The Spirit Seducer (The Echo Series Book 1) (6 page)

“I didn’t think gods and humans were supposed to mix. Especially Hisatsinom gods and mortals. There are lots of tenets.”

But Coyote had kissed me. Talked about my desires. “Why does Coyote affect me so much?”

Layla tugged at the hem of her tunic. “My take? You’ve been too sheltered. Your mom and I argued about your exposure a lot. The human version of this world is full of sexual innuendo. Hell, their toothpaste ads use sex to sell more tubes.”

“Is that why you brought me those magazines?” I raised my eyebrows. “Is there worse stuff out there? Worse than what we looked at on the Internet?”

“Oh, yeah. Way worse. Since your mom was so adamant, I figured it was my contribution to counteracting your naïveté.”

“Didn’t work,” I muttered. “Coyote makes me . . .” I shivered. I didn’t add that Zeke’s pull on me was even stronger. No point in adding to my pathetic situation.

“Morality isn’t Coyote’s best-known trait. He likes chaos and sex. Not necessarily in that order.”

“Seduction through our basest nature,” I said. “So Coyote’s like the gods’ penultimate bad boy.”

“Worse. Some bad boys actually have feelings. Coyote doesn’t and will never care for you as more than a means to an end. He took your mom for a reason. I hope Zeke’s able to track them down.”

My stomach rolled like I was about to jump off a cliff. “And if Zeke doesn’t?”

L
ayla turned her face away
. There wasn’t a good answer, no way to offer comfort.

I stood, strode toward the door. “I’ll go home. Coyote will go back there to look for me. I’ll trade myself for her.” Hell, I’d walk all the way home if that’s what it took.

“You will not. Absolutely not.”

A strange pressure jolted against my skull, twisting my thoughts.

“What are you doing?” I gasped.

“I’m just telling you that you shouldn’t go home. This is the best place for you.”

I wouldn’t go home. Layla was right. But . . . I wanted to . . . There was a reason I needed to be at my house. My thoughts were sluggish. More pressure pummeled at my head, further slowing my brain.

“Stop,” I said, my voice feeble.

“Just sit down, E. Relax.”

I collapsed into the nearest chair.

This—whatever Layla was doing to my head—felt invasive. Powerful.

Like magic.

I didn’t want her in my head. My hands balled into fists as I forced my shaking limbs back up. I hated that I’d sat down when she told me to, just like a sweet little lap dog. Well, I wasn’t sweet, and I wasn’t her pet.

That new place that had sizzled to life during my skirmish with Coyote bubbled over. Layla stepped back, fear filling her eyes. My necklace hummed with a faint vibration I was beginning to recognize as the spirits stirring.

“You need to stop whatever’s going on up there.” Layla tapped her temple, her voice rising at the end to a squeak. “You’re letting Coyote know where you are. Turn it off!”

“Not until you stop using magic on me,” I grunted.

“Okay,” Layla said. She held up both hands. “No magic. Calm down, Echo.” Layla’s power pressed against mine, and my head pulsed in hot waves.

I tried to steady my breathing, regulate my thoughts. It was like wrangling a tiger back into a too-small cage. Sweat beaded across my forehead and upper lip, the back of my neck.

The deep yoga breaths only helped so much. The thing inside me quivered with need. It wanted out. It wanted to attack.

Layla continued to talk to me, her voice now much more soothing, but the words just as powerful against my overheated mind.

How could I not have noticed the pressure she exerted on me before?

I had noticed. Many times. I just hadn’t understood what was causing the earthquakes inside my skull. It wasn’t just my mom’s magic I’d been fighting. I’d fought Layla’s, too.

My mom said I’d always had migraines. I was eleven when the headaches hit with regularity. I’d talked my mom into tai chi classes. I’d studied the moves in one of the library books I brought home, after Layla had begun talking about the class she was in.

In the tai chi class, I hadn’t learned much more than the basic forms, which was too bad. Tai chi, like many of the martial arts, was supposed to help with control—something I’d always craved. Instead, I learned just how cruel preteen girls could be.

I’d been teased relentlessly about my petite frame—I was multiple inches shorter than the next girl. One, who was also eleven, towered over me by at least eight inches.

“You’re a sad little echo,” the girls used to laugh as they surrounded me, spinning. I’d fisted my hands and blinked back tears. “A sad little echo no one ever wanted,” they’d say. How they knew I didn’t have a father, I never knew, but I hated them for their comments.

The more the girls teased me, the more my head hurt. And then one day, I got black spots swimming in my periphery and I’d vomited all over the tall girl. She’d shrieked, crushing my skull with her high-pitched wail until I passed out. I’d never gone back to another tai chi class, but I still thought back on that moment as one of my best, regardless of the pain I’d endured.

