Soul Seekers03 - Mystic (3 page)

The sound repeats. Becoming more insistent each time, as the enormity of my situation becomes clear.

The darkness it speaks of is thrumming inside me.

My fingers slip down my torso, seeking the blood-crusted gash where I plunged Daire’s athame deep into my gut, willing to sacrifice my own life in order to end my brother’s. An act of martyrdom ultimately denied me when, at the very last second, Coyote stepped in. Catching Cade’s departing soul in his snout and forcing it back into him, while allowing mine to drift free …

Still, we are connected in miraculous ways, and one thing’s for sure—if Cade lives, I live.

Or at least some semblance of me.

Dark.

There’s no use pretending. No one will find me. I will rot in this place and I deserve nothing less.

I shutter my eyes, fold my hands over my chest, and wait for the numbing wave of unconsciousness again.

three

Daire

I’ve barely cleared the bed when my head grows dizzy and my vision swirls with stars so insistent, I’m forced to grab hold of the nightstand and wait for the moment to pass. Dismayed to find myself nearly as helpless as I was with Axel. Guess it wasn’t all just an act.

Still, I can’t let that stop me. Can’t afford to be swayed by the pain. Driven by my need to break out of here and ensure Cade stays contained, I press on until I’m putting a solid distance between me and the bed.

Whoever said that pain is a great teacher was spot-on. I’ve grown more in my time here than I did in the past sixteen years.

I make for the armoire on the far side of the room, hoping my clothes are still there. But other than some filmy, white, ethereal gown with thin straps, a square neck, and swirls of light beading cascading down the front, the cupboard is empty.

I jerk the gown from the hanger and frown. The style veers so far from my usual look of skinny jeans, scrunchy boots, and clingy tank tops worn under my favorite green army jacket, I’m reluctant to try it. It’s the kind of dress usually reserved for debutant balls or weddings, which does nothing to lessen my fears over Axel’s intentions.

Clearly he manifested it for me. I’m the only one here.

The question is why?

Did he really plan to make me his bride?

With no other option, I lose the robe and tug on the gown until its silky white fabric skims over my hips and flutters well past my knees, before landing with a flounce at my ankles. Then I heave a deep breath and peer into the mirror, shocked to see the stark image staring back. Axel has taken great care to steer me away from all reflective surfaces, and up until now, I had no interest in looking. But now that I’ve started, I can’t seem to stop. And I wonder if my family and friends will notice just how much I’ve changed.

My hair is darker. The color of my lips deeper. Which in turn makes my skin appear even paler. And though my cheeks are sharper, far more defined and hollow than they once were, it’s the eyes that capture me most. The irises deepened into a dark feverish emerald that burns with a craving for revenge.

Despite telling Axel that it’s love that drives me, my need for vengeance runs a close race.

I continue the inventory. Noting a body that’s thinner, weaker, though not nearly as battered as when I arrived. Other than the vivid red scar peeking free of the gown’s deep neckline, there’s no sign of the violence Cade did me. The kind of heinous acts he will never get the chance to repeat. I will learn from my failures, and use those same lessons to fuel my success. And if it’s the last thing I do, I
will
retaliate. I will see that Cade pays.

My reverie broken by the sound of muffled footsteps coming from the other side of the door, I freeze in place. Fearing for what Axel might do if he finds me like this.

If he truly does have my best interests at heart, I imagine he’ll be incredibly hurt to learn I’ve deceived him.

And if not …

A moment later, the sound fades and I hurry the search for my belongings. Relieved to find the soft buckskin pouch Paloma gave me, and the key on the long black cord that symbolizes Dace and my love. Though sadly, Django’s black jacket, one of the few tangible pieces I had of my dad, has gone missing. Either left behind in the Lowerworld, or so damaged from my battle with Cade, Axel disposed of it along with the rest of my things.

I slip the talismans over my head and glance inside the pouch. Ensuring the stone Raven, the Raven feather, Django’s Bear, the small aquamarine I gleaned from the falls, and the polished turquoise heart Dace gave me as my Secret Santa gift, are all there, though doubting their magick remains.

