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She’s changed. Looks really different from the way I remember. Her hair is still wild, but the red streaks are new. And she’s definitely taller. Prettier too. Like the baby fat that once padded her cheeks migrated to other, more womanly places, allowing her face to rearrange itself into a series of sharp pleasing angles and curves.
I swipe a hand over my chin. Try to stop looking, but it’s no use. It’s like watching a ghost swoop down from the past, and all I can do is stand there and stare. Reminding myself it meant nothing, we were just kids, didn’t really know what we were doing.
Okay, maybe not exactly kids.
Kids don’t do what we did.
Still, a lot of time has passed. And during that time, a lot of things have changed. Actually, everything’s changed. Or at least it has for me. And, from the looks of her, she’s met with change too.
She says hello, allowing her gaze to move among us, before landing on me, where it stays long enough to take a full inventory. Holding the look just a few seconds too long—long enough for everyone to notice—before she clears her throat and says, “So … does this mean you guys are all friends now? How did that happen?”
“Daire made it happen.” Xotichl tilts her chin and scrunches her nose as she accesses Phyre’s energy. And from the way she fails to relent, I’m guessing she doesn’t approve of what she sees. “Daire is Dace’s girlfriend.” The words so unmistakably pointed, Phyre rubs her lips together and shifts her gaze to her feet.
“Then I’m sure she’s amazing,” Phyre says, her eyes glittering just a little too brightly. “So, can anyone show me where the office is? I need to register.”
She turns her focus on me, hoping I’ll volunteer, but I pretend not to hear. I just watch as Lita nudges Jacy hard in the side, and a second later she and Crickett are leading her away.
Barely making it out of earshot when Xotichl frowns, and Lita says, “I don’t like this.” She stares after them, lips twitching from side to side. “I don’t like what it could possibly mean for me.” Her words purposely leading, practically begging Xotichl and me to ask her to explain. But we know we don’t need to. Lita has every intention to continue. She’s merely filtering the thoughts in her head. “I mean, look how she just waltzes right up and blends in. She was always flitting from clique to clique, blending with everyone so flippin’ easily. It took me years to even consider acknowledging you guys.” She stops, realizes what she just said. Then shrugging, she adds, “No offense. But still…”
She drones on, weighing the pros and cons of Phyre’s sudden reappearance—how it might impact her own popularity. Either compl
etely unaware that no one’s really listening—or well beyond caring that Xotichl’s lost in her own train of thoughts, as I fight like hell not to turn around and look at Daire.
Part of me aching to see her—part of me knowing it’s the last thing we need.
Unfortunately, the first part wins. Driven by the weight of Daire’s gaze upon me, begging me to turn. To look. And, without further hesitation, I do.
And I keep on looking long after Chay drives her away, blotting her out of my view.
twenty-four
Daire
“Once kindled, Fire is fast acting and quick to consume all in its path. It burns, scorches, singes, and transforms by altering the structure of all that it touches. In moderation, it provides comfort, warmth, and illumination. In excess, it blazes an unholy path of destruction.”
Paloma bends toward the row of hand-dipped candles she’s placed on the battered wooden table in her office. Their wicks sizzling and sparking when met with the flaming end of the long wooden match she wields in her hand.
“Fire can also be used for scrying.” She looks at me, a small smile lighting her eyes. “Most any object can be used in this way, but fire adds a certain intensity, a certain animated quality you don’t often get from a rock or a crystal. So, tell me, nieta, when you look into the flame, what do you see?”
I purse my lips and peer at the line of candles before me. Trying to take the exercise seriously, since there’s so much at stake, but still not wanting to lie, I say, “Probably not what you want me to see.” Lifting my shoulders when I add, “There’s a base of blue that leads to a yellow-white tip that wavers about.”
“Good.” She grins. “That’s all you’re meant to see. Or at least for the moment, anyway. Much like you did with the pendulum, you will ask the Fire a question. But instead of the yes or no response of the pendulum, the Fire will show you images that will provide the information you seek.”
I lift a brow, knowing better than to question her. Still, these lessons just seem to get weirder and weirder.
“And just like with the pendulum, it’s important to remember that the Fire is only providing the wisdom that lives deep inside you. It’s the same with the talismans you wear in your pouch. None of these things can impart attributes or answers you don’t already possess—rather, they bring forth the powers that exist deep within you. There will come a time, nieta, when you are so in tune with yourself and your connection to all living things that you will no longer need to rely on these tools unless you seek clarification. But as you are not quite there yet, I want you to take a series of deep, cleansing breaths. I want you to clear your mind and center yourself. Then, when you are ready, I want you to choose one of the flames to gaze upon, allowing your focus to naturally settle. And instead of asking a question of the Fire, I want you to ask the Fire to reveal whatever it deems worthy of showing you. Just keep your mind open. Allow the information to flow. Can you do it?”
I nod. I’m already doing it. Already taking deep, calming breaths. Already aware of the way my muscles instantly soften and relax. The way my vision begins to widen before narrowing down to one single point.
Concentrating on a solitary flame snaking before me. Drawn to its heat, its essence, its spirited dance—striving to connect and merge with its very crux. Until everything fades except this lone flicker.
I’ve barely finished bidding a quick, silent plea for it to share its knowledge, when a face begins to form. A dark and haunted beautiful face with deep luminous eyes that gaze hard into mine. Though just when I’ve grasped hold of the image, the face fades, allowing a fleeting trace of a raccoon to stand in its place.
“It’s Valentina!” I gasp, gazing upon one of the first recorded Seekers in the Santos family tree. “And Raccoon—her spirit animal.”
Paloma’s whispered words of encouragement prompt me to lean closer, as I try to discern the message—convinced that there is one. And this time when Valentina’s face appears before me again, her voice begins to sound in my head.
At first, the tone is faint, hard to discern. Though it’s not long before the words begin to reverberate through the very core of me.
