by Alyson Noel
nineteen
Dace
After a tedious amount of nature hugging, blending, and merging, Leftfoot finally gets to the juice, saying, “Your twin is a skinwalker.”
My first reaction is to freeze. It’s instinctive, something I couldn’t stop if I tried. My eyes darting frantically, on the lookout for anyone close enough to overhear, but of course it’s just us. Though I still don’t breathe any easier.
One of the first things I learned as a kid was that giving your attention to something by talking about it, or obsessively thinking about it, helps make it real by delivering it right to your door whether you wanted it or not. And it works for the bad things just as well as the good.
Because of it, I was steered away from unsavory topics—and the topic of skinwalkers counts among the most unsavory of all.
It’s serious stuff, skinwalkers. Seriously scary stuff. If you’re going to bring it up, you better have a good reason lest you draw the attention of one, which you’ll live to regret.
If you’re lucky enough to live, that is.
But, according to Leftfoot, I’ve already drawn the attention of one, who, as it just so happens, is also my twin.
I focus my attention on the old medicine man before me. In the fading afternoon sun, his hair glints like tinfoil. His hooded gaze deepening, he says, “Or rather I should say he’s more like a hybrid of one. I doubt he completed the ritual. Not only because he lacks the patience for such a thing but also because it involves killing a relative—the usual price of admission for one’s introduction to the black arts. And since Leandro is unwilling to spare even the dimmest Richter, it’s my guess Cade isn’t a full skinwalker yet. With a soul as dark as Cade’s, the mere act of getting riled up, either by becoming very angry or very excited about something, is enough to result in a complete transformation of self.”
I stare into the distance, needing a moment to examine his words. While I’ve no doubt what he’s saying is true, the question remains—can I do it too?
“I’ve seen it.” I switch my gaze to meet his. “Both in dreams and real life.”
“As have I.” Fielding my look of surprise, he says, “I’ve seen a lot of things in the sweat lodge, as will you. But first things first.”
I look at him, feeling jacked up, ready for anything he’s willing to teach.
“I’m going to share something with you that’s long been forbidden. Something my brother, Jolon, taught me, that no one taught him. He just sort of gleaned it, as only Jolon could. He was very powerful that way.” Leftfoot’s eyes cloud with memory before returning to me. “I’m going to teach you to soul jump. How to immerse yourself in another person’s essence by merging with their energy in order to share their experience. You will see what they see, hear what they think. And for the few who master the skill, they find they’re able to wield great influence over those very same things.”
Despite my eagerness to learn, I balk at his words. Standing before him in gaping-mouthed silence until I pull it together enough to say, “You’re joking, right? How’s that even possible?”
“Oh, it’s possible.” Leftfoot’s expression and voice remain level and sure. “Much like you merged your energy a few moments ago with the birds and the snakes to share their experience—you will now learn to do the same thing with a human.”
My eyes slide shut as I try to imagine it. Imagine myself making a soul jump into Cade.
What would it be like to to peer into that dark and hollow core and learn the secrets of his nature—go in search of his weak spots?
This is exactly the kind of thing I was hoping for.
It’s a game changer, for sure.
If I can just get inside, get a peek at whatever darkness lurks there, I’ll know exactly how to exploit it when it’s time. Maybe I’ll even claim a piece of it for my own. If my love for Daire strengthens him—then surely it can work the opposite way? Surely I can armor myself with his malevolence?
I focus on Leftfoot, eager to get started. Sure this’ll prove to be far more useful than soaring over the landscape via that red-tailed hawk, despite how exhilarating that was.
“There is one caveat…” His eyes narrow on mine. “You must never teach another person what you’ve learned—not even Daire.” He pauses long enough for me to agree, before he continues. “And you must never abuse the gift. Ever. I can’t stress this enough. You use this gift if, and only if, you find that you must. You must first exhaust all other options. It is meant to be a last resort. The rest of the time you’re to keep the knowledge locked safely inside. And you must vow to carry it to your grave. Even Chepi and Paloma have no idea that I know how to do this. As I’ve already said, it’s been forbidden for years.”
