Echo

  Jennika scowls. She hates when I act all righteous, especially when I truly am right.

  “Anyway,” I add, desperate to move on. “You remember how to get there?”

  “How could I forget?” She slows to make a turn, then picks up speed. Bouncing in her seat as the rental car plows down a series of rough dirt roads. “Last time I was there, it was decorated with skeletons and skull masks. Hard to forget a thing like that.”

  “From what I hear, they’ve replaced the skeletons with twinkling fairy lights and a liberal dose of mistletoe—so be careful where you linger.”

  “Linger?” She balks. “Oh no, my job is to drive you. I’ve no intention of joining you.”

  I relax into my seat, trying not to look too relieved to know that our mother-daughter bonding won’t extend beyond this car. The last thing I need is Jennika hovering over my shoulder, providing up-to-the-second tips on how to win my “love war.”

  “I thought I’d head back to Paloma’s. Maybe check out that box you told me about. You know, that one with Django’s stuff?”

  “I think you should.” I force back a smile, trying not to sound too excited by the prospect.

  Jennika needs to look in that box. She’ll never be able to forge a future with anyone if she can’t reconcile the past.

  “Or I might just go back to the hotel and crash.” She drums her fingers against the steering wheel, accurately reading the true intention behind my words. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Up to you.” I pick at my cuticles, pretending not to care either way. Jennika’s so stubborn, so obstinate that if she guesses this in any way relates to the conversation we had in the bathroom, when I tried to convince her to give Harlan a chance, she’ll make sure to do the opposite.

  We ride the rest of the way in silence, until she stops outside the Rabbit Hole and says, “I thought you said you hated this place?” She eyeballs me suspiciously.

  “You sure that was me? ’Cause it sounds more like you.” I flip down the visor, check my makeup in the small, lighted mirror. Barely recognizing myself, what with all the painted-on sultriness and big, frothy hair.

  “Oh, I definitely said it.” She frowns. “And I’m sure I’ll say it a few more times before I head back to LA. I’ll never understand your attraction to this place.”

  “And yet you still come to visit and offer to drive me around. So altruistic of you.” I flip the visor up, grab the door handle, ready to say good-bye and get on with my night.

  “Playing chauffeur seems to be the only way I can clinch any quality time with you. For such a dead-end town, you sure seem to keep busy.”

  “Yeah, it’s called school. Homework. You know, the kind of life normal people have. Crazy, I know.” I shake my head, slide toward the edge of my seat.

  “Is that what this is about—you wanting to be normal? Because we can do normal, Daire. You should see how normal my life has become.” She swivels in her seat, looking at me with a face so full of hope I can’t help but look away.

  I stare hard at the Rabbit Hole, the very symbol of why I’ll never be normal again. As long as there are Richters, I’ll have no choice but to live the kind of life I’m only just beginning to understand.

  Being a Seeker is my new normal. It’s the life I’m going to have to learn to embrace. These lighthearted bickering sessions with Jennika are about as normal as my life will permit.

  “So, Secret Santa, huh?” Jennika fusses at my hair, determined to reclaim my attention. “Whose name did you pick?”

  “Lita’s.” Turning toward Jennika, I add, “But Lita got Dace so she traded with me.” My voice sounds small when I say it. Prompting me to shake it off, remind myself how much has changed—how much I’ve changed—in just a few days.

  “So, Lita got … herself?” When our eyes meet, we both burst into laughter, until she focuses on the bag I hold on my lap. “Are you going to tell me what you got him?”

  “No.” I gaze down at the bag, clutching it tighter, as though to keep her from snatching it. Which, she probably wouldn’t do. Still, with Jennika, you can never be sure. “I’d really rather not.”

  She studies me for a long moment, heaving a sigh of resignation as she says, “You need me to pick you up too?”

  “I’ll find a ride. You just go do whatever you decide to do.” I open the door, start to squeeze out of the car. But just when I step onto the street, I’m overcome by one of those impressions—astounded by the amount of sadness and loneliness Jennika holds in her heart. Enough to prompt me to turn back and say, “If you want to stop by tomorrow, I can saddle up Kachina, borrow a horse from Chay, and we can go for a ride?”

