Echo (27 page)

I watch as a raven swoops onto a branch, taking a moment to settle as a gentle wind stirs and ruffles its feathers.

Raven.

Wind.

It’s so obvious, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before!

Raven is my spirit animal. Wind my guiding element. It’s no accident this seemingly innocuous scene is unfolding before me.

There are no accidents. No such thing as coincidence. This is an offering, pure and simple.

If I’ve learned nothing else, it’s that life is full of synchronicities—brimming with all manner of omens and signs we choose to ignore. Until we’ve become so accustomed to denying the barrage of miracles occurring all around us, we can no longer recognize them when they unfold right before us.

But not this time. This is exactly the opportunity I’ve sought all along.

I check to make sure the door is completely shut, since the last thing I need is for Paloma to come in and find my body lying inert on the floor while my soul journeys alongside a raven’s. Then I turn toward the wind-ruffled bird and focus on him with all of my might. Much like I merged with a cockroach the first time I followed Cade to the vortex—I meld my energy with his until our souls sync as one and our hearts beat in tandem.

As soon as I’m settled, we’re off. Lifting from the branch and soaring high into the sky. Carried by wings as light and fluid as gossamer, we glide across a landscape that unravels like a ribbon beneath us. The experience so glorious, I can hardly believe I allowed so much time to lapse since the last time I did this.

When we reach Chepi’s property, the raven circles in a wide careful arc before landing just outside Dace’s window. The gentle swish of his wing brushing the pane, enough to cause Chepi to look up from her reading with a suspicious gaze. The intensity of her stare so startling, so unexpected, my energy spikes and I nearly lose the connection.

She doesn’t know it’s me,
I tell myself in an attempt to rein in my panic.
I’m just another raven. It’s not like there’s a shortage of them.

Though clearly it’s a mantra heard only by me. Chepi’s scrutiny continues to deepen. Convinced I’m no random bird. That the scene isn’t nearly as benign as it seems.

The raven grows anxious, starts to scramble about. Tired of playing host, he goes to great effort to evict me by hopping from foot to foot, emitting a low, guttural croak, and thumping his tail feathers hard against the glass. The commotion causing Chepi to frown and Dace to awaken with a gaze that veers straight for me. Intuitively sensing my presence, he directs a subtle nod my way, then says something to Chepi I can’t quite make out. But it’s enough for her to abandon her book and exit the room, as Dace bolts from his bed.

Crossing the room in just a few steps, he shoves the window open and offers his hand. While the raven’s most primal instincts prompt him to flee, I’m able to convince him to creep closer, until he’s nudging his head against Dace’s welcoming fingers. And it’s all I can do to contain myself when Dace responds by lowering his lips to the dome of raven’s head. His kiss so intoxicating it reverberates throughout me.

“I knew you’d come,” he whispers. “I knew you’d find a way. Still, I have to say, this is genius. Wish I’d thought of it. I would’ve visited you.”

Despite the fact that ravens are known for their amazing vocal abilities, this particular raven refuses to cooperate, refuses to speak the words I urge it to share. After too many frustrated attempts, I resolve to convey it with a look. Hoping my gratitude, admiration, and love will somehow beam through the raven’s small beady eyes.

Dace runs a finger down the length of raven’s back, whispering, “There’s no reason to worry. I’m getting better and stronger every day.” He continues to stroke the shiny black feathers, causing me to melt under his touch. “It won’t be long now before you and I are together again.” His voice rings with determination. And though he means to reassure, somehow the words bear the opposite effect.

He’s planning something. That much is clear. But whatever it is, I can’t let him go through with it. Can’t let him go after Cade. Can’t let him get to him first.

To do so would be to play right into the prophecy. And that could only end in tragedy.

“Soon, Daire. Soon…” His voice drifts along with his gaze, traveling to some unknown future event that plays out in his head.

In a desperate bid to get through to him, I urge the raven to head for Dace’s shoulder. About to take another crack at whispering into his ear, when Chepi pokes her head into the room and says, “Dace? Why are you up and who are you talking to?”

And that’s all it takes for the raven to flit back to the ledge.

“It’s nothing.” Dace turns away from the window. “I just needed some air. And a little reminder of the world outside this room.”

