Echo (Soul Seekers)

by Alyson Noel

  I stare hard at my finger, reminded of the moment Cade and I locked eyes at the Enchanted Spring–turned cesspool. How I felt him tug on my soul—siphon my energy. The thought makes me shiver.

  “Only in Cade’s case, he merely transforms into the physical manifestation of the true nature of his soul.” Reading my confusion, she adds, “His soul is dark—when he transforms, he’s merely exhibiting what lurks inside.”

  “Like turning himself inside out!” Xotichl grins, instantly grasping what I was still struggling with.

  “So, does that mean Dace can turn into a rainbow, or an angel, or a dazzling white stallion with wings?” I ask, regretting the words the instant Xotichl cringes and Paloma shoots me a look.

  “I’ve no doubt that Dace has the power to transform into something very powerful and good. Though I’m not sure he’s discovered that yet,” Paloma says.

  I sigh in surrender, knowing they’re right. Dace is good. Cade is evil. And yet they’re equally human. Which means I’ve got to find another way to stop Cade. But at the moment, I have no idea how to begin.

  “It’s still two against one,” I venture, hoping to find comfort in the thought. Then seeing their confusion, I add, “What I mean is, I’m mostly good. Dace is all good. And since we’re in love, and since love always wins—since the light always shatters the dark—we’re destined for victory, right?” I glance between them, only to watch Paloma push away from the table and head for a locked cupboard I’d never paid any real notice to until now.

  Retrieving an ancient, leather-bound tome, she plunks it down before us, and says, “Why don’t we consult the codex?”

  ten

  Xotichl and I inch forward, sitting elbow to elbow as we lean over the tome. Its vellum pages crafted from thinly stretched cowhide that, while it’s held up well over the years, bears edges that are showing signs of age and wear in the way they’re beginning to wither and curl.

  “It’s illuminated!” Xotichl turns to Paloma for confirmation.

  “It is indeed.” Paloma nods. “Valentina was very skilled as both a soothsayer and an illustrator.” Referring to one of the very first Seekers in the Santos family tree, who appeared to me during my vision quest, along with Django; Alejandro, the grandfather I never met; and a whole host of Santos ancestors along with their spirit animals.

  I peer at the elaborately scrawled handwritten text that at first glance appears to be a convoluted mess of symbols and numbers and words so archaic, so cryptic, they’re impossible to decipher.

  “It’s unreadable.” My face droops as I turn to Paloma.

  “It appears that way.” She looks at me, a faint glimmer in her eye.

  Xotichl’s hands hover over the pages, palms down, her lips screwed to the side. She contemplates for a moment, then says, “It has very pure energy. It speaks only the truth.” She lowers her hands to her lap and sits back in her chair. “Though it came at great cost. A sacrifice was involved.”

  Paloma reaches toward Xotichl, eyes shining with pride. “You’re making such progress!” She ruffles her hair, causing Xotichl to catch Paloma’s hand with her own.

  “Yes, but there’s still so much more to learn.” Xotichl grins.

  I watch the two of them together—the teacher and the student. And yet they’re so much more than that. They’re family. My family. The realization filling me with a warmth I didn’t expect. While Dace may be determined to avoid me in order to protect me, it’s good to know I don’t have to face this alone.

  “Valentina was the sacrifice,” Paloma says. “She suffered great trials to accumulate this knowledge, but she did so willingly. As one of the first to face the Richters, she knew the fight would continue—that her child would have little choice but to pick up where she left off. She was determined to leave some sort of guide. This book is the result.”

  “Did they speak in a special language known only to them?” I peer at the lettering, the strange symbols, still unable to make any sense of it.

  “Valentina took great precautions to ensure the text would not fall into the wrong hands. All too aware that a breach of that kind would’ve proved disastrous for us, she invented an elaborate code that’s not easily deciphered. Since the start of its existence, the book, along with the secret to reading it, has been passed down from Seeker to child. I presented this book to Django on his sixteenth birthday, as is the custom. Though, of course, as you already know, he wanted no part of the Seeker tradition. But now that you’ve accepted your calling, nieta, it’s time I pass it to you.”

