With my ponytail clinging to my neck, and water streaming down the back of my tank top, I pour a tall glass of iced ginger tea and position myself before the fan I’ve propped on the counter. Surveying the pile of dirty bowls in the sink, the mixer stand speckled with crud, the baking pan left to cool on the stove—all the usual remnants of yet another failed breakfast experiment.
I’m annoyed by the mess.
Annoyed to always return home to this.
But mostly, I’m annoyed by the sheer force of their happiness—and my inability to warn them of their ill-fated future.
We’re doomed.
Every last one of us.
Making me feel like a virus—infecting everyone around me.
The only ones who stand half a chance are Auden and Xotichl. And yet, there’s no denying that things between them aren’t quite as intense as they were. Ever since he left Epitaph to work on a solo act, he’s off playing gigs in other faraway cities. And while I know it’s been hard on Xotichl, she’s mostly really proud of him. She knows how hard he’s worked for this, and how much it means to him.
I turn back to the sink and flip on the faucet again. This time filling the basin with warm sudsy water, preparing to clean up Lita’s mess, when she enters the kitchen with gleaming brown eyes, cheeks flushed light pink, and a tumble of dark waves cascading messily over her shoulders, the newly bleached ends nearly meeting her waist.
“Didn’t hear you come home.” She grins happily as Axel comes to stand beside her in a pair of dark denim jeans and a white V-neck tee that Lita picked out for him. And though he looks undeniably good, it’s still weird seeing him in anything other than the white tunic he wore in the Upperworld.
“You were busy.” The words come out gruffer than I intended, or maybe not. My mood is unstable, my nerves are jangled, and while I’m tempted to blame the heat, I know better. This is about the dream. No matter how hard I pushed myself during my run, I just couldn’t ditch it.
“Sorry.” Lita’s tone is as sheepish as the look on her face. “Sorry for the noise, the mess, and the overall intrusion on your life.” She sneaks a peek at Axel, motioning for him to grab the dish towel as she edges me back toward the fan and takes over the washing. “To be honest, Daire, I’m not quite sure how to be around you anymore.”
I lean against the counter, unsure how to take that. Catching the cautionary look Axel shoots her as he whispers, “Lita—”
But Lita’s not one to be shushed, and so she hands him a bowl to dry as she looks at me and says, “Truth is, when you’re not outwardly irritated, you’re so cut off and withdrawn it makes me miss the annoyed sighs and frowny faces you make.”
My gaze drops to my feet. Her words cut to the bone, yet there’s no denying their truth.
“And even though everyone tells me to back off and give you the space that you need—thing is, it’s been six months, and—”
“Six months, and what? What’s that supposed to mean? Is that the timeline you’ve placed on my grief ?” I’m seething, glaring, ready to explode, but to her credit she continues washing and rinsing, keeping her cool.
“That’s not fair and you know it. I miss Paloma too. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about her. What I meant was, it’s been six months of watching you shut us all out, acting like we’re in the way. And while I’m aware that, technically speaking, we probably are, we’re not the enemy here, okay? We’re your friends. And we’re here to help. We’re dying to help. We’re begging to help. And we feel like we’re left to idle on the sidelines, just passing the time. Looking for ways to relieve some of your burden, only you won’t let us.”
My shoulders sag in surrender. While there’s no denying I needed to hear it, that doesn’t mean it didn’t sting. “But that’s the thing—you can’t help.” My eyes find hers.
“How do you know we can’t help if you don’t let us try?” She hands the last bowl to Axel, wipes her hands on her shorts, and heads for the stove where she retrieves the baking pan and unceremoniously dumps the muffin remains into the trash.
“You can’t help because I refuse to endanger you any more than I already have.”
She dunks the pan in the sink, leaving it to soak, as she squares off on me. “Well, I hate to break it to you Daire, but just living in this godforsaken town puts us in danger. At least with you, we’re fighting on the side of good. At least with you, we’re protected by knowledge and awareness. C’mon Daire, let us in. Let us help. You don’t have to go this alone.”
