Echo Soul Seekers

forty-two

Daire

I slip down the alleyway, sneak around the crowd of people taking part in the candlelight vigil, and move toward a place in back where no one can watch as I clasp my pouch tightly and call upon the elements. Summoning Air, Fire, Water, and Earth, I sing their individual songs under my breath and beg for their favor. Pleading with them to do me this one small bidding. Bestow the gift of a Christmas snowfall for a beleaguered town and its people, who because of my failings—my failure to sacrifice Paloma’s soul, my failure to evict all the Richters from the Lowerworld—have suffered far more than anyone rightfully should.

A rustle of wind lashes my hair. A surge of flame licks a path near my feet, leaving a trail of freshly scorched earth.

Though the promise of snow is soon dashed when the light steady drizzle increases to a hard sheet of rain.

I sigh in frustration. Bury my face in mitten-covered hands. Unwilling to reenter the club and face my friends, I head for the chain-link fence. Hoping to lift my spirits by confirming the lock is right where I left it, I round the corner only to find Dace there instead. One hand gripping the lock, the other fidgeting with the key that hangs from his neck.

My knees go feeble and weak, buckling beneath me.

My hand instinctively flies to my chest, as though to keep my heart caged, keep it from leaping free of my flesh.

While my eyes remain riveted on the very thing I’d hoped to never see.

Dace—holding the lock—wielding the key.

Dace giving up on us—giving up on me.

He turns, sensing my presence as his eyes light on mine. One look at my grief-stricken face enough to prompt him to drop the key, abandon the lock, and call out my name—but I’m already gone.

Already turning away.

Catching a glimpse of Phyre watching from the shadows, her eyes strange and glittering as they stare into mine.

I veer toward her. Deciding Lita’s right, it’s time I confront her, demand to know what she’s up to—what it is that she wants. Having just reached her when the rain ceases and becomes something else.

Something lighter.

Drier.

Something that lands in small white squares at my feet.

I lift my chin, close my eyes, and allow it to drift softly onto my cheeks.

Heart soaring in triumph—knowing I did this—I’m responsible—it’s because of me that it’s snowing!

Excited shouts reverberate all around me, as the club empties into the alleyway, crowding the street. Throngs of people pushing and shoving, eager to get to it first—to take part in the miracle, my miracle, the one that I wrought. Voices overlapping, they call, “Snow! It’s snowing—you’ve got to come see it!”

I turn, searching for Dace, needing to see his reaction. Finding him still beside the fence with his hands splayed before him, welcoming the bright white squares that fall onto his flesh.

His chin lifting, gaze darkening, as he motions to me—urges me to see what he sees.

It’s not at all what we think.

Snow is crisp. Pure. Wet.

It doesn’t smudge.

Doesn’t leave a trail of charcoal when rubbed.

Only ash can do that.

We gaze at each other, separated by a shroud of white ash falling steadily between us, and a surge of people eager to witness a miracle that’s really a curse. Dancing and twirling under the deluge, not realizing they’ve got it all wrong.

Not realizing they’re in the grip of something far darker, far more sinister than they could ever conceive.

The earth beginning to tremble as those same squares of ash become a torrent of flames that fall from the sky.

It’s the prophecy come to life, just like the codex foretold:

The other side of midnight’s hour strikes a herald thrice rung

Seer, Shadow, Sun—together they come

Sixteen winters hence—the light shall be eclipsed

Leaving darkness to ascend beneath a sky bleeding fire

All around me shouts of excitement quickly turn to fear, as a crowd of people fight to take cover, push their way back inside. Forcing me to shove my way through them, my need to confront Phyre all but forgotten, as I go in search of my friends. Warning Xotichl, Lita, and Auden to run, to find a way out of here—to get as far from this place as they possibly can.

“What about you?” Xotichl’s face pales as her fingers push into my sleeve, understanding all to well just what this means.

“I’m going to stop this. Fix this. If it’s the last thing I do.”

I jerk free of her grip, aware of her voice calling after me but unable to distinguish the words as I race toward the vortex.