Echo (Soul Seekers) Page 15

  My thumbs tap the wheel, as I bite back the urge to demand she just get to it and tell me already.

  “Anyway,” she says, a ghost of a smile lighting her face. “Here’s the part that you need to know…”

  When she’s finished reciting, all I can think is how artless it seems.

  How inconsequential.

  With the sort of book she described, I guess I was expecting it to be bigger, more involved, than what I already knew.

  Especially when you consider that actual lives are at stake.

  Yet, according to Xotichl, the version in the codex is an exact match of the verses that were revealed during my sweat lodge experience.

  A deceptively simple quatrain, stating:

  The other side of midnight’s hour strikes a herald thrice rung

  Seer, Shadow, Sun—together they come

  Sixteen winters hence—the light shall be eclipsed

  Leaving darkness to ascend beneath a sky bleeding fire

  “So it’s true. The light will be eclipsed. One of us will die.” I stare at the dirt road ahead, barely able to focus on anything other than the words that continue to play in my head.

  Taunting.

  Haunting.

  Refusing to loosen their hold.

  “But I guess we already knew that,” I say, needing to remind myself that there’s nothing new here. Xotichl’s merely confirmed it, that’s all.

  “Daire’s going to kill Cade,” Xotichl says. “Not only so she can succeed as a Seeker, keep him from ascending, and set things right in the Lowerworld, but also to fix things with you. And while I totally get it, and while I completely support her wanting to do it—I also don’t want her to get hurt. And I’m not sure what I can do to help keep her safe.”

  “She won’t,” I say, my voice determined as I veer onto Xotichl’s street, parking outside the modest adobe home where she lives. “She won’t get hurt. She won’t have a chance to, because I’m going to get to him first.”

  Xotichl nods. It’s the answer she was hoping to hear.

  “There’s a vortex in the Rabbit Hole.” She props open the door and slides free of my truck. “If you enter from there, you stand a better chance of finding him.”

  “Leftfoot wants me to find it. Says you can show me where it is.”

  “It’s tricky.” She closes the door and leans through the open window. “It’s also guarded by demons, so make sure you pack plenty of nicotine to appease them. But tonight, after the gifts are exchanged, I’ll show you where it’s located.”

  twenty-six

  Daire

  “Stop fidgeting. And stop eye rolling too. The longer you resist me, the longer this’ll take.” Jennika frowns, hooks her thumb under my chin, and tilts my head toward hers as she swipes an arc of deep purple shadow over my lids. “I thought you were in a hurry to get out of here and hang with your friends?”

  “I am. And if you’ll remember, that’s exactly what I was trying to do when you barged in and insisted I needed a makeover.” I shoot her a mock-scathing look that quickly turns to laughter when she returns it with one of her own.

  “Well, excuse me for saying so, but no daughter of mine is going to a party looking like…” She cocks her head and squints, searching for the perfect way to both finish the sentence and properly offend me.

  “Like what?” I take a surreptitious peek at my reflection. Seeing a left eye turned smoky and deep, while the right languishes in a state of semi-hazy with only the promise of sultry.

  “No daughter of mine is going to a party looking like she’s ready for church.” Jennika smirks, pleased with herself for her ability to surprise me by saying something I didn’t expect. Going on to add, “There are church looks, there are party looks, and then there are holiday party looks, which, I’ll have you know, call for lots of drama, bling, and yes, deep smoky eyes. Especially deep smoky eyes. So if you can just bear with me for another ten minutes, I’ll give you a look so killer, I guarantee you know who will keel over and die the second he sees you.” She dips her brush into a pot of dusky charcoal shadow and comes at me again.

  “Dace,” I say. “His name is Dace. You’re allowed to use it, you know?” Uttering the words through lips that barely move. A sort of ventriloquism I learned out of necessity when she used to practice her special-effects makeup techniques on me when I was a kid. “And if it’ll help speed things along, feel free to make my eyes a little less fatal. I’d really prefer he doesn’t die when he sees me. I like him better alive.”

