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Onto the … toilet seat?
I sit up straighter, gaze around wildly, wondering what I’m doing here, in this stall, and why Dace is here with me.
I start to stand, but my head’s too dizzy, refuses to allow it, and it’s only a second later when I’m down again. Landing so awkwardly my foot kicks at something that rolls across the ground.
A jar.
An empty jar.
And then I remember. I remember it all.
“I have to go—” I push against him as hard as I can, which, in my weakened state, isn’t hard at all. Visions of Coyote, demons,
and long-dead Richters flooding my mind. And when I get to the part where his twin licked slimy globs of gore from his fingers, I say it again and push harder this time. But for the moment anyway, he’s stronger than me.
“Relax,” he coos, voice hushed, soothing—a melody hummed solely for me. “There’s no rush. Take all the time you need to gather your strength, get your bearings again.”
“No. Really—I have to…” I look at him, having no idea how to explain. “I have to find Xotichl,” I say. It’s the first reasonable thing that springs to mind.
“Xotichl’s gone.” He squints in study. “The club closed a while ago. I was just making final rounds when I found you. What happened?” he asks, voice laced with concern.
“I…”
I merged with a cockroach—caught a ride next to your twin’s Calvin Klein underwear label—and after I watched him play with a demon coyote and snack on bloodied bits that could’ve been either animal or human, he fed glowing, white orbs to the walking dead—then crushed me under the heel of his boot …
“I’m not sure,” I say, willing my head to feel better, to stop spinning, and a moment later it does. “I guess I passed out, or something…” I cringe, hating the lie but knowing there’s no way I could ever present him the truth.
I start to stand, pretending not to notice when he offers a hand. “I need to call my ride.” I fumble for my phone, reluctant to bother Paloma and Chay at this hour, but they’re pretty much my only real option.
“Don’t be silly. I’ll drive you.” Dace follows me out of the stall, watching as I call Paloma’s number, then Chay’s—face scrunching in confusion when they both fail to answer. It doesn’t make any sense.
“Daire—why won’t you let me help you?” he says. My name on his lips sounding just like it did in the dream. Our eyes meeting in the mirror, mine astonished, his chagrined, when he adds, “Yeah. I asked around. Uncovered your real name. So shoot me.”
And when he smiles, when he smiles and runs a nervous hand through his glossy, dark hair—well, I’m tempted to shake my head and refuse him again.
Maybe he goes by the name of Whitefeather, but technically, he’s still a Richter. A good Richter—a kind Richter—still, I need to do what I can to avoid him. To ignore that irresistible stream of kindness and warmth that swarms all around him.
Need to cleanse myself of those dreams once and for all. We are not bound. Nor are we fated. I’m a Seeker—he’s the spawn of a Richter—and my only destiny is to stop his brother from … whatever it is that he’s doing.
But, more immediately, I need to get home. And there’s no denying I could do a lot worse than catching a ride with gorgeous Dace Whitefeather.
Dropping the phone in my bag, I reluctantly nod my consent. Heading out the door as I ask, “Are we the last to leave?” I survey the club, noting how different it looks now that it’s empty. Wondering if Cade’s holed up in his office, watching us from his wall of screens.
“Naw, my cousin Gabe is still here. Probably Marliz too, since they’re engaged. But Raul, my uncle, is always the last one out. Especially on the nights when Leandro leaves early.”
I wait for him to mention Cade, but the name never comes, and it’s not like I’m about to bring it up. “Sounds like you come from a really big family,” I say, wanting to learn more about that family—greedy for whatever he’s willing to divulge.
He holds the door open, exiting behind me when he says, “Feels like I meet a new member every day.” He laughs—the sound magnetic and deep, the kind of laugh you want to hear again and again. “I grew up on the reservation—my mom and I lived in our own little world, which didn’t leave room for much else. But when I hit my teens, I wanted more. And after some initial reluctance, my mom agreed to let me go to Milagro. That’s when I learned I had this whole other family.”
“That must’ve been … strange.” I peer at him sideways, the question more baited than it seems.
“It was.” He shrugs. “Strange is definitely the best word to describe it.” He falls quiet, stares into the distance.
“So you still live on the reservation?” I ask, desperate to keep the conversation going, remembering how Paloma failed to say either way.
“Only when I visit my mom. The rest of the time I rent a small room in town, paid for with what I earn working here.”
My stare hardens; I have no idea how to reply. Shocked that he’d go to all that trouble, work so hard for his creep of a brother, just so he could attend a school that hasn’t been all that accepting of him.
