I also saw the story of every Seeker who walked before me.
Watched as they all—every last one of them—fell at the hands of Coyote.
So why should I be any different?
Why do I deserve the kind of happily ever after denied to my ancestors?
“Don’t doubt the future, Daire.”
I return to Dace. Surprised to find him standing before me, displaying his uncanny ability to read every shift in my mood. I ease my face into a tight grin, quickly turn away, and riffle through my bag, mumbling, “How can I not?”
“Because I know something you don’t.”
Just as intended, the words lure me in, coaxing me to face him again. “Oh yeah, and what’s that? Care to share this great wisdom of yours?”
Without the slightest trace of mirth, he places a hand on each of my shoulders, and fixes his gaze intently on mine. “There’s only one force more powerful than evil—”
I blink a few times, drawing a blank on what that might be. Clearly, he’s not referring to me. No Seeker has ever successfully kept evil at bay—or at least not for very long.
“Love.”
I can feel the word as he says it.
Can actually feel the force of it shooting toward me as it rolls off his tongue—emanates from the tips of his fingers. Its ferocity—its urgency—its absolute, undeniable truth leaving me so startled, I can’t think of a single thing to say in reply.
“Love, Daire. Love is stronger than evil. Love is the answer. Love is all there is. Love conquers. Love heals. Love unites. All you need is love. Love makes the world go round . . .”
The energy continues to swirl all around me, causing my head to spin, my heart to flutter—lasting only as long as Dace maintains his grip on my shoulders. The moment he drops his hands and steps back, the illusion is gone. Leaving me sad, deflated, and more disappointed than I care to let on that while the sentiment sounds nice on the surface, it can’t be that easy.
As much as I long to believe him, it’s wishful thinking at best and I can’t afford to fall into that trap. I’ve spent the last few months preparing to avenge my abuela’s death and rid the world of Richters once and for all. I can’t risk going soft.
“Mmm . . . I’m pretty sure it’s money that makes the world go round. I’m pretty positive that’s how the song goes.” I guard my heart by deflecting his words with a sarcastic reply, but as soon as it’s out, I flinch with embarrassment. The words ring unnatural and forced—stinging like a betrayal after all we’ve been through.
I bite my lip hard and return to the search through my backpack, but when Dace grasps my hand, urging me to look at him, I can’t help but give in.
His tone as serious as his face, he says, “Not our song. Not this song. Not the song of you and me.”
He speaks with such conviction, I’m just about to yield, when I remember the lineage transmission Paloma gave me and the undeniable truth she revealed.
There’s no disputing the facts that unfolded before me that day.
Still, it doesn’t stop me from melting just a little when Dace pulls me toward him and presses his lips to the tip of my nose.
“All you have to do is believe. Have a little faith. That’s really all that’s required. Miracles aren’t nearly as uncommon as people like to think. Leftfoot says they’re manifested by love, and we’ve got that in spades. No reason we can’t work a few miracles of our own.”
I soften my stance. Willing to concede that he just might be right. That it really might be as simple as that. Paloma always said that intent is magick’s most important ingredient. Maybe if I just allow myself to believe hard enough . . .
I shake my head and force myself to pull away. Force myself to say, “You work on believing, while I go work out.”
“Skeptic.” He grins.
“Optimist.” I playfully stick out my tongue.
“You got time for coffee?”
I shake my head.
“Want a ride?” He swipes his keys off the dresser, jangles them before me.
“Nah, I think I’ll run.”
He lifts a brow.
“May as well squeeze in a workout before the temperature has a chance to shoot into the triple digits again.”
“You know it’s okay to take a break now and then?”
I choose to ignore that. I can’t afford breaks. Can’t afford to let down my guard.
“Fine. Then at least wear this to keep the sun off your face.” He tosses me a baseball cap advertising a surf brand. “And say hey to Axel.” He follows me out the front door and down the rickety steps that lead to the parking lot.
