Echo (17 page)

She looks like several nationalities got together and decided to donate their most celebrated physical traits to one person, and she’s the result.

“Who’s that with them?” Jennika nudges my arm. “The one standing next to Jacy?”

I continue to stare, wondering why they all seem to know her—why she keeps looking at Dace. And why Dace can hardly bring himself to return the look.

About to probe deeper, try for one of those
impressions
, if only to get a read on the situation, when I catch myself. Stop myself. If anything, I should be building walls between us, not knocking them down.

Jennika’s voice drones on, providing a long list of what’s meant to be helpful hints on how to handle this breakup with my friends in order to gain the upper hand. Stopping only when I say, “Jennika—”

She looks at me, face expectant.

I gnaw hard on my lip, force myself to swallow the angry retort that comes far too easily. The one about boundaries—about allowing me the freedom to make my own mistakes my own way. The one where I remind her that she can’t protect me from everything no matter how hard she tries. Instead, I just slip free of the car and wave to her from the curb. Watching as she exits the lot before I make for Chay’s old blue truck parked at the side of the building, just under the cartoon picture of a wizard, our school mascot. This was what Paloma was hinting at.

“Get in.” He leans across the seat to prop open my door. “Paloma’s waiting. Looks like you’ve got more training to do.”

I climb in beside him, and despite knowing better, I can’t keep from taking one last look at Dace as Chay pulls onto the street.

Can’t help but notice how quickly he senses me looking.

How swiftly he turns to meet my gaze.

I sink into the moment—allowing myself to bask in his presence.

Until I remember the high price of loving him and force myself to look away.

twenty-three

Dace

I sense her the second her mom pulls into the lot.

The rush of her energy, like a cocktail for the senses that leaves me thirsting for more.

So absorbed by Daire’s presence, I almost miss it when Lita says, “… and then I’m like,
Phyre
?” She reenacts a scene from the day before, dramatizing the same expressions, the same hair swing, so we can see it just like it happened. Going on to add, “And sure enough, it was her. She’s back in Enchantment. Can you even believe that? I could’ve sworn they were gone for good.”

“Phyre?” I stare at Lita, though I don’t really focus. The name alone is enough to reel me into a past I’d long since buried. Hardly ever think about.

Lita shakes her head, shoots me a dramatic roll of her eyes. “Um, hello? Yes, Phyre. What do you think I’ve been going on about?” She looks at everyone else, making a face she thinks I can’t see even though I’m standing directly in front of her.

“So, she’s back?” I say, knowing the question will only serve to annoy her, but I missed the details the first time around. I need the confirmation that it is what I think.

She adopts an overtly patient expression and the tone to match. Acting as though she’s been left to deal with a difficult child who needs everything carefully explained. “I saw her in town yesterday. She’s definitely back. She’s even coming to Milagro. Said she’ll start up after Winter Break…”

She goes on from there, but I’ve already stopped listening. I’ve heard all I need to.

Phyre.

Here.

At Milagro.

I try to shake free of the thought, but it clings at the edges. Encouraging the blur of long-forgotten pictures that form in my head. The slideshow unfolding to the soundtrack of my own voice, warning:
You can never go back. And why would you want to?

Then, just after I think it, I realize I wouldn’t.

Go back.

Not ever.

“Wow,” Xotichl says. Always amazing me with her ability to pack so much meaning into one single, seemingly innocuous word. Her head tilts toward me, no doubt reading my energy. Trying to assess how I’m taking the news. What it means to me—what it means for Daire.

I respond to her head tilt with a shrug. Hoping she’ll sense it and rest assured that the news means nothing. I may find it interesting. Unexpected. But no more.

“Speaking of…” Jacy gestures toward the place where Phyre climbs out of a dusty white car. Her eyes lighting upon us, her face breaking into a smile.

She’s changed. Looks really different from the way I remember. Her hair is still wild, but the red streaks are new. And she’s definitely taller. Prettier too. Like the baby fat that once padded her cheeks migrated to other, more womanly places, allowing her face to rearrange itself into a series of sharp pleasing angles and curves.