I look to Axel for support. He more than anyone should know what it’s like for people like me. But he remains focused on returning bowls to their cupboards, spoons to their drawers, as I stand before the whirring fan blades and say, “But that’s the thing—I do have to go this alone. That’s pretty much the nature of being a Seeker. We train with a mentor, maybe enjoy a brief, ill-fated love affair that usually results in a child, only to end up alone and dooming those poor children to the same lonely fate. It’s what happened to Paloma, and all those who came before her. It’s a well-documented fact. I can prove it, if you want.”
“No need, I believe you.” She shakes her head, scrunches her forehead. “Though I can’t help but think you’ve successfully beaten the odds too many times to surrender so easily.”
I push away from the counter and turn to gaze out the window toward Paloma’s garden, and the collection of strange, hybrid plants I’ve struggled to take over. While they continue to thrive and bloom, it’s not with the same intensity as when they were under my grandmother’s care. She’s a hard act to follow. And while I’m doing my best, I can’t help but feel like I’m falling remarkably short.
While I’ve no doubt Lita’s feelings are echoed by the rest of my friends, while she’s merely acting as a spokesperson, it’s not nearly as easy as they think. And the irony is that her all-consuming love for Axel is as doomed as my own love for Dace.
That’s just the way it’s always been. And history has an uncanny way of repeating itself.
“Intent is magick’s most important ingredient,” Axel says from behind me. “And belief is the spine of intent.”
I whirl around to face him, having almost forgotten about his talent for eavesdropping on thoughts. “I thought that was fading?”
“It comes and goes.” He shrugs. “The point is, I’m not giving in without a fight. So why have you given up long before the fight’s even had a chance to begin?” His voice is even, his expression determined. His deep lavender eyes shifting from the deepest violet to the softest lilac.
“So you know.” My tone is resigned, my gaze appraising.
He returns the look with one of his own.
“You’re not buying into their silence. You know they’ll resurface.”
Lita shifts between us, waiting for someone to clue her in to the truth behind our veiled conversation.
“I’m sure this is the calm before the storm. And I’m committed to enjoying a quiet respite for as long as it lasts.” Axel arcs an arm toward Lita and she’s quick to scurry to his side. “I’m prepping, Daire, just like you are. But I’m also indulging in a chance to rest, refuel, and yes, even enjoy myself.” He hugs Lita tightly, kisses the top of her head. “Maybe you should try it sometime. Might do you some good.”
I glance between them. So flushed and satisfied—so caught in the grips of their heady swirl of happiness—who am I to deny them? Besides, I’m pretty sure Axel already knows the grim possibility of things actually working between them. After all he forfeited—first to save me, then to be here with Lita—they deserve every smidgen of joy they can manage. Won’t be long before such things are much harder to come by.
I hook a thumb in the general direction of their bedroom and say, “You call that a quiet respite?” Enjoying the sight of Axel’s pale face flushing red as Lita shoots me a worried look that fades the moment I grin. “Go.” I wave them away, and head for my room. “Frolic. Be free. We’ll catch up tonight. For now, I need to go change.
My first client is due any minute.”
NINE
DACE
Cree builds a small fire as Leftfoot gestures for me to sit beside it.
I swipe a hand across my brow and shoot him a skeptical look. “Is this really necessary?” I point toward the flames. “It’s triple digits outside. I was enjoying the relief.”
“Sit.” Leftfoot scowls. Chay frowns. And I’m quick to obey. “This is not about your enjoyment,” he says.
“Clearly.” I flash a quick grin, but Leftfoot’s not having it.
“Tell me what you see.” He kneels beside me, ducks his head toward the flames.
“I see a fire, burning logs, wisps of smoke.” I shrug, knowing better than to pretend to see more when I don’t.
“Look deeper. Meditate on the flames for as long as it takes.”
“As long as it takes to what, exactly?”
