Fated

by Alyson Noel

  The sky darkening, becoming increasingly ominous, as the wind blows surprisingly hot—and when I lift my head from Kachina’s neck and take a good look around, I’m horrified to see a flood of large black ravens plummeting down.

  They plunge from the sky.

  They drop all around.

  Emitting horrible, high-pitched screeching sounds seconds before they smash to the ground. Their numbers so great, the sky appears to be vomiting massive chunks of black hail.

  I duck my head low—whispering soft, soothing words to my horse—but it’s no use, she’s as spooked as I am. Her eyes rolling crazily, she snorts, whinnies, careening wildly in a vain attempt to avoid the torrent of ravens.

  They slam hard onto my shoulders. Pummel my back. Only to roll down Kachina’s side and become a gruesome mess of feathers, blood, and gore under the crush of her hooves.

  My horse so terrified, so terrorized, I start singing the mountainsong in an effort to calm her. Remembering the power each song holds, I sing the windsong as well. The two of them blending together until my voice grows tired and hoarse, forcing me to pause for a moment before continuing with a renewed burst of strength.

  While it doesn’t keep the ravens from falling, they no longer fall near us. A path has been cleared, allowing Kachina safe passage to race down the road.

  The sky finally brightening as we make our way into town. The raven storm halted at last—though its memory lingers.

  Like a postcard from the Richters—letting me know the hourglass has been flipped.

  Time is slipping through my fingers like sand.

  forty-seven

  I slide off Kachina, slap her on the rump, and tell her to head back to Paloma’s where it’s safe. Then I stand before the Rabbit Hole, observing a scene of organized chaos, as I fight to get my bearings and try to drum up some kind of plan.

  They’ve tripled the number of bouncers working the door, making a big show of stamping all those under twenty-one with the red ink coyotes, yet the moment I make my way in, I see that it’s pretty much a free-for-all—everyone’s drinking, no one is checking.

  I glance all around, not the least bit surprised to find most of the crowd already inebriated. Encouraging everyone to drink themselves into a stupor is a well-planned move on the Richters’ part. The more compromised the consciousness, the easier it is to alter the perception—allowing them free rein to do as they please.

  A band is on stage, a really loud opening act that has the dance floor crammed with writhing bodies—everyone wearing wildly painted skull masks, along with a wide array of costumes. The entire club decorated in the way Paloma described—with colorful beads and skull masks hanging from the walls, and tables sagging under heaps of beeswax candles, marigolds, and large heaping platters with decorated sugar skulls and homemade bread with bone-shaped pieces arranged across the top, which I think she called pan de muerto.

  Though no matter how hard I look, I can’t seem to find Cade, which fills me with worry that I might be too late—that he might already be at the vortex, starting the festivities without me.

  “I brought this for you.”

  I turn to see Xotichl thrusting a colorful skull mask into my hands that bears large grinning teeth, marigold petals surrounding the eye sockets, and a lavender background—an almost exact replica of the one she wears, only hers has a backdrop of blue. “I figured you might not have one, and it’ll help you blend in,” she says. “Though I’m afraid it won’t save you from Lita and the Cruel Crew. From what I can tell—” She lifts her chin, twitches her nose, returning to me when she adds, “You’ve been spotted, they’re headed here now.”

  “I’m amazed at how you can do that,” I say, pretty sure she just grinned, judging by the way her mask twitched in response.

  “While I can sense her presence, what I can’t sense is whether or not she’s wearing her Marilyn Monroe skull mask again,” she says, shaking her head when I glance toward Lita and confirm that she is, along with a trashy white wedding dress that’s short, low-cut, and at least one size too small. “It’s her way of honoring Marilyn, while trying to commune with her spirit, and I can never decide if it’s morbid, creepy, pathetic, or all three.”

  I watch as Lita makes her way toward us. Her Marilyn mask offset by a blond wig that’s spent a lot of time with a curling iron.

  “I think she’s pretty serious about hanging out,” Xotichl says. “Question is—what are you going to do about it?”

