Fated

by Alyson Noel

  My eyes open wide and I turn to find Jennika glaring into the window.

  thirty-eight

  “Why’d you have to embarrass me like that?” I follow Jennika down the walkway and into the house as the rumble of Dace’s engine fades into the distance. Admiring the way he held his own, kept so steady and calm, but those icy-blue eyes told a whole other story—he couldn’t wait to be gone.

  I’ve seen it before. An angry Jennika is a scary Jennika, and she was—correction, is—undeniably angry.

  But I’m angry too. And unlike Dace, I’m not the least bit intimidated by her.

  “Seriously—why’d you have to be so incredibly rude?” I throw my bag on the kitchen table and head for the sink, where I retrieve a blue handblown glass from the cupboard, fill it with water, and down it in three easy gulps in an attempt to calm myself.

  “Oh, well—excuse me for embarrassing you and acting so rude. Please accept my most heartfelt apologies.” She shakes her head, clearly not meaning a word of it. “Maybe you can tell me just exactly what is going on around here? Maybe you can explain how you’d like me to react upon finding you parked in a beat-up wreck of a car with a boy who’s up to no good—at one thirty in the morning—on a school night, no less?”

  I lean against the counter and stare hard at my boots. Struggling to get a rein on my emotions—arguing with her won’t solve a thing. But I’m far too annoyed to take my own advice, so I lift my chin and say, “Well, for starters, you really didn’t have to yell. That was completely uncalled for. And for another thing, you really didn’t have to jump to conclusions. Nothing was going on. It wasn’t at all what you think—you misread the whole thing. I only just met him today! He gave me a lift, nothing more. But instead of trusting me, you just go off on a rant and assume the worst. Way to go, Jennika. Seriously.”

  “Oh, so now I’m supposed to trust you?” She fumes under her breath, surveying Paloma’s home as though she’s suspicious of everything in it, most of all me. “How can I trust you when you go for days on end without returning my calls? How can I trust you when you renege on our deal?”

  I sigh. Roll my eyes. Hardly able to believe we’re back to this—the same argument we’ve already had over the phone. Twice. But apparently she’s gearing up for round three, and once she gets started, she’s hard to contain.

  “That was one time, and it was only for three days, as you well know—”

  But I barely get to finish before she’s shaking her head, practically shouting, “It was four days, Daire. Four.”

  “That’s only because of the time difference and you know it,” I mumble, thinking how sad it is that after weeks of not seeing each other, this is the way she chooses to greet me. But now that she’s started, I’m not in much of a hugging mood either. “The point is, it was just once, and there were special circumstances involved since I was”—enduring a vision quest/full-body dismemberment in a remote cave—“not feeling well … due to my injuries from the accident and all.”

  “Yes, so you say.” She looks me over, brow quirked, eyes appraising. “And ever since then, you’ve been very good at keeping our conversations to a minimum and evading all of my questions. And the ones you do choose to acknowledge are answered in a way that’s intentionally cryptic. While you may not believe it, I was once a teenager too. You’re not pulling anything with me that I didn’t pull on my own parents. So if you think your coming out here is a free pass to party, well, I hope you enjoyed it because the party just ended.”

  “A free pass to party?” I scowl. “Surely you don’t mean that?” I eyeball her carefully, seeing she does indeed. “Have you even seen this place?” My voice rises in outrage. “Out of all the places I’ve been—Paris, London, Rome, Mykonos—heck, even Miami—why on earth would I chose to rebel here—in barren, boring Enchantment, New Mexico?”

  I chase it with some additional phrases I mutter under my breath not meant for her ears, which is why I’m caught by surprise when she says, “Good. I’m glad to know you see it that way. That means you won’t miss it when you go.”

  I narrow my gaze, my skin prickled with cold.

  “You’re out of here. So take a good look around and say good-bye to this place because after tonight, you’ll never see it again.”

  “You can’t be serious?” I stare. There’s no way I can leave. I’m a Seeker—the town needs me—and tonight I saw all the proof that I need to convince me it’s true. While I have no idea what Cade’s up to, he’s definitely up to something, and it’s up to me to stop it. I’m the only one who can.

