Blood and Salt (25 page)

NO STONE UNTURNED

I HIKED THROUGH
the pines until I came to the clearing, the silhouette of the weeping willow barely visible against the indigo sky.

With my lantern low to the ground, I stumbled around, trying not to disturb people's hopes and dreams. I didn't need any more bad luck.

I stepped inside the swaying branches of the willow, but I couldn't find any sign of the rose quartz. I sank against the gnarled gray trunk.

I could still smell us here. Our blood. Our sweat. It made me sick, but I wanted to roll in the dirt and wallow in our last memory before it disappeared forever. I remembered Dane explaining the significance of the tree. He said love was stronger than death and that true love would always find a way.

The faintest whisper rose to my ears—the same sound I'd heard on the night Dane came to the Larkin lodge to return
my ribbon. This time, the sound was coming from the split in the trunk. I reached in; my eyes welled with tears when I felt the familiar shock of silk wrapped around a stone with a letter attached. Carefully, I pulled it out of the crevice.

“Ashlyn”
was written upon the envelope in thick black India ink. I ran my fingertips across the indentations from pen against paper and my heart fluttered.

The envelope had been sealed with dark red wax. In place of the coat of arms I'd seen on other Mendoza correspondence, Dane used his thumbprint instead. I pressed my thumb against it, swearing I could feel his touch there. I slid my finger under the seal, breaking it in two, and removed the heavy piece of stationery, feeling the weight of his good-bye.

Ashlyn,

This letter is full of words I should never have left unsaid.

You once said to me, “Just because you don't see it doesn't mean that it doesn't exist.” I need you to remember that now.

You were always the treasure, the gold, the glory, and the life worth fighting for.

Zuni Pueblo Reservation. Zuni, New Mexico.

Aiyana.

This is me, letting you go.

Dane

Aiyana, the shaman of the Quivira tribe. My mother said she could help me break my bond to Dane. Could it be possible? Is this what he wanted?

In that moment, as I held the letter to my chest, I would've given anything just to feel him again—his imprint on my skin, his kiss on my lips, his hair entangled in mine.

My mother told me that love is love no matter how you come by it. But could I ever be at peace with the way Dane came to me? Could I ever be sure he didn't love immortality more than he loved me? Was he in there with Coronado? Could he be saved? If Aiyana knew how to break the bond, maybe she knew of a way to separate them.

Lying there, wrecked, I understood everything my mother had said to me during the ritual. Her warning had nothing to do with the physical pain I would face; it was about the pain of having to keep my heart open while it broke in two. She said I would feel like I couldn't take another breath, that I couldn't bear to feel my heart beat another second. My mother said that if I broke the bond I would never feel that strongly for another human being. But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Katia sacrificed everything to be with Alonso, and her love for him drove her to madness. I knew that feeling, and it scared me.

I wanted to bury the ribbon along with Dane's promise, but I held on tightly. I couldn't bear to sever my last tie to any of them.

PRECIPICE

I RETURNED TO
the Larkin lodge to find our front doorway littered with dishes of mystery meats and cheese balls. They'd been set out like offerings.
Perfect.

Stepping over the dishes, I went down the stairs and started cramming clothes into my bag. I left my mother's belongings exactly where they were, undisturbed, as if I could somehow preserve her presence there.

I went into the bathroom to get my toiletries, and when I saw Rhys's toothbrush sitting on the edge of the sink next to mine, it brought a lump the size of a boulder to my throat. He forgot it. I didn't know where he was, but I had to find him. I had to make this right.

I took the toothbrushes and reached under the bed for the case full of cash and gold to find nothing but a few lint balls.

It was gone. All of it.

I racked my brain trying to figure out who could've taken it.

Spencer. He'd been waiting in my room the day Henry passed away. I heard him rummaging around as I lay there bleeding out. He must've taken it then.

“Bastard,” I screamed as I threw the toothbrushes against the wall.

I slumped down on the bed, grabbing my hair in my fists, when I heard a car horn. For a minute I thought I might be hallucinating, but it happened again. Three short insistent bursts.

