by Alyson Noel
Not wanting to waste time with the blanket and saddle, I hop onto her bare back and nudge her out of the stall. Making my way to the reservation where I find Dace waiting for me by the grove of twisted juniper trees.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d make it,” I say, unable to suppress a grin at the sight of his long, glossy, dark hair spilling over his shoulders, the narrow V of his torso, the perfect fit of his jeans. I force my gaze away. Scold myself to focus. Concentrate. He may look as strong and sexy as ever on the outside, but without the soul, he’s just not the same. “Where’s Axel?” I squint into the darkness, search for some sign of him.
“Trying to make his way back.” Dace offers his hand, helps me slide from Kachina’s back. His face creased in distress when he sees the way she now veers away from him when she’s never done that before. “Animals know,” he says, voice saddened, eyes fathomless.
“She’ll adjust,” I say with more confidence than I currently feel. “I’ll talk to her.”
But Dace stops me before I can start. Taking my hands from her reins, he watches her wander a few feet away. “Allow her to honor her instincts. I don’t plan to be like this for much longer. I’m sure she’ll come around once I’m back to my old self.”
I stand silently before him, feeling suddenly shy and uncertain. Though it’s not long before my shyness is overcome by the sheer, irresistible pull of him.
I whisper his name, pressing so close I can feel his breath on my cheek. Remembering the kiss we shared in Paloma’s office, I long to repeat it. Long to be with him again. But for now, I’ll settle for enjoying his nearness.
This isn’t the real Dace.
He’s soulless.
Incomplete.
Fueled by a temporary infusion of energy.
Who knows how long it will last?
I can’t afford to lose sight of that.
No matter how tempting he may look under the glow of the moonlight, I have to stay focused, on track.
Have to use what little time we have left.
“Tell me about Phyre,” I say, the words coming out of nowhere, but somehow the question feels right. Lita and Xotichl don’t trust her. I don’t trust her. And just like Kachina needs to honor her instincts, I need to honor mine. “What’s your history? Why is she back? What does she want from you?” I lower myself to the ground, needing to feel something solid beneath me, if I’m to see this conversation through to the end.
I lean against a twisted tree trunk, and Dace does the same. Reaching for my hand, he grasps it for a moment, squeezes our fingers tightly together, then releases just as quickly. His touch leaving a trace of heat I attribute to his energy infusion. Which means I should be able to detect the moment it starts to run cold.
“Our history is we were together a few years back, for a very short time.” He exhales deeply, as though the statement required great effort.
“How together? Explain together?” The words came out a little more rushed and frantic than I’d planned. Causing my face to grow hot, my stomach to clench. But despite my horror at sounding like a jealous girlfriend, I need details—need to know what they shared.
He rubs a hand over his chin. Squinches his eyes until they’re reduced to mere slits. “You know, together,” he says, voice clearly demonstrating the full measure of his discomfort, which only seals my determination.
“Together in the way that we were together?”
“No.” He turns to me with a clenched jaw and a glacier gaze. “I mean, we slept together, yes, but it was nothing like us. Please don’t ever say that, Daire. Don’t ever think that.”
“So you remember us?” I ask, the words sounding pathetic, needy, and small.
He leans his head back against the tree and closes his eyes. “I remember all of us.” He sighs. “I remember everything. From the very first moment I saw you that day at the gas station, I knew my life was forever changed. You’re not just embedded in my soul, Daire. You’re part of my DNA. I even remember you from the dreams I had, long before I knew you were real.”
My shoulders sink at the mention of the dream that started it all. I had it too. It always started off well enough, with Dace and me enjoying ourselves in the Enchanted Spring, until Cade came along, turned into a demon, and killed Dace while I helplessly looked on. Only in Dace’s version, Cade killed me. And I can’t help but wonder if Cade made us dream the dream on purpose, or if it sprang up organically.
“As for why Phyre returned, I really don’t know,” he says, returning to one of my original questions. “Though I’m not sure it was her choice. Her mother’s been missing and presumed dead for years, and while her sisters, Ashe and Ember, went to live with an aunt, for some reason Phyre chose to stay with her father.”
