“I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’ve come. That you’ve decided to join me in a moment so great.” He hugs the container close to his chest. “The second it’s over, we’ll go straight to my father—though don’t be surprised if Leandro doesn’t accept you at first. He may even move in to kill you—but I’ll be right by your side and I won’t let that happen. Besides, once we’ve had a chance to explain it, once he sees for himself just how much we can accomplish by working together, I know he’ll see the brilliance of my plan.” He lifts his shoulders in a way that causes the orb to lift, surging so precariously toward the lip, it’s all I can do to remain rooted in place, to not rush forward and snatch it away. “This is the perfect ending to a ridiculous, primitive feud. It’s also a wonderful beginning to a partnership that’s long overdue. You see, Leandro had it all wrong. Not only did he fail by accidentally conjuring my aberration of a brother—but he failed to understand that the reason we’ve been unable to penetrate the Lowerworld for so long is because our souls have become too dark for admittance. And mine, as I’m sure you know, is the darkest of all.” His eyes flare with pride. “Then again, it’s the pure blackness of my soul that led me to them—the solution.”
He nods toward the gathering of undead Richters—the entire lot of them yipping and yelping with excitement over the meal to come. Their enthusiasm causing Cade to shout, “Silence! Can’t you see that I’m talking? Sheesh!” Shaking his head and returning to me as he says, “So anyway, where were we?”
“Your dark and desolate soul.” I tap the bat against the back of my calf, prepared to use it at the first sign of trouble.
He nods again. “Little does Leandro know, but during last year’s Día de los Muertos, I brought them all back. And not just their essence. I actually raised them. They’re all Richters—resurrected Richters! I started by feeding them bits of animal souls. I’m telling you, there’s no shortage of worthless pets in this town.” He shakes his head, as though he can hardly believe the nuisance, the folly. “But then, over the last year, I’ve started feeding them human souls. Sometimes taking entire souls—sometimes just prying off little bits. It’s amazing how easy they are to obtain. Some people just hand ’em right over, they have no regard for their lives. Though most have no clue they’ve been taken, and even when they do suspect, they’re usually quick to convince themselves it was merely a nightmare.” His eyes fix on mine, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s referring to my own dream-turned-nightmare. “Anyway, for the record, I learned how to do it all on my own. Leandro refused to teach me the fine art of soul stealing—claimed I wasn’t ready, but I think I’ve proved otherwise.” He pauses as though awaiting my praise, and when it fails to appear, he says, “Oh, don’t look so sorry. It’s not like any of those people were using their souls for anything truly worthy or good. Our cause is much greater. And now, with you on board, it won’t be long before we rule the Middleworld, the Lowerworld, and ultimately the Upperworld too. My dad’s really gonna be proud of me then.” His eyes blaze at the idea, proving once again, he’s a psychopath. “Take off your mask and join me,” he says. “It’s time.”
I shake my head. I don’t take orders from him.
“Take off your ridiculous mask and put down that bat you think I can’t see. We’re a team now. We have to learn to trust each other if we’re going to work together, no?”
I tighten my grip, braced for just about anything. Watching as he shrugs and says, “Fine. Have it your way.” Then, nodding at the metal container, he adds, “Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?”
I gaze at the orb, seeing the way it illuminates the room in a kaleidoscope of color—like a beautiful prism refracting the light.
“Do you see how much power it holds?” His eyes flare as though mesmerized by the sight of it, the thought of it. “Notice the way it shines brighter than all of those other souls you saw last time you were here?”
My fingers start to itch, my body fills with dread.
“You know why that is?” he taunts, willing me to say it.
But I won’t.
Can’t.
There’s no way.
“C’mon, Daire, you’re a smart girl—think! Who do you know personally whose soul would shine far brighter than anyone else’s? Who do you know who’s so full of magick, and goodness, and purity, and light—their soul would radiate in precisely this way?”
I move toward him, fingers shaking so badly the bat trembles against them.
