Paloma clasps her hands to her chest, her face glowing with excitement. “You’re the only one who’s ever been able to see that, nieta. And now that you know it, you must never forget it. When in doubt, seek the eyes—no matter what guise they wear, their true nature remains. They will never lead you astray.”
I exhale slowly and deeply, my head spinning with everything I just learned, when Paloma places her hand on my knee and says, “And now, sweet nieta, seeing as how you’ve managed to teach yourself telekinesis without my instruction, I suspect it is time for you to learn something far more exciting, and I see no further need to delay. So tell me, are you ready to fly?”
twenty-nine
Paloma leads me to the yard tucked away in the back, which, no matter how much time I’ve spent here, I’ve visited only once, and even then it was brief. But now, as we make our way down the stone path, I can’t help but gawk at its sheer size and scope—not to mention how fragrant and lush the plants are, considering we’re well into fall.
The yard seems to sprawl forever, consisting of carefully designated areas for the healing herbs she uses in her clients’ therapies and the organic vegetables we eat for dinner. There’s even a space brimming with beautiful, fat, blooming flowers sitting adjacent to another area reserved especially for her hybrid experiments, where all sorts of odd, misshapen plants sprout from the earth.
She murmurs in Spanish, her voice soft and lilting, her fingertips grazing over everything she passes. It’s a song I’ve heard her sing on other occasions, only now I recognize it as her garden song—the one that encourages the plants to stay strong and thrive, to reach toward the light, even when there appears to be none.
But the lyrics belong only to her. They’ve yet to reveal themselves to me. Probably because my thumb has always been more brown than green. And though Paloma promises to remedy that, it’s usually followed by, “First things first! There is still so much to teach you, nieta, and so little time.”
It’s that last part that bothers me: So little time.
It’s not like she’s old. Statistically speaking, she should have several more decades ahead of her, at least. But between the nosebleeds and blood-spewing cough, I can’t help but worry about the state of her health. Yet every time I ask her about it, she just waves the subject away, tells me she’s fine, and moves on to something else.
I watch her lead the way, her step light, her long dark braid swaying behind her, as I say, “I met Xotichl.”
Paloma turns, a smile lighting her face. “Aw, Xotichl. A girl who is sweet, and mischievous, and wise beyond her years. Which of those faces did she share with you, nieta?”
I think for a moment, then I look at her and say, “Pretty much all of them. She says she’s a client of yours—she’s not sick, is she?”
Paloma shakes her head, and I’m surprised by the flood of relief that washes over me.
“While the content of our meetings are confidential, I can say that Xotichl has the rare ability to see what most sighted people miss. What she lacks in outer vision, she makes up for in inner vision—her insight is unsurpassed.” Paloma nods, leans down to admire a particularly fragrant bloom that I can smell from where I stand. “She’s unmoved by the usual superficial things most people get too caught up in to look any deeper. And without that sort of distraction, she’s able to get right to the heart of the matter—to read the true energy behind a person’s actions and words. Which is one of the reasons she’s always remained unswayed by the Richters. They’re unable to reach her, unable to alter her perception. She is a rare child indeed and has a great sense of humor. I’m sure she had quite a bit of fun at your expense. Though I have to admit, I supplied her with all the information she needed. I know you had a rough day, I hope you won’t hold it against her?”
I think about our strange first encounter in the hallway and quickly dismiss Paloma’s concern. “Her boyfriend, Auden, drove me home. They invited me to meet them at the Rabbit Hole tonight to see his band, but … I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m up for it, much less ready to go back to that place—or at least not just yet anyway.”
Paloma gestures for me to take a seat on the mosaic tiled bench that sits adjacent to the birdbath, saying, “You’re right, nieta. You are not quite ready yet. But by the end of our lesson, you will be.”
I squint, wondering what she could possibly teach me in the next few hours that’ll prepare me to return to the place where I nearly lost my mind, not to mention my life. Surely she was speaking in metaphors when she asked if I was ready to fly?