  Jennika smiles. “Sure. Why not? It’s been a while since I got my cowgirl on. But for now—” She fumbles through her purse, pulls me toward her, and dabs a dot of shiny, clear gloss smack in the center of my lower lip. Then she smudges a thumb over each cheek. “Okay, now you’re completely irresistible. Go knock ’em dead.”

  I make for the entrance, but only because I can feel her watching me from the car. The second she drives away I dart for the back, where I busy myself with the prep work. Using every item I stored in my bag, before I run a self-conscious hand over the mane of curls I’m not used to wearing, and head into the club.

  Barely having enough time to acclimate to the dim light and noise before Lita grabs hold of my sleeve. “Finally!” she says. “I thought for sure you were going to wreck my party!” She huffs, rolls her eyes, and shakes her head simultaneously. It’s an impressive, dramatic display. “But—you’re here now!” She engulfs me in one of her Lita hugs that, between the surprising amount of sincerity and the cloud of cloying perfume, always leave me reeling.

  “So, where were you anyway? Why are you late? Did you come with Dace—because he’s not here either. Or, correction, the old beater truck he drives is here, but I haven’t seen him anywhere.” She draws away and runs a scrutinizing eye over me. “And who did your hair and makeup? Is Jennika in town? Do you think she’ll do me?” Not allowing me any time to respond, before she adds, “Whatever. We’ll cover that later. Just—come. C’mon!”

  She tugs hard on my sleeve and steers me past a huge Christmas tree with branches so stuffed with ornaments they sag under the weight. Then she drags me down mistletoe row, scowling at any guy foolish enough to look at her with a gleam in his eye, stopping only when she reaches the group of tables nearest the bar, where pretty much the entire junior class sits. Including the people who, just a few weeks earlier, she’d deemed completely unworthy of noticing.

  “Yeah, I know what you’re thinking.” She fields my look of surprise. “First I befriend you. Then Xotichl and Auden. Then Dace. And now, it looks like I’m willing to be friends with just about anyone.” She lifts her shoulders, looks all around. “What can I say? I’ve turned into a complete and total friend whore. Then again, it is Christmas, and that always puts me in a giving mood. So I decided to expand my horizons and allow all of these losers to come to my party.” She smiles and waves at a small group of them, and the way they react to being noticed by her—overexcited and giddy—well, it’s a good indication of just how much power she wields.

  I may have the power of the elements and the power of my ancestors on my side, but Lita has the power of charisma—attracting people to her like bees to a flower.

  “I have something for you,” I say, once we’ve met up with Xotichl. “For both of you. Auden too.” I dig through the contents of my purse, in search of the small, crudely wrapped packages I pass on to them. “Sorry about the wrap job—I didn’t have much time.”

  “Who cares about the paper?” Lita says, not missing a beat before she’s ripping into her gift. “It’s the insides that count, right?”

  I glance between them, noting Lita’s disappointment and Xotichl’s joy, when they discover a small carved opossum and bat respectively.

  “It’s a talisman.” I bite down on my lip.

  “I know what it is.” Lita looks at
me. “You can’t grow up in Enchantment without being surrounded by loads of superstitions.”

  “It’s not just superstitious,” Xotichl says, curling hers into her palm. “These animal totems protect us, look after us, in more ways than you realize.”

  “Says the most superstitious person I know.” Lita laughs, playfully bumping her shoulder against Xotichl’s.

  “Maybe so. But just so you know, these aren’t like the ones they used to sell in the tourist shops—back when we had tourist shops. These are—”

  “Fortified,” I cut in. “They hold the power to protect. But only if you wear it, keep it nearby, and try not to share it with anyone else. Present company excluded, of course.”

  Xotichl tucks Auden’s gift into her pocket, and her bat into the soft buckskin pouch she recently started wearing, while Lita looks on with a skeptical expression. “I don’t have to start wearing one of those, do I?” She jabs a thumb toward Xotichl’s pouch. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m appreciative of the gift, and those pouches look okay on you guys, but I wear a lot of deep V-necks. It’s gonna stand out—and not in a good way.”

