Her gaze is open. Direct. A challenge I’m meant to either deflect or accept. But, instead, I meet it with a face so impassive it gives nothing away.
“After all, I got you, didn’t I?”
My eyes graze over her, allowing myself to indulge in a few clips from the memory reel.
Sneaking away from our parents’ prying eyes in pursuit of a few heady moments under a blanket of stars … a first kiss—her lips determined and sure, mine overeager and inexperienced … a first feel—my awkwardness trumped by her surprising proficiency … another first—the one she insisted upon—though that’s not to say I wasn’t willing … and right after that, they were gone …
Cutting the movie that plays in my head, I meet her gaze and say, “Temporarily. For a short while, I would’ve followed you anywhere.”
“It may have been brief, but for me it was totally worth it. Then again, I was all too willing to settle for whatever crumb you tossed my way.”
“You sure about that?” I fetch a whole different memory—one where she manipulated me into wanting her, needing her, having her—and then, bam—next thing I knew, her family packed up and left, never to be seen or heard from again. The only thing that surprised me is how quickly I recovered. I thought it would hurt more than it did. It’s because of her that I learned to differentiate lust from love. Shortly after, I made a deal with myself to never settle for less.
“It’s not my fault we moved.” She wages a playful defense. “But just so you know, now that I’m back, I’m unwilling to settle again. While it’s kind of embarrassing to admit, truth is, I never stopped missing you. I never stopped thinking about you.” She pauses, allows her tongue to cross her lips, leaving them shiny and wet. “I never gave up on you.”
I swipe a hand over my chin, deciding brutal honesty is the only way to derail this. “Phyre. You were young and sad. You’d just lost your mom, and you were looking for a way to feel better—a way to feel alive—and I just happened to be there. That’s all it ever was. Don’t romanticize it into meaning something it didn’t.”
“Funny, that’s not at all how I remember it.”
I shake my head, try to look away. But the next thing I know, she’s grabbed my wrist again. Her lips softly parting, hovering mere inches from mine. Her determination so steady, she barely reacts when I say, “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?” Her fingers form circles, her mouth angles toward mine.
“Don’t force me to say the kind of things you don’t want to hear.”
She loosens her grip, casts a glance toward the far side of the room, the place where Daire stands. “Like what? That you’re in love with the Seeker?”
I frown, not liking the sound of that coming from her.
“What? You think I don’t know who she is? You think I don’t see all the signs?” She gazes up at me from under a thick row of lashes, speaking in a voice gone throaty and low. “You’re not the only one who grew up surrounded by mysticism. Unlike the rest of these people, my eyes have never been closed to the truth of this town.”
“What do you want?” My tone is impatient, tired of playing this game. It’s definitely not just me that she’s after. There’s always a deeper motive where Phyre’s concerned.
“I want the same thing you want.” Her shoulders rise and fall, abandoning all attempts at flirtation and pretense.
“Doubtful,” I mutter, already turning away. Having tolerated more than enough of her manipulative game.
“Does that mean you don’t want Cade dead?” She cocks her head, buries the tip of her tongue in the corner of her lip, challenging me with her gaze.
It’s a gaze I hold for too long.
While the words are right—the energy’s wrong.
I consider a soul jump. Promising myself I’ll be brief. But nix it just as quickly. I can’t afford to do anything that might compromise the work I’ve already done. Besides, I’m pretty sure there won’t be much to see. It’s obvious she’s been listening to gossip. Thinks that claiming to share my newfound hatred for Cade is a sure way to get with me.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I tell her, and this time I succeed in walking away.
My eyes briefly meet Daire’s as I make for the door. A mistake I shouldn’t have made. Knowing I can’t cross the room to be with her leaves me feeling more isolated than ever.
I shove my hands in my pockets and exit the club. Ducking against the constant veil of drizzle as I make my way to the old chain-link fence, seeking assurance from that little gold lock.
Needing to see if the symbol of our love is still right where we left it—stronger than the forces bent on destroying it.
Wanting one last reminder before I find Cade.
forty-two
Daire
I slip down the alleyway, sneak around the crowd of people taking part in the candlelight vigil, and move toward a place in back where no one can watch as I clasp my pouch tightly and call upon the elements. Summoning Air, Fire, Water, and Earth, I sing their individual songs under my breath and beg for their favor. Pleading with them to do me this one small bidding. Bestow the gift of a Christmas snowfall for a beleaguered town and its people, who because of my failings—my failure to sacrifice Paloma’s soul, my failure to evict all the Richters from the Lowerworld—have suffered far more than anyone rightfully should.
A rustle of wind lashes my hair. A surge of flame licks a path near my feet, leaving a trail of freshly scorched earth.
Though the promise of snow is soon dashed when the light steady drizzle increases to a hard sheet of rain.
I sigh in frustration. Bury my face in mitten-covered hands. Unwilling to reenter the club and face my friends, I head for the chain-link fence. Hoping to lift my spirits by confirming the lock is right where I left it, I round the corner only to find Dace there instead. One hand gripping the lock, the other fidgeting with the key that hangs from his neck.
