by Alyson Noel
Suriel Youngblood. Phyre’s doomsayer father.
“Never send a girl to do a man’s job.” He shakes his head and rakes a hand through his carefully coiffed and greased hair, before he slips a large black duffle from his shoulder and drops it to the dirt where he kneels down beside it in a chorus of cracking knee joints. He retrieves a brand-new Bible with a white leather cover with one hand, and an iron stake along with what can only be described as an oversized mallet with the other.
I remain rooted in place. Watching with only the mildest curiosity, as he approaches me with his collection of unfathomable tools. Suddenly made aware of just how abnormal I’ve become.
A normal person wouldn’t lie back and wait.
A normal person would take one look at this madman and choose to either fight or flee.
But I’m no longer normal.
No longer human.
I’m empty.
Soulless.
And if he’s here to release me, I have no plans to stop him.
“Been down here demon hunting all day,” he says, as though I deserve an explanation for his crashing my party. “Usually there’s no shortage of them. This part of the Middleworld rarely disappoints. The deeper the dimension, the bleaker the landscape, the better the bounty. I’ve been at it off and on for years. These are some of the best slaying grounds that I’ve found. Though today’s been quiet. Must’ve walked for miles before I stumbled upon you.” He shakes his head, pulls his lips back, and hocks a wad of spit that lands smack between us. “Second I saw you I knew exactly why I was called here. He works in mysterious ways. He does indeed. Just like Him to present such a monumental find in such a beautifully simplistic way.”
While I have no idea what he’s going on about, I don’t care enough to ask him to elaborate. I just lie back and watch as he stoops by my side. Face contorted in crazed and earnest conviction, as he presses the Bible hard to my chest and holds it in place with the spike’s razor-sharp tip. A stake that’s filthy, well-used. Bearing a heavy crusting of what can only be the remains of his previous kills.
“You think I’m a vampire?” I peer at him through narrowed lids, amused by the idea. I always knew he was delusional, but I guess I never realized just how deeply disturbed he really is.
Taking great care to center the mallet’s fat head flat against the stake, he throws his head back and enters into a loud and thunderous sermon that roars through the land. Same kind of zealous Armageddon talk he used to preach about on the street corners back when I was a kid. Back when everyone either rolled their eyes and laughed or chose to hurry past.
Guess I never listened well enough to realize that all of this time, the sermons were directed at me.
Convinced that my entrance into the world marked the beginning of the End Times he’s been preaching about for the better part of his life, he’s spent the last sixteen years planning my demise.
“Vampire, demon, sorcerer, skinwalker—what’s the difference?” His eyes roll skyward, as though addressing an invisible friend. “Satan, Lucifer, the devil, the deceiver, the fallen, Beelzebub, Mephistopheles—they’re merely titles, names. Evil is as evil does. There is no use making distinctions. All you need to know is that the Last Days are upon us. The signs are everywhere! Twice now, a flock of ravens fell from above. And it was only days ago when the sky opened wide and purged a torrent of fire.”
I close my eyes and groan. Wishing he’d just shut the hell up and do it already. But when he continues to drone on and on, raging about six-toed cats, and a whole slew of other superstitious nonsense, I can’t help but say, “I hate to break it to you, Suriel, but not a single thing you’ve mentioned is a sign of anything other than my brother showing off his impressive supply of magick tricks.”
If he heard me, he chooses to ignore it. His voice pitches higher and higher until it overrides mine. “The Shining Days of Glory are among us! Sinners will burn—the righteous ascend! But in order for those glorious days to commence, evil must be slayed, and that son, means you…”
He repositions the stake so it’s resting dead center over my chest. The tip gouging into a holy book he’s grossly misinterpreted. And when he flings the mallet back and slams it down hard, I watch in fascination, as though it’s happening to someone other than me.
The stake screws into the book, resulting in a muffled groan as it gouges a hole in the white leather cover. Grinding its way through shiny gold lettering until it breaks through and begins shredding the pages inside.