  Xotichl dips her head and sighs. “Looks like you’ve got some heavy reading ahead of you over Winter Break.” She laughs, determined to make light of a heavy situation.

  “Oh, no.” I grasp the book by the edges and slide it toward me. “I’ve no intention of waiting. I’m starting now. That is, if Paloma’s willing to show me how to read this thing.”

  I glance at Paloma, watching as she disappears into the kitchen, only to return a few moments later with a tray of homemade sugar-free cookies and freshly brewed tea. Placing a mug before each of us as we turn to the book—remaining like that late into the night.

  * * *

  The next morning I’m waiting outside Paloma’s blue gate well before Dace is set to arrive. My grief from the night before lessened by what I now know.

  It’s like Paloma said, prophecies are tricky. They can be interpreted in a number of ways. And now that I’ve had a chance to read it in the book for myself, my mission is clear.

  One must die. There’s no getting around it.

  But it won’t be me.

  And it won’t be Dace either. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him alive. Even if that means thwarting a prediction made long ago.

  Despite Paloma’s telling me that killing is frowned upon, what she doesn’t understand is that a new day has dawned. Now that I know what I know—seen what I’ve seen—it’s clear that Cade Richter must be eliminated.

  He may be human, but he’s no ordinary human. And as soon as I’ve dealt with him, it’s just a matter of time before I locate those undead Richters, since they’re only as good as the guidance he gives them. Once they’re gone, the Lowerworld will be free to heal and blossom again, the balance will be restored, and Dace and I will have nothing or no one standing in our way. We’ll be free to love each other for as long as we want.

  All I have to do is rid the world of his brother.

  The thought providing a much-needed push for what I have to do next.

  So when Dace parks his truck before me and hops free of his side to open my door, I remain rooted in place. My gaze fixed on his, I say, “Thanks for stopping by, but I’m getting a ride from Auden and Xotichl today.”

  He studies me with eyes that are even more fatigued and red-rimmed than they were when I left him. Speaking my name with a voice so hoarse, it takes all of my will not to barrel into his arms and beg him to forget what I said. Forget what he said. To forget everything and just be with me again.

  He reaches for me, fingers straining toward mine, but I quickly withdraw from his grasp. I can’t afford the contact. Can’t afford to be swayed by the lure of his touch. If I’m going to kill his twin, I can’t do anything that will enable Cade to become a more formidable opponent than he already is.

  I have to be patient.

  Have to believe in my heart that it won’t be much longer until Dace and I are together.

  I have to believe it, envision it, and think from the end.

  I wave a hand before me, hoping he doesn’t notice the way my fingers shake, the way my voice trembles when I say, “We’re good, okay? Truly. I get why you have to do it. Really, I do.” I choke back the sob crowding my throat, averting my gaze so I won’t have to see his grief-stricken face.

  He’s about to speak again, when Auden and Xotichl arrive. Auden’s eyes wide and uncertain, Xotichl’s head tilted, when they find me standing with Dace.

  I flash them the wait-a-minute signal, about to say good
-bye to Dace when he grabs hold of me. Fingers circling my wrist, he peers at my finger and says, “You’re healed.”

  “Looks like Paloma worked another miracle.” I allow a quick grin, then jerk free of his grip. The move costing much more than it appears on the surface. Bearing sole responsibility for the avalanche of ache that rages inside. “And you?”

  I peer at the bit of gauze peeking free of his sleeve, marking the spot where Coyote made a feast of his flesh. Watching as he tugs hard on the fabric, dragging it down past the wound. “No miracle required. Not to worry, I’m good.”

  I squint, not quite believing it but choosing not to pursue it. I allow myself to hold his gaze for much longer than I should. Bargaining for just a few more seconds of being engulfed in the sacredness of his space—telling myself I’ll do whatever it takes to make up for any damage that ensues.

