by Alyson Noel
“Guess you’re not the only one connected to the earth,” I joke, trying to make light of the scene unfolding before me. Mostly because it’s giving me a serious case of the creeps.
“He claims spirit has ahold of him when he does that. Used to freak us out when we were kids.”
Poor Phyre. To have to grow up like that …
I start to feel sorry for her. Start to feel a flood of compassion for her predicament. I used to think Jennika was embarrassing with her crazy hair colors and piercings and penchant for drama, but compared to Suriel, Jennika looks like a 1950s sitcom mom.
Though the sentiment is short lived. Vanishing the moment Phyre exits the trailer and I remember her goal to kill Dace.
She runs an uncertain hand over her halo of curls. Tugs her black miniskirt to better cover her thighs. Standing straight and rigid beside her father, as though she doesn’t dare move. Her features blunted, her face inscrutable, as she watches Suriel shake and sweat and convulse in a frenzy of righteousness.
With spot-on timing, she anticipates the exact moment he wakes from the trance. “I’m headed out,” she says. “Thought I’d get an early start.”
Suriel gets to his feet. Runs his palms down the front of his suit and straightens his tie. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small glass vial filled with some sort of cloudy liquid. His voice as stern as his face, he says, “It is time.”
Phyre nods. Tilts her head back. Parts her lips.
“This is your final chance to redeem yourself.”
She closes her eyes and offers her tongue.
“You know our deal. See that it’s done by midnight, Phyre. Any later is too late.” He shakes the vial into her mouth, counting the drops until he’s satisfied it’s enough.
As soon as she’s absorbed it, she tucks her chin to her chest and casts her gaze to her feet. Assuming a pose of supplication.
“I think you know what awaits you if you lie to me again…” Suriel’s voice drifts with implied threat.
Phyre nods. Squeezes her palms tightly together.
“You were begotten in sin and you shall end in sin!” Suriel shouts in a voice so thunderous my body gives way to an involuntary shudder. “It is your role. Your birthright. The destiny you were born for. It is a great honor to be called upon and used in this way. Now leave and do what you must. May the Glory of the Shining Days be upon us!”
In an emotionless voice, Phyre repeats that last part, then turns and heads in our direction. Making straight for the shed as Dace and I freeze with our breaths held in our cheeks.
The door squeals in protest as she forces it open. Emitting another shrill, creaking sound when she exits just as quickly, and heads for Suriel’s car.
“What is that?” I whisper, squinting into the distance, trying to make out the rectangular object she hauls into the trunk.
“Looks like an old gas can,” Dace says. Still squinting, he turns to me and adds, “What the hell are they up to?” His eyes meet mine.
“I have no idea,” I say. “But I’m about to find out. Will you watch over my body and make sure I stay safe?”
His questioning gaze follows mine to the raven that’s landed on the roof just above us. Reminding me of one of Paloma’s earliest teachings.
While he should not be mistaken for your actual spirit animal—he is still considered a brother, as all ravens are that inhabit the Middleworld. Raven is a messenger of the spirit realm—the things he will show you can shift your life dramatically. He will teach you to venture into the dark in order to bring forth the light …
The raven appearing at exactly this time is an omen, not an accident. Of that I am sure.
Dace folds my hand in his, gives it a squeeze of unspoken solidarity. “I would go with you, but…” He leaves the sentence unfinished, but we both know how it ends.
Can’t soul jump if you’re soulless.
“It’s better I go alone,” I say. “I need you here to watch over me while I’m gone. But if Suriel sees us, or if you start to feel like you’re losing your energy, don’t hesitate to break the connection and wake me.”
Dace pulls me close, presses a brief, sweet kiss on my lips. His softly whispered, “Be careful, Daire,” the last thing I hear before my energy merges with the raven’s and the two of us become one.
thirty-one
Daire
So far, the raven is turning out to be a very hospitable host. Allowing me to direct him as I please, as we follow the path set by Phyre’s car.
She drives fast and with purpose. Pushing the speed limit until the back wheels begin to fishtail—causing big puffs of dirt to spin in her wake. Still, she handles it well, as though she’s done this before. Refusing to slow until she pulls onto the private paved road that leads to the Richters’ massive, adobe-style compound, where she parks just outside the gate and settles in to wait.
She’s going to kill him? Now? Before most people have eaten their breakfast?
I direct the raven to a nearby tree. Choosing a limb that allows me an unobstructed view, I watch via his small beady eyes as Phyre flips down her sun visor and inspects her hair and makeup in the dirty, rectangular mirror. Satisfied with what she sees, she slaps the visor in place, holds an open palm before her, puckers her lips, and spits. Staring at the small pool of saliva with a gaze so transfixed, I can’t even begin to guess what she’s up to.
Is she bored? Has she completely lost her mind? Is this another method of scrying where she tries to read a deeper meaning in the formation of the bubbles, like some people do with tea leaves?
Her reverie broken by the electronic hum of the heavy, rod-iron gates swinging open, as Cade’s shiny, black, four-wheel-drive truck barrels out. And I watch as she wipes her hand on her leg, leaps from her car, and, with her arms spread wide, jumps right in front of him.
