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Only to watch her face pale even further when she says, “He’s prepping them…”
Her lids droop as her gaze grows so cloudy and vacant. I know I should let her rest, but I also know it’s important, so I shake her shoulder and plead, “Paloma—please, hang in there—what’s he prepping them for?”
Her lips move, but her voice is so faint I’m forced to press my ear to her lips and beg her to repeat it.
“Día de los Muertos,” she says, the words a croaked whisper.
“Day of the Dead, yeah—what abou
t it?” I urge, my tone frantic, eager. She’s slipping away, drifting into that painless place of sleep, and while I can’t say I blame her, I also can’t let her go there—not yet anyway.
I cup my hand to her cheek, press my ear directly to her lips. Struggling to piece together the words when she says, “He’s prepping them … the glowing objects … the white orbs…”
“Yes? Paloma, please, what is it?” I beg, holding my breath.
She fumbles for the soft, buckskin pouch she wears at her neck—her fingers curling around it in a bid for one last burst of strength—receiving it when she says, “They’re souls, nieta. He’s feeding them souls. Human souls. He’s prepping them to invade the Lowerworld, and he will use the magick of that day to do so. What happens in one dimension ultimately affects all the others. It’s a sacred balance the Richters will start to corrupt the moment they gain access—allowing havoc to rule in the Lowerworld, the Upperworld, and the Middleworld too. If he succeeds, it’s just a matter of time before they expand their influence, and once that occurs, it’s the end of the world as we know it.”
forty
When I exit Paloma’s room, Jennika takes one look at my face, and says, “Listen, Daire, I know you’re worried about her, but I’m sure she’ll be fine, and we really need to get out of here, so…”
“I’m not leaving.” I push past her, barely pausing long enough to look at her when I add, “I’m staying in Enchantment and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Excuse me?” She grabs my arm, swings me around until I’m facing her again. Her brow shooting halfway up her forehead, misreading my words as a challenge even though I meant what I said.
I’m staying. I have no plans to leave. It’s as simple as that.
And yet there’s really no use in arguing. It’ll just make her more stubborn, cause her to dig her spiked heels in even further. So I soften my tone when I add, “At least not until she gets better. When I’m sure she’s okay, then fine, whatever. But not before then.” My gaze meets hers, and I hope she can’t see the lie behind the words. The things Paloma told me have left me shaken to the core, but there’s no way to explain it to Jennika.
When Paloma gets better—and she will get better—she has to, I can’t do this without her—when that day comes, Jennika and I will negotiate again.
I plop down on the chair the medicine man vacated when he went to check on Paloma with his assistant and Chepi in tow. Fully determined to wait it out here, to not budge from this seat until I’m sure she’s turned the corner. But it’s not long before Chay places a hand on my shoulder and insists I go home.
“Get some sleep,” he says. “It meant a lot for her to see you, but now that she has, there’s nothing more you can do. Leftfoot, the medicine man, is doing all that he can. It’s far more important for you to rest up before school.”
The way he says school—well, I know he’s thinking the same thing I am: School equals Cade, and I need to keep a close eye on him.
School also equals Dace—though that’s really not something I can think about now.
And it’s not long before he’s bundling Jennika and me back into the rental car, promising to call at the first sign of change, as Jennika sighs long and loud and pulls away from the curb. Continuing her chorus of sighs all the way back to Paloma’s, though I do my best to ignore her.
I just wait until she pulls into the drive, then I bid a quick good night and make for my room. Only to find a beautiful, carved wooden chest placed next to my bed that Paloma must’ve put there before she fell ill.
I run my hands over the top, my throat closing in on itself when I look inside and find it filled with the same kinds of things she keeps in her office. There’s a small black-and-white hand-painted rawhide rattle on a long wooden stick; a large drum bearing the face of a purple-eyed raven stretched over a round wooden frame; three beautiful feathers bearing tags that identify them as a swan feather to be used for transformative powers, a raven feather bearing magickal powers, and an eagle feather used for sending prayers; along with what looks to be a pendulum with a chunk of amethyst attached to the end—all of it lying on a soft, handwoven blanket, including a small, white card from Paloma that reads:
Nieta—
These are but some of the tools you will use on your journey as a Seeker. Soon I will teach you how to use them all—their power will amaze you!
I am so very proud of you.
Paloma
I gaze upon it, my eyes burning with unspent tears, wondering if Paloma will last long enough to teach me. Other than the rattle, I have no idea what to do with any of it. For someone who’s supposed to be brimming with untapped potential—I feel just the opposite. Powerless. Useless. With no idea how to access the gifts of my ancestral legacy. Unable to do anything more than collapse on my bed.
Jennika was right.
She was right all along.