“I’m going to teach you to hop with the rabbits, to slither with the snakes, to run with the horses, to crawl with the scorpions, and to fly with the ravens. And you’ll be surprised to find that it’s so much easier than you think.”
My eyes light on hers, not knowing which part to believe, if any. It seems like such an impossible feat, and I highly doubt I’ll succeed.
“Much like you merged your energy with the energy of the dream catcher to lift it off its hook and bring it to you—you will now practice merging your energy with true living spirit—with flesh-and-blood creatures—in order to share their experience.”
“You mean, like … shape-shifting?” I ask, already dead set against it. What if I get stuck? What if I get lost and can’t find my way back? I like being a girl. I have no desire to live out the rest of my life as a lizard, a scorpion, or anything else.
Paloma laughs, her voice soft and reassuring, as she says, “No, nieta. You will not become them, but rather you will experience what it’s like to be them. You will learn to see what they see, experience what they experience. It’s a skill steeped in much magick and mysticism—one that normally comes much later in the training, but you’re ready right now. I can feel it. It is time for you to begin.”
I don’t say a word. I have so many questions, I don’t know which to ask first.
Paloma turns, her gaze surveying the yard, moving past the empty stall waiting for Kachina’s arrival, and landing on the first animal she sees, which happens to be a mangy white cat carefully picking its way across the thick adobe wall.
She gestures toward it, her voice a mere whisper when she says, “Concentrate. Focus. Picture him for what he truly is—not just an underfed feline with matted white fur but rather a mass of vibrating energy that’s assembled itself into that form. He is energy just as you are energy, just as your thoughts and words are energy too.” She sneaks a peek and continues. “Now, focus harder. Block out everything around you, until it’s just you, and the cat, with nothing standing between you, no barriers of any kind. Merge into his energy stream, delve into his experience. Go ahead, nieta, you are perfectly safe. Let your energy blend, and mix, and merge. Allow your soul to ride tandem with his.”
I do as she says. Staring at the cat for so long everything around me goes dark. Watching as he stops, sits, lifts a delicate paw to his mouth in order to clean it with his sandpaper tongue. And the next thing I know, I’m in. It’s like I’ve become him. My energy merging with his until I’m deep inside his experience.
I’m light.
Fluid.
Graceful and agile in a way I’ve never known—never could’ve imagined.
Crossing the wall with my tail pitched high, I stop in midstep, alerted to some kind of change, aware that something’s intruded, though it’s only a moment before I realize the intruder is me.
I rise up on my paws and arch my back high, enjoying the stretch and holding the pose for a few seconds more before I set off again. Moving with such delicacy and finesse, I’m absolutely giddy with the feel of it.
Then, without any warning, his body springs forward as he leaps away from the wall and lands out of sight. Our connection so suddenly severed, I collapse on the bench in a heap.
Paloma stands before me, hands clasped over her heart, exclaiming, “Wonderful, nieta! You blended your essence with his, I could see it on your face. You became one with him! Tell me, what did you experience?”
I take a moment to settle myself, find the right words. “I felt peaceful … and light. I felt a deep profound joy at being alive … I felt all of his deep-seated instincts that guided him to do what he does … and I was painfully aware of the deep stirrings of hunger.” I look at her, push my hair from my eyes. “I think we should leave him some food so he doesn’t always have to hunt the fields and fend for himself.”
Paloma sits beside me, slips an arm around my shoulders, and says, “You are very kindhearted, nieta. Consider it done. Though I warn you, you will never get rid of him once you start feeding him.”
I shrug. Sounds good to me. For someone who was never allowed a pet, I’m building up quite the menagerie now with my horse and my cat.
After merging my energy with a spider, a lizard, and another cat—this one gray and quite fat, which pretty much covers the variety of wildlife found in Paloma’s yard—it’s time to fly with the birds.