“I won’t tell anyone.” I’m quick to agree. “I swear.” The vow sounding a bit too eager even too my ears, which is probably why Leftfoot shoots me a look that tells me he remains unconvinced.
“There’s more.” His brow droops low as his gaze travels a very long distance. “Something I hope will illustrate the seriousness of all this…”
I wait for him to spill it, but really I just want to get started.
“Leandro didn’t kill Jolon.”
I stare hard at Leftfoot, shocked by his words.
“That story is a disservice to Jolon. Though I’ve never tried to defend him because the truth is much worse.”
He turns toward the Sangre de Cristo mountain range, grimacing when he takes in the lack of snow at the cap, or maybe he’s grimacing at what he’s about to say next. It’s hard to tell with Leftfoot.
“The truth is, Jolon’s defenses were much too strong for Leandro to penetrate, and Leandro was at least smart enough to know that. When Chepi arrived home that day, battered and bruised, Jolon decided to use the forbidden art we merely toyed with as kids to enter Leandro’s experience. Remaining there long enough to view the contents of his wretched, debauched life—including the horrible acts he performed on Chepi. He thought he could handle it, and, at the time, Jolon was so strong I would’ve bet on it too. But the events Jolon witnessed were so horrific they weakened him in a way he never imagined. He died shortly after making the soul jump. So while the essence of the oft-repeated story is the same—that Jolon died from a broken heart over the things he witnessed—the truth is that Leandro didn’t force Jolon to witness it. He didn’t alter Jolon’s perception like they claim. Jolon chose to make the jump. He chose to witness the dregs of Leandro’s dark soul. And what he saw cost him his life.”
I stand before him, suitably sobered by the tale.
“All magick comes with a price. You must never forget that.”
I work my jaw, curl my fingers to fists, and nod like I mean it. I do mean it.
“Okay,” Leftfoot says, finally convinced. “Here’s how you do it…”
twenty
Daire
The second we spot Jennika parked outside Paloma’s adobe, I’m not sure who groans louder, Paloma or me.
“Great. So much for fire starting.” I stare incredulously as my mom leans against some generic rental car, furiously punching numbers into her cell. Probably calling me and getting my voice mail, since my phone has been off for the better part of the day.
Her chin lifts as she hears our approach—her expression changing from angry to relieved, before settling on completely annoyed. “Hello, Daire,” she says, coming around to my side. Her arms spread wide for a hug, despite a demeanor that’s hardly what I’d call welcoming. “Where the hell have you been?” She releases me from her grip. “I’ve been calling for hours. Even dropped by your school only to be told that you didn’t bother to show. I was worried sick!” She grabs hold of my braid, then frowns when her fingers come away wet. Shifting her anger to Paloma, she says, “Well?”
“Please, come inside.” Paloma ducks around her and leads us to the door. “I’ll make us some tea, something to eat, and we can all sit and talk. It’s nice to see you.” She smiles at Jennika, but Jennika merely grunt
s in response.
I sneak a peek at Paloma, my gaze filled with questions. How did this happen? How did my mom show up in Enchantment without my knowing—without any advance warning? But Paloma seems as clueless as I am.
“What’re you doing here?” I ask, claiming a seat at the kitchen table and motioning for Jennika to do the same, which she reluctantly does.
“I wanted to surprise you. And judging by the horrified look on your face when you saw me, I did.”
I fumble for a grin. Try to act as though I’m not nearly as horrified as she thinks. A little surprised, but mostly just happy to see her.
Which I am.
Or at least I could’ve been with a little advance notice, some time to prepare. But then, Jennika’s never been one to call ahead. She’s all about the ambush.