  Jennika nods, a self-satisfied smile hijacking her face. “I’ve taken a TV gig, which means no more traipsing the globe—”

  My eyes go wide, my mouth hangs open and dumb, while my mind replays her words again and again until they begin to make sense. “But you hate those,” I say. “You always say that—”

  She flashes a palm, letting me know that’s just the beginning. “And, along with the new gig, we have ourselves some new digs. I’ve rented a two-bedroom apartment in West L.A. But it’s just a temporary arrangement until we can find the right place to buy. I’m considering Venice or maybe even Silver Lake. We’ll look around—see what feels right.”

  I stare at her without really seeing—my mind’s too busy trying to catch up with my ears. I have no idea what to say—no idea what to think. Everything she just said stands in direct opposition to everything I thought I knew about her.

  “Yep.” She nods, one hand tracing the seam that runs down the side of her black, leather leggings, the other pushing through a chunk of hair that used to be pink but is now bleached platinum to match the surrounding strands. “It’s all taken care of. So go pack up your things so we can get a move on. I’ve got a rental car waiting with a full tank of gas. And for once in my life, jet lag seems to be working for me—I plan to drive through the night.”

  She flicks her fingers, gesturing for me to get crackin’, but I just stand before her, rooted in place. “No,” I say, hating how small the word sounded. I chase it with a much stronger chorus of, “Forget it, Jennika. Uh-uh. There’s no way.”

  She tilts her head, eyelids squinching as she appraises me. “Is this about the boy?” The tone of her voice implying she’s convinced that it is.

  “What? No!” I shake my head, assuring myself it’s not at all about the boy—has nothing to do with Dace. It’s about my duties as a Seeker—something I’m not about to confide to her. For one thing, she’d reject it outright, refuse to believe—wouldn’t even try to understand. For another, she’d fear for my safety, end all negotiations, and insist that I leave. As long as she doesn’t know, there’s still hope—and when she’s acting like this, hope is all I can cling to.

  She moves toward me, her face softening along with her tone. “Daire, you can tell me. I get it. Believe me, I do. It’s not like I didn’t see him. It’s not like I’m blind. He’s gorgeous. Exactly what teenage dreams are made of. Falling for a boy like that is easy to do. But make no mistake, a boy like that has heartbreaker written all over him, and the last thing I want is for you to get hurt—or worse.”

  I glare, my face a mask of defiance, hating her words. Partly because I don’t want to believe them and partly because I fear that they’re true. “By worse, you mean pregnant? Like when you got knocked up with me at sixteen?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “Is that such a bad thing?” She fiddles with the long line of small silver hoops that hang from her multipierced ear—a sure sign she’s searching for just the right words. “Look, Daire, as much as I don’t regret having you—not for one single second—I don’t want you to end up sixteen and pregnant like I did. Is that such a crime?”

  I roll my eyes and look away. We’ve had this talk countless times, starting way back when I was too young to hear it and it bordered on wildly inappropriate. “It’s not like that,” I say. “He’s not like that. You’ve got it all wrong.”

  But no sooner are the words out when I realize I wal
tzed straight into her trap. Her eyes widening, lips curling in triumph when she says, “How would you know? I thought you just met him today?”

  I turn away. So annoyed I have to fight to keep quiet—keep the storm of angry retorts confined to my head.

  “Come on, Daire.” Her voice rings much sterner than the words imply. “Get your stuff, so we can get the heck out of here. Oh, and when you’re done packing, be sure to leave a note for Paloma, thanking her for doing such a stellar job at screwing up as badly with you as she did with your dad.”

  “What?” My eyes widen, casting frantically around the room.

  But Jennika just shakes her head, brows slanted, lips flattened in fury.

  I push away from the counter and race down the hall—the sight of Paloma’s empty bed confirming the worst. “How’d you get in?” I whirl on Jennika, voice filled with panic.