“It’s basically the same thing,” she tells me. “But as you’ll soon see, it is very exhilarating, which is why it’s always saved for last. One needs to work their way up to such an experience. Though seeing as you are a daughter of the wind, a Wind Dancer as it were, guided by Raven, you are likely to soar ever higher. Which is why I wanted to ensure you were fully prepared before we progressed to this step. So, what do you say—are you ready?”
I nod. I’m more than ready. I can’t wait to get off the ground and soar through the clouds—or at the very least, flit from tree to tree.
Paloma’s eyes narrow, performing a quick survey of the land. Her arm lifting, gesturing toward a large, shiny black raven perched on a nearby branch.
“This is no accident.” She nods, turning toward me. “He is here for a reason. He senses who you are—knows he shares the bloodline of your spirit animal, and he is ready for you to make the bond. While he should not be mistaken for your actual spirit animal—the raven you met in the Lowerworld as well as the cave—he is still considered a brother, as are all ravens that inhabit the Middleworld. Crows are also part of the family—your arrival was heralded by them. Along with the other things I’ve already told you, Raven is a messenger of the spirit realm—the things he will show you can shift your life dramatically. He will teach you to venture into the dark in order to bring forth the light. And in some legends it is said he stole the sunlight from Coyote who was determined to keep the world shrouded in darkness—a legend that happens to be true, as it was during Valentina’s time, and she made sure to document it in some writings I will one day share with you. Though, as you well know, everything is cyclical, nieta, and it was just a matter of time before El Coyote regrouped and came back stronger than ever…” She picks at the hem of her dress, as her gaze joins her thoughts on a long-distance journey. Then shaking her head, she returns to me and says, “Anyway, enough of that—now it is time for you to join him, to soar with the raven.”
Just like I did with the cats, the lizard, and the rest, I narrow my gaze until I see only him, and a moment later it clicks. With a minimum of effort we’ve merged, and when the raven springs from his perch and soars overhead, I’m soaring right along with him. The experience so freeing, so exhilarating, it’s like every cell in my body is vibrating with the pure life force of his energy.
I gaze down upon treetops. Get a bird’s-eye view (literally!) of my neighbors’ roofs. I am the surveyor of everything. My eyes see all. Tracking the white cat I will soon claim as a pet, I watch as he stalks his prey, a small gray field mouse, then move on well before he can leap.
I soar above rutted dirt roads, over small adobe homes with rusted-out cars in the yards. Wishing we could soar all the way to the mountains, the Sangre de Cristo range that looms in the distance, but the raven has other plans. And while I’m pretty sure I could steer him, if not convince him, there’s something specific he wants me to see.
We arc left, dipping lower, gliding just shy of the telephone wires, before stopping on the shelter of the bus stop just opposite the Rabbit Hole. And it’s then that I realize what’s really happening here—while my body remains with Paloma, by merging my energy with the raven’s, I can watch the goings-on in various locations—see what he sees, no matter the distance.
We flit closer, the raven and me landing on a light post overlooking the alleyway. Seeing Auden’s station wagon parked near the back door as he and his bandmates haul equipment into the club.
My interest further piqued when Dace exits through that same door, lugging two heavy trash bags, one in each hand, stopping to allow passage for Auden’s bandmates, before making his way down the alleyway. Arms flexing from the weight of the bags, gait confident and long, moving in a way that makes the diminishing sunlight seem to shimmer around him.
I note every detail. Track every move. Torn between feelings of exhilaration and shame for spying this way. Repeating Paloma’s words in my head:
He’s not your enemy—not like the other Richters—his soul is good and pure.
He stands before the Dumpster, taking a moment to survey the alley, ensure no one’s watching, before he closes his eyes, lets go of the bags, and I stare in astonishment as they leap from his hands and dunk straight into the large metal bin.
Guess I’m not the only one around here who enjoys a little telekinesis.
He wipes his palms down the sides of his apron and makes for a redbrick building, where he pulls his phone from his pocket, inserts his earbuds, and shutters his eyes as he leans against the wall and listens to a melody that leaves him looking so peaceful and dreamy, I’m tempted to land on his shoulder and listen in too.
