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And worse, do they truly believe I’m incapable of defending myself?
I grip the wheel tighter, glaring at the side of the building as I punch hard on the gas, forcing the pedal all the way to the floor. Wanting nothing more than to crash through that fake adobe exterior, smash that stupid sign to bits, along with all the Richters inside.
But at the very last moment, I swing a hard U and head away from downtown.
Making my way to the reservation, in search of answers that are long overdue.
fourteen
Daire
By the time we exit the liquor store with the cigarettes secured in my bag, Dace is gone. Hopefully headed back to school, having realized the huge risk he takes by following me.
Thinking of me.
Loving me.
I follow Chay into the bookstore, where he proceeds to meander the aisles, peering at the kind of titles I’m pretty sure he has no interest in. Loitering in a way that makes me wonder why he decided to bring me here in the first place.
When the redheaded woman working the register calls to some unseen person in back—saying something about heading over to Gifford’s to buy a roll of stamps—I can’t help but notice the way Chay perks up as she exits. Darting for the counter the second the door closes behind her, he approaches it with a purpose I can’t even fathom. Then smiles in greeting when a man with jet-black hair and eyes to match slips from behind the curtain, his gaze slanting toward me in question.
“Daire Santos.” Chay bends his head toward me.
“Lucio Whitefeather.” The man nods, gripping my hand in a nice, firm shake.
“Whitefeather?” I glance between him and Chay.
“Lucio is Leftfoot’s son,” Chay mumbles, as he guides me through the curtain, into a back room that, from the looks of it, seems to do triple duty as a storeroom, a break room, and a shipping center, judging by the number of large cardboard boxes strewn all about.
“Good timing,” Lucio says. “Just got some new arrivals.”
I watch as they hover over the box, cutting through thick bands of brown tape, only to reveal … books?
“I don’t get it.” I screw my mouth to the side. Try to make sense of it. “What’s with all the secrecy?”
Lucio looks between Chay and me, taking the lead when he says, “The Richters don’t just control the town—they control what’s sold in town.”
I gaze at the stacks of books with brightly colored covers—books about mastering one’s destiny, creating a better world from the inside out—a far cry from the kinds of books I’d expect.
“So, you’re saying that in addition to their long list of evil deeds—they’re now book banners too?”
“They’ve banned anything they consider too inspirational or too informational.” Lucio and Chay exchange a private look. “They don’t want the people empowered. That wouldn’t bode well for them.”
“So they censor?”
“Ever listen to Enchantment radio?” Lucio asks.
I shake my head. It never even occurred t
o me to do so. I’m pretty much married to my iPod.
“It’s filled with all the music and all the news they see fit to share. The town paper’s no better.”
“Okay, but still—why all the secrecy? Why not just order this stuff online and have all the self-help, inspirational books you desire delivered right to your door?”
“They run the local post office and the local Internet provider as well.”
My eyes grow wide. Sheesh. I knew this town was bad. I knew the Richters were evil. But I guess I never knew just how far it went. They’re complete and total fascists. One more reason to get myself to the Rabbit Hole and do what I came here to do.