  Reading her look of confusion when she glances between the bed and me, saying, “What do you mean? The door was wide open.”

  thirty-nine

  “I stopped by with Kachina—had just gotten her secured in her stall when I found Paloma collapsed at the table in her office.” Chay meets us at the door of the tiny adobe. His eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed, tainted with worry. “Looks like she hit her head pretty hard when she went down, which only complicates matters.”

  “And so you brought her here?” Jennika plants herself in the entry—hands clutching her hips as she eyeballs the room and everyone in it with a disapproving glare.

  But Chay knows how to handle her, which means he ignores her by directing his focus to me. “She’s slipping in and out of consciousness, but every time she wakes up, she asks to see you.”

  “Hey, I’ve got a question.” Jennika pipes up, her voice as condescending as the look on her face, insisting on being heard even though no one wants to listen. “Why isn’t she in a hospital? Don’t you think they can help her more than these people can?” She arcs her arm in a wide sweeping motion, indicating the older Native American, who I assume is the medicine man, and his much younger apprentice who sits at a small hand-carved table beside him. “No offense,” she adds, looking at them, but their faces remain stoic, immobile, completely unmoved by her words.

  “Just because you don’t understand something doesn’t mean it lacks validity,” Chay says, his voice calm and even, his gaze prompting Jennika to clamp her lips shut and find a wall to go sag against.

  “Can I see her?” I direct my words at Chay, the medicine man, and his apprentice, unsure who’s in charge.

  The medicine man nods his consent, as Chay reaches for my elbow and steers me toward her room. The sight of it prompting Jennika to push away from the wall, eager to follow, but I nix it just as quickly. Shaking my head in warning, I chase it with my very best don’t even think about it look. Knowing I’m just buying time—that I’ll pay for it later—but I’ll face that hurdle when it comes, for now I just need to deal with the present.

  Chay ushers me into a small, spare room, stopping beside a dark-haired woman leaning over Paloma, her hands moving in the space just a few inches above Paloma, as though working the energy.

  “Chepi,” he says. “Her granddaughter is here.”

  Chepi?

  I watch as Dace’s mom—Cade’s mom too—finishes her ritual and turns away from the bed. Her eyes meeting mine with a look I can’t read, before Chay escorts her from the room and closes the door behind me. Leaving me to stand in the entryway as I study the space, taking in a scattering of handwoven Navajo rugs hugging a dark wood floor, a short, sloping ceiling, and three identical niches along the far wall crammed with fetishes, carved wooden santos, large silver crosses, and other assorted objects of worship. My breath catching when I face the small, slim figure on the narrow bed, with a fan of silver-streaked hair spread wide across her pillow, and realize it’s Paloma. Her pallid complexion providing sharp contrast to the trickle of blood that seeps from her nose and onto the sheets.

  I claim the seat beside her, reach for a tissue, and gently bring it to her face. But the moment the blood’s cleared away, it starts flowing again—a constant stream that refuses to cease.

  “Nieta,” she murmurs, the word requiring obvious effort, demanding the kind of strength she no longer has.

  I stroke her cheek softly, lean closer, and say, “It’s me, abuela.” My voice catching on the word—Spanish for grandmother. And though I took the time to learn it, I could never bring myself to use it. I guess it felt too risky—hinted at the kind of bond I wasn’t sure I could handle. But now, seeing her like this, there’s no denying how much she’s come to mean to me—how much I’ve come to trust her, rely on her, love her. I have no idea what I’d do without her. I can’t stand to see her this way—so vulnerable and frail.

  I rub my lips together, steady my voice, and say, “Don’t worry, I’m fine, perfectly fine.” I swallow hard, blinking back the tears as soon as they come. “Please don’t waste your energies worrying about me. You need your rest. We’ll talk later. For now, get some sleep.”

  She lifts her hand from the bed, ignoring my words. Her fingers cold and thin as she makes a grab for my wrist, asking, “Did you find it, nieta?”

  I glance behind me, ensuring we’re alone, that Jennika didn’t find a way to sneak in. “Cockroach worked like a charm.” I smile, wanting her to be proud of me. “I not only found it—I got in. And I know you warned me against it, but I didn’t have much of a choice. It just sort of happened, though I made it out fine, with no one the wiser, so all’s well that ends well, right?”