  “Aha!” Jennika draws away. Her face lighting up as though I’ve just revealed something we didn’t both already know. “You still like him—there it is.” She wags her finger before me. “And therein lies the problem.”

  I open my mouth to speak, then close it just as quickly. Deciding against the way-too-defensive, not-at-all-believable reply that first springs to mind.

  If defense is the first act of war, then anything I say will only escalate this into an argument I’d prefer not to have. If I have any hope of getting out of here in time to meet Dace, then I’m going to have to cooperate.

  After today’s session with Paloma, when I not only learned the firesong but actually whipped up a small little windstorm, followed by a brief burst of rain (though sadly the snow I tried to summon remained a wish unfulfilled)—I’ve got this surge of empowerment I’m reluctant to waste.

  For the first time ever, I feel fully prepared to go head-to-head with Cade.

  And I will.

  Just as soon as I find him.

  But before that can happen, I need to see Dace.

  I have something planned. Something that, just yesterday, I wouldn’t have had the courage to go through with—but now everything’s changed.

  I’ve changed.

  And I can’t wait to tell him.

  Show him.

  Now I just need to convince Jennika to hurry.

  “Et voilà!” Jennika holds me at arm’s length and inspects her work with a critical eye. Deeming the job a success, she smiles with pride. “You, my darling daughter, are perfection—a total knockout! You remind me of me when I was your age.”

  “And that’s a good thing?” I joke, remembering the pictures I saw of her in her wannabe Courtney Love phase. All pale of face, red of lip, wearing a panty-skimming baby-doll dress and a tiara planted on the top of her bleached-blond head.

  “It’s a very good thing.” She smiles. “And since you’re new at this game, take it from an old master like me—this is how it’s done. This is how all the best love wars are won.”

  “Love wars?” I can’t help but scowl. There’s just something really wrong about that. “So, all of this—” I arrow my finger toward my face. “This is really just war paint to you?”

  She tugs her black long-sleeved sweater over her leather-clad hip and continues her scrutiny. Rummaging my features for traces of her—traces of Django—too absorbed in the past to really see me.

  “Honestly, Jennika, I think that’s crazy. My feelings for Dace are no game. Love is not some old Pat Benatar song—it’s not a battlefield or a war to be won or lost. And if you truly view it that way, then all I can say is poor Harlan.”

  The mere mention of her off-and-on-again but mostly off-again boyfriend shakes her out of her reverie, bringing an immediate frown to her face. “Really, Daire? Poor Harlan, you say?” She shakes her head, causing a spray of wispy blond strands to sweep across her delicate cheekbones before receding again. “Do you know he actually had the nerve to propose?”

  I grip the bathroom counter to keep from toppling into the sink. Stealing a moment to absorb the surprising blow of her words. I didn’t see that one coming. But now that she’s said it, her impromptu visit makes perfect sense.

  “When?” My voice rises with suspicion. “Exactly when did Harlan propose?”

  She turns away, fumbles through her makeup case in a lame attempt to stall. Sighing in surrender, she admits, “Last week. On Malibu Beach. At sunset.” Sh
e makes a face of distaste, as though he committed a detestable act in a hideous way.

  “So that’s why…” I shoot her a knowing look, purposely leaving the sentence to dangle unfinished.

  “That’s why—what? What’re you getting at, Daire?” She dips a big fluffy brush in a pot of glittery bits and swirls it over my cheeks.

  “That’s why you’re here. That’s why you hopped the first plane to Enchantment. You’re running away from Harlan—from commitment—from life!” My eyes blaze on hers. So caught up in the excitement of discovery, of being absolutely sure that I’m right, I almost miss the twitch of pain that crosses her face. Almost—but not quite.

  “I’m here because it’s Christmas and I wanted to spend time with my daughter.” She insists on sticking to her story, despite the fact that the jig is up. “Why’s that so hard for you to believe?”

