Echo (18 page)

I stare at her without blinking, without breathing. Startled by her sudden change of heart—the enormity of her words.

She slides the knife toward me. Looks me straight in the eye. “When you’re ready to kill Cade, you will use this athame. You will also use it to rid the Lowerworld of undead Richters, by either removing their heads or cutting them clean at the waist.”

I balk at her instructions. Unable to imagine committing such an act.

“I know the thought is unpleasant,” she says. “I’m afraid the act will be too. But this time, unlike the last time, you will not have the aid of the Bone Keeper with you. Thus, it’s the only way to release the souls that empower them. The only way to return them to the place where they belong.”

“And Cade—is this the only way to kill him as well?” I remove the knife from its case. Studying it with newly informed eyes, testing the weight of it in my hand, sliding the wide smooth part across the width of my palm. Assuring myself I can do this—it’s what I was born to do. I just have to find them, that’s all. When the time comes, there will be no hesitation. I’ll slay them all.

It’s a promise I make to myself, to Paloma, to the people of Enchantment who don’t deserve the kind of suffering they’ve endured.

I turn to Paloma with a determined gaze, wanting her to know I can handle the task. That I won’t disappoint her. I will see this thing through. It’s only when she returns my gaze with a deeply regretful look that I realize she’s left my question unanswered.

“Will this kill Cade?” I repeat, voice pitching too high.

She presses her hands to her chest and steeples her fingers. “This is all new to me,
nieta
. And I’m sorry to ask this of you. All I know for sure is that the knife is now fortified with Valentina’s essence. I’ve no doubt she will prove to be a formidable ally for you. From this moment on, you will keep the athame with you at all times. You will act when called upon. You will do whatever necessary to defeat Cade and his army of undead ancestors, no matter the stakes.” Her gaze softening when she adds, “Now let’s go see if we can’t make it snow.”

twenty-five

Dace

“Does anyone mind explaining just what the heck is going on around here?” Lita stares down the length of the lunch table, pausing on each of us. “First of all, where’s Daire? Does she even go here anymore? And second, how strange is it that she disappears only to have Phyre show up? And not that I’m keeping track, so don’t anybody get the wrong idea since I’m
totally
over him, but Cade Richter is still missing as well. And since nobody seems the least bit concerned by this series of strange events, I have to ask: Was there a memo I missed? Am I the only one who gives a flip about finals this week? And, for the record, I’m mostly looking at
you,
Whitefeather, since you’re the one with the closest ties to all three of them.”

The guys at the end of the table turn away, relieved to be off the hook. While I shrug, focus hard on my vending machine burrito, and say, “Daire’s not feeling well. And Cade and I don’t really talk, as you know.”

Lita sits with the information. Head bobbing back and forth as though the scale of justice is embedded in there. “And the whole deal with Phyre? What’s up with that?”

“Don’t know,” I mumble, knowing all too well where she’s heading with that but unwilling to take that particular trip. Phyre’s a memory. A ghost. She has no place in the life I live now.

“Oh, no.” Lita straightens, staring me down with her well-practiced, interrogation glare. The one that alerts Jacy and Crickett to sit up straighter too, unwilling to miss whatever comes next. “That does not work with me. Where does Phyre fit in—and how come you acted so weird around her?”

They stare. All of them. Even Xotichl’s eyes dart suspiciously toward me. Leaving me with no choice but to flash my palms in surrender and say, “Phyre fits in wherever she chooses. She doesn’t consult with me. She’s been off my radar for years.”

“Two years.” Lita smirks, the words illustrated by the two fingers she shoves in my face. “It’s been only two years since she left. And, my guess is, from the way she looked at you, she wants to pick up right where you guys left off. And from the way you acted all squirmy and weird around her, you don’t know what you want. Or, even worse, you
do
know what you want, only now you have a little problem called Daire standing in the way. Which leaves you all …
conundrumed
and
kerfuffled
.”

“Are those even words?” Xotichl asks, causing Jacy and Crickett to laugh into their hands, as Lita rolls her eyes and dismisses them all with a shake of her head.