I swipe a hand over my chin. Try to stop looking, but it’s no use. It’s like watching a ghost swoop down from the past, and all I can do is stand there and stare. Reminding myself it meant nothing, we were just kids, didn’t really know what we were doing.

Okay, maybe not exactly kids.

Kids don’t do what we did.

Still, a lot of time has passed. And during that time, a lot of things have changed. Actually, everything’s changed. Or at least it has for me. And, from the looks of her, she’s met with change too.

She says hello, allowing her gaze to move among us, before landing on me, where it stays long enough to take a full inventory. Holding the look just a few seconds too long—long enough for everyone to notice—before she clears her throat and says, “So … does this mean you guys are all friends now? How did that happen?”

“Daire made it happen.” Xotichl tilts her chin and scrunches her nose as she accesses Phyre’s energy. And from the way she fails to relent, I’m guessing she doesn’t approve of what she
sees
. “Daire is Dace’s girlfriend.” The words so unmistakably pointed, Phyre rubs her lips together and shifts her gaze to her feet.

“Then I’m sure she’s amazing,” Phyre says, her eyes glittering just a little too brightly. “So, can anyone show me where the office is? I need to register.”

She turns her focus on me, hoping I’ll volunteer, but I pretend not to hear. I just watch as Lita nudges Jacy hard in the side, and a second later she and Crickett are leading her away.

Barely making it out of earshot when Xotichl frowns, and Lita says, “I don’t like this.” She stares after them, lips twitching from side to side. “I don’t like what it could possibly mean for me.” Her words purposely leading, practically begging Xotichl and me to ask her to explain. But we know we don’t need to. Lita has every intention to continue. She’s merely filtering the thoughts in her head. “I mean, look how she just waltzes right up and blends in. She was always flitting from clique to clique, blending with everyone so flippin’ easily. It took me
years
to even consider acknowledging you guys.” She stops, realizes what she just said. Then shrugging, she adds, “No offense. But still…”

She drones on, weighing the pros and cons of Phyre’s sudden reappearance—how it might impact her own popularity. Either completely unaware that no one’s really listening—or well beyond caring that Xotichl’s lost in her own train of thoughts, as I fight like hell not to turn around and look at Daire.

Part of me aching to see her—part of me knowing it’s the last thing we need.

Unfortunately, the first part wins. Driven by the weight of Daire’s gaze upon me, begging me to turn. To look. And, without further hesitation, I do.

And I keep on looking long after Chay drives her away, blotting her out of my view.

twenty-four

Daire

“Once kindled, Fire is fast acting and quick to consume all in its path. It burns, scorches, singes, and transforms by altering the structure of all that it touches. In moderation, it provides comfort, warmth, and illumination. In excess, it blazes an unholy path of destruction.”

Paloma bends toward the row of hand-dipped candles she’s placed on the battered wooden table in her office. Their wicks sizzling and sparking when met with the flaming end of the long wooden match she wields in her hand.

“Fire can also be used for scrying.” She looks at me, a small smile lighting her eyes. “Most any object can be used in this way, but fire adds a certain intensity, a certain animated quality you don’t often get from a rock or a crystal. So, tell me,
nieta,
when you look into the flame, what do you see?”

I purse my lips and peer at the line of candles before me. Trying to take the exercise seriously, since there’s so much at stake, but still not wanting to lie, I say, “Probably not what you want me to see.” Lifting my shoulders when I add, “There’s a base of blue that leads to a yellow-white tip that wavers about.”

“Good.” She grins. “That’s all you’re meant to see. Or at least for the moment, anyway. Much like you did with the pendulum, you will ask the Fire a question. But instead of the
yes
or
no
response of the pendulum, the Fire will show you images that will provide the information you seek.”

I lift a brow, knowing better than to question her. Still, these lessons just seem to get weirder and weirder.