Cade slams on the brakes. Tires squealing in protest, which is surprising in and of itself. I would’ve figured he’d run her right over without looking back.
His truck lurches forward, as he lowers his window and cranes his neck out. “What the hell?” he shouts. “What’re you—crazy?”
“Maybe.” She bats her eyes. Grinning seductively as she makes her way to the open driver’s side window. “Only one way to find out.” She leans against the door and cocks her head to the side, encouraging a spray of curls to tumble into her eyes.
“I don’t have time for crazy,” Cade says, not the least bit intrigued. “As you can see, I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“That’s too bad.” She pouts. “I was hoping you’d make time for me.”
“And why would I do that?” His features sharpen, though, if I’m not mistaken, his voice betrays a hint of burgeoning interest.
“Because I feel lonely. Despite all of my friends, I feel like no one truly understands me.”
“And I do?” He shucks a hand through his short crop of hair and snorts with amusement, but Phyre remains undeterred.
“We have a connection, Cade. Don’t try to deny it. You know there’s something between us. And so, I thought that maybe we could hang out. Keep each other company, or something…”
His face remains placid, hard to read. But I notice he doesn’t turn her away.
“I was on my way to town. But then I thought I’d stop by and see what you’re up to.” She runs a slow finger along the rim of the door, but despite the attraction, Cade’s not playing her game.
“I know you live in that dump of a trailer, Phyre. This is hardly on your way to town. Not to mention it’s six in the morning. You in the habit of dropping in on people so early?”
“Not people. Just you.” She lifts her chin, smiles through a halo of curls. “I know you like to go for an early morning run. I thought maybe I could join you?”
Cade looks her over, eyes glinting when he says, “You’re not exactly dressed for running.”
She lifts a shoulder. Tugs on her miniskirt. Remains grinning before him.
“You stalking me, Ph
yre?” His voice lowers, almost to the point of gruff. But I can’t read the tone. Is it desire? Disgust? Will he make her beg for it, because she’s coming dang close.
“Not stalking. More like … admiring,” she says. “There is a difference, you know.”
He stares, bobbing his head back and forth as though weighing the pros and cons of a brisk morning run versus a quick roll with a beautiful girl.
“I could show you the difference. If you’re up for it…” She bites her lip, takes a step back from the car. Holding herself in offering—leaving it to him to decide.
“What’re you after?” He works his jaw, rakes her with a deep, probing gaze.
She moves toward him, leans into his open window, and says, “Listen, I don’t see the point in playing games, so here it is: I like you.”
He nods like a person who’s so used to being admired, it would never occur to him to question her word.
“And now that you and Lita have broken up, I thought that maybe—”
“You got a twin fetish? Is that it?” He’s quick to cut her off.
She freezes.
“Didn’t you used to be with my brother?”
She bites her lip. Casts her gaze to the side.
“Is this your way of keeping his memory alive?”
“No.” She returns to him with an open, earnest face. “I know you’re nothing like him. I can see the difference in you. You’re darker. More dangerous. And it’s that very darkness that attracts me to you.”
Cade’s eyes narrow to slits. His fingers drum against the steering wheel. “Careful what you wish for,” he says. “You’re venturing into territory you don’t understand.”
“Don’t be so sure.” She places a hand on his arm. Her fingertips stroking his flesh, her tongue wetting the rim of her lips.
And as silly as it looks from up here, from the place where Cade sits, it holds a certain appeal.
His features blunt. His gaze clouds. And when I see his lips part, it’s clear that he’s hooked.
Phyre leans closer. Wets her lips again. Leaving them glossy. Dripping. Wet. Ready for him.
And without knowing why, I get this incredible urge to stop them. Convinced deep in my soul that this is no ordinary kiss.
It’s the first step to killing him. She’ll seduce him, render him vulnerable, and then finish him off in a way he couldn’t foresee, so she can report back to her crazy dad that her task is complete.
If she kills Cade, she kills Dace. And I won’t let that happen.
They angle their heads in opposite ways. Veering closer, lips just a short breath away, as the raven spreads his wings wide and swoops down between them.
Phyre screams, bats her hands frantically at her head, then screams even louder when a clump of shiny, black feathers fall to her feet.
As Cade settles back in his seat and directs his attention at me.
“Looks like Raven is against this particular love match,” he says, granting me a small wave of his hand, before he slams hard on the gas and leaves Phyre standing alone in the street.
thirty-two
Dace
Daire’s softly breathing form lies beside me. Her head in my lap, her long legs stretched out before her. I run a palm over her cheek, whisper soft words she can’t hear. For the moment, she’s like me. Living, breathing, but soulless. The true force of her energy has taken a journey, and it’s up to me to look after her.
I keep to my place on the far side of the shed. Watching as Suriel heads in and out of the trailer. His actions deliberate, purposeful. His body jittery, as though he’s downed two too many cups of coffee.
Only Suriel doesn’t drink coffee.
He shuns all forms of stimulants.
Shuns anything that creates a false sense of euphoria.
