Marked by the Moon

The cake sat in the center of the kitchen table, sixteen candles flickering in the afternoon light.

Luna stared at the flames. Something felt off. Wrong. The air tasted sharp. Metallic.

"Make a wish, mija," her mother said from across the table.

Luna leaned forward. The candles seemed too bright. She could hear them. Actually hear them. The tiny hiss and crackle of wax melting. The whisper of flame consuming oxygen.

When had she started hearing things like that?

She closed her eyes and blew.

The room erupted in cheers. Her little brother Diego whooped. Her father clapped. Miguel squeezed her shoulder from where he stood behind her chair, and several of her friends from school laughed and whistled.

The touch burned.

Luna flinched. Just slightly. But Miguel noticed.

"You okay?" he whispered.

She forced a smile and looked up at him. "Yeah. Just startled me."

Lie. She wasn't startled. His hand on her shoulder felt like heat. Like pressure. Like too much.

Her mother started cutting the cake. Chocolate with vanilla frosting. Luna's favorite since she was six.

But when the plate landed in front of her, the smell hit like a wave.

Too sweet. Too strong. Overwhelming.

She could identify everything. Flour. Sugar. Cocoa powder. Eggs. Butter. Vanilla extract. Even the baking soda. She could smell all of it separately and together and it was too much.

"Luna?" Her friend Jenna leaned across the table. "Girl, you look pale. You feeling sick?"

"I'm fine."

"You sure? Because you look like you're about to pass out."

"I'm fine," Luna repeated. Her voice came out sharper than she intended.

Jenna held up her hands. "Okay, okay. Just checking."

Luna picked up her fork. Her wrist itched. She scratched at it absently with her other hand, then froze.

Something was wrong with her skin.

She pulled her hand into her lap under the table and twisted her wrist toward the light streaming through the kitchen window.

A mark.

Faint silver lines. Barely visible. But there. And they were getting brighter.

The pattern looked like a crescent moon with shadow bleeding into it. Something sat at the center. An eye maybe? She couldn't tell. It was too small. Too faint.

But it was glowing.

On her wrist.

Growing brighter with each second.

"Luna."

Her father's voice. Low. Serious. Not his birthday party voice.

She looked up.

He wasn't smiling anymore. He was staring at her lap. At where her hands were hidden.

"Show me your wrist."

The table went quiet. All conversation stopped. Diego stopped eating. Miguel straightened behind her. Jenna and the other friends looked between Luna and her father with confusion written across their faces.

Luna's throat tightened. "What?"

"Your wrist, Luna. Put it on the table. Now."

Her hands were shaking. She could feel them trembling as she slowly lifted her right hand and placed it palm down on the tablecloth.

The mark pulsed with pale silver light.

Her mother made a sound. Sharp and broken. Like someone had punched her.

Jenna gasped. "What is that? Is that a tattoo? When did you get a tattoo?"

Miguel leaned forward, his hand reaching toward her wrist. "Luna, what—"

"Don't touch her." Her father's voice cracked like a whip.

Miguel jerked his hand back.

"Everyone who doesn't live in this house needs to leave. Now."

"Mr. Eclipse, what's going on?" Jenna stood up, her chair scraping against the floor. "Is Luna okay?"

"She's fine. But you need to go. All of you. Now."

"But we just got here. We haven't even finished—"

"Now."

The word left no room for argument.

Jenna grabbed her purse. The other friends shuffled toward the door, casting worried glances back at Luna. Miguel didn't move.

"Miguel." Her father turned to face him. "You too."

"No." Miguel's hand landed on Luna's shoulder again. Gentler this time. "I'm not leaving her."

"You don't have a choice."

"Yes, I do. I'm her boyfriend. If something's wrong, I'm staying."

"Miguel, please." Her mother's voice cracked. There were tears on her cheeks. When had she started crying? "Please just go. We'll explain everything to Luna. She'll call you later."

"Not until someone tells me what that thing on her wrist is."

Luna's wrist burned. The light grew brighter. She could feel it now. Not just see it. A pulse beneath her skin. Matching her heartbeat. Or controlling it. She couldn't tell which.

"Papá?" Her voice came out small. Young. Scared.

He moved to her side and knelt beside her chair. His hand hovered over hers but didn't touch.

"How long have you felt different?"

"Since I woke up this morning. Everything's been weird. Loud. Bright. Strong."

"Your senses?"

She nodded.

"Hearing things you shouldn't hear? Smelling things too clearly?"

Another nod.

Her mother pressed her hand to her mouth. "Dios mío. She's only sixteen. It's too early. She shouldn't have been marked until at least eighteen."

"It's happening anyway, Elena."

"What's happening?" Miguel's voice rose. "Someone explain what's happening to her right now."

Her father stood. Slowly. He looked at Miguel. Really looked at him. When he spoke, every word carried weight.