Cough—! "Spit it out, woman!" a voice snapped from the river's edge. Leticia spat river water and mud into the shallows, tasted iron and rotten leaves, and kept her eyes open. The sun cut across the lane in hard lines. The water smeared down her sleeve. She saw faces leaning over the bank like a jury. "You cursed girl!" Jana Becker shoved forward with dirty nails. "You bring the river's luck down on us. You drown and everything else drowns with you." "She came under the moon," another woman said. "I saw her float. She should have died." "Let her drown twice then." Dev Sandoval laughed too loud. He stood behind Jana like a guard who never learned manners. "Back up," Leticia said. Her voice surprised her—clear, calm—because she had to make it clear. "I am not cursed." "A drowned thing speaks!" Jana's hand hooked into the fabric of Leticia's sleeve and twisted. The pinch hurt. "You brought the bad water to our door. You will bring fever, or worse. Pay for what you cost." "You will be paid," a man near the cart muttered. "We don't need bad luck. Keep moving." "She married into this," Jana went on. "A marriage that wasn't kept. She is the sign. The head will want—" "Enough!" Leticia lurched to her feet. Mud sucked at her ankles. She smelled river algae and fish and someone else's sweat. She tasted metal. She reached for Jana's