Fated

by Alyson Noel

  Xotichl whistles under her breath, saying, “I’m not one to shock easily, but that was just…” She screws her lips to the side, drums her nails against the side of her water bottle, searching for just the right word.

  “Oddly sincere,” Dace supplies, his gaze finding mine.

  I lift my shoulders, having no idea if he’s right, but then nothing in this town is ever what it appears.

  The moment broken by the shrill sound of the bell, telling us it’s time to pack up and move on.

  forty-two

  When I reach my last class, independent study, the one I share with Dace, there’s no denying the excitement I feel at the prospect of seeing him again. But my excitement soon turns to disappointment when I find his chair empty. For whatever reason, independent study is not on his agenda today.

  I claim the table near the back and retrieve my book from my bag. Determined to settle in for a nice long read, but not getting very far before my mind wanders back to Paloma.

  I have to help her.

  As her granddaughter—as a Seeker—there must be something I can do.

  Something more than sitting idly in this room, being babysat by a video monitor.

  I sling my bag over my shoulder and bolt for the door. My classmates staring in shock, as the strict surveillance of the all-seeing camera tracks my escape. Making my way down the series of halls, I burst through the double doors and blaze past the guard, trying to come up with some kind of plan.

  While I may not know how to stop the Richters from invading the Lowerworld, I’m still a day away from their being able to do so. And since that’s the place where Raven lives, and since it’s his job to guide me, I figure it’s as good a place to start as any.

  Only I have no idea how to get there.

  My only other visit was the soul journey when I drank Paloma’s tea.

  Knowing of only one other way I might be able to find it, I head for her house, sneak through the gate without Jennika knowing, and go straight for Kachina’s stall where I toss on a bridle and hop on her back. Smoothing my hand over her brown and white mane, I press my mouth to her ear, and say, “Take me there. Take me to the cave of my vision quest so I can consult with my ancestors.”

  * * *

  The second I get to the cave, I leap past the grainy, white border and head straight for the wall featuring my long list of ancestors with their spirit animals lined up beside them. My eyes grazing over Valentina, Esperanto, Piann, Mayra, Maria, Diego, Gabriella, all the way down to Paloma, Django, and me. Holding the pouch at my neck with one hand and shaking the rattle with the other, I call them to me—letting them know that I need their assistance—need them to show me how to make my way to the Lowerworld.

  I sit beside them, back propped against the wall, legs sprawled before me. Forcing my mind to go quiet and still—shut down the restlessness that often plagues me and remain open to some kind of sign. Instantly alerted to a gentle nudge of wind that twists into the cave. Swirling and lingering before me, making sure I take notice, before breezing right past, wafting all the way to the place in back where the ceiling meets the dirt.

  The wind is my element. According to Paloma that makes me a daughter of the wind—something she was very excited about. But one look at that solid wall of rock—so dense and forbidding—is enough to make my head fill with doubt.

  No way will that budge.

  No way will it lead to a mystical land hidden deep underneath.

  It’s not like I didn’t touch it before. Last time I was here, I made the full rounds, ran my hands over every square inch in an attempt to see how big the cave was. Yet that was before I knew the full truth of how the world works. Before I learned how to focus on the unseeable, the unknown—how to coax it into my immediate field of consciousness, until it presents itself.

  And it’s not long before that seemingly impenetrable stone wall wavers before me, as my buckskin pouch begins to throb like a heartbeat. A solid reminder that I need to stop seeing with my eyes. Stop running everything through my logical mind and start trusting what I know in my heart—no matter how improbable it may seem.

  I duck my head low, stretch my arms before me, and sprint toward it. My palms slamming into the stone, impacting for a moment—only to break through the rock as the surface softens and fades. The wall crumbling to a finely milled dust that swirls at my feet, as the ground just beneath me gives way. Sending me falling, spiraling, tumbling down a long, steep tunnel that plunges straight into the core of the earth. My arms flailing, body somersaulting head over feet—unable to stop or slow down, unable to gain control of myself.