“At least he agreed to live with me.” I glance over my shoulder, wait for Dace to catch up.
“The way I remember it, he had no where else to go.” He squeezes my hand, gives a good-natured grin.
“And you’re not even the least bit jealous?” I angle my face toward his, catching the amused glint in his eyes.
“You serious?” He shakes his head. “Jealous of Axel?”
“Yeah, of Axel,” I say, feeling inexplicably defensive, but then my emotions are all over the place. “A single guy who’s actually pretty good-looking if you like tall, strong, angelic types with lots of muscles and lavender eyes. He was practically moved into my old room before I could even finish making the offer.”
Dace stops beside his truck. “Daire, I’m not jealous of Axel. For one thing—he was my spirit guide since I was a baby, and he still feels the need to look after me even though he’s officially been stripped of the title. For another—I trust you. I trust in our love. After all, I am the optimist, remember?”
“And third?” I place a hand on my hips. “I can see it in your eyes, there’s a third.”
“And third—do I even need to mention Lita?” He laughs, causing his irises to glimmer in a way that’s mesmerizing. “You may be the Seeker, but are you seriously willing to get between Lita Winslow and the professed love of her life?”
I dip my head and sigh, chasing it with a groan for good measure. Since the moment school ended, Lita has devoted her entire summer to being with Axel. Which means she’s been a permanent fixture in my den—when they’re not holed up in his room.
Yet another star-crossed romance that was doomed before it could properly start.
Or at least according to Paloma who warned me it would never amount to anything good.
Paloma was pragmatic. A realist, like me. And while it’s really quite refreshing to be around a true believer like Dace, I can’t quite convince myself to join him in that eternally happy place.
“Lita’s pretty territorial where Axel’s concerned. I’m not sure even someone as powerful as the Seeker could forge a wedge between them,” Dace says, breaking me out of my reverie, and proving, once again, just how tuned in he is to my moods.
“Speaking of powerful . . .” I leave the question to dangle, there’s no need to finish. We both know I’m referring to last New Year’s Eve when all hell broke loose and Dace found himself in the grips of an incredible shift he couldn’t quite shake, didn’t want to shake, as he tells it.
Though despite his optimism, I know he’s concerned it might’ve been the result of the dark bit of soul he stole from his brother that’s still lodged inside. And I can’t say I’ve ruled it out either.
“No sign of the beast.” He opens the door of his truck and tosses his bag onto the seat. “Must be lying dormant.” He turns back to me and tilts his face toward the sun, shielding his eyes with his hand. “Sure you don’t want a ride? Looks like it’s gonna be another scorcher.”
I shake my head, shake out my limbs. Try to loosen them up for the long run ahead.
“Okay, then.” He climbs into his truck. “See you tonight?”
I nod.
“Your place, my place, or the Enchanted Spring?” He closes the door between us and leans out the driver’s side window.
“My place.” I make a face when I say it. Still feels weird to refer to it
as mine, and not Paloma’s, but I’m quick to push the thought from my head. “Xotichl and Auden are stopping by. And of course, Lita and Axel will be there.”
Dace gives me a swift kiss goodbye and revs up his truck, as I take a deep breath, adjust my cap, and break into a run.
FOUR
LITA
I pop the oven door open and frown. Despite following Paloma’s recipe to the letter, my blue-corn muffins don’t smell like Paloma’s, don’t look like Paloma’s, and how come they’re all sunken in the middle instead of fat and fluffy like hers always were?
“How long have you been awake?”
Axel pads into the kitchen, raking a hand through his platinum-blond, sleep-tousled curls as I slam the oven door closed, and hope that between now and the next five minutes when the timer goes off, some of Paloma’s kitchen magick will begin to kick in.
Though deep down inside I know the truth—Paloma is the missing ingredient. There’s just no replacing her. Most likely we’ll be having stale bagels for breakfast again.
