Xotichl shakes her head. Toying with the hem of her sleeve, she drags it over her knuckles and down toward her fingertips. “A demon’s energy is like electrical interference. It’s frenetic and strange, with a vibration that’s hard to contain. Cade’s energy isn’t like that. It’s definitely human—darker than most, no doubt. It’s extremely heavy and dense. But human all the same.”
“But maybe you’ve only encountered him in human form,” I say, realizing I’ve lost the argument the moment it’s out. “Okay, yeah, I get it. Huma
n form, which means he’s human. Still, he’s not a normal human, not even close.” I sigh in surrender. Xotichl’s blind sight is a formidable tool. It bears no bias—it merely states it like it is. Kind of like the pendulum.
“Are either one of you familiar with the legends of the Navajo skinwalkers?” Paloma asks, her eyes darting between us.
Xotichl squirms in her chair, reluctantly admitting she is, while I merely shrug. Having come across the word once or twice, but unable to grasp a clear idea of just exactly what it means.
“They are brujos and brujas.” When she sees my blank look, she goes on to explain. “Evil witches and sorcerers, dark magicians who are able to take on the appearance of other forms.”
“Like shape-shifters?” I ask, remembering the night I spied on Cade via the cockroach. How he stripped off his clothes before his run with Coyote, which struck me as odd (not to mention disturbing). But before I could see anything more, he slammed his boot into me—er, the cockroach—severing our bond. But now, I can’t help but wonder if Cade was preparing to turn into a coyote? I sneak a peek at Xotichl, perplexed by the way she fidgets in her seat, as though she’d love nothing more than a change of subject.
“Similar, but not exactly.” Paloma’s fingers trace the rim of her cup. “They utilize animal hides, also known as magick skin. Draping themselves with the skin of the animal they seek to become allows them to complete the transformation and adopt many of the animal’s characteristics, including the ability to travel great distances rather quickly. They’re able to read minds, to climb inside a person’s head and persuade them to cause great harm to others as well as themselves. It is said that a skinwalker can absorb themselves into one’s body simply by locking eyes with their prey. They’re often associated with Coyote. Though whether or not Cade is an actual skinwalker I can’t say for sure. What I can say is that from what you’ve told me, he, and probably other members of his clan, share the unique ability to transform. And we already know they excel at mind control to the point where they’re able to alter perception. But the fact that he seems able to retain his human consciousness and ego-bound desires while he’s in this altered state, tells me he’s more of a halfling.”
I stare hard at my finger, reminded of the moment Cade and I locked eyes at the Enchanted Spring–turned cesspool. How I felt him tug on my soul—siphon my energy. The thought makes me shiver.
“Only in Cade’s case, he merely transforms into the physical manifestation of the true nature of his soul.” Reading my confusion, she adds, “His soul is dark—when he transforms, he’s merely exhibiting what lurks inside.”
“Like turning himself inside out!” Xotichl grins, instantly grasping what I was still struggling with.
“So, does that mean Dace can turn into a rainbow, or an angel, or a dazzling white stallion with wings?” I ask, regretting the words the instant Xotichl cringes and Paloma shoots me a look.
“I’ve no doubt that Dace has the power to transform into something very powerful and good. Though I’m not sure he’s discovered that yet,” Paloma says.
I sigh in surrender, knowing they’re right. Dace is good. Cade is evil. And yet they’re equally human. Which means I’ve got to find another way to stop Cade. But at the moment, I have no idea how to begin.
“It’s still two against one,” I venture, hoping to find comfort in the thought. Then seeing their confusion, I add, “What I mean is, I’m mostly good. Dace is all good. And since we’re in love, and since love always wins—since the light always shatters the dark—we’re destined for victory, right?” I glance between them, only to watch Paloma push away from the table and head for a locked cupboard I’d never paid any real notice to until now.
Retrieving an ancient, leather-bound tome, she plunks it down before us, and says, “Why don’t we consult the codex?”
ten
Xotichl and I inch forward, sitting elbow to elbow as we lean over the tome. Its vellum pages crafted from thinly stretched cowhide that, while it’s held up well over the years, bears edges that are showing signs of age and wear in the way they’re beginning to wither and curl.
“It’s illuminated!” Xotichl turns to Paloma for confirmation.
“It is indeed.” Paloma nods. “Valentina was very skilled as both a soothsayer and an illustrator.” Referring to one of the very first Seekers in the Santos family tree, who appeared to me during my vision quest, along with Django; Alejandro, the grandfather I never met; and a whole host of Santos ancestors along with their spirit animals.
I peer at the elaborately scrawled handwritten text that at first glance appears to be a convoluted mess of symbols and numbers and words so archaic, so cryptic, they’re impossible to decipher.
“It’s unreadable.” My face droops as I turn to Paloma.
“It appears that way.” She looks at me, a faint glimmer in her eye.
Xotichl’s hands hover over the pages, palms down, her lips screwed to the side. She contemplates for a moment, then says, “It has very pure energy. It speaks only the truth.” She lowers her hands to her lap and sits back in her chair. “Though it came at great cost. A sacrifice was involved.”
Paloma reaches toward Xotichl, eyes shining with pride. “You’re making such progress!” She ruffles her hair, causing Xotichl to catch Paloma’s hand with her own.
“Yes, but there’s still so much more to learn.” Xotichl grins.
I watch the two of them together—the teacher and the student. And yet they’re so much more than that. They’re family. My family. The realization filling me with a warmth I didn’t expect. While Dace may be determined to avoid me in order to protect me, it’s good to know I don’t have to face this alone.
“Valentina was the sacrifice,” Paloma says. “She suffered great trials to accumulate this knowledge, but she did so willingly. As one of the first to face the Richters, she knew the fight would continue—that her child would have little choice but to pick up where she left off. She was determined to leave some sort of guide. This book is the result.”
“Did they speak in a special language known only to them?” I peer at the lettering, the strange symbols, still unable to make any sense of it.
“Valentina took great precautions to ensure the text would not fall into the wrong hands. All too aware that a breach of that kind would’ve proved disastrous for us, she invented an elaborate code that’s not easily deciphered. Since the start of its existence, the book, along with the secret to reading it, has been passed down from Seeker to child. I presented this book to Django on his sixteenth birthday, as is the custom. Though, of course, as you already know, he wanted no part of the Seeker tradition. But now that you’ve accepted your calling, nieta, it’s time I pass it to you.”