Authors: Alyson Noël
He moves in beside me, the water rising to his chest as our lips press and merge and our breath becomes one. My fingers seeking the sharp angle of his jaw, tracing the shadow of stubble that prickles my skin, as he toys with the strings of my bikini top. Taking great care to avoid the buckskin pouch that hangs from my neck, knowing it holds the source of my power, or one of them anyway—that its contents may only be viewed by Paloma and me.
“Daire…” My name is a whisper soon chased by the path of kisses he trails along my neck, over my shoulder, and down farther still, as I close my eyes and inhale a sharp breath. Torn between the lure of his touch, and the memory of a horrible dream that took place in this very spring—in a moment much like this one.
A dream where his brother raided our paradise—stealing Dace’s soul along with his life, while all I could do was look on.
“What is it?” Sensing a shift in my mood, he lifts his gaze to meet mine. But I just shake my head and pull him back to me, seeing no reason to share. No reason to wreck the moment by mentioning Cade.
His breath quickens as his lips meet mine once again. And when he lifts me onto his lap, I have the vague sensation of something slimy and foreign passing over my foot.
I lean into the kiss, determined to ignore it, whatever it was. It’s a hot spring—an
enchanted
hot spring, but still a hot spring. It’s probably just a leaf or even a fallen flower bud from the canopy of vines that swoop overhead.
I focus on the feel of his lips molding hard to my flesh as I squirm tightly against him. Entwining my legs with his when another slimy object skims past my hip before surfacing beside me with an audible
plop
that’s soon followed by another.
And another.
Until the chorus of objects popping to the surface forces us apart. Forces us to blink free of the fog of each other, only to gape in horror as the spring fills with swollen, lifeless, gaping-mouthed fish—their vacant eye sockets staring accusingly.
Before I can so much as scream, Dace swoops me into his arms and hauls me out of the spring. Clasping me tightly to his chest as the two of us stare, breathless and horrified, at a truth that cannot be denied.
The enemy is still out there—alive and well and corrupting the Lowerworld.
And if we don’t find them soon, they’ll corrupt the Otherworlds too.
two
“Did you tell her?” Dace gestures toward Paloma’s blue gate as I slip inside his old beater truck and settle beside him.
“Not yet.” I gnaw the inside of my cheek and steer my gaze from his. Hearing his softly muttered
hmmm
as he pulls away from the curb. Recognizing it as Dace-speak for:
I’m not sure I agree with your methods, but I’m sure you have your reasons.
Dace doesn’t judge.
He’s so nice, kind, and accepting, he wouldn’t even consider it.
He’s the literal definition of
good
.
The result of a split soul—his is the pure half—the opposite of his twin’s. While mine is of the more usual variety—straddling the varying shades of light and dark, swaying toward one or the other depending on the circumstance.
“I was going to,” I say, my voice pitching too high to convince, but it’s not like it stops me. “But by the time you dropped me off, she was with a client—she’s starting to see them again—and by the time she was finished, I was already asleep.”
“And this morning?” He looks at me, lips quirking at the side, knowing Paloma’s an outspoken advocate for proper nutrition. Starting each day with a healthy breakfast is pretty much the heart and soul of her manifesto. The only way I could’ve avoided the subject—avoided her—is by skipping it entirely. Which I did, by staying in my room until the very last minute, then making a mad dash for the door the instant I sensed Dace drive up. Pausing just long enough for her to press one of her freshly baked, organic, blue-corn muffins into my hand as I made for his truck.
There’s no graceful way out. I’m guilty as charged. “I got a late start.” Sneaking another peek at him, I add, “But, honestly, I guess I just wasn’t ready.”
He nods, grips the wheel tighter, navigating a series of deeply rutted dirt roads as I stare out the window. Noting how the old adobe homes lining the perimeter no longer sag like they used to. How the cars parked in the yards seem a little less rusted—and the chickens that roam those yards appear a little less emaciated. All of it thanks to Dace and my small triumph in the Lowerworld, when we convinced the Bone Keeper to release all those poor souls the Richters had stolen.
Yet despite our success, the town still doesn’t come close to living up to its name of Enchantment. Though it is a little less dismal than it was when I first arrived, and I consider that progress.