  “It’s not that I don’t believe it.” I watch her closely. “It’s just that it’s not the full truth. There’s more to it than that, and you know it. C’mon, Jennika, why can’t you just admit that as much as you claim to hate it, Enchantment has become your new go-to spot when you can’t take the heat?”

  Her face grows dark in a way that tells me I’ve ventured way past her personal limits. But as someone who’s recently freed myself from my own iron-clad cage, I know deep in my heart that she needs to hear it. So I go on to add, “Even you have to admit that now that you’re settled full time in LA, it’s getting harder and harder to escape all the things you once fled. You know, things like love. And commitment. And the very real, very tangible possibility of settling down with a guy as great, and talented, and nice, and patient—and, yes—even good-looking—or at least for an old guy—as Harlan.” I smile when I say it, but she refuses to return the smile. “For the first time in a long time, you have a permanent address—a place for all of your personal demons to pile up on your doorstep, waiting to be dealt with. And now that you’re all out of excuses—now that you can’t just up and leave for the next makeup gig on the other side of the world—you’re forced to face all of this and it scares the crap out of you. So, what do you do? You come visit me.”

  I fold my arms across my chest, challenging her to refute it. But she just rolls her eyes and says, “Well, who turned you into Dr. Phil?”

  “Why don’t you give him a chance?” I urge. “Why don’t you plug your nose, close your eyes, and jump in? See how far you can fall without losing yourself? I’m pretty sure Harlan knows what he’s getting into. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t expect you to give up your career or even your name. I’m pretty sure he just wants you for you.”

  Jennika takes a moment. Whether to consider my words or wait for the subject to die an inevitable death, I can’t be sure. All I know is that when she looks at me again, her voice is as resigned as the expression she wears on her face.

  “You can either let me do your lips or you can continue to psychoanalyze me. Your choice, Daire. You decide just how soon you get out of here.”

  Our eyes meet and I decide to let her have this one. By planting the seed, I’ve already won.

  Then I raise my chin, pucker my lips, and settle before her again. Allowing her to swipe a thick layer of gloss across my mouth as I mumble, “I’m just sayin’…”

  “Yeah, me too.” Her voice rings tired and agitated but in a good way. In a way that tells me she’s considering a future she’s denied herself for too long. “I’m just sayin’ too.”

  twenty-seven

  Dace

  From the time I leave my place to the time I get to the Rabbit Hole, I must’ve checked my coat pocket at least twenty times. But that doesn’t stop me from checking again. Nor does it stop the sigh of relief when I find the small, wrapped package that contains Daire’s Secret Santa gift is still there.

  Despite the fact that the heart-shaped turquoise piece far exceeds the twenty-dollar limit, at first glance it probably seems underwhelming. The beauty of the stone—its obvious hardness, luster, and gleaming sky-blue color—all signs of quality of the highest grade—are all there, but the gem holds a deeper meaning as well.

  It’s meant to be an amulet—one she can add to her buckskin pouch along with all of her other talismans. It’s meant to protect her when I can’t be there for her. Turquoise is a healing stone. A protective stone. Said to ward off evil. And here in Enchantment, there’s no shortage of that.

  I just hope I can explain it in a way that makes sense without sounding stupid.

  I park my truck in the usual space and shoot for the entrance. Only making it halfway down the alleyway when Leandro steps out of the shadows, seeming to materialize out of nowhere.

  “Dace,” he says, in a voice as sharp as his gaze.

  I glare at the monster before me. The horrible, evil, self-serving freak who sired me, accidentally created me, the day he violated my mother—messed with her perception and robbed her of her innocence, effectively derailing her future.

  The beast I will never refer to as father.

  “Haven’t seen you in a while. You still work here?”

  He keeps his tone casual, friendly, but I just shrug and check my pocket again.

