Soul Seekers03 - Mystic (21 page)

His features blunt. His gaze clouds. And when I see his lips part, it’s clear that he’s hooked.

Phyre leans closer. Wets her lips again. Leaving them glossy. Dripping. Wet. Ready for him.

And without knowing why, I get this incredible urge to stop them. Convinced deep in my soul that this is no ordinary kiss.

It’s the first step to killing him. She’ll seduce him, render him vulnerable, and then finish him off in a way he couldn’t foresee, so she can report back to her crazy dad that her task is complete.

If she kills Cade, she kills Dace. And I won’t let that happen.

They angle their heads in opposite ways. Veering closer, lips just a short breath away, as the raven spreads his wings wide and swoops down between them.

Phyre screams, bats her hands frantically at her head, then screams even louder when a clump of shiny, black feathers fall to her feet.

As Cade settles back in his seat and directs his attention at me.

“Looks like Raven is against this particular love match,” he says, granting me a small wave of his hand, before he slams hard on the gas and leaves Phyre standing alone in the street.

thirty-two

Dace

Daire’s softly breathing form lies beside me. Her head in my lap, her long legs stretched out before her. I run a palm over her cheek, whisper soft words she can’t hear. For the moment, she’s like me. Living, breathing, but soulless. The true force of her energy has taken a journey, and it’s up to me to look after her.

I keep to my place on the far side of the shed. Watching as Suriel heads in and out of the trailer. His actions deliberate, purposeful. His body jittery, as though he’s downed two too many cups of coffee.

Only Suriel doesn’t drink coffee.

He shuns all forms of stimulants.

Shuns anything that creates a false sense of euphoria.

There’s only one path to heaven, he claims. And it’s clear that the tremor in his hands, the quake in his knees, is a direct result of his delusional beliefs of self-grandeur. His absolute certainty of his exalted place in the world.

He’s a psychopath, pure and simple.

He’s the very thing he preaches against.

I watch as he exits the trailer, this time carrying a bag I recognize from our meeting in the Middleworld. He drops it on the bottommost step, before taking a seat on the one just above it. Then he dips a hand inside, removes his blood-crusted stake, and holds it before him. Staring at it with the kind of unhinged, crazed admiration that’s easy to see from all the way over here.

Returning the stake to its place, he retrieves a glass bottle filled with some kind of clear liquid he anoints himself with—daubing it onto his forehead, his chin.

Holy water.

I’m surprised he doesn’t burst into flames.

When he’s finished with the ritual, he closes the bag, leaves it on the step, and heads into the shed where he proceeds to make such a racket of creaking hinges, dull dragging sounds, and unearthly, odd shrieks, my curiosity gets the best of me and I creep toward the filthy, square window at the back, clear a space with my fingers, and look in.

At first, it’s hard to make out what he’s doing. Aided only by the single bare bulb swinging overhead, it takes a while for my vision to adjust. Though it’s not long before I’m able to discern Suriel’s form, busily putting together a pile of red sticks with digital displays wound tightly around them, which, despite the tricky lighting, can’t be mistaken for anything other than the explosives they are.

What the hell is he up to?

I press closer. Clear a wider space to better see.

The squeak of my fingers moving over the glass, alerting Suriel to my presence.

He lifts his head. Centers his gaze right on mine.

And though I know I should bolt, for a few, terrifying moments, I’m frozen in place with legs turned to lead.

He pulls his lips wide, grinning as though my presence on the other side of the window has rendered him indescribably happy. Then he drops the bundle of explosives onto the pile, wipes his palms down the sides of his suit, and reaches for an old, rusted crowbar he uses to pry the lid off a rather large crate. Releasing a wild-eyed beast he’s been keeping for some unfathomable reason.

The sight of its snapping snout, its rows of sharklike teeth dripping with bloodlust as it turns its attention to me, reminds me of Axel’s warning.

“You have to be vigilant with your thoughts, your actions, yourself.”

I turned to him with a questioning gaze.

