by Alyson Noel
Yet, according to Paloma, it was our destiny to meet, just as it’s our destiny to work together to keep the Richters contained, and the Lower-, Middle-, and Upperworlds balanced. And once in motion, destiny cannot be stopped.
I’m just about to ask if he might reconsider telling Chepi, when he turns into the school parking lot and brakes beside Auden’s ancient wood-paneled station wagon. Lowering the window enough to allow a gust of cold air to rush in, we watch Auden guide Xotichl out of the passenger seat and lead her toward us, her red-tipped cane weaving before her.
“Xotichl claims it’ll snow by Christmas, but I say no way.” Auden pushes his tousled golden-brown hair from his eyes and grins. “In fact, we’re taking bets—you in?”
“You’re seriously betting against Xotichl?” I ask, my voice as incredulous as the expression I wear on my face. She may be blind, but she’s the most perceptive person I’ve ever met—next to Paloma, that is.
Auden shrugs, slips an arm around Xotichl’s shoulders, and plants a kiss on her cheek. “I should probably know better—betting against her never comes to any good—but I’m pretty convinced she’s wrong on this one. It hasn’t snowed in Enchantment in years. Not since I was a kid. And there’s no sign of that changing anytime soon.”
“It certainly feels cold enough to snow.” I watch my breath billowing before me as I pull my gloves from my backpack and slip them onto my hands. Thinking it’s time to trade in my usual olive-green army jacket—recently left a bit shredded in places, thanks to an unfortunate encounter with a certain undead Richter—for something a little more weather-resistant. “I thought it snowed pretty much everywhere in these parts?”
“It does,” Auden says. “But not here. Not anymore.”
“That used to be true, but this year is different,” Xotichl says, a sly smile lighting her beautiful, heart-shaped face as her blue/gray eyes flit in the general direction of mine.
“You sensing snow energy?” My arms circle my waist, bracing against the cold as I slip free of the truck and move to join them.
“I’m sensing something.” Xotichl’s voice is soft and lilting, clearly enjoying her secret.
“So?” Auden looks at me.
I glance between them, not missing a beat, as I say, “Sorry, Auden, but I’m pretty much always going to bet on Xotichl.”
Auden shoots me a rueful look and turns to Dace. “And you?”
Dace grasps my hand in solidarity, his icy-blue eyes meeting mine. “And I’m pretty much always going to bet on Daire.”
Auden sighs, turning in the direction of Lita, Jacy, and Crickett, who call to us from across the lot. “Still can’t stop thinking of them as the Cruel Crew. Guess I need to update our Facebook status to ‘friends.’” He shakes his head and grins. “What do you think, should I even bother asking them?”
“Only if you can handle the rejection.” Xotichl laughs, as we widen our circle to admit them.
“What’s so funny? What’d I miss?” Lita flips her hair over her shoulder, allowing it to fall in gorgeous dark waves down her back, as her eyes—still heavily made-up, though much improved since Jennika’s professional makeover—move anxiously among us. She hates to be left out of anything, no matter how trivial.
“A white Christmas. Is it possible? Yay or nay?” Auden gets right to the point.
“Yay. Definitely, voting for yay.” Lita claps her gloved hands for emphasis as the others nod their agreement. “It’s gonna require a freaking miracle though. Last time it snowed, I was like, six. Then again, it is the season for miracles, right?”
She bounces on the tips of her toes and buries her mitten-covered hands under her armpits in an attempt to ward off the cold. The trill of the bell prompting Auden to kiss Xotichl good-bye so he can head off to rehearse with his band, as the rest of us make for the building, where I pause at my locker long enough to drop off some books and lighten my load.
Lita lingers beside me, watching in annoyed silence as Dace gives me a brief peck on the cheek and promises to find me at break before heading to class. Waiting until he’s well out of earshot before she thrusts her hand toward me, and says, “Quick. Take it. Before you make us both late.”