Paloma insisted the pouch be kept carefully guarded, and well within reach. Claimed no other person must ever look inside it, or its power will be lost.

Not only has it been out of my sight since the night I arrived, but I’m willing to bet Axel peeked the first chance he got.

Nevertheless, I tuck the pouch inside the dress, then nestle the small gold key underneath. Relishing the harsh chill of metal on flesh. The way it clings, cold and alien, to the scar that bisects my chest.

Another reminder of all that I’ve lost.

As dressed and ready as I’ll ever be, I rush to the window and peek past the curtains. Ensuring it’s clear before I move for the door and press my palms hard against it just like I envisioned countless times before.

Except this time when I give the doors a good shove, they remain stubbornly fixed.

I push again.

And again.

Thrusting my body wildly against the ornately carved wood, only to discover they’ve been bolted from the outside.

I race for the window, in search of a latch, but find none.

I grasp the ceramic pitcher Axel uses for water, and slam it hard against the pane, only to learn the glass is shatterproof.

I race to all four corners of the room, desperately seeking a way out, but there is no escape.

I’m trapped.

Imprisoned.

My worst fear confirmed.

Axel is both saving me and enslaving me.

He was my only way in—and now my only way out.

I slump to the floor in defeat. Left with no other option but to change back into the robe, return to bed, and continue the ruse until I come up with a much better plan. A plan that could take days, maybe even weeks to evolve. Yet, with no other choice, I heave myself up, grab the dress from the hem, and begin to slip it over my head. Dragging the buckskin pouch along with it, until I notice the trail of warmth it leaves in its wake.

It’s a sign. I’ve no doubt. Wouldn’t be the first time the amulet sought to get my attention.

I tug the dress back in place, and fold my fingers tightly around the pouch. Aware of my damaged heart pounding hard against my chest as I call upon the spirit of many generations of Santos ancestors. Summoning the collective wisdom of Valentina, Esperanto, Piann, Mayra, Maria, Diego, Gabriela, Alejandro, and Django, before I go quiet and still and wait for a sign of their presence.

Their message promptly delivered in frantically whispered words that sound in my head.

What lies outside of you is no match for what lies within you. You must be willing to do that which you believe you’re not capable of.

While the meaning is clear, the problem is, I’m no longer sure what I’m capable of.

I thought I could avert the prophecy, and maybe I did. But Axel’s refusal to discuss it leaves me uneasy.

I also thought I was ready to slay Cade—ready and willing and perfectly able. And though the memory is still hazy, there’s no denying the way I hesitated the moment I pressed the knife to his throat. Watching him bleed under my hand was nothing like I expected. It was less like slaying a beast, and more like murdering a human.

It’s a mistake I won’t make again.

Though one thing is clear, if I want to return to Enchantment I’ll have to act fast. And while it’s tempting to forge a less resistant path by trying to convince Axel to release me, I can’t risk it not working.

I need a plan that’s solid and sure.

I need a plan that doesn’t rely on Axel’s consent.

You must be willing to do that which you believe you’re not capable of.

I reach for the heavy wooden chair fronting the desk, and drag it to the other side of the door where I press my back flush to the wall, and wait.

Envisioning the scenario from start to finish.

Seeing myself fulfill the act without hesitation.

Without an ounce of regret.

Resolved to do whatever it takes to get out of this place.

four

Dace

When the murkiness gives way to darkness, I can’t help but spread my arms wide and embrace it like the savior it is.

Longing to melt into it.

Disappear in it.

Hardly able to believe that after all of this time, after all of the mental anguish of remembering, deliverance has come.

My breath slackens. My pulse dims. With the soul already gone, it won’t be long before the body and mind are claimed too.

But when the darkness above me narrows and shifts, I realize the mistake. What I mistook for salvation, is merely a shadow.

Funny how just when I gave up on being discovered, someone has found me.

“Well, I’ll be. If it isn’t Dace Whitefeather. It is you, isn’t it?”

The voice is familiar. The face is obscured.