I wait for the sting of the razor-sharp tip to impale my flesh, but there’s still an inch of paper stretching between me and deliverance. The progress much slower than I’d anticipated.
He pulls away, centers his hand once again, and I squeeze my eyes shut, eager for the release soon to come. Having no idea where I’ll end up. What sort of place would admit someone as dark and soulless as me? Yet clinging to the dream of redemption—of landing in the place where Daire rests.
He shoves his knee hard against my rib cage, pinning me down as though I might try to flee. Then he returns to the grim business of slaying. Pounding the stake over and over, the effort causing fat beads of sweat to pool on his brow, as his arm grows shaky, his aim poor.
“You can do this,” I whisper, figuring he could use the encouragement. “I completely understand and I won’t try to fight you.”
He drives the stake harder until my nostrils jam with the stench of metal burning through paper. His voice rising, eyes rolling in his head, as he cries, “Good shall overcome evil! I will drive the Word straight into your soul. Though make no mistake, it’s too late to save it. There is no Grace for a blasphemer like you!”
Yeah, whatever. Just make it quick. Daire is out there somewhere, and I really need to find her …
I heave my chest higher, hoping to speed things along. Biting back a grin at the first pinch of contact, the moment when the sting of sharp metal grinds into my flesh.
Won’t be much longer …
The stake gouges harder, deeper, slowing only slightly when it butts against bone.
I grit my teeth hard, commit to the pain, and prepare for the end. One more blow should see that it’s done.
His sour breath blasts hard against my cheeks as he grasps a fistful of my hair and drags my face closer to his. “Look at me, sinner!” He shrieks, flecks of saliva showering my cheeks. “I want to look into the face of evil. I want to see the life force snuffed from your demon eyes!”
I do as he says, hoping it’ll speed things along. My desperate gaze meeting his crazed one, only to watch as he screams, “Where the hell did it go?” He jerks my head higher, ripping a chunk of hair straight from my scalp. “What the hell happened to it? What did you do with it?” He butts his nose against mine.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I groan, frustrated, breathless, aware of a warm stream of blood surging down my sides. I heave my torso up, keeping it taut, as I thrust deeper into the stake.
If he won’t end this, I will.
“Your soul!” He screams, waving the mallet carelessly above me. “What did you do with your soul? Where is it? What have you done with it?”
Oh. That.
I close my eyes in defeat. Sink deeper into the dirt. “It’s gone. Lost. I heaved a last breath, and it went. But then I heaved another breath and…” There’s no use explaining it. No need to tell him about my connection to Cade. And how the mere act of Coyote saving his soul has kept me alive without mine. I press my cheek to the ground, saying, “I have no idea where it went.”
Suriel grunts. Shifts his weight off, and gets to his feet. Muttering a long stream of curses as he slams his tools back into his bag and makes to leave.
“Wait! Come back!” I shout, staring in anguish at his retreating form. “Finish what you started! You can’t stop now—not after coming all this way!”
“It’s the soul that I need. You’re no good to me now.” He shoots me a look of disdain. “The Last Days are upon us�
��I shall not be defeated! If I can’t snuff your soul, I’ll get Cade’s. You were both conjured by evil—as far as I’m concerned, you’re one and the same.”
He leaves me with blood seeping from my chest—hope seeping from my heart. My dream of being reunited with Daire gone, just like that.
Suriel may be crazy, but he’s smarter than most people think. Able to see the very thing most everyone else has sought to deny—the mystical connection between Cade and me.
I roll to my side, steeple my palms tightly against the wound at my chest.
I was so close. So damn close.
Yet, while it may not have ended in the way that I wished, there is comfort in knowing it’s just a matter of time before it will.
When Cade goes, I go.
Maybe then I’ll find peace.
Maybe then I’ll find Daire.
five
Xotichl
“It doesn’t seem right.”
“What doesn’t?” Auden reaches for my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. Temporarily abandoning his search for the perfect parking place to comfort me.
