Fated (39 page)

“I don’t know what that means.” Dace searches her face, his voice steeped with worry. “What the heck is an Echo? What’re you getting at?”

She grins, her face so beautiful, so seductive it’s impossible to look away. Moving forward again, she cups his face in her hands, pressing her forehead to his when she says, “Oh, but that is for both of you to discover. Just know, that when you do—I’ll be watching. I’ve been waiting for something like this—this is going to be good fun, indeed!” She moves away from Dace and turns to the Richters still hanging from their feet. “And whose souls have they stolen?” she asks.

“I don’t know.” My gaze moves among them. “All I know is they don’t belong here. And if the souls are not reunited with their beings, then how will their bones find their way to you when there will be no afterlife for them to aspire to?”

Our eyes meet, and it feels like something clicked, like I finally convinced her of what I know to be true. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Her face is so vague and unreadable, her mood so volatile, I’m braced for just about anything when she turns away from me, focuses hard on her snakes, and shouts, “Extract them—set the souls free and leave the bones for me!”

They dart from her legs, slithering across the ground at astonishing speed. Winding their way to the line of undead Richters, they spring into their mouths and dive straight down their throats, before emerging with numerous glowing, white spheres they’re quick to spit out. The souls bouncing, soaring, winking out of sight as they go in search of their owners—all those poor people I saw in the photos. The sudden loss of energy causing the bodies to give way, dissolving to a mound of old bones and dust.

With just one Richter left, she looks at me and says, “Perhaps you’d like the honor?”

I nod, watching as she plucks a snake from her skirt and thrusts it toward me. Its eyes flaring, tongue striking—reminding me of the snake from my dream, the one that stole Dace’s soul—only this soul extraction won’t fail. I won’t let that happen.

She grabs the freak, her bony fingers working into his hair, yanking back, as Dace pries his jaws wide apart, and I feed the snake in. My chest squeezing tight, my breath held fast in my cheeks, praying Paloma’s soul will emerge unharmed, delivered safely to me.

Gasping when the snake returns with a glowing white orb delicately clasped in its jaws, amazed by how light and airy it is when it lands flat on my palms.

The Bone Keeper’s voice hissing in my ear when she says, “You got what you wanted—now go! Leave them to me!” Her face transforming back into a skull when she takes in the bounty of bones at her feet.

I do as she says, eager to get as far from her as I possibly can. Glancing over my shoulder to say, “There’s more. I have no idea where they are by now. But they’re out there, somewhere, of that I’m sure.”

She kneels before her bones, getting them organized, sorted, appearing to ignore me, until we’re walking away and she says, “No matter. I will watch for them, just as I will watch the two of you. It’ll be a good show, of that
I
am sure. The Echo and the Seeker.” She laughs among her treasures. “Who would’ve thought?”

fifty-two

With Raven’s guidance, we find our way back to Wolf. My excitement vanishing when I see him just barely hanging in there.

“Leftfoot did what he could,” Dace says. “But without the soul, he couldn’t do much. Whatever happens next, depends on you. Have you done this before?”

I shake my head. Gnaw the inside of my cheek. All too aware of how big the risk is. Failing at this means losing Paloma—an option I cannot accept.

“Have you?” I turn to him, my voice sounding too small for the stakes I now face.

“No,” he admits. “This is way out of my league.”

“What should I do?” I switch my focus between the orb and Wolf.

“I think you’re supposed to go with your instincts,” Dace says, his voice quiet but sure, and the moment our eyes meet, I’ve no doubt he’s right.

It’s like Paloma said—this is part of my ancestral legacy, my bloodline. The knowledge lives inside me—all I have to do is find a way to discover it.

“Open his mouth,” I say, the words sudden but sure. Remembering how the Richters swallowed the souls—how the souls seemed to survive it without being harmed, including this one. Besides, Wolf would never do anything to intentionally damage it. And who knows, maybe the infusion of energy will help save him too? A quick look at Raven’s purple glimmering eyes confirming I’m on the right track.

