Horizon

  “Though any advice would be greatly appreciated.”

  He tosses a wad of bills on the table, and without hesitation, says, “Don’t lose your focus.”

  I squint, unsure what he means.

  “Don’t lose sight of what matters most.”

  “Which is?”

  “The people who rely on you to keep them safe from the Richters.”

  I drop my gaze, having read between the lines. “In other words, don’t let my love for Dace—my fantasy that I alone can change him—tame him—slay the beast within and return him to the Dace I know and love—don’t let that get in the way of being the Seeker I was born to be. Is that what you’re saying?” I sigh, having expected this, but still disappointed to hear him echo the same sentiment as my friends.

  My gaze meets his, finding the confirmation right there in his eyes. Also like my friends, his faith in me is faltering.

  While I hesitate to question his wisdom—partly because he’s Chay, and I’ve always relied on his counsel—and partly because he read the bones just as clearly as Dace did—our opinions conflict.

  “Chay, you once said that Paloma understood that great privilege comes with great responsibility. That she never dwelled on her tragedies, same way she didn’t gloat over her triumphs. She stayed steady, humble, and present, with one eye fixed on the horizon ahead . . .”

  His eyes narrow, presumably remembering that night at Leftfoot’s, not so long ago.

  “Well, that’s exactly the model I’m trying to follow. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is, I have every intention of doing the right thing by all of you—and that includes Dace.” My hands twist in my lap, unsure how he’ll react but it needs to be said. “Everyone’s urging me to give up on him, abandon him without a single look back. I can’t do that. I won’t do that.”

  I search Chay’s face, but he’s guarded, hard to read. So I wait for several nerve-wracking seconds until he forms a reply. “While that sounds good in theory, question is, are you sure that’s the right thing to do?”

  “It’s all I can do. There are no other options as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Well, then you’ve made your choice.”

  We exchange a long look that’s broken by the clatter of the busboy removing our plates and the sound of my cell phone chiming.

  After taking a moment to read the message, I return to Chay and say, “What did you do with that tourmaline?”

  He hunches forward, slides his elbows toward me, and meets my question with a wary gaze.

  “I need it.”

  His eyes grow hooded, his voice gruff. “Impossible. It’s not ready. It may never be ready.”

  I shrug. “I still need it.”

  “Daire, do you have any idea what you’re asking?” He rubs his lips together, shakes his head. “By giving you the tourmaline now, I’d be putting you at great risk. The curse Cade embedded runs deep. The hooks were the most intense Leftfoot and I have ever seen. It hasn’t been nearly long enough to be fully cleansed. We’re not even sure it can be regenerated.”

  I pause for a moment, ensuring he’s finished, before I continue. “While I get what you’re saying, thing is, I’ve done a bit of my own research. Did you know that blue tourmalines are traditionally thought of as a shamanic stone? They’ve been used in ritual for centuries. Specifically for protection, but also to point the shaman or Seeker, as we’re now known, toward safety in times of trouble.”

  “I’m aware of that. I’m also aware of the irony of Cade using that very stone against Paloma.”

  “He thinks that’s the punchline, but it’s not even close.” I wave it away, eager to leave the past behind in favor of a future that’s mine for the taking. “Blue tourmalines are also used to activate the third eye, as they provide clarity, direction, and enhance intuition.”

  Chay shoots me an impatient look. “Daire, what are you getting at?”

  “I need it. I don’t care if it’s not ready. I need that stone now. As soon as you can get it to me. We’re running out of time.”

  “I can’t do it. I won’t risk you falling victim to Cade.”

  I lean toward him, look him right in the eye. While I regret having to take this approach, his reluctance to help leaves no other choice. “I’m sorry to say this, but if you won’t give it to me, I’ll get it myself. I know you mean well. I know you’re only looking out for me. But this is one risk I have to take. With or without your blessing.”

  “Can I ask what this is about? And why the urgency?”