“I’m afraid your dear Paloma is not long for this world. Django’s death came with a price, and by the time you came around, it was already too late. I’ve been harvesting little bits all year, and now I have the whole thing. But then, you already knew that, didn’t you? You’ve been watching her fade since the moment you arrived. It’s too late to save her—so you may as well make your peace and take this moment to join me. Because I promise you, Daire, if you choose to fight me, I’ll have no choice but to steal your soul too.”
He dips his fingers into the container, then turns toward his undead family, presenting Paloma’s bright and shining soul on a single splayed hand he raises before them. The sight of it causing them to lurch forward, teeth gnashing, bodies lunging, unable to contain their hunger—themselves. Worked into an absolute slobbering frenzy, when Cade glances over his shoulder, wanting to make sure that I see it.
My feet spread wide, I grip the bat tighter. Knowing I have one second to act. One second to stop him.
There are no do-overs here.
“Still time to join me,” he says, sparks shooting from eyeholes surrounded by bright yellow marigolds.
I rush toward him, bat held high, Paloma’s words swirling through my mind:
Do not worry for me. Focus on them—you must stop El Coyote, no matter the cost. I haven’t taught you everything—but I’ve taught you well—and now you must let me go, nieta. You cannot, must not, save me—do you understand?
She wants me to crush it.
She knew it would come to this and she wants me to do whatever it takes to stop him. Willing to sacrifice her own eternity in order to spare mankind the horror of the Richters invading the Lowerworld again.
It’s what a Seeker does.
He smiles when he sees me—eyes flaming, teeth gleaming—as I take a deep breath and swing with all of my strength. My gaze never once leaving the orb as I bring the bat down as hard as I can—begging Paloma to forgive me—good-byes were so much easier before I allowed myself to care.
The bat crashes down hard, causing shards of glass to scatter, fly about the room, as it bounces off the altar, sending the table, the candles, the candy, the photos, the carafe with the strange red substance crashing to the ground—as I stare at Cade, breathless and horrified, both of us knowing I just couldn’t do it.
His eyes meeting mine when he hurls the gleaming white orb—my abuela’s soul—to the crowd of undead Richters. Shouting in triumph as the largest of the group snatches it from the air and swallows it whole.
forty-nine
Cade’s face is exultant, victorious—having misread the whole thing, he thinks I’ve gone crazy, decided to join him.
The moment holding, growing, until I rid myself of the mask, gaze down at my feet, and see the rug blazing beneath me. The corners of those nameless pictures scorching and curling—recognizing first one face, then another, and suddenly realizing they’re not what I thought.
They’re not pictures of long-dead Richters—they’re pictures of those whose souls have been stolen for Cade’s horrible cause.
He stands before me, hand reaching toward mine as white hot flames lick at his shoes and dance up his sides. The enormity of what I’ve just done looming before me, as I bolt toward the army of undead Richters, chasing the beast that ate my grandmother’s soul. Noting the way it allows him to grow and transform as a wondrous halo of light seeps out all around him—having no idea if it’s too late to save her, but knowing I have to try, have to stop them from invading
the Lowerworld, or the whole world will suffer.
My legs spin beneath me, carrying me faster than I ever thought possible. My flight spurred by Cade’s haunting trail of laughter, along with his horrible coyote nipping close at my heels.
I sprint through a long series of rooms—heart pumping too hard, lungs about to burst from my chest. Only a handful of steps yawning between me and them, when they burst through the wall that leads to the desert, and Coyote leaps forward and sinks his fangs into my jeans.
I whirl on him, stare into his glowing red eyes, and give him a swift, hard kick in the snout before he can pounce again. The move stunning him just long enough to allow me to dive through the wall before it snaps shut.
Sand.
I forgot about the sand.
It meanders for miles. And though it’s packed hard, which makes it easier for running, with so many undead Richters ahead of me, it’s not long before I’m sandblasted in their wake.
