Echo (The Soul Seekers 2)

Not now.

Not after getting this far.

I steady my breath and stare straight ahead, covertly wagging the pack of cigarettes before him as I send a silent prayer to my ancestors, the elements, my talismans, anyone who might be willing to listen. Praying the tobacco offering will work as well as it did the last time I was here, and heaving a sigh of relief when he accepts the bribe and tosses it into his mouth, plastic wrapper and all.

We pass through the tunnel that leads to the cave, then we slip through the entry and on past the den. Making our way down the long hall where we crowd into a semicircle, listening to, from what I can make out, some sort of initiation speech.

The words a bit muffled from where I stand, though I’m still able to discern things like: Great opportunity … rare blue tourmaline … a fortune to be made … free room and board … None of which leaves me with any more insight than I started with.

Though one thing’s for sure—the only fortune to be made will be for the Richters. These people won’t see a dime of it.

A moment later, we’re moving again. Pushing through the second wall that leads to the valley of sand, where we begin our trek across the desert terrain. My fellow travelers so glazed, so obedient, I wonder if they even realize what they’re doing, where it is they’re going. It’s as though they’re caught in a trance, programmed to do what they’re told and not to react to anything unusual.

When we reach the point where the hill crests and the ground gives way, I’m careful to shield myself from the mass of flailing limbs as we tumble toward the Lowerworld, where I leap to my feet and scramble behind a guy twice my size. Adjusting my hood so it shields the better part of my face, hoping to go unrecognized until I’m ready to be seen.

“Welcome!” Cade calls, his voice deep and sure. “I’m glad you all could make it—that you’ve decided to reach a little higher—do something more meaningful with your lives than spending your days slumping over the bar, getting sloshed out of your minds. Our cause is a great one, and you should be proud of your part in it…” He drones on, reciting a speech that’s completely unnecessary. These people are captive. His to command. There’s no reason to go on like he does, other than the fact that he loves to hear himself speak. Finally reaching the end when he says, “So, it’s time we get started. I see no reason to delay. But first—your uniforms.”

He reaches into a large cardboard box an undead Richter has placed by his side and goes about tossing heaps of black, short-sleeved T-shirts bearing a picture of him into the crowd, like he once tossed souls to the army of undead Richters.

“Take one and pass the rest,” he barks. “This is so you never forget who you’ve sworn fealty to.” His gaze grows darker as he takes in his subjects assembled before him.

When the guy in front of me hands me a T-shirt, I take a moment to examine it. Noting how the grin in Cade’s picture is a perfect match for the one he wears now.

Fake.

Empty.

A meaningless void.

It’s the smile of a psychopath.

An egomaniacal freak with no access to human emotion, so the best he can do is imitate.

I crunch it into a ball and discard it at my feet. I have no intention of wearing it. No intention of working for him. My immediate goal is to determine what he’s up to. And then—

And then I’m no longer sure.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

“You’ll be mining for tourmaline. Pure blue tourmaline. Which, just so you know, is one of the most precious, rarest, and therefore most costly, stones on earth. Though make no mistake— you will enjoy all of the labor and none of the profits. And any of you even considering pocketing a rock you think no one will miss—think again. We are watching you at all times. The price for that kind of treason is immediate death with no questions asked. And any of you wanting to turn back—it’s too late. There is no escape.”

A few grunts of protest erupt from the crowd, but it’s not like Cade cares. He expects nothing less than their absolute submission, and there’s no doubt he’ll get it.

He turns on his heel, confident that we’ll follow (we do), as he leads us across a blackened scorched land to an elaborate mining operation guarded by an army of more undead Richters. The sight of which leaves me gaping in astonishment.

I’m out of my element.

Out of my league.

The double-sided knife I’ve stashed up my sleeve is a joke, no matter what Paloma claims.

There are way too many Richters—way too many heads to remove—versus only one of me.

While the athame may hold the power to slay Cade, I won’t even get that far before I’m overcome by the rest of them.

I’ve completely miscalculated.

Ignored common sense in favor of anger and thoughts of revenge.