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.
twelve
Daire
The bell on the door clangs loudly behind me, causing a handful of customers to stop what they’re doing long enough to give me a quick, appraising look.
Gifford peers up from his register, eyes widening in recognition. He calls to me in a cheerful voice, saying, “Hey there—miss your bus? Fresh batch of postcards just arrived—they’re right over there.” He points toward the rack bearing depressing pictures of this miserable three-block town. Completely unaware that he’s just reminded me of one of the very worst times in my life. The day I nearly died just a few steps from here.
Still, bad as that was, yesterday was worse. Much worse. With Paloma’s help, that broken leg I suffered outside the Rabbit Hole took only a few weeks to heal. If today doesn’t go as planned, my broken heart may never recover.
I smile faintly. Reminding myself he means well—not everyone in this place is a Richter. Then I make for the space in back where the coffee is served. Hoping to grab one of those round tables with the bright pink tablecloths, use it as a temporary hideaway until it’s time to make good on my plan.
Though the second I see Chay hunched over a coffee and sweet roll while reading the paper, I start to head back the same way I came. Not getting very far before he’s rising from the table and calling after me, leaving me with no choice but to own up and greet him.
“Hey,” I say, hooking my bag on the seat opposite his.
He pushes his plate toward me, offering to share his danish. But tempting as it looks with the melted sweet cheese, the sugared fruit, and the overall promise of yum, I swore to Paloma I’d lay off the junk, and it’s a vow I intend to keep.
“No thanks. I’m still on the wagon.” I slide it back toward him. “Permanently on the wagon if Paloma has her way. But don’t worry, I won’t tell her how you spend your mornings.”
He laughs when I say it, eyes crinkling and fanning in a riot of wrinkles. His good humor so infectious I can’t help but laugh too, amazed by the way it instantly brightens my mood.
“How ’bout we make a deal,” he says. “You don’t tell Paloma I’m still indulging my sweet tooth despite all her warnings about the evils of sugar, and I won’t tell her you’re ditching school.” When his gaze levels on mine, there’s not one trace of mirth left in his eyes. “That is what’s going on here, right?”
I lift my brow and shrug. No longer in a sharing mood. I push away from the table and help myself to the dregs of scorched coffee from a pot that’s nearly empty. A good example of false advertising if I’ve ever seen one. So much for freshly brewed.
Taking a first, tentative sip, when Chay says, “And if that’s the case, why’d you come here?”
“Not a whole lot of options this time of day. Or any other time, for that matter. After all, this is Enchantment we’re talking about. Not exactly the excitement capital of the world.” I add two creamers to my cup, hoping it’ll take the edge off. It’s dry creamer instead of liquid, the kind that would definitely not meet with Paloma’s approval. But it’s all I have to work with, and sometimes allowances must be made.
“I don’t know,” Chay says, “I can think of a hundred other things you could be doing.”
“Name one.” I dip one of those slim plastic sticks into my coffee and go to town with the stirring.
“Kachina loves an early morning ride.” Chay studies me as I return to my seat.
“As do I.” I take another sip that’s better than the first, but only slightly so. “Guess I felt the need to be surrounded by people instead of nature. And what better place than right here?”
Chay pauses, a forkful of danish hovering between his plate and his mouth. “How about school? Lots of people there. People your own age, even.” His eyes meet mine. He is not a man one can easily fool. “Daire, what’s really going on here?” His voice turns sober and serious, having reached the end of the joke.
I stare into the clouds of clumpy coffee and sigh, saying, “Where to begin?”
“Wherever you’d like.” He folds his paper in half and pushes it to the side, as I splay my hands on either side of my cup, weighing my options.
Chay is Paloma’s trusted friend, and as I recently discovered, he’s also her boyfriend. He’s seen me at my absolute, sulkiest worst. Drove me all the way from Phoenix to Enchantment without a single complaint. Accompanied me to the place of my vision quest and gave me the confidence I needed to venture into that cave. He left Kachina in my care for however long I choose to look after her.
He’s a good man.
Someone I can trust.
Maybe not with everything, but then I have no intention of telling him everything.
I lift my gaze to meet his, take a deep breath, and plunge in. Watching as he twists nervously at the eagle ring he always wears with the two golden stones standing in for the eyes, when I tell him all about the Lowerworld going to hell. Going on to explain about the Echo, how I finally discovered what it truly means, for Dace, for Cade, for all of us.
“And then, of course, there’s the small matter of the prophecy,” I say, voice filled with sarcasm, when the truth is, the prophecy looms larger than life—it’s all I can think about. And it’ll no doubt remain that way until I find a way to kick it to the curb—which is something I plan to do soon. Really soon. As soon as I can ditch Chay and cross the street to the Rabbit Hole. “You know about the prophecy, right?”
Chay leans over his coffee, purposely avoiding my eyes. “A prophecy can be interpreted in many ways.”
I lean back in my seat, giving up on my coffee before I can take a third sip. “That’s exactly what Paloma said.” I regard him carefully, taking in the long, dark hair—not as long as Dace’s but still long enough to pull back into a ponytail that falls just past his shoulders—the high cheekbones, the wide mouth, the brown weathered skin, and the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen—other than Dace’s.