I took my bag and ran upstairs to find Beth waving maniacally at me from behind the wheel of a deformed monster truck. She had a bright yellow scarf wrapped around her hair, like something straight out of a fifties' bad-girl movie. In the backseat sat a giant balding Saint Bernard.

“Is that Goober?” I asked as I stumbled outside.

“Is that his name? I'm pretty sure this is his automobile,” Beth said as she got out to peruse the food. “But I don't think he minds. Do you, baby? Do you, pretty baby?” she called out to him, and he wagged his whole back end. “Ooh, this one's from Lauren. It's ham salad. She molds it to look like a slice of watermelon. Look, she rolls it in parsley and she even puts raisins in it to look like the seeds. It's her signature dish,” Beth said as she put it in the backseat.

Goober immediately dug his face into it.

I grimaced. “I wouldn't let him eat that.”

“Too spicy?”

“No.” I shook my head. “First of all, Lauren made it. Could be poisoned.”

“That's more of a Hanratty thing—the cheese balls.” Beth smiled. “Besides, I already apologized to her.”

“What the hell for? She was terrible to you. She got Brennon . . . her happily ever after.”

“The cornhusk doll,” Beth said in a sweet singsong voice as she slung my bag in the backseat.

“That was
you
?”

Beth tried to suppress a grin. “She was being so grouchy to you.”

Apparently, Beth had a wicked side.

“Where did you learn how to drive?”

“Dane read the manuals to me when I was recovering. To pass the time. It's not hard. This one means go and this one means stop,” she said, pointing to the pedals on the floorboard. “It's fun! And look at the wheels—they spin like windmills.”

“Oh my God! Is this our car? Our Escalade?” I gasped as I ran my hands over the hot, butchered metal. “Tanner said he wanted to turn it into a convertible, that it would be good for hauling trash. I can't believe he actually did it. Poor Tanner,” I said as I thought of his head rotting in the corn.

As much as I wanted to jump in and go, I had to be somewhat practical about this. I had Beth to take care of now. “I'm sorry, but we can't.”

“But I thought—”

“Spencer took it . . . all of it. No cash . . . no gold . . . no gas.”

“Oh, looky here.” Beth heaved a giant pickling jar full of coins into my arms.

“Where did you get this?”

“Dane gave it to me. He wanted me to have it . . . just in case. I think he's been collecting it for years.”

The mere mention of his name opened up a fresh wound.

“It won't get us very far.” I swallowed my emotions as I handed the jar back to her.

“If it's just money you're worried about, you can always make more,” she said as she put it back in the car.

“Okay?” I burst out laughing. “So, you're a counterfeiter, too?”

“I'm not sure what that is, but I don't think so,” she said with that unreadable smile. “Nina left you the formula.”

“The formula for what . . . disaster?” I mumbled.

“For making gold, silly.” She grinned, slapping me on the arm.

My heart leapt into my throat. “What . . . what are you saying?”

“The formula. It's written all over your skin.”

The realization grew inside of me like a slow-spreading fire. All the money we had growing up, the gold ingots, the secrecy of her work, the strange metallic smells, the fine gold dust that always clung to her fingertips.

How hadn't I seen it before? The marks on my skin weren't just protection symbols. My mother wanted to make sure I'd have the means to support myself and my brother. It was her final gift to me.

In a daze, I climbed into the passenger seat and
Beth squealed. “Oh my stars! Are we really doing this?” She revved the engine. “We look so hump-able in this car.”

“
Kissable,
Beth,” I corrected her gently. “We look totally kissable.”

“Where to?” She smiled as she grinded the gear into place. “New York . . .
Spain
?”

“Just drive,” I whispered.

As we drove through the corn, following Rhys's scorched path, I wrapped the black silk ribbon around my throat and tied it into a bow—the way Marie and I had always worn it.

I pulled the CD from my pocket and slid it into the player.

“This is Dane's song!” Beth trilled as she sang along and bobbed her head to the awful synthetic beat.

A boundless smile seized me from deep within. Tears sprung to my eyes as I breathed in the wonder of the universe.

