Echo Soul Seekers

desecration

eleven

Dace

Daire walks away from my truck.

Away from me.

Determined. In a hurry. Her shiny brown hair sailing behind her in a way that seems almost mocking. As if to say: You want me? You want to fold me in the palm of your hand, and weave your fingers around my soft, silken strands? Feel free—your demonic brother would love nothing more!

I curse under my breath, kick stupidly at the dirt, and climb inside my truck. An ugly mess of scraped-together bits that, thanks to countless hours bent under the hood, and layers of grease on my hands, houses an engine that purrs.

I glance in my rearview mirror, watching as Daire settles onto Auden’s backseat. Her deep green eyes shining like emeralds, her cheeks flushing pink—smiling so brightly I close my eyes and pretend she smiles for me.

When I open my eyes again, they’re gone. Leaving me to stare into their dust, unable to do anything more than shake my head, spear a hand through my hair, and remember a time when I thought its length was the only thing that distinguished me from my twin.

Yesterday I was naïve.

Today, not so much.

Not after seeing the way he rose up before us—morphed into a freaking snake-tongued beast.

Then there was Daire—looking horrified, sure, but not one bit surprised to see him that way. Making me wonder if she had the dream too?

The one where Cade turned into a monster, stole her soul, and left her lying dead in my arms.

It’s a dream I’ve dreamed too many times.

I drive my knuckles hard against my eyes in a failed attempt to stop them from burning—the direct result of a night spent in torment. Every time I tried to sleep, images of Daire swam in my head. Her eyes gazing at me—trusting me, loving me, giving herself in a way that frightened her more than me.

I was sure it was just the beginning.

Sure that our love could only grow from there.

I’d never felt happier, never felt more fulfilled than I did lying beside her. Vowing to dedicate the rest of my life to making her as contented as I was.

It was a promise I intended to keep.

Still do.

Our separation is temporary. A bitter necessity. It’s what I have to do to keep her safe until I can find a way to deal with Cade.

And though every last bit of it’s true—it leaves me no comfort.

Five minutes without her is unbearable.

A lifetime is completely unthinkable.

But while I can’t risk going near her just yet, can’t afford to even think about her without enabling Cade, I will find a way to end this. I’ve no choice. That recurring dream where she dies in my arms is hardly coincidence. It’s a prophecy. There’s no doubt in my mind.

A prophecy I plan to stop no matter the cost.

There’s no way I’ll stand by and watch as Daire dies. If anyone ends up dead, it’ll be Cade. And if not Cade, then I’ll gladly take his place. If I do nothing else with my ill-conceived existence, I’ll make sure Daire goes unharmed.

I yank hard on the wheel—this ancient heap of rust and metal predates power steering by a decade. About to pull onto the street, when Daire’s grandmother comes through the painted blue gate and looks right at me.

“Although I’ve long suspected, I couldn’t be sure until now.” Her voice is light and breathy, as though returning to a prior conversation I don’t remember having. Confusing me further when she adds, “I’m so sorry.”

I shrug. Rub my thumb over the wheel. There’s a lot to be sorry for lately, but my guess is she’s referring to my broken relationship with Daire.

“You are better than the circumstances of your birth,” she says.

Oh. That.

“You must strive to rise above it. You hold the potential for greatness. You must never forget that.”

She studies me, while I study my hands, unsure how to respond.

“Whatever you do, please don’t beat yourself up. Your mother has indulged in enough self-recrimination for both of you, don’t you think?”

I meet her gaze, wondering how she does it—how any of the elders do it. Paloma, Leftfoot, Chepi, and Chay—how do they remain so hopeful and optimistic in a world overflowing with pain?

“Because we have no choice.” She smiles faintly, answering the thoughts in my head. “There will always be light and dark. How would we recognize one if not for the existence of the other?”

I hold her gaze, knowing I have her full understanding and support. But too overcome by the shame of her knowing what I am—how I came to be, the hideous truth no one bothered to tell me—to appreciate the look of compassion she gives me.

“You must fight the urge to fight fire with fire—no good will come of that. You must lean on your inner goodness and light.” She pats my arm for emphasis, her touch brief, fleeting, but comforting all the same.

Then she steps away from the truck, pulls her cardigan tightly around her, and waves me away. The troubled look on her face blunted by the swirl of dust I stir in my wake.

* * *

When I pull into the school parking lot, the space next to Auden’s is free. But I know better than to park there. Keeping my distance starts here. Now. So I start to drive on, making for the other side, when I notice only two people climb out of Auden’s wagon, and Daire isn’t one of them.

“Where is she?” I punch the brake hard. Search the area for some sign of her.

Eyeballing Auden, who turns to Xotichl, who turns in my direction and says, “She never made it this far—she had us drop her in town.”

“In town—why?” I rub a hand over my chin, trying to make sense of why she’d do such a thing. Watching as Xotichl chews her lip, deciding just how much she should tell me.

Her shoulders rising and falling, she says, “Honestly, she’s up to something—I just don’t know what. All I can say for sure is that her energy was very determined. And, Dace, just so we’re on the same page—I know what happened yesterday. Which just makes me even more worried.”

The car behind me honks. It’s Lita, lowering her window and greeting me with a sarcastic smile. “Hey—Dace. You taking that space or what? ’Cause if not, I’d really like to have it. Sometime today would be good!”

My eyes meet Auden’s, seeing him shake his head and laugh as I wave Lita in. If Xotichl’s worried, I’m worried. And that’s all it takes for me to exit the lot as quickly as I entered.

Telling myself I just need to see her. Make sure she’s okay. Once that’s done, I’ll head back to school, do what’s expected, and I won’t think about her again.

But no matter how many times I repeat it, I know it’s not true.