Fated (The Soul Seekers #1)(66)
I stand beside her, having no idea what to say. Having never imagined I’d find myself jealous of a blind girl—or any girl, for that matter. I’ve always been more or less content with just being me, for better or worse. But Xotichl’s joy is so contagious I can’t help but wonder what it might be like to be her. To live in her skin. To be so filled with happiness and love it can’t be contained.
To never face the burden of merging your energy with that of a cockroach in order to go vortex hunting.
I wonder if she has any idea just how good she’s got it? But when I look at her again, I’m pretty certain she does.
“Oh, and just so you know.” She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Word’s out about your Hollywood past.”
I gape, overcome with the feeling of air rushing out of me.
“Apparently you’re quite the cover girl.” She nods. And I can’t decide if her voice contained a hint of glee, or if I’m just crazy and paranoid, which is such a real possibility I decide to give her the benefit of the doubt and move past it.
“They saw it?” I close my eyes, wondering how this could’ve happened. It’s a weekly tabloid. It’s been off the shelves for a while now.
“Apparently the hair salon has a copy,” she says, answering the question I hadn’t yet voiced. “And there was one laying around the Laundromat too. Oh, and just in case you haven’t heard, there’s this new thing called Google—apparently you can find it there too.”
“Great. That’s just … great.” I study my feet. “Nothing like going from really bad to way worse all in the course of a day.”
“Maybe…” Xotichl bends toward me. “Then again, maybe not. For the first time in a long time—quite possibly ever—they’re hit with the kind of dilemma they’re not used to facing. Now they’re torn between hating you and admiring you, when before they just hated you. You should consider it progress.”
I survey the room, and yep, sure enough, there they are—three sets of eyes keeping track of everything I do. Then I turn back to Xotichl and say, “Well, for the record, the cover wasn’t exactly flattering, and the story wasn’t true. But it’s not like anyone ever cares about that. The more salacious the better. Why wreck a potentially blockbuster issue with the cold, hard facts?” I shake my head, determined to not just locate that secret portal but also to find my way inside no matter what Paloma says. The sooner I can locate the source of El Coyote’s power, the sooner I can destroy it, complete my job as a Seeker, and get back to my life as I knew it.
“But see, that’s what you don’t get,” Xotichl says. “Lita and the Cruel Crew—otherwise known as Crickett and Jacy—well, they don’t care if it’s flattering. They only care that you were in the same general vicinity as Vane Wick. And, while we’re on the subject, what was that like?”
I shake my head, thinking: Et tu, Xotichl? Only to glance over my shoulder to see just about every girl in the room, every guy too, staring at me, presumably wondering the same thing, so I might as well get used to explaining. “It wasn’t nearly as good as most people want to believe,” I tell her, knowing that’s about as false as the story on the cover of that tabloid. From what I remember, Vane was a damn good kisser. So good I came very close to doing something I would’ve regretted. But the fact that he so easily betrayed me, means that from this point on, that’s the story I’ll stick with.
Xotichl laughs, facing the stage when she says, “Yeah, I had a feeling about that.”
A moment later, the lights dim and Auden stands before us with a guitar strapped to his front. “This one’s for Xotichl,” he says. “Actually, they’re all for Xotichl.”
His fingertips meet the chords, causing a crescendo of music to swell through the room, as I lean toward Xotichl and say, “I’m gonna take a walk, have a look around. I’ll find you later, okay?”
Already moving away, when she catches my wrist, her face grim, voice competing with Auden’s strumming guitar and plaintive wail when she says, “Careful out there. Cade’s here.”
thirty-two
A crush of teens surge toward the stage. So many it forces me to shove my way through, mumbling, “Excuse me,” over and over again until I finally burst free and smack straight into Dace.
My body slamming so hard into his, it sets him off balance. His fingers going for my arm in an attempt to steady me, steady himself, when he says, “You okay there?”
I nod. Look away. Unable to reply—unable to meet his gaze. My immediate field of awareness narrowed to the space where his hand clutches my arm—reducing the world outside to blurred shapes, white noise.
“That’s the second time you’ve smacked into me here—must be a sign.” He grins, eyes shining, as his skin fans at the sides. The two of us suspended—staring hard at each other—until I release myself from his grip, break free of the spell, immersed in a whirl of music and people swarming all around us. “The last time you seemed a little out of it—in a bit of a hurry,” he says, looking chagrined when I fail to respond. “So you probably don’t remember.”
“I remember.” I nod. Wanting to say: I remember everything—all of it—the question is: Do you? But instead, I stare down at my feet, smiling stupidly. Everything I do around him is stupid. Some Seeker I’ve turned out to be. Attempting to redeem myself, say something normal, not let on that I already know he’s employed here—thanks to the raven who allowed me to spy on him earlier, I say, “So, I guess you hang out here a lot then?”