When Sofia and Antonia were nine years old, they made a blood oath. This is what they called it.

It happened one evening when Antonia slept over at Sofia’s house. Antonia was supposed to sleep on the floor, on a nest Rosa made for her near Sofia’s bed. But every time she slept over, Rosa would come in to wake them and find Sofia and Antonia with their brown limbs tangled together in Sofia’s bed.

On this particular evening they had gone to bed early because it was November, and the city had gone dark and quiet earlier than they were used to, and Rosa had served steaming bowls of soup that made them sleepy. Sofia was in the middle of a ghost story about a sailor forever looking for his missing foot when her hand, idly tapping along her bedframe, came upon a loose nail. Tonia, look, she said, working it out of the wood. It gleamed in the lamplight when she held it up.

Without speaking, Sofia sat up, and Antonia did too.

Sofia took the nail and aimed it at the soft skin of her open palm. She dragged it across her hand, eyes narrowed. She had to do it twice to get the blood. She passed the nail to Antonia, who with held breath scored her own palm. Sofia and Antonia stared at the blood in their palms until they both had thick drops balancing there, and then they pressed their palms together. Each of them prayed for the blood of the other to mix with her own. Each of them imagined she could feel it: just the one glistening drop of it, spreading out inside of her. Giving her strength.

—

The next morning it could all have been a dream, but for the rusted crust both Sofia and Antonia carried with them to the bathroom tap. For a week they had sore hands where the nail, not made for slicing through girlflesh, had bruised as it entered.

And for that whole week, they each hid their hands from their mammas, and from their teachers at school. On Sunday, they avoided looking at one another for the whole meal because they were both sure they would burst into laughter, the kind of hysteria that betrays a kept secret. What’s wrong with you two? asked Rosa. Nothing, they chorused. Nothing, we’re fine.

Before Antonia left, she met Sofia’s eyes, just once. She was standing by the front door of Sofia’s apartment, and Rosa was going to walk her home, because it’s never safe for girls to be out alone after dark. Sofia smiled at her friend. And Antonia winked. Inside each of them, the blood of the other rushed.

And they knew they weren’t just fine.

They were immortal.

Chapter 31