  He lifts his chin, peering down his nose in that probing way that he has. But instead of backing off like I usually do, this time I meet his gaze. Staring into those fathomless eyes—putting my new skills to use. Knowing I’ll have to confront my brother’s darkness before this is over, and choosing to meet it head-on.

  “Sure you want to go there?” He grins in a way that pulls his lips wide, exposing a row of white teeth that gleam yellow under the glow of the streetlamps. “After all, you may not survive it. Your grandfather, Jolon, didn’t.”

  I stare at him. Surprised to hear him admit it so freely.

  “C’mon, son, surely you know the truth of your existence by now?”

  “Don’t call me that.” I start to push past him, but he shadows me, gets right in my face.

  “Don’t call you what—son?” He lifts a brow. “But you are my son. Whether you like it or not, you owe your very existence to me. I gave you life. I brought you into this world, and, believe me, I could’ve ended you just as easily. I could’ve snuffed you out years ago, but I didn’t. Ever wonder why?”

  I stare into his eyes, not saying a word.

  “I don’t like waste. Don’t believe in it. And I’m convinced that somewhere deep inside that pure and wretched soul of yours lurks a bitter black thorn that represents me, and I’m pretty sure you feel it too. You hate me. I can see the darkness growing inside you, and it pleases me immensely. Your hate gives me hope. If you nurture it, feed it, and allow it to grow, maybe you won’t turn out to be such a lost cause after all. Maybe someday you’ll be able to graduate from the lowly life of a Whitefeather to the exalted existence of a Richter. Of course, there’s no guarantee, but for the first time ever, I’m beginning to think it could happen.”

  “You’re crazy. Insane.” I push past him, my shoulder butting hard against his.

  “Have you seen your brother?” His gaze follows me, as I mutter under my breath and keep going. Aware of his voice calling from behind me, “If you do—tell him I’m looking for him. We need to talk before I head out of town.”

  When I reach the door, I slam my hand hard against it but stop short of entering. I need a moment to slow my breath to a more even pace, rid myself of my anger so I don’t unload it on Daire. The last thing I want is to infect her with the bane of Leandro’s dark presence.

  Much as I hate it, Leandro and I share a bloodline. And just like he said—a piece of him lurks deep within me. As much as I hate him, loathe him, I’m determined to use our connection to stop him. If I sacrifice myself in the process, so be it. Saving Daire is all the legacy I need.

  twenty-eight

  Daire

  After consenting to Jennika’s curling iron, resulting in a series of soft loose waves that even I have to admit look pretty good, I allow her to style the rest of me too.

&nb
sp; She runs a critical eye over the designer jeans, cute top, and the new boots she got me, before adding a few more bangles to each wrist and a few more rings to my fingers—some of them culled from her own hands. But when she offers to pierce my nose to match hers, I draw the line. Pushing her out of the house and into the bone-chilling night, where we slip into her rental car and spend the first few minutes shivering uncontrollably until the heater kicks in and warms us both up.

  “The least it could do is snow.” She glances over her shoulder as she backs down the drive. “Everything looks better under a fresh layer of snow, and God knows this town needs all the help it can get.”

  “I’m working on it,” I say, fingers picking at the heavy brown paper shopping bag I hold on my lap. So busy with my mental inventory of its contents, I didn’t realize I spoke the words out loud until Jennika calls me on it.

  “You’re working on it?” She shoots me a quizzical look. “Since when do you control the weather?”

  Since today—since I learned to fully blend with the elements. As a Seeker, it’s just one of my many duties.

  But, instead, I just say, “What I meant was, I hope it snows too. Everyone wants a white Christmas, right?”

  She shoots me a suspicious look, not quite buying my attempt at a cover-up. “Don’t let Paloma fill your mind with weirdness,” she warns. “Don’t let her turn you into a younger version of her.”

  To that, I close my eyes and refuse to reply.

  “Seriously,” she continues, far from finished with this particular thread. “You have no idea how much I worry about leaving you with her. In fact, just earlier tonight, when you were in the shower, I actually saw her spit on a client.”