There’s only one path to heaven, he claims. And it’s clear that the tremor in his hands, the quake in his knees, is a direct result of his delusional beliefs of self-grandeur. His absolute certainty of his exalted place in the world.
He’s a psychopath, pure and simple.
He’s the very thing he preaches against.
I watch as he exits the trailer, this time carrying a bag I recognize from our meeting in the Middleworld. He drops it on the bottommost step, before taking a seat on the one just above it. Then he dips a hand inside, removes his blood-crusted stake, and holds it before him. Staring at it with the kind of unhinged, crazed admiration that’s easy to see from all the way over here.
Returning the stake to its place, he retrieves a glass bottle filled with some kind of clear liquid he anoints himself with—daubing it onto his forehead, his chin.
Holy water.
I’m surprised he doesn’t burst into flames.
When he’s finished with the ritual, he closes the bag, leaves it on the step, and heads into the shed where he proceeds to make such a racket of creaking hinges, dull dragging sounds, and unearthly, odd shrieks, my curiosity gets the best of me and I creep toward the filthy, square window at the back, clear a space with my fingers, and look in.
At first, it’s hard to make out what he’s doing. Aided only by the single bare bulb swinging overhead, it takes a while for my vision to adjust. Though it’s not long before I’m able to discern Suriel’s form, busily putting together a pile of red sticks with digital displays wound tightly around them, which, despite the tricky lighting, can’t be mistaken for anything other than the explosives they are.
What the hell is he up to?
I press closer. Clear a wider space to better see.
The squeak of my fingers moving over the glass, alerting Suriel to my presence.
He lifts his head. Centers his gaze right on mine.
And though I know I should bolt, for a few, terrifying moments, I’m frozen in place with legs turned to lead.
He pulls his lips wide, grinning as though my presence on the other side of the window has rendered him indescribably happy. Then he drops the bundle of explosives onto the pile, wipes his palms down the sides of his suit, and reaches for an old, rusted crowbar he uses to pry the lid off a rather large crate. Releasing a wild-eyed beast he’s been keeping for some unfathomable reason.
The sight of its snapping snout, its rows of sharklike teeth dripping with bloodlust as it turns its attention to me, reminds me of Axel’s warning.
“You have to be vigilant with your thoughts, your actions, yourself.”
I turned to him with a questioning gaze.
“Without the soul, you’re like an empty vessel. Leaving you vulnerable to demon possession.”
I shot him an incredulous look. Sure he was exaggerating.
“Demons are everywhere. They come in all different forms. Able to appear in spirit form as well as their own hideous demon forms—depending on which dimension they’re in. But the one thing they all have in common is their desire to materialize and live under the guise of humans. Though in order to do so, they need either a willing body, or a vacant, soulless body. Soulless bodies are always preferred, though obviously harder to come by. They’ll be after you, Dace. They’ll scent you from miles away, and will stop at nothing to get to you.”
“So you’re saying I’m walking, talking demon bait?”
Axel’s lavender eyes went grim.
“If that’s true, then why didn’t they want me before? Back when I was in their lair?”
“You were weak and wounded. Ironically, it’s the only thing that saved you. But now that you’re healed…” He heaved a deep sigh as his eyes met mine. “Vigilance, Dace. Until you get your soul back, you can’t afford to relax.” He was vanishing before me as he said it, his form beginning to dim.
“Where you going?” I asked, not sure what to make of it.
“I have to find my way back. I’ve already interfered in your life more than I should.”
“But what if I need another energy infusion?” I asked, watching as his eyes narrowed with regret.
“Just make sure you locate your soul well before
then.”
Though the warning was intended for me, I’m not the only soulless body in jeopardy.
The beast hurls itself against the back wall, causing the wood to splinter and crack until it starts to give way. Leaving me only a handful of seconds to decide what to do next.
Do I fight him?
Slay him?
Beat him to a pulp and watch him bleed into the ground?
Or do I try to grab Daire and get the hell out of here?
With her idle body sprawled across the dirt, she appears so defenseless, so vulnerable, there’s no question I have to do whatever it takes to get her to safety.
I’ll fight the demon if it comes to that.
But only if it comes to that.
The demon continues to beat down the wall. His claw breaking through first, followed by a foot, as Suriel screams and shouts from inside, egging him on.
I lunge for Daire’s body, scoop her into my arms, and race for Kachina. Remembering too late that Kachina fears me. There’s no guarantee that she’ll help.
Though she is inclined to help Daire.
She runs up beside me and lowers her neck, allowing me to drape Daire over her back, just as a loud crash rings out from behind, and the demon lumbers straight for us.
thirty-three
Daire
Long after Cade has left, Phyre remains in her car. Her face hidden in the palms of her hands. Her shoulders spasmodically jerking as though crying.
She drags a deep breath, peers into the rearview mirror, and wipes a careful finger under each eye. Taking a moment to consider the tears she’s collected, before drying her hands on her legs and driving away.
With a gentle nudge from me, the raven soars alongside her. Trailing her over a series of gutted dirt roads and random turns, with seemingly no destination in mind. Until she pulls a quick U-turn and speeds toward Native Land.
The reservation?
What could she possibly want there?
