“You thought I might be the clue. You thought you were sleeping with the enemy.” The moment I take in her face, the fight seeps right out of me. She’s scared. Uncertain. Her burdens are great. And ever since Paloma passed she’s felt alone in the world. It’s my job to love and support her. It’s my job to provide strength when she needs it. I wrap my arms around her, encouraging her to inch closer as she closes her eyes and buries her face in my chest. “You haven’t missed anything,” I whisper the words into her soft silky hair. Drop a long string of kisses along the top of her head.
She pulls away ever so slightly and gazes at me with eyes that betray the depths of her anxiety. “But I have.” She nods fervently. “I’m absolutely sure of it. No way can things truly be as peaceful as they might seem on the surface.”
“Don’t we deserve a little peace?” I pull her back to me, deluding myself into thinking that if I can just hug her enough, love her enough, I can vanquish her fears.
“This is Enchantment.” The sound that follows is the closest thing to a laugh that I’ve heard from her in a while. “Since when does anyone get what they deserve?” She mumbles that last part into my chest, peering up at me to see how I react.
I crack a smile, hoping she’ll crack one too. But the moment is lost, and in the span of a breath she’s off and running again.
“I’ve gone over it countless times.” She pushes into a sitting position. “And I’ve absolutely no doubt Cade killed Paloma via that cursed tourmaline I unwittingly gave her. I’ve researched it a good bit, and it’s not nearly as whacked as it seems. Crystals and gems emit energy. Everything, at its very essence, is comprised of energy. And, while energy never dies, it can be altered, transformed, and in the wrong hands a gem can be cursed with a hook that connects the recipient to the giver. Allowing them to either control the receiver’s soul, claim the receiver’s soul, or end the receiver’s soul—depending on the intention.”
The words leave me as cold as they did the first time I heard them. Though I’m not sure why she sees fit to repeat them, unless she’s in search of reassurance, which I’m more than happy to provide. “I don’t doubt you, Daire. Heck, Leftfoot, Chepi, and Chay have already confirmed it.”
She lowers her gaze to her legs and flexes her calves, causing the long, taut muscles lining the front of her thighs, the result of daily six-mile runs, to lift and swell in a way so enticing I’m forced to steer my gaze elsewhere.
“Thing is—if the elders are right, then how come everyone who attended the Rabbit Hole New Year’s Eve party left with a swag bag containing a tourmaline, and yet, not one of them is showing even the slightest sign of any ill effects?” She lifts her gaze to me, draws the sheet to her waist. “People are living like they’ve always lived. If anything, they’re living a little better. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Enchantment doesn’t seem quite as depressed and gray as it once did. The citizens aren’t as downcast. They step lighter, laugh more often and easily—”
“Maybe they’re just happy to live in a Richter-free town? Maybe they’re thrilled that for the last six months, there hasn’t been a single sighting of Cade, Leandro, or Gabe? Don’t forget, you and I both watched Cade run into that smoldering building—maybe El Coyote is finally dead? Maybe Phyre and her crazy, snake-wrangling, doomsayer dad, Suriel, did us a favor?”
Though I wasn’t entirely convinced of what I just said, Daire is even quicker to dismiss it. “They’re not dead. Not even close.” She gives a firm shake of her head. “Don’t forget, Cade was in human form when he ran into that burning building. He was unable to shift into his demon self. Which means if he went, you’d be gone too.”
“But I’m still here, and I cut my hair, and now you’re suspicious.” I drop my chin to my chest, hardly able to believe I brought it full circle again. Still, now that it’s out there, we may as well clear this thing up so we’ll never have to revisit.
It never once occurred to me that a haircut could cause such a fuss. Had I known, had I even the slightest inkling of the kind of upset it would cause, I would’ve left it alone. Truth is, I’m not even sure what compelled me. I guess, ever since last New Year’s Eve, when I found myself overcome by a strange, all-consuming force that never quite made itself known (but that’s definitely responsible for saving my life), I’ve felt changed.
Altered at the deepest part of my core.
Like I was on my way to becoming someone else.
Something else.
And ever since, the old me no longer rests quite as easily in my skin.
Since most transformations begin with the physical, I decided to start with my hair.
Hoping to surprise Daire, I went to Lita for help. And by the way she reacted, jumping up and down while squealing and clapping her hands, you would’ve thought I’d given her the winning lottery ticket. Turns out, the girl loves a makeover.
I’d barely broached the idea before she was dragging me into her car and racing toward her salon.
“We’re gonna lop off this crazy mop!” she announced, dragging me inside by the shirtsleeve and pushing me in front of her stylist, but not before adding, “Finally!”
Soon after they threw a robe on me, plunked me down in a chair for a wash and condition, and then into another chair for the cut. With Lita hovering nearby the whole time, shouting a list of detailed directions, as though she’d been planning this moment since the first day we met.
“You’ll need to cut at least five inches off the back,” she told the stylist. “Maybe even six.” She scrunched her nose at my offending looks, clucking her tongue against the inside of her cheek, and shaking her head in disgust. “Then add some layers around the face. And make sure you keep them long and soft and kind of messy-looking, so it appears like it’s meant to look tousled and natural since we both know he probably won’t ever brush it.” She chased that last part with a little laugh to soften the blow, leaving me to wonder once again what my former spirit guide, Axel, could possibly see in this girl.
“Oh—but not too short!” Lita squealed the second the stylist lifted her shears. “Whatever you do—do not make him look like his twin!”
I’m guessing the stylist was used to Lita’s demands, because she just smiled and nodded and went about the business of cutting my hair. And by the time she set down her scissors and I looked in the mirror, I couldn’t do anything but stare, as the stylist smiled, and Lita clapped her hands and cried, “Well, congratulations, Dace Whitefeather—you just took your first step toward cool.”
Though, unfortunately, Daire’s reaction wasn’t quite as appreciative. And while she didn’t quite mistake me for Cade (or at least not back then anyway), it took her some time to come around. Though from the way this is going, I guess she’s still not entirely on board.
“Dace—” Daire squirms toward me again and cups her palm to either side of my face. “I’m sorry. Truly. I didn’t mean it like that. Or, maybe I did—I don’t know. I just—I feel so off kilter. I can’t shake this sense of foreboding. This deep certainty that things aren’t quite what they seem. I’m convinced El Coyote is still out there, and Leandro and Cade are just biding their time, licking a few minor wounds, and laying low in an attempt to lure me into a state of complacency . . .”
“Only they’ll never succeed.” I place my hands over hers, and fold them between us. “Because you’re way ahead of them, Santos. Your guard is up, you’re alert to the signs, and if it turns out you’re right, when they come out swinging, you’ll be ready.”
“Will I?” She tilts her head, studying me with eyes gone red and glittery, while her bottom lip displays the tiniest hint of a quiver.
“Of course you will.” I pull her into my arms. Holding her tightly until her body begins to slacken and yield, and my breath rises and falls in tandem with hers.