Serafina left the forest clearing and walked the dirt road to her rustic cottage. It wasn’t much, but it was a real building with tiles on the floor and glass on the windows. Best of all, it was far away from the favelas. If it were not for the bus that came by twice a day, she would never see civilization. What had people ever done for her? The ones who needed her, or rather her services as a Quimbandeira, had no trouble finding her. And there was always someone in need.
Serafina opened the door and stepped inside. She brushed her hand along the wall, feeling for the kerosene lamp, and turned the key to ignite the flame. Long ago she had decided the luxury of electricity came at too high a price. Besides, she preferred to see her sanctuary cast in a soothing glow rather than having its flaws illuminated by harsh fluorescence.
Her kitchen had woodblock counters, a kerosene stove, and pots and cooking utensils hanging from walls. She saved the cupboard for plates, cups, and non-perishable food. Dried herbs, fruits, and vegetables hung in fishnets draped from the beams while fresh herbs sprouted in the pots on the sill beneath the open window, where they could take in the warm night air. Serafina had considered installing screens to keep out the bugs then changed her mind. If mosquitos wanted a taste of the Olegario blood, let them take it and spread her power across Bahia.
Behind the kitchen along the left side of the cottage sat a narrow bed in which Serafina did nothing but sleep. Sex generated more power outdoors, where her head could be open to the spirits and her palms, feet, knees, and—on occasion—her back grounded against the earth.
The rest of her cottage was reserved for eating, relaxing, and storing her many spiritually-charged and mystically-significant objects. Tonight, the living space with its small sofa and table, also served as a sanctuary for her troubled son.
At thirty-four, Carlinhos still slept like a child, curled on his side with his feet tucked close to his bottom as if fearing some monster might nibble on his toes. Carlinhos was the real reason Serafina had sent Jian Carlo home without a romp in the dirt: She wanted to know why, after months of absence, her son had finally come to see her.
She patted the top of his tightly curled hair and watched it spring back from her touch. The color was not as black as hers, falling closer to Henrique’s shade of mahogany. Carlinhos had also inherited his father’s short height but not his beautiful looks.
His lashes twitched then fluttered as he opened eyes the color and shape of a Brazil nut, the one adored by the world. Serafina sighed. Not only was Carlinhos not adored by the world, even his own wife barely tolerated him.
He sat up and rubbed his face. “Is it morning already?”
“Soon. Would you like café?”
“Não.”
She sat beside him. “Why are you sleeping on my sofa instead of in your fancy bed next to your wife?”
“She’s taking Adriana to São Paulo.”
“On vacation without you? Is that wise?”
“It’s not a vacation. Apparently, it doesn’t matter what I think. Adriana has been offered an apprenticeship with Jorge Ortiz Pereira.”
“The pianist. This is wonderful news, não?”
He dropped his head and gave it a shake. “It would be if the da Silvas allowed me to escort my own daughter.”
“Sit up,” she snapped. “You look like a beaten dog when you slump like that. Why does any of this surprise you?”
“Because I’m family.”
“Wake up, Carlinhos. You’re trash that seduced their princess and diluted their fine Portuguese blood. You’re no more a part of that family than the dirt that clings to the soles of their fancy shoes.”
“What can I do?”
“Stop whining and act like a man for once in your life. Let them go.” She waved her hand to stop him from objection. “I’m serious, Carlinhos. You don’t need these people. I have connections. You could start your life over, live it the way you should have done the first time if you had listened to me.”
“But Adriana… I could never let her go.”
Serafina rose from the sofa with a grunt of disgust. With all her power, how could she still have no influence over her son? She turned and stared down at him. “Your wife is a bitch.”
“How can you say that? Cesaria is the kindest person in the world.”
“To others, maybe. Not to you. Don’t be stupid. Get out while you can still have a life.”
“I don’t know.” He slumped against the cushion. “Maybe. But what about Adriana?”
Serafina moved behind him and rubbed the tension out of his shoulders. “How badly do you want her?”
“More than anything.”
She smiled and dug her fingers deep into muscle as the seeds of a new plan began to form.