by Alyson Noel
“Excuse me?” She grabs my arm, swings me around until I’m facing her again. Her brow shooting halfway up her forehead, misreading my words as a challenge even though I meant what I said.
I’m staying. I have no plans to leave. It’s as simple as that.
And yet there’s really no use in arguing. It’ll just make her more stubborn, cause her to dig her spiked heels in even further. So I soften my tone when I add, “At least not until she gets better. When I’m sure she’s okay, then fine, whatever. But not before then.” My gaze meets hers, and I hope she can’t see the lie behind the words. The things Paloma told me have left me shaken to the core, but there’s no way to explain it to Jennika.
When Paloma gets better—and she will get better—she has to, I can’t do this without her—when that day comes, Jennika and I will negotiate again.
I plop down on the chair the medicine man vacated when he went to check on Paloma with his assistant and Chepi in tow. Fully determined to wait it out here, to not budge from this seat until I’m sure she’s turned the corner. But it’s not long before Chay places a hand on my shoulder and insists I go home.
“Get some sleep,” he says. “It meant a lot for her to see you, but now that she has, there’s nothing more you can do. Leftfoot, the medicine man, is doing all that he can. It’s far more important for you to rest up before school.”
The way he says school—well, I know he’s thinking the same thing I am: School equals Cade, and I need to keep a close eye on him.
School also equals Dace—though that’s really not something I can think about now.
And it’s not long before he’s bundling Jennika and me back into the rental car, promising to call at the first sign of change, as Jennika sighs long and loud and pulls away from the curb. Continuing her chorus of sighs all the way back to Paloma’s, though I do my best to ignore her.
I just wait until she pulls into the drive, then I bid a quick good night and make for my room. Only to find a beautiful, carved wooden chest placed next to my bed that Paloma must’ve put there before she fell ill.
I run my hands over the top, my throat closing in on itself when I look inside and find it filled with the same kinds of things she keeps in her office. There’s a small black-and-white hand-painted rawhide rattle on a long wooden stick; a large drum bearing the face of a purple-eyed raven stretched over a round wooden frame; three beautiful feathers bearing tags that identify them as a swan feather to be used for transformative powers, a raven feather bearing magickal powers, and an eagle feather used for sending prayers; along with what looks to be a pendulum with a chunk of amethyst attached to the end—all of it lying on a soft, handwoven blanket, including a small, white card from Paloma that reads:
Nieta—
These are but some of the tools you will use on your journey as a Seeker. Soon I will teach you how to use them all—their power will amaze you!
I am so very proud of you.
Paloma
I gaze upon it, my eyes burning with unspent tears, wondering if Paloma will last long enough to teach me. Other than the rattle, I have no idea what to do with any of it. For someone who’s supposed to be brimming with untapped potential—I feel just the opposite. Powerless. Useless. With no idea how to access the gifts of my ancestral legacy. Unable to do anything more than collapse on my bed.
Jennika was right.
She was right all along.
If this is what loss feels like, then I’d prefer to have never known it.
I’d prefer to have never come to this place—never been foolish enough to allow myself to care as much as I do.
This horrible feeling goes way beyond pain—miles past debilitating.
It’s reduced me to a numb, frozen shell, huddled on my bed—forced to remind myself to breathe in and out.
I curl into a ball, trying to silence my mind and shut down my heart. Yanking the blanket high over my head, desperate to block out the room since everything in it reminds me of Paloma. Though it’s no use. Turns out, the scent of lilac laundry soap that clings to the sheets is just as big a culprit as the dream catcher that hangs over the windowsill. Enough to prompt the image of her that blooms large in my mind—kind, loving, trusting me to live up to my birthright. But I’ve no idea where to start.
According to Paloma, every time the El Coyote clan has managed to break through to the Lowerworld, chaos reigned in the Middleworld. And now that they’re planning to draw upon the power and chaos of Día de los Muertos to use all those regenerated ancestors to penetrate the Lowerworld—with more power than ever before—I have no idea how I can possibly stop it.
