Echo Soul Seekers

nine

“Nieta?” Paloma clasps me tightly to her chest and coos into my hair. “Nieta, what has happened?”

I pull away, furiously erasing the tears with the backs of my hands. Crying is something I rarely allow, and crying in front of others is something I can barely tolerate from myself. I try to speak, but the words sputter and stall in my throat, as if I’m reluctant to give them any more weight, any more power to hurt me than they already have.

Paloma studies my face. Brushing a soft, papery hand across my brow, her eyes shining with compassion, she sighs softly and says, “And so it begins.”

I squint, having no idea what that means. Paloma’s always had an uncanny way of reading my emotions, but this time feels different. It feels like a setup. Like she was camped by the door, waiting for me to burst in.

“I’m so sorry, nieta. I feared this would happen.” Her voice rings sincere, but the words leave me disturbed.

She hands me a tissue I use to dab at my face, until the tissue grows so soggy and useless I crumple it in my fist. “Feared what would happen?” I try to get a read on her, but as usual, her expression is inscrutable. “I haven’t told you anything yet.”

She stares into my eyes, and not missing a beat, she replies, “The life of a Seeker is difficult.” Her hand reaches for me, but seeing the way I recoil at her touch, she quickly drops it to her side. “And romance always comes with a price.”

“So you knew?” I cross my arms in defiance, thinking it would’ve been nice if she’d thought to share that with me. But then again, maybe she did and I just didn’t listen.

She’s definitely dropped a few hints along the way. Including the night just after her soul was returned, when she told me that Dace and I were fated. I was completely exalted by the news, while her own reaction was anything but.

I return to her, a cold chill pocking my skin when she says, “No, nieta, I didn’t know for sure. I merely suspected what the pendulum, along with your appearance just now, have confirmed.”

“But I haven’t confirmed anything. I haven’t said a single word about what happened today. So how could you know? Are you spying on me too?”

“Too?” She lifts a brow.

But instead of explaining, I clamp my lips shut, refusing to say anything more. The vow lasting only a handful of seconds, before I look at her and plead, “Paloma, please, I need to know what you know—and I need to know it now.”

She nods sagely, about to speak when Xotichl pokes her head out from the archway that marks the entrance to Paloma’s office, saying, “Maybe I should leave?” Her gaze seems to dart between Paloma and me as though she can see us.

Great. Now I’m crying in front of my friends. Could this possibly get any worse?

Knowing Xotichl needs Paloma’s help just as much as Paloma needs the money her clients bring in, I shake my head and turn toward my room, saying, “No. You should definitely stay.” Though I don’t even make it to the hall before Paloma’s noticed my finger and pulled me back to her.

“Nieta, how did you get this?” She inspects the wound that just a few hours ago was barely noticeable, but now, after a trip to a grossly corrupted Lowerworld is a hot flaming mess. Then she takes me by the elbow and steers me up the ramp that leads to her office, where she deposits me onto a chair at the square wooden table next to Xotichl, before busying herself at the counter with her potions and herbs.

I peer at Xotichl’s black long-sleeved T-shirt, the word EPITAPH, the name of Auden’s band, scrawled in a blaze of silver across the front, and her dark skinny jeans that are tucked into dark suede boots. With her hair gathered into a loose ponytail that allows her finely honed features to take center stage, I’m struck once again by her quiet brand of prettiness. Her soft blue/gray eyes staring straight ahead, she reaches for my shoulder, and says, “I felt your distress the moment you arrived. I’m so sorry for whatever’s happened. If you want my help, just say the word.”

I smile faintly, so unused to having friends, people to confide in, people willing to help, I’m unsure how to respond. So other than a quick, mumbled thanks, I sit silently beside her. Feet crossed at the ankles and tucked under my chair, as Paloma grinds a handful of carefully selected herbs with her mortar and pestle. Humming one of her healing songs under her breath, she forms the mixture into a thick green poultice she applies to my finger, then wraps a strip of gauze over the concoction, telling me to hold it in place until she says when.

I do as instructed. Waiting for her to join us at the table before I ask, “So how did you know? Or, better yet, what do you know?”

Paloma pauses long enough to warm her fingers against the base of her mug. “I’m afraid it’s all part of the prophecy,” she says. “I read it in the codex.”

I inhale sharply. Vaguely aware of Xotichl stirring beside me, placing her hand on my arm, providing a welcome comfort I didn’t expect.