My knees go feeble and weak, buckling beneath me.
My hand instinctively flies to my chest, as though to keep my heart caged, keep it from leaping free of my flesh.
While my eyes remain riveted on the very thing I’d hoped to never see.
Dace—holding the lock—wielding the key.
Dace giving up on us—giving up on me.
He turns, sensing my presence as his eyes light on mine. One look at my grief-stricken face enough to prompt him to drop the key, abandon the lock, and call out my name—but I’m already gone.
Already turning away.
Catching a glimpse of Phyre watching from the shadows, her eyes strange and glittering as they stare into mine.
I veer toward her. Deciding Lita’s right, it’s time I confront her, demand to know what she’s up to—what it is that she wants. Having just reached her when the rain ceases and becomes something else.
Something lighter.
Drier.
Something that lands in small white squares at my feet.
I lift my chin, close my eyes, and allow it to drift softly onto my cheeks.
Heart soaring in triumph—knowing I did this—I’m responsible—it’s because of me that it’s snowing!
Excited shouts reverberate all around me, as the club empties into the alleyway, crowding the street. Throngs of people pushing and shoving, eager to get to it first—to take part in the miracle, my miracle, the one that I wrought. Voices overlapping, they call, “Snow! It’s snowing—you’ve got to come see it!”
I turn, searching for Dace, needing to see his reaction. Finding him still beside the fence with his hands splayed before him, welcoming the bright white squares that fall onto his flesh.
His chin lifting, gaze darkening, as he motions to me—urges me to see what he sees.
It’s not at all what we think.
Snow is crisp. Pure. Wet.
It doesn’t smudge.
Doesn’t leave a trail of charcoal when rubbed.
Only ash can do that.
We gaze at each
other, separated by a shroud of white ash falling steadily between us, and a surge of people eager to witness a miracle that’s really a curse. Dancing and twirling under the deluge, not realizing they’ve got it all wrong.
Not realizing they’re in the grip of something far darker, far more sinister than they could ever conceive.
The earth beginning to tremble as those same squares of ash become a torrent of flames that fall from the sky.
It’s the prophecy come to life, just like the codex foretold:
The other side of midnight’s hour strikes a herald thrice rung
Seer, Shadow, Sun—together they come
Sixteen winters hence—the light shall be eclipsed
Leaving darkness to ascend beneath a sky bleeding fire
All around me shouts of excitement quickly turn to fear, as a crowd of people fight to take cover, push their way back inside. Forcing me to shove my way through them, my need to confront Phyre all but forgotten, as I go in search of my friends. Warning Xotichl, Lita, and Auden to run, to find a way out of here—to get as far from this place as they possibly can.
“What about you?” Xotichl’s face pales as her fingers push into my sleeve, understanding all to well just what this means.
“I’m going to stop this. Fix this. If it’s the last thing I do.”
I jerk free of her grip, aware of her voice calling after me but unable to distinguish the words as I race toward the vortex.
forty-three
Dace
“What have you done with her?” I grip Phyre by the shoulders, demanding an answer. Last I saw, Daire was standing before her, and now she’s as good as disappeared.
Phyre smiles, her gaze heavy and glazed. “Wasn’t me. I swear it,” she says, her voice adopting a tone so strange I have no idea how to interpret the words.
“Where’d she go?” My own voice is frantic, determined. Sure she’s playing some sinister part in this, no matter how crazy it seems. But she just remains propped between my hands, staring dreamily at a night wrought with flames.
“It’s starting.” She speaks in a whisper. “The Last Days are here. This is one of the signs.”
I roll my eyes. Dig my fingers deeper into her flesh, hoping to awaken her from her trance. “It’s no such thing. Your father is crazy.” Though my words go unheard, she’s transfixed by a sky bleeding fire.
“I tried to warn you. Tried to talk to you. Remind you of what we once shared—if only so you could see what I see—know what I know.” Her gaze is unreachable, voice weary, defeated. “But you didn’t want to listen, and now this…” She gestures to the chaos occurring all around us. “Now it’s too late for any of us.”
I grip her shoulders tighter, searching for some hint of the girl I once knew. A sad, beautiful, complicated girl with a crazy doomsday prophet of a father. A girl who lost her mother too young—vanishing without a trace, her body never found. A girl I once cared about, however briefly.
“Come with me, Dace.” She trains her focus on me. “My father will help us. Save us. He’ll know exactly how to survive this.”
“Your father can’t help anyone,” I remind her, but one look in her eyes tells me my words fail to penetrate. Still, I can’t help but add, “Get yourself out of here. Go to Leftfoot’s—he’ll look after you.”
When she fails to move, when she fails to react in any way, I give up and go in search of Daire. Figuring there’s only one place she would ever think to go under the circumstances, and cursing myself for not heading there first. It’s what I came here to do.
I race through the club. Ignoring Leandro’s cries for help as he fights to break free of the fallen bookcase he’s trapped underneath. All too aware of the earth violently shaking as bursts of fire erupt all around.
All too aware that the prophecy has started without me—forcing me to catch up.