I have to do something, but I’ve no idea what. No idea how I’m supposed to face off against Cade and his army of undead ancestors.
There’s no way I can beat them. Heck, I haven’t even completed my full Seeker initiation. And yet I have to find a way to fight them. I can’t let them win.
I gaze at my father’s photo, remembering what Paloma said about him being everywhere—that I can call upon him anytime. But without Paloma’s guidance, without her beside me, I can’t seem to summon his presence.
Without her, this house feels too lonely, too empty. A cold, blank space that only magnifies my inability to deal with all this.
Too wound up to sleep, too wound up to do much of anything, I dress for the day and head out. Finding my way to Kachina’s stall and feeling a tiny bit better when she lifts her head high, paws hard at the dirt, and lets out a soft snort of greeting when she sees my approach. Her reception far more enthusiastic than my newly adopted cat’s, who was perfectly content spending time with Kachina until he caught sight of me and decided to scram.
I duck into the stall, busying myself with filling her feeding trough and replenishing her water, then I stand just beside her while she eats, telling her all the things I’m too worried to voice to myself.
My long list of worries multiplying until I’ve lost track of time. And the next thing I know the sky is draped with thick ribbons of orange and pink, the sun is hanging much higher than it was when I arrived, and Jennika has managed to find me. Her eyes darting between Kachina and me when she says, “Don’t get too attached to her.”
I pretend not to hear. I don’t want to start this again. But despite the gaunt cheeks and deep purple half-moons that swoop under her eyes—the result of too many nights of missed sleep—Jennika’s clearly lost none of her steam.
She hands me a mug of freshly brewed coffee, and I’m quick to receive it. Enjoying its rich piñon scent, when she says, “I’m serious, Daire. I know you think you can talk me out of it. I know exactly what you’re up to. But as soon as Paloma’s better, and I mean the very second we get word, you and I are out of here. Which means you’ll have to say good-bye to your horse, this house, the boy, and everything else. This was always meant to be temporary—I thought you knew that.”
I sip my coffee, stare at the sky, and refuse to engage.
“I mean, I don’t get it. Just what is it you see in this place? What’s the attraction? Is there something I’m missing? Because from what I’ve seen, it’s a socially backward trash heap.”
I turn to face her, taking in her pale face, the bulky sweater too big for her frame. Hanging on her shoulders in such a haphazard way, it leaves her looking as tiny and vulnerable as I currently feel. “It may be a dump,” I say, holding tight to my mug as I turn away from her and survey the yard. Unable to see anything but the love, care, and devotion Paloma supplied to make it this way—a private oasis tucked away in the desert—though it’s all lost on Jennika. All she sees is a horse, an abundance of plants, a strange border of salt inside a strange coyote fence inside a thick, adobe wall. The magick is lost on her. But that doesn’t mean I can’t try to make her see why it might be important to me. “It’s not like I can deny it. But it’s also the first place I’ve ever felt like I just might belong. It’s the first time I’ve ever felt like I had a real and stable home.”
She start
s to speak, probably wanting to defend herself and all the choices she’s made over the last sixteen years, but there’s time for that later. I need her to hear me while the words are still with me.
“And I know you’ve spent a lifetime trying to protect me from the staggering pain of grief that comes from losing the things and the people and the places you allowed yourself to care about—but guess what, Jennika—that’s no way to live. As much as it hurts to lose something you love, there’s a much greater joy in getting to experience it for as long as it lasts.” I suck in my breath, my eyes meeting hers. It’s the opposite of what I thought I believed, but now I realize it’s true. “And I know you meant well. I know you were only trying to spare me from the feelings that overwhelmed you. And who knows, maybe you did spare me a load of regrets and hurt feelings? What I do know is that I like being part of something. I like being a member of a family, a community, heck, even a school. I don’t care if it’s small time—I don’t care if it lacks excitement and glamour—this is the place where my abuela lives. A woman who’s given me a home—a purpose. And for the first time in my life, I—”
“A purpose?” Jennika squints, as she cocks her head and steps closer. “And just what exactly might that be? You planning to take over her garden? Apprentice as an herbal healer? I had much higher hopes for you, Daire.”