  It takes every last bit of my strength to drag myself from him, but I do. Heading for Auden and Xotichl without once looking back.

  “Did you get any sleep?” Xotichl asks, when I slide onto the seat just behind them, trying to act nonchalant, though I’m pretty sure they’re not fooled.

  “Not really,” I say. “But strangely, I’m not at all tired.” Determined but not tired.

  “Me neither,” Xotichl says as Auden pulls onto the road and cautiously swerves around Dace.

  “Well, I am,” Auden quips. “There’s not enough energy drinks in the world.”

  His words causing Xotichl to laugh in that delightful way that she has. Pressing her shoulder to his, she snuggles against him and says, “Epitaph had a gig in Albuquerque last night. The crowd loved them so much they played seven encores!”

  “Two.” Auden laughs. Yanking affectionately on Xotichl’s ponytail when he adds, “But who’s counting?”

  “All I know is that he drove all the way back to Enchantment instead of staying over with the rest of the band, just so he could drive us to school. Isn’t that sweet?” She cocks her head toward me, as I bite back the overwhelming surge of envy when I see the way they get to love each other so openly and easily. Forcing myself to agree that it is indeed sweet of him.

  “Yeah, I’m sweet.” Auden grins. “And the second I drop you off, I’m gonna go crash my sweet self until it’s time to pick you both up again.”

  “I don’t need a ride home.” I stare out the window, taking in this dump of a town with its rusted cars, sagging clotheslines, and crumbling adobe homes.

  For a brief time I’d fooled myself into thinking it was improving—fooled myself that I was the reason. But now, seeing it with untainted vision, there’s no denying this place is a complete and total dead end. Bearing no hint of Paloma’s claim that it was once a good match for its name. I can only hope that once I’ve properly dealt with Cade Richter, this place will be truly enchanting again.

  “How you getting home?” Xotichl’s voice is thick with suspicion.

  “I’ll find a ride.” I unbuckle my seat belt and grab hold of my bag. “In fact, you can drop me right here.”

  “You skipping school?” Auden asks.

  “Yep,” I mumble, already distracted by what I now need to do.

  “Again?” Xotichl swivels in her seat until she’s halfway facing me.

  Her voice colliding with Auden’s, who blurts, “You seriously want me to stop right here?” He squints at me from the rearview mirror. Gaze narrowing further when he adds, “In the middle of the road?”

  I nod, already opening the door and freeing a leg.

  “What’re you up to, Daire?” Xotichl’s face darkens in a way I rarely see.

  Since there’s no use lying to her, I don’t even try. I glance between the two of them and say, “Something that should have been done a long time ago.”

  Then I swing the door shut and head for Gifford’s Gift Shop * Notary * & Mailstop. Planning to fill up on some of that freshly brewed coffee they advertise in the window, while I wait for the Rabbit Hole to open for business.

  desecration

  eleven

  Dace

  Daire walks away from my truck.

  Away from me.

  Determined. In a hurry. Her shiny brown hair sailing behind her in a way that seems almost mocking. As if to say: You want me? You want to fold me in the palm of your hand, and weave your fingers around my soft, silken strands? Feel free—your demonic brother would love nothing more!

  I curse under my breath, kick stupidly at the dirt, and climb inside my truck. An ugly mess of scraped-together bits that, thanks to countless hours bent under the hood, and layers of grease on my hands, houses an engine that purrs.

  I glance in my rearview mirror, watching as Daire settles onto Auden’s backseat. Her deep green eyes shining like emeralds, her cheeks flushing pink—smiling so brightly I close my eyes and pretend she smiles for me.

  When I open my eyes again, they’re gone. Leaving me to stare into their dust, unable to do anything more than shake my head, spear a hand through my hair, and remember a time when I thought its length was the only thing that distinguished me from my twin.

  Yesterday I was naïve.

  Today, not so much.

  Not after seeing the way he rose up before us—morphed into a freaking snake-tongued beast.