Maybe it wasn't so black-and-white. Maybe I didn't have to belong to anyone but myself.

As I looked back over Quivira, to the disappearing lake, I closed my eyes.

I didn't want to erase it from my memory. I wanted to take in every scent, every detail, so I could conjure it up whenever I wanted. Quivira was a part of me now, as was my mother, Rhys, Beth, Dane, Marie, Coronado, and Katia. If I listened closely I could hear my mother whisper,
“Uhurahak a u' a.”

And there I was, once again, at the edge of a precipice. I knew what I wanted. I knew what I had to do.

I simply let go and let myself fall.

Master Set - 1st Pass

Master Set - 1st Pass

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

THIS STORY
has been with me for a very long time. It brought me the most unexpected career and a slew of people that I love.

My editor, Arianne Lewin—I keep going back to our first e-mail correspondence. I said something idiotic, like I was looking forward to getting my ass kicked. To which you replied, “One day you will laugh at the idea of wanting your ass kicked.”

Still. Not. Laughing.

There were tears, and there may or may not have been a corn-husk doll involved at one point, but I'm a stronger person because of you. I'm a better writer because of you. I'm forever grateful you cared enough about my book to give me the “what for.”

My assistant editor, Katherine Perkins—thank you for all the time and care you put into
Blood and Salt
. And for agreeing to meet me for chocolates whenever I felt weary.

Thank you to everyone at Putnam who helped bring this book
to life—my fabulous cover designer, Kristin Logsdon; interior designer, Annie Ericsson; and copy editor, Anne Heausler.

My agent, Josh Adams—thanks for believing in me—fighting for me. Much love to you and Tracey and my entire Adam's Lit family.

Lorin Oberweger—my mentor and friend, thank you for challenging me in the gentlest way and never letting me censor my writing.

Gina Carey—my muse. You are that wayward ray of sunshine.

Bess Cozby—thank you for being such a wonderful friend and for putting up with my heathen ways.

Jodi Kendall—thanks for your love and support and the fabulous author photo.

Rebecca Behrens—I can't remember, am I Kate or Allie? Thanks for figuratively holding my hair while I puked through this entire process.

Michelle Schusterman—meet you at 8th Street!

Nova Ren Suma—you've inspired me in so many ways. Thanks for taking me under your wing.

My Putnam editor sister wives—Heather Mackey, Jessica Spotswood, Brandy Colbert, Rachel Hawkins—thanks for welcoming me into the fold, but most of all to Maggie Hall, my number one editor sister wife. We've been there for each other every step of the way. I couldn't have gotten through this without you.

My NYC write night posse—Bridget Casey, Kristi Olson, Kathryn Holmes, Edith Cohen, Ghenet Myrthil, Erin Slattery. XO

The Freshman Fifteens—so lucky to be a part of this amazing
group of writers. Special mention to Jasmine Warga, Lee Kelly, Kelly Loy Gilbert, Jenn Marie Thorne, and Virginia Boecker for being true confidantes. Shout-out to the Fearless Fifteens who made this such a fun journey. Sabaa Tahir for that phone call—you know which one. And Adam Silvera for the best hugs.

Thanks to Courtney Stevens for those early morning pep talks. Emma Dryden for your professional support and friendship.

Gabriella Perriera and my first writing group, Quill and Coffee.

There are so many authors who've been kind to me along the way and offered early encouragement for no other reason than because they're awesome—Veronica Rossi, Donna Cooner, Erin Morgenstern, Holly Black, Melissa Marr, April Tucholke, Megan Shepherd, Gretchen McNeil, Kendare Blake, and Carrie Ryan.

My husband, Ken Peplowski—thank you for being my very first editor and for nurturing my love of words and literature.

My family—Maddie Liggett and Rahm Liggett. Thanks for sharing me with this imaginary world and for letting me hijack parts of your personality. I wrote this for you.

My parents, John and Joyce, and my sister, Cristie—you always told me I could do anything I wanted in life. Thankfully, I believed
you.

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