  But unlike the last time, I don’t try to stop it. I just trust that I’ll somehow end up in the mouth of the Lowerworld.

  The tunnel ends without warning—spitting me straight into a bright shaft of light where I land in a heap. Only to find Raven sitting on a nearby rock, purple eyes flashing, waiting for me.

  I rise to my feet. Wipe my hands across the seat of my jeans. Keeping a careful eye on Raven as I approach him and say, “I need help. Paloma’s sick and I don’t know what to do. Will you guide me?”

  My words halted by the sight of him preparing for flight. His wings lifting, spreading wide, as he thrusts himself forward, lifts from his perch, and executes a perfect wide circle over my head, before he soars with the wind, and I set off behind him. Grateful for the way he stops on occasion, allowing me a chance to catch up, before he takes flight again—leading me all the way to the beautiful clearing I know from my dreams, as well as the time I drank Paloma’s tea.

  I glance all around, taking in the tall swaying trees, the way each blade of grass seems to dance at my feet. Not quite sure how to feel about his leading me here—but definitely leaning toward uneasy at best, when Raven swoops toward me, lands on my shoulder, and thrusts his beak forward, urging me to keep going, to move all the way through to the other side of the forest where I come across the same hot spring I saw in my dreams.

  And just like in my dream, Dace is here too.

  forty-three

  I stand before him, keeping quiet and still. Hoping to observe without notice, prolong the moment before he senses my presence.

  His hair is wet, slicked away from his forehead—the light filtering through the trees in a way that slings a series of shadows over his face. And when Raven lifts from my shoulder, glides to a nearby branch where he looks down upon us, the beat of his wings causes Dace to look up, not the least bit surprised to find me wandering through a mystical dimension that remains hidden to everyone else.

  “From the moment I saw you, I knew you were different.” His head tilts in a way that darkens his face, as my hands curl to fists, my body braces for just about anything. The last time we were here, it didn’t end well. And there’s no way to prove this isn’t a setup—that I won’t be forced to relive the nightmare again.

  “Yeah?” My voice is curt, edgier than planned. “And why’s that—what gave me away?” I focus hard on his eyes, seeing thousands of images of me glimmering back—a long, rigid line of a girl with dark flowing hair.

  He shrugs, shoulders rising and falling as though he’s truly perplexed. “Guess my instincts are good. Some things you just know without question,” he says.

  “Was it instincts that brought you here?” I move toward him, the toes of my boots edging up to the spring. “Or did you see it in a dream?” My pulse thrumming triple time the second the words leave my lips. But I have to know, and there’s no way to ask coyly, no other way to phrase such a thing.

  Was he really there too—or was it all just a product of my wildest imaginings?

  “Waking life—dreaming life—who’s to say where reality lies?” He grins, a glorious flash of sparkling eyes and white teeth, before he goes on to add, “This place is like a dream, but I’m pretty sure we’re awake.” He fingers his arm, gives himself a quick pinch. “Yep, I’m awake—you?”

  My eyes roam the length of him—drinking in strong shoulders, a smooth b
are chest, stopping where the water dips low at his hips. So distracted by the sight, I nearly miss it when he says, “But to answer your question, it was my mom who introduced me to this place when I was a kid, and it’s been a favorite of mine ever since.”

  I swallow hard, noticing how gracefully he avoided my question, but I decide to let it pass, there’s no reason to push it.

  “So, you coming in?” He motions toward the bubbling space just beside him, as I look to Raven for guidance. Only to watch him flit from the tree to the back of a beautiful, black horse I hadn’t noticed ’til now. He’s brought me where he wants me—it’s up to me to see it through.

  “I’m not really dressed for it.” I sweep a hand over my jeans, point toward my boots. Not exactly the clothes I wore in the dream, and I’m hoping that’s a good omen.