“Hurry!” I say, watching as Dace opens Wolf’s jaws, careful to move out of the way as I bring my hands to Wolf’s mouth and ease the soul in. Dace’s arm sliding around me, as we search for some sign of change, some sign of life that wasn’t there earlier. Overcome with relief when Wolf’s ears perk, his eyes open, his tail thumps hard on the ground, and he lets out a long, plaintive howl as he struggles to his feet.

“Can I?” Dace sweeps toward him, ready to lift him, the question so much bigger than it seems on the surface.

He’s asking if I’ll trust him enough to carry this out.

Trust him enough to let him deeper into my life.

Trust him enough to give him my heart.

I close my eyes for a moment, blocking out all that I see with my eyes, in order to see in the dark—see with my heart—it’s what a Seeker does.

Overcome once again with the same impression I had from the start: one of kindness, compassion, and unconditional love—and it’s all directed at me.

I nod my consent. There’s no need to question or push him away.

He’s a pure and beautiful soul—a Whitefeather. That Richter bit is a mere technicality.

With Wolf in his arms, he leads me through the bushes and out to the clearing. Glancing at me when he says, “Since you’re trusting me with this, I’m going to trust you as well. We’re going to return the way I came in. It’s a sacred vortex that leads straight to the reservation. It’ll allow us to reach Paloma much quicker, though you can never tell anyone about its existence.”

I’m quick to agree, watching in fascination as he leads me to an area where the energy feels palpably lighter—where the light shines just a little bit brighter. And the next thing I know, we’re swept away in a whirl of uplifting energy, spinning and swirling until it deposits us in a field of deeply twisted juniper trees.

The same juniper trees I saw on the horseback ride with Chay that caused him to cut the ride short and turn away. I may not have been ready for it then like he claimed, but it seems I am now.

We rush to the small adobe home where Paloma lies dying. The sight of us bursting through the foyer, Wolf in tow, causing Chepi to gasp—clutch her hand to her heart—as Chay sags with relief, and Leftfoot and his apprentice rush us into the room where Paloma lies prone on the bed.

Taking Wolf from Dace, Leftfoot settles the animal next to Paloma, watching as he licks her cheek in a gesture so tender and caring, it stirs Paloma from whatever deep state of unconsciousness she found herself in. Her fingers seeking his muzzle, stroking softly, using the minuscule strength that remains to mutter a long stream of words I can’t comprehend, as Wolf throws his head back and lets out a terrific howl that prickles my skin.

And that’s when I see it.

That’s when I watch as the soul leaves Wolf’s body—hovering for a moment, shiny and bright, before it finds its way back to Paloma where it belongs.

Her cheeks instantly coloring, her lids lifting, gaze seeking mine when she says, “
Nieta
.
Nieta,
you did it!” Our shared elation lasting only a second before I realize it’s not at all like she thinks.

“No,
abuela,
” I whisper, my lips close to her ear, not wanting Dace or Chepi to hear. “I didn’t. I only managed to save you and a few other souls—lots of souls actually—and believe it or not, it was the Bone Keeper who helped me. Still, despite my efforts, there are many who were lost. I’m so sorry—I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bear to lose you. Couldn’t do what you asked. And though I tried to stop them, I failed.”

Paloma’s eyes meet mine, brimming with compassion, though her lips tell another story, turned pale with worry. “And how did you find her,
nieta
—the Bone Keeper?”

“Raven led me.” I smile. “With a little help from Horse and Dace.”

At the mention of his name, her gaze switches to the place where Dace stands at the far wall with Chepi. Studying him closely, her attention claimed for so long, I’m just about to speak, when she returns to me and says, “Now that you have found each other, it is time for you to realize your destinies. It’s all in motion, there is no going back. The raven heralds the prophecy, and the prophecy is here. You two are fated,
nieta.
”

“I—I don’t understand,” I say, wondering why her gaze is so consoling when her news is so good.

“A Seeker’s life requires great sacrifice,” Paloma says. “And I am sorry for that. But you must stop Coyote no matter the cost. You have no idea how much havoc just a few of them can wreak.”

“I will.” I nod, desperate for her to believe me. “I’ll do what it takes, just point the way.”

