Fated (The Soul Seekers #1)(65)

She hands me the jar, and even though I can hardly wrap my head around what’s being asked of me, I find myself taking it with less hesitation than I ever would’ve thought. After checking the lid and making sure it’s screwed on good and tight, I tuck the jar deep into my bag, heave it onto my shoulder, and say, “So, out of all the vortexes and portals in Enchantment, what makes this one so important?”

Paloma faces the mirror, assessing her reflection as she pulls her cardigan tightly around her, then turning away well before she can spot the small pool of blood gathering at the corner of her nose. She looks at me and says, “Because that’s where the secret of their strength lies. If you can locate it and, eventually, breach it, you can stop them forever.”





thirty-one

After slipping on the same dark skinny jeans I wore to school—the only ones spared the fate of Paloma’s scissors, intent on making room for my cast, I add a clingy, hip-grazing, black tank top, my favorite black ankle boots, a large pair of silver hoop earrings, and, of course, my olive-green army jacket. Arranging my soft buckskin pouch inside my clothes, where it rests against my skin, I’m just exiting my room and careening down the hall, when Paloma steps before me.

“Here, nieta, you will need this.” She offers two worn and crumpled twenties, but I’m quick to wave them away. I can’t take her money. From what I can tell there’s not a lot of it, and it doesn’t feel right.

She sighs, tucks it into her pocket, and leads me outside to her Jeep. And for all the talk and excitement we engaged in from the moment I got home from school, I’m surprised to find how quiet we are for most of the ride into town. It’s only when she brakes at a stoplight just a half block away from the Rabbit Hole, and reaches for a fresh tissue to dab away the bright spots of blood accumulating at her nose, that I say, “Paloma, about the nosebleeds—”

But just like every other time I’ve mentioned it, she’s quick to silence me. Her foot moving from the brake to the gas when she says, “When you’re ready to leave, Chay and I will be happy to come get you, all you have to do is call. And if you fail to find the portal and want to stay late and have fun, that’s okay too. I’m sure Auden or Xotichl will find you a ride, they’re good kids.”

She stops before the club, but I make no move to leave. Not until she tells me, once and for all, just what the heck is going on with her.

But, as usual, she senses my mood and turns in her seat, placing her hand over mine, giving it a nice, reassuring squeeze as she says, “Now go, nieta.” Her tone along with her gaze signaling she has no intention of answering my questions, so I might as well get on with it. Softening a bit when she adds, “And try to have some fun—you’ve certainly earned it.”

I sigh, wishing she’d confide in me. But knowing there’s no point in pushing it, I hop out of the Jeep and make my way down the alleyway to the side door, thinking how different the place looks from the other two times I was here. First as a terrified, hallucinating, confused train wreck of a girl, which only served in making everything appear dark, foreboding, scary, and sinister. Then, just a few hours earlier, when I saw it through the eyes of the raven—when it seemed almost ordinary, mundane, boring even. Though that’s what the Richters want you to see. It’s like Paloma said, now that I’m trained as a Seeker, now that I know the truth about the world, I definitely get the the sense of something much darker lurking beneath.

I head for the door, edging my way toward the front of the line, unable to keep a grin from slipping onto my face when the bouncer stamps my hand with the same stamp they used the first time I visited: a cartoon coyote with gleaming red eyes.

El Coyote, it’s time to meet a new generation of Seeker.

My bravado lasting all of ten seconds, until I step inside and the first thing I see is Lita and the rest of the Cruel Crew, as Xotichl called them, hovering just steps from the door.

But instead of the usual sneers I expect, I’m met by three pairs of narrowed, interested eyes that carefully track my progress as I make my way past the bar, through a maze of crowded tables and chairs, all the way to the front of the stage where Xotichl stands with her eyes squeezed shut, palms pressed flat against one of the speakers, as Auden runs through a series of sound checks.

“You made it.” She smiles, eyes still closed, head turning toward me.

“I did indeed,” I say, wondering what it is that she’s doing, but she tells me well before I can ask.

“I can see the music’s energy.” She opens her eyes, though her gaze remains unfocused, far away.

“You can … see it?” I study her closely, taking in her cute denim miniskirt and black tee, the word EPITAPH scrawled in silver across the front. “But … how?” I ask. I’ve never heard of such a thing.

“Amazing—isn’t it?” She grins in a way that makes her whole face illuminate. “It’s probably not what you think. It’s not like actual images or anything. It’s more like bright, intense flashes of color. Music is energy—you know that, right? Well, actually, everything is energy, it’s been scientifically proven. But anyway, back to music—you see, each note contains its own energy, its own vibration, which in turn contains its own corresponding color. I’m not sure if Paloma told you, but this is how Auden and I met. I mean, not here at the Rabbit Hole, but because of the whole energy/music/color/connection thing. Actually, when you come right down to it, it’s all Paloma’s fault.” She laughs. “We’ve been working on this for about two years now—she’s the one who helped me discover it. Then when Auden agreed to help me fine-tune it, she put us together and it was love from the start! His music is amazing,” she gushes, her face soft and dreamy. “You should see how much color it radiates. It’s as vibrant as he is.”