Mystic (The Soul Seekers 3)

Phyre secures a tight grip on his collar, her fingers digging into the cloth, urging him closer. But Cade places a hand on her chest, holding her at bay as he glances over his shoulder.

“Her kiss is lethal. She’s a poison woman. Trust me, you do not want to do this. I’m sure there are plenty of other girls you could make out with.” The words come out in a rush.

“Hundreds,” he says, eyes flashing, tongue working the side of his cheek. “Thousands.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever. Just know, it you insist on kissing this one, it’ll prove to be your last.”

His face creases with rage, as he hisses a stream of curses under his breath. Turning to Phyre, he shoves a hand hard against her chest and pushes her into the chain-link fence.

I heave a little sigh of relief. Ready to turn my focus to locating Dace, when Cade looks over his shoulder again and shoots me a wide feral grin.

“Just how long did it take you to figure it out?” His fingers inch toward Phyre’s throat, squeezing so hard most of her air is cut off. “’Cause I’ve known since the first day she got back in town. I could smell her oleander breath a mile away.” He switches his focus between the two of us, and I struggle to stifle my growing alarm.

He knew all along!

This whole thing’s a setup!

I think about the athame in my pocket, longing to use it—but what good would it do? Hurting Cade means hurting Dace—it’s a truth I can’t afford to lose sight of.

“It’s like I’ve told you before, Seeker—Coyote has formidable senses. It’s to your great disadvantage that you always seem to forget that. And as you’re about to see, underestimating me will prove to be deadly. I’ve been planning this ever since that unfortunate incident when you set me on fire.” He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, emitting an ominous, ticking-clock sound. But whether it’s meant to scold me or scare me, I can’t say for sure. “This will prove to be a big night for me, and—spoiler alert!—it will go just like this: I kill you—Suriel kills Dace—and no one kills me.” He punctuates the news with a wink and a grin. “In case you’ve forgotten, all I have to do is shift so that my brother’s demise doesn’t affect me.”

Despite all that followed, I’m still stuck on the part about Suriel killing Dace.

I glance behind me, glance all around, but we’re the only ones here.

Surely Dace will steer clear of Suriel—like I warned him to do?

Cade’s calculating, beautiful, monstrous face looms before me—an exact replica of Dace’s, and yet so entirely different. “Nothing happens in Enchantment without my knowing. I’m always dismayed at what a slow learner you are. You should know that by now. I control this town and the people within it. And as it turns out, Seeker, that includes you.” He clenches and unclenches his fist, grinning with great amusement as Phyre gasps and sputters for each shallow breath. Finally tiring of the game, he releases his hold and, bored, watches without interest as she sinks to the ground in a spasm of coughing, before turning his attention to me. “I’m tired of you messing in my business. I’m tired of you skulking around my club and my town.” He takes a step toward me, then another, until we’re nearly touching. “I’m tired of you, Seeker. And you know what happens when I tire of something?”

“You donate it to charity?” I quip, seeing him standing before me with his arms raised to his sides, his eyes red and blazing, all too aware of what happens next. Massive growth, followed by clawed feet, scaly skin, and two-headed snakes shooting from the place where his tongue ought to be.

I take it as my cue to leave.

I’ve no interest in fighting him. While I don’t doubt for a second his intention to kill me, I also know he’ll do whatever he can to delay the deed. Keep the fight going, drag it out much longer than necessary, if only to allow Suriel enough time to kill Dace without my interfering.

Not on my watch.

With only a breath spanning between us, I slip off my mask and toss it at him. An act that’s undeniably lame, but it does buy a few seconds’ delay which allows me to spin on my heel and run like the wind.

Racing across the snow-covered field, following the frenzied tracks Phyre left in her wake.

forty-two

Daire

When I reach the mouth of the alleyway, Phyre’s tracks vanish into a wasteland of crumbly asphalt and well-trampled snow. Leaving me with no way to discern which way she went.

I curl my fingers around the soft buckskin pouch that hangs from my neck. Summoning the wisdom and strength of the elements, my ancestors, and the animal spirits that guide us, when I’m alerted to the crash of breaking glass—the screech of raised voices. One in particular rising above all the rest.

“The blasphemous will not be tolerated! Repent now, before it’s too late!”

Suriel.

I bolt down the alleyway to where a disorderly crowd is beginning to form. Edging up alongside a trio of drunks, I stoop my shoulders and duck my head low. Careful to stay sheltered among them, until I can get a sense of what’s going on.

“Those who follow false prophets, do so at your own peril!”

I slink a bit closer, lifting my chin just enough to make out Suriel dressed in his usual stark black suit, scuffed shoes, and white shirt, preaching from his place behind the pulpit. A makeshift plywood stage and podium to match, bearing all manner of strange, Apocalyptic images crudely painted on its front and sides. Snakes with sharp fangs and hungry eyes, horned beasts with spiked tails, angels with drooping halos and broken wings, crying copious rivers of blood while a sea of flames licks at their feet.