“The problem with you, Whitefeather”—Lita pauses, demanding my full attention—“do you want to know what your problem is?”

I stare at my lunch. Wondering how I even got here. Why I ever agreed to befriend her, when it’s clear she’s barely changed since reclaiming her soul. But, instead, I just say, “Yeah, why not? Have at it.”

She nods, crosses her legs and arms, taking on a defensive posture as though I’d even consider engaging in verbal combat with her. “The problem with you is you’re not used to people thinking you’re hot.”

Xotichl frowns.

Jacy and Crickett gasp, barely able to contain themselves.

While my shoulders sink in relief. I expected much worse.

“Or, correction, you’re used to only
one
person thinking you’re hot. Phyre. And that was only because she was stuck on that reservation with you, where there weren’t a whole lot of other options for a girl to choose from.”

“Lita—” Xotichl swings toward her, trying to dissuade her from going any further, but Lita ignores it. She’s on a roll. Won’t be stopped ’til she’s done.

“Anyway, back then, when Phyre was the only one who wanted you, the choice was easy. But now—now that Daire also thinks you’re hot, along with a few other girls, who, although it makes zero sense to me, I’ve actually overheard them discussing the quality of your newly perceived hotness as well—you’re suddenly faced with choices. As for me, I don’t see it. You look way too much like Cade for my tastes.”

“Um, yeah, because they’re identical,” Jacy says, causing Lita to frown and Crickett to shoot her a disapproving look.

“So, what I’m trying to say is, don’t go getting all bigheaded just because you’ve had a little surge on the hotness scale. Don’t be an ass. Don’t be your twin. Do the right thing by Daire, or you will have to answer to me.
Comprehendu?
”

My jaw clenches.
Comprehendu? Guess that passes as Spanish in Lita Winslow’s rarefied world.
I stare down the length of the table. Take a full inventory. Counting a group of guys I have nothing in common with, and who clearly want nothing to do with me—and a group of girls who have no problem dangling me over the burning hot coals they continue to stoke.

I was better off eating lunch by myself in the hall.

I focus on my food, refusing to answer. This is ridiculous. And despite my supposedly good and pure soul, I’m beginning to resent it.

But the thing with girls is, the silent treatment never works. They’re too verbal to allow it. And they want me to be verbal too.

“Whatever,” I say, knowing I have to say something, if only to put this to rest. “Phyre is history. No matter what’s going on with Daire and me, we’re solid. My heart beats for her, and her only.”

“Solid, huh?” Lita squints, clearly not believing a word of it. “Then make sure you get her to the Rabbit Hole tonight for my Secret Santa party, okay? I don’t care if you have to drag her by the hair like the caveman I’m convinced that you are. I want her there, Whitefeather. I want
everyone
there. I’ve worked my ass off to make this party my best one yet. And I don’t think I should have to remind you that you’re lucky to be invited. So don’t make me regret my act of generosity,
K
?”

She shoots me a final look of warning, then turns her focus to Jacy and Crickett. Polling them on whether or not she should ditch her highlights for the winter: No. And if she should keep her Marilyn piercing or let the hole close up: They vote to keep.

When the bell rings, I swear it’s never sounded so sweet. I push away from the table, eager to get the hell out of here and never return, when Xotichl grabs hold of my wrist and says, “We need to talk.”

I close my eyes and stifle a groan. I don’t know how much more grilling I can take. These girls are insane.

“Relax,” she says, sensing my mood. “I’ll leave that stuff to Lita; she does it better than I could anyway. What I meant was, we need to talk about the prophecy.”

“You know about that?” I study her carefully.

“Have you read it?”

I hesitate, unsure how to answer. I settle on, “I’ve run across it once or twice. Still, I need to know whatever you can tell me. Specifically. Word for word. Leave nothing out.”

“Then wait for me after school and give me a ride home. I’ll fill you in then,” she says, her gray/blue eyes veering away, but that doesn’t mean she can’t
see
me.

I sigh. Rake a hand through my hair, not wanting to wait, but not left with much of a choice, I agree.

*   *   *

The second I bail out of independent study I find Xotichl already waiting for me in the hall.

