Soul Seekers03 - Mystic (11 page)

“Nieta.”

I turn to Paloma.

“Don’t overexert yourself. You’ve just returned from a horrible ordeal. You’re still healing, you’re still weak!”

“I slept twelve hours—how can I be weak? Besides do I look weak?” I raise my hands to my sides, allowing her to get a good look before I turn away and change into a clean pair of jeans.

“What happened to your scar?” She stares at the V-neck of my sweater, the place that bears the mark of Cade’s wrath. “It seems to be shrinking, fading. The ointment I used has never worked so quickly.”

“I bathed it with the healing waters of the Enchanted Spring. I should bottle some and bring it back for you to use on your clients. It’s amazing—heals everything.”
Including Cade.
Though I fail to mention that part. No need to worry her any more than she already is.

A ghost of a grin crosses her face, vanishing almost as quickly as it came. “I’ve tried that on many occasions, it doesn’t work. While the effects of its magick can survive the return to the Middleworld, the healing transformation happens only there. Once the water leaves the Lowerworld, it’s just water. There’s nothing special about it.”

“Well, it’s healing me,” I say. “I feel fine. Strong. Ready to do what I need to.”

“That may be so,
nieta
. But don’t forget you are thinner, paler, and I have no way of knowing if your friend Axel—”

“He’s not my friend,” I snap, but Paloma proceeds undeterred.

“I have no idea if he healed your heart properly. I have no idea how long his healing will hold.”

“I don’t know either.” I make a concerted effort to soften my tone. “But I can’t let that stop me. It was truly a miracle he was able to save me at all. I have no idea who he is, how he did it, or why he did it. All I know is that so far it’s worked, and it’s all I have to go on. That, and a whole lot of faith that between the combined efforts of you, Axel, and the spring, the healing will continue.”

One look at her face, the way she holds herself so stiffly, tells me she remains unsure.

“Look, I know you’re worried about losing me again just one day after I returned, but we both know the score. We both know the inherited dangers of being a Seeker.”

“It wasn’t quite as dangerous in my day.” Her fingers twist nervously at the row of small shell buttons lining the front of her cardigan.

“Somehow I doubt that.” I head for my closet, searching for my old green army jacket, but I can’t seem to find it. “There were Richters then, just as there are now.” I place my hands on my hips and frown.

“Aw, but Cade is a whole new breed of Richter,” Paloma says, and as much as I’d like to refute it, we both know it’s true. “Still, I fear you are running on adrenaline. And while you may feel strong now, it won’t last. That sort of thing never does. You’re bound to crash at some point, and then what?”

“You’re right.” I drop my hands, trading the search for my jacket for a search for shoes. “You usually are. But the thing is, adrenaline is all that I’ve got, so it’s just going to have to suffice. I’m stronger than you think,
abuela
.” I lean against the wall, and slide my feet into a pair of old sneakers. The cool black boots Jennika bought me for Christmas got lost along with the rest of the clothes that I died in. “And despite the scar on my chest, I’m not nearly as frail as I look. Besides, I’m the only one who can do this. I was born to do this.”

“But your training—”

“My training was hastened, I know. But you’ve taught me a lot, and you’ve taught me well. It’ll have to suffice. There’s only one thing…” I reach into my bag and retrieve the bloody athame. “Cade used this to kill me. And Dace used this to kill Cade. And I’m wondering how all of this could’ve happened, when we sanctified it with Valentina’s essence. Wasn’t that supposed to protect me?”

“It did protect you. You’re still here. And Dace is too.”

“Axel saved me. And Coyote saved Dace by default.”

“Who knows what forces are at work,” she says, taking the knife from me. Her gaze firm as she says, “I will take care of this, if you take care of three things before you leave.”

I wait, having no idea what they’ll be.

“First, call your mother.”

I drop my head in my hands, horrified I had to be reminded to do that. Jennika must be totally freaking. Not to mention how she’ll never forgive me for waiting so long to phone her.

“And second, if you’re looking for your jacket, it’s in my room. I know it’s a favorite of yours so I took the liberty of patching it up.”