The way her gaze meets mine—outraged and incredulous—well, I know I’ve gone too far. I never should’ve said it, should’ve stopped while I was barely ahead.
“Forget it,” I say. “Just forget the whole thing.” I give Kachina one final pat and make my way back toward the house. Carefully avoiding Jennika’s gaze when I add, “You should probably just take me to school. The first bell’s at eight.”
forty-one
The second I walk past that big iron gate, I start searching for Cade. Though it’s not until lunch when I run into Xotichl in the hallway that I learn why I’ve been unable to find him.
“So, you taking part in Día de los Muertos?” she asks, employing her uncanny ability to know it’s me before I’ve even had a chance to announce myself.
“Don’t tell me I’m still giving off that new-girl energy?” I say, watching as she slams her locker shut and taps her cane on the ground, nailing the space between my boots and hers.
“Now it’s more like nervous, paranoid energy—what gives?”
My eyes scan the hall, knowing I should mention what happened to Paloma but not wanting to upset her, I say, “Guess I’m on the lookout for Cade, Lita, and the Cruel Crew. I’d rather spot them before they can spot me.”
“Not to worry.” She smiles. “Cade’s absent, and as for the rest, I’m pretty sure they’re too starstruck to approach you. But that still doesn’t answer my question. Day of the Dead—you in?”
“In for what?” I check out her cute blue sweater and jeans, struck once again by how pretty she is. Knowing I’m most certainly in for observing Día de los Muertos, though probably not in the way that she means.
“You probably noticed we pretty much skip Halloween and go straight to Day of the Dead. It takes over the whole town, so the only way to avoid it is to leave. Some places celebrate it all week, but here in Enchantment, we wait until the last day, November second, when everyone dresses in costume, and eats, drinks, and makes merry all night. And while plenty of people sleep in the graveyards, hanging with the spirits of their dead ancestors, most people go to the Rabbit Hole since the Richters throw a huge, crazy party where the whole town gets to eat, drink, and listen to music for free. Which, as you probably already guessed, makes it a pretty big draw.”
“Sounds fun,” I say, knowing fun is definitely not the right word, though it’s the one that’s most appropriate, considering the circumstances. “Wouldn’t miss it,” I add, suspecting this year’s celebration will provide a party experience like no other—especially if El Coyote has his way.
“Good.” She nods. “Epitaph is on the lineup, so you’ll get another chance to hear them since you totally vanished last night. What happened? We looked everywhere—how’d you get home?”
I fumble for an excuse, knowing it’s virtually impossible to lie to her, but that doesn’t stop me from trying. “I wasn’t feeling well, so…”
She makes for the North hallway, the place where Dace eats lunch on his own. But after last night and the whole thing with Jennika, I’m too embarrassed to face him.
I pull back, searching for a detour, when I realize there’s no sign of his shoes—no sign of him anywhere. The hallway is empty. And despite my initial reluctance to face him, his absence makes me feel even worse.
Xotichl stops, head tilted toward me, lips tugging at the sides, as I stare at the empty space where Dace would normally be.
“What’s going on with you?” she says. “There’s no use lying, I can sense it, you know?”
She stands before me—a tiny force of nature who will not be fooled by my fictional stories. Leaving me no choice but to laugh when I say, “I know. You’re too intuitive for your own good, but I’m not quite ready to spill, so you’ll just have to bear with me.”
Her lips flatten as she considers my words—her cane sweeping the space before her again as she says, “Fair enough.” She leads me into the cafeteria with far more confidence and authority than I could ever manage. Heading for a table in back, where she slips onto the bench, nods toward the boy on her left, and says, “Daire, Dace—Dace, Daire.” Shooting me a knowing smile when she adds, “Or perhaps you’ve already met?”
She cocks her head to the side and digs into her lunch sack, and all I can think is that there’s more to this blindsight thing than I ever would’ve guessed.
