Fated (33 page)

She makes for the North hallway, the place where Dace eats lunch on his own. But after last night and the whole thing with Jennika, I’m too embarrassed to face him.

I pull back, searching for a detour, when I realize there’s no sign of his shoes—no sign of him anywhere. The hallway is empty. And despite my initial reluctance to face him, his absence makes me feel even worse.

Xotichl stops, head tilted toward me, lips tugging at the sides, as I stare at the empty space where Dace would normally be.

“What’s going on with you?” she says. “There’s no use lying, I can sense it, you know?”

She stands before me—a tiny force of nature who will not be fooled by my fictional stories. Leaving me no choice but to laugh when I say, “I know. You’re too intuitive for your own good, but I’m not quite ready to spill, so you’ll just have to bear with me.”

Her lips flatten as she considers my words—her cane sweeping the space before her again as she says, “Fair enough.” She leads me into the cafeteria with far more confidence and authority than I could ever manage. Heading for a table in back, where she slips onto the bench, nods toward the boy on her left, and says, “Daire, Dace—Dace, Daire.” Shooting me a knowing smile when she adds, “Or perhaps you’ve already met?”

She cocks her head to the side and digs into her lunch sack, and all I can think is that there’s more to this blindsight thing than I ever would’ve guessed.

I mumble a quick
Hey
and claim the opposite space. Feeling awkward and embarrassed, unable to rid myself of the image of Jennika’s glaring face peering into the window—the horrifying things that she said. Not to mention how dumb I must’ve looked with my eyes squeezed tight—lips all puckered and ready—leaning in for a kiss he probably never intended to give.

“You okay?” His gaze moves over me, voice marked with concern. “Your mom seemed pretty upset.”

“She was.” I peer into my lunch bag, avoiding his eyes—unwilling to catch sight of my burning red cheeks reflecting thousands of times. “She gets like that sometimes, though deep down, she means well.” I lift my shoulders, deciding to leave it at that. Unwilling to explain how Jennika’s history has a habit of bleeding into my present. How her somewhat irrational yet well-intended desire to save me from things like heartbreak and unplanned pregnancy, along with all the other detours life offers, sometimes gets in the way of my journey.

“I’m not sure I handled it well,” he says, his face so open, gaze filled with such raw regret, my heart aches on his behalf.

“Considering the circumstances, I think you did fine. Besides, it’s not like you stood a chance, her mind was made up the moment she saw you.”

Dace jerks back, his expression slighted, voice unsure when he says, “I don’t understand…”

I fumble with my lunch sack, wondering why I can never say the right thing around him. Having no way to explain in a way that won’t sound completely embarrassing, when Xotichl steps in.

“What’s not to get? You’re hot—Daire’s gorgeous—it’s a recipe for parental distress if there ever was one. Guess that means she got a ride home from you, since Auden and I couldn’t find her?”

Dace and I exchange a look, mine flushed and panicked, his amused and reassuring when he says, “She wasn’t feeling well, and I was on my way out…”

His voice drifts away with his gaze, as Xotichl’s foot finds mine, giving a swift kick when she says, “Incoming.” And it’s only a few seconds later when Lita appears at the end of our table.

She looks at me, her gaze surprisingly shy when she says, “Hey.”

I glance to either side of her, amazed to find she made the trip on her own. Leaving me to wonder if she truly is tired of hanging with suck-ups, like she implied in the bathroom.

“Listen,” she says. “I just wanted to apologize for the other day.” She swallows hard, forces her gaze to hold mine.

“By
the other day,
do you mean yesterday—or the first day I saw you on the trail?” I ask, figuring there’s no use denying the fact that she’s had two occasions to be nice to me, and both times she chose not to.

“Um, both, I guess. I just…” She tries to find the right word, quickly abandons the search, and starts again. “I know it wasn’t cool of me, and I just want to—”

But before she can go any further I flash my palm and say, “It’s fine. Whatever. Apology accepted.” Noting the way her shoulders soften, her jaw loosens, the effect short-lived when I add, “But just so you know, before you start spending all your energy being nice to me, my Hollywood connections aren’t all that you think.”