“I’ve lost most of my magick.” Her lids droop, voice fades with fatigue. “I’ve relinquished it to you. So while I can guide you, sweet
nieta,
in the end, the task belongs to the two of you. You must work together—you must do all that you can…”

Her voice lulls, as her breathing sputters and slows, but I’m not yet finished. I’ve still got one more question to ask, and she’s the only one who might know the answer.

I lean closer, lips at her ear as I whisper, “Paloma, what is the Echo? What does it mean?” I hold tight to her hand, hoping for a response that will ease these deep-seated fears gnawing inside me.

But my words are met with silence—she’s already claimed by sleep.

fifty-three

Leftfoot ushers us out of the room, insists Paloma needs her rest. And while I don’t disagree, I’m not entirely ready to leave. Not until she wakes and I’m sure she’s on the mend.

“She’s experienced quite a bit of trauma,” he says. “It is rare for one to survive a complete soul loss—it is usually only a partial. But as you know, Paloma is not like most people. She is stronger, more resilient, and because of your efforts, she will make it just fine. But for now, you must allow her to sleep. And you must allow me to return Wolf to the Lowerworld. It’s no good for him here. You two have done enough for one day.”

“Yes, you certainly have,” Chepi says, her eyes grazing over my snarled hair, torn jeans, and bare feet, telling me I look even worse than I think.

Her anger dissolving the instant Dace slips an arm around her, murmuring in their native tongue. Then he leads us outside, where the three of us pause on the road, silent and awkward, until Chepi says, “I remember your father.”

Her eyes meet mine as I stand rooted before her, unsure how to react.

“You are just like him,” she adds, confusing me further.

Does she mean I’m impulsive and reckless?

Does she mean I’m destined to break her son’s heart just like Django broke Jennika’s—even though it wasn’t his fault?

Does she mean I’m part of a world she’s vowed to turn her back on, in an effort to protect herself—protect her son—and she resents my dragging him into it?

Does she mean all of those things, along with plenty more I’ve yet to think of?

I lower my lids, shutting her out in an effort to see with my heart, but all I get in return is a woman who’s deeply concerned for her son.

Dace moves to intervene, desperate to smooth things over, but he’s soon stopped by his mother who says, “Paloma was there for me when I needed her, and so I spent the last couple days doing what I could to return the favor. Though I never imagined my son, along with you, would come through when it really mattered.”

I duck my head and stare hard at my feet, unable to come up with a suitable reply. The sentiment was simple, hinting at kind, but the tone it was spoken in seemed accusatory at best. Then again, maybe I’m just tired, and maybe my fatigue is making me paranoid.

“It’s been many years since I observed
Día de los Muertos—
but perhaps today I should.” Her gaze lingers on mine in a way that reminds me of all the horrific, unthinkable things that happened to her on that day, when she was just a young girl my age.

She turns to her son, invites him to join her back at her house, but when he shakes his head in reply, she’s quick to turn and be on her way. “You be careful out there,” she says, the words drifting over her shoulder, more loaded than they appear.

She heads down the road, seeming to diminish the farther she goes, and when I’m sure she’s out of earshot, I turn to Dace and say, “Your mom hates me.”

He laughs, wraps an arm around me, and hugs me close to his side—the warmth of his body instantly emanating to mine. “She doesn’t hate you,” he says. “She just has to get used to the idea, that’s all.”

I peer at him, taking in a face so beautiful it’s almost hard to fathom. “Get used to what?” I ask, having no idea where he’s going with that.

Noting the way he flushes, looks away, stopping beside a beat-up white pickup truck when he says, “Of me having a girlfriend.”

I lean against the passenger door, trying to adjust to the thought. I’ve never been anyone’s girlfriend. The word alone implies permanence, stability, longevity—all things I’ve long been denied.

Misreading my silence, along with the contemplative look on my face, he says, “Great, now I’ve scared you.” He rakes a hand through his hair, stares down at the dirt, but I reach for his sleeve and pull him back to me.

“After all we just went through, you think you can scare me so easily?”

He lifts his eyes to meet mine, face flooding with relief when he says, “Maybe we can just start with breakfast? There’s this great little tucked-away place that serves the best blue-corn pancakes in the state—though it might seem a little too normal compared to a soul retrieval.”