  Then there was Daire—looking horrified, sure, but not one bit surprised to see him that way. Making me wonder if she had the dream too?

  The one where Cade turned into a monster, stole her soul, and left her lying dead in my arms.

  It’s a dream I’ve dreamed too many times.

  I drive my knuckles hard against my eyes in a failed attempt to stop them from burning—the direct result of a night spent in torment. Every time I tried to sleep, images of Daire swam in my head. Her eyes gazing at me—trusting me, loving me, giving herself in a way that frightened her more than me.

  I was sure it was just the beginning.

  Sure that our love could only grow from there.

  I’d never felt happier, never felt more fulfilled than I did lying beside her. Vowing to dedicate the rest of my life to making her as contented as I was.

  It was a promise I intended to keep.

  Still do.

  Our separation is temporary. A bitter necessity. It’s what I have to do to keep her safe until I can find a way to deal with Cade.

  And though every last bit of it’s true—it leaves me no comfort.

  Five minutes without her is unbearable.

  A lifetime is completely unthinkable.

  But while I can’t risk going near her just yet, can’t afford to even think about her without enabling Cade, I will find a way to end this. I’ve no choice. That recurring dream where she dies in my arms is hardly coincidence. It’s a prophecy. There’s no doubt in my mind.

  A prophecy I plan to stop no matter the cost.

  There’s no way I’ll stand by and watch as Daire dies. If anyone ends up dead, it’ll be Cade. And if not Cade, then I’ll gladly take his place. If I do nothing else with my ill-conceived existence, I’ll make sure Daire goes unharmed.

  I yank hard on the wheel—this ancient heap of rust and metal predates power steering by a decade. About to pull onto the street, when Daire’s grandmother comes through the painted blue gate and looks right at me.

  “Although I’ve long suspected, I couldn’t be sure until now.” Her voice is light and breathy, as though returning to a prior conversation I don’t remember having. Confusing me further when she adds, “I’m so sorry.”

  I shrug. Rub my thumb over the wheel. There’s a lot to be sorry for lately, but my guess is she’s referring to my broken relationship with Daire.

  “You are better than the circumstances of your birth,” she says.

  Oh. That.

  “You must strive to rise above it. You hold the potential for greatness. You must never forget that.”

  She studies me, while I study my hands, unsure how to respond.

  “Whatever you do, please don’t beat yourself up. Your mother has
indulged in enough self-recrimination for both of you, don’t you think?”

  I meet her gaze, wondering how she does it—how any of the elders do it. Paloma, Leftfoot, Chepi, and Chay—how do they remain so hopeful and optimistic in a world overflowing with pain?

  “Because we have no choice.” She smiles faintly, answering the thoughts in my head. “There will always be light and dark. How would we recognize one if not for the existence of the other?”

  I hold her gaze, knowing I have her full understanding and support. But too overcome by the shame of her knowing what I am—how I came to be, the hideous truth no one bothered to tell me—to appreciate the look of compassion she gives me.

  “You must fight the urge to fight fire with fire—no good will come of that. You must lean on your inner goodness and light.” She pats my arm for emphasis, her touch brief, fleeting, but comforting all the same.

  Then she steps away from the truck, pulls her cardigan tightly around her, and waves me away. The troubled look on her face blunted by the swirl of dust I stir in my wake.

  * * *

  When I pull into the school parking lot, the space next to Auden’s is free. But I know better than to park there. Keeping my distance starts here. Now. So I start to drive on, making for the other side, when I notice only two people climb out of Auden’s wagon, and Daire isn’t one of them.

  “Where is she?” I punch the brake hard. Search the area for some sign of her.

  Eyeballing Auden, who turns to Xotichl, who turns in my direction and says, “She never made it this far—she had us drop her in town.”

  “In town—why?” I rub a hand over my chin, trying to make sense of why she’d do such a thing. Watching as Xotichl chews her lip, deciding just how much she should tell me.