Echo Soul Seekers

thirty-eight

Daire

Paloma pokes her head into my room, frowning when she finds me sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor amidst a scattering of feathers, crystals, candles, the pendulum, my rattle, the drum, and the athame, its blade polished and gleaming. The trappings of the Seeker trade—along with the codex propped open beside me. “Any luck?” She leans against the doorjamb, surveying the mess.

I lift my shoulders. Allow my eyes to meet hers. “Sure. I’m loaded with luck—at least where my magick’s concerned. Thanks to you and all that you’ve taught me, I’m amazed at how far I’ve come, and how quickly. And yet, I’m not sure how it’s going to help me defeat Cade.”

“Every bit helps, nieta. Every piece fits neatly into the other.”

I sigh. Having no doubt it’s true, though the pieces I seek seem to lie just outside my reach, and I don’t hesitate to tell her as much.

“What does the book say?” She crosses her arms before her, tilting her head in a way that encourages her braid to slip over her shoulder and fall to her waist.

“The book says plenty, most of which I don’t understand. You’ve read it, so you tell me, what is it I’m missing?”

She glances down the hall, as though she’s worried about someone overhearing, then in a lowered voice says, “I’m not sure that you’re missing anything. I’m not sure Valentina was able to foresee all that you’re up against. Some things are for you to discover on your own. That is always the way.”

I sigh. Wishing this wasn’t always so difficult—wishing that just this once, the answers would come easily. Then I discard the thought just as quickly. Easy has never been part of the equation, and from what I’ve experienced so far, it’s foolish to expect such a thing. It’s up to me to figure this out and prove that I’m worthy. No one else can do that for me.

“Thing is—Cade’s freakishly strong.” I shudder when I say it, remembering the way he held Dace off with one hand that horrible day at the not-so Enchanted Spring. “And when he’s not guarded by his creepy coyote, he’s surrounded by his army of undead yet very loyal ancestors. And despite feeling so much stronger, so much more empowered, than I did a week ago, I’m worried it won’t be enough. Chances are I’ll have to get through them in order to get to Cade, and I’m not sure I can do it. Also, I know I haven’t mentioned it, partly because I didn’t really know what to make of it, and partly because I didn’t want to give it any more power than it already has, but—” I pause for breath, my eyes meeting hers. “The dream is back.” I study her expression, but Paloma fights to keep her face as unreadable as ever. “It’s haunted me ever since we left Dace at Leftfoot’s adobe, and it’s always the same. Dace and me enjoying ourselves in the Enchanted Spring, until Cade arrives, turns into the beast that he is, and steals Dace’s soul, leaving him dead in my arms.” I cringe, the memory so clear it’s as though it’s occurring before me. “While Cade’s made it clear that he knows about the dream, what I can’t figure out is if he’s found a way to manipulate my dream state, or if it’s a prophecy all of us share? And speaking of the prophecy, I was hoping to find a different way to interpret it, but it’s pretty clear-cut, isn’t it?”

The grave look on Paloma’s face provides all the confirmation I need.

“So anyway, what about you guys?” I ask, eager to steer the subject away from me and onto her, hoping they’ve met with more success than I have. Aware of the constant ritual and vigil the elders have engaged in ever since the day they learned about the level of havoc and destruction Cade’s wrought. “Have you and Chay made any progress? And what about Chepi and Leftfoot?”

She looks at me, both of us all too aware of the name I failed to mention.

Dace.

I can’t risk speaking his name. Can’t risk her guessing what I’ve done. That I went behind her back, used the skill she taught me, and visited him via the raven.

Still, it’s impossible to lie to Paloma, and one look at her face tells me she knows more than she lets on.

My fingers fumble for the small golden key at my chest—remembering the feel of Dace’s skin, his lips pressing against the feathers, the weight of his touch …

I shake free of the thought, shove the key back under my sweater, and return my attention to my grandmother.

“Chay just returned,” she says. “He and Leftfoot ventured into the Lowerworld to conduct a little reconnaissance. From what he tells me, it’s settled for now. And by that I mean that the mine is still operating, the spirit animals are still listless and dull, and the Lowerworld is sorely polluted. Though our combined efforts seem to have worked in stabilizing it and keeping it from getting any worse. Or at least for the moment. There’s no telling how long our magick will hold. Fixing this will require something more drastic.” She chases the words with a pointed look.

