The Soul Seekers: Horizon (5 page)

“Sometimes I get homesick.” His face assumes a thoughtful expression. “But then, I look at you, and suddenly I get to experience all of the wonderful emotions that were denied
me before. Before you, everything I knew about falling in love was confined to theory. And while I’ll eventually grow used to living without magick and tunics, now that I’ve found you,
I could never consider a life without you.”

I choke back a sob, start to look away. But then he catches me by the chin, tilts my face toward his, and says, “I’m willing to skip breakfast, if you are?”

All I can do is nod in return.

And the next thing I know, he lifts me into his arms as though I weigh nothing at all, and carries me down the hall toward his room.

Since I have sometime before I need to show up for work at the gas station, I drive into town and park the old, white heap just outside of Gifford’s, aiming to enjoy a
cup of that freshly brewed coffee advertised in the window, and maybe read a bit from the stack of books I’ve been lugging around.

I wave to old man Gifford and head for a table in back. Only to hear my name being called from the far side of the room, as Leftfoot and Chay gesture impatiently toward the steaming cup of
coffee they have waiting for me.

How they knew I’d show up when I only decided myself just a few moments ago is beyond me. Then again, the elders are pretty much tuned in to everything. They probably willed me here
without my even realizing.

I grab the chair next to Chay and drop my books before me. Lifting my cup to my lips, I watch as Leftfoot swipes a title from the top of the stack, glances at the front and back covers, heaves a
disapproving grunt, and drops it right back.

“Where’d you get those?” Chay glances between the spines and me. “Lucio’s back room?”

“Santa Fe.”

He narrows his gaze, takes a sip of his coffee. “When’d you start smuggling contraband? Those sort of books have been banned from Enchantment for years.” He speaks the words
lightly, but his face remains as stoic as ever.

“What can you learn about the mystical arts from a book that you can’t learn from us?” Leftfoot chimes in, sounding miffed and offended.

I shrug, lower my cup, and decide to answer honestly. “So far, nothing.”

Leftfoot grunts in reply, but this time it’s of the satisfied variety.

After covering all of the usual small talk—the stifling summer heat; hottest year on record; Chepi’s general health and well-being and her continued suspicion of Daire, which seems
to be softening since Paloma’s passing—we move onto the whole point of their luring me here. And of course, it has to do with the Richters. Three in particular: Gabe, Leandro, and Cade.
Otherwise known as my cousin, my father, and my twin. Though I prefer not to think of them that way.

Gabe is a creep.

Leandro is a dark sorcerer and rapist, who used my mother to wield his black magick to conjure a son even darker than he.

And as for Cade, well, next time I see him, I plan to kill him.

I guess you could say there’s no real sentiment where the Richter side of my family is concerned.

And while it’s clear that no one has seen any of them, like Daire, they’re not convinced that’s necessarily a good thing.

“Work continues at the Rabbit Hole. Which means someone must be in charge of rebuilding, and if not Leandro, then who?” Chay looks from Leftfoot to me.

“It’s a big family.” I dip my head for another sip of coffee. “There’s no shortage of cousins. Any one of them could’ve taken the helm.”

“You really believe that?” Leftfoot’s narrowed eyes meet mine, practically daring me to disappoint him and insist that I do.

I shake my head. Should’ve known better than to be so glib. As a longtime student of Leftfoot’s I know better than most that he requires absolute seriousness in matters like this.
“No,” I say. “I don’t believe it for a second. Guess I’m just trying to enjoy the break while it lasts.”

“Really?” Leftfoot leans toward me, as Chay busies himself with his soft-boiled egg and fruit plate.

Gone are the days of the covert cheese Danish. Now that Paloma’s no longer around to lecture him about the evils of sugar, seems he’s finally decided to heed her word. Just one more
way he chooses to honor her memory. The other is the woven leather bracelet he wears at his wrist bearing a carved silver Wolf’s head.

Paloma was guided by Wolf. And I can’t imagine how he gets through each day without her. If I was in his place . . .

I shake free of the thought, and return to Leftfoot who’s still waiting for my response.

“Is this how you enjoy the break? By reading books on shape-shifting?” He flicks the stack with his index finger and thumb.

“Looks like you’ve already decided the answer.” I meet his look square-on. Even though he’s technically my uncle, Leftfoot’s always been like a father to me.
Despite struggling to raise his son, Lucio, on his own, he never hesitated to look after me. And I’ve never thought of him as anything less than a dad. Because of it, we argue as much as any
father and son.

He shoots me a look that manages to convey his extreme annoyance while still managing to be supportive and fatherly. Tossing a wad of bills on the table, he rises impatiently and motions for me
to follow.

“Where we going?” I glance from him to Chay, but Chay just pushes away from the table and shrugs, even though I’m convinced he’s informed. The two of them are thick as
thieves. Always in cahoots. There’s no dividing them.

“Your honeymoon is over.” Leftfoot slips an arm around my shoulders and pushes me into the daylight. “We’ve got work to do. Serious work. Make no mistake, the worst is
yet to come.”