  I relax into my seat, knowing I won. “I saw Marliz use her tourmaline ring to gain access to the Rabbit Hole. I also discovered that they’re enhancing the building with black onyx—making it stronger, more resilient, and ensuring the energy of their ancestry stays contained in those walls. They’re not building the same old Rabbit Hole—they’ve got a massive mystical makeover planned. The place is enchanted—barricaded and bound by magick. From what I saw, possession of one of their blue tourmalines is the only way in and I need to get in there before the party begins so I can locate the vortex. With a remodel that extensive, it won’t be easy to find.”

  “I’ll get you another tourmaline, then. One that hasn’t been cursed.”

  “I don’t think just any stone will work. It has to come from them.”

  “But if the stone is connected to them, they’ll know you’re in there.”

  I lift my shoulders, tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

  He holds my look for a moment, then heaves a sigh of surrender and pushes away from the table.

  “Also, I just received a text from Lita. She ran into Cade. Dace was with him.”

  Chay returns to his seat, regards me with a sober gaze. “So it’s started.” His face is tired, voice resigned.

  “Doubtful. Dace would never join forces with the Richters. If he was there, it was for a good reason.”

  “Daire, if Dace is being led by the beast, then the choices he makes are no longer his.”

  “Guess that remains to be seen.”

  Another impasse. Chay sighs and says, “The stone is buried deep at the base of one of our mountains. It’ll take most of the night to reach it.”

  Our eyes meet.

  “But I’ll do it. I’ll bring Leftfoot and Cree for company.”

  “Thanks.” I slide free of the booth, turning in time to catch him looking at me in a way I can’t fathom.

  “Paloma would be proud.”

  Isquint.

  “While I may not agree with your choices, there’s no doubt you’ve just taken your first real step toward trusting your instincts. There’s an old saying—when you conquer your fears, you conquer your life. Let’s hope it holds true in your case.”

  I smile, feeling inordinately proud.

  “There’s another old saying that anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.” He slides an arm around my shoulders and leads me to the door. “And with that in mind, I’ll give you that stone on one condition.” He swings the door wide and ushers me into the night. “You clear your heart of hate for the Richters, especially Cade.”

  I stop beside his truck, sure he must be joking. But one look at his face tells me he’s anything but. “I’m not sure that’s even possible.”

  “Then you better find a way to make it possible because you’re playing right into their hands. The hate you harbor toward them is ripping a hole in your heart which will serve as a portal. Allowing them access to control you in ways far more effective than any stone could. Hate has an insidious way of taking over—but only if we let it. So don’t you dare let it.”

  NINETEEN

  DAIRE

  Although I didn’t think it was possible, Axel looks more distraught than Lita and Xotichl when he learns of Dace’s meeting with Cade.

  He paces the length of the room, makes a series of U-turns. “I’ve been guiding him since the day he was born. There was never any indication it would
come to this. No warning, nothing. Still, despite his telling us, I guess I still clung to the secret hope that it wasn’t that bad, that he’d be spared somehow. And yet, the evidence speaks for itself.”

  “How does that work exactly?” Xotichl curls her feet under her legs. “How does one get assigned to a guide?”

  “Yeah, and do you know mine?” Lita’s eyes light up. “I mean, now that you’re open to talking about it—I mean, you are open, right? Since you’re the one who brought it up.”

  Axel drops his gaze to the floor. “I can’t discuss it. It’s . . . sacred.”

  “But you’re no longer part of the team, remember? You’re not even a benchwarmer. For all intents and purposes, you were dropped.”

  He sighs. Unable to resist her, he says, “Even as guides, we’re not created perfect.”

  “But you were more than a guide, right? You were a Mystic.”

  “Still, like them, I had my own quirks to overcome. And so we were often assigned charges with similar issues.”

  “And what were your issues? What are Dace’s issues?” I ask, hoping for a fresh perspective, a new angle I might’ve missed.

  “We’re both rebels at heart.”

  I sit with that, trying to decide if it’s good or bad.