I toss an oven mitt onto the counter and sigh. “Couldn’t sleep. And I didn’t want to wake you, so I thought I’d make us some breakfast. But, from the looks of things, that’s going to require a miracle, so don’t get your hopes up.” I allow my gaze to roam the expanse of his smooth, well-muscled chest, down the length of his finely chiseled abs, all the way to the elastic waistband of his new gray sweatpants.
“As a Mystic, I’ve worked plenty of miracles.” He crosses the kitchen until he’s standing before me, lowering his head to drop a kiss onto my lips. “How bad is it?” He glances toward the oven. “Should I perform a healing?” He wraps his arms around me, holds me tight at the waist, and centers his deep purple gaze on mine.
“I’m pretty sure it’s well beyond that. But, you could fix your sweatpants.” I jerk the tag at his waist. “They’re on backward.”
He casts a sheepish glance down the length of him and laughs. “Thought they felt a bit off. Loose in some places, snug in others. Guess I’m still not used to these things.”
“You mean, pants?” I stifle a giggle. Enjoying the spectacle of watching him drop them to the floor and getting ’em turned right around without a hint of embarrassment, as I sneak an anxious glance toward the door. The last thing I need is for Daire to walk in and catch Axel standing naked in her kitchen. “Guess it takes some getting used to.” I cock my head to the side, feigning a look of deep thought. “After all, the separate leg holes do require an entirely different skill set from wearing a dress.”
“Tunic.” Axel smiles, grasps me about the waist once again. “In the Upperworld, I wore a tunic. The females wore dresses.”
“An important distinction.” My gaze makes a greedy feast of his face, wondering if I’ll ever grow tired of looking at him.
“Glad to clear that up.” He grins. “But what I don’t understand is why I’m required to wear anything at all when, according to you anyway, you prefer to see me in my most natural state.”
“Axel!” I press a hand to my lips, swallow a self-conscious giggle. All too aware of my cheeks turning the full spectrum of red. Normally I wouldn’t be embarrassed by a statement like that. Normally I would volley right back with something equally flirtatious. But the way Axel delivers it with such sincerity, such guileless honesty, the best I can ever do is blush in response.
While he’s certainly manly in all the ways that count, sometimes he seems almost childlike in the way he’s so uncorrupted by the world. Unlike most people, he’s not driven by the usual things—vanity, pride, and ego hold no importance for him. He’s straightforward, always impeccable with his word. And his belief in me is so absolute, sometimes I find myself cowering under the weight of it, wondering if I even deserve it.
I guess because it’s so opposite of the way it was with Cade, where everything was a manipulation, a game. And while I don’t miss those days in the least, while I mostly wish I could banish them from my storehouse of memories, the truth is, I’m not always sure how to take Axel’s brand of earnest, wide-open love.
While it’s clear he’s nothing like Cade, I’m not always sure just what he is. No longer a Mystic—having broken one of his most sacred vows when he decided to spare Daire’s life last Christmas Eve—he’s since been denied admittance to the Upperworld—the place he called home.
Though he’s not entirely human either.
Which means our ways are still new to him.
And once, when he accidentally nicked his finger while trying to cut a tomato, I watched him bleed gold.
“How about Radiant Being?” He grins, proving, once again, his uncanny (and highly annoying) ability to read my mind. Catching my frown, he pulls back and says, “Sorry, was I eavesdropping?”
“Clearly.” I return to the oven, if only to confirm I’ve committed yet another case of muffin-murder. Stale bagels it is. I flip off the heat, set the pan on the stovetop to cool, and head for the fridge in search of cream cheese and jam.
“Lita, have I upset you?” He stands beside me, a scolded-puppy expression marring his beautiful face. Having failed at something he doesn’t quite understand—his intent is always to please. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m trying to learn your ways, truly I am. Being in love is all new to me. I thought the whole point was to share everything?”
He cocks his head, sending a tumble of white-blond curls to fall enticingly into those alluring lavender eyes.
