Read an Excerpt From The Wicked Bargain

On Mar León de la Rosa’s sixteenth birthday, el Diablo comes calling.

We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from Latinx pirate fantasy The Wicked Bargain by Gabe Cole Novoa, available now from Random House Books for Young Readers.

On Mar León de la Rosa’s sixteenth birthday, el Diablo comes calling. Mar is a transmasculine nonbinary teen pirate hiding a magical ability to manipulate fire and ice. But their magic isn’t enough to reverse a wicked bargain made by their father, and now el Diablo has come to collect his payment: the soul of Mar’s father and the entire crew of their ship.

When Mar is miraculously rescued by the sole remaining pirate crew in the Caribbean, el Diablo returns to give them a choice: give up their soul to save their father by the harvest moon, or never see him again. The task is impossible—Mar refuses to make a bargain, and there’s no way their magic is a match for el Diablo. Then Mar finds the most unlikely allies: Bas, an infuriatingly arrogant and handsome pirate—and the captain’s son; and Dami, a gender-fluid demonio whose motives are never quite clear. For the first time in their life, Mar may have the courage to use their magic. It could be their only redemption—or it could mean certain death.

“This storm will kill us, you know.”

Mar nearly chokes on the last of the rum trickling down their throat. “What?”

Papá nods somberly and puts the bottle back on the table—lightly, this time.

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The Wicked Bargain

“Why would you say that?” Mar’s face goes hot. It’s one thing to utter a curse like that on one’s enemies—but on their own crew? In the middle of a dangerous storm, no less? Does he want to die? “Take it back.”

“I can’t take back the truth.” Papá pulls a chair away from the table and sinks into it, deflating like the life is leaking out of him. “I’ve known this storm would come for sixteen years. But now the time is here and—” His voice cracks and Mar’s heart punches their chest. Is Papá crying?

Mar’s magia hums intensely, gathering in their muscles and hissing lightning into their ears. The magical warning has only worsened since the storm started, and Papá’s breakdown certainly isn’t helping.

Mar shakes out their prickling hands and pulls a nearby chair over. They sit across from Papá, knees to knees, as Mar reaches over and pulls Papá’s warm hands into theirs. “Talk to me. Why are you so worried? This storm is bad, but I don’t—It’s not the first storm we’ve weathered.”

“My blood screams tonight,” Papá whispers, so softly that Mar almost doesn’t hear him above the roar of wind and rain. Mar shivers. Papá doesn’t have magic to warn him about danger, not like Mar, but he is intuitive. Still, they won’t tell Papá their blood has been screaming too. “This night fills me with fear, but not for myself. I’ve known my time was ending.”

His time ending? Mar scowls. Sure, pirates often don’t have the longest lives, but this storm is hardly the most dangerous threat they’ve faced. It’s not like they’re fighting the entire Spanish Armada at once out there.

This overblown lamenting isn’t like him at all, not even when he’s drunk. And honestly, Mar’s quickly tiring of it. If the crew heard him talking like this, they’d be furious.

“You should be spared.” Papá nods, and even though he’s looking at nothing over Mar’s shoulder, they get the sense he’s seeing something else, someone else. “He saved you—that was the deal. You should be all right. I have to believe you’ll be all right.”

“Who are you talking about?” Mar asks. “You’re not making any sense. Maybe you should get some—”

“El Diablo.” Now Papá looks right at them.

“El Diablo,” Mar says flatly. “Claro. Bueno, pues, Papá, te quiero, but you need some rest. You’ve had too much to drink.”

Mar starts to stand, but Papá grabs their wrist too tightly. Mar hisses and sits back down. “That hurts.”

But Papá doesn’t ease his grip. He leans forward, so close his nose nearly touches Mar’s. “You have to listen to me,” he whispers into the darkness. “I made a deal sixteen years ago. I was young and foolish and desperate. Your mamá—”

“That’s enough.” Mar has heard this fantastical tale just about every time Papá gets drunk. The night of Mar’s birth, young Juan Luis León Rojas supposedly made a deal with the devil and asked for two things: fifty years of prosperity and to save his legacy—Mar, who was born not breathing. El Diablo offered him Mar and sixteen prosperous years that would make him legendary. With infant Mar turning blue in Papá’s arms, he was too desperate to barter for more. Or to ask what would happen when the sixteen years was up. It’s the perfect story to tell over rum and cards on dark nights when the wind sings canciones, but tonight Mar doesn’t have the patience for it.

They yank their arm out of Papá’s burning grip. “You need to sleep it off. Leo can handle the storm tonight, and I’ll help, but you need to be ready to go in the morning, all right? I’ll tell everyone you’re not well.”

“I tried,” Papá says. “I tried to get us to Isla Mujeres before tonight, but the winds were against us.” He presses his palms to his face. “So much gold, sugar, and weapons at the bottom of the ocean…”

“Will you stop that?” Mar snaps. “Keep cursing us and it’ll actually happen.”

“That haul is for the people—”

“And we’ll get it to them—”

“I won’t let el Diablo take you. I won’t. I won’t. You’re my child, mi tesoro. He can’t go back on a deal—that’s the rule. I saved you then; I’ll—”

“Papá,” Mar pleads. “Basta, por favor. Everything will be fine. You’re just drunk. You drank too much, understand? Everything will look better in the morning, I promise.” But even as Mar says it, the words feel strangely hollow.

Maybe it’s the bite of static in the air. Or the smell of rain and salt water thick enough to drown in. Maybe it’s the warning edge of Mar’s magia, or the terrible echo of Papá’s words, but tonight… everything feels wrong.

“Just promise me you’ll survive.” Papá grips Mar’s hand with both of his. “That’s all I want. I don’t care about the gold or the ship—just promise me you’ll make it. Please, Mar, my death will be meaningless if you die too.”

Mar is breaths away from being sick. How can Papá talk about his own death like that—so certainly? How can he doom the ship, speaking of La Catalina like she’s already at the bottom of the ocean? It isn’t just bad luck—he’s practically asking for the ship to sink.

But maybe if Mar agrees, Papá will relax. Maybe he’ll finally go to bed, and Mar can forget this awful conversation ever happened.

“Fine,” Mar says. “I’ll survive. Now will you please get some rest? For me?”

Papá opens his mouth and a lightning strike splits the air—so close, the crash sends Mar’s heart racing and they taste the burned night. Acrid and bitter, like biting into packed gunpowder. Mar takes a slow breath to try to still their panicked heart. Their magia prickles hotly down the back of their neck and washes over their back. Mar freezes. Their magia only ever reacts like that when…

Mar spins around, pistol out and pointed at—

A man. Gleaming, too-new polished boots; dark, unstained trousers; a fine, deep green ruffled silk shirt beneath a fitted black tailcoat with gold buttons. His trim black beard is the kind of perfect that takes meticulous hours to shape, and his dark hair curls around his pitch-black eyes like thorns. If a king were a pirate, this is what he would look like.

But it isn’t his lavish style that makes the hair on the back of Mar’s neck stand on end. It’s something much stranger.

He isn’t wet.