Chepi approaches with a gait full of purpose and an all-knowing gaze. “And now that you’ve been reminded, it’s time to get back to bed.” She reaches for the window sash and shoves it down with such force, the bond between the raven and me is instantly severed.

Allowing raven to shoot free of the ledge, as my soul reunites with my body.

thirty-seven

Dace

Daire’s visit was exactly what I needed.

Her showing up on my windowsill via the raven wasn’t just pure inspired genius, it gave me the push I need to get out of this house and make good on my plan.

But first I have to get past Chepi. She’s a formidable obstacle—an eagle-eyed sentinel. And since I’ve already sent her on all the food and water errands I can without arousing her suspicions, the only ruse I have left is another round of feigned sleep. Needing her to think I’m down for the night, that I won’t stir again until morning, I pull the blanket over my head and force my breath to fall slow and even. Remaining like that until she finally relaxes enough to leave.

The second she’s gone, I toss the covers, peer down the hall to ensure it’s all clear, and race for the door. Nearly free of it, when she rushes up from behind, grabs hold of my arm, and demands, “Where are you going?”

I close my eyes briefly. Overcome with regret for what I’m about to do next. Wishing it didn’t have to be this way. But wishing is futile. It’s action that’s needed. And no matter how hard she fights me, there’s no way she’ll keep me from doing what I most need to do.

Still, I make a point to soften my tone when I say, “I need to step out. You’ve kept me housebound too long and I’m feeling hemmed in. I need to swing by my place and take care of some things.”

Her face darkens with disapproval. Causing the lines that cross her forehead and fan either side of her mouth to deepen, as though she’s aged ten years in a matter of seconds.

“C’mon, Ma—you know you can’t keep me cooped up here forever.” I shift my weight from foot to foot, never wanting to leave a place as badly as this.

“You’re going to see
her
.” Her voice is accusatory, eyes sharp and knowing.

“I don’t even know where she is.” I swipe a hand over my chin, hiding the lie to come. “We haven’t talked for days. But then you already knew that. You’ve made sure of it.” I swallow hard, force myself to meet her gaze.

A fleeting expression crosses her face—a mixture of sadness and apology that’s gone in a blink. “You’re still healing.” She reaches for my arm, attempts to inspect a wound that’s already faded. “I can’t let you go until you’re well. I promised Leftfoot I’d make sure you got plenty of bed rest.”

“You can tell Leftfoot I’m fine, fully healed.” I yank on the hem of my shirt, pull it up over my torso so she can see that not only are the bandages gone, but also, thanks to a thick layer of Leftfoot’s poultice, along with a little magick I’ve worked on my own—magick that’s better left unmentioned—I’m left with only the faintest trail of scars, that promise to fade, if not disappear.

I drop the hem, allow the shirt to fall to my hips. Wondering what argument she’ll try to wage next. Sure there will be one.

Her concern for my health replaced by the plea: “But it’s Christmas!” She stands before me, refusing to let go of my sleeve. She’s playing the mom card—playing on my sympathies. But tonight, it won’t work. Can’t work. I need to get out of here. Need to handle my own business, my own way.

“Tomorrow
is Christmas,” I say. “And I’ll be back to spend it with you. I promise.” I bend toward her, depositing a soft kiss on the top of her head as I gently curl my fingers around hers. Giving them a meaningful squeeze, hoping to convey what I’ve failed to say with words. Then I loosen her grip from my sleeve and make for the porch as she calls after me.

I turn. Try to contain my annoyance by reminding myself her intentions are good.

“Be careful.” She steps toward me. Studying me with a critical eye, as her hand finds its way to my cheek. “Don’t let your regard for others compromise your safety. I need you here.”

I close my eyes briefly and send her a silent apology for the hurt I may cause her. But when my gaze meets hers, I just say, “Good night, Mother.”

There’s no need to cause any further alarm.

No need to inform her that during the past several days spent holed up in my room, it wasn’t just healing I’d been focusing on.

She stands on the stoop, one hand hanging loose by her side, the other clutched close to her heart. The bright overhead light falling languidly upon her, engulfing her in an incandescent veil of white light that makes her appear luminous—radiant—angelic and saintly.