Shaking my head as much to negate the feelings as to squash the memories, I gritted out, “You lied to me.” My tiger was caged, prowling, testing, but inside the limits of my control.

“Only to help,” Layla answered. She flung her arms out, exasperation clear in her every action, dripping from every syllable. “But you’ve got your pendant now. Plus, you know the truth. You’ll figure out how to use your powers.”

As long as Layla helped me find my mom, I wouldn’t argue more now.

Fear had already become my constant companion, gnawing its way through my chest. I couldn’t stop the image of my mother’s copper eyes wide with fear, mouth open in a silent scream. I cupped my elbows, trying to stop the shivers the image produced. This was my mom we were discussing. I could never intentionally let Coyote hurt her.

The tiger leapt, its sharp claws scoring at the flimsy walls of my mental barrier.

“Head hurt?”

I nodded, trying to breathe through the pain.

The lights flickered in their sconces. Layla stood, walking to the door, checking the handle to make sure it was latched.

“Oh, no,” she gasped, her eyes widening larger than I’d ever seen them.

“What?” I mumbled. Exhaustion pulled at me.

“Stay here, E. Don’t leave the house until I get back. Promise me.”

“You promised not to use magic on me. Stop it, Layla.” I rubbed my temples, trying to keep my brains from spilling out through my mouth.

“Zeke’s going to keep looking for your mom. Promise me you’ll stay in the house,” Layla said again, snatching up my hand and gripping my fingers in too tight. “You have to promise.”

“Yes,” I gasped.

Then I could feel her. My mother’s emotions were layered over mine. I could feel her worry for me. For Sotuk. Footsteps came closer; I could hear them getting louder. Lust and hatred rippled through the space between my mom and her captive. Coyote was there. My mother was trying to push me out of her head, out of her consciousness. Fear for me built even greater than before, consuming even her fear of Coyote.
Let go
, she chanted. I wouldn’t. I locked my jaw and hooked in tighter to my mom’s consciousness.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Layla walked toward the door, her eyes focused on something just beyond the fence. A figure. Waving.

“What?”

“I need to go.”

I stood, swaying, but implacable. My mom always said I had the strength of will of a much larger person. “I want to go with you.”

“You promised. Stay here. No matter what.”

“I’m coming with you,” I gritted. Suddenly, my mother’s fear coated my skin. It was thick and cold and horrible. I needed to sit. I couldn’t. I had to go with Layla. Mom. What was happening? Why was she so afraid? What would Coyote do to her?

The connection between us snapped, much like a string pulled past its limit. I gasped. Mom? Nothing. That brief moment when I’d been able to feel her was gone. And I was pretty sure she’d severed the connection herself.

“No you aren’t. Take a shower, Echo. You’ll feel better when you’re clean.”

I tottered forward, no more stable than a new colt. Still, no matter my condition, I wouldn’t be left behind.

“Look, you don’t know where to look or how to fight the demons. You’ll just be a liability.” I winced, but Layla plowed on, knowing she’d scored the winning point. “The best thing you can do right now is stay here, where you’re safe. That’ll free us up to do what we can to find Almira.”

Layla glanced at the beckoning figure, then down at me. With a sigh, she led me down a short hallway, and I followed like the well-trained puppy I didn’t want to be. But my head and heart hurt, and I was achy and filthy. Staying here—for now—made sense.

“Zeke would want you to use this one. It’s better.” She leveled me an unfathomable look. “His room.”

She led me into a bedroom, complete with a quilt-covered bed. It seemed big—larger than any I’d ever seen. Not that I’d seen that many beds. A chest of drawers stood against the closest wall. Made out of pale wood, it was tall but wide, featuring six deep drawers. A woven rug lay partially under the bed in the same earth tones as the quilt.

“Shower’s there,” Layla pointed to a door. She pushed open the next door and stepped back. I stepped more fully into the room, not really aware that Layla was no longer beside me.

The bathroom wasn’t like mine or any I’d seen at my aunties’ houses. Smoothed obsidian pebbles lined the floor, sloped toward a center drain. A large basin—more like a cistern—hung from the ceiling, piping dropped to the sink area’s large hand-pump. I pumped it once. A gush of cool water spilled over my hands and into the bowl. I washed my hands and face, unwilling to waste such a precious resource.

I was conditioned by my years of living in the drought-ridden Southwest. The extent of the water shortage there had taken its toll—fields lay unused and many houses within the city’s limit were banned from outdoor watering. Trees drooped and flowers wilted, making the entire community look sadder. Mom cried when her flowers died, big hot tears that seemed disproportionate to the withered lilies.