I flit from my perch, desperate for a better view. Using the raven’s eyes to soak in the casual slant of Dace’s shoulders, the gleam of his hair falling down the front of his tee, the long, lean line of his body, the way his apron dips low at his waist and skims over his thighs. Content with watching him for as long as it lasts, regretting the moment he sighs, pushes away from the wall, and heads back.
I follow his lead, careful to keep close to the buildings, remain unobtrusive, unseen. Tracking him all the way to the back door of the club, where Auden and his bandmates have been replaced by the waitress who served me the last time I was here.
She stands in the doorway, posture stooped, arms folded across her chest, while Cade looms before her, berating her in a way that leaves her wincing in shame.
I creep closer, wondering if I should do something to stop him, jab my beak into those creepy blue eyes—when Dace moves in and handles it for me in a less violent way.
He slips an arm around her, murmuring soft words of comfort, as he fixes a hard stare on his brother, and says, “That’s enough.”
Cade glares. Dismisses his brother with a wave of his hand. “Stay out of it, Whitefeather. This is none of your business,” he snaps, returning to the waitress, picking up where he left off, when Dace interferes once again.
“You’ve made it my business,” Dace says, turning to the waitress and ushering her into the club.
Her sudden departure causing Cade to erupt in fury when he shouts, “You’ve no right to interfere!”
Dace lifts his shoulders, shoves his hands into his pockets, and says, “She works hard, you need to cut her some slack.”
“Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?” Cade’s voice bearing the same outrage he wears on his face. “Unless you’ve decided to change your last name to Richter, I don’t see how you have any say in it. You’re nothing more than hired help around here. Never forget that.”
Dace stands before him, not the least bit intimidated. “You’d get a lot more out of your employees if you treated them with a little respect,” he says, not so much as flinching when Cade steps forward, face fully inflamed.
“What gives you the right to tell me how to run my business—huh?” His hands curl to fists as he reaches for his brother, only to have Leandro appear in the doorway, his large form crowding the space.
“Your business?” He stares hard at his
favored son, the one he engineered to his exact specifications. “Don’t you think you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself?” He grips Cade’s shoulder and yanks him away from Dace. “Stop making trouble. Leave your brother alone. I mean it, Cade, do not make me warn you again.” He nods at Dace, motions him through the door, returning to Cade, voice lowered when he says, “I don’t like him any more than you do, but your actions only prove that you’re nowhere near ready to take over this business or any other business. It’s time you learn a little diplomacy.”
He heads inside, leaving Cade to grapple with his words—grapple with an anger so intense, so palpable, it transforms him into the blazing-eyed, snake-tongued, demon boy I know him to be.
The effect lasting only a moment, yet long enough to shock me in a way that causes the delicate balance of energy to shift. So when the raven springs from the roof and soars toward the heavens—he goes without me. Leaving me an inert, glassy-eyed mess, slumped over a bench in Paloma’s backyard.
thirty
“Isn’t this kind of weird?” I glance at Paloma through the bathroom mirror. “You know, the grandmother urging the granddaughter to go clubbing, and even offering to drive her?”
Paloma forces a smile, as though she’s in on the joke, but the way it fails to reach her eyes tells me her mind is preoccupied with a new set of worries.
“What is it?” I take a moment to face her, mascara wand hovering before me.
“I’m afraid this isn’t just about going clubbing with your friends, nieta.” She meets my gaze with a look of regret. “While I want you to have fun with Xotichl and Auden, you should know that there’s much more at stake than listening to music and enjoying yourself.”
I nod, waiting for her to reveal the agenda. But Paloma being Paloma—a person who likes to dole it out slowly—she turns her focus to fussing with her sky-blue cardigan instead. Taking way too long to get it draped over her shoulders just so, despite the fact that she rarely wears it inside. It’s a delay tactic, no getting around it, but I decide not to push it and return to coating my lashes the way Jennika taught me—swiping the brush horizontally at the base, then nudging it vertically all the way to the tips.