Her tortured image the last thing I see before I head for my truck and ease onto the road. Ready to put my newly honed skills to the test.

thirty-eight

Daire

Paloma pokes her head into my room, frowning when she finds me sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor amidst a scattering of feathers, crystals, candles, the pendulum, my rattle, the drum, and the athame, its blade polished and gleaming. The trappings of the Seeker trade—along with the codex propped open beside me. “Any luck?” She leans against the doorjamb, surveying the mess.

I lift my shoulders. Allow my eyes to meet hers. “Sure. I’m loaded with luck—at least where my magick’s concerned. Thanks to you and all that you’ve taught me, I’m amazed at how far I’ve come, and how quickly. And yet, I’m not sure how it’s going to help me defeat Cade.”

“Every bit helps,
nieta
. Every piece fits neatly into the other.”

I sigh. Having no doubt it’s true, though the pieces I seek seem to lie just outside my reach, and I don’t hesitate to tell her as much.

“What does the book say?” She crosses her arms before her, tilting her head in a way that encourages her braid to slip over her shoulder and fall to her waist.

“The book says plenty, most of which I don’t understand. You’ve read it, so you tell me, what is it I’m missing?”

She glances down the hall, as though she’s worried about someone overhearing, then in a lowered voice says, “I’m not sure that you’re missing anything. I’m not sure Valentina was able to foresee all that you’re up against. Some things are for you to discover on your own. That is always the way.”

I sigh. Wishing this wasn’t always so difficult—wishing that just this once, the answers would come easily. Then I discard the thought just as quickly. Easy has never been part of the equation, and from what I’ve experienced so far, it’s foolish to expect such a thing. It’s up to me to figure this out and prove that I’m worthy. No one else can do that for me.

“Thing is—Cade’s freakishly strong.” I shudder when I say it, remembering the way he held Dace off with one hand that horrible day at the not-so Enchanted Spring. “And when he’s not guarded by his creepy coyote, he’s surrounded by his army of undead yet very loyal ancestors. And despite feeling so much stronger, so much more empowered, than I did a week ago, I’m worried it won’t be enough. Chances are I’ll have to get through them in order to get to Cade, and I’m not sure I can do it. Also, I know I haven’t mentioned it, partly because I didn’t really know what to make of it, and partly because I didn’t want to give it any more power than it already has, but—” I pause for breath, my eyes meeting hers. “The dream is back.” I study her expression, but Paloma fights to keep her face as unreadable as ever. “It’s haunted me ever since we left Dace at Leftfoot’s adobe, and it’s always the same. Dace and me enjoying ourselves in the Enchanted Spring, until Cade arrives, turns into the beast that he is, and steals Dace’s soul, leaving him dead in my arms.” I cringe, the memory so clear it’s as though it’s occurring before me. “While Cade’s made it clear that he knows about the dream, what I can’t figure out is if he’s found a way to manipulate my dream state, or if it’s a prophecy all of us share? And speaking of the prophecy, I was hoping to find a different way to interpret it, but it’s pretty clear-cut, isn’t it?”

The grave look on Paloma’s face provides all the confirmation I need.

“So anyway, what about you guys?” I ask, eager to steer the subject away from me and onto her, hoping they’ve met with more success than I have. Aware of the constant ritual and vigil the elders have engaged in ever since the day they learned about the level of havoc and destruction Cade’s wrought. “Have you and Chay made any progress? And what about Chepi and Leftfoot?”

She looks at me, both of us all too aware of the name I failed to mention.

Dace
.

I can’t risk speaking his name. Can’t risk her guessing what I’ve done. That I went behind her back, used the skill she taught me, and visited him via the raven.

Still, it’s impossible to lie to Paloma, and one look at her face tells me she knows more than she lets on.

My fingers fumble for the small golden key at my chest—remembering the feel of Dace’s skin, his lips pressing against the feathers, the weight of his touch …

I shake free of the thought, shove the key back under my sweater, and return my attention to my grandmother.

“Chay just returned,” she says. “He and Leftfoot ventured into the Lowerworld to conduct a little reconnaissance. From what he tells me, it’s settled for now. And by that I mean that the mine is still operating, the spirit animals are still listless and dull, and the Lowerworld is sorely polluted. Though our combined efforts seem to have worked in stabilizing it and keeping it from getting any worse. Or at least for the moment. There’s no telling how long our magick will hold. Fixing this will require something more drastic.” She chases the words with a pointed look.