“I’m new at love too.” I frown at the empty jam jar, place the container in the sink, and chuck the tub of cream cheese onto the counter. “And while people may claim that they want to share everything, they don’t really mean it.” I fold my arms across my chest and face him. “Thoughts are meant to be private, okay? It’s not okay to listen in.”
He nods intently, as though committing my words to memory, and I can’t help but grin in response. I don’t remember anyone ever taking me quite so seriously.
“It may please you to know that the ability is fading where all others are concerned. Though for some reason with you, it remains strong as ever.”
“Lucky me.”
He moves toward me, unfolds my hands, and rests them on the top of his shoulders. “I take it as proof of the deep connection we share. Proof that coming here was the right thing to do.”
The words hit me hard, and I take a moment to absorb them while I study his expression. The last six months we’ve been together have been such a whirlwind, such an exhilarating head rush, I guess I never once stopped to consider all he gave up to enter my world.
“Axel—do you ever . . . regret that you’re here?”
When his reply doesn’t come quickly, my shoulders sink in relief. Glad to see him taking time to consider, knowing that when he does answer, he’ll do so truthfully. Being impeccable with his word means he’s not always quick to reassure.
“Sometimes I get homesick.” His face assumes a thoughtful expression. “But then, I look at you, and suddenly I get to experience all of the wonderful emotions that were denied me before. Before you, everything I knew about falling in love was confined to theory. And while I’ll eventually grow used to living without magick and tunics, now that I’ve found you, I could never consider a life without you.”
I choke back a sob, start to look away. But then he catches me by the chin, tilts my face toward his, and says, “I’m willing to skip breakfast, if you are?”
All I can do is nod in return.
And the next thing I know, he lifts me into his arms as though I weigh nothing at all, and carries me down the hall toward his room.
FIVE
DACE
Since I have sometime before I need to show up for work at the gas station, I drive into town and park the old, white heap just outside of Gifford’s, aiming to enjoy a cup of that freshly brewed coffee advertised in the window, and maybe read a bit from the stack of books I’ve been lugging around.
I wave to old man Gifford and head for a table in back. Only to hear m
y name being called from the far side of the room, as Leftfoot and Chay gesture impatiently toward the steaming cup of coffee they have waiting for me.
How they knew I’d show up when I only decided myself just a few moments ago is beyond me. Then again, the elders are pretty much tuned in to everything. They probably willed me here without my even realizing.
I grab the chair next to Chay and drop my books before me. Lifting my cup to my lips, I watch as Leftfoot swipes a title from the top of the stack, glances at the front and back covers, heaves a disapproving grunt, and drops it right back.
“Where’d you get those?” Chay glances between the spines and me. “Lucio’s back room?”
“Santa Fe.”
He narrows his gaze, takes a sip of his coffee. “When’d you start smuggling contraband? Those sort of books have been banned from Enchantment for years.” He speaks the words lightly, but his face remains as stoic as ever.
“What can you learn about the mystical arts from a book that you can’t learn from us?” Leftfoot chimes in, sounding miffed and offended.
I shrug, lower my cup, and decide to answer honestly. “So far, nothing.”
Leftfoot grunts in reply, but this time it’s of the satisfied variety.
After covering all of the usual small talk—the stifling summer heat; hottest year on record; Chepi’s general health and well-being and her continued suspicion of Daire, which seems to be softening since Paloma’s passing—we move onto the whole point of their luring me here. And of course, it has to do with the Richters. Three in particular: Gabe, Leandro, and Cade. Otherwise known as my cousin, my father, and my twin. Though I prefer not to think of them that way.
Gabe is a creep.
Leandro is a dark sorcerer and rapist, who used my mother to wield his black magick to conjure a son even darker than he.
And as for Cade, well, next time I see him, I plan to kill him.
I guess you could say there’s no real sentiment where the Richter side of my family is concerned.
And while it’s clear that no one has seen any of them, like Daire, they’re not convinced that’s necessarily a good thing.