Fated (The Soul Seekers #1)(35)

Taking a long, greedy swig of the soda Chay offers as he pulls out of the lot—my gaze tracking the dry, barren landscape until it fades into night. Unable to shake the lure of the boy—the weight of those icy-blue eyes meeting mine.





fourteen

Chay pulls up to the gate as Paloma helps a girl my age into the passenger seat of a dust-covered SUV. Folding a long white cane with a red tip, she hands it to her, waves good-bye, and makes for the truck. Her eyes lighting on mine when she leans through the driver’s side window and says, “Nieta, did you enjoy yourself?”

I give a quick nod and hop out. Landing on my good leg, backpack in hand, I hobble toward the house, hoping she won’t ask if I had a good time riding Kachina, since I’m pretty sure I can’t lie with conviction—or at least not to her. She’s far too intuitive—able to sense the truth behind my words well before I can speak them.

“Bueno.” She smiles, watching as I push through the gate. “Go get yourself cleaned up, and I’ll meet you inside. It is almost nightfall—almost time to begin.”

I give her an odd look but do as she says. Heading into the house, down the short hall, and into my room, wondering what the sun’s descent could have to do with my training. Should I have taken her literally when she said all Seekers must learn to see in the dark?

I reach for the clean pair of sweats she left folded at the foot of my bed and carry my dirty sweater and jeans to the hamper, frowning when I take in the seam we had to tear from the ankle to the knee in order to make room for my cast. Despite Paloma’s promise to replace them with a new pair as soon as I’m healed—I seriously doubt I’ll find anything that compares. Those jeans are my favorite, dark and skinny—I practically live in them. Not to mention I got them in Paris, a place I won’t be returning to anytime soon. From what I’ve seen of Enchantment, there’s not one decent boutique. Heck, there’s not even a Target or Walmart.

But Paloma doesn’t view clothes the same way I do. For her, they’re less an expression of individuality and more a sensible way to cover the body. Although her clothes are clean and pressed, and well kept, it’s obvious that for her fashion is more of an afterthought, if she even thinks of it at all. From what I’ve seen, her wardrobe consists of a handful of light cotton shift dresses she wears in the house—her feet always bare—and those same dresses paired with a tattered sky-blue cardigan and navy blue espadrilles when she heads out. And yet, as strange as it is, I can’t help but find it refreshing.

Paloma’s indifference is a welcome change compared to the fashion meltdowns I used to witness on movie sets. When emergency meetings were called in order to discuss the pros and cons of some starlet’s hemline, as though the fate of the world, much less the movie, depended upon it. Not to mention Jennika’s penchant for treating my own meager wardrobe as an extension of hers.

It’s like, Jennika got an overload of the girly gene, I got a smidgen, and Paloma got none.

Or at least that’s what I think until I tie my hair back into a ponytail and head for my window to close the curtain. Seeing the gate still open and Chay still parked right beside it, only now the driver’s side door is flung open in a way that allows Paloma to lean in and embrace him.

I watch them together—I can’t help it. It’s just so unexpected. Surprised to see it’s less the brief, back-patting kind of embrace exchanged between friends, and more the slow lingering caress shared between two people who deeply care about each other.

I knew they were friends, but I always assumed. it was platonic. It never occurred to me that their relationship might extend a bit further.

Though just as I begin to talk myself out of what I’m seeing, sure I’ve read too much into it, they kiss and confirm it. Prompting me to snap the curtain shut and head for the kitchen where I sit at the table and wait for my first official day of training to begin.

My father never made it this far. He refused to take part, and I can’t say I blame him. But, in an effort to avoid the same grisly fate, I promised myself I’d at least give it a chance and see where it leads. If I don’t like it, I’ll do what I can to find a way out. But it won’t be rash. And I won’t end up dead. Unlike Django, I plan to be smart about my exit.

Paloma steps inside and closes the door behind her. Her fingers working the buttons on her cardigan, she rubs her palms together and makes for the fireplace where she prods the wood with a long, iron poker until she’s satisfied with the way the fire sparks and spits, then turns to me and says, “Chay has a sweet tooth.”

I stare, the words so odd and unexpected, I have no good response.

“He is a good man but a bad influence.” She laughs, claiming the seat opposite mine and folding her arms on the table. “Your training will require many lifestyle changes, the first being diet. I’m afraid you and Chay have enjoyed your last soda together, so I hope you enjoyed it.” She reaches forward, places her hand over mine. Hers appearing so tiny and dark it makes mine look like a large, pale blob in comparison. “From this point on, you will eat only that which nature provides, in its purest possible form. Which means no sugar additives, no processed foods, no fast food—in short, no junk.”

I gulp. Stare at her wide-eyed and dumbstruck. Wondering what could possibly be left—she nixed pretty much all of my favorites.