by Alyson Noel
There’s even a house made of bones—a large, rambling, dull white palace with knobs and joints on the corners, teeth decorating the windows and doors. And the fence that surrounds it is made of bones too, mostly femurs and spines, with the occasional elbow thrown in.
And that’s when I see that what I first took for trees aren’t trees at all—or at least not living trees. No longer sprouting leaves, no longer providing oxygen or shade, no longer functioning in the usual way. They died long ago, their scorched and bony carcasses are all that remain.
The woman spreads her arms wide and gazes up at the sky. The move causing the sky to darken into a glittering canopy of black velvet, as her face transforms into a skull, her skirt becomes a whirl of snapping, writhing snakes that circle her legs and waist, and her eyes turn into horrible empty sockets that level on me. Her jaw yawning wide, emitting a horrible bone-on-bone scraping sound, as she throws her head back and feeds on a long line of stars that funnel into her mouth.
The sight leaving no doubt in my mind that Dace has brought me to the Bone Keeper’s house.
fifty-one
“You can’t have him.” I glare, as Dace finds my hand. The press of his fingers warning that this is not the best way to proceed, though it’s not like that stops me. “You can have all the others. I don’t care what you do with them—but this one is mine.”
“None of them are yours!” She shrieks, eye sockets glowering, skirt thrashing and slithering. “How dare you even consider it! Don’t you know who I am?”
I nod. Not only do I know, but the Richter we’re fighting over finally guessed too, judging by the way he snarls and yelps and fights like hell to free himself. But it’s no use. With a single flick of her wrist, a knot of snakes swarm him, binding his throat, his arms, his legs—holding him captive like the vines once did.
“Then you know those bones belong to me. All the bones belong to me. And these particular bones have been denied me for too many years.” She glowers at the undead Richter beside her. “Today is Día de los Muertos—the day when the dead bring me their bones. It is not a courtesy. It is not an offering to appease me. It is the price one pays for their final admittance into the afterlife. This family of Coyotes has eluded me for centuries, but no more. Their bones will be mine, and since you found your way here, yours are mine too.”
Dace tightens his hold, but I’m too stunned by her words to edit myself. “You can’t take my bones!” I cry. “I’m not even dead!” Dace moves to hush me, subdue me, but it’s no use. I came here to get Paloma’s soul, and there’s no way I’ll let myself fail.
The Bone Keeper stares, weighing my words as her fingers pick at her hissing, slithering, twist of a snake skirt. “That’s easy enough to remedy,” she decides, her shiny black boots gliding across the dirt until she stands just before me. Her skin so translucent it looks like a sheen of wax paper has been pulled over her thin, bony frame—her skull of a face glistening as a result of all the stars she just ate.
Her fingers reaching for me, ready to join me with the undead Richter beside her, when Dace steps between us and says, “We’re not interested in bones. The only ones we want to keep are our own. We’re here for another reason entirely—it’s my understanding you’ve been known to work with the Light Workers from time to time—helping them retrieve stolen souls. This one here—” He motions toward the freak held hostage by the snakes. “He’s stolen a soul we desperately need. If you’ll help us retrieve it, we’ll leave the bones to you.”
Her skirt of squirming snakes shoots around Dace to lash at my legs, their flickering tongues finding all the spots where my jeans have ripped, stinging and lashing my skin as she says, “I don’t make deals.”
Her eye sockets darken in dismissal, as though that’s the end of it. But we didn’t come all this way to give up so easily. I swipe hard at the snakes, watching as they dart back to the protective bed of her hips, as I stand beside Dace and say, “I need that soul, and I need it now. A good woman is dying, and I can’t let that happen. And while you may not care about that, you might care to know that these undead soul stealers and the sorcerer who made them, have terrible plans for this place. They’re going to destroy the Lowerworld as you know it, and all the other worlds too. But you can help stop it. If you’ll just return this soul to me, then—”
“I don’t care about their plans!” she cries, her voice as outraged as her skull face. “It’s bones I’m interested in. Every time Coyote invades the Lowerworld, it results in millions of deaths in the Middleworld—a bounty for me!”
“But you’ll get those bones eventually!” I practically spit in frustration. “Don’t you get it? By not even trying to fight this, you’re letting them win at their game. You claim to hate them for eluding you all these years—and yet you’re helping them go through with their plans! It just doesn’t make any sense.”
While she doesn’t instantly cave like I’d hoped, it’s clear my words have had an impact. She grows quiet, pensive, making no further move either toward me or away from me. Her face transforming, returning to the beauty she was when we first came upon her, though the snake skirt remains. She turns to me and says, “Paloma is on my list.”
I swallow hard. Wondering what it means but too afraid to ask, so Dace does it for me.
“The list of the dead,” she says. “Or soon to be dead. She’s on today’s list. It is done. There is no going back.”
“But she’s not gone yet.” Dace strives for calm, though the way he grips my fingers tells me he’s as worried as I am. “It doesn’t have to be this way. You have plenty of bones to keep you busy. You have theirs”—he points toward the freaks hanging from the tree—“and you have his”—he motions toward the Richter bound by snakes. “That’s a lot of fresh skeletons in exchange for one soul. Seems like a pretty good trade, no?”
She flips her hair over her shoulder, a glimmering rainbow of reds that momentarily steals my attention. Nodding toward the undead Richter, she says, “You’re willing to sacrifice Coyotes for Seekers?”
Dace shrugs, face confused when he says, “Why wouldn’t I?” Having no idea what that means. But I do, and the words leave me chilled.
“I find that very intriguing.” She steps toward him, her onyx eyes moving over him, drinking in his wet form, the way his T-shirt and jeans mold and cling. Licking her lips slowly, lasciviously, she says, “Actually, I find you very intriguing.”
Dace freezes, eyes locked on hers, hand clasped in mine, as she runs a slender finger down the length of his cheek, around the curve of his ear. Holding his gaze for so long I suddenly understand what I didn’t before: She doesn’t just keep the bones, she knows the bones.
Knows where they came from.
Knows their full history—how they found their way to her.
She removes her hand from his flesh, returns to her place. Continuing to gaze at him with an expression I can’t quite decipher when she says, “Why wouldn’t you sacrifice a Coyote for a Seeker?” She shakes her head, eyes sparkling, teeth glittering when she adds, “Because you’re the Echo, that’s why.” She throws her head back, allowing great peals of laughter to boom in the sky—a cacophony of mockery that swoops down around us. Leveling her gaze once again when she adds, “Then again, as the Echo, your destiny is not only a strange one but a shared one.” Her eyes switch to mine.
“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 her
alds 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.