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Then I drag on my dad’s old down jacket and explore all the pockets. Inching to the edge of each seam, stopping when I discover something small and smooth, with a surprising amount of heft to it.
I uncurl my fingers, revealing a small stone replica of a bear that’s etched in the same style as the raven I wear in my pouch. The one that was mystically carved following my very first visit to the Lowerworld, when I traveled on a soul journey aided by Paloma’s tea. And I can’t help but wonder if this is how Bear came to him too.
I always assumed that Django, haunted by the horrific visions that mark the start of every Seeker’s calling, left long before Paloma could share the ritual with him—but now I’m no longer sure.
Still, I’m happy to have a token from my dad, no matter how small. So I add it to my collection of talismans, remembering what Paloma said just after the pendulum confirmed that I should continue wearing the pouch: You shouldn’t abandon the spirit animals when it wasn’t their choice to abandon you.
I make my way to the yard, forging a path past the various gardens. One for the herbs Paloma uses in her work as a healer, one for the organic fruits and vegetables she uses to prepare all our meals. Pausing to survey the plot of land reserved for her hybrid experiments—where strange, misshapen plants sprout from the earth, perpetually in bloom no matter the season—before continuing past the fountain and the small stone bench, ultimately stopping at Kachina’s stall.
When I spot my adopted cat napping in the corner, I take great care to quiet my approach. Still, the second he senses my presence, his head pops up, his ears perk high, he springs to his feet, and he’s off like a shot—hopping the nearby fence and disappearing into the neighbor’s yard.
“Looks like Cat still hates me.” I nuzzle Kachina’s whiskers, running my palm over her perfectly striped brown and white mane as she nickers softly in greeting. “Think you could put in a good word for me? Remind him that I’m the one who feeds him—I’m the one who rescued him?”
Kachina nudges her nose against my side, prodding me toward the door of the stall—a sure sign she wants me to bust her loose so we can go for a ride. And while I like the idea as much as she does, I can’t help but think about all the other things I should be doing instead.
Like heading back to school so my tardy doesn’t turn into a truancy.
Or, more important—heading back to the Lowerworld so I can get an early start on Richter hunting.
Before I can decide either way, my phone vibrates with a text from Dace that reads:
Missed you at break—you okay?
I hesitate. Torn between an overwhelming need to see him, and knowing that if I even so much as hint that I’m thinking of going hunting, he’ll not just skip school but probably work too, in order to help, and I can’t let him do that. If he has any hope of going to college, he needs to maintain his GPA just as much as he needs to boost his paycheck.
So I type the reply:
No worries. All is well. I’m with Paloma. Drop by tonight after work?
I chew my bottom lip as I wait for his reply. Feeling guilty about the lie—a white lie but still a lie—while assuring myself it had to be done.
As soon as he answers, agreeing to meet up with me later, I toss a bridle onto Kachina, hop onto her back, and nudge her out of the stall. Leading her onto the rutted dirt road, with one destination in mind.
five
Paloma once told me that Enchantment is a place of many vortexes. She said it contains a number of portals that allow access to the Otherworlds and that someday soon I’d learn to distinguish them all.
But despite her claims, so far I’ve only found three. One in the cave where I endured my vision quest, one on the reservation where Dace was raised, and one inside the lowest level of the Rabbit Hole.
With the Rabbit Hole vortex not only on enemy territory, but also well guarded by demons, and the cave many miles away, I steer Kachina toward the reservation instead. It’s not often I get a fr
ee pass to skip school, so I may as well make the most of it and choose the closer portal.
We make our way along a series of dirt roads, Kachina keeping to a pace that’s slow and steady until we reach an open meadow. I lean into her neck and give her free rein. Enjoying the feel of her racing beneath me, the wind lashing hard at my cheeks, wishing I could always feel as light, and free, and unburdened as this.
When we reach native land, Kachina slackens her gait. Picking her way toward the grove of twisted juniper trees—their branches grossly distorted from the constant whirl of energy that marks the entrance to invisible worlds—as I scan the area for signs of the elders, Leftfoot or Chay—both of whom I wouldn’t mind seeing—and Chepi—whom I hope to avoid. But the reservation is quiet today, so I slide off her back, run a hand over her forelock, and say, “Don’t bother waiting, I’ll either call if I need you or find my way back.” She snorts, nostrils flaring as she shoots me a dubious look. Prompting me to give her a light pat on the rump and repeat my instructions. “Trust me,” I tell her. “You do not want to follow. The journey’s unpleasant. Now go!”
She whinnies in reply and swiftly trots away, as I take a good look around to ensure no one’s watching, step between the trees, and slip deep into the earth.
* * *
I speed through the dirt. Traveling through the earth’s core with my palms pressed hard to my face in an effort to guard against the snarl of tree roots, worms, and all the other slick and slimy things that thrive in the dark. Unlike my first few journeys to the Lowerworld, I no longer fight it. Having finally learned that the less I resist, the quicker I’ll be delivered to wherever I’m destined to be.
Once I’m free of the tunnel, I skid to a stop. My heels wedged into the ground as I slowly lower my hands and adjust to the light. Not the least bit surprised to find I’ve landed on a vast white-sand beach (it’s quickly becoming one of my more consistent deposit spots) and that Raven is not here to meet me. Apparently, Paloma was right when she said he’s no longer working for me. But the question remains: Is he working against me?
I wipe the dirt from my clothes and make for the shore. On the lookout for spinning dolphins, breaching whales, and all the other creatures I’ve grown used to seeing. But while the sea appears as calm and inviting as ever—or at least it does from a distance—there’s no sign of activity, no sign of life. Even the usual schools of small silver fish are nowhere to be seen. The water is darker, murkier, and when I dip a finger inside, it comes out coated with a greasy film of dark sludgy ick.
I wipe the gunk on my jeans, watching in horror when that same finger swells and flares into a bright angry red. The water’s polluted—grossly so. Leaving no doubt it’s the same contamination that’s responsible for killing those fish we found in the hot spring, and that it’s Cade Richter’s doing.