“This.” I flip a hand toward the windshield. “Coming to the Rabbit Hole. After everything that’s happened, it feels wrong to hang out here.”
“We can leave if you want.” Auden’s touch is gentle, though his tone betrays his concern. “But I thought you said you wanted to come here so we could keep an eye on things?”
“I did.” I heave a deep exhale. “And while I still think it’s important to maintain a presence, without Daire and Dace, it’s just not the same.” My voice hitches. My throat clamps on a sob. It’s been doing that a lot lately. Every time I think of my long-lost friends. Which is pretty much every second of every day.
Lost.
It’s the only word I can use.
Lost is bad, no getting around it, but dead is much worse.
The night Daire made it snow, on Christmas Eve, I was sure she was gone for good. The snow was so vibrant, falling in a rainbow of hues, I assumed it was her final good-bye, and mistook it for her elegy.
But now I’m no longer sure. Guided by something that’s more than a feeling, stronger than a hunch—a sort of inner knowing that Daire and Dace are still out there. Somewhere. It’s the kind of gut instinct I’ve learned to hone and trust. Though without any physical proof, I’m reluctant to voice it. The few times I’ve tried resulted in awkward pats on the arm, followed by empty words of encouragement. Everyone quick to placate the poor little blind girl who can’t see what to everyone else is so clear.
They assume I live in a lonely world of darkness, but they couldn’t be more wrong. While I may not see things the same way as the sighted, I’m able to grasp the kinds of things that for most remain hidden from view. The world is far richer, and much more vibrant than most people realize—a vibrating sphere of lush streams of color and pulsating swirls of energy.
Thoughts, feelings, music, people, animals, nature, inanimate objects—they’re all made of energy. Modern physics has proven what the ancient mystics have known for eons. And thanks to my regular sessions with Paloma, I’ve witnessed it firsthand.
It was my mom’s idea to seek help from Daire’s abuela. Impressed by her reputation as a healer, she figured it was worth a try to see if Paloma could reverse the blindness that struck when I was a child. But while Paloma was unable to restore my sight, she did teach me how to access my inner vision, also known as blind sight. And after months of working together with only the smallest bits of progress, it all came together the day she asked Auden to join us.
I’ll never forget the way she flattened my palm against a speaker she’d hooked up to Auden’s guitar. How after he strummed a few chords, the most glorious burst of colors blazed into the space just before me.
Auden often jokes that he loved me first. That he fell for me the second he walked in the door and saw me waiting for him in Paloma’s office. At that very moment he knew he’d have to do something big to impress me, so he wooed me with song. Pouring all of his emotions into his guitar strings, hoping I’d be able to glean how he felt.
All I know is it worked. We’ve been together ever since.
It’s funny how people always make a point to assure me that he’s really, really cute. As if I can’t see for myself.
As if I have no idea that his love for me glows in the sincerest shade of purple.
That his words are spoken in a deep and true orange.
And when he kisses me, the air swells with sparkling bubbles of pinks, silvers, and reds that swirl about the top of our heads.
It wasn’t long after, when I started to see other things too. And while it was confusing at first, it didn’t take long to determine that lies are always delivered in a dark, greasy yellow that clings to the person’s lips long after they’ve silenced. While praise, when it’s sincere, shines a bright shiny silver that showers the giver as well as the receiver. And the last few days, I’ve watched with concern as Paloma’s sadness over Daire and Dace’s absence has turned her usual benevolent shimmering blue energy into a dark, sludgy gray.
“I’m afraid it will never be the same, flower.” Auden swerves into a space, kills the engine, and pulls me against him so tightly, the ribbing of his heavy wool sweater imprints on my cheek. His voice reduced to a whisper, his lips tickling the curve of my ear, he says, “But we have to go on. Whether we like it or not, we have to adjust.” He kisses my temple, my cheek, my lips.
“And what about Cade?” The words are muffled against him but I know that he heard. “What if he shows up? What then?” I curl my fingers under the hem of his sweater, and flatten my palm against a warm patch of skin.
