by Alyson Noel
I gaze down at my feet, waiting for him to deteriorate. But when he bleeds out in a thick, black, viscous crud that seeps from his stump of a neck, I figure he must’ve been dead a much shorter time than the last one.
I kick him aside, wait for the next wave to come. Sure there will be one. Surrender is the last thing on their minds.
This group is smarter, taking a moment to gather axes and picks to use against me. Not getting very far before I relieve them of their weapons. Using my talent for telekinesis, with a little help from my element Wind, to disarm them—I take them down one by one. Indulging the occasional glimpse at the mine, relieved to see it still untended. The captives continuing to escape, as I continue slaying Richters.
As soon as that group is eliminated, the remaining Richters fall on me in a swarm of undead stench, fetid breath, gnashing teeth, and kicking feet. And, to their surprise, I refuse to fight back.
I refuse to deflect.
I stand loosely before them, head raised, arms held out to either side, accepting whatever they give me.
Allowing them to push me to my knees. Shove my face into the dirt. My nose jammed with bits of scorched earth as they bite me, punch me, savagely assault me—while I tell myself I deserve it.
That it’s what I get for the long list of failures that resulted in so much misery and destruction.
That fist in my gut is for all those who needlessly died in the mine.
Those claws piercing my scalp is for those who suffered because of my inability to sacrifice Paloma’s soul.
While the foot that repeatedly slams into my back is for my failure to stop loving Dace.
My skin splits, allowing rivers of blood to seep from my wounds, as my insides rattle and crunch, and my eyes stream with tears—though the tears aren’t for me. They’re for everyone I failed by allowing love to rule me.
Problem is—the pain and punishment I seek never comes.
The relief I expected to feel with each blow eludes me as well.
Despite the barrage of fists raining on me, I don’t feel much of anything.
You can never be sick enough, poor enough, or beaten enough to help those less fortunate than you. The only way to empower others is by empowering yourself. Never apologize for the gifts that were bestowed upon you. Never punish yourself for your ability to love. Love is never a mistake—it is the epitome of grace—the highest power of all. It is the only thing that will lead us out of the darkness and into the light …
The voice belongs to Valentina. And though I’d planned to let them beat me just a little bit longer before I got back to the business of removing their heads and ripping them to shreds, I realize she’s right.
Redemption can never be won in this way.
The best way to atone for my failures is by ridding the world of these foul-smelling, hate-filled, malevolent Richters.
I’m up like a shot.
My athame swaying before me as though conducting a glorious symphony heard only by me. Removing one head after another, knuckles repeatedly pounding into dead rancid flesh, as bodies fall all around me. So caught up in the melody, I hardly notice when the music has stopped and there’s not a single dance partner left.
I just keep pounding bodies, snapping skeletons into small useless bits. Rendering them incapable of ever resurrecting again—ensuring the remains return to a place they never should’ve left.
When it’s over, I still my athame, wipe a hand across my brow, and lift my gaze skyward. Dazzled by the constellation of brightly shining souls glittering overhead. Twinkling, circling, blinking, and spinning in a flurry of movement—unbounded and free. They float briefly, allowing me to see them, appreciate them, before winking out of sight, and soaring toward home.
Then I lower my gaze to the heap of remains at my feet, marveling at how it looks exactly as I envisioned it. And as I continue to pick my way through, I’m amazed to find I’ve wrought more change than I ever would’ve thought.
With each Richter felled, with each soul released, the Lowerworld has taken one giant leap toward healing itself. Patches of once-dead grass now sprawl into a lush and velvety lawn. While the hollowed-out trees, once bent like old crones, begin to straighten and stretch, as though encouraging their branches to shake off a long arthritic winter.
And it’s not long after when the animals begin to venture out of hiding. Raccoon, Red Fox, White Wolf, Wildcat, Monkey, Squirrel, Jaguar, Bear, Lion, Bat, Opossum, Hummingbird, Eagle—even Horse and Raven come out to greet me.