“Please know, nieta, that a prophecy is a tricky thing. It’s never as black and white as it seems. The language is often confusing, written in code. Allowing for more than one interpretation. It was only when I saw you and Dace together—saw the stream of energy that binds you—that I began to suspect. Then after a little digging, I learned that your birthdays fall on the same day. Did you know that?”

I shake my head, scowling when I say, “Guess I forgot to check his ID.”

My caustic remark causing Xotichl to pat my arm in an attempt to calm me, and Paloma to flash me a look that tells me that while she forgives my mood, she’s not about to answer my question until I get ahold of myself.

“So, what does it mean?” I ask, making a concerted effort to soften my tone. “What exactly is it you’re getting at?”

“While the prophecy hints at the Echo effect, its definition is not entirely clear. I took it to mean that the twins are connected—deeply so.” She looks to me for confirmation, and when she gets it, she adds, “Though, I must warn you, nieta, the prophecy also states that one of you will die.”

Xotichl gasps, squeezing my arm so hard it jolts me awake from my dumbfounded state. I lean back in my seat. Allowing the words to roll around in my head, before I heave a deep breath and say, “Fine. Then Cade dies. I’ll kill Cade. Then it’ll be over and done and we can all move on. And I doubt anyone but Leandro will miss him. And I seriously doubt Dace will mind, since they’re not exactly close.” I stare at Paloma, my decision now made. But she returns the look with an expression of compassion tainted by pain.

“No one is here by accident, nieta. The universe does not make mistakes. Everyone has a purpose, and that includes Cade. Which means we don’t just go around killing people. You can’t be so cavalier when another human life is concerned—” She’s about to continue, but her words are cut short by my own.

“Cade isn’t human. He’s a demonic freak.” I fight to steady myself, to contain the bubble of anger rising inside me. “Besides, I’d be doing the whole world a favor. Things have changed since your day. It’s beyond hostile out there. And while some of that may be my fault for sparing your soul, which allowed them access to the Lowerworld, the fact is, if some prior Seeker had had the foresight to kill them all a long time ago, I wouldn’t be sitting here now feeling like my heart has been crushed while the only future I can look forward to is a dark, lonely, bleak one where I’m expected to fight a battle I’ve been set up to lose.” I narrow my gaze, eager to see how she’ll respond. But Paloma remains true to herself. Steady. On course. Refusing to veer from the message no matter how much I bait her.

“And if some prior Seeker had done as you wish, then Dace never would’ve been born. He may have come in another form, yes, but he wouldn’t have been your fated one. It is written. Nothing here is an accident.”

I sit with the words, unable to deny them no matter how much I despise them.

“Nieta, make no mistake, a Seeker’s job is to restore and heal—to keep the balance between the worlds—and to never stray from the light. We can only contain evil. We cannot eradicate it. As long as humans exist, evil will too. It’s up to us to lessen its effects.”

I pick at the gauze on my finger, unwilling to fold quite so easily. “Yeah, well, maybe that no longer holds true. Maybe it’s time for a new generation of Seeker—one who works in new ways. The balance is clearly out of whack, and I can honestly say, after this last trip to the Lowerworld, that it’s getting worse every day. The enemy is not one you’re used to fighting, abuela. He’s bigger, stronger, more … demonic.” I pause, remembering the way Cade rose up before us—how he and his creepy coyote tripled in size. “You’re used to dealing with humans—bad humans, dark humans, but still humans. But Cade is not human. He’s a psychopathic, demonic freak—the result of magick of the darkest kind. Driven by a pathetic need to impress Leandro by achieving world domination. Oh, and he can also turn into a scaly-skinned, snake-tongued monster at will. I know, because I’ve seen it, and let me tell you, it is not pretty. So, with that in mind, I hardly think pounding a drum and waving an eagle feather will do anything to stop him.”

“Then what about Dace, his twin—is he human?” Paloma asks, her gaze on mine, her voice quiet and even.

“Of course he is!” I frown. Annoyed by the question. “He’s good, and kind, and—”

“And yet, he’s also the result of the dark magick you speak of.”

I squirm under her gaze, not liking what she’s getting at, even though I’m not entirely sure what that is.

“So you’re saying that Dace is the human half of an inhuman twin? How can that be?” She waits for me to respond, but for once, I have nothing to say. My silence prompting her to add, “The world’s greatest atrocities were committed by humans, nieta. Dark, deranged, misguided, egomaniacal humans—and yet humans all the same.”

