Santiago never asked to be special. He’s spent his whole life being unlucky—the kind of unlucky that leads to paint buckets toppling onto his head, scarves getting caught in lockers, and a very unfortunate history with seagulls. But when he stumbles into a hidden world floating above his own, he discovers something far stranger: his bad luck might actually be magic.
Now, Santiago has been chosen as the Seer of Flamingo Springs, a role that places him at the center of a centuries-old mystery. The only problem? He has no idea how to do magic, no interest in being anyone’s mystical advisor, and a whole city that isn’t sure they want an “Underlander” in their ranks. But with powerful forces watching his every move, a dangerous secret hidden in the city’s past, and a countdown on his very existence in this world, Santiago has no choice but to figure things out—fast.
Birth
It was more than a babymoon—it was a celebration for the young Peruvian couple. Carolina had been awarded a fellowship for her research proposal to study local government in South America, Carlos had remodeled a small bus into a food truck, they’d bought a small townhouse, and had become U.S. citizens the previous month. Carlos suggested a spontaneous road trip to California to make the most of their remaining weeks before the baby arrived. Carolina wasn’t wild about spontaneity, but Carlos talked her into it, just as he always did.
The night of January 4 was chilly, especially for Carlos and Carolina who were used to the much warmer temperatures of Trujillo, Peru where they grew up. Carolina suggested going to bed early, but Carlos wanted to go stargazing on the beach like they’d done when they were dating. The idea sounded so peaceful and romantic that Carolina agreed to it after minimal coaxing.
They drove the short distance to Moonstone Beach, which was quiet. The sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore soon lulled the young couple to sleep, cuddling together for warmth in the crisp January air. But Carlos soon felt a firm tap on his arm.
“Carlos, Carlos, despiertate!”
“Que pasa?”
“The baby—the baby’s coming!”
Carlos snapped awake. “He’s not due for two weeks!”
“You don’t say?” Carolina said, half amused, half exasperated. After all, if anyone knew that, she did.
Carlos fumbled to gather their things but Carolina stopped him.
“No hay tiempo,” she said, grunting.
A few minutes later, a piercing cry interrupted the sound of the ocean. Underneath the light of the full moon, Santiago Benjamin Huamán Pérez was born to two surprised, but grateful parents.
Toddler Santiago
Semi-Lucky
When Santiago was barely old enough to crawl, he managed to do the one thing every adult turns their back for two seconds fears most—he wandered into the street.
By the time his Mamá looked up from her weeding, a semi-truck was already rolling through the normally quiet suburban street.
She let out a frightened scream and sprinted across the lawn, a mortified feeling inside as the truck passed directly over him.
And kept going.
A moment later, Santiago popped up on the other side of the road, completely unharmed, giggling as if he’d just discovered a new game.
The truck had somehow straddled him perfectly. His Mamá hugged him, her dirt-crusted fingers holding him tightly.
She would later wonder what a semi was doing in their quiet suburban neighborhood, but she would never know.
Two True
When Santiago was almost three, his small family gathered around the TV to watch Peru face New Zealand in a make-or-break World Cup qualifier. Like most toddlers, Santiago had very strong opinions about things he absolutely did not understand.
Specifically, numbers.
For reasons known only to him, every time someone said “Peru,” Santiago would shout, “Two!” while holding up the wrong number of fingers. And whenever someone said “New Zealand,” he’d respond with an emphatic, “Zero!”—usually while upside down on the couch.
At first, everyone ignored him. Then they started noticing a pattern.
“Peru,” Papá said cautiously.
“Two!” Santiago declared.
“And New Zealand?”
“Zero.”
Now fully invested, his parents began testing him like he was some kind of extremely unreliable sports analyst. Sometimes they’d switch them around to try to trick him.
“New Zealand?”
“Zero.”
“Peru?”
“Two.”
This went on for the better part of an hour, with Santiago growing increasingly dramatic each time—at one point shouting “TWO!” so forcefully he fell backward into a pile of cushions. Moments later, Peru doubled their lead. A corner ricocheted through a crowded box, and Christian Ramos pounced on the loose ball, driving it home from close range.
Peru won.
The final score was Peru two; New Zealand zero. It was the first time in 36 years that Peru qualified for the World Cup.
The room went quiet. Slowly, everyone turned to look at Santiago, who was now asleep on the floor, clutching a toy car and snoring like he hadn’t just predicted an international soccer match.
The family later tried to get him to weigh in on the next two games versus Denmark and France, but Santiago didn’t seem very interested in numbers anymore. Every time his papá tried saying, “Peru?” Santiago merely gave him a confused look.
Peru lost both games.
For years, his family told the story as a joke and his father would occasionally tease him, saying that if he’d just predicted a few more goals, Peru might have advanced.
Early Childhood
Field Day
When Santiago was in Kindergarten, he won every heat of the 100-meter dash on field day.
Not because he was the fastest.
Because everything else went wrong.
In one race, every single kid tripped while he ran past them.
In another, a boy about to overtake him ran straight into a flying bird.
And in the final heat, Santiago was in second place—until the kid behind him fell and knocked him forward just enough to cross the finish line first.
He won.
Everyone cheered. His teacher told him he did great.
Santiago wasn’t so sure.
Pizza (Re)Delivery
When Santiago was eight, a delivery driver showed up at his house with ten pizzas.
Ten.
Santiago hadn’t ordered them. His parents were both upstairs—one in the shower, the other on a phone call—and his step-twin James had just come over to hang out.
The driver checked the receipt, frowned, and shrugged. “Address says here,” he said, like that settled it, then handed over the stack and left before anyone could argue.
James stared at the boxes. “We just got ten free pizzas.”
Santiago didn’t move.
“I don’t think they’re ours,” he said.
James blinked. “They are now.”
Santiago shook his head slowly. “No . . . they go somewhere else.”
“How would you know that?” James asked.
Santiago hesitated. He couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t written clearly on the receipt, and the address was smudged anyway.
He just… knew.
“Come on,” Santiago said, grabbing half the boxes.
“This is ridiculous,” James muttered. He hesitated, then grabbed the remaining pizza boxes and followed anyway. “If we get lost, I’m eating one.”
Santiago led them down the sidewalk, past their driveway, and around the corner without stopping once.
“You’re guessing,” James said.
“I’m not,” Santiago said, even though he had no idea how to prove it.
They stopped in front of a house neither of them had ever been to.
Santiago knocked.
A moment later, the door swung open to reveal a frazzled parent and a room full of kids sitting around a table with paper plates and absolutely no pizza.
“We ordered—” the parent started, then froze.
Santiago held up the boxes. “These?”
The reaction was immediate—cheering, chaos, and the kind of relief usually reserved for heroes and people carrying large amounts of melted cheese.
James stared at Santiago as they handed over the last box.
“. . . Okay,” he said. “That was weird.”
Santiago just shrugged, like it hadn’t been.
But on the walk home, he kept thinking about it.
He hadn’t read the address.
He hadn’t guessed.
He’d just known.
It wasn’t long thereafter that things changed for the Huamán-Pérez family. Since then, his family has done its best to move forward—blending, adjusting, and figuring things out together. Santiago just isn’t sure he’s ever fully caught up.