  “And which way did you travel? Up, down, or sideways?” she asks, voice disturbingly frail.

  “Sideways,” I say, remembering the sewer-like tunnel that led to the well-appointed cave, noting the way her face floods with relief.

  “The Middleworld.” She sighs, her lids drooping halfway, fluttering for a moment, struggling to rise, until they lift once again. “Still just the Middleworld. I am grateful for that.”

  Not wanting to upset her, but knowing she needs to hear it, I take a deep breath and say, “Well, even if it was just the Middleworld, what I saw wasn’t good. He’s planning something…” I lean back in my chair, gaze flitting toward the niche and its collection of carvings. The memory of everything I saw blazing in my mind so brightly I wish there was a way to transmit it to her. I’m not sure I can relay it with the kind of accuracy it deserves. Though knowing I have to try, I lean toward her and say, “He has big plans to break away from the family tradition—wants to extend his reach—rule all the worlds—and the bizarre thing is, he’s asked me to join him. He sees no reason why the two of us can’t work together. He thinks of it as a peace treaty, but that’s because he’s totally crazy. No peace could ever come of such a thing.” I study her carefully, see the way her lips tighten, pulling under her teeth. “While I have no idea how he plans to pull it off, I’m sure it has something to do with a bunch of dead Richters. They’re no longer just communing with their spirits—Cade’s communing with the ancestors themselves—apparently without Leandro’s approval. You should’ve seen it—there was an entire army of undead Richters, and I watched as Cade fed them these strange, glowing white objects, which made them transform right before me. Making them a lot less gruesome and zombie-like, and a lot more … human-like.”

  Paloma gasps. Her face stricken, blanching so badly I’m about to call Chay. Only to have her fingers find mine, her voice a forced whisper when she mumbles something in Spanish I can’t understand. Figuring she’s too exhausted to say it in English, but sensing it’s important, I start to rise so I can get someone to translate—only to have her shake her head in frustration and blurt, “What day is it?”

  I consult my watch. “After midnight, so that makes it November first. Why?” Wondering what sort of significance the day might hold.

  Only to watch her face pale even further when she says, “He’s prepping them…”

  Her lids droop as her gaze grows so cloudy and va
cant. I know I should let her rest, but I also know it’s important, so I shake her shoulder and plead, “Paloma—please, hang in there—what’s he prepping them for?”

  Her lips move, but her voice is so faint I’m forced to press my ear to her lips and beg her to repeat it.

  “Día de los Muertos,” she says, the words a croaked whisper.

  “Day of the Dead, yeah—what about it?” I urge, my tone frantic, eager. She’s slipping away, drifting into that painless place of sleep, and while I can’t say I blame her, I also can’t let her go there—not yet anyway.

  I cup my hand to her cheek, press my ear directly to her lips. Struggling to piece together the words when she says, “He’s prepping them … the glowing objects … the white orbs…”

  “Yes? Paloma, please, what is it?” I beg, holding my breath.

  She fumbles for the soft, buckskin pouch she wears at her neck—her fingers curling around it in a bid for one last burst of strength—receiving it when she says, “They’re souls, nieta. He’s feeding them souls. Human souls. He’s prepping them to invade the Lowerworld, and he will use the magick of that day to do so. What happens in one dimension ultimately affects all the others. It’s a sacred balance the Richters will start to corrupt the moment they gain access—allowing havoc to rule in the Lowerworld, the Upperworld, and the Middleworld too. If he succeeds, it’s just a matter of time before they expand their influence, and once that occurs, it’s the end of the world as we know it.”

  forty

  When I exit Paloma’s room, Jennika takes one look at my face, and says, “Listen, Daire, I know you’re worried about her, but I’m sure she’ll be fine, and we really need to get out of here, so…”

  “I’m not leaving.” I push past her, barely pausing long enough to look at her when I add, “I’m staying in Enchantment and there’s nothing you can do about it.”