“Dace—” I swivel in my seat until I’m fully facing him. “What do you think it means?”
He lifts a hand from the wheel, rubs it over his chin. “I’m not sure,” he finally says, purposely avoiding my gaze. “Just … we’ll be there soon. I’m going as fast as I can. So … here … here we are…”
From halfway down the street, I can already see that all the lights are on and Paloma’s blue gate is wide open. And before Dace can properly stop, I bolt from the truck.
My feet barely hitting the ground when that luminous, blue-eyed, white Wolf appears right before me. His ears perked, his eyes bright and glistening, he throws his head back and lets out a long mournful howl that lasts until he centers his eyes on mine and urges me toward the doorway, vanishing the moment his paw crosses the threshold.
I race into the house, my vision swimming with blurred images of Chay, Leftfoot, Chepi, Cree, and—Jennika and Harlan?—all of them rushing toward me.
Chay reaches me first. Wrapping a solid arm around me, he whispers my name.
But it’s Jennika’s tearstained face looming before me that tells me the story I never wanted to hear.
“Where is she?” I cry, pushing past the hands that try to hold me, comfort me. Try to stop me from seeing what I don’t want to see. “Tell me where she is! What happened? Bring me to her—now!”
My gaze moves among them, taking in a sea of grief-stricken faces. And when I hear that plaintive howling again, coming from the direction of Paloma’s bedroom, I race toward it. Praying for a miracle—praying to disprove what I know in my soul. The truth I’ve fought to deny since the moment I first saw Wolf at the Rabbit Hole.
When I reach the doorway—when I see my abuela lounging peacefully—with her eyes closed, hands softly folded over her chest—I allow myself to live in the lie.
I pretend all is well.
I pretend that she’s napping.
Dace calls my name in a voice choked with emotion, but I’m not yet ready to heed it.
“Someone get her a blanket!” I shout, reaching for Paloma’s cold hand. I rub it furiously between mine in a futile attempt to warm her cold flesh. “She’s freezing! Why won’t you help her? What’s wrong with all of you?”
I glare at them accusingly, but the truth is, I don’t really see them. Can’t make out much of anything.
Only vaguely aware of Dace standing helplessly beside me, as Jennika soothes a comforting hand over my hair, mumbling an incoherent stream of explanations and apologies.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, her voice like a soft, distant hum that bears no real significance. “I wanted to see you, the flights were all booked, so Harlan and I drove instead. By the time we arrived, we found Paloma like this.”
“You mean, sleeping?” I turn to look at Jennika’s grief-stricken face, as Harlan stands with his head bent behind her. Watching as she chews on her lip, swipes a finger over the fresh purple crescents hanging under each eye.
Still, her gaze never leaves mine as she says, “Daire, Paloma’s not … sleeping.”
I look at her for a long moment, then I focus back on Paloma. The reality of the situation looming before me—exposing a truth that cannot be denied—I hurtle headfirst into the dark madness of grief. Which for me, looks nothing like I would’ve expected.
After a few long moments, I lift myself from Paloma’s lifeless form, and replace her hand to the space where I found it. In a foreign, almost robotic voice, I say, “Exactly how did you find her?” I turn my attention to my mother, sparing only the briefest glance at Dace standing beside her.
“I fou
nd her lying unconscious. I tried to revive her, but it was already too late, and so I called Chay.”
“Did you move her?”
She plays with the small diamond stud flanking her nostril. Striving to match my serious tone, she says, “I couldn’t stand to see her like that … and since it didn’t appear to be a crime scene, we lifted her onto the bed.”
“So she was in here?”
Jennika nods, motions toward Paloma’s effects. “It seemed like she was getting dressed, getting ready to go out, or something. I found her lying in front of the closet.”
I whirl on Chay, disbelief marking my gaze. “Were you two going out? I thought you said she was ill?”
“We were planning to stay in and wait to hear from you. I was already on my way over, parking my truck in the yard, when Jennika called.”
I glance around the room, avoiding the place where my grandmother rests. Trying to wrap my head around the impossible. None of it makes any sense.