“Without the soul, you’re like an empty vessel. Leaving you vulnerable to demon possession.”

I shot him an incredulous look. Sure he was exaggerating.

“Demons are everywhere. They come in all different forms. Able to appear in spirit form as well as their own hideous demon forms—depending on which dimension they’re in. But the one thing they all have in common is their desire to materialize and live under the guise of humans. Though in order to do so, they need either a willing body, or a vacant, soulless body. Soulless bodies are always preferred, though obviously harder to come by. They’ll be after you, Dace. They’ll scent you from miles away, and will stop at nothing to get to you.”

“So you’re saying I’m walking, talking demon bait?”

Axel’s lavender eyes went grim.

“If that’s true, then why didn’t they want me before? Back when I was in their lair?”

“You were weak and wounded. Ironically, it’s the only thing that saved you. But now that you’re healed…” He heaved a deep sigh as his eyes met mine. “Vigilance, Dace. Until you get your soul back, you can’t afford to relax.” He was vanishing before me as he said it, his form beginning to dim.

“Where you going?” I asked, not sure what to make of it.

“I have to find my way back. I’ve already interfered in your life more than I should.”

“But what if I need another energy infusion?” I asked, watching as his eyes narrowed with regret.

“Just make sure you locate your soul well before then.”

Though the warning was intended for me, I’m not the only soulless body in jeopardy.

The beast hurls itself against the back wall, causing the wood to splinter and crack until it starts to give way. Leaving me only a handful of seconds to decide what to do next.

Do I fight him?

Slay him?

Beat him to a pulp and watch him bleed into the ground?

Or do I try to grab Daire and get the hell out of here?

With her idle body sprawled across the dirt, she appears so defenseless, so vulnerable, there’s no question I have to do whatever it takes to get her to safety.

I’ll fight the demon if it comes to that.

But only if it comes to that.

The demon continues to beat down the wall. His claw breaking through first, followed by a foot, as Suriel screams and shouts from inside, egging him on.

I lunge for Daire’s body, scoop her into my arms, and race for Kachina. Remembering too late that Kachina fears me. There’s no guarantee that she’ll help.

Though she is inclined to help Daire.

She runs up beside me and lowers her neck, allowing me to drape Daire over her back, just as a loud crash rings out from behind, and the demon lumbers straight for us.

thirty-three

Daire

Long after Cade has left, Phyre remains in her car. Her face hidden in the palms of her hands. Her shoulders spasmodically jerking as though crying.

She drags a deep breath, peers into the rearview mirror, and wipes a careful finger under each eye. Taking a moment to consider the tears she’s collected, before drying her hands on her legs and driving away.

With a gentle nudge from me, the raven soars alongside her. Trailing her over a series of gutted dirt roads and random turns, with seemingly no destination in mind. Until she pulls a quick U-turn and speeds toward Native Land.

The reservation?

What could she possibly want there?

If she can’t get the twins, will she go after Chepi?

Or is she simply licking her wounds with a visit to her childhood haunts?

The raven grows fidgety, hungry. Irritated by this extended bout of hospitality, he wastes no time in squeezing me out. Leaving me to wake with a start, surprised to find myself draped in Dace’s arms as Kachina races furiously beneath us.

“What happened?” With bleary eyes I squint toward the horizon, trying to determine our location. “Where are we? Where are we going?” I gaze up at Dace, noting the look of extreme apprehension masking his face. The way he keeps looking behind us, as though we’re being chased.

“I’ll fill you in later.” He drags hard on the reins, urging Kachina to a much slower pace, though it takes her a while to obey. She’s lathered and restless and as spooked as Dace seems to be. “You okay?” He presses his lips to my hair, clutches me tighter against him.

I nod, shift deeper into his arms, and peer past his shoulder. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to worry about. Whatever it was, it seems to have passed.

“What’d you see?” His voice is tight, distracted, as he peers behind us again.

“I watched Phyre try to get with your brother. But I intervened before it could go anywhere.”

“Cade was into it?” Dace greets the news with a look I can’t read.