“You’ll know it when you see it.”
He settles beside me, humming a familiar childhood tune, as Chay lingers behind, and Cree leans against the far wall.
I stare into the flames. Forcing my breath to slow, my gaze to relax, as I work on ridding myself of all expectation. Despite Leftfoot’s constant reminders that there are no right and wrong images when it comes to scrying, it’s tough to overcome my innate need to please him.
I’ve spent the last six months preparing myself both mentally and physically. Pushing my body to the edge of exhaustion with punishing workouts—pushing my magick to surpass the usual skills—pushing my mind to see more, intuit more, to embrace the absolute oneness of everything in the universe. And though I’ve been on the lookout for signs of transformation, a stirring of the beast that made itself known last New Year’s Eve, there’s been no sign of him.
Until now.
The wood cracks and sizzles.
The flames swirl and dance.
As great whiffs of smoke rise and bend, shrink and expand. Morphing into a replica of the beast that dwells deep within.
I recognize it the instant I see it.
He’s glorious.
Breathtaking.
Fierce and strong.
A creature of stature and grace, with long sharp talons and a crown of white feathers encircling his head—capable of so much more than I’d ever be on my own.
“Talk to me,” Leftfoot says, sensing the shift in my mood.
After giving a detailed description of the beast, Leftfoot nods his approval and motions for Chay to bring me the large, cotton sack he hauled all the way here. The contents rattling as he deposits the bag beside me, I take a moment to give silent thanks for the magick to come, then yank on the drawstring and snake a hand toward the bottom. My fingers butting against a smooth, long object with identical holes on either side, I ease it free of the opening and raise it before me.
Despite knowing I shouldn’t be surprised by what I see, after all, Chay’s a vet, which gives him plenty of access to such things, that doesn’t stop me from gazing upon it in wonder. Up until now, I’d never seen an actual horse skull before.
I flip it over in my hand, as Leftfoot says, “You are guided by Horse—a symbol of freedom, power, and enlightenment. His is a commanding presence. A powerful spirit animal. Teaching us the benefits of patience, kindness, and cooperation. The spirit of the Horse encourages us to awaken our power to endure and reach our full potential. Now it’s time for you to reach yours.”
I lift my gaze to the flames, watching as the image of the beast continues to undulate before me. The sound of Leftfoot’s voice filling the cave. “Set the skull before you, then place your palm over the top of the bag and use your magick to summon the other bones to you.”
I’m quick to obey, first palming a rib bone, then what looks to be the cervical vertebrae.
“After arranging the bones from smallest to largest, place your hands on your knees, palms facing the ceiling, then project the bones into the fire using only your will. And whatever you do, whatever occurs, do not flinch. Do not resist. Stay steady, strong, and unwavering in your focus. Don’t try to control the ceremony. Allow it to unfold as it will.”
I concentrate on the bones, sending them soaring into the flames where, one by one, they explode on contact. The resulting resonance so jarring, so deafening, it takes all of my will not to take cover and bolt for the exit.
The bones splinter and crack. Dissolving into hundreds of jagged pieces that swirl above our heads in three distinct clouds of disparate particles that eventually find their way to the ground where they fall in perfect formation as a heavy silence settles around us.
I look to Leftfoot for guidance. Unsure how to interpret the event. Watching as the old medicine man continues to stare into the flames. “That day at the sweat lodge, you claim to have made your choice based on what you saw during your soul jump. In case you’ve been wondering, I showed you that message for a reason.”
I nod in assent, knowing exactly which message he refers to. Although Leftfoot showed me a lot of things that day, invited me in for an all-access pass into his soul code, there was one message that stood out amongst all the rest.
One that I had to delve deep to see.
One that changed everything.
And though I know the reveal was no accident (nothing Leftfoot does ever is), later, when the plan turned against me—when the darkness inside lodged itself deep and resisted all attempts to expel it—when my eyes turned like Cade’s—when Daire grew first concerned, then afraid—I couldn’t help but wonder why.