“What’s going on, Daire?” Her green eyes, nearly exact replicas of mine, study me in that all-knowing, all-seeing, motherly way that always leaves me squirming. “Why aren’t you in school?”
“Why aren’t you at work?” I retort, accepting the mug of tea Paloma places before me. If nothing else, it’ll give me something to look at.
“We shut down for the holiday. So I thought I’d pay you a visit.”
“You’re staying here?” I ask, instantly regretting the way my face drops as my voice rings with panic.
Smooth, Daire. Way to keep her from guessing you’re involved in the sort of activities she’d never approve of.
“I got a room in town.” She taps her thumb against the cup, the silver ring I gave her for Mother’s Day making a dull, clanging sound.
“There are rooms in town?” I squint, trying to imagine who would possibly stay in one. Who would choose to visit Enchantment and, once here, actually stay the night?
“Trust me, it’s not much.”
She picks at her hair, the bleached-blond strands appearing far more golden than the extreme platinum I remember. And her skin, normally as pale as mine, is now ever so slightly tanned. Must be the LA effect—the result of residing full time in the Golden State where the sun always shines.
Or at least that’s what I think until I notice the faint row of lines crossing her forehead and realize she’s not nearly as settled as I thought. She may have a permanent address and a permanent place of employment for the first time in a long time, but it’s been a tough year, with too many changes to count. And not all of those changes were good.
Sometimes I forget just how hard it’s been for Jennika to not only watch me deal with the kind of things she can’t understand—and really doesn’t want to—but to also leave me in the care of a woman she doesn’t really know all that well.
She worries.
She means well.
And the longer she stays, the more I’ll have to remind myself of that.
“I didn’t want to impinge on you and Paloma,” she continues. “But now I’m thinking maybe I should.”
Great. I stare at my tea, as she stares at me. Once again, her timing couldn’t be worse. She must have some crazy maternal instinct that tells her just the right moment to interfere. Nothing else explains it.
“So, now that I’ve answered your question, it’s time for you to answer mine. What’s going on with you and school? Why weren’t you there today, when other than your inexplicable wet hair, you seem fine to me? Where were you and Paloma anyway? What’s going on, Daire?”
I look to Paloma to save me, but she’s returned to the stove. Her back turned toward us as she focuses on food prep.
Deciding to answer her barrage of questions as a whole, I say, “I needed a mental health day, so Paloma took me on a field trip. Said a little time spent outdoors would do me good.” I shrug. It’s as good an answer as any and as close to the truth as I can afford.
“What do you mean, mental health day? Are the visions back?” Jennika’s face pales, remembering the hallucinations that landed me here. But I’m quick to wave it away, reluctant to revisit that topic again.
“No. Nothing like that. I just … well, school’s a whole new experience for me, as you know, and it’s been a bit of an adjustment, that’s all.”
“Is this about that boy?” She frowns, her face darkening as the diamond stud in her nose twitches and winks.
“By that boy, I’m assuming you mean Dace?” I narrow my gaze on hers. Knowing full well she remembers his name.
“Dace Whitefeather, yes. So—is it? Did something happen between you?”
I lean back in my seat, not really wanting to discuss this but also knowing she won’t let it go quite so easily. Jennika’s a pit bull. She’ll gladly sit here all night waiting for the answer she seeks. She can be unbelievably stubborn. I know because she’s the one who taught me to be unbelievably stubborn too.
I sigh, already dreading her reaction. I admit, “We’re not really together at the moment. We’re taking a break.”
“A break?” She cocks her head as a look of suspicion crosses her face.
“A short break.” I nod. Inwardly rolling my eyes at myself, knowing that to her ears that hardly makes it any better or any more believable.
“And whose decision was this—to take this short break?” She folds her hands before her, waiting for me to spill the whole grisly tale.
I take a deep breath, wanting to say it was mine, but she’ll never believe it. She knows me too well. She’ll sense the lie the instant it passes my lips. So I go with the truth—or at least a partial truth. “His. It was his idea.” Unable to resist adding, “Happy now?” Knowing full well that she is. She loves being right. Most people do.