“In other words, the next move is mine?” I pose it like a question, though we both know the answer. It’s entirely up to me to fix this. It’s what I was born to do.

“Soon, you’ll be ready, nieta.”

I lower my gaze to the mess of tools. Soon isn’t quite good enough. I needed to be ready right now. Time is a luxury I just can’t afford.

I knock the book closed with my knee, vowing to face Cade tonight. There’s no more delaying. The longer this goes on, the more people will suffer. Besides, I heard what Dace said, saw the determination in his gaze. I have to get to his brother well before he can. As long as he’s under Chepi’s watch, he’s safe. The prophecy can’t possibly play out if she’s keeping him under lock and key.

Which is why I have to move now.

To delay any longer is to risk everything.

I lift my face to Paloma. “It’s time,” I say, my voice determined and sure. “My training’s complete and my magick … well, it could probably be better, but it’s still pretty dang good. At any rate, I have to act now, before it’s too late.”

She regards me sagely. Relaying so much emotion in one single look: Her regret that my life requires so much sacrifice—her pride that I’m embracing the challenge despite all the dangers—her fears for my safety, the very real possibility that I won’t live to see twenty.

“It’s not enough just to have a goal, nieta. You need to have a plan to see it through.”

I consider her words for a moment, knowing there is no strategy, no plan, and no time to come up with one. Then I look at her and say, “I don’t have a strategy. So, I guess I’ll just do as you taught me and think from the end.”

Her fingers fidget with the buttons running the length of her cardigan. Taking a moment to consider, she nods her assent and says, “Well, first you’ll have to do something about this room. Your friends are waiting in the den. I doubt you want them to see you like this.” She gestures at the mess, her grin growing wider when I set my room into a frenzy of motion. Straightening my bedspread, restacking the pillows, and returning all of the random, loose objects into the trunk where they originated. Everything tucked neatly away, despite the fact that I haven’t so much as lifted a finger.

“Do not underestimate your abilities or your readiness, nieta. Especially not after such an impressive display. Your telekinesis has come a long way.” Her voice grows hoarse with emotion. “It’s really quite remarkable.” She pulls her sweater tightly around her, observing me for a long quiet moment, before she swipes a hand across her cheek and goes to summon my friends.

* * *

By the time my friends reach my room, I’m lounging on my bed with my back against the headboard and my legs stretched before me. Running a quick hand through my hair, as Lita saunters in first, saying, “So this is your room?” She tosses her hair over her shoulder and takes a good look around. Surveying the space through squinted eyes and lashes caked with a liberal use of mascara. “I have to be honest, Daire—it’s not at all what I expected.”

“What were you expecting?” Xotichl navigates her way to my bed, where she sits at the end.

Lita shakes off her jacket, drapes it over the back of my chair, and drums her fingers hard against her hip. Inspecting my desk, the dream catcher hanging over the window, the tall dresser with the picture of Django displayed on its top. “I mean, it’s not like I haven’t been here before, though I never made it past the den. I guess I didn’t expect it to be so much like the rest of the house. I thought it’d be more stylish. More fashionable. Maybe even—dare I say—glamorous. I thought there’d be at least some small smidgen of something, anything, that might hint at your former Hollywood past. But, nope. The only word to describe this four-walled box is efficient. Your room is clean, tidy, and efficient. It does what a room is supposed to do and no more.”

“Sorry to disappoint. Guess my Vane Wick poster got lost in the move.” I push deeper into the row of pillows at my back, reminding myself that this is just Lita being Lita, there’s no use taking offense. And when she turns to me with flashing eyes and curving lips, I brace for whatever comes next.

“Speaking of…” She pauses dramatically. “You never want to talk about it. But since it’s Christmas and all, I was hoping you might relent and toss a little Tinseltown morsel my way.”

She steeples her hands under her chin, striving for a hopeful, angelic expression, which only makes me laugh. “I knew it!” I shake my head, pretending to be far more upset than I am.

“Knew what?” Her eyes grow alarmed, though she keeps her hands firmly in place.

