“You have the don ,” her grandmother said, not looking up. “The Gift. It skipped your mother. It did not skip you.”
“Path of Heart,” she whispered.
She raised her own hand—and a black, viscous smoke poured from her palm. Anti-magic. The hunter’s curse. grachi
And Diego? He sat in the corner, doing his homework, occasionally handing her pastelitos . “You have the don ,” her grandmother said,
“She died when I was ten. But she had a book. Old. Leather. With a symbol that looks a lot like those lines on your hands right now.” “You have the don