, inherited from my grandmother. And with this new job—with how dangerous it was to live among beings from other worlds—I couldn't remain just a spectator anymore.
I had to learn how to defend myself.
That was why my grandmother had invited Buganvilla.
What was strange was that, even though my grandmother was already old, Buganvilla didn't seem to be more than forty. Her energy was young, firm, powerful. And the most shocking thing of all:
She was Iztli's mother.
That raised far too many questions.
How could a jaguar be the child of a bird?Had he been born from an egg?Then why did he have wings?
I shook my head.
That wasn't what mattered.
I had made a decision.
I was going to resume my studies.
I needed something of my own. Something that didn't depend on supernatural contracts or the underworld. Something that would still exist when all of this was over.
The problem was that now I had to combine it with learning witchcraft.
I thought my grandfather would be just as surprised as I was by that revelation, but he was strangely calm. He even greeted Buganvilla by name, as if he had known her forever.
Later, I found out why.
He had been one of her clients.
And something more.
—So —Iztli asked, licking one of his paws—, have you decided which school you're going to?
—Not yet —I replied, setting the papers aside—. What if I make the wrong choice? I don't know if I can handle all of this.
I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. Saying it out loud made the fear feel more real.
—Nothing will happen —he said with a gentle smile—. You'll do fine.
I still didn't fully know how to read his emotions when he was in jaguar form, but that smile… it was genuine.
—For now —Buganvilla interrupted from the hallway—, you're coming to train with me.
Before I could ask anything, her form changed.
Feathers turned into skin. Where a giant bird had been moments before, there now stood a dark-skinned woman with warm skin, brown hair streaked with white that didn't make her look old, but instead gave her an exotic, elegant air. Beautiful. Strong. Imposing.
She took my hand without asking.
—Come on.
The living room furniture moved on its own, clearing the space. My grandmother prepared coffee. Iztli settled onto the couch, attentive. Buganvilla and I sat facing each other.
—Don't drag this out —she said—. You need to learn. Let's begin.
I straightened in my chair.
—What is magic?
I swallowed.
—It's… using power to create things —I answered—. Like spells. Like in the movies.
She shook her head.
—And energy? Where do you think it comes from?
—From us… from the heart?
She pulled out threads of different colors.
—It's not enough to rely on the chaos inside us —she said—. Magic is born from perceiving reality… and manipulating the elements that compose it.
She pulled a yellow thread.
The light in the room trembled.
A green one.
The plants stirred, as if they were breathing.
A red one.
The flame under the coffee pot flared for an instant… then returned to normal.
A shiver ran down my spine.
—Magic is interaction —she continued—. Nothing disappears. Everything transforms. The more affinity you have with an element, the easier it will be to access its power.
I was fascinated.
And at the same time, terrified.
—So… what is my aptitude? —I asked, unable to hide my excitement.
Buganvilla looked at me calmly.
—None.
I felt the ground shift beneath my feet.
—What?
—Your lineage doesn't limit you to just one —she explained—. You're not especially strong in any… but you're not weak in any either.
She paused.
—That's rare.
—And… bad?
—Dangerous —she corrected—. But also an opportunity.
I swallowed.
—What does that mean?
—That you can use them all —she replied—. And decide who you want to be.
Silence settled over the room.
I sighed.
I already had to choose a school.Now I also had to choose… a magical path.
—I don't know what to choose —I admitted softly.
—You don't have to yet —Buganvilla said—. First, the basics.
—So you'll teach me spells?
—No.
She took out yarn and needles and placed them in front of me.
—Start with this. Make me a hat.
I stared at her, incredulous.
—What…?
—Your lineage is that of a weaver —she explained—. You weave spells, concepts, possibilities. For that, you need patience, focus… and calm.
I turned to my grandmother.
—Grandma…?
She fixed me with a sharp look.
—A weaver without control dies —she said flatly—. Or worse.
A chill ran through me.
I looked at the needles.I looked at the yarn.
And I understood that this training…was not going to be easy.