  “You can put it in a pocket,” Xotichl says. “Or…”

  Lita gazes down at her outfit, in search of a good place to stow it. But her red velvet dress with the faux white fur trim around the sleeves and hem is so tight, short, and pocket-free, it doesn’t allow room for anything more.

  “Oh, I know—I’ll put it in my boot!” She grabs onto my shoulder for balance, leaning forward as she wedges it deep into the shaft of her shiny, black, knee-high stilettos. Enveloping me into another one of her infamous perfumey hugs, she says, “I love it. Truly. I was just giving you grief. Guess I’m a little shocked at how easily you’re fitting into the way things are done around here.” She pulls away, runs her palms down the front of her dress. “And now, I leave you with Xotichl. She’s the only one I truly trust to look after you and make sure you stay put. And if either of you happen to find Dace, make sure you grab hold of him and make him stay too. Secret Santa is an exact science, you know? Everyone must be present and accounted for or it doesn’t work.” She leaves us with that, storming toward the stage where Auden’s band Epitaph plays. Waiting impatiently for them to finish their set so she can take their place.

  “Dace isn’t here?” I face Xotichl, trying to keep the worry from my voice, but it’s no use—she sees right through it.

  “He’s around. I felt his presence earlier. But you better not go looking for him. Lita’s kind of scary when she’s in party dictator mode. And now that she’s made you my responsibility, you need to stay put.” Xotichl laughs. “Bet you didn’t realize you held the fate of the entire gift exchange in your hands?” She cocks her head to the side. “Or—did you?”

  I laugh when she says it, though the truth is, it’s not entirely sincere, and Xotichl, true to form, is quick to catch on to even a hint of falseness.

  “There’s something different about you.” She reaches toward me, places her hand over mine.

  “I’m wearing makeup—lots and lots of makeup—courtesy of Jennika,” I tell her. “Oh, and I also let her curl my hair. And while I kind of like it, it’s also kind of weird to see myself this way.” I toss my hair over my shoulder, hoping I’ll soon forget about it, stop messing with it. I’ve got way more important things to focus on than the sparkly, new, holiday party look my mom foisted on me.

  “I’m sure you look amazing,” Xotichl says. “But that’s not what I meant.”

  Oh. I look at her, wondering just what her blindsight is telling her.

  “Part of you is stronger.” She lifts her hand from my mine, allowing it to hover as she assesses my energy. “And yet, part of you is not.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you saw me earlier today. Paloma taught me to manipulate the elements. If it’s up to me, you’ll have your white Christmas and then some…” My voice drifts along with my gaze, claimed by the girl just a few tables away.

  The new girl.

  The one with the wild hair and exotic good looks.

  She’s talking with Jacy and Crickett and a handful of boys whose names I keep forgetting.

  “Daire—” Xotichl squeezes my fingers. Trying to stop me from staring, stop me from asking the question we both know is coming.

  But I can’t stop either of those things.

  “Who is she?” I ask, knowing there’s no need to explain who I’m talking about.

  Noting the way Xotichl’s voice grows soft and resigned when she says, “Her name’s Phyre. Phyre Youngblood. Pronounced like fire—but spelled with a P H Y.”

  Phyre.

  Pronounced like fire.

  The very element I bonded with—learned to control. And yet, Phyre the person leaves me feeling completely outclassed.

  “How do you know her? How come all of you seem to know her?”

  I’m still staring, unable to look anywhere else. Watching as she laughs in a way that sends a cascade of curls bouncing over her shoulders, exposing a long, graceful curve of neck. Her movements so fluid, so elegant, so endlessly watchable—the boys can’t help but stare with unbridled longing, while Jacy and Crickett look on with unabashed envy.

  She presses a hand to her mouth, hushing herself, as the boy standing before her—Brendan? Bryce? whatever—all I know for sure is that the sheer sight of her causes him to inch just a little bit closer, as though warming himself in her glow.

  But the second she turns toward me, catching me staring, I tear my gaze away. Feeling awkward, stupid, and clumsy—wondering if I should maybe add the word jealous to the quickly growing list of my faults.