I grin in appreciation. “And third?” My gaze meets hers.

“Meet me in my bedroom when you’re ready. There’s one last ritual still left to perform.”

*   *   *

Paloma swipes two oversized decorative pillows from her bed and places them just a few feet apart on the colorful handwoven rug. Its border surrounded by a thick layer of salt and white tapered candles placed a few inches apart. “Your mother must be very relieved,” she says.

“Relieved I’m alive. Angry I didn’t call her the second I returned. Bursting into tears every time I spoke, telling me that she feared she’d never hear my voice again, while in the next breath insisting she knew deep down inside I was alive. You know, typical Jennika.” I grin at the memory. Vowing to visit her in L.A. just as soon as this whole mess is over. “Oh, and just so you know, she also threatened to board the first plane that’s headed this way.”

Paloma’s eyes flash in alarm, which is something I rarely get to see. But then, just the mere thought of Jennika often has that effect on people.

“I tried to dissuade her. Told her I wouldn’t be around much. That as of tonight, I’m heading into another dimension and I have no idea how long I’ll be gone. And she took it surprisingly well. Suspiciously well. Which means you can probably expect to find her on your doorstep within the next four to five hours. Anyway, what’s this about?” I motion toward the pillows.

“We don’t have time for a sweat lodge, and I’m not sure I could bear the heat. This is the best I could do under the circumstances. I only hope that it works.” The words are spoken with an undercurrent of urgency that sets me on edge. She motions for me to take the pillow closest to me, as she claims the opposite one. The two of us facing each other, legs crossed, hands resting on our knees, she says, “I’m not sure if this will work, but I have to try.” She speaks in a tone so tense, I’m not sure what to make of it.

“Paloma, what’s going on here? What is this?” I ask.

“I’m going to attempt a lineage transmission where I pass on to you all of the teachings that were passed on to me from my mother who acted as the Seeker before me. Only for me, the teachings were passed down verbally. The same way I would’ve taught Django had he survived. The same way I’d hoped to teach you, but I’m afraid we’re running out of time.”

I study her closely, desperate to know what’s really going on. Why everything she says results in an ominous chill that runs down my spine. “Paloma, is there something you want to tell me? Are you not feeling well? You worry about me looking pale and thin, but I could say the same thing for you.”

“I spent the last few days fasting and praying for your return, that is all,
nieta
. I will regain my strength now that you’re back so do not waste your energy worrying for me. I only meant that now, with everything occurring so quickly, there’s no time to instruct you with the same methods in which I was taught. That is all.” She nods firmly, as though that’s the end of it, but the words leave me unsettled. “I’ve never conducted a lineage transmission this way. Nor have I taken part in one that was done in this manner. Still, I intend for it to work, and it’s the intention that matters the most.”

“So what’s my part?” I’m eager to be a good student and do whatever I can to help this along. “What do you need me to do?”

“First I need you to sit with your eyes closed and the back of your hands resting against your knees with your palms open so that they’re facing the ceiling.” Once I’m appropriately settled she goes on to say, “Now open your mind and clear it of thought as best you can.”

“That’s not nearly as easy as it sounds.” I sneak an eye open. “A stylist on one of the movies Jennika once worked on tried to teach me how to meditate, but it was a failure. I couldn’t get my mind to shut up.”

“Not to worry. Thoughts are natural. They’re going to pop up out of habit, if nothing else. But the majority of thoughts are meaningless, repetitive, and of no real value or benefit to you. So, when a thought like that appears, all you need to do is acknowledge its presence then be quick to let it go on its way. If you refuse to pay it any real notice, it will vanish on its own. You can begin any time.”

“That’s it? I just sit here and dispose of random thoughts?”

“No,
nieta
.” She leans toward me and presses a cool, dry palm to my forehead. “You just sit there and receive. I do the rest.”

While I’m not exactly sure what she means, we’re not long into it before a stream of images flows into my head. At first, I’m a little overvigilant. Eager to excel as a receiver, I’m quick to push the images away. Until I realize they’re actually Paloma’s images that she’s sending to me—a series of ancient Seeker teachings that have been passed down through the centuries.

