Fated (The Soul Seekers 1)

That’s when I watch as the soul leaves Wolf’s body—hovering for a moment, shiny and bright, before it finds its way back to Paloma where it belongs.

Her cheeks instantly coloring, her lids lifting, gaze seeking mine when she says, “Nieta. Nieta, you did it!” Our shared elation lasting only a second before I realize it’s not at all like she thinks.

“No, abuela,” I whisper, my lips close to her ear, not wanting Dace or Chepi to hear. “I didn’t. I only managed to save you and a few other souls—lots of souls actually—and believe it or not, it was the Bone Keeper who helped me. Still, despite my efforts, there are many who were lost. I’m so sorry—I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bear to lose you. Couldn’t do what you asked. And though I tried to stop them, I failed.”

Paloma’s eyes meet mine, brimming with compassion, though her lips tell another story, turned pale with worry. “And how did you find her, nieta—the Bone Keeper?”

“Raven led me.” I smile. “With a little help from Horse and Dace.”

At the mention of his name, her gaze switches to the place where Dace stands at the far wall with Chepi. Studying him closely, her attention claimed for so long, I’m just about to speak, when she returns to me and says, “Now that you have found each other, it is time for you to realize your destinies. It’s all in motion, there is no going back. The raven heralds the prophecy, and the prophecy is here. You two are fated, nieta.”

“I—I don’t understand,” I say, wondering why her gaze is so consoling when her news is so good.

“A Seeker’s life requires great sacrifice,” Paloma says. “And I am sorry for that. But you must stop Coyote no matter the cost. You have no idea how much havoc just a few of them can wreak.”

“I will.” I nod, desperate for her to believe me. “I’ll do what it takes, just point the way.”

“I’ve lost most

of my magick.” Her lids droop, voice fades with fatigue. “I’ve relinquished it to you. So while I can guide you, sweet nieta, in the end, the task belongs to the two of you. You must work together—you must do all that you can…”

Her voice lulls, as her breathing sputters and slows, but I’m not yet finished. I’ve still got one more question to ask, and she’s the only one who might know the answer.

I lean closer, lips at her ear as I whisper, “Paloma, what is the Echo? What does it mean?” I hold tight to her hand, hoping for a response that will ease these deep-seated fears gnawing inside me.

But my words are met with silence—she’s already claimed by sleep.

fifty-three

Leftfoot ushers us out of the room, insists Paloma needs her rest. And while I don’t disagree, I’m not entirely ready to leave. Not until she wakes and I’m sure she’s on the mend.

“She’s experienced quite a bit of trauma,” he says. “It is rare for one to survive a complete soul loss—it is usually only a partial. But as you know, Paloma is not like most people. She is stronger, more resilient, and because of your efforts, she will make it just fine. But for now, you must allow her to sleep. And you must allow me to return Wolf to the Lowerworld. It’s no good for him here. You two have done enough for one day.”

“Yes, you certainly have,” Chepi says, her eyes grazing over my snarled hair, torn jeans, and bare feet, telling me I look even worse than I think.

Her anger dissolving the instant Dace slips an arm around her, murmuring in their native tongue. Then he leads us outside, where the three of us pause on the road, silent and awkward, until Chepi says, “I remember your father.”

Her eyes meet mine as I stand rooted before her, unsure how to react.

“You are just like him,” she adds, confusing me further.

Does she mean I’m impulsive and reckless?

Does she mean I’m destined to break her son’s heart just like Django broke Jennika’s—even though it wasn’t his fault?

Does she mean I’m part of a world she’s vowed to turn her back on, in an effort to protect herself—protect her son—and she resents my dragging him into it?

Does she mean all of those things, along with plenty more I’ve yet to think of?

I lower my lids, shutting her out in an effort to see with my heart, but all I get in return is a woman who’s deeply concerned for her son.

Dace moves to intervene, desperate to smooth things over, but he’s soon stopped by his mother who says, “Paloma was there for me when I needed her, and so I spent the last couple days doing what I could to return the favor. Though I never imagined my son, along with you, would come through when it really mattered.”

I duck my head and stare hard at my feet, unable to come up with a suitable reply. The sentiment was simple, hinting at kind, but the tone it was spoken in seemed accusatory at best. Then again, maybe I’m just tired, and maybe my fatigue is making me paranoid.

“It’s been many years since I observed Día de los Muertos—but perhaps today I should.” Her gaze lingers on mine in a way that reminds me of all the horrific, unthinkable things that happened to her on that day, when she was just a young girl my age.

She turns to her son, invites him to join her back at her house, but when he shakes his head in reply, she’s quick to turn and be on her way. “You be careful out there,” she says, the words drifting over her shoulder, more loaded than they appear.