“I knew that’s why you befriended me. I’m just surprised you held back for so long.”

Her hands drop to her hips, as the look of feigned innocence fades. “Not only is that not fair, but it’s also not true, and you know it. I mean, how about showing a little mercy for the less privileged among us? This is the only place I’ve ever lived. I grew up in Enchantment and I’ll probably die here as well. The most I can hope for is the occasional shopping trip to Albuquerque. I’ll never have the opportunities you’ve had, so the least you can do is throw me a bone.”

“You have to admit, it’s a pretty good argument,” Xotichl says. “Besides, we’re your friends, and that’s what friends do. They dish about the past—whine about the present—and fantasize about the future.”

“You guys really know how to wage one heck of a guilt trip,” I grumble. Though the truth is, I’ve already decided to spill. What harm could it do? “What do you want to know?” I ask, directing the words mostly at Lita, watching as she gnaws her bottom lip in feigned consideration, although the answer comes so quickly, it’s clear she’s rehearsed it.

“Two things.”

I narrow my lids, try to guess what they’ll be.

“First—how was Vane Wick as a kisser? On a scale of one to ten. One being the worst ever—and ten being—”

“Ten being Dace!” Xotichl cuts in.

“Ew.” Lita makes a face of distaste. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but I can’t get over him being Cade’s twin.”

Join the club.

“Seriously, though—was it dreamy? I mean, it must’ve been superexotic since you were in Morocco and all—but details are desperately needed. Nothing but full disclosure will do.”

I glance at Xotichl, surprised to find her leaning toward me, just as hungry for the details as Lita. Then I slide my eyes shut and allow myself to remember. Allow myself to travel to a time before Dace. Though it seems like there was never really a time before Dace. It feels like he’s always been with me.

“You know, originally I was so angry about that tabloid story and the way he betrayed me, I promised myself if anyone asked, I’d claim that he was totally overrated. But the truth is, he was a really good kisser.” I slide my feet across the duvet, bringing my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms loosely around them. “But then, he should be. He’s had a lot of practice, both in real life and movies.”

Lita presses one hand over her heart while fanning herself with the other. Swooning onto my chair so dramatically, I can’t help but laugh in a way I haven’t indulged in for a while. And it feels so good to have this moment with my friends, I go on to say, “But—you know who’s a terrible kisser?”

Xotichl perks up as Lita slides to the edge of her seat, lips parted in anticipation.

“Will Harner.”

“No!” Lita cries, face lit with the kind of delight only the juiciest scandal can bring. “But didn’t he win an MTV award for Best Kiss?”

“Trust me, he’s the absolute worst—all spit, teeth, and crazy/floppy tongue. It’s like sitting in the splash zone at Sea World or going through a car wash with the top down—you end up drenched. The actress who played opposite him is truly gifted.” I cringe at the saliva-filled memory.

“So disappointing.” Lita sighs. “Still, I totally envy you. Even if it was a sucky, sloppy kiss, the fact is you still got to kiss him, while I’ve been stuck with the same group of boys my entire life. How can you stand it here? I mean, yeah, granted, I used to think this place was the greatest. Heck, I used to think I was the greatest—like Cade and I were the king and queen of Milagro High.”

“Um, that’s because you were Milagro royalty,” Xotichl says, causing Lita to roll her eyes and groan at the not-so-distant memory.

“I guess so,” she admits. “Still, it’s so weird how I no longer care about that stuff. It’s like I spent my whole life working to maintain my position as top dog—or top bitch as most people would say—but now all I can think about is ditching this place as soon as high school is over. I can’t get out of here soon enough.”

Her gaze drifts, as though searching for the exact moment when her opinion of Enchantment changed. Having no idea it happened on the Day of the Dead. The night a chunk of her soul was restored—released from those undead Richters and returned to her.

She’s no longer under their spell. No longer seeing this place the way they once manipulated her to see it. For the time being, they’re unable to touch her, unable to tweak her perception. And if it’s up to me, they’ll never be able to reach her again.

“This town is the epitome of dull,” she says. “Truly. I don’t know how you guys stand it.”

“It’s really not that boring.” A smile plays at the corners of Xotichl’s lips as she tilts her head toward mine. “It just seems that way at first.”

