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Xotichl sucks in her breath, while I brace for an onslaught of denials and anger that fail to appear.
“Wow,” she says, her heavily made-up eyes surveying me with a hint of approval. “You really don’t take any crap, do you?”
I glance at Dace who’s watching me intently and knowing it’s true, and that I have Jennika’s influence to thank, I say, “Nope, I really don’t.” I meet her gaze again.
“So, we’re good, then?” she asks in a voice that’s ridiculously hopeful. So hopeful I’m pretty sure she didn’t believe me—still thinks I have unlimited access to Vane Wick, or whoever else she might have in mind.
But not wanting to start up again, I say, “Yeah. Sure. We’re good.”
She nods. Smiles. Starts to move away, then turns back as though a thought just occurred to her. “I’ll look for you at the Rabbit Hole. You know, tomorrow night, for Day of the Dead? You’ll be there, right?” Her eyes drift from me, to Xotichl and Dace, acknowledging them as though she hadn’t realized they’d been sitting there all along. “I thought we could maybe hang out?”
I gape, rendered dumbstruck by the offer. Eventually gathering my wits enough to say, “Sure. Whatever.” Watching as she retreats and thinking how my prospects for tomorrow night keep getting weirder.
Xotichl whistles under her breath, saying, “I’m not one to shock easily, but that was just…” She screws her lips to the side, drums her nails against the side of her water bottle, searching for just the right word.
“Oddly sincere,” Dace supplies, his gaze finding mine.
I lift my shoulders, having no idea if he’s right, but then nothing in this town is ever what it appears.
The moment broken by the shrill sound of the bell, telling us it’s time to pack up and move on.
forty-two
When I reach my last class, independent study, the one I share with Dace, there’s no denying the excitement I feel at the prospect of seeing him again. But my excitement soon turns to disappointment when I find his chair empty. For whatever reason, independent study is not on his agenda today.
I claim the table near the back and retrieve my book from my bag. Determined to settle in for a nice long read, but not getting very far before my mind wanders back to Paloma.
I have to help her.
As her granddaughter—as a Seeker—there must be something I can do.
Something more than sitting idly in this room, being babysat by a video monitor.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and bolt for the door. My classmates staring in shock, as the strict surveillance of the all-seeing camera tracks my escape. Making my way down the series of halls, I burst through the double doors and blaze past the guard, trying to come up with some kind of plan.
While I may not know how to stop the Richters from invading the Lowerworld, I’m still a day away from their being able to do so. And since that’s the place where Raven lives, and since it’s his job to guide me, I figure it’s as good a place to start as any.
Only I have no idea how to get there.
My only other visit was the soul journey when I drank Paloma’s tea.
Knowing of only one other way I might be able to find it, I head for her house, sneak through the gate without Jennika knowing, and go straight for Kachina’s stall where I toss on a bridle and hop on her back. Smoothing my hand over her brown and white mane, I press my mouth to her ear, and say, “Take me there. Take me to the cave of my vision quest so I can consult with my ancestors.”
* * *
The second I get to the cave, I leap past the grainy, white border and head straight for the wall featuring my long list of ancestors with their spirit animals lined up beside them. My eyes grazing over Valentina, Esperanto, Piann, Mayra, Maria, Diego, Gabriella, all the way down to Paloma, Django, and me. Holding the pouch at my neck with one hand and shaking the rattle with the other, I call them to me—letting them know that I need their assistance—need them to show me how to make my way to the Lowerworld.
I sit beside them, back propped against the wall, legs sprawled before me. Forcing my mind to go quiet and still—shut down the restlessness that often plagues me and remain open to some kind of sign. Instantly alerted to a gentle nudge of wind that twists into the cave. Swirling and lingering before me, making sure I take notice, before breezing right past, wafting all the way to the place in back where the ceiling meets the dirt.
The wind is my element. According to Paloma that makes me a daughter of the wind—something she was very excited about. But one look at that solid wall of rock—so dense and forbidding—is enough to make my head fill with doubt.
No way will that budge.
No way will it lead to a mystical land hidden deep underneath.
It’s not like I didn’t touch it before. Last time I was here, I made the full rounds, ran my hands over every square inch in an attempt to see how big the cave was. Yet that was before I knew the full truth of how the world works. Before I learned how to focus on the unseeable, the unknown—how to coax it into my immediate field of consciousness, until it presents itself.
And it’s not long before that seemingly impenetrable stone wall wavers before me, as my buckskin pouch begins to throb like a heartbeat. A solid reminder that I need to stop seeing with my eyes. Stop running everything through my logical mind and start trusting what I know in my heart—no matter how improbable it may seem.
