“It was returned to you on the Day of the Dead when Daire convinced the Bone Keeper to release them,” Paloma says. “You’ve probably noticed a few changes since then.”
“The same day I broke up with Cade!” Lita gasps, and then, as though it just now registered, she says, “Wait—did you say, the Bone Keeper?” The squeaking reaches an all new high. “Now you’re telling me there’s such a thing as a Bone Keeper too?”
“She has a skull face, she feeds off the stars, and she wears a black leather corset, stiletto boots, and a snake skirt,” I tell her. “Well, according to legend, anyway. Though Daire did confirm it.”
“So … she’s a goth?”
“Probably the original goth,” I laugh. “Oh, and the snake skirt is made of real snakes that slither around her waist and legs. And those same snakes did the soul retrieving by slipping down the Richters’ throats and—” I pause, watching as Lita’s energy fades into something horrible and bleak. So much for my attempt to rein it in.
“Okay, so, in a nutshell, the Richters are evil, Dace and Daire are good, spirit animals are not superstition, they’re real, there are three worlds—a Lowerworld, an Upperworld, and this one, the Middleworld, and—” Lita pauses, hesitant to actually say it. “And a piece of my soul was stolen by my ex-boyfriend, which he then used to reanimate a dead ancestor, until it was rescued by a snake, and found its way back to me?”
“In a nutshell,” I say, my voice small and regretful.
“Sheesh. And to think I’ve lived my whole life here, and the entire time I didn’t have the slightest clue of what was really going on.”
“Most people only see what they want to see,” Paloma says. “It’s only when they can no longer afford that luxury that they see what they must.”
“Anything else I need to know?” Lita asks. “What about vampires and werewolves—oh, and fairies? Where do they fit in—are they real too?”
“While I can’t speak for them, I can say that Daire’s the one who made it snow.” I grin at the memory, imagining the triumph she must have felt when the flakes began to fall after so many failed attempts.
“And Cade is responsible for making the sky bleed fire,” Paloma says.
The words so unexpected, I lean toward her, as Lita grumbles, “Figures.”
“How so?” I ask, listening intently as Paloma rises from the table, goes to an old locked cupboard, and retrieves a heavy tome she places in the middle of the table.
“The Codex,” I whisper, voice laced with awe, as the vivid colors of its energy blooms in the space before me.
“Codex? What’s a codex?” Lita swivels her focus between Paloma and me.
“A codex is an ancient text. This particular codex was created by Valentina—”
“One of the first of the Santos family Seekers,” Paloma explains. “She suffered a great many trials to accumulate the knowledge contained in this book, so that all
future Seekers might someday benefit.”
“And you’ve seen this before?” Lita directs the question at me. Though she’s quick to correct herself when she adds, “What I meant was, you’re familiar with this?”
“I’m familiar with it and I’ve seen it.” I grin. “And while I may not be able to see the actual pages, I can read its energy.”
“And what is its energy telling you now?” Paloma slides the ancient leather-bound book across the table until it’s resting before me.
I lift my palms so they’re hovering just a few inches above it. My attention instantly claimed by a very strong impression I’m reluctant to share.
It can’t be.
It’s impossible.
And what if I dare say it out loud and it turns out that I’m wrong?
“What do you see?” Paloma urges, her tone leaving no question that she’s onto me, knows that I’m not being entirely forthcoming.
“Yeah, tell us what you see,” Lita says. “Don’t hold back on my account.”
I take a deep breath, clear my throat, and say, “The prophecy has changed.”
“How?” Paloma moves her chair closer to mine.