“Why would she do that when everyone says that he’s crazy?”
Dace shrugs. His shoulders rising and falling in a way so languid, so elegant, I force my gaze away. “He is crazy. I used to think she did it because she felt sorry for him. But now I’m no longer sure.”
“Meaning?”
He licks his lips, runs a hand through his hair. Clearly hating every moment of this, but determined to appease me, he says, “Last time I spoke to her, on Christmas Eve, right before I followed you to the Lowerworld, she was spouting all kinds of nonsense about the Last Days.”
“Last Days?”
“Some Apocalyptic diatribe her dad’s been preaching for years. According to him, the Last Days are when the sinners all burn, and the righteous will either stay behind to enjoy the Shining Days of Glory or ascend into the clouds to enjoy the festival there … or, whatever. The guy’s nuts. A total crackpot. Who knows where he gets this stuff?” He brings his knees to his chest, wraps his arms around them. “Anyway, she claimed the burning sky was a sign. Said it was too late for any of us, and begged me to go with her to find her father. Said he’d know what to do. I told her he was crazy. That she should go to the reservation and seek refuge with one of the elders. And when I saw she was too far gone and nothing I’d said made a dent, I went after you. Oh, but before that, she also mentioned something about how she and I wanted the same thing.”
“Which is?” I lean toward him. Determined to ignore the enticing sweep of stubble along his jaw. The way his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt.
“To see Cade dead.”
Not quite expecting that, I inhale a sharp, involuntary breath.
“At the time, I didn’t take her seriously. I thought it was just another fawning attempt to get back with me again. But now I’m not sure. Especially after her father came to visit me in the Middleworld.”
I balk. So many questions forming in my head, I’m not sure where to begin. “You’re actually saying that some self-proclaimed, self-righteous, religious zealot of a freak found you days before I did, and he didn’t even try to help you? He didn’t even try to bring you back so that you could seek help? And what the heck was he doing all the way out there, anyway? How does he know about it? How did he get there?”
“Which question would you like answered first?” Dace’s fathomless eyes meet mine, as his lip tugs into a grin.
I shrug, knowing that soon enough, he’ll answer them all.
“Among all of his other accolades, it seems he’s a demon hunter.”
My eyes widen. Wondering if I’ll ever reach a point where I’m no longer fazed by the more surreal aspects of the world we live in.
“He was there to stake me. And he almost succeeded.”
I try to imagine a scene like that in my head.
“The wound at my chest? That was him.”
“He thought you were a demon?”
“Claims he’s known since the day I was born. Thinks I’m the key to the Last Days. He’s been planning to kill me for the last sixteen years.”
“But you were able to fend him off?”
Dace looks away, shifting uncomfortably, and allowing a lingering silence to droop between us. “Look,” he finally says. “If you want to k
now the truth—I begged him to kill me. I repeatedly thrust myself into his stake.”
“But why? Why would you do that?” I grasp hold of his arm, try to make sense of his words.
“Because I thought you were dead. And I was convinced it was due to my failing. I couldn’t live with myself. But mostly, I couldn’t live without you. I though that maybe if I was dead, I might be able to find you again in whatever dimension you were resting in. I know it probably sounds stupid, but Daire, I was broken. Lost. I guess in a way, I still am.”
I open my mouth to speak, but no words will come.
“The reason he didn’t kill me is because when he looked into my eyes, he saw that I was soulless. He said he needed the soul. That I was useless without it.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. If nothing else, at least I know Dace is safe from the lunatic. Or at least for the time being anyway.
“Wasn’t long after that he packed up his kill kit and said he’d go after Cade. After all, we’re one and the same. Funny how he knew that, isn’t it?”
“Hilarious.” I shake my head and frown.
“Oh, and there’s more.”
My gaze meets his.
“He said that Phyre told him she’d killed me. Apparently that was the task he’d given her. He was pretty upset to find out she’d lied.”