“And just like with the pendulum, it’s important to remember that the Fire is only providing the wisdom that lives deep inside you. It’s the same with the talismans you wear in your pouch. None of these things can impart attributes or answers you don’t already possess—rather, they bring forth the powers that exist deep within you. There will come a time,
nieta,
when you are so in tune with yourself and your connection to all living things that you will no longer need to rely on these tools unless you seek clarification. But as you are not quite there yet, I want you to take a series of deep, cleansing breaths. I want you to clear your mind and center yourself. Then, when you are ready, I want you to choose one of the flames to gaze upon, allowing your focus to naturally settle. And instead of asking a question of the Fire, I want you to ask the Fire to reveal whatever it deems worthy of showing you. Just keep your mind open. Allow the information to flow. Can you do it?”

I nod. I’m already doing it. Already taking deep, calming breaths. Already aware of the way my muscles instantly soften and relax. The way my vision begins to widen before narrowing down to one single point.

Concentrating on a solitary flame snaking before me. Drawn to its heat, its essence, its spirited dance—striving to connect and merge with its very crux. Until everything fades except this lone flicker.

I’ve barely finished bidding a quick, silent plea for it to share its knowledge, when a face begins to form. A dark and haunted beautiful face with deep luminous eyes that gaze hard into mine. Though just when I’ve grasped hold of the image, the face fades, allowing a fleeting trace of a raccoon to stand in its place.

“It’s Valentina!” I gasp, gazing upon one of the first recorded Seekers in the Santos family tree. “And Raccoon—her spirit animal.”

Paloma’s whispered words of encouragement prompt me to lean closer, as I try to discern the message—convinced that there is one. And this time when Valentina’s face appears before me again, her voice begins to sound in my head.

At first, the tone is faint, hard to discern. Though it’s not long before the words begin to reverberate through the very core of me.

Listen—there is no time to waste! You must always remember that your intent fuels your will, and your will is your way. You must never look back. You must never regret. A new day has dawned—the old rules have changed. Unprecedented action is now required of you, and it will come at great cost. It is the creed of the Seeker and you must vow to heed it!

I nod vigorously, committing to every last word.

Watching as her face slowly fades, leaving me with the phrase:

It is your duty to protect them—look after them!

As images of Xotichl, Auden, and Lita flash before me, followed by a bat, an otter, and an opossum, respectively.

Their spirit animals. It’s got to be. Now that we’re friends, now that I’m getting to know each of them, the animals that guide them make perfect sense.

Like Xotichl, Bat can see in the dark.

Like Auden, Otter is fun and cute, with focused intent.

Like Lita, Opossum is a good actor, quick to assess and adapt.

When the images fade, I’m left to watch the flame sway to the melody of the firesong:

At the whim of the wind

I can smolder or singe

Comforting as easily as I harm

A single lick of my flame begets irrevocable change

Be like me when you seek to transform

After the third repetition, the flame simply dies. Leaving me to stare at its ghost—a slim wispy finger of smoke undulating before me—as Paloma whispers into my ear, “Well done,
nieta
. Now extinguish the rest. You know what to do.”

I reach toward one of the candles, raise my hand before it, and watch as it instantly burns itself out. Then I move on to the next, able to snuff it simply by blinking my eyes and willing it to be so. And when I reach the last one, I grab the double-sided knife Paloma placed by my side. Tightly grasping its smooth wooden hilt, I sanctify the athame by allowing it one slow pass through the candle’s sacred flame. Aware of the chorus—the glorious symphony that swells in my head—as the fire blackens the blade as it passes, only to emerge shining like new.

When it’s done, Paloma returns the knife to its case. Her fingers resting against the worn leather sheath, she employs a long pause before she says, “You were right.”

I lean toward her, having no idea what she refers to.

“As much as I’d hoped otherwise, I’m afraid there’s no denying Valentina’s warning. A new day is among us. The old rules are now obsolete. Which means Cade must be killed. And I’m afraid you’re the only one capable of doing it. The fate of this town—of your friends—relies upon your ability to slay him.” Her fingers run the length of the sheath, as a flurry of conflicting emotions play across her face. And when her gaze finally meets mine, it’s filled with an unfathomable sadness that’s impossible to deny. “If I could take your place and do this for you,
nieta,
believe me I would. But my time as a Seeker is done. Whatever powers I had have been passed on to you.”