Xotichl sucks in her breath, while I brace for an onslaught of denials and anger that fail to appear.

“Wow,” she says, her heavily made-up eyes surveying me with a hint of approval. “You really don’t take any crap, do you?”

I glance at Dace who’s watching me intently and knowing it’s true, and that I have Jennika’s influence to thank, I say, “Nope, I really don’t.” I meet her gaze again.

“So, we’re good, then?” she asks in a voice that’s ridiculously hopeful. So hopeful I’m pretty sure she didn’t believe me—still thinks I have unlimited access to Vane Wick, or whoever else she might have in mind.

But not wanting to start up again, I say, “Yeah. Sure. We’re good.”

She nods. Smiles. Starts to move away, then turns back as though a thought just occurred to her. “I’ll look for you at the Rabbit Hole. You know, tomorrow night, for Day of the Dead? You’ll be there, right?” Her eyes drift from me, to Xotichl and Dace, acknowledging them as though she hadn’t realized they’d been sitting there all along. “I thought we could maybe hang out?”

I gape, rendered dumbstruck by the offer. Eventually gathering my wits enough to say, “Sure. Whatever.” Watching as she retreats and thinking how my prospects for tomorrow night keep getting weirder.

Xotichl whistles under her breath, saying, “I’m not one to shock easily, but that was just…” She screws her lips to the side, drums her nails against the side of her water bottle, searching for just the right word.

“Oddly sincere,” Dace supplies, his gaze finding mine.

I lift my shoulders, having no idea if he’s right, but then nothing in this town is ever what it appears.

The moment broken by the shrill sound of the bell, telling us it’s time to pack up and move on.

forty-two

When I reach my last class, independent study, the one I share with Dace, there’s no denying the excitement I feel at the prospect of seeing him again. But my excitement soon turns to disappointment when I find his chair empty. For whatever reason, independent study is not on his agenda today.

I claim the table near the back and retrieve my book from my bag. Determined to settle in for a nice long read, but not getting very far before my mind wanders back to Paloma.

I have to help her.

As her granddaughter—as a Seeker—there must be something I can do.

Something more than sitting idly in this room, being babysat by a video monitor.

I sling my bag over my shoulder and bolt for the door. My classmates staring in shock, as the strict surveillance of the all-seeing camera tracks my escape. Making my way down the series of halls, I burst through the double doors and blaze past the guard, trying to come up with some kind of plan.

While I may not know how to stop the Richters from invading the Lowerworld, I’m still a day away from their being able to do so. And since that’s the place where Raven lives, and since it’s his job to guide me, I figure it’s as good a place to start as any.

Only I have no idea how to get there.

My only other visit was the soul journey when I drank Paloma’s tea.

Knowing of only one other way I might be able to find it, I head for her house, sneak through the gate without Jennika knowing, and go straight for Kachina’s stall where I toss on a bridle and hop on her back. Smoothing my hand over her brown and white mane, I press my mouth to her ear, and say, “Take me there. Take me to the cave of my vision quest so I can consult with my ancestors.”

*   *   *

The second I get to the cave, I leap past the grainy, white border and head straight for the wall featuring my long list of ancestors with their spirit animals lined up beside them. My eyes grazing over Valentina, Esperanto, Piann, Mayra, Maria, Diego, Gabriella, all the way down to Paloma, Django, and me. Holding the pouch at my neck with one hand and shaking the rattle with the other, I call them to me—letting them know that I need their assistance—need them to show me how to make my way to the Lowerworld.

I sit beside them, back propped against the wall, legs sprawled before me. Forcing my mind to go quiet and still—shut down the restlessness that often plagues me and remain open to some kind of sign. Instantly alerted to a gentle nudge of wind that twists into the cave. Swirling and lingering before me, making sure I take notice, before breezing right past, wafting all the way to the place in back where the ceiling meets the dirt.

The wind is my element. According to Paloma that makes me a daughter of the wind—something she was very excited about. But one look at that solid wall of rock—so dense and forbidding—is enough to make my head fill with doubt.

No way will that budge.

No way will it lead to a mystical land hidden deep underneath.