Why did he show it to me when he knew all along what I’d choose?
“Sometimes you must venture into the dark to bring forth the light.” I repeat the message he shared with me. Having adopted it as my mantra from the moment it was revealed, the words come easily.
“While the statement is true, you used the line as proof that you should make the choice you were determined to make all along.” His tone is sharp though it’s not meant to sting. Leftfoot is merely stating the truth.
“And every action yields a reaction.” I frown, the words coming from a place that allows for perfect recall of that day.
“The moment those dueling curls of smoke rose up before you, your choice was made. Maybe even before.” Leftfoot’s face grows dark, hooded, as he returns his focus to me. The absolute veracity of his words leaving me no choice but to duck my head in shame.
I’d decided long before I entered that sweat lodge which path I’d choose, and I used the events as an excuse to proceed. I was sure that choosing darkness over light would strengthen me—allow me the necessary edge to defeat the Richters and protect Daire.
Now I know better.
After a long bout of silence, I lift my chin and regard him with smoke-stung eyes and a profound sense of unease. “Did I make the wrong choice—or was I merely following my destiny?”
“Destiny is inevitable.” Leftfoot’s gaze centers on mine, though his thoughts grow distant, drifting to a faraway place. “In the end, all roads lead to the end.”
“You once said that the bit of darkness I ingested is the very thing that makes me human, maybe even normal.”
“The darkness inside you allows for a more human experience. Giving you the very thing you lacked before: an insider’s knowledge of the two faces of man—the constant struggle between darkness and light. But make no mistake, you’re not entirely human, Dace. Your inherent nature is something much greater.”
I close my eyes and sigh.
My birth. Of course. What else could it be?
I’m the product of violence.
Black magick.
Dark interference.
Sorcery at its worst.
Wrought from the bleakest, purest form of evil, my creation was aided by demons, beasts, the restless undead, and other dark, fetid things dredged up from the depths.
“There’s a reason you survived. A reason Leandro couldn’t extinguish your light, no matter how hard he tried. And it’s not for the reason you think. Seems you have a b
ig role to play.”
I lift my gaze to meet his, hoping he’ll choose to elaborate on what that role might be. But he just motions for me to get up and stand beside him.
“Time to read the bones.” He arcs a finger toward the scattering of skeleton bits now spread across the dirt in patterns that at first look don’t make any sense. “Describe what you see.”
My gaze moves over them until three very distinct shapes begin to form.
I inhale a sharp breath. Swing my head between the startling array of bones and the old medicine man beside me.
It can’t be.
There’s no way.
After everything that’s happened, how could it amount to this?
Leftfoot motions toward that rising curl of smoke that once represented the glorious beast within, now transformed into the dreaded monster I’m in the midst of becoming.
“The bones never lie.” His voice is a match for the remorse that I feel. “This is one of the oldest forms of divination. And, in your case, it’s appropriate to say it came straight from the Horse’s mouth.” He cracks a smile, offering a welcome bit of levity in a room gone heavy with dread.
Though my own expression is bereft when I say, “Now that I know, what do I do?”
“That’s always the question, isn’t it?” His gaze grows so hooded, so shadowed, it’s impossible to read. “I’m afraid my guidance ends here. The next move is yours.”
I balk. Sure he can’t be serious. Despite the absolute finality of his expression, his word. “You’re abandoning me? Now? Just when I need you the most?”
“I’ve taught you as well as I was able. Instilled within you the necessity of rooting yourself firmly in your own truth.”
I stare at him incredulously. “And what kind of truth is that?” I motion toward the bones. “I never wanted this! Everything you taught me brought me closer to the light. And now . . .” I rake a hand through my hair, press my fists to my eyes. Hardly able to believe the horrible turn destiny has decided to make.
“Know this.” Leftfoot rests a comforting hand on my shoulder. “It’s never enough to just accumulate knowledge and skills. It’s what a person does with what he knows that defines who he is.”