“If you want, we can tell her together.” Dace looks at me. “I’m scheduled to work after school, but I’m willing to go in late if it’ll help.”
I shake my head, too choked up by his offer to speak. Dace relies on every penny he earns working at the Rabbit Hole. After paying rent on the tiny apartment he keeps in town, gas and insurance for his two beat-up cars, and the small amount he sends to help Chepi, there’s not much left over. There’s no way I’ll let him take a hit in pay for something I should’ve done on my own.
“I’ll handle it,” I say. “Really. Today. After school. Before I head back to the Lowerworld, I’ll tell her. Though I’ve a pretty good feeling she already knows. Paloma knows everything. It’s more than an
abuela
’s sixth sense—she’s beyond perceptive. I’m sure my silence speaks louder than any words could.”
“Still,” he says. “Those fish…” His voice fades, as his gaze grows cloudy and troubled, his lips pale and grim. “I think I should mention it to Leftfoot. Chepi too. Maybe they can help?”
At the mention of his mother, it’s my turn to go grim. Having spent Dace’s entire childhood shielding him from the more mystical side of life—only to watch me come to town and drag him headfirst into all the trouble and weirdness this place has to offer, she’s not exactly my biggest fan.
Yet, according to Paloma, it was our destiny to meet, just as it’s our destiny to work together to keep the Richters contained, and the Lower-, Middle-, and Upperworlds balanced. And once in motion, destiny cannot be stopped.
I’m just about to ask if he might reconsider telling Chepi, when he turns into the school parking lot and brakes beside Auden’s ancient wood-paneled station wagon. Lowering the window enough to allow a gust of cold air to rush in, we watch Auden guide Xotichl out of the passenger seat and lead her toward us, her red-tipped cane weaving before her.
“Xotichl claims it’ll snow by Christmas, but I say no way.” Auden pushes his tousled golden-brown hair from his eyes and grins. “In fact, we’re taking bets—you in?”
“You’re seriously betting against Xotichl?” I ask, my voice as incredulous as the expression I wear on my face. She may be blind, but she’s the most perceptive person I’ve ever met—next to Paloma, that is.
Auden shrugs, slips an arm around Xotichl’s shoulders, and plants a kiss on her cheek. “I should probably know better—betting against her never comes to any good—but I’m pretty convinced she’s wrong on this one. It hasn’t snowed in Enchantment in years. Not since I was a kid. And there’s no sign of that changing anytime soon.”
“It certainly feels cold enough to snow.” I watch my breath billowing before me as I pull my gloves from my backpack and slip them onto my hands. Thinking it’s time to trade in my usual olive-green army jacket—recently left a bit shredded in places, thanks to an unfortunate encounter with a certain undead Richter—for something a little more weather-resistant. “I thought it snowed pretty much everywhere in these parts?”
“It does,” Auden says. “But not here. Not anymore.”
“That used to be true, but this year is different,” Xotichl says, a sly smile lighting her beautiful, heart-shaped face as her blue/gray eyes flit in the general direction of mine.
“You sensing snow energy?” My arms circle my waist, bracing against the cold as I slip free of the truck and move to join them.
“I’m sensing something.” Xotichl’s voice is soft and lilting, clearly enjoying her secret.
“So?” Auden looks at me.
I glance between them, not missing a beat, as I say, “Sorry, Auden, but I’m pretty much always going to bet on Xotichl.”
Auden shoots me a rueful look and turns to Dace. “And you?”
Dace grasps my hand in solidarity, his icy-blue eyes meeting mine. “And I’m pretty much always going to bet on Daire.”
Auden sighs, turning in the direction of Lita, Jacy, and Crickett, who call to us from across the lot. “Still can’t stop thinking of them as the Cruel Crew. Guess I need to update our Facebook status to ‘friends.’” He shakes his head and grins. “What do you think, should I even bother asking them?”
“Only if you can handle the rejection.” Xotichl laughs, as we widen our circle to admit them.
“What’s so funny? What’d I miss?” Lita flips her hair over her shoulder, allowing it to fall in gorgeous dark waves down her back, as her eyes—still heavily made-up, though much improved since Jennika’s professional makeover—move anxiously among us. She hates to be left out of anything, no matter how trivial.
