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Dace stands behind me torn between doing what he thinks is right and upsetting me further, he slips his arms under Wolf until they’re pressed close to mine. His face inches away, his breath warming my cheek, he glances between the poor dying animal and me, saying, “Daire, do you know whose spirit animal this is?”
Remembering how Paloma once stressed the importance of keeping one’s spirit animal a secret, I look to Raven for guidance. Shocked to find him lingering nearby, along with Dace’s Horse, Django’s Bear, my grandfather’s Jaguar, and a golden-eyed Eagle that reminds me so much of Chay’s ring, I figure it must belong to him—the sight of them gathered together making my eyes brim with tears.
It looks like the end, like a memorial of some kind—but it can’t be—not while Wolf is still alive.
“Do you know them?” Dace follows my gaze to the strange menagerie of animals. Watching the way they circle and pace, Jaguar and Bear growling and anxious.
“Yes.” I turn to him, trying not to give too much away. “They care about Wolf and his human attachment as much as I do.”
Dace looks at me, his eyes reflecting my sadness too many times.“Well that person is very lucky to have so many caring beings on their side,” he says, voice edged with regret when he adds, “but you still can’t move him.” He glances at Wolf, frowning when he sees his eyes are now shut as his head hangs limp on my chest. “If you try to bring him back, he’ll die. He’s too weak to survive the journey. Daire, I’m sorry, but if you insist on doing that, you’ll only succeed at putting them both at greater risk.”
“So, what am I supposed to do?” I ask, the words laced with anger, though it’s more at the situation than the messenger.
“Accept the natural progression,” he says, his voice soft and low.
“Not happening.” I shake my head. “There’s no way. Besides, you’re the one who said it was strange—that there’s nothing natural about this.”
He sighs, more out of sadness than frustration, saying, “Daire—is this about Paloma? Is she in some kind of trouble?”
I swallow hard, bury my face in the wolf’s coarse white fur, my tears turning it clumpy and damp.
Taking my silence as a yes, he says, “Okay, here’s what you do: You head back and find Leftfoot so you can tell him you found Paloma’s Wolf. You describe the location, Wolf’s condition, and tell him that I, along with Bear, Jaguar, Eagle, and Raven, are watching over him—and he might be able to help. But, Daire, you need to know, there’s no guarante
e.”
“How do you know about Leftfoot?” I ask, wondering what else he might know about this strange new world I’m only just learning to navigate for myself.
“He’s my great-uncle. My grandpa Jolon’s brother. He’s the only one Chay would trust to look after Paloma, besides my mom. But Chepi doesn’t do healings anymore. Not since she got pregnant with Cade and me.”
I’m about to tell him that from what I saw earlier, Chepi’s come out of retirement, or at least temporarily. But before I can get to it, he says, “Paloma’s been good to my family. She’s been a huge support to my mom. We’ll get through this, okay? I promise to help in every way that I can.”
My throat is too tight to reply, so I nod my consent. Allowing him to lift me onto Horse, his hands strong and sure, as he says, “There are quicker ways to get where you need to go, but it’s best if you exit this place the same way you came. Horse will know where to take you, so no worries there.”
I reach for Horse’s mane, my gaze meeting Dace’s when he says, “Daire…”
I blink back the tears, swallow past the lump in my throat, seeing the full range of sentiment displayed in his gaze, all the things he longs to tell me—but instead he just says, “Good luck.”
Then he slaps Horse on the rear, and I ride like the wind.
forty-five
When I reach the reservation, I burst through the door of the small adobe, confronting Chay with a torrent of words so jumbled, he’s forced to put a hand on my shoulder and coax me into the nearest chair until I can calm down enough to start again.
“I found Paloma’s Wolf,” I tell him, my breath slowing as his eyes grow wide. “He’s in bad shape, but he’s being looked after by Dace, along with a couple other spirit animals, including your Eagle.”
At the sound of her son’s name, Chepi peeks around the corner, her gaze meeting mine, holding the look, until Chay summons Leftfoot into the room and tells me to repeat the same thing to him. After describing the location as well as I can, Leftfoot takes off, leaving specific instructions for his apprentice, Chay, and Chepi to look after Paloma, as I stand in her doorway, my heart plummeting when I see her looking so much smaller than before. Even in the dim, flickering glow of the candles placed all around her, she looks paler, weaker. Her breath coming too shallow, too slow, reduced to a horrible rattling sound that emanates from deep in her chest.
I drop beside her, enclose her hand in mine. My throat gone so lumpy and tight I can’t get to the words. My vision so frantic and blurry, the room swims before me.
“She was doing better. We were sure she’d made the turn, but then…” Chay looks at me, his eyes filled with sorrow. “I’m afraid she’s not long for this world.”
I shake my head. Refuse to believe it. Glaring at him when I say, “No. No! I won’t let her go. She can’t—not now—not when I’m just getting to know her! Leftfoot will fix her Wolf, and Paloma will be healed—you’ll see!”
He squeezes my shoulder, his voice saddened but even. “I’m sorry, Daire. But from what you said about Wolf’s condition, I’m afraid it won’t be much longer.”
His eyes meet mine, revealing the full depth of his loss, the truth behind his words, but I cannot—will not—accept it. “Why can’t they heal her? Why can’t she heal herself? Why can’t someone make some mystical medicine or something?” My eyes search the room, accusing everyone in it. The medicine man’s apprentice running a wildly spinning pendulum up and down Paloma’s body, pausing on each of her chakras, his brow creased as he turns on occasion and makes odd, little spitting sounds. Even Chepi, who sits in a corner, her eyes clamped shut, hands waving before her, as her lips move in silent communion. Each of them employing the same ritual I’ve seen Paloma work to help others—so why is it not helping her? Returning to Chay when I add, “She’s a healer. A Seeker. How could this happen? How’d she get sick in the first place?”
He takes a deep breath, nodding in a way that encourages me to slow down, calm down, and take a breath too. When my energy settles, he says, “Healers do all that they can to keep themselves strong, grounded, and well. Good health allows them to do what they do. But, once they fall ill, they’re forced to seek help just like anyone else. Leftfoot will tend to Wolf as best he can, but some things are not for us to decide. The toll of losing Django—of having to keep her powers going for much longer than normal—have come at a price. She’s suffered significant soul loss. I’m afraid there’s nothing more to do but let her transition into the next world as comfortably and easily as possible.”