I trudge forward, eyes squinched against the spray, trying to stay focused on the big one, when they sprint up a hill, only to scale it and drop out of sight—disappearing so quickly my heart leaps into my throat, sure I’ve lost them for good. Only to find myself falling as well—swallowed by a tunnel of sand that ingests me deeper and deeper into the earth.
The Lowerworld.
That’s where I’m going. That’s where they’re going too. Intent on wreaking unspeakable damage—fueled by the power of my grandmother’s soul.
But they’re so far ahead, there’s no way to catch up—no way to stop them from entering.
All I can do is go with the fall—my body tumbling, rolling, getting sucked in so deep I can no longer see. My eyes squeezed tight, lips clamped shut, and yet I’m still inundated with great gobs of sand that slip into my ears, grind between my lips, and spread across my teeth.
It’s horrible.
Unbearable.
I can’t breathe, can’t survive it much longer.
The sound of them flailing before me the only thing that keeps me hanging on—reminding me of my purpose, giving me the incentive to keep going.
My ears filled with the sound of their howling and yelping, so tantalizingly close yet so far away. And the next thing I know, I’m out. Slamming hard against the ground, surrounded by undead Richters sprawled all around me.
I blink. Spit. Jump to my feet and dive for the big one, determined to catch him, to stop him at last. But Paloma’s soul has empowered him and he moves far too fast.
They circle and scatter—zigzagging around him in an effort to confuse. And just as I start to gain ground, they split into several small groups that go several different ways. Leaving me with no choice but to forfeit the majority to get to the one.
Trying not to think about all those Richters now loose in the Lowerworld.
Trying not to think about how I’ve failed Paloma, failed as a Seeker in every conceivable way.
All I can do is keep my eye on the prize—racing after him as he heads for a thick grove of trees, causing the spirit animals to dart from our path. So unused to any unrest, much less the invasion of evil, they go into hiding, unsure what to make of it as he continues to move through the brush so quickly, I know I can’t do this alone. I either do something serious, something to stop him, or I’m seconds away from defeat.
I call upon the elements.
Call upon Raven.
My ancestors too.
If what Paloma says is true—that they’re everywhere, part of everything—then they’ll find me here too.
The wind shows up first, wafting and whirling, kicking up great clouds of dust that cut all visibility. And when the earth begins to quake, causing the freak to lose his footing, well, it’s just the boost that I need to push him to the ground, clamp my legs on either side of him, and slam his face into the dirt.
Shouting in victory as I tighten my grip—my triumph short-lived when I realize I have no idea what comes next.
fifty
He struggles against me, fights to break free, but I use all my strength to cling fast to his back and tighten my hold. One hand fisting around a greasy clump of black hair, I yank his head back, and shove my free hand into his mouth. Having no idea if I’m on the right track, but knowing that one way or another, I have to get this thing out.
The soul no longer lost, it’s time to retrieve it—time to wrench it from him so I can return it to Paloma. But with no idea how to do that, I shout, “Give it to me!” Fingers pushing past his tongue, going straight for his throat, when he bites down so hard it threatens to break through my skin.
I yank my hand free, shrieking in frustration and pain, as I grasp his hair tighter and slam his face into the dirt so hard bits of mask break free and embed in his flesh—repeating the move so many times I lose track.
Stopping only when a voice drifts from behind me and says, “I can’t say I blame you, but we really need to keep him alive.”
Dace!
He kneels beside me, answering the question in my gaze when he says, “I heard your call. Horse brought me here as quickly as he could—Raven led the way.”
He heard the call?
Along with the wind, the earth, and my spirit animal?
Maybe there really was more to the dream than I think—a reason we found each other before we’d even met?
Maybe we really are bound in some way?
I look to his right, seeing Raven perched high in a tree, while Horse stands off to the side. The two of them keeping a protective eye on us and a wary eye on the undead Richter, unsure what to make of him.
“Is this the freak that stole Paloma’s soul?” Dace asks.