  “We’re eager to please, but only up to a point. We have a fierce sense of right and wrong, and we’ll do whatever it takes to protect it.”

  Our eyes meet, and I know what he’s thinking: Dace is being led by the beast—his moral boundaries are blurred.

  But I see it differently. Dace’s light has always been one of his most defining features—I refuse to believe it could be snuffed so easily. But when I share the thought with my friends, they respond with the same distrusting look I’ve grown used to seeing.

  “Don’t forget, Dace is a split soul,” I press. “He encompasses the good half—the light half—while Cade encompasses the dark.”

  “Not anymore . . .” Lita mumbles under her breath, causing everyone to shift uncomfortably.

  “The potential to choose darkness was always there,” Axel says. “He did have free will. But he always chose to rise above it. Until . . .”

  “Until I came to town.”

  “It was fated.” He shrugs. “Of course I didn’t know that back then.”

  “So, if you didn’t have a road map,” Xotichl asks, “how’d you know when to be in the Lowerworld on Christmas Eve to save him—only you ended up saving Daire instead?”

  “Usually we don’t get the signal until just a few moments before. There’s not a lot of time to prepare. But with Dace, I’d been worried for days. I didn’t like the way things were progressing, and so I did the forbidden—I peeked at his Soul Book.”

  We stare at him wide-eyed.

  “So it exists!” Xotichl squeals, causing us to shift our attention her way. “It’s said that everyone has one. It’s a record of all that was, is, and will be. Paloma told me about it early on in her teachings.”

  “Oh, it’s real,” Axel says. “And it was strictly forbidden for someone like me.”

  “But his Soul Book must’ve been wrong,” Lita says. “Because Daire died instead of Dace.”

  “Words contain energy, and energy is subject to transformation and change. Our thoughts guide our actions which in turn determine the lives that we lead. Every action has a series of probable reactions or outcomes . . .”

  “And Dace deciding to steal a bit of Cade’s soul changed his future?”

  “Looks like.”

  “Was that when you decided to look?” Lita asks.

  “I failed that night. I understood his motivation, but I tried my best to urge him against it. Though he was good at shutting me out, and he made that leap without looking back. Shortly after, I stole a glimpse of his book, and you know the rest.”

  “What about your book? Do you have one? And if so, what does it say about me—about us?” Lita sits up straighter, eager to get a sneak peek into their future.

  “It’s like I said, energy is subject to change and transformation. Nothing is written in stone . . .” His voice drifts along with his gaze.

  Lita frowns, her shoulders deflate, and figuring we could all use the distraction, I say, “Well, the good news is . . .” I pause until I’m sure I have their attention. “Jennika just wrapped a movie and the costume designer agreed to let us borrow some of the gowns they used to wear at the Rabbit Hole party.”

  Sure enough, Lita’s face lights up, though Xotichl’s grows skeptical. “And the bad news? You may as well spill it. This is Enchantment. Bad news is our specialty.”

  “The bad news is we have a lot of work to do before we’re ready to face the Richters. Anyone up for a little training?”

  “I’m on it.” Lita heads for the trunk, but before she can reach it, the doorbell chimes. The sound so unexpected, we all stop and freeze.

  Axel is the first to respond; determined to make himself useful for living rent-free, he’s appointed himself as a sort of butler/houseboy. Though it’s only a moment later when he calls, “Daire, I think you better come see this.”

  I rush out the door and onto the stoop, only to find yet another white glossy box tied with the same type of bloodred ribbon as the last one.

  “What dead creature has he left us this time?” Lita snaps, as I kneel down beside it, and Axel follows the set of Coyote tracks, confirming two separate paths of entry and exit.

  “You’re not going to open it, are you?” Auden asks.

  “Of course she’s going to open it,” Xotichl says. “She has to!” Then seeing me hesitate, she adds, “You are going to open it, right?”

  I nod. But instead of unwrapping it the usual way, I call upon the magick I’ve been relying on for pretty much everything these days in an effort to whip my skills into the best shape I can.