Their bright and happy eyes providing all the proof I need to know that with the Richters finally evicted, the curse has been lifted.
The Lowerworld thrives once again.
I head for the mine, ensure that it’s cleared, then make a quick assessment of the wounded, and discover that while it’s not nearly as bad as I feared, that’s not to say that it’s good.
With no way to attend to them all, I turn to the animals for help. Pairing those who can’t walk with the bigger, stronger ones like Horse, Bear, and Jaguar, while the rest follow the path set by Eagle and Bat, who fly overhead.
Trusting the elders are doing their part, working their magick, and remaining alert to the signals that will lead them to the crowd soon to be arriving at the vortex of twisted juniper trees, I take leave. Guided by Raven soaring ahead of me and the whisper of wind that swirls featherlike over my skin, I go searching for Cade.
forty-five
Dace
I check all my pockets. Hands obsessively patting my jacket, my pants, assured by the solid weight and heft that I find there.
This time I’m ready.
This time I’m armed.
With my blowgun loaded with darts dipped in poison no beast can survive, I make my way across a dry and scorched land, which, although it seems crazy, appears to be improving with each passing step.
Leaves are forming on trees. Buds are sprouting from the tips of once-barren flower stems.
Even the spirit animals, having spent the last month in hiding, are now out and about. Though, strangely, once they spy me they beat a fast retreat, eager to keep their distance and steer clear of my path.
Probably still suffering their version of post-traumatic stress disorder after all the hell Cade put them through.
Or at least that’s what I tell myself, until I pass the reflective surface of a pond and see an image of Cade staring back.
I run a hand through my hair, ensure it’s still long, unlike his. Then I press a hand to my cheek, relieved to see the image reflects the same thing.
Still, there’s no doubt that it’s Cade’s eyes staring back. The very reason the animals fled—they’ve mistaken me for him.
I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me. Still, there’s no time for regret, so I return my focus to finding him.
Needing to settle this before Daire can arrive.
I can’t bear for her to see me this way.
forty-six
Daire
When Raven and Wind lead me to the Enchanted Spring—and it truly is enchanted again, no bloated fish, no rat-infested vines—I can’t say I’m surprised. Allowing the Richters to pummel me has left me in a pretty sore state. A quick dip in its healing waters can only help to revive me.
Still, I take a moment to glance all around, needing to make sure I’m alone, that Cade isn’t lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce. Finding the assurance I seek when Raven lands on my shoulder and nudges his beak to my shoulder, and Wind curls around me, prodding me toward the glistening pool.
“It’s good to have you back,” I say, watching as Raven flits toward a nearby rock. “I missed your company. It wasn’t the same without you.”
His purple eyes glimmer and dart, keeping careful watch as I strip off my clothes, kick off my boots, and place my knife within reach should I find that I need it. Then I slip into the warm bubbling spring, sinking under the water until it covers my head and goes about healing my wounds and rest
oring my energy, allowing me to emerge as though I’m reborn.
“We should bottle that.” I laugh, picking my way out of the water and over the bed of rocks lining the edge. My grin fading when I notice the way Wind begins to kick, ruffling Raven’s feathers as he fidgets, shifting from foot to foot as his eyes roll in their sockets.
“Shhh! He’s coming—he’s coming!” Raven croaks, imitating an unfamiliar female voice I can only assume belonged to one of Cade’s unfortunate captives. Cringing at the number of times Raven must’ve listened to their cries of pain and fear in order to nail the fearful tone so perfectly.
The sudden shaking of the earth accompanied by a spine-chilling shriek that echoes through the land, prompting me to duck into my filthy, torn clothes, grasp the athame, and follow Raven and Wind to the place where it originates. Cade’s personal epicenter just outside the spring.
“What the hell have you done?” Cade shrieks, greeting me with a gaping, fanged, snake-mouthed glare, though thankfully he’s retained his normal size.
I glance at his feet, noting how the immediate area surrounding him remains corrupted while the rest continues to heal.