  “I’m going to get serious about hanging out with her too,” I reply, not bothering to explain that I’m less interested in making meaningless chitchat and more interested in locating Cade. If anyone knows where he is, it’s Lita. She never lets him out of her sight for too long.

  Lita stands before us with her friends just behind her. All of them giving me a thorough once-over, struggling to say something nice when it’s pretty clear I’m not looking my best. “Cool mask—and nice boots,” she finally says. “Not really a costume, but still cool.”

  And though I’m tempted to laugh, remembering the scene my boots inspired in the bathroom when I was a lowly cockroach cowering in the corner, eavesdropping on them—I decide to thank her instead.

  “I don’t think you’ve met everyone,” Lita says, going into full-on hostess mode. “This is Jacy…” She points to a girl wearing a skull mask bearing the same flaming pink lips she favors in real life, and a sexy bunny suit. “And this is Crickett…” She gestures toward the girl with the best blond highlights of the bunch, whose mask pretty much mirrors Jacy’s except the lips are more red than pink, and her costume is that of a naughty French maid. Then turning to Xotichl, she says, “When’s Epitaph playing?” Making me wonder if she might be sincere after all.

  “They’re up next,” Xotichl says, the news prompting so much excitement and chatter between Lita and company, you’d think the news was way more fascinating than it is.

  But even though I nod and laugh when I’m supposed to, I’m not really present—not really paying attention. I’m too busy searching for Cade, knowing I need to make a quick exit, find a way to lose them, so I can seek him.

  “Who are you looking for?” Lita’s eyes flash from behind her mask.

  I shrug in response, but the way she tilts her head and folds her arms across her bridal dress, it’s clear she’s not fooled for a second.

  “I see the way he looks at you,” she says, her tone even, the words unmistakably accusatory.

  I swallow hard, shake my head, and say, “Who?” Hoping it sounded more convincing to her than it did to me.

  “Please.” She scoffs. “I may not be all hip and Hollywood like you—I may come from a tiny, little dump of a town—but I’m not stupid. I know when a girl’s after my guy. And I know when my guy’s intrigued by a girl.”

  I stand before her, realizing she’s done such a good job of convincing herself, I’m not sure I can make her think otherwise.

  “I get it, okay? I really do. He’s hot. He’s the hottest guy here—the hottest guy anywhere. He’s even hotter than Vane Wick—and don’t even pretend you haven’t noticed. But as it just so happens, he’s taken. And while I’m sincere about us being friends, I gotta warn you, Daire, if you decide to go after him, despite what I’ve told you—well, you should know right now that it won’t end well for you.”

  I picture him snacking on slimy, bloodied bits, enjoying it so much he licked the remains right off his fingertips, and I can’t help but feel sorry for her. As far as creeps go, Cade’s reached the pinnacle. But knowing she wouldn’t believe me if I told her, I say, “Duly noted.”

  She nods, the move curt, dismissive, lifting her mask onto her wig so I can see that she’s serious when she adds, “I know you don’t really trust me. I know you’re suspicious of why I’m suddenly acting so friendly. But the thing is, we don’t get many newcomers in Enchantment, much less Milagro. I’ve known most of these people my whole life, and, because of it, I guess I’m not so great at adapting to change.
” She lifts her shoulders, causing her dress to strain at the seams. “So when you showed up with your cool boots and don’t-give-a-crap attitude—well, you seemed like the kind of girl who could easily shift the balance of everything I’ve worked so hard for, and I couldn’t allow that to happen. Then, when I saw the way Cade looked at you, and the other boys too…”

  “So what changed? You spot me on the cover of a glossy tabloid and decide to give me a chance?” I ask, having no idea where she’s going with this, but hoping she’ll get to it soon. I’ve got a job to do.

  “Yeah.” She nods. “Only not for the reason you think. I mean, even though the cover wasn’t all that flattering, it made me realize just how small my world is. So small I perceive everything new as a threat.” She shakes her head. “I don’t want to be like that. I’d much rather we try to be friends.”