“Paloma is a wise woman.” Chay grins. Taking a moment to finish the danish and clear the crumbs from his lips, before he goes on to say, “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
“Doesn’t it?” I cock my head, daring him to take a stab at guessing the truth, since I have no plans to reveal it.
He leans back in his seat, eyes narrowed in consideration. Clearly sensing my meaning, though probably not in its entirety, he tosses back the rest of his coffee and pushes away from the table. “Let’s you and me take a walk.”
I follow him outside, having no idea where he’s taking me, though I’m pretty sure it won’t be the Rabbit Hole. Or at least I hope not. I don’t need an escort. Some things I’m destined to do on my own.
“Where we going?” I pause beside him on the curb, allowing a line of cars to pass before we cross.
“Bookstore.” He trains his focus to the opposite side of the street where Dace watches me from his truck.
I know without looking it’s him.
I can feel the stream of unconditional love that always surrounds me whenever he’s near.
It takes every last bit of my strength to ignore it. To not look his way. To not jump up and down, waving my hands frantically over my head, as I shout out his name.
It’s bad enough that I love him. Expressing that love is out of the question.
Or at least for now, anyway.
“I need to stop in
here first,” I say, grasping Chay by the elbow and steering him into the corner liquor store, where, once inside, I lean against the wall and fight to steady myself.
“You okay?” Chay peers hard at me.
I nod. Summoning the composure to say, “Would you mind grabbing a pack of cigarettes for me? I’m not old enough to buy them.”
He quirks his brow, shoots me a dubious look.
“It’s the demon snack of choice,” I remind him. “And you never know when you’ll need them.”
thirteen
Dace
I slow when I see them. Sigh in relief as I watch them make their way down Main Street.
Chay’s a good man. Solid. Dependable. Levelheaded. If Daire’s skipping school to meet him, she must have her reasons.
I scrunch down in my seat when they stop at the curb. Feeling like a filthy stalker when Chay catches me watching. Though the look he shoots me is one of unspoken solidarity. Luckily, Daire’s too busy talking to notice my presence.
I stare at her lips, straining to read them. Determined to punish myself when I imagine she’s talking about us. How our love was doomed from the start. How I slept with her, then dumped her less than two hours later.
Maybe she thinks I’m choosing not to fight.
That I’m rolling over, letting Cade win.
God knows she insinuated as much last night in my kitchen.
And maybe that’s why Chay fails to tell her I’m here. Staring helplessly out a dirt-covered window—already reneging on my word—unable to keep my own vows.
Maybe he thinks I’m not worthy of her.
When they disappear into the bookstore, I focus on the Rabbit Hole with newly informed eyes. Wondering how I’m supposed to continue to work there—step foot in there—now that I know what I know.
I hate the sight of the place.
I hate them.
But no sooner have I thought it than Chepi’s voice slips into my head: What have I taught you about hate, my son?
Followed by the dutiful reply I spoke as a kid: That it does more damage to the hater than the hated. To steer clear of it at all costs.
I scrub my face with my hands. Wondering why she bothered to teach a child so presumably good, so supposedly incapable of such a dark emotion—what to do when faced with the specter of hate.
Did she suspect this day would come?
Was she preparing me for a time when my soul would be darkened by grief?
Whatever her reason, there’s no doubt my soul could use a little darkening. If I’ve any hope of overcoming the circumstance of my birth—overcoming my demonic brother—then a little soul tarnish might come in handy.
Don’t fight fire with fire, Paloma said. Claiming it comes to no good.
But how else am I supposed to fight?
Am I expected to glow so bright and good that Cade’s destroyed by the sheer blinding sight of me?
Am I supposed to sit back and do nothing—allow my brother to kill Daire by stealing her soul like he did in my dreams? A dream I mistook for a nightmare. Couldn’t imagine why I’d continually awaken, night after night, drenched in sweat and consumed with thoughts of a girl I’d never met.
Until she ran into me that night at the Rabbit Hole, and the sight of her flipped my world upside down.
Not long after that, when Leftfoot came to me, claiming that my turning sixteen meant it was time for my vision quest, I never imagined my quest would involve her.
Never imagined I would travel to the cave of her vision quest, convincing her to stay put, to see it through. Showing her the kind of greatness she could one day achieve if she could only hang in there just a little bit longer.
By the time it was over I was left with more questions than answers. What did it mean? Why was I there? Why hasn’t Daire ever once mentioned it? Not even the kiss that we shared?
I glare at the Rabbit Hole with its stupid neon sign with the glowing arrow pointing down a steep flight of stairs.
The Richters are idiots.
When the portal failed to admit them to the Lowerworld, they tried to force their way in by digging deep into the earth. Not realizing they stood a better shot at reaching Australia than a mystical dimension inhabited by all things good.
When they finally realized their stupidity, they decided to put it to use by turning it into Enchantment’s most happening place to hang out—Enchantment’s only place to hang out. The drunks on the upper level, the teens on the lowest level, and it’s a wall-to-wall crowd every night.