“If you wanted to see me, you could’ve called or sent a text,” I tell him, my voice strong and sure. “You didn’t have to create all this drama for me.”
He lowers his clawed hands with a flourish, summoning the earth to still as the surrounding ring of fire smolders and dims, and I can only hope the Middleworld bears the same effect.
“Your sense of reasoning is beyond me.” I sneer, allowing my gaze to drag over him as my lip curls with distaste. “You’re like one of those crazy looters you see on the news. You live in Enchantment, your family practically owns Enchantment, and yet you choose to destroy it by virtually firebombing it with that fiery rain that you made. Do you have any idea how crazy that makes you?”
He swipes a hand at me, his long, razor-sharp talons veering uncomfortably close. “It’s the prophecy, Daire. I figured you’d know that. It just needed a little push to get started. Now answer my question. Where are my ancestors—my employees? What the hell have you done, Seeker?” His voice booms loudly as the snakes thrash all about. Making the transformation from his demon self to his more normal self, he whistles for his creepy coyote, who obediently trots up beside him and heels at his feet with a bloodied, mangled rabbit hanging halfway out of his snout.
“That’s someone’s spirit animal!” I gasp, reaching toward Coyote, intent on wrenching it free.
But Cade steps between us, face enraged as he shouts, “Answer my question, Seeker!” His voice pitched so high it prompts Coyote to lift his snout and howl, allowing the dead bunny to topple to the ground.
I stare at the mess of a carcass, consoling myself that it was dead on arrival; there was nothing I could’ve done to save it. Returning my attention to Cade, I say, “Those weren’t workers; those were slaves. And in case you didn’t know, slavery is illegal, so I took matters into my own hands and freed them. Oh, and as for your ancestors—I killed them. Every last one.” I pause, tapping a finger against my chin, needing to emend that last bit. “Or perhaps killed isn’t quite the right word, considering they were already dead. Fact is, you’re on your own, Cade. Your undead playmates have gone bye-bye. Forever this time. Which means that at this very moment, all those souls you stole are returning to their rightful homes. And the people you enslaved are now back in the Middleworld, where they’ll not only be healed but also protected with the kind of magick you’ll never be able to penetrate. You’ll never be able to harm them or mess with their perception again. Which, in turn, means your business is dead. You’ve no slaves, no guards, no one willing to partake in your madness.”
“You’ll pay for this.” He storms toward me, hands clenched by his sides.
“Maybe,” I say. “But more likely not.” I take a careful step backward for his every advance.
Not because he scares me—he doesn’t.
Not because I’m intimidated—I’m not.
But because I want to lure him into my territory. Noting how the grass beneath his feet dies a quick death, only to revive once again when he’s past. But now that the magick of the Enchanted Spring is restored—now that the Richters are gone, their shroud of negative energy rapidly dissipating—I’m confident there’s nothing he can do to corrupt it. And with Wind calm and no protest from Raven, I’m free to proceed.
“You have no idea what you’ve done.” He glares. His icy-blue eyes turned dark and stormy. “No idea how you’ll pay for your foolish transgressions. You’re so mundane in your thinking. So stupid and conventional. Every time I thought there just might be hope for you yet, you do something ridiculous like saving your abuela’s soul or killing my ancestors. I’m beginning to think I misjudged you, Santos. Fooled myself into thinking you were a person of substance.”
“Oh, there’s no doubt you’ve misjudged me.” At the sound of the bubbling spring just a few feet away, I slip the athame into my hand.
His rolls his eyes, takes another step closer, and says, “Really? This again? Another performance of the Wiccan Warrior Dance?”
“The last one was such a success, I figured it was worth a repeat.”
He looks at me, confused by my words and I’m all too eager to enlighten him.
“This is the same blade I used to wreak some pretty awesome devastation on your ancestors. Sent their heads rolling with very little effort. It’s over, Cade. For real. And, if you don’t believe me, take a good look around and tell me what you see.”