Having spent the first sixteen years of my life studiously avoiding pretty much all forms of physical activity that don’t involve lounging and/or reading, I’m
amazed by how much I’ve come to love running. How quickly I’ve taken to it. How fast I’ve progressed.

Turns out there’s nothing like a good, brisk run to clear away the cobwebs and relieve a little of the tension crowding my head. Not to mention how it’s a useful way to get home
after a night spent at Dace’s. Or at least until I get around to getting my driver’s license. And though there are quicker routes to choose, none allow for as good a view of the Rabbit
Hole.

I slow when I reach the far corner, cast a quick glance each way, then dart across the street and edge toward the alleyway. Where I take a quick detour and cruise by the chain-link fence where I
secured the padlock as a symbol of Dace’s and my love, if only to ensure it’s still there. With so many forces working against us, there was no guarantee. Then, I move toward the clamor
of hammering and workers shouting from the other side of the barrier. The clouds of dust and noise providing ample proof that the rebuild continues. Though the barrier fronting it is so solid,
tall, and imposing, it’s impossible to get a sneak peek—one thing is sure: El Coyote is alive and well and planning on making one hell of a comeback.

And, I’ve no doubt Dace knows it too.

No way does he truly believe that they’re dead.

Dace is too smart to ever believe such a thing.

Like me, he’s prepping for what’s next—whatever that should turn out to be.

I’ve caught him doing push-ups, crunches, and lunges when he thinks I’m not looking. I’ve even caught him shadowboxing, but I just slipped back into bed without saying a word.
If he wanted me to know, he’d tell me. Besides, I’m sure his secrecy is less about keeping things from me, and more about quelling my fears. And while I’ve no doubt his aim is
well intentioned and sweet, truth is, it’s not really working.

Great clouds of dust waft over the partition, as a chorus of jackhammers and drills drones on without ceasing. About two months after the explosion, the construction began. And now, after four
months of working in earnest, I have to think it’ll be ready soon.

And then what?

The doors spring open and it’s back to business as usual?

With large crowds of people lining up for overpriced drinks, loud music, and mediocre food?

I duck my head low and place a hand on each knee, forcing deep exaggerated breaths as though I need a break from the run, but really using the moment to take a good look around. Searching for at
least one familiar face—something to clue me in to exactly what’s going on.

My wish is seemingly granted when a big, black truck pulls into the lot that at first glance, I mistake for Cade’s. It’s only when I see the red-and-orange flames licking the sides,
and Marliz behind the wheel, that I realize it belongs to her fiancé, Gabe.

While she’s not exactly the person I was hoping to see, I can’t help but wonder why she’s still here, driving his truck, if Gabe’s supposedly dead.

I lower my cap, tuck my chin to my chest, and crouch to one knee. Fumbling with my laces as though retying my shoe, I track Marliz as she slips free of the cab, takes a quick nervous glance all
around, and darts for the barrier, leaving me only a handful of seconds to decide what to do.

Our relationship, if you can call it that, has always been troubled. She’s the first person I met in Enchantment (other than Paloma and Chay), and, to her credit, she did try to warn me
away. But aside from that, and the brief period I managed to release her from the Richters’ curse when she fled to L.A. with a little help from my mom, she’s pretty much been working
against me. Last time we spoke she made good on her threat to thwart me. And with the Richters holding her spellbound again, there’s no reason to believe she’d be up for a chat.

Still, I shout her name as loudly as I can in an effort to be heard over the din. Watching as she pauses and turns, her yellow-blond hair swirling around her slim, suntanned shoulders—her
heavily made-up eyes widening when she finds me waving from a few feet away.

She stands frozen before me, her tattooed arm with the snake slithering around her bicep clutching hard at her purse, as her long, skinny legs teeter atop a pair of impossibly high wedged
heels.

With both hands raised in surrender, wanting her to know I mean no harm, I slowly approach. All too aware that the slightest misstep will only serve to scare her off.

“Marliz—it’s me. Please don’t run. We need to talk . . .”

Her gaze darts wildly. She lifts a hand to her hair. Then the next thing I know, she’s spinning on her heels and racing for the barrier. Her left hand raised before her, she aims her
bright blue tourmaline ring toward the wall, causing a blinding flash of bright light and a glimmering veil of dust that seems to swallow her whole. One moment she’s there, and the next
I’m left staring at the empty space where she stood. Wondering if I somehow imagined it, until I see the trampled mound of glittering powder she left in her wake.

After a quick look around to ensure no one’s looking, I drop to my knees and skim a tentative hand over the top. Coating my fingers with a strange, dark, sparkling substance with
razor-sharp edges that looks nothing like the usual construction dust.

I quickly fill my palms with the stuff, pull my hat from my head, and drop it into my cap. While I may not know what it is, one thing’s for sure: This is not your average rebuild.

The Rabbit Hole is getting a mystical makeover.

The building’s enchanted—protected by some kind of spell—and the Richters are at the helm of it all.

Just as I suspected, they’re not dead—they haven’t gone anywhere.They may be lying low for now, but they’re in there—somewhere—I feel it in my bones.

They’re plotting.

Planning.

Biding their time.

Just as I’m biding mine.