But maybe she hadn’t been crying for the flowers so much as the dying world she’d lived in most of her life.

“Thanks,” I said.

Layla didn’t answer. She wasn’t in the bathroom or Zeke’s bedroom. After searching the rest of the house, I wandered back into the bathroom.

Another set of piping led to what I assumed was the showerhead. The disk was shiny—likely made out of stainless steel or chrome. It was wide and attached directly to the pipe but a few feet lower.

There was a lever, one I’d struggle to reach, that appeared to be the on/off valve for the showerhead. I didn’t see any way to heat the water, but I couldn’t imagine Zeke living with cold showers. He lived in a world filled with magic; there must be something I was missing. I searched the room, looking for a heater or a hot-water tap.

Frustrated, I turned back to the counter and touched Zeke’s comb. It was smooth, made from some material like bone, the tines slightly uneven. He had one of those old-fashioned razors—the straight silver blade I’d only ever seen in pictures before. For a man with an ancient style of comb, I was surprised he shaved at all.

I continued surveying the room. Soap—check. Towels—over there on the wall. A brief prayer I wouldn’t freeze. After a long internal debate, I stripped out of my torn and dirty clothes. Being naked in someone else’s house was bizarre, almost prurient.

Now or never, I decided, reaching for the lever. As soon as I touched it, the strip of metal moved and a gurgle filled the pipes.

Water cascaded over me. Water barely warmer than the polar ice caps. My mouth opened and I gulped in a gallon of the iciness before I slammed my lips shut. Holy mother . . . That was so cold.

I would’ve jumped out of the direct line of water flow, but my legs were locked against the shivers racing up my limbs. As another gallon of icy water poured over my head and shoulders, my pendant burned, and the area around me hazed. I would’ve laughed if my lungs worked. The spirits thought the water was a threat. Maybe because I was fast approaching hypothermia.

The spirits twirled up the water like a reverse whirlpool. Luscious heat drifted over me and my body revved to life.

My shivering eased. Oh. Now this was so much better.

“Thank you,” I groaned.

I wasn’t sure about the necklace, really, but the spirits locked inside seemed to be useful. I covered my breasts with my hands as I sought one’s face. “Do you mind helping me?”

I felt their amusement.
It is our purpose. Worry not
.

Okay, well, that was good.

“Can you make all the water the same temperature?”

Of course. Then you won’t have such pebbled skin
.

My cheeks flamed hotter than the water. Being naked in front of anyone—even dead people—was very uncomfortable.

“Maybe you could, um, leave me alone?”

I was pretty sure the spirits laughed at me—probably for my prim views—but they slipped back into my necklace. I sighed, leaning back into the water. I enjoyed the cascade of hot water over my filthy hair. I turned toward the drain, lathering my body, careful of my hip and the other cuts on my arms and thighs.

Once the thick sand brought in by Coyote and his warriors no longer dripped from my head, I pushed the grit toward the drain. Leaving Zeke’s bathroom dirty didn’t seem like an appropriate return for his hospitality.

I massaged the soap into my tender scalp, unsure how long the water in the tank would last.

I could no longer reach the lever, which I’d pushed upward earlier to start the shower. Being short sucked major
culo
.

I gritted my teeth. Bathing was a much simpler task at home, thanks in part to intelligent design decisions like taps in the wall.

I stood up on tiptoe, but still couldn’t manage to grasp the metal bar. Stymied, water continued to cascade over my head and body.

Great. Zeke was going to kill me.

The heat leached from me, and I wrapped my arms around my chest. I pressed both my palms to the gray stone, sliding my wet fingers across the tiles. I shivered again.

“Enough,” I yelled.

The spout gurgled and the nozzle stopped dripping.

I glared up at it. Why hadn’t anyone bothered to tell me the shower was voice activated? I didn’t understand how that was possible. I mean, this place didn’t have electricity.

I stomped out of the shower and wrapped myself in one of Zeke’s towels. I paused at the door. The lever for the shower was still up. Standing on my tiptoes again, I managed to close the lever. A sneaking suspicion had me shove it back up.

No water dripped from the faucet. I pressed my lips together and nodded once, a grim acceptance.

The shower wasn’t voice activated. I’d used up all the water. Just perfect.

I grappled with the lever, ensuring it closed the valve in the off chance the water magically reappeared. What was the point of having magic if it didn’t make my life easier? My necklace made my life easier, so maybe it had magic in it. Unfortunately, I wasn’t sure how to call out the spirits on my own volition. So far, they’d just appeared.

I’d read once that moving to a foreign country felt like revisiting your early childhood years. Expatriates had to relearn language and even some simple tasks, like driving. This magic thing seemed harder than that. At least with driving or communicating, I understood the rules.