It’s not like I didn’t touch it before. Last time I was here, I made the full rounds, ran my hands over every square inch in an attempt to see how big the cave was. Yet that was before I knew the full truth of how the world works. Before I learned how to focus on the unseeable, the unknown—how to coax it into my immediate field of consciousness, until it presents itself.

And it’s not long before that seemingly impenetrable stone wall wavers before me, as my buckskin pouch begins to throb like a heartbeat. A solid reminder that I need to stop seeing with my eyes. Stop running everything through my logical mind and start trusting what I know in my heart—no matter how improbable it may seem.

I duck my head low, stretch my arms before me, and sprint toward it. My palms slamming into the stone, impacting for a moment—only to break through the rock as the surface softens and fades. The wall crumbling to a finely milled dust that swirls at my feet, as the ground just beneath me gives way. Sending me falling, spiraling, tumbling down a long, steep tunnel that plunges straight into the core of the earth. My arms flailing, body somersaulting head over feet—unable to stop or slow down, unable to gain control of myself.

But unlike the last time, I don’t try to stop it. I just trust that I’ll somehow end up in the mouth of the Lowerworld.

The tunnel ends without warning—spitting me straight into a bright shaft of light where I land in a heap. Only to find Raven sitting on a nearby rock, purple eyes flashing, waiting for me.

I rise to my feet. Wipe my hands across the seat of my jeans. Keeping a careful eye on Raven as I approach him and say, “I need help. Paloma’s sick and I don’t know what to do. Will you guide me?”

My words halted by the sight of him preparing for flight. His wings lifting, spreading wide, as he thrusts himself forward, lifts from his perch, and executes a perfect wide circle over my head, before he soars with the wind, and I set off behind him. Grateful for the way he stops on occasion, allowing me a chance to catch up, before he takes flight again—leading me all the way to the beautiful clearing I know from my dreams, as well as the time I drank Paloma’s tea.

I glance all around, taking in the tall swaying trees, the way each blade of grass seems to dance at my feet. Not quite sure how to feel about his leading me here—but definitely leaning toward uneasy at best, when Raven swoops toward me, lands on my shoulder, and thrusts his beak forward, urging me to keep going, to move all the way through to the other side of the forest where I come across the same hot spring I saw in my dreams.

And just like in my dream, Dace is here too.

forty-three

I stand before him, keeping quiet and still. Hoping to observe without notice, prolong the moment before he senses my presence.

His hair is wet, slicked away from his forehead—the light filtering through the trees in a way that slings a series of shadows over his face. And when Raven lifts from my shoulder, glides to a nearby branch where he looks down upon us, the beat of his wings causes Dace to look up, not the least bit surprised to find me wandering through a mystical dimension that remains hidden to everyone else.

“From the moment I saw you, I knew you were different.” His head tilts in a way that darkens his face, as my hands curl to fists, my body braces for just about anything. The last time we were here, it didn’t end well. And there’s no way to prove this isn’t a setup—that I won’t be forced to relive the nightmare again.

“Yeah?” My voice is curt, edgier than planned. “And why’s that—what gave me away?” I focus hard on his eyes, seeing thousands of images of me glimmering back—a long, rigid line of a girl with dark flowing hair.

He shrugs, shoulders rising and falling as though he’s truly perplexed. “Guess my instincts are good. Some things you just know without question,” he says.

“Was it instincts that brought you here?” I move toward him, the toes of my boots edging up to the spring. “Or did you see it in a dream?” My pulse thrumming triple time the second the words leave my lips. But I have to know, and there’s no way to ask coyly, no other way to phrase such a thing.

Was he really there too—or was it all just a product of my wildest imaginings?

“Waking life—dreaming life—who’s to say where reality lies?” He grins, a glorious flash of sparkling eyes and white teeth, before he goes on to add, “This place is like a dream, but I’m pretty sure we’re awake.” He fingers his arm, gives himself a quick pinch. “Yep, I’m awake—you?”

My eyes roam the length of him—drinking in strong shoulders, a smooth bare chest, stopping where the water dips low at his hips. So distracted by the sight, I nearly miss it when he says, “But to answer your question, it was my mom who introduced me to this place when I was a kid, and it’s been a favorite of mine ever since.”