I stare at the folded piece of paper pinched between two of her fingers. About to remind her that she’s here of her own volition—that her tardiness is completely on her—but squelching it just as quickly. Being friends with Lita means not only learning to ignore half of what she says, but never forgetting that deep down inside, her heart is mostly good.
“Secret Santa,” she says, watching as I unfold the note and squint in confusion. Her voice competing with the sound of her boot tapping hard and fast against the tile floor. “Yesterday, when we drew names at lunch, I got Dace. And I figured you’d want to trade since you guys are together and all. Besides, it’s way too weird for me to buy him a gift after breaking up with his twin.”
I nod in agreement, knowing it’ll be a lot easier to come up with something Dace will like that fits within our set twenty-dollar limit, than it would be for the name I’d originally drawn. Then seeing her expectant face, I say, “Though I’m not sure that works—I drew you.”
Lita’s eyes brighten. Clearly taken with the idea of shopping for herself, she turns on her heel, saying, “No worries. I’ll work it out.”
She dashes down the hall, the sound of her boots meeting the floor nearly drowning me out when I call, “Hey, Lita—”
She pauses, a look of impatience fixed on her face.
“Speaking of—have you seen or talked to Cade?”
She rolls her eyes, smiling smugly as she says, “Are you kidding? He’s gone underground. Totally fallen off the radar. Probably licking his wounds and tending to his poor, broken heart. Had I known how amazing this would feel—how easy it would be to break him—I would’ve done it years ago!”
She chases the words with a laugh. The sound so light, happy, and self-satisfied, I wish I could buy into it that easily. Wish I could trust in her theory that Cade is simply suffering the unexpected ego blow of being rejected by a pretty girl for the very first time. Then she turns on her heel and flees down the hall, her hair fanning behind her as she steps into class. Leaving me standing before my locker when the second bell rings, officially marking me tardy.
I gaze all around, taking in the quiet, empty hall as I heave my bag onto my shoulder and head back the same way I came. Speeding past the guard’s outraged warnings as I tuck into the frigid morning chill and make my way back to Paloma’s.
three
Paloma moves about her warm cozy kitchen, pulling her tattered, sky-blue cardigan snugly around one of the crisply ironed housedresses she favors, not the least bit surprised by my sudden return.
With her large brown eyes shining and bright, and her long dark braid with its smattering of silver curving down her back, she seems as normal as ever. Though a closer look reveals movements that are slower—less nimble, more labored. Especially compared to the unmistakable aura of determination and strength she projected the night I first appeared on her doorstep just a few months earlier. Not long after my breakdown in that Moroccan square.
Back when I was haunted by terrifying hallucinations of glowing people and crows—staring down a future in a padded white room.
Paloma saved me. Rescued me from that horrible fate. Only to startle me with a truth so strange I did my best to escape it.
Though, as it turns out, she knew what the doctors didn’t.
I wasn’t crazy.
Wasn’t haunted by delusions.
The crows—the glowing ones—they’re all real. I was hardly the first to undergo the experience. Every Seeker gets the calling—it was simply my turn.
It’s the Santos family legacy. The birthright passed from parent to firstborn child for too many generations to count. For the first sixteen years it lies dormant—but once it emerges, the whole world is flipped upside down. And while it’s tempting to run, it’s better to accept that destiny is not
always a choice. For those who try to deny it—it never ends well.
My father, Django, is the perfect example.
His tragic, premature death made Paloma even more determined to save me.
As the last in line, I’m the only one who stands a chance at stopping the Richters. But with my training cut short due to Paloma’s recent illness, I’m hardly up for the task.
I watch as she rises onto her toes, her arm straining to retrieve two mugs from the cupboard overhead. Her limbs appearing stilted, stiff. As though the joints need to be oiled and greased in order to move easily again. The sight serving as a bitter reminder of her recent soul loss that claimed all of her magick and nearly her life—one of the many reasons I need to find Cade and his undead ancestors before things continue to deteriorate.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Filling my head with competing scents of spiced herbal tea, the sugar-free ginger cookies left to cool on the stovetop, and the smoky allure of the vertically stacked mesquite logs burning in the corner kiva fireplace. Their melodic crackle and pop providing an ironically soothing soundtrack for the bad news to come.