  “Me too,” I say, surprised by how much I mean it. I’ve never had a friend before—not one that lasted for more than a few months anyway. And now between Dace, Xotichl, Auden, and possibly Lita and company—well, that’s pretty much a record. Though I’m guessing it’ll require tolerance, understanding, and, especially in Lita’s case, a whole lot of patience—but I’m willing to try if she is. “But if we’re going to be friends, then you have to believe me when I tell you that I’m not into Cade,” I say. Going one step further when I add, “In fact, I can’t freaking stand him.”

  She shakes her head and laughs, blond polyester curls bouncing on her shoulders, assuming it’s a joke—I couldn’t possibly be serious.

  Her laughter halting when I say, “But you were right about one thing—I am looking for him. Just not for the reason you think.”

  Her face grows dark, her voice suspicious when she says, “Yeah? And what reason might that be?”

  “It’s about his brother.”

  “Dace?” Her eyes widen, the name spoken so loudly Xotichl turns, Crickett and Jacy stare, while Lita slaps a hand over her mouth, shakes her head, and says, “I mean, I guess he’s hot too—but I’ve always thought of him as like a fake Cade. Like a knockoff, poor man’s version of the real thing, you know? But seriously—you’re serious?” She stares hard at me, waiting for the punch line that never comes. Still in a state of disbelief when she says, “Okay, whatever. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt on this one. Cade’s in his office. As for his twin—it never occurred to me to keep track.”

  I turn, reminding myself to not be annoyed. Like everyone else in this town—well, everyone but Dace, Xotichl, Auden, and a few others—she’s totally brainwashed where the Richters are concerned.

  “Oh, and Daire…” She grabs hold of my arm, her eyes meeting mine, fingers circling my elbow when she says, “If you play me for an idiot, I’m going after you.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.” I yank free of her grip. My tone softening when I add, “Trust me, you have nothing to worry about.”

  “I don’t trust anyone,” she says, her gaze changing until it becomes empty and vacant, leaving me to wonder if Cade’s been harvesting bits of her too.

  I turn to Xotichl, about to tell her I’m taking a walk, when she says, “Wherever you’re going, I’m going with you. But we better hurry; in case you didn’t notice, your mom’s here, and I get the feeling you’d rather avoid her.”

  forty-eight

  I follow Xotichl, her glow-in-the-dark skeleton suit making her movements seem odd, almost eerie. And sure enough, it’s not a second later when I spy Jennika across the crowded room. As the only one not wearing a skull mask and costume, she’s easy to spot.

  “This is the only show in town,” Xotichl says, trailing alongside me as I duck around a corner and pause. “It was just a matter of time ’til she showed.” She makes a show of sniffing the air, as she tucks her hand into my jacket’s front pocket, fishing around until she finds the pack of cigarettes I swiped from Leftfoot on my way out the door, and dangles them before me.

  I swipe at the pack, telling her it’s not at all what she thinks, when she tilts her mask high on her head, her gray/blue eyes seeming to find me when she says, “Oh, so you’re not going to use them as an offering for the demons that guard the Rabbit Hole’s vortex?”

  I gape, having no idea what to say.

  “I read energy, Daire. I know all about the vortex.” She shakes her head and frowns. “I know about all the vortexes in this town. I also know that there are some extremely unnatural beings that lurk inside this place, and I’m not just referring to the Richters.” She grins. “Their magick doesn’t work on everyone, you know. They prey on the weak—those with weak wills, weak personalities, weak sense of self—the usual targets. But they can never touch me. They need your sight in order to change your perception. They’re powerless when it comes to blindsight. Besides, everyone knows demons crave tobacco.”

  I exhale long and deep, relieved to share the burden of truth with someone other than Paloma and Chay. “I had no idea you knew,” I tell her, seeing her nod in reply.

  “I can also locate Cade if you’ll let me. The vortex too. It’s tricky; most people can’t find it. And no matter how many times I offered to help, Paloma always refused me.”

  I start to speak, wanting to tell her about Paloma, but she raises a hand, alerted to something sensed only by her. She tugs hard on my arm and says, “Quick—in here!”