“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Auden leans into me, his lips teasing mine. “No one’s seen him since that night. But if he does show, we’re ready for him, right?”
I pull away and tilt my face toward his, relieved to see a stream of orange flowing from his mouth. He believes what he says. He’s not trying to humor me.
“Just because we haven’t seen him doesn’t mean no one else has.” My voice rings with certainty, despite having no tangible evidence with which to back it. “At the very least, I bet his creepy Coyote has seen him. And since his dad, Leandro, doesn’t seem the slightest bit concerned, I can only assume he’s seen him too. Besides, let’s not forget that Cade is not just a demonic psychopath, he’s also a complete and total egomaniac who would never deny himself the opportunity to gloat. It’s one of his greatest pleasures. He pretty much lives for it.”
Auden starts to speak, but he’s stopped by a knock on the driver’s side window, accompanied by a female voice calling, “Hey—any room for a third wheel?” A moment later the door opens and closes as Lita’s energy fills the backseat of the car. “Sheesh, it’s totally freezing out there.” She claps her mitten-covered hands together in an attempt to warm herself up. “Makes me wonder if this snow will ever stop.”
I sigh. Auden mumbles in agreement. And we all fall quiet again.
It’s been snowing steadily since Christmas Eve, and even though we like to complain about it and all the inconveniences that go along with it, deep down inside we dread the day it will cease. As long as the flakes continue to fall, we have a connection to Daire. But if she doesn’t return by the time the earth warms, the snow melts, and spring is sprung, well, what then?
“So, any news? Any news about, you know, anything?” Lita asks, reluctant to actually voice what all of us are thinking: What happened? Where are they? Will we ever see them again?
We’ve spent countless hours poring over the most minute details of that night. Attempting to piece it together and discover some hidden clue we might’ve missed at first glance. But the fact is, we all saw the same thing: Daire sprinting into the club, warning us to run, to get as far from the Rabbit Hole as we possibly could. The sky was bleeding fire, she said. The prophecy had begun. Her last words to me being: “I’m going to stop this. Fix this. If it’s the last thing I do.” Then she jerked f
ree of my grip, made for the vortex, and no one ever saw her again.
I shake my head, clearing it of the memory as I twist toward Lita and say, “No news in the two hours since we last spoke.” I do my best to chase it with a grin, though it doesn’t come as easily as it should.
She breathes a sigh so heavy and deep, I’m instantly reminded of just how much, and how quickly she’s changed. It wasn’t long ago when she was the undisputed queen of Milagro High. The uber-popular, snooty, mean girl everyone openly admired and feared. The kind of girl who would never even consider acknowledging someone like me. But then Daire came along and brought us all together. Her arrival in Enchantment may have incited Cade’s actions, but it also changed our lives in some really good ways.
“So, what do we do? How do we handle this?” Lita asks. The question chased by the click of her compact opening, followed by the sticky swish of her lip gloss wand moving over her lips.
“You’re Milagro royalty, what would you suggest?” Auden laces his fingers with mine.
“Former royalty. I gave up the crown, remember?” Lita snaps the compact closed, and dumps it along with her lip gloss into the abyss of her purse.
“And look who’s wearing it now,” Auden says, and I know from the tone in his voice, the shift in the air, that Phyre is here.
Lita sniffs, gathers her stuff, and props open the door. “Good,” she says. “Let her have it.” She climbs out of the car. “If she wants everyone to notice her, I’ll be the first in line. I don’t trust that girl for a second, and I plan to watch her every move from this moment on. And, for the record, Daire didn’t trust her either. Which means I’m going to do whatever it takes to figure out just what she’s up to—why she’s back in Enchantment. If for no other reason than to honor Daire’s memory.”
“Don’t do anything reckless,” Auden warns.
“Who me? Reckless?” Lita laughs. Coming around to my door when she says, “You coming, flower? We have reconnaissance to do.”