Is he surprised? Disappointed? Jealous? Or is that just me, projecting my own conflicting emotions onto him?

“I think he was more amused than anything,” I finally say. “It seemed like he was kind of stringing her along. You know how he loves his little games.”

Dace flattens his lips in reply.

“Can I ask you something?” I pause, unsure exactly how to proceed. But I need to know, so I force myself to press on. “This’ll probably sound weird, but—was Phyre a really wet kisser?”

Just as I expected, Dace shoots me an incredulous look.

“I know it sounds crazy,” I say, my voice hurried, eager to explain. “And the only reason I ask is because she kept wetting her lips till they were all gloppy and dripping. And, even before that, I watched her spit on her hand and stare at her own saliva like she was totally transfixed by the sight of it. And I’m wondering if it has something to do with that weird vial she drank from?”

Dace shifts uncomfortably, looks behind him again, even though we both know whatever it was he was worried about is now gone. “A preoccupation with saliva doesn’t ring any bells,” he finally says, reluctantly voicing the words. “As for the vial—who knows? Knowing Suriel, it’s probably holy water—specially blessed by his own crazy, delusional self.”

“Okay, so basically she’s just a weird girl, then.” I lift my shoulders, aware of a slight rush of blood coloring my cheeks.

“I think we’ve already confirmed that.” Dace’s bottom lip tugs at the corners, but the mirth is short lived. Next thing I know, he’s back to peering behind us, as I take a moment to look all around, trying to get my bearings and figure out where we are.

“Are we anywhere near the reservation?” I ask.

“We can be. Why?”

“Phyre was headed there when I lost contact. It might not mean anything, but I think we should check in, see what she’s up to. Make sure Chepi’s safe.”

“I don’t think Phyre would hurt Chepi. She looked to her like a mother after her own mother went missing.” Dace speaks with confidence, but I’m not convinced. I wouldn’t put anything past her.

“Yeah, well, she also claims to be madly in love with you, and yet, look what happened there. Her father gave her strict orders to kill you, and it’s not like she warned you.”

That’s all it takes to convince him to nudge Kachina toward the reservation. After stopping by Chepi’s and learning she’s not home, we’re on our way to Leftfoot’s when I spot Phyre’s dirty white car parked just before the grove of twisted juniper trees.

“She knows about the Lowerworld?” I shift my gaze between the vortex and Dace, catching the deeply troubled look on his face, but he just shrugs in reply.

Quick to dismount, he offers a hand and helps me down as well. Then we step between the grove of trees and leap into the vortex that sees us tunneling deep into the earth before landing in a heap. We take a moment to collect ourselves, take a good look around. The surrounding landscape just as frozen as the last time I came here with Lita and Xotichl.

“This isn’t natural.” Dace’s eyes narrow. His lips fall flat and grim. “Of all the years I’ve been coming to the Lowerworld, I’ve never seen it like this.”

“I’m afraid the snow is my doing.” I make a guilty face. “It was my dying wish—only now, it won’t seem to stop.”

Dace studies me for a moment, then turns to survey the land once again. “And where’s Horse? He’s always here to greet me.”

“My guess is he’s hibernating.” I rub my palms together in an attempt to keep warm. “I haven’t seen Raven either. Not since Christmas Eve. And until this is settled, I don’t expect to. But the real question is, where’s Phyre? Where do you think she went?” I study Dace’s profile, his high, sculpted cheekbones, his wide brow, as he squints against the glare and looks all around.

He shakes his head, runs a hand through his glossy sheet of hair, but it’s not exactly the answer I was looking for. I need something more.

I clear my throat, forcing myself to ask the question that leaves me feeling more than a little intrusive. More than a little ashamed. At the risk of sounding like a nosy, jealous girlfriend, I say, “Dace, did you and Phyre ever come here together?” I clamp my lips shut before I can say anything more. My desire to hear his most heartfelt denial, in direct conflict with my need for a good jumping-off point. The Lowerworld is huge. Any hint on where to start looking would be a big help.