I watch in fascination as incredible stories from previous Seekers, including Paloma’s own training rituals when she was my age, unfold in my head. And I can’t help but marvel at how youthful she was, how determined, strong, and eager to accept her destiny—a far cry from the way I initially tried to ditch mine.

But, as it turns out, regretful thoughts are of no real value or benefit. So I’m quick to acknowledge them and send them away. Needing to clear as much room as possible for the endless reel of ancient rituals, healing practices, and mystical arts that stream through my head. I even get a glimpse into Paloma’s own vision quest. Watching as Wolf devoured her only to rebuild her again, much like Raven did with me.

I observe her battles with Leandro, and while he’s not nearly as evil or ambitious as his favored son Cade, he’s a force to be reckoned with all the same. But what really strikes me is the way Paloma accepted her role without complaint. Dedicating herself to a life of great personal sacrifice in order to keep others safe, to keep the damage wreaked by Leandro contained. Her life story is a testament to her strength, assurance, and humility, and her reverence for her birthright is something I immediately vow to imitate.

Her life continues to unspool, including the moment she learns her husband, my grandfather, the Brazilian Jaguar shaman, Alejandro, died in a plane crash. A tragedy she accepts with her usual blend of dignity and grace, all too aware that the Richters were responsible. Ultimately succeeding at taking her husband, her son, and, for a while anyway, me. Which only strengthens my vow to stop them. To do whatever it takes to see that it’s done—even if it means slaying every last one.

When the images fade, she removes her hand from my forehead and places the blood-crusted athame onto my lap. “Now that you are imbued with this knowledge, I want you to keep your eyes closed as you silently call upon the Seekers who preceded you. When, and only when, you feel their presence, you will open your eyes and slowly pass this blade through the nearest flame until the blood is cleansed. Then you will extinguish the candles using only intent.”

I rub my lips together, straighten my spine, and do as she says. And when I’m fully imbued with the power of my ancestors’ presence, I grip the hilt tightly and cut through the flame. Watching as the blood bubbles and sizzles until it’s reduced to a single droplet that emits a curl of black smoke that rises before me. Its writhing, undulating form expanding and contracting to represent all of the spirit animals of the long line of Seekers preceding me, while allowing a fleeting glimpse of how they were all felled by Coyote.

All of them.

Every single one ultimately losing the battle.

Despite small moments of triumph, in the end, Coyote always won.

When Raven appears before me, I can barely keep hold of the athame for fear of what I might see.

“Raven is always with you,” Paloma says. “Just because you can’t always see him, does not mean he’s abandoned you.”

Soon after, Coyote appears, and I watch as the two square off.

“The same goes for your ancestors, and, someday, me.” Paloma’s voice provides the only source of comfort in a room reduced to one ominous point.

Raven moves toward Coyote, looking small and defenseless, no match for the enemy.

“You must never forget that,
nieta
. Someday you will need to call on all of us in a way you never have before. But you will do so without fear, assured that we will all be there.”

The battle begins with Raven spreading his wings wide and Coyote crouching. The two launching toward each other, caught in midflight, when the droplet evaporates, the curl of smoke vanishes, and I drop the athame on my knee, feeling shaky and weak.

“
Abuela
—” I start, only vaguely aware of the heat of the blade scorching my jeans.

But she’s quick to shush me. “Extinguish the candles,
nieta
. I know you can do it.”

Not only do I snuff out the candles, but I evaporate the ring of salt as well. But despite the success, it’s a far cry from the kind of skills I’ll need in order to defeat the enemy.

“Although some of the images may have disturbed you, they were intended to empower you and remind you of the seriousness of the task you now face. While it’s easy to hate Coyote, it’s best not to be led by your hate. It always leads to impulsiveness and regret. No matter what happens from this point on, you must never give in to your baser instincts. Leave the hating to them. If you want to overcome Coyote, you have to become bigger, better, and stronger than they’re capable of being.”

“But how? You saw the same thing I saw—I’m destined to lose—all of us are!”