Mystic (The Soul Seekers 3)

“You were right about Cade. He’s the one who filled the sky with fire. He did it to force the prophecy. He was impatient. Convinced that if he could just get it going, then he could hasten the day that he’d rise up and rule. But some things cannot be forced, and now the prophecy is … dormant … for lack of a better word.”

Paloma’s energy deflates as she sinks deeper into her seat. “I’m afraid you’re right,” she says. “The night Daire went missing, Chay stood right here beside me as we watched the words lift from the page. I didn’t mention it to you until now because I wasn’t sure what to make of it. But I’m sure your impressions are correct. Cade is immature, impatient, and so he forced the signs before their time. And though I check the book daily, the space where the prophecy stood remains stubbornly blank.”

“Have you checked today?” I venture, unsure if I should voice this incredible sensation I’m getting.

“I checked this morning. It’s the first thing I do.”

“Check again,” I say. “You know, just to see.” I strive to keep my voice light, as though I’m merely hoping to be humored. Afraid of giving too much away, planting a seed of hope, when there’s a chance I might have it all wrong.

I hold my breath as she slides the book toward her. My cheeks bubbled with air as the cover sounds a dull thud against the tabletop, and the worn vellum pages turn one by one. That same rush of air whistling from my lips when she and Lita both gasp, the sound alone confirming the very thing that I sensed. Those ancient, yellowing pages are now shimmering with the promise of new text, where just a few moments earlier it stood blank.

“What does it say?” Lita asks.

“I don’t know.” Paloma’s voice is uncertain but more enthusiastic than I’ve heard in days. “The symbols are hazy, out of focus…”

I’m about to lean toward it, wanting to see if I can maybe intuit something, when I sense a subtle shift of wind. The slightest alteration in the atmosphere that might’ve gone completely unnoticed if it weren’t for the bright flashes of color, the surge of warmth, and the celestial chorus that accompanies it.

It’s a chorus I’ve heard once before.

The tempo lilting, lifting, until it rises into a crescendo so glorious, I can no longer contain it. I leap from my chair and cry, “Somebody needs to go open the gate.” Making sure I have their full attention before I add, “Somebody needs to go open the gate and let Daire in—she’s home!”

ten

Daire

I pause in the doorway with my eyes closed. Savoring the aroma of mesquite logs burning in the fireplace and ginger tea seeping into the air. Along with the sweet smell of cardamom cupcakes, lavender oil, vanilla perfume, and peppermint soap—the scent of home, family, and friends.

“Nieta!” Paloma crushes me to her chest so tightly I can feel her bones jutting from her shoulders in a way I don’t remember. “Nieta, what happened? Where have you been?” She draws away, runs the back of a hand across my brow and presses both palms to my cheeks. Staring at me with wide, unblinking eyes, as though she can’t bear to have me out of her sight for one second more.

“It’s a long story,” I say, eager to brush it aside in order to get to more urgent topics, like Dace. Just about to ask where he is, when I’m distracted by the deep lines of worry now permanently etched around her wise brown eyes, and the stark streaks of silver in her long dark braid that weren’t there before. Her face is drawn. Her body frail. Clearly my disappearance has taken a toll.

I switch my focus to my friends, noting the way they hover on the sidelines, too tentative to approach. Xotichl with her light brown hair, soft gray eyes, and beautiful heart-shaped face—and Lita with her gorgeous dark eyes, and long dark hair with ends that were recently dyed to look as though they were dipped in red paint. For someone who’s not used to having friends, I’m amazed by how much I’ve missed them. Still, I rushed back for a reason, and I need to confirm that Dace is okay.

“Where’s Dace?” I glance between the three of them. “I really need to see him—let him know I’m okay,” I say, only to have Xotichl’s voice overlap with mine when she raises a hand toward the scar marking my chest.

“You’re injured!” she cries, face creased with worry. “I can sense it from here.”

“Oh my God!” Lita slaps a hand over her mouth. “Who did that to you?”

“Cade.” I shrug, allowing Paloma to guide me to the couch where she settles a blanket over my shoulders, lowers the slim straps of my dress, and examines the wound. “He killed me,” I say, amazed at how easily the words just roll off my tongue. “And then Axel saved me.”

Axel.

I close my eyes at the memory, but I’m quick to open them again. There’s no time for guilt. No room for remorse. I did what I had to. He left me with no other choice.

“Axel? Nobody mentioned an Axel.” Lita glances between Xotichl and Paloma. She hates to be out of the loop.

“Axel is…” I shake my head, having no idea how to explain him.

Axel is my savior.

Axel is my captor.

Last I saw, Axel was sprawled in an unconscious heap on the floor.

“Axel lives in the Upperworld,” I say, figuring it’s best to stick to the facts as I know them. “He’s the one who stitched the wound closed. He’s the one who stopped Cade from stealing my soul.”

“What did he look like—was he cute?”