“That’s it,” I say, having heard all that I need. Driven by an instinct I cannot ignore, I leap to my feet and race toward the place were Kachina grazes a few feet away.
“What’re you doing?” Dace asks, slowly getting up to join me.
“We’re going there. Now. We’re going to the Youngbloods’ house.”
thirty
Daire
After a few failed attempts, Kachina finally relents and allows Dace onto her back. “They’re off the reservation,” he says, settling behind me. “I have no idea where they live.”
“It’s a small town. I’m sure we’ll be able to find it.” I squint into the darkness, trying to determine which way to head.
“What time do you think it is?” Dace’s lips push against the shell of my ear, causing tiny pinpricks of pleasure to crawl over my skin.
“I left my cell at Paloma’s,” I say, striving to stay focused, on task. “But judging by the light, or rather lack of light, I’d say it’s close to sunrise.”
“Always darkest before the dawn?” His mouth drifts to the side of my neck. And though my back is turned toward him, I can picture him perfectly. Hair spilling over his cheek … lips full and inviting …
I lean against him, savoring the feel of his arms wrapped snugly around me. He may be soulless, but he’s still the boy I dreamed about. Still my fated one.
After a while he asks, “Are we wandering, or do you actually have a plan?” The words are edged with laughter.
“My plan is to follow Wind,” I tell him. “Paloma says I’m a daughter of the wind, so I called on it when we first set out. It’s rare that it fails me.”
“Which means that it has?”
My lips flatten, my eyes continue to seek the horizon. “Not really failed—it was more like, unavailable,” I say, feeling inexplicably defensive of my element. “Not to mention it was under extreme circumstances.”
“Such as…”
“Such as when Cade stifled my magick in the Lowerworld, just seconds before you arrived on Christmas Eve. Then again during a more recent visit to the Lowerworld. It’s like everything is in a state of hibernation down there. It won’t stop snowing. Won’t warm up enough to give way to spring. And I haven’t seen Raven or Horse since that night. I’m beginning to miss them.”
“None of that bodes well for those of us up here.”
It’s a sobering truth, and I meet it by staring silently ahead.
With our bodies swaying to the rhythm of Kachina’s gait, I keep a close eye on the tree limbs, trying to determine the direction in which they waver and bend. Every now and then checking the pattern of the dirt swirling under her hooves.
After traveling a good distance, I ask, “Dace, do you still have use of your magick? I’m thinking the more magick we have between us, the better.”
“We’re about to find out.” He lifts his hand until it’s centered just inches from my chest. But after a few seconds of nothing, he says, “Apparently not. I was trying to palm your key. Guess the magick really did come from a place deep inside me.”
“I’m sure it will return along with your soul,” I say, becoming so lost in the thought, I miss the moment Wind stops. But luckily, Dace notices.
He folds his hands over mine and gives a quick tug on the reins. “This is it,” he whispers. Nodding toward a depressing, broken-down trailer that looks more abandoned than lived in. “I recognize the junker parked outside. Suriel’s never been one for creature comforts. He takes great pride in rejecting all forms of materialism by paring his possessions down to the absolute minimum. Which in his case amounts to two cheap black suits—one worn basically every day, the other reserved for Sundays—two ties, two white shirts, one pair of shoes, two black socks, and one belt. Phyre showed me his closet once just to prove it.”
“What, no sweatpants for long days of lounging in front of the TV snacking on chips and salsa?”
“They don’t own a TV. Or, as Suriel calls it—the devil’s box. You know, idle hands, idle minds, the devil’s workshop, and all that.”
“But from what I’ve seen of Phyre, she has more than two sets of clothes. She always looks stylish—wears makeup and everything.”
“I know.” Dace’s shoulders rise and fall against mine. “I always thought it was weird how he indulged her that way. He wasn’t like that with her sisters. He was so much stricter with them. Which is probably the reason they chose to live with their aunt. Anyway, now that we’re here, what do we do?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit, not having really thought past this point. “I guess we lay low and observe. See if we can get some kind of read on what they’re up to. How they plan to kill Cade. Which, of course, we can’t let them do.”