“Nieta.” She places a steaming mug of tea before me and claims the opposite seat.
I warm my hands on either side of the mug and blow a few times before venturing a first sip. Then I look at my grandmother and say, “Still no sign of them.”
She nods, doing her best to keep her expression stoic, unchanged.
“Actually, that’s not entirely true…” My voice drifts along with my gaze. Assuring myself I can do this. I have to do this. At the very least, I owe her the truth. I clear my throat and start again. “What I mean is, while we haven’t been able to find them, there are definitely signs of their presence…” I describe the deluge of dead fish we found in the Enchanted Spring (strategically omitting the bit about why we were there in the first place), but other than fussing with the sleeves of her sweater, she continues to sit quietly, giving nothing away. “And there’s absolutely no sign of Cade. He’s been absent from school—the Rabbit Hole too. No one’s seen him, and I’m no longer sure what to do, where to look.”
My eyes search Paloma’s, seeking guidance, answers, something. But she merely nods in reply, urging me to finish my tea and enjoy one of her delicious ginger cookies before she pushes away from the table and leads me to my room, where she perches at the edge of my bed and instructs me to open the beautiful, hand-painted trunk she left for me the night she fell ill.
I unlatch the lock and peer at the contents. My heart racing in anticipation of whatever bit of magick she’s willing to share. It’s been weeks since she taught me to crawl with the lizards and soar with the birds—merging my energy with theirs until I’d claimed their experience for my own. And the truth is, I’ve missed our lessons. Missed our talks and the time we spent together.
Other than cooking my meals and looking after me (despite my protests that there’s really no need, that thanks to my mom and my nomadic existence, I’ve been looking after myself since I was a kid), the last few weeks she’s spent mostly resting. And despite Leftfoot’s assurances that she’d soon recover, up until now, I had no good reason to believe him.
Paloma’s willingness to resume my training as a Seeker is the first solid sign that she might really be on the mend. And while there’s no doubt things will never return to the way they once were, there’s no reason we can’t move forward from where we are now.
“The blanket.” She gestures toward the intricate handwoven blanket folded tightly at the bottom. “Spread it out before you, and place each object upon it.”
I do as she says. Pairing the black-and-white hand-painted rawhide rattle with the drum bearing a picture of a purple-eyed raven. Then I start a new row reserved for the feathers. Each of them bearing a tag identifying their individual uses—the swan feather for transformative powers, a raven feather for magickal powers, and an eagle feather for sending prayers. And just below that, I place the pendulum with the small chunk of amethyst attached to its end. The trunk now emptied of everything but the crisp, white note from Paloma, her careful script promising to one day show me the magick that lives inside all of these tools—a day I was beginning to fear wouldn’t come.
I lift the long black feather and wave it before me. Thinking it looks a lot like the one I wear in my pouch—only bigger—much bigger.
“As your spirit animal, Raven is always prepared to guide you. Have you called on him, nieta?”
“All the time.” I shrug, my voice as glum as my face. “But lately it seems like he does way more following than guiding. He just sits on Horse’s neck, like he’s merely in it for the ride, while Dace and I wander around, pretty much aimlessly.”
“And Horse?” Her spine straightens as her eyes narrow on mine.
“Same thing. If Dace didn’t push him, he’d spend all his time grazing. It’s like, the more we need them, the lazier they get, until they just barely cooperate. It seems to get worse every day.”
Paloma’s face pales, as her eyes flash in alarm. The effect lasting only a moment before she’s back to her usual calm, serene self—determined to hide the worries that plague her.
But now that I’ve seen it, I’ve no intention of letting it pass. If Paloma’s ready to resume my training, then she needs to be honest and stop with the secret keeping. If it’s true what she says, that as a Seeker I’m the only hope left, then sheltering me from the facts will only end up endangering everyone else.