Lita quirks her brow, not at all in agreement. But then, she doesn’t know about the hotbed of supernatural activity brewing just under the surface. And with any luck, it’ll stay that way.

“Up until now, I’ve never had a place to call home. And while it may not be the kind of place I dreamed about, still, it’s not all bad,” I say, my mood turning serious again as the full truth of my words descends upon me. As bleak as this town undoubtedly is, there’s no denying the fact that some of my most treasured moments have taken place here. I’ll do whatever I can to defend it. I just hope I’m successful. I pull a pillow onto my lap and hug it tightly to my chest.

“You say that because you’re in love.” Lita glances between me and Xotichl. “Everything looks better when you’ve fallen hard for someone. It’s only when the magic wears off—and trust me, it always does—when you can finally look back and say: What the heck was I thinking?” She picks at a loose string on the hem of her tight V-neck sweater. “Or maybe that’s just me.” She sighs, allowing her hands to fall to her lap. “Maybe I’m just jaded after wasting my entire youth on Cade Richter.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve got a whole lot of youth left in you.” Xotichl laughs. “You’re not officially old until you’re twenty-five, right?” She leans toward me, seeking confirmation.

“Actually, I hear that forty is the new twenty-five. So, if that’s the case, Lita’s got loads of youthful years to look forward to.”

“Great.” Lita groans. “Decades of bad dates unfolding before me—oh, joy.” She fills her palm with a chunk of her hair and hunts for split ends. “It’s easy for you guys to laugh since obviously you’ll never have to worry about that. Have you seen the way Auden looks at Xotichl?” She releases the strands, slumps low in her seat. “It’s pretty much the epitome of what every girl dreams of. And clearly there must be more to Dace than meets the eye.” She shoots me a guilty look and quickly corrects herself. “Well, obviously there is. Objectively speaking, if I’d never met his creep of a twin, I might be willing to admit that he’s cute. Maybe even hot. Heck, everyone else seems to think so, so there must be something to it. Still, the evil specter of Cade trumps everything. So, in the end, I’ll just have to take your word for it.”

“Anyway—” Xotichl prods, wisely steering the topic away from all things Cade. “What was the second question?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Lita shrugs, still mired in deep disappointment over the lack of cute boys in this town. “I was going to ask what other famous people Daire might’ve kissed, but after hearing about Will Harner, I think it can wait…” Her gaze veers toward my dresser, and a moment later, she’s jumping to her feet, retrieving the picture of Django in the silver frame. “Who’s this hottie?” she asks.

“That’s my dad,” I say, breaking into laughter when I see the appalled look on her face.

“Clearly I’m in need of a boyfriend.” She replaces the photo, shuddering with shame over her mistake. “Or at the very least, a date. Lusting after people’s dads is really a bad sign, isn’t it?”

“He was sixteen in the picture. So it’s entirely age appropriate,” I tell her. “Besides, I think he’d be flattered.”

She makes a gagging face, reluctant to even contemplate such a thing. Then she grabs hold of my sleeve and drags me off the bed. “C’mon,” she says. “Get dressed, we’re going out.”

“Where?”

“The Rabbit Hole.” Xotichl grins. “Where else?”

“That’s why we’re here.” Lita leads me to stand before my closet. “It’s an Enchantment tradition to go there on Christmas Eve and stay until just after midnight.”

“Does every holiday revolve around the Rabbit Hole?” My gaze shifts between them, failing to share what I really think: That this is all working out perfectly, as though it’s meant to be. First I’ll go to the Rabbit Hole, then I’ll find a way to slip free from my friends and get to the vortex, and finally I’ll deal with Cade once and for all.

“Pretty much.” Xotichl shrugs, as Lita starts riffling through my clothes. Choosing one of the new tops Jennika gave me that I haven’t yet worn.

“Wear this.” She tosses it to me. “And do your hair curly like you did at my party. You looked really pretty that night.”

“I can never replicate that look. My mom’s the one with mad makeover skills, not me.”

“Maybe so,” Lita says. “But what you forget is that your mom taught me a few tricks. And after a lot of practice, I’m getting pretty good. So go on, get changed, and then meet me in your bathroom. You have an appointment with a curling iron and some serious eyeliner.”