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Our exodus mocked by Cade’s taunting voice, calling, “Run, brother! Run all you want. But you’ll never escape me. I’m your Echo—always with you—always watching.”
eight
“How long have you known?” Dace paces his small functional kitchen. Taking two steps to the old stove, one from there to the ancient white fridge, three more to the stained porcelain sink, and then one and a half to the stove again, where he pauses, rubs a weary hand over his eyes, and shoots me a look so conflicted, I hesitate to meet it.
I drop onto a chair next to the carved wooden table that’s nearly identical to the one in Leftfoot’s adobe, wishing Dace would come join me. But realizing he won’t even consider it until I provide some of the answers he seeks, I take a fortifying breath and say, “Paloma told me about the circumstance of your birth—about Leandro altering Chepi’s perception long enough to seduce her.”
“Seduce her?” Dace whirls on me, his face a mask of outrage. “He raped her. Chepi was a sixteen-year-old virgin that day. She wasn’t looking for trouble.”
I shrink under his gaze, then force myself to straighten again, determined to explain. “I didn’t mean it like that—like it was some romantic tryst. What I meant to say is that he lured her. He lured her with witchcraft and black magick. The Richters know how to change people’s perception—they’ve been doing it for centuries. It’s how they rule this town and nearly everyone in it. It’s how Cade made us think the spring was still enchanted when it had already been corrupted. Leandro fed into her dreams, allowed her to see what she most wanted to see, and then, once she was completely enthralled…” I leave the sentence unfinished, seeing no reason to illustrate.
Dace waves it away, batting the empty space before him, his eyes fatigued and red-rimmed in a way I’ve never seen them. “I’m the product of violence.” He shakes his head, his gaze cold and empty. “There’s no getting around it. I never should’ve been born.”
“Don’t say that!” I grip the table hard, fighting the urge to leap over the counter that separates us and hug him tightly to me.
Right now he’s an island—a population of one. He wouldn’t welcome the intrusion.
“Do you know how much easier her life would’ve been without me?” His voice is flat and dull. “Every time she looks at me she’s reminded of the worst day of her life.”
“I don’t believe that,” I say. “And you shouldn’t either.”
He dismisses my meaningful look, saying, “Really, Daire? Just how am I supposed to see it?” Practically spitting the words.
I sit quietly, refusing to rise to the bait. I just stare at my hands, noting the way my finger grows more swollen and red with each passing second.
“And, while we’re on the subject, how am I supposed to feel knowing you knew all of this and couldn’t bother to tell me?”
I tip my chin until my gaze meets his. Aware that the word sorry doesn’t quite cut it, but it’s all that I’ve got. “I wish I’d told you, believe me, I do. I wish you never had to find out this way.” I shake my head and sigh. “Thing is, Paloma made me promise not to tell you. She said you’re a truly good and pure soul, and that it wasn’t my place. In this case, I’m sorry I listened to her instead of my heart.”
“A good and pure soul?” He scowls. “I’m an abomination! The result of an act so evil—”
“You’re not!” I cry, refusing to let him venture along that path. “That’s your brother, not you.” I shift my gaze to his arm, staring at the place where Coyote attacked. Wishing he’d let me do something to tend to it, but when I tried, he waved me away, reached for a dish towel and wrapped it around the wound.
“He’s a monster.” He unwraps the blood-soaked dish towel and drops it into the sink, before replacing it with a clean one. And though the words came out like a statement, his gaze holds a question.
“He is.” I nod to confirm it.
“And yet, we’re an Echo of each other.”
I sit silently, kneading the worn linoleum floor with the toe of my shoe, having no idea how to respond.
His voice bleak and hollow, he says, “We can’t see each other anymore.”
The words come out of nowhere.
Slamming me sideways.
Knocking me senseless.
“What?” I stare blankly. Aware of the floor shifting under my feet, threatening to drop out from under me, swallow me whole.
“I’m sorry, Daire, but we have no choice. I have to protect you, and the only way I can do that is by refusing to see you.”
His words leave me mute. Unable to do anything more than gape.
“I’m not completely in the dark here, you know.” He swipes a hand through his hair, scrunches his brow, as his gaze drifts from mine. “I’ve heard whispers through the years. Seen the way the elders, Leftfoot especially, looked at me when they thought I was too busy to notice. I was a quiet kid. A loner, a reader, a thinker—all of which made it easy to go unnoticed. I became very good at eavesdropping, collecting random bits and pieces through the years that never made any sense until now. I always knew I was different, I just didn’t know how different. I also had this profound understanding that I was headed for an unusual destiny, and while I still don’t know exactly what that is—it’s all starting to come together. The puzzle I’ve been sorting for years is now that much closer to completion.”
I look at him, so bereft I have no idea what to say.
