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Chepi shrugs. Her shoulders rising and falling, she says, “We’ve had sixteen peaceful years together—for that I am grateful.” She reaches for my cheek with a palm that’s soft and dry. And when she fusses at my hair, I don’t try to stop it. Her touch brings great comfort. “Despite where we find ourselves now, I’m determined that more peace will follow. Leandro has claimed my past, but he will not claim my future—nor will he claim yours.” Her voice is determined in a way I rarely hear, her irises deepening, reminding me of freshly turned earth. “I’ve already started the prep work.”
I slant my gaze toward Leftfoot, seeing he’s just as out of the loop on this one as I am.
“I haven’t observed the Day of the Dead for many years. But after leaving you that morning with Daire, just after Paloma’s soul was returned, I held a small ritual of my own.”
I lean closer, trying to guess what that means.
“I called upon Jolon.” She lifts her chin high. “I’ve sensed his presence through the years—his spirit is everywhere, just as I’ve taught you…” Her voice drifts as she absently rubs her thumb over the carved turquoise hummingbird she wears on her index finger. “I appealed for his protection, and ever since, I’ve felt the power of his lion looking after us. But, Dace, make no mistake—they exist merely in spirit. You and Daire are our last real defense against him and the rest of the Richters. There’s no use denying it.”
She falls quiet, leaving me to sort through her words. And though it wasn’t at all what I expected to hear, I’m mostly caught on the part about Jolon’s lion guiding us. Under the circumstances, that can’t be good.
“The Lowerworld is corrupted,” I say. “Daire and I were there yesterday. We’ve been going nearly every day—or, at least, Daire has.” I pick at the crude bandage I wear on my arm, its edges already fraying, the middle stained red with my blood. All too aware of the way I used her name twice.
It’s a sign of being in love. Acting as though the mere mention of a person can conjure their presence. When, in this case, the only thing it conjures is a breathtaking image of her lying beneath me—cheeks flushed, lips pink and inviting, eyes green and glittering, skin soft and welcoming under the press of my fingers …
I shake free of the thought. Vow to use her name as little as possible. There’s no telling how much that little reverie cost me.
“The place is polluted,” I continue. “And the spirit animals are infected as well. Horse is useless. He no longer guides me. They’re all useless—skittish, freaked-out, inept.”
That’s all Chepi needs to remove the hummingbird ring she’s worn for as long as I’ve known her. Plunking it down on the table, as Leftfoot makes a sign over the buckskin pouch he wears at his neck, the sight prompting me to think of Daire once again.
She’s still wearing her pouch. Maybe I should tell her—warn her that it puts her at risk.
I shake my head. Scrub my hands over my face. I’ve got to stop this. Got to stop making excuses to think of her, see her. Paloma’s looking after her. Chay too from what I saw earlier. She’s in good hands.
I need to focus on protecting her in other ways.
Bigger ways.
Ways that truly matter.
I stare at Chepi’s ring—a relic from my childhood I’d grown used to seeing, only now it looks different. As though it contains a whole cache of secrets I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. My head so full, my thoughts so conflicted, I’m only half listening to myself when I say, “The animals are so corrupted they’re no longer reliable.”
My attention claimed by Leftfoot pushing away from the table. “Then we’ll have to rely on ourselves,” he says, heading toward the door and motioning for me to follow.
sixteen
Daire
When the drive goes on for too long, when Chay continues to meander down a series of unfamiliar dirt roads, taking increasingly confusing turns, I face him and say, “I thought you said Paloma was waiting?”
He shoots me a patient look. “She is.”
“So—where exactly is it she’s waiting? Clearly you’re not taking me home.”
“We’re headed for the falls,” he says, as though that makes perfect sense, when in truth it makes none.
“Can you give me a little more to go on?” I try to quell my growing alarm, along with the nervous chill running through me. This is reminding me an awful lot of how my vision quest went down. And despite getting through it and emerging renewed, that’s not to say I enjoyed it.
Chay reaches toward me, his eagle ring glinting when he pats me on the knee. “I texted Paloma when I saw you in Gifford’s. She told me to take you to the falls—said she’d meet us there.”
“You guys text?” I swing toward him. I know it’s not supposed to be the part I focus on—still, I never would’ve guessed.
Chay laughs. “Yeah, we text. We Facebook too. Though we draw the line at Twitter.”
I shake my head. Force myself to focus, get back on track. “So, what will we do there, once we reach these falls?”
He looks at me. “Paloma will explain when we g