“I parked kinda far,” I tell her, as she falls into step alongside me. Her red-tipped cane weaving before her.

“Good.” She grins in a way that lights up her face. “Then you’ll have plenty of time to tell me your side of the story. Everything. Start to finish. Leave nothing out.”

I look at her, trying not to hate on the fact that yet another person has joined the ever-growing club of people who know about me. What I am. How I came to be. Not to mention, there’s no way I’ll tell her
everything
.

“I doubt it’s any different from what Daire already told you.” I reach toward her, about to help her navigate the curb, then pull away just as quickly. Xotichl does fine on her own. She doesn’t need me to guide her.

“There’s only one way to know for sure.” Her face is determined, jaw set, mouth grim. For a tiny girl with a perceived disability, she’s a force to be reckoned with.

She’s also incredibly kind.

She was the first person to talk to me—scratch that—she was the
only
person to talk to me for what pretty much amounted to my first two years at this school—until Daire came along.

She’s also the only one Cade’s never been able to get to. And it’s left me a little in awe of her.

I help her into my truck, see that she’s settled, then I climb into my side. Starting the engine and backing out of the space when she says, “I’m still waiting…”

I yield to a few passing cars, then merge onto the street. “You really don’t want me to go through the whole thing again, do you? There’s really no point. Besides, the deal was I drive you home and you tell me what you know about the prophecy.”

She considers for a moment, one tiny finger tapping the point of her chin. Enjoying my frustration, milking the moment for as long as she can. “Fine,” she says, but only when she’s sure I’ve suffered enough. “You win. I guess I learned everything I need to know from Daire. After all, she was pretty thorough.”

Thorough? How thorough?

I grip the wheel tighter, work my jaw so hard it clicks in protest. Unable to relax until Xotichl says, “Listen, she’s totally devastated, I’m not gonna lie. But it’s not like she blames you. She knows you did the right thing. Besides, I’m pretty sure she won’t stay devastated for long, she’s a pretty tough cookie, you know.”

While her words are meant to comfort, I’m not sure it’s any better.
Is she insinuating that Daire’s already getting over me—already moving on?

I shake free of the thought. It’s ridiculous. I’m ridiculous. I saw the way she looked at me today in the parking lot. Same way I looked at her. Besides, isn’t that exactly what I told her to do? Stop thinking of me—stop loving me—for as long as it takes?

God, I hate my brother.

I swipe a hand through my hair, pushing strands away from my face. “Can we just move on to the prophecy?” I say, more than ready to hear it, even though I’m pretty sure I’m not going to like it.

She bobs her head back and forth, not entirely ready to give up on the game. Sighing in surrender, she says, “I read it in the codex.”

I nod impatiently, not really sure what that is but eager to get on with it.

“It’s an impressive book. Everything an ancient and mystical tome should be. With curling vellum pages and elaborate illustrations, it’s like something you’d probably see in a fantasy movie.…” She pauses, probably just to torture me. She’s a sweet girl, one of the sweetest I know, but she loves to play her little games. “Not that I could actually see the illustrations, though I could read their energy. Anyway, there’s a lot to it. Loads and loads of pages, all of which are written in a special code that takes forever to decipher. I wish you could see it: its energy is so vibrant, so alive…”

My thumbs tap the wheel, as I bite back the urge to demand she just get to it and tell me already.

“Anyway,” she says, a ghost of a smile lighting her face. “Here’s the part that you need to know…”

When she’s finished reciting, all I can think is how artless it seems.

How inconsequential.

With the sort of book she described, I guess I was expecting it to be bigger, more involved, than what I already knew.

Especially when you consider that actual lives are at stake.

Yet, according to Xotichl, the version in the codex is an exact match of the verses that were revealed during my sweat lodge experience.

A deceptively simple quatrain, stating:

The other side of midnight’s hour strikes a herald thrice rung

Seer, Shadow, Sun—together they come

Sixteen winters hence—the light shall be eclipsed

Leaving darkness to ascend beneath a sky bleeding fire

“So it’s true. The light will be eclipsed. One of us will die.” I stare at the dirt road ahead, barely able to focus on anything other than the words that continue to play in my head.