“Paloma,” I say in a voice filled with urgency. “I need you to be straight with me. I need you to tell me the truth no matter how ugly. When you told me that a Seeker must learn to see in the dark, relying on what she knows in her heart—I assumed you were speaking metaphorically. But lately I’m starting to feel like Dace and I really are just floundering around in the dark, and it would help us a lot if you could shed a little light. Truly, abuela, I’m ready. There’s no need to protect me.”
She lifts her chin and takes a deep breath. Her delicate fingers smoothing the creases of her crisp cotton dress. “From what you say, it seems Raven has been corrupted. Horse too. And while they’re not yet working against you, they’re not quite working for you either. All of which means we’ll have to rely on other sources for knowledge and guidance until we can evict those Richters from the Lowerworld and return the balance to normal.” She sighs softly, shaking her head as she adds, “I was afraid this might happen. And trust me, nieta, the dead fish are just the beginning. If we don’t stop them soon, it won’t be long before the effects are felt in the Middle- and Upperworlds too. Each world is dependent upon the other. When one is corrupted, the others fall into chaos, which is precisely what Cade wants. When the spirit animals are no longer able to guide and protect us, it will allow him free rein to rule as he pleases.”
My fingers instinctively reach for the soft buckskin pouch I wear at my neck. Seeking the shape of the small stone raven, and the black raven feather that marked the beginning and end of my vision quest. Objects I once considered sacred, the main source of my power, but now I’m no longer sure. Like my guide, Raven, have they been corrupted too?
“Should I not wear this anymore?” I ask, surprised by the panic that creeps into my voice. I’ve grown so accustomed to wearing the pouch that I can’t bear the thought of being without it.
Paloma motions toward the blanket. “Why don’t we consult the pendulum?” She joins me on the floor. The two of us sitting side by side with our legs crossed, knees nearly touching, as I dangle the pendulum by the tip of my finger until it stills on its own. “The pendulum serves as a very powerful divination tool. But don’t be fooled, nieta. While it’s easy to think of it as magick, the answers it provides come from a place deep inside you.”
I squint, not sure I understood.
“The pendulum simply tunes in to your own higher consciousness and retrieves the answers you already know but that you may not have immediate access to.”
“So, you’re saying it s
ees through the dark to find what I already know in my heart?”
“Exactly.” She meets my grin with one of her own, the soft laugh that follows instantly brightening the room. “Oftentimes, we get so bogged down in choices and indecision that we can no longer access the truth that lives within us. That’s where the pendulum comes in. It helps you break through the clutter to get to the heart of the matter.”
“So, how do we start?” I stare at the crystal, eager to get going on the long list of questions crowding my head.
“First, I want you to close your eyes and imagine yourself surrounded by light.”
I stay as I am, lips screwed to the side, doubting the validity of that.
“Whenever you engage in any sort of divining activity, even if you are merely divining the answers within you, you need to protect yourself.”
“Protect myself from what exactly?” I frown, unsure where she’s going with this.
“From dark entities. Lower spirit forms.” She locks eyes with me. “You may not see them, but they’re always lurking, ever-present. They can be found in every dimension of the Middleworld, and they thrive off the energy of others. Which is why you must always take great care to guard against them, and never allow them the chance to latch onto you. They are tricksters. They are capable of causing great harm and will use any opening you give them. So let’s not give them one, okay?”
That’s all I need to snap my eyes shut and envision myself surrounded by a brilliant white nimbus of light.
“Good.” Her voice is soft, pleased. “Now we need to determine which direction indicates a no answer, and which way indicates a yes. So, we’ll start by posing a few simple questions, ones in which we already know the answer, and see how it responds.”
I lower my gaze, staring intently at the small amethyst stone that’s carved into a point at its tip. Trying to keep my voice serious, I say, “Is my name Daire Lyons-Santos?” Watching in amazement as the pendulum begins to sway on its own. At first moving in a slow back-and-forth motion, though it’s not long before it begins to form a clockwise circle, despite the fact that my fingers haven’t moved.