“Funny how just a few weeks ago, Suriel’s quest to kill Cade would’ve made him an ally.” Dace’s tone is light, but when I crick my neck to face him, his expression is serious.
“And now it makes him a threat.” My voice is somber, as my gaze moves over him. “Why do you think Phyre didn’t kill you when she had the chance?”
“I don’t know.” He rubs a hand over his chin, squints into the distance. “I guess no matter how much her father has managed to influence her, deep down inside she’s still a good and decent person who knows right from wrong.” He looks at me then, shoulders heavy with remorse when he says, “Look, Daire, I know I should be angry at her for putting me in jeopardy, but I can’t. Back when I knew her, she was a sweet, normal, kind of sad kid. I guess I feel sorry for her now, just like I did then. She was ostracized, treated cruelly, all because of her father’s insanity. The kids at school made a point to avoid her and her sisters. They never had one single friend. Then, when her mother disappeared and her sisters left to live with their aunt … well, I guess after being isolated with only Suriel for so long, the world finally broke her until he was able to effectively brainwash her.” He wipes a hand across his brow and shakes his head, as though releasing himself from the hold of the past. “Look!” he says, arcing a hand toward the Sangre de Cristo mountain range, as we watch in silent awe as the sun’s ascent washes the rugged peaks in a glorious coating of pink.
“Chepi taught me that all of nature—the sun, the moon, those mountains—all of it knows you from the time you were just an idea. That we’re all cells with different purposes, yet we are all connected—existing to serve each other as well as the whole. Too bad Suriel never listened to Chepi. He divides the world into the righteous versus the sinners. As if it could ever be so clearly defined. Everyone straddles the balance between light and dark.”
Everyone but you. Or at least the former version of you. Before you adopted your brother’s wors
t attribute.
I study his profile as he tracks the sunrise. His features are both soft and sharp, sculptural and beautiful. As long as I avoid looking into his eyes, I can pretend nothing’s changed.
“Do you have an element?” I ask, desperate to clear the thought from my head.
“Earth.” He grins, his eyes meeting mine. But there’s no depth behind them, so I’m quick to look away. “I’ve felt the connection since I was a boy.”
“Do you ever call on it?” I keep watch on the trailer, the broken-down shed, the filthy white car.
“I never learned how. Chepi did her best to shelter me from that kind of thing. Why, you want to teach me?”
I smile softly, and lean against him. “Maybe someday.” My breathing slows, keeping tempo with his, as the sky unfolds into a blooming canopy of silvery blues and pinks.
“They’ll be up soon. If they’re not already,” Dace whispers into my ear. “Suriel likes to greet the start of each day.”
He slides off Kachina’s back and helps me do the same. Then, not wanting her to attract any unwanted attention, I slap her on the rear, and tell her to find a nice place to graze. While Dace and I duck behind the old, broken-down shed just off to the side that’s even more dilapidated than the trailer.
A moment later, just like Dace said, a light switches on from inside. Allowing us to make out two shadowy figures moving behind a filmy yellow curtain.
“It’ll start with a sermon,” Dace says, and, sure enough, Suriel’s voice pierces the silence, roaring so loudly it bleeds through the walls of the trailer and into the yard. I stare at Dace, wondering how he knew that. “He’s a creature of habit.” He grins. “Never deviates from his routine.”
Though the words aren’t easily discerned, every now and then we’re able to catch one of Suriel’s favorite catchphrases. Last Days are here … Shining Days of Glory shall commence … Suriel is but a humble servant, his daughter a tool of thy will … More Apocalyptic nonsense. The guy is obsessed.
When he reaches the end, he leaves his daughter to dress as he stumbles from the trailer, turns toward the mountains, drops to his knees, and begins once again. Only this time we get to watch it as well. His body listing from side to side, his head rolling back, his tongue lolling free of his mouth.
