“So, these are the rules for the proposal you don’t actually want?”
“That’s the starter list. There’s more. Believe me, much more. But until then, I’m afraid you’ll just have to put up with Love ’Em and Leave ’Em Santos, all because you won’t accept my proposal to come live with me, rent free.” I keep my tone light, jokey. Refusing to betray the deeply rooted fear that our future is so uncertain, we probably shouldn’t tempt it with conversations like this.
Before Paloma died, she gave me a lineage transmission that allowed me to see the kind of things it would’ve taken her many years to teach. Including the tragic story of her past—how her husband, my grandfather, Alejandro (a Brazilian Jaguar shaman of the highest order), was killed at the hands of the Richters—along with her only child, my dad, Django, when he was still just a teen. Bestowing me with the breadth of her knowledge and insights in no more than a flash.
I also saw the story of every Seeker who walked before me.
Watched as they all—every last one of them—fell at the hands of Coyote.
So why should I be any different?
Why do I deserve the kind of happily ever after denied to my ancestors?
“Don’t doubt the future, Daire.”
I return to Dace. Surprised to find him standing before me, displaying his uncanny ability to read every shift in my mood. I ease my face into a tight grin, quickly turn away, and riffle through my bag, mumbling, “How can I not?”
“Because I know something you don’t.”
Just as intended, the words lure me in, coaxing me to face him again. “Oh yeah, and what’s that? Care to share this great wisdom of yours?”
Without the slightest trace of mirth, he places a hand on each of my shoulders, and fixes his gaze intently on mine. “There’s only one force more powerful than evil—”
I blink a few times, drawing a blank on what that might be. Clearly, he’s not referring to me. No Seeker has ever successfully kept evil at bay—or at least not for very long.
“Love.”
I can feel the word as he says it.
Can actually feel the force of it shooting toward me as it rolls off his tongue—emanates from the tips of his fingers. Its ferocity—its urgency—its absolute, undeniable truth leaving me so startled, I can’t think of a single thing to say in reply.
“Love, Daire. Love is stronger than evil. Love is the answer. Love is all there is. Love conquers. Love heals. Love unites. All you need is love. Love makes the world go round . . .”
The energy continues to swirl all around me, causing my head to spin, my heart to flutter—lasting only as long as Dace maintains his grip on my shoulders. The moment he drops his hands and steps back, the illusion is gone. Leaving me sad, deflated, and more disappointed than I care to let on that while the sentiment sounds nice on the surface, it can’t be that easy.
As much as I long to believe him, it’s wishful thinking at best and I can’t afford to fall into that trap. I’ve spent the last few months preparing to avenge my abuela’s death and rid the world of Richters once and for all. I can’t risk going soft.
“Mmm . . . I’m pretty sure it’s money that makes the world go round. I’m pretty positive that’s how the song goes.” I guard my heart by deflecting his words with a sarcastic reply, but as soon as it’s out, I flinch with embarrassment. The words ring unnatural and forced—stinging like a betrayal after all we’ve been through.
I bite my lip hard and return to the search through my backpack, but when Dace grasps my hand, urging me to look at him, I can’t help but give in.
His tone as serious as his face, he says, “Not our song. Not this song. Not the song of you and me.”
He speaks with such conviction, I’m just about to yield, when I remember the lineage transmission Paloma gave me and the undeniable truth she revealed.
There’s no disputing the facts that unfolded before me that day.
Still, it doesn’t stop me from melting just a little when Dace pulls me toward him and presses his lips to the tip of my nose.
“All you have to do is believe. Have a little faith. That’s really all that’s required. Miracles aren’t nearly as uncommon as people like to think. Leftfoot says they’re manifested by love, and we’ve got that in spades. No reason we can’t work a few miracles of our own.”
I soften my stance. Willing to concede that he just might be right. That it really might be as simple as that. Paloma always said that intent is magick’s most important ingredient. Maybe if I just allow myself to believe hard enough . . .
I shake my head and force myself to pull away. Force myself to say, “You work on believing, while I go work out.”
“Skeptic.” He grins.
“Optimist.” I playfully stick out my tongue.