“A white Christmas. Is it possible? Yay or nay?” Auden gets right to the point.
“Yay. Definitely, voting for yay.” Lita claps her gloved hands for emphasis as the others nod their agreement. “It’s gonna require a freaking miracle though. Last time it snowed, I was like, six. Then again, it is the season for miracles, right?”
She bounces on the tips of her toes and buries her mitten-covered hands under her armpits in an attempt to ward off the cold. The trill of the bell prompting Auden to kiss Xotichl good-bye so he can head off to rehearse with his band, as the rest of us make for the building, where I pause at my locker long enough to drop off some books and lighten my load.
Lita lingers beside me, watching in annoyed silence as Dace gives me a brief peck on the cheek and promises to find me at break before heading to class. Waiting until he’s well out of earshot before she thrusts her hand toward me, and says, “Quick. Take it. Before you make us both late.”
I stare at the folded piece of paper pinched between two of her fingers. About to remind her that she’s here of her own volition—that her tardiness is completely on her—but squelching it just as quickly. Being friends with Lita means not only learning to ignore half of what she says, but never forgetting that deep down inside, her heart is mostly good.
“Secret Santa,” she says, watching as I unfold the note and squint in confusion. Her voice competing with the sound of her boot tapping hard and fast against the tile floor. “Yesterday, when we drew names at lunch, I got Dace. And I figured you’d want to trade since you guys are together and all. Besides, it’s way too weird for me to buy him a gift after breaking up with his twin.”
I nod in agreement, knowing it’ll be a lot easier to come up with something Dace will like that fits within our set twenty-dollar limit, than it would be for the name I’d originally drawn. Then seeing her expectant face, I say, “Though I’m not sure that works—I drew you.”
Lita’s eyes brighten. Clearly taken with the idea of shopping for herself, she turns on her heel, saying, “No worries. I’ll work it out.”
She dashes down the hall, the sound of her boots meeting the floor nearly drowning me out when I call, “Hey, Lita—”
She pauses, a look of impatience fixed on her face.
“Speaking of—have you seen or talked to Cade?”
She rolls her eyes, smiling smugly as she says, “Are you kidding? He’s gone underground. Totally fallen off the radar. Probably licking his wounds and tending to his poor, broken heart. Had I known how amazing this would feel—how easy it would be to break him—I would’ve done it years ago!”
She chases the words with a laugh. The sound so light, happy, and self-satisfied, I wish I could buy into it that easily. Wish I could trust in her theory that Cade is simply suffering the unexpected ego blow of being rejected by a pretty girl for the very first time. Then she turns on her heel and flees down the hall, her hair fanning behind her as she steps into class. Leaving me standing before my locker when the second bell rings, officially marking me tardy.
I gaze all around, taking in the quiet, empty hall as I heave my bag onto my shoulder and head back the same way I came. Speeding past the guard’s outraged warnings as I tuck into the frigid morning chill and make my way back to Paloma’s.
three
Paloma moves about her warm cozy kitchen, pulling her tattered, sky-blue cardigan snugly around one of the crisply ironed housedresses she favors, not the least bit surprised by my sudden return.
With her large brown eyes shining and bright, and her long dark braid with its smattering of silver curving down her back, she seems as normal as ever. Though a closer look reveals movements that are slower—less nimble, more labored. Especially compared to the unmistakable aura of determination and strength she projected the night I first appeared on her doorstep just a few months earlier. Not long after my breakdown in that Moroccan square.
Back when I was haunted by terrifying hallucinations of glowing people and crows—staring down a future in a padded white room.
Paloma saved me. Rescued me from that horrible fate. Only to startle me with a truth so strange I did my best to escape it.
Though, as it turns out, she knew what the doctors didn’t.
I wasn’t crazy.
Wasn’t haunted by delusions.
The crows—the glowing ones—they’re all real. I was hardly the first to undergo the experience. Every Seeker gets the calling—it was simply my turn.
It’s the Santos family legacy. The birthright passed from parent to firstborn child for too many generations to count. For the first sixteen years it lies dormant—but once it emerges, the whole world is flipped upside down. And while it’s tempting to run, it’s better to accept that destiny is not always a choice. For those who try to deny it—it never ends well.
My father, Django, is the perfect example.