I swallow hard and nod in reply. Unwilling to tell him that the freak merely ate it—that it’s his brother who stole it and served it to him.
He turns. Casts all about. Focusing on a vine hanging from a nearby tree, his breath slows, his lids narrow, and the next thing I know it’s found its way to his hand, and he’s using it to bind the freak’s arms and feet.
Then he looks at me. I smile at him, and without a single mention of it, he says, “Wolf is stabilized for now.” His brow slants with worry. “Still, we don’t have much time.”
“What do we do?” I loosen my grip on the freak now that Dace has subdued him.
“I don’t know,” he admits. “Soul extraction requires years of training. Though I do know you can’t just reach in and grab it, you have to know how to handle it. One false move and you can lose it for good. Back when I was a kid, the elders used to talk about a particular…” He pauses, searching for the best word. “A particular denizen of the Lowerworld who they sometimes turned to for help. She’s considered quite dangerous, and in our case, she has no reason to cooperate. Though if the barter is right, she might consider it…” His voice fades, unwilling to say any more, fearing he’s gone too far.
“Do you know where to find her?” I ask, determined to speak to her one way or another.
He shakes his head. “All I know is that she resides in the nethermost level. And while our spirit animals may not want to join us, they can probably at least get us started.”
I rise to my feet, facing Raven and Horse as I say, “Show us the way.”
* * *
We head for a shallow trickle of river, Raven and Horse leading, as Dace and I drag the undead Richter behind us. Stopping at the place where the water meets the sand, Raven and Horse refuse to go any farther, as the three of us continue to trudge along the path.
The water soaking my jeans, the rocks ripping the hems to shreds, and when Dace looks down, asks what happened to my shoes, I just shake my head, tighten my hold on the freak, and keep going. The three of us making good progress until the river grows deeper and the current changes so swiftly, we’re swept downstream and abandoned to a series of falls that send us hurtling deeper and deeper into the earth. Reminding me of what Paloma said about the Lowerworld consisting of many dimensions, and sensing we’re getting pulled into yet another one, and then
another, the lower we go. Finding our way to the nethermost.
The torrent growing in intensity, becoming so fierce, we lose our grip on the undead Richter, who breaks free of his restraints and tumbles ahead of us. Until the falls suddenly end in a swiftly moving stream that washes us onto a narrow bed of sharp rocks, where Dace and I pick ourselves up and race toward him.
Dace charging forward, gaining in speed, fingers falling just shy of the target when a figure looms large before us, catches the freak in one hand, and says, “I’ll take it from here.”
My eyes widen. Dace stops in midstride. The two of us panting and drenched, standing before a beautiful woman with eyes as black as onyx—a lush and generous mouth—hair that undulates down her back, in waves of amber so glimmering it perfectly mimics the tinge of flaming New Mexico sunsets—and skin so pale and translucent, its hue is unearthly.
“This one is mine. They’re all mine.” Her arm sweeps wide, revealing what we’d failed to notice before—a full roundup of undead Richters strung up by their feet, left to dangle from a grove of tall trees. Their hideous black-and-white skull masks seeming to mock the predicament they find themselves in. Her gaze flicking between Dace and me when she adds, “And now, it seems you are mine too.”
I take in her swishy black skirt, her black lace-up boots, her snakeskin corset of a top, then I look past her—look all around her. Suddenly understanding what I missed at first glance.
The stream didn’t feed into a bed of rocks like I’d thought.
It fed into a bed of bone chips.
There are bones everywhere I look. We’re completely surrounded by them.
There’s even a house made of bones—a large, rambling, dull white palace with knobs and joints on the corners, teeth decorating the windows and doors. And the fence that surrounds it is made of bones too, mostly femurs and spines, with the occasional elbow thrown in.
And that’s when I see that what I first took for trees aren’t trees at all—or at least not living trees. No longer sprouting leaves, no longer providing oxygen or shade, no longer functioning in the usual way. They died long ago, their scorched and bony carcasses are all that remain.