“So this is where you’ve been all this time. Should’ve known you weren’t dead.”

I swipe a hand across my brow, roll into a sitting position, and take a full inventory. Counting a cheap black suit, a severely starched white shirt frayed at the collar and cuffs, and a ridiculously skinny black tie.

“Should’ve known she was lying.”

He clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, as my gaze drops to his feet. Noting worn shoes that, despite a recent polish, are pocked with a cross-hatching of scuff marks.

“This was supposed to have been taken care of weeks ago. Now the whole thing’s delayed. She’ll pay for this. Make no mistake. She will not get away with it. There’s a fiery place in hell with her name on it.”

The last bit prompts the curtain to rise in the theater of my mind as a long-ago slide show unspools. The face in my memory no longer an exact match for the one that looms before me, but recognizable all the same in the way of the long, crooked slant of a nose that hangs like a hook toward a pair of bloodless mean lips turned crueler by time. But the eyes are the real attraction, just as they were back then. Still wild. Still crazy. Still hinting at the uncorked fanaticism lurking within.

Suriel Youngblood. Phyre’s doomsayer father.

“Never send a girl to do a man’s job.” He shakes his head and rakes a hand through his carefully coiffed and greased hair, before he slips a large black duffle from his shoulder and drops it to the dirt where he kneels down beside it in a chorus of cracking knee joints. He retrieves a brand-new Bible with a white leather cover with one hand, and an iron stake along with what can only be described as an oversized mallet with the other.

I remain rooted in place. Watching with only the mildest curiosity, as he approaches me with his collection of unfathomable tools. Suddenly made aware of just how abnormal I’ve become.

A normal person wouldn’t lie back and wait.

A normal person would take one look at this madman and choose to either fight or flee.

But I’m no longer normal.

No longer human.

I’m empty.

Soulless.

And if he’s here to release me, I have no plans to stop him.

“Been down here demon hunting all day,” he says, as though I deserve an explanation for his crashing my party. “Usually there’s no shortage of them. This part of the Middleworld rarely disappoints. The deeper the dimension, the bleaker the landscape, the better the bounty. I’ve been at it off and on for years. These are some of the best slaying grounds that I’ve found. Though today’s been quiet. Must’ve walked for miles before I stumbled upon you.” He shakes his head, pulls his lips back, and hocks a wad of spit that lands smack between us. “Second I saw you I knew exactly why I was called here. He works in mysterious ways. He does indeed. Just like Him to present such a monumental find in such a beautifully simplistic way.”

While I have no idea what he’s going on about, I don’t care enough to ask him to elaborate. I just lie back and watch as he stoops by my side. Face contorted in crazed and earnest conviction, as he presses the Bible hard to my chest and holds it in place with the spike’s razor-sharp tip. A stake that’s filthy, well-used. Bearing a heavy crusting of what can only be the remains of his previous kills.

“You think I’m a vampire?” I peer at him through narrowed lids, amused by the idea. I always knew he was delusional, but I guess I never realized just how deeply disturbed he really is.

Taking great care to center the mallet’s fat head flat against the stake, he throws his head back and enters into a loud and thunderous sermon that roars through the land. Same kind of zealous Armageddon talk he used to preach about on the street corners back when I was a kid. Back when everyone either rolled their eyes and laughed or chose to hurry past.

Guess I never listened well enough to realize that all of this time, the sermons were directed at me.

Convinced that my entrance into the world marked the beginning of the End Times he’s been preaching about for the better part of his life, he’s spent the last sixteen years planning my demise.

“Vampire, demon, sorcerer, skinwalker—what’s the difference?” His eyes roll skyward, as though addressing an invisible friend. “Satan, Lucifer, the devil, the deceiver, the fallen, Beelzebub, Mephistopheles—they’re merely titles, names. Evil is as evil does. There is no use making distinctions. All you need to know is that the Last Days are upon us. The signs are everywhere! Twice now, a flock of ravens fell from above. And it was only days ago when the sky opened wide and purged a torrent of fire.”