She splays her hands on either side of her cup, unable to keep the self-satisfied glint from sneaking onto her face. “A short break—and so close to Christmas—how charming.” She shakes her head, taps her cobalt-blue polished nails hard against the tabletop. “Does this mean you’ll reconvene after the New Year? Or perhaps you can delay until well after Valentine’s Day in order to steer clear of all the more romantic holidays?”
I gaze down at my tea. If only it was that easy.
She sighs long and loud, as though resigning herself to the burden of always being right. Adopting a cloying, singsongy tone, she says, “Well, I hate to say I told you so—”
“No you don’t.” I slide my elbows across the table and lean toward her, looking her straight in the eye. “You don’t hate it at all. You practically live for those words.”
She studies me. Probably trying to determine whether I’m angry, amused, or indifferent. The thought lasting a handful of seconds before she casts it aside. “True.” Her shoulders rise and fall. “But in this particular case it would’ve been nice to be wrong. I know you don’t believe me, Daire, but I truly am sorry, and I really do understand what you’re going through. Dace was your first real boyfriend, but he won’t be your last. So while it may feel bad now—”
“Could you please not do that?” I say. Responding to the confused look she gives me when I add, “Could you please not talk about other fish in the sea, stallions in the barn, roosters in the pen, or any other animal analogies and just allow me this moment to wallow? Like you said, it’s my first breakup, so let me experience it in its entirety before you push me toward some phantom boy I have no interest in meeting just yet, okay?”
I slump low in my seat, surprised by the way my voice broke at the end. My intention was merely to play along, tell her what she wanted to hear, by pretending that it really is as simple as she thinks. Just your average high school romance gone suddenly south—all so Dace could be spared the burden of buying me a Christmas gift. But the longer I spoke, the more the words became real. And it’s not long after that my paranoia sets in.
What if this isn’t just a short break?
What if I can’t find a way to overcome the curse of the Echo?
What if I can’t overcome Cade?
How many people will suffer because of my failure?
Jennika moves toward me, starts fussing over my hair. Unraveling my braid, she gathe
rs the strands into her hand before arranging them to spill in soft waves down my back. “I’d take you out for some ice cream, followed by some heavy-duty retail therapy, which, just so you know, are pretty much the two best cures for a broken heart. Except, we’re stuck in this dump of a town with no good shopping to be had.” Her eyes dart toward Paloma. “No offense,” she says, but Paloma just waves it away and continues preparing our snack. “But while I failed to pack any ice cream, I did manage to bring a little retail therapy to you.” Jennika kneels beside me, smiling so brightly it practically begs me to smile brightly too.
So I do.
This is Jennika trying.
Jennika doing her best to show me she understands.
Jennika determined to pull me out of my slump.
The least I can do is relent.
“I was going to save it for Christmas, but I see no reason why you can’t have it now.” She digs through a bag she’s left by her chair, retrieving a hidden cache of designer jeans and a bunch of cute tops to wear with them, along with a tangle of silver jewelry, and a new pair of black boots. All of it chosen with Jennika’s uncanny eye for all-things trendy and cool.
While the sight of it doesn’t lift me in quite the same way it used to, I pretend like it does by crowding my fingers with rings and smiling when Jennika pulls out a new red wool cardigan she gives to Paloma.
Relieved to know that her suspicions are forgotten for now. Though it’s just a matter of time before Jennika’s back on course, determined to make me explain what Paloma and I have been doing.
twenty-one
Dace
By the time we arrive at the sweat lodge, the sun has dropped, the sky has turned the color of soot, and Leftfoot’s apprentice, Cree, is already waiting for us. Focused hard on the blaze he continues to stoke, barely sparing a glance our way when Leftfoot says, “Cree will serve as the firekeeper.”