  “No matter how many times I watch that, it still freaks me out.” Lita shivers as I unwind the ribbon and lift the lid from the box using only intent.

  This time, whatever’s inside is hidden by several layers of delicate tissue I unfold with my hands, only to find the most beautiful, hand-crafted, black leather raven mask waiting beneath.

  “Oh my gosh—it’s beautiful!” Lita slaps a hand over her mouth, realizing what she just said. “I mean, I know it’s from Cade, but, you have to admit, he does have good taste.”

  “Maybe it’s not from Cade,” Xotichl says, looking from the mask to me. “What if it’s from Dace? You have to at least consider it, seeing as how he’s aligning himself with the Richters.”

  “One visit does not an alignment make,” I snap, feeling bad about the edge in my voice the moment it’s out, but I’m really tired of everyone speaking against him. If by chance he was turning evil, he could hardly be held responsible. He made a choice with the noblest intentions, without fully understanding the consequences. If he could take it back, he would. If he could control the beast, he’d do that too. Still, I refuse to believe he would ever act out against me by sending such a cryptic gift with no note.

  “Whoever it’s from, the question is: What are you going to do with it?” Auden asks.

  I lift the mask from the box and hold it before me.

  “Are you going to keep it?” Lita casts a nervous glance my way.

  “For now.” I return it to the box and pack the tissues around it.

  “Are you going to wear it? What if it’s cursed? Or worse?” Xotichl says.

  “I guess we’ll leave that to the pendulum to decide. Come.” I usher them inside. “We have training to do and that’s as good a place to start as any.”

  TWENTY

  DACE

  When I get to the Rabbit Hole, the grunt guarding the entrance starts to give me some grief, until I push my sunglasses high on my head, allow him a look at my blazing red eyes, and he waves me right in.

  Guess Cade chose to ignore my request.

  Yet another regret to add to his growing list.

  I slip past a barricade that’s
well into the process of being torn down, and make my way inside. Barely moving past the entry before I’m stunned into silence. The space is so new and improved it bears absolutely no resemblance to its former, run-down self. Every last trace of the shabby, old, dive bar has been successfully eradicated. Leaving a sleek, modern establishment, with high-end, minimalist design to stand in its place.

  A sort of luxury Coyote lair.

  The walls are an earthy mix of charcoals and browns. The floors are crafted from quartzite. While tall metal sculptures shaped to resemble trees jut from the corners, giving the place a cool, natural vibe.

  I move among a row of plush, low-slung banquettes, and sculptural aluminum tables that appear as though they’ve been crushed by human hands. Noting how the one familiar symbol that remains is the red Coyote insignia marking the barware.

  “So, what do you think?”

  The voice is Leandro’s and I wait a handful of beats before I acknowledge it.

  “A definite improvement.” I turn, allowing my gaze to roam the expanse of his face from behind my dark lenses. Searching for some semblance of myself in his sweep of dark hair and shrewd gaze. Though he’s never been a father to me, there’s no doubt he sired me. Turns out, we have more in common than we could’ve guessed. “So, you survived the blast,” I say. Nothing like stating the obvious. Still, while I came here with an agenda, it’s best not to rush it.

  “Did you doubt me?” He cricks his neck, studies me with a practiced eye. His suspicion made plain in the look on his face.

  I shrug. Hook my thumbs into my belt loops, aiming for a cool and casual stance. “There were many who were wishing you’d perished.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say many.” He laughs, but the sound is hollow, short-lived. “Though I’m sure there were a few. Which leads me to wonder—were you among them?”

  I fix my gaze on his, surprised to find the answer comes quickly. That it’s not at all complicated, and surprisingly genuine. “What kind of son would I be to wish such a thing?”

  His gaze narrows, searching for signs of falsehood, mockery, but he’ll find none of that here. I’m glad he survived. More than he could ever realize. Though from the looks of it, Leandro’s hard to convince. “I’m afraid that’s a tougher sell than you think.”