He stares at me for a very long time, but ultimately curiosity gets the better of him and he allows his gaze to drift. Allows himself to see what I see—the Lowerworld slowly healing, reaching toward its former beauty and glory.
All except for the space just under his feet, which leaves me to worry.
I take another step back, this one a little hurried, uncertain. And like the beast that he is, he wastes no time exploiting my moment of weakness.
In an instant, he’s on me, closing the gap between us. Standing so near, his hot breath pelts hard against my cheek, as Coyote growls and nips at my hand.
The move causing Raven to croak loudly in protest, as Wind picks up, fiercely lashing at Cade. Though it’s only a second later when I’ve regained my footing along with my magick. I arrow my fingers at Coyote’s glowing red eyes and watch as he falls into whining submission.
“Impressive,” Cade says, sidling closer, seemingly unaffected by the gale at his back. “But if you so much as go near Coyote again, I’ll kill you.”
“I’d like to see you try.” I wiggle the athame by my side, take another step back. Gazing covertly at his feet as I continue my retreat, pausing only when the ground stops changing and remains solid and green beneath him.
He stares hard at me, searching for access, attempting to siphon my energy, yank on my soul, but it no longer works. He has no idea the power I hold. No idea who he’s dealing with now. I’m finally the Seeker I was born to be.
“Got you just where I want you.” His gaze darkens on mine. “You and me at the Enchanted Spring. Just like the dream. The only thing missing is Dace.”
I rub my lips together, stilled by the eerie sensation of icy-cold fingers traipsing my spine.
He’s right.
It really is the dream come to life.
Only this time, it gets a new ending.
If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make sure of that.
“So it is.” I keep steady before him. “But you know what they say about dreams—there are so many ways to interpret them. Same thing with prophecies. It’s only after the dust has settled when you can pin it down, put real solid meaning to the words and pretend that’s what it meant all along.”
Cade grins. Presenting a face that, from a distance, is objectively handsome. Though an up-close look reveals eyes that are empty and dull, devoid of compassion—bearing not one single trace of basic human emotion.
“If I remember r
ight, this is the part where you get all hot and steamy with my twin. Shall we reenact it?” His tongue darts over his lips. “Seeing as he isn’t here, I’m willing to volunteer as his stand-in. I think you’ll enjoy it. You can finally see what you’ve been missing—the difference between an amateur and a pro.”
“Sure.” I shrug, my gaze posing a direct challenge to his. “Go ahead. Let’s see what you got.” I grip the hilt tighter, inch my fingers higher.
“Ladies first.” He arcs an arm toward the spring.
Without hesitation, I leap away from the water and toward him. Enjoying Coyote’s fierce but ultimately ineffective growl, he’s still under my spell, but disappointed by Cade’s failure to even so much as flinch when I press the edge of my blade hard against his cheek. Removing a broad sheen of stubble as I slowly drag it across, taunting, “Dream on, Richter. I’ll never be that desperate.”
I yank the blade down along the curve of his jaw, jerk it all the way to the hollow of his neck. Fascinated by the vein that throbs and pulses as I ready my hand. Anticipating the rush of seeing it forever stilled when his head drops to my feet.
I jab the tip in, just enough to draw a small speck of blood. Eager to see it replaced by a solid, arcing gush, I press my lips together and push the blade harder. My gaze narrowed to this one single point on Cade’s flesh—mesmerized by the way the skin parts so easily—the blood flowing immediately. Caught between the thrill of the kill and the true horror of what I’m about to do next.
It was different with his ancestors.
The undead don’t bleed.
When the body is pulsing with life, it feels much more like murder.
I clear my mind of the thought. Replacing it with reminders of all the horrible things that he’s done … the fact that he’s not entirely human … that his soul is pure evil …
His fingers catch at my wrist, clutching hard as he pulls the knife free of his neck, leaving behind a wound that’s superficial at best. His touch surprisingly cool as he forces my hand to my side.