I breeze through the vortex—noting there are no demons in sight—make my way through the cave house—now completely trashed, surely the result of Cade’s rampage—then onto the valley of sand—all the while looking for Daire.
She’s out there.
Somewhere.
Hunting for Cade.
I pray I will get to him first.
forty-four
Daire
I roll to a stop, spring to my feet, and take a quick look around. Pleased to find I’ve landed not far from the mine.
It’s the first time I’ve been able to nail it like that.
The first time I’ve been able to declare a point of entry and actually find myself there.
A good omen, no doubt.
I hope more will follow.
I stay crouched and low, knees slightly bent, hands flexed and ready. Stealing a moment to adjust to the rhythm of the ground rumbling precariously beneath me—a long string of aftershocks coming in quick succession. Though, thankfully, their intensity lessens a little each time.
Good omen number two?
I’ll take what I can get.
A crescendo of shouts drifts from the mine. The captives, apparently no longer enthralled by the Richters, are crowding the mouth of the shaft in an attempt to break free. Their bodies surging against the army of undead guards who push hard against them and shove them back in.
My gaze darts among them, searching for Cade but not seeing him anywhere. I slip my athame into my fist and advance.
Despite the odds stacked against me—despite there being only one of me and loads of them—I find I’m bathed in a strange sense of calm with not a trace of fear to be found.
This is the moment when theory and practice finally consummate after months of chastely dating.
This is my chance to use all the skills Paloma has taught me.
This is when I fulfill my destiny—do what I was born to do or die trying.
I creep toward the Richters, keeping my movements so silent, so stealthy, they remain completely unaware of my presence. Remembering what Paloma told me, that the only way to rid the world of them, send them back to their afterlives, is to either remove their heads or cut them cleanly in half.
Sounds simple in theory, but judging by the sheer number of them, my only hope of seeing it through is to focus less on the act and more on the end. Envision them lying in headless heaps all around me. See it as though it’s already done.
With the image fixed in my head, I rub my lips together, tighten my grip on the knife, and spring toward the first one. Amazed at how easily I catch him.
Then again, he didn’t see me coming. Failed to sense me sneaking up from behind him, blade at the ready.
Doesn’t even realize what’s happening, until the razor-sharp tip jams all the way to the hilt. And though he puts up a bit of a protest, it’s too little, too late. My knuckles are already dragging clear across his neck as I go about the business of severing his head.
He crumples to my feet, his pathetic gurgle lost among the noise and the chaos, leaving no one the wiser.
As far as gore goes, there’s surprisingly little. One of the older ones I would guess—judging by the pile of bones and dust he leaves in his wake. Though the small chunk of soul that once served to revive him, hovers briefly, as though testing the limits of its freedom, before zooming through the sky.
It’s a sight to behold. Though I don’t watch for long. I’m quick to move on to the next one. Once again, imagining the deed as if it’s already done, I shove my blade deep into his spine and saw a deep and steady line. While it proves to be an effective method of slaying, what Paloma failed to mention is it also gives them a chance to shout and scream and warn all the others.
It’s a mistake I won’t make again.
Clearly, decapitation is the better way.
With the eyes of countless undead Richters upon me, I take a moment to smile and wave.
While I would’ve preferred to have slain a few more before it got to this point, I’ve still managed to get them exactly where I want them: focused on me, instead of the mine. Which in turn allows some of
those poor trapped workers to start sneaking out.
The Richters’ first reaction is to erupt into an angry chorus of menacing shouts and growls. Though despite the show of bravado, it takes them a while to organize and adjust to the sudden change of plans. They’re so used to following orders from Cade, acting on their own is pretty much a foreign concept to them.
No matter. I just cool my heels and wait where I am. Willing to hang for however long it takes for them to regroup, knowing that every second of delay allows more people to escape. Besides, there’s no need to charge them when, soon enough, they’ll be coming to me.
With one hand holding the athame, I rub the blade across the front of my jeans, staring impassively at the thick layer of sludge that falls away, while my other hand grabs hold of my pouch. Calling upon the elements, my ancestors, and whatever intrinsic bit of goodness is left inside our spirit animals and paying homage to the ancestral knowledge that lives deep inside me, that courses straight through my veins.
The blood of Valentina, Esperanto, Piann, Mayra, Diego, Gabriella, Paloma, Alejandro, and Django—all of the Seekers who’ve made great sacrifices so I could be here. Having braved the face of evil so that others could live their lives in relative peace.
With so many counting on me, I can’t let them down.
When the largest among them comes at me, it’s clear he’s fueled on nothing more than anger and rage—reminding me of the way I used to operate until Chay drew my attention to the absolute foolishness of it. Warning me that raw emotion without the strength to back it is a sure way to find yourself dead.
Luckily for me, I listened. I’m no longer that girl.
Unluckily for the undead Richter, he never had a chance to know Chay.
He comes at me with gleaming eyes and a warrior’s cry—his hands curled to fists that swing about wildly. And though it’s an impressive display at first glance, it’s only a second later when I grab hold of his arm and twist until it snaps. Barely allowing a second to pass, before I rend my athame clean across his neck, watching as his body falls separate from his head.