I mumble a quick Hey and claim the opposite space. Feeling awkward and embarrassed, unable to rid myself of the image of Jennika’s glaring face peering into the window—the horrifying things that she said. Not to mention how dumb I must’ve looked with my eyes squeezed tight—lips all puckered and ready—leaning in for a kiss he probably never intended to give.
“You okay?” His gaze moves over me, voice marked with concern. “Your mom seemed pretty upset.”
“She was.” I peer into my lunch bag, avoiding his eyes—unwilling to catch sight of my burning red cheeks reflecting thousands of times. “She gets like that sometimes, though deep down, she means well.” I lift my shoulders, deciding to leave it at that. Unwilling to explain how Jennika’s history has a habit of bleeding into my present. How her somewhat irrational yet well-intended desire to save me from things like heartbreak and unplanned pregnancy, along with all the other detours life offers, sometimes gets in the way of my journey.
“I’m not sure I handled it well,” he says, his face so open, gaze filled with such raw regret, my heart aches on his behalf.
“Considering the circumstances, I think you did fine. Besides, it’s not like you stood a chance, her mind was made up the moment she saw you.”
Dace jerks back, his expression slighted, voice unsure when he says, “I don’t understand…”
I fumble with my lunch sack, wondering why I can never say the right thing around him. Having no way to explain in a way that won’t sound completely embarrassing, when Xotichl steps in.
“What’s not to get? You’re hot—Daire’s gorgeous—it’s a recipe for parental distress if there ever was one. Guess that means she got a ride home from you, since Auden and I couldn’t find her?”
Dace and I exchange a look, mine flushed and panicked, his amused and reassuring when he says, “She wasn’t feeling well, and I was on my way out…”
His voice drifts away with his gaze, as Xotichl’s foot finds mine, giving a swift kick when she says, “Incoming.” And it’s only a few seconds later when Lita appears at the end of our table.
She looks at me, her gaze surprisingly shy when she says, “Hey.”
I glance to either side of her, amazed to find she made the trip on her own. Leaving me to wonder if she truly is tired of hanging with suck-ups, like she implie
d in the bathroom.
“Listen,” she says. “I just wanted to apologize for the other day.” She swallows hard, forces her gaze to hold mine.
“By the other day, do you mean yesterday—or the first day I saw you on the trail?” I ask, figuring there’s no use denying the fact that she’s had two occasions to be nice to me, and both times she chose not to.
“Um, both, I guess. I just…” She tries to find the right word, quickly abandons the search, and starts again. “I know it wasn’t cool of me, and I just want to—”
But before she can go any further I flash my palm and say, “It’s fine. Whatever. Apology accepted.” Noting the way her shoulders soften, her jaw loosens, the effect short-lived when I add, “But just so you know, before you start spending all your energy being nice to me, my Hollywood connections aren’t all that you think.”
Xotichl sucks in her breath, while I brace for an onslaught of denials and anger that fail to appear.
“Wow,” she says, her heavily made-up eyes surveying me with a hint of approval. “You really don’t take any crap, do you?”
I glance at Dace who’s watching me intently and knowing it’s true, and that I have Jennika’s influence to thank, I say, “Nope, I really don’t.” I meet her gaze again.
“So, we’re good, then?” she asks in a voice that’s ridiculously hopeful. So hopeful I’m pretty sure she didn’t believe me—still thinks I have unlimited access to Vane Wick, or whoever else she might have in mind.
But not wanting to start up again, I say, “Yeah. Sure. We’re good.”
She nods. Smiles. Starts to move away, then turns back as though a thought just occurred to her. “I’ll look for you at the Rabbit Hole. You know, tomorrow night, for Day of the Dead? You’ll be there, right?” Her eyes drift from me, to Xotichl and Dace, acknowledging them as though she hadn’t realized they’d been sitting there all along. “I thought we could maybe hang out?”
I gape, rendered dumbstruck by the offer. Eventually gathering my wits enough to say, “Sure. Whatever.” Watching as she retreats and thinking how my prospects for tomorrow night keep getting weirder.
