Mystic (The Soul Seekers 3)

Xotichl

After several knocks on Paloma’s front door go unanswered, Lita and I head around back where we find her tending to a bed of strange hybrid plants that continue to thrive no matter the season.

I tilt my chin high and take a long, greedy inhale. Filling my nose with their lush fragrant scent before I say, “I’m a day early and I brought company.” I nod in Lita’s direction. “I hope that’s okay?” The question asked more out of politeness than any real concern that Paloma would turn us away. She likes having us around. Sees us as a link to Daire, much like we see her.

She grasps the basket of medicinal night blooms and struggles to stand. The scene unfolding before me in a grim, sludgy, stream of energy with a luminous glow at the tip of her fingers.

“Here, let me get that.” Lita rushes up beside her in a streak of vibrant orange that veers toward Paloma’s listless gray. The contrast providing a bitter reminder of just how frail Paloma’s become in the past few days.

While she never fully recovered after her soul was returned, and while there’s no doubt that Daire’s disappearance has taken a toll on each of us, Paloma’s clearly the most affected of all.

Despite having firsthand knowledge of the hazards of being a Seeker, she holds herself responsible for the loss of her granddaughter. And no matter how many times I remind her that the prophecy was in motion, that it couldn’t be stopped, it doesn’t do much to alleviate the guilt.

Lita takes the basket and helps Paloma to the back door as I follow them inside. Moving past a kitchen that’s rife with the scent of something healthy and delicious warming in the oven, past the continuous crackle and pop of the wood-burning kiva fireplace, and up the ramp to her office where she settles us at the old wooden table, before she returns to the kitchen to grab us a snack.

“I could get used to this,” Lita says, when Paloma places a steaming cup of ginger tea and a vegan cardamom cupcake before us. “What do you say tomorrow, same time, same place, same snack?”

We all laugh a little longer than the joke actually merits. Hungry for an excuse to lighten our emotional loads.

“Aren’t you going to have some?” Lita asks, when Paloma joins us at the table.

“I am fasting until she returns,” she says. “These are Daire’s favorite. I make a fresh batch every day, so they’ll be here when she comes back.”

Lita falls silent, busying herself with her cupcake and tea, as I lean toward Paloma, and say, “I brought Lita because I think it’s time she learns the truth of this town, and I figured you’re the best one to explain it.”

The muted squeak of her finger running circles around the rim of her mug tells me I need a better way to sell this.

“With Daire missing—” I pause, needing a moment to collect myself before I continue. No matter how many times I say it, it doesn’t become any easier. “There’s no other Seeker to replace her. Which means we’re all going to have to pitch in and do our part. But we can’t protect each other if some of us don’t even know what they need protecting from.”

Paloma remains quiet for so long, I’m on the verge of begging, when she says, “I suppose you’re right.” Her voice, like her energy, is weary but resigned. “So, where do you suggest I begin?”

“How about the beginning,” Lita says. “I’ve got a feeling the history of this town is nothing like they taught us in school.”

Paloma nods in assent and settles into her chair, relaying a story so strange I keep careful watch over Lita’s energy to see how she’s handling it. And to my surprise, she’s not nearly as shocked as I assumed she would be.

“I knew it!” Lita cries, the second Paloma’s story ends. Smacking the table for emphasis, which from my end looks like a sharp streak of orange merging into a stagnant stream of brown. “I so totally knew it.” She over-enunciates every word. “I mean, maybe I didn’t know that all of the Richters, also known as El Coyote, are pretty much evil to the core. And maybe I didn’t know that Cade could turn into an actual demon because he’s basically the spawn of a demon and contrived by black magick. And maybe I didn’t know that this town is filled with secret portals, or vortexes, or whatever you call them…”

“So, what exactly did you know?” I ask, unable to keep from grinning.

“I knew that Cade was bad news. I knew there was something very dark about him. And I feel like hurling every time I think of all of the things that I … that we…” She steadies her breath, rubs her palms against the table, and starts again. “Anyway, as for that creepy coyote of his, I’ve seen it. More than once. And the first time I saw its eyes glowing red, I screamed bloody murder and ran. But then Cade told me some made-up story about how he found him abandoned as a pup and decided to rescue him, train him, and keep him as a pet, and … ugh. I can’t even tell you how disappointed I am in myself for being so charmed by all that. I can’t believe I actually believed him!”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Paloma slides away from the table, the chair’s legs scraping hard against the tiled floor. “The Richters know how to alter perception. They altered yours, as well as most everyone else in this town.”

“Everyone except Xotichl.” Lita swivels toward me. “How come you never fell for his act?”

“Cade can’t get to me.” I duck my head, take a sip of my tea. “None of the Richters can. It’s the benefit of being blind.”

“Are you saying he glamoured me?” Lita’s voice pitches so high, she practically squeaks. “That he looked into my eyes and hypnotized me like the vampires do on TV?” She’s torn between fascination and outrage, as demonstrated by the way her energy sparks and flares.

“Not exactly,” Paloma says. “They need the benefit of your sight in order to alter the way you perceive things. It’s an esoteric practice that very few have been able to master. As the story goes, before they happened upon the secrets of this particular skill, they were average, if not honorable, citizens. Or at least until they became warped by the power. They grew increasingly greedy, acquisitive, drunk on their own authority. No matter how much damage they do, the people continue to perceive them as a family worthy of their awe and respect. All too happy to toil away for the Richters’ various interests, while spending all of their earnings eating and drinking in their bar and other establishments. It’s a terrible cycle ensuring they remain forever indebted. You know the saying: Absolute power corrupts absolutely? The Richters are a prime example of that.”

“And Cade is the worst of them all, having spent the last year stealing bits of people’s souls, which he then fed to his dead ancestors in order to resurrect them and do his bidding,” I say, wanting Lita to know that while her falling for Cade wasn’t exactly her fault, the truth is far worse than she thinks.

“Are you seriously telling me that he used my soul to fuel some godforsaken, Richter zombie?”

If I thought she squeaked before, it was nothing compared to how that sounded.

“Not all of it. Just a piece,” I say, instantly regretting being so blunt. It’s a lot to swallow in just one gulp. I need to break her in slowly.