But now, thanks to Cade stealing Paloma’s soul, and Daire’s inability to sacrifice her grandmother’s eternity for the greater good of all—they’ve found a way to breach the barrier. The story I was forced to cobble together from the scraps I managed to overhear—since everyone seems to think I need protecting, that I need to be shielded from the truth of my family.
Do they really think I’m so freaking pure I can’t handle my own reality?
And worse, do they truly believe I’m incapable of defending myself?
I grip the wheel tighter, glaring at the side of the building as I punch hard on the gas, forcing the pedal all the way to the floor. Wanting nothing more than to crash through that fake adobe exterior, smash that stupid sign to bits, along with all the Richters inside.
But at the very last moment, I swing a hard U and head away from downtown.
Making my way to the reservation, in search of answers that are long overdue.
fourteen
Daire
By the time we exit the liquor store with the cigarettes secured in my bag, Dace is gone. Hopefully headed back to school, having realized the huge risk he takes by following me.
Thinking of me.
Loving me.
I follow Chay into the bookstore, where he proceeds to meander the aisles, peering at the kind of titles I’m pretty sure he has no interest in. Loitering in a way that makes me wonder why he decided to bring me here in the first place.
When the redheaded woman working the register calls to some unseen person in back—saying something about heading over to Gifford’s to buy a roll of stamps—I can’t help but notice the way Chay perks up as she exits. Darting for the counter the second the door closes behind her, he approaches it with a purpose I can’t even fathom. Then smiles in greeting when a man with jet-black hair and eyes to match slips from behind the curtain, his gaze slanting toward me in question.
“Daire Santos.” Chay bends his head toward me.
“Lucio Whitefeather.” The man nods, gripping my hand in a nice, firm shake.
“Whitefeather?” I glance between him and Chay.
“Lucio is Leftfoot’s son,” Chay mumbles, as he guides me through the curtain, into a back room that, from the looks of it, seems to do triple duty as a storeroom, a break room, and a shipping center, judging by the number of large cardboard boxes strewn all about.
“Good timing,” Lucio says. “Just got some new arrivals.”
I watch as they hover over the box, cutting through thick bands of brown tape, only to reveal … books?
“I don’t get it.” I screw my mouth to the side. Try to make sense of it. “What’s with all the secrecy?”
Lucio looks between Chay and me, taking the lead when he says, “The Richters don’t just control the town—they control what’s sold in town.”
I gaze at the stacks of books with brightly colored covers—books about mastering one’s destiny, creating a better world from the inside out—a far cry from the kinds of books I’d expect.
“So, you’re saying that in addition to their long list of evil deeds—they’re now book banners too?”
“They’ve banned anything they consider too inspirational or too informational.” Lucio and Chay exchange a private look. “They don’t want the people empowered. That wouldn’t bode well for them.”
“So they censor?”
“Ever listen to Enchantment radio?” Lucio asks.
I shake my head. It never even occurred t
o me to do so. I’m pretty much married to my iPod.
“It’s filled with all the music and all the news they see fit to share. The town paper’s no better.”
“Okay, but still—why all the secrecy? Why not just order this stuff online and have all the self-help, inspirational books you desire delivered right to your door?”
“They run the local post office and the local Internet provider as well.”
My eyes grow wide. Sheesh. I knew this town was bad. I knew the Richters were evil. But I guess I never knew just how far it went. They’re complete and total fascists. One more reason to get myself to the Rabbit Hole and do what I came here to do.
“So, why do you stay?” I glance between them.
“Someone’s got to fight the good fight.” Chay grins, choosing a book from the stack and slipping it into my bag. Bidding a quick good-bye to Lucio and rushing me out the back door as soon as the redheaded salesclerk returns.
“So how about I take you home?” Chay broaches the question in a casual way, which stands in direct opposition to the probing look that he gives me.
“Home? Don’t you mean school?” I quirk a brow, looking at him when I add, “Actually, I thought I’d just hang in town for a while. Find a quiet place to read my new book.” I pat the side of my bag, though the look in his eye tells me he’s not buying my act.
“I wouldn’t recommend that. Best to keep that kind of thing to the privacy of your own home.”
“So, you’re saying our homes are private?”
A smile tugs at Chay’s lips. “Paloma’s is.”
“What’d you give me, anyway?” I ask, having barely had a chance to look at it before he shoved it deep into my bag.
“Book about manifesting and intent—nothing Paloma can’t teach you.”
I stare at him, feeling a little lost in his words.
He rubs his chin, casts a look around to ensure no one’s listening. “Daire, I wanted to show you what you’re up against. You’re grossly underestimating El Coyote if you think you can just barge in there and do what … what I think you’re planning to do. They’re far more powerful than you realize. That pack of cigarettes in your bag may get you past the demons that guard the vortex, but what are you going to do once you’re in? Do you even have a plan—or are you acting on an irrational blend of passion, anger, and adrenaline?” His gaze levels on me, waiting for me to respond, but when I don’t, he goes on to say, “If you head over there now—you’re only going to succeed in getting yourself killed.”