I continue to rub my thumb over the gauze, enjoying the cooling sensation the poultice provides. At the moment, it’s the only thing I feel good about. “Listen, if he turns into a demon, then he’s a demon.” I nod. Hoping that’ll put an end to the argument. But one look at Paloma, and a quick peek at Xotichl, tells me I’ve failed to convince.

“It’s not quite that simple…” Xotichl pauses, tilting her head toward mine. “I’m sorry, Daire, but I have to side with Paloma on this one. Cade’s energy patterns are not at all like that of the demons that guard the Rabbit Hole vortex.”

“Maybe he’s a different kind of demon,” I say, barely giving her time to finish. “Maybe there’s more than one breed.”

Xotichl shakes her head. Toying with the hem of her sleeve, she drags it over her knuckles and down toward her fingertips. “A demon’s energy is like electrical interference. It’s frenetic and strange, with a vibration that’s hard to contain. Cade’s energy isn’t like that. It’s definitely human—darker than most, no doubt. It’s extremely heavy and dense. But human all the same.”

“But maybe you’ve only encountered him in human form,” I say, realizing I’ve lost the argument the moment it’s out. “Okay, yeah, I get it. Human form, which means he’s human. Still, he’s not a normal human, not even close.” I sigh in surrender. Xotichl’s blind sight is a formidable tool. It bears no bias—it merely states it like it is. Kind of like the pendulum.

“Are either one of you familiar with the legends of the Navajo skinwalkers?” Paloma asks, her eyes darting between us.

Xotichl squirms in her chair, reluctantly admitting she is, while I merely shrug. Having come across the word once or twice, but unable to grasp a clear idea of just exactly what it means.

“They are brujos and brujas.” When she sees my blank look, she goes on to explain. “Evil witches and sorcerers, dark magicians who are able to take on the appearance of other forms.”

“Like shape-shifters?” I ask, remembering the night I spied on Cade via the cockroach. How he stripped off his clothes before his run with Coyote, which struck me as odd (not to mention disturbing). But before I could see anything more, he slammed his boot into me—er, the cockroach—severing our bond. But now, I can’t help but wonder if Cade was preparing to turn into a coyote? I sneak a peek at Xotichl, perplexed by the way she fidgets in her seat, as though she’d love nothing more than a change of subject.

“Similar, but not exactly.” Paloma’s fingers trace the rim of her cup. “They utilize animal hides, also known as magick skin. Draping themselves with the skin of the animal they seek to become allows them to complete the transformation and adopt many of the animal’s characteristics, including the ability to travel great distances rather quickly. They’re able to read minds, to climb inside a person’s head and persuade them to cause great harm to others as well as themselves. It is said that a skinwalker can absorb themselves into one’s body simply by locking eyes with their prey. They’re often associated with Coyote. Though whether or not Cade is an actual skinwalker I can’t say for sure. What I can say is that from what you’ve told me, he, and probably other members of his clan, share the unique ability to transform. And we already know they excel at mind control to the point where they’re able to alter perception. But the fact that he seems able to retain his human consciousness and ego-bound desires while he’s in this altered state, tells me he’s more of a halfling.”

I stare hard at my finger, reminded of the moment Cade and I locked eyes at the Enchanted Spring–turned cesspool. How I felt him tug on my soul—siphon my energy. The thought makes me shiver.

“Only in Cade’s case, he merely transforms into the physical manifestation of the true nature of his soul.” Reading my confusion, she adds, “His soul is dark—when he transforms, he’s merely exhibiting what lurks inside.”

“Like turning himself inside out!” Xotichl grins, instantly grasping what I was still struggling with.

“So, does that mean Dace can turn into a rainbow, or an angel, or a dazzling white stallion with wings?” I ask, regretting the words the instant Xotichl cringes and Paloma shoots me a look.

“I’ve no doubt that Dace has the power to transform into something very powerful and good. Though I’m not sure he’s discovered that yet,” Paloma says.

I sigh in surrender, knowing they’re right. Dace is good. Cade is evil. And yet they’re equally human. Which means I’ve got to find another way to stop Cade. But at the moment, I have no idea how to begin.

“It’s still two against one,” I venture, hoping to find comfort in the thought. Then seeing their confusion, I add, “What I mean is, I’m mostly good. Dace is all good. And since we’re in love, and since love always wins—since the light always shatters the dark—we’re destined for victory, right?” I glance between them, only to watch Paloma push away from the table and head for a locked cupboard I’d never paid any real notice to until now.

Retrieving an ancient, leather-bound tome, she plunks it down before us, and says, “Why don’t we consult the codex?”