Mystic (The Soul Seekers 3)

The whole time I sought to save him—if only to save Dace—Cade was plotting against me.

Seizing control of Paloma’s mind, body, and soul through a shiny, blue stone.

I shut my eyes against the scald of unshed tears forming under my lids. And though I long to give in to them, long to sink to my knees, throw my head back, and wail until I’m hollow and empty—there’s no time for that.

Now, more than ever, I need to keep a cool head. Can’t afford to be weakened by loss.

Refusing to indulge in despair—refusing to experience it from the inside—I direct my grief outside of me—eager to be rid of it.

Causing Wind to lash at the windows and howl at the doors.

Causing Fire to spark and hiss so loudly in the kiva fireplace, I can hear it from two rooms away.

While Earth trembles, shaking jars from shelves and pictures from walls.

As mad sheets of rain pelt hard against the flat adobe roof.

The magnitude of my grief alone enough to manipulate the elements—and yet, I couldn’t stop Cade from manipulating me.

“Daire, please stop.” Dace’s touch is gentle, his voice soft and coaxing.

But I can’t stop.

Won’t stop.

Not until I stop Cade.

“Daire.”

It’s another voice this time. One I haven’t heard in a while.

Dace mumbles under his breath.

Lita gasps.

As the rest look on in confusion.

His deep purple gaze meeting mine, he motions toward the chaos I’ve caused. And with a single sad shake of his head, and a pleading look in his eyes, he convinces me to stop.

“Are you here to take her up?” I ask, seeing no other reason for his return.

“No,” he says, the word alone containing countless layers of untold sadness tinged with regret. “Paloma’s in good hands. She’s already moved on. As for me, I’m afraid I’ve made my choice. It’s no longer home.”

I should feel bad, but I don’t. It’s like he said, Axel made his choice. Now I’m making mine.

With a weary gaze and a heavy heart, I stand before my family and friends, feeling as though I’ve grown several decades in the space of one night.

“She’ll want to be buried beside Django.” I speak with the kind of hard-earned authority that no longer surprises me.

Jennika whispers my name, starts to move toward me, but I hold up a hand to keep her at bay.

“I see no reason to delay. Paloma wouldn’t want a big, formal affair. Everyone she loved and cared about is already here. Besides, I want it done before the news spreads and the Richters catch on. I don’t want to give them the opportunity to interfere, or find a way to desecrate her memory before we’ve had a chance to properly honor it.”

“Daire, you’re tired. It’s late. There are professionals you can call upon to handle these things,” Chepi says, softening toward me for perhaps the very first time since I’ve known her.

But it’s Chay who steps in. He and I now partners in grief, he looks at me and says, “Daire’s right. Paloma would’ve wanted it this way. I see no reason to delay.”

forty-five