  She ducks inside the office, and I slink in behind her. The two of us holding our breath, pressed hard against the wall, as someone makes their way down the hall.

  When Xotichl’s sure that they’re gone, she reaches beside her, grabs hold of Cade’s baseball bat, and thrusts it into my hands, saying, “You might need it to defend yourself in case the cigarettes don’t work.”

  I run my palm down the length of the bat, testing its weight and heft, as we exit the office and she leads me down the series of halls, searching for signs of the vortex or Cade, whichever comes first, while I track all the same landmarks from the last time I was here: the stray gum wrapper, the heart-shaped piece of missing paint, the bubble of water damage, Cade’s squashed cigarette butts. Training my focus on the things that go unseen, hoping to coax them to spring into view.

  Though unlike last time, there’s a strange chemical scent pervading the air that seems to intensify the farther we go. And it’s not long before Xotichl stops, tilts her head toward me, and whispers, “This is it.”

  I stare at the wall, noting how it’s still soft, malleable, recently breached, with no sign of the demons, but that doesn’t mean they’re not waiting inside.

  “You know you can’t join me,” I say, overcome by guilt for allowing her to take me this far and hoping she can find her way back unharmed.

  “Don’t worry about me, I’m stronger than I look. I’ll deal with your mom, while you deal with Cade. And, Daire…” I look at her—see the way her lip trembles, surprising me when she says, “Go kick some Richter ass!”

  I lunge toward the wall that’s already closing. Shoving right into it, bat first, pushing so hard it’s like merging into a solid wall of taffy—sticky, gooey, molding around me—until it finally gives way and I burst through, slamming headfirst into one of the demons—the big one who guards the vortex.

  We stare at each other, the two of us momentarily stunned, until he growls so loudly it alerts the others to join him.

  They surround me, their massive paws and razor-sharp nails swiping at me from all sides, leaving me no choice but to shake the cigarettes loose from the pack, toss them behind me, and bolt.

  Glancing over my shoulder to see the demons dive after them, snarling and hissing in an effort to get to them first, I race for the tunnel that leads to the cave. The crash of my boots against the metal trilling too loudly, leaving me with no choice but to ditch them and tiptoe the rest of the way. Careful to keep my breath light, shallow—allowing only the briefest sigh of relief when I reach the end undetected and creep past the entry into a room lit by bright blazing torches. The frenetic lick of flames sparking and flaring in a w
ay that illuminates the ribbons of strung marigolds and beads draped across the walls—the skeletons propped among the furniture with hand-painted skull masks secured to their heads—the usual Day of the Dead décor, but in here the effect is especially chilling.

  That strong chemical scent growing in intensity, as I move through the rooms, forcing me to clasp one hand over my face to block out the smell, as the other clutches hard at the bat, and it’s then that I see him.

  See them.

  The whole lot of them wearing identical black-and-white skull masks with red dripping mouths—waiting for the party to begin.

  Coyote sees me first. Ducking his head, he snarls in protest, as Cade stands before an elaborate altar draped with a starched white tablecloth, covered with flaming beeswax candles, decapitated marigold heads, a plate piled high with ornately decorated sugar skull candies, a crystal carafe filled with something resembling red wine but that could just as easily be blood, and at least a hundred black-and-white photos of blank smiling faces strewn along the top. His back turned, arms embracing a glowing metal container that floods the room with a brilliant spectrum of light.

  “So you made it,” he says, not bothering to face me. Taking a moment to shush Coyote when he adds, “And just in time too. I knew you’d see the beauty of my plan. And now, because of it, the victory is ours to share.”

  The undead Richters make horrible yipping sounds, as Cade turns, his eyes red and glowing behind his own gruesome skull mask that looks a lot like the demon face I know from the dream.

  “Smell that?” He tosses his head back, makes a show of inhaling deeply. “It’s the sweet scent of insecticide. Had to spray the whole place. Seems a cockroach managed to sneak his way in just the other day.” His gaze levels on mine, flaring in amusement when he adds, “Wasn’t you, was it?”