  “She used to live here,” Xotichl says, pulling me back to my original question. “Then her mom disappeared and her siblings, Ashe and Ember, went to live with their aunt, while Phyre moved away with her dad. But now, apparently, they’re back. Or at least that’s the nutshell version.”

  “Yeah? And what’s the other version—the one you’re keeping from me?”

  I study her closely, knowing she’s only trying to be a good friend and protect me from things like “wrong ideas” or “hurt feelings,” but it’s too late for that. My mind is already spinning with ideas—both wrong and hurtful—and only the truth can set me straight.

  The fact is, I saw the way Phyre looked at Dace.

  I also saw the way he could barely bring himself to return the gaze.

  There’s a story there.

  One that probably has nothing to do with me—one that’s no doubt none of my business. And yet I still need to hear it, so I can try to make sense of the strange way I’m feeling.

  So I can determine if there truly is something odd about Phyre—or if I’m just acting petty and feel threatened by the arrival of a girl who just so happens to be unbelievably pretty. One who may or may not share a past with my boyfriend.

  Am I just pulling a Lita?

  Or is there something substantial to worry about?

  Having never been in this kind of situation before, it’s hard for me to read. Still, I’m really hoping the blame falls on Phyre—not me.

  “You have nothing to worry about. Dace loves you and only you, you already know that.”

  I look at Xotichl, seeing the veil of regret that crosses her face at revealing even that much. Knowing whatever she tells me only serves to add fuel to my fire—Phyre?—it’s now one and the same.

  “Just tell me,” I plead. “What’s their connection? I mean, obviously they were together, but just how together?” I stare hard at Xotichl, remembering what Dace told me the other day at the not-so Enchanted Spring. How he’d only been with one other girl. And knowing deep down in my heart it was Phyre.

  Xotichl sighs, toys with her bottle of water. “They both grew up on the reservation.”

  “And—” I watch as she squirms, shifting uncomfortably on her seat. And while the sight of it makes me feel bad, that doesn’t stop me from pushing her further. “Look, I get it, okay? Everyone has a past. Heck
, practically the whole school knows about my Vane Wick flameout.”

  “No, not practically. Everyone knows. Even the teachers were talking about it.”

  She grins. I laugh. But then I’m right back at it again.

  “There’s something different here. I get the feeling she’s not quite done with him—not quite … over him. Or am I being paranoid? Am I acting like some pathetically jealous girlfriend who freaks at every pretty girl who so much as looks at her boyfriend? Because if that’s the case, you need to tell me right now, so we can stage an intervention and find a quick way to eradicate it.”

  “Look,” Xotichl says. “I’m not up on all the dirt, but yeah, I heard the rumors, and Lita pretty much confirmed they had a thing. And when she confronted Dace about it today at lunch, he didn’t exactly deny it. She really gave him hell about it too. Told him he better not mess with you, or he’d have to answer to her.”

  We turn toward the stage where Lita stands to the side, ready to grab the mic the second Auden’s guitar solo ends.

  “She’s a very strange but surprisingly loyal friend. I can never quite get a handle on her. Anyway, it was impressive stuff. It’s too bad you missed it.”

  “So, then you’re saying it’s true. I am being a jealous freak.” I turn toward Xotichl and slouch on my stool. Wondering if there’s a quick fix for envy—maybe a spell or an herb I can take?

  “No,” Xotichl says, voice lowered to a whisper. “I’m not saying that at all. There is something weird about her just showing up out of the blue. And so far, I can’t quite get a grip on her energy. But I will, just give me time. Though as far as Dace is concerned, you have nothing to worry about. Or, should I say, nothing but Cade, anyway.”

  Oh yeah. Him. As awful as it felt to be mired in my pathetic pool of jealousy, it did provide a nice respite from obsessing over a much bigger threat that looms large before me.

  “Think he’ll show up for the gift exchange?”

  The question wasn’t meant to be serious. It’s just something I said to lighten the mood. Though before Xotichl can reply, we’re interrupted by Lita wrangling control of the mic.