Echo (The Soul Seekers #2)(29)
Her voice carries the quiet resignation of a survivor—one who’s faced the worst life has to offer—the incomprehensible acts of cruelty humans choose to inflict upon each other.
“That day, I lost my innocence, I lost my faith, and I lost my beloved father.”
I remove my hand from hers, clenching my fists tightly under the table, vowing revenge on Leandro, Cade, every last one of them. While she hasn’t told me anything I didn’t already know, there’s no stopping the fresh wave of anger cresting inside me.
I’m derived from darkness. The spawn of an act so heinous it’s hard to fathom.
How can she bear to look at me?
How can she stand to be near me?
As if sensing my thoughts, Chepi swivels in her seat until she’s directly facing me. Pinching my chin between her index finger and thumb, she forces me to meet her gaze when she says, “Nine months later, when I had you, when I saw the light in your beautiful blue eyes, I knew that a small part of me had prevailed. While your brother has proved himself to be Leandro’s creation—you, my beloved son, are mine and mine alone. It is my blood that courses through you. You are pure Whitefeather, and you must take great care to never forget that. Your grandfather Jolon was both powerful and gifted—he was linked to the divine—and I have no doubt you are as well.”
“Yes, I’m the good half—the pure half,” I say. The words bitter, rife with sarcasm as I wrench my chin from her grip, unwilling to meet her gaze, unworthy of her unconditional love.
“You’ve brought untold joy into my life.” Her breath hitches, the words so full of emotion she needs a moment to continue. “You’re the very reason I sit here today. Your arrival into this world gave me something to celebrate—something to live for. Dace, my darling boy, don’t you know that now that you’re here, I wouldn’t have it any other way?”
It can’t be true.
After all that she’s been through, there’s no way she means it.
But when my gaze finally, reluctantly, meets hers, there’s no doubt she’s speaking the truth.
I close my eyes, struggling to get a grip on myself. And when I open them again, I’m overcome with the need to apologize for making her relive such a horrible day. “I’m sorry for all of this—for everything. I’m sorry the past won’t stay put.”
Chepi shrugs. Her shoulders rising and falling, she says, “We’ve had sixteen peaceful years together—for that I am grateful.” She reaches for my cheek with a palm that’s soft and dry. And when she fusses at my hair, I don’t try to stop it. Her touch brings great comfort. “Despite where we find ourselves now, I’m determined that more peace will follow. Leandro has claimed my past, but he will not claim my future—nor will he claim yours.” Her voice is determined in a way I rarely hear, her irises deepening, reminding me of freshly turned earth. “I’ve already started the prep work.”
I slant my gaze toward Leftfoot, seeing he’s just as out of the loop on this one as I am.
“I haven’t observed the Day of the Dead for many years. But after leaving you that morning with Daire, just after Paloma’s soul was returned, I held a small ritual of my own.”
I lean closer, trying to guess what that means.
“I called upon Jolon.” She lifts her chin high. “I’ve sensed his presence through the years—his spirit is everywhere, just as I’ve taught you…” Her voice drifts as she absently rubs her thumb over the carved turquoise hummingbird she wears on her index finger. “I appealed for his protection, and ever since, I’ve felt the power of his lion looking after us. But, Dace, make no mistake—they exist merely in spirit. You and Daire are our last real defense against him and the rest of the Richters. There’s no use denying it.”
She falls quiet, leaving me to sort through her words. And though it wasn’t at all what I expected to hear, I’m mostly caught on the part about Jolon’s lion guiding us. Under the circumstances, that can’t be good.
“The Lowerworld is corrupted,” I say. “Daire and I were there yesterday. We’ve been going nearly every day—or, at least, Daire has.” I pick at the crude bandage I wear on my arm, its edges already fraying, the middle stained red with my blood. All too aware of the way I used her name twice.
It’s a sign of being in love. Acting as though the mere mention of a person can conjure their presence. When, in this case, the only thing it conjures is a breathtaking image of her lying beneath me—cheeks flushed, lips pink and inviting, eyes green and glittering, skin soft and welcoming under the press of my fingers …
I shake free of the thought. Vow to use her name as little as possible. There’s no telling how much that little reverie cost me.
“The place is polluted,” I continue. “And the spirit animals are infected as well. Horse is useless. He no longer guides me. They’re all useless—skittish, freaked-out, inept.”
That’s all Chepi needs to remove the hummingbird ring she’s worn for as long as I’ve known her. Plunking it down on the table, as Leftfoot makes a sign over the buckskin pouch he wears at his neck, the sight prompting me to think of Daire once again.
She’s still wearing her pouch. Maybe I should tell her—warn her that it puts her at risk.
I shake my head. Scrub my hands over my face. I’ve got to stop this. Got to stop making excuses to think of her, see her. Paloma’s looking after her. Chay too from what I saw earlier. She’s in good hands.