  Dace lifts his shoulders, causing tiny droplets of water to sluice down his sides. “You’re gonna let that stop you?” He looks at me, slicks a hand through his hair, as I gnaw the inside of my cheek, unsure what to do. His voice warm and coaxing when he says, “C’mon, water’s great. Besides, I promise not to peek.”

  He makes a show of turning away and placing his hands over his face, as I stand before him—weighing my options.

  Should I do what Raven wants and join Dace in the hot spring, which could turn out as badly as the dream?

  Or should I ignore them both and be on my way—even though I’m not really sure where that is?

  Remembering what Paloma told me about Raven having more wisdom than me, that it may not always make sense but I have to learn to trust him—I slip off my jacket and shoes, shimmy out of my jeans, then yank my tank top well past my thighs and wade in. Unaware I’d been holding my breath until I reach the far side where Dace waits—taking my place beside him like I did in the dream.

  He lowers his hands, revealing a face so kind and disarming, I’m tempted to believe this couldn’t end badly. But knowing better than to believe what I see, I take a moment to grab a large, sharp rock from behind me. Folding my fingers tightly around it as I settle it onto my lap. If his brother shows, he won’t stand a chance. I’m more than ready to bash in his ugly demon head at first glance.

  “The first time my mom brought me here, she said a lack of money was no excuse not to travel to enchanted places.” His gaze wanders to a long-ago past. “But she didn’t take me very often, she liked to save it for special occasions. Didn’t want me to grow bored of it—though I can’t imagine such a thing.”

  “Do you come here a lot now?” I ask, observing the exact moment he returns to the present.

  “Whenever I can.” His voice going soft and wistful when he adds, “But between work and school, it’s hard to find time.”

  “And yet you found time today.” I glance all around as I pat the rock in my lap, reassured by its sharp edges and heft.

  He settles against the stone ledge at his back and spreads his arms wide. Fingers drumming just shy of my shoulder, he says, “I had an irresistible pull to come here, so I followed my instincts, and now I know why.”

  He grins in a way so hopeful, I can’t help but meet his smile with one of my own. Though the look is deceptive, just underneath my heart beats in a frenzy, worried that pull he felt was less about running into me and more about reliving the dream.

  He holds the look for a moment, then takes a deep breath and disappears under a blanket of bubbles, only to emerge a few seconds later so glistening and gorgeous, it takes my breath away. The two of us sitting in silence—he with his eyes closed, his face soft and dreamy—as I sit right beside him, tense and alert, fingers clenching a rock I have every intention of using if his brother shows up.

  The quiet broken when he pops one eye open and says, “So tell me, how’d you find it?” Then opening the other, he adds, “How’d you get to the Enchanted Spring?”

  I rub my lips together, unsure how to answer.

  “You’re the first person I’ve ever run into.” His face is thoughtful, gaze appraising.

  “So that means you’ve never come here with Cade? Never even told him about it?” The words rush from my lips before I can stop them.

  Dace frowns, face dropping as though my words have left a bad taste. “Why would I do that?” he says. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not exactly close.”

  I turn the rock in my hands, sidestepping his original question when I say, “Is that your horse?” I gesture toward the beautiful black stallion grazing nearby.

  Dace nods. “Is that your raven?”

  I clamp my lips shut. Try to focus on the bubbles, the warmth of the water, the flowering vines that drift down from the trees and sprawl among the rocks, but it’s impossible. I’m too wound up. Prepared for an epic battle or an epic embarrassment—it could go either way.

  “So, you’re not going to claim that raven, and you’re not going to tell me how you found the Enchanted Spring?” He tilts his head, studies me closely, but I just look away, refusing his gaze. His eyes are a vortex leading to a place of no escape. And yet I don’t have to look at him to be irresistibly drawn to him. His presence alone is enough.

  He pushes forward, moving away from the rock until he’s looming before me. His hair shiny and slick, revealing a collection of features so lovely and sharp, they appear to be sculpted by a talented hand. Eyes gleaming darker than normal, less like aquamarine and more like the deep shade of turquoise found in his mother’s jewelry, he says, “However you managed, I’m glad you found it. From the first day you ran into me at the club, I knew you weren’t like the other girls around here. I knew in that instant you were different.”

  “How can you be so sure?” I ask, my voice hoarse, thick, affected by his nearness—the way he hovers so close he’s just a razor’s width away. Remembering what I saw when I spied on him via the raven, the way he used telekinesis to deposit the trash bags into the Dumpster—knowing I’m not the only one who’s different around here.

  He throws his head back and laughs, the sight so beautiful I wish it could last. Leveling his gaze on me when he says, “I guess we’re right back to instincts again—so far, they’ve yet to steer me wrong.”

  “And what are your instincts telling you now?” I whisper, knowing I can no longer trust mine. He’s thrown me so off kilter, I don’t know what to expect, what to do next, other than tighten my grip on the rock in my lap, and wait for his twin to show up.

  He swallows hard. Takes a deep breath as though he’s about to dip under the water again, but instead he says, “They’re telling me to kiss you.”

  He leans forward, gaze steeped with intent. And when his hands find my cheeks—when his thumbs smooth my skin—when his gaze wanders over me, devouring all that he sees—well, I can’t help but notice that it’s happening now just like it did in the dream.

  I squeeze the rock hard, shift it high on my lap—determined to go with it, see this thing through. Raven brought me here for a reason, and clearly that reason is now.

  His face looming before me, lips swelling toward mine, I close my eyes and meet them—telling myself it’s just part of the progression, it’s how the dream goes. The kiss so sweet, warm, and familiar—yet far more soulful than I remembered it being.

  “Daire…” he whispers, his voice husky and deep, as his hands explore the length of me. Slipping under my tank top, discovering every hollow and curve. And I’m so lost in the kiss, the heady nearness of him, I hardly notice when he entwines my fingers with his, causing me to lose my grip, as the rock falls from my lap and rushes down past my feet.

  I slide my palms over his taut, smooth chest, and anchor my arms around his neck. Hooking my legs around his, I pull him closer, yearning to taste even deeper—when he curls a finger under my strap, pushes it down past my shoulder, clearing a path for his lips as he bends his head toward my breasts—and it’s then I remember—this is how it went down.

  This is the moment he’ll be replaced by his demon twin with a snake shooting out of his mouth.

&
nbsp; And now that he’s rid me of the rock—I’m left with no way to defend us.

  I pull away—the move so abrupt, so unexpected—the strap on my buckskin pouch snaps and sends it flying into the water.

  My eyes blaze on his, gasping in panic, when he goes under to retrieve the pouch well before I can move.

  I take a quick breath and submerge myself too. Grappling for the pouch, seeing it just below us, resting on a rock, I push him aside, try to fetch it for myself, but he’s quicker, his arms longer, and he’s claimed it well before I can get there.

  Heading for the surface, I break free of the water, only to find his face shining with triumph, as he takes a moment to tie the ends back together. Paloma’s voice filling my head, warning me to never allow anyone else to wear it, look inside it, not even briefly, or its power will be lost. And though he’s made no move toward either of those things, I can’t take the chance that his curiosity might get the better of him.

  “I’ll take that,” I say, snatching the pouch from his hands, and securing it back around my neck, where it clings to my chest.

  His brow slants, his mouth goes grim, hands fumbling helplessly in his lap, as he says, “I’d never look inside, if that’s what you’re worried about. Believe me, I know better.”

  I clutch the pouch to my chest, fingers seeking the shape of Raven, the feather, relieved to find all is okay, but even more relieved when it suddenly dawns on me:

  This is not how the dream goes.

  The realization coming too late, and the next thing I know, Dace is out of the water, reaching for the towel he left folded on a rock. Running it over his hair, his body, before draping it over his shoulders and saying, “Listen, I’m really sorry. I wasn’t going to keep it, and I’d never look inside. I just hope I didn’t scare you from this place. You’re free to visit for as long as you like, whenever you like. If it makes you feel better, I’ll steer clear of it.”