“So, why do you stay?” I glance between them.
“Someone’s got to fight the good fight.” Chay grins, choosing a book from the stack and slipping it into my bag. Bidding a quick good-bye to Lucio and rushing me out the back door as soon as the redheaded salesclerk returns.
“So how about I take you home?” Chay broaches the question in a casual way, which stands in direct opposition to the probing look that he gives me.
“Home? Don’t you mean school?” I quirk a brow, looking at him when I add, “Actually, I thought I’d just hang in town for a while. Find a quiet place to read my new book.” I pat the side of my bag, though the look in his eye tells me he’s not buying my act.
“I wouldn’t recommend that. Best to keep that kind of thing to the privacy of your own home.”
“So, you’re saying our homes are private?”
A smile tugs at Chay’s lips. “Paloma’s is.”
“What’d you give me, anyway?” I ask, having barely had a chance to look at it before he shoved it deep into my bag.
“Book about manifesting and intent—nothing Paloma can’t teach you.”
I stare at him, feeling a little lost in his words.
He rubs his chin, casts a look around to ensure no one’s listening. “Daire, I wanted to show you what you’re up against. You’re grossly underestimating El Coyote if you think you can just barge in there and do what … what I think you’re planning to do. They’re far more powerful than you realize. That pack of cigarettes in your bag may get you past the demons that guard the vortex, but what are you going to do once you’re in? Do you even have a plan—or are you acting on an irrational blend of passion, anger, and adrenaline?” His gaze levels on me, waiting for me to respond, but when I don’t, he goes on to say, “If you head over there now—you’re only going to succeed in getting yourself killed.”
“Not true,” I say. “Cade won’t kill me—he needs me. He knows I can’t just will myself to stop loving Dace—it doesn’t work that way. So the longer he keeps me around, the stronger he gets. He’s the one who benefits.”
“Don’t think for a second he won’t kill you in order to save himself because I guarantee you he will. Your drive to slay him is only as good as the strength you have to back it with. And, Daire, you’re just not strong enough. I can’t let you do it. Not yet anyway. Besides, you don’t have to go this alone. You have plenty of resources in Paloma and me. Even in Leftfoot and Chepi and Lucio, who you just met. Let us help you. Let us show you how to do this the right way.”
I stand before him, weighing his words.
“C’mon.” He slides an arm around my shoulder and leads me down the street to his truck. “No shame in heeding an old man’s wisdom.”
fifteen
Dace
The last person I expect to see when I enter my mom’s house is Leftfoot. Yet, there he is, sitting at her kitchen table, hunched over a steaming mug of freshly brewed piñon coffee. Caught in midconversation when he says, “… simply vanished. But we know that’s not true.”
He shoots Chepi a meaningful look, as her face goes grim in a way I don’t often see. The two of them so lost in thought, it’s a moment before they notice me.
“Dace!” My mother leaps to her feet, her expression arranging to one I can’t read. Is it guilt—surprise—reproach? Before I can decide, she’s rushing toward me, folding me into her arms and brushing a hand over my hair.
I return the hug. Clutch her tightly to me, then gently pry myself free. My gaze darting between them, I say, “I need answers.”
“Why aren’t you at school?” Chepi’s large brown eyes narrow on mine. Attempting to deflect a conversation she’d prefer not to have. “Winter Break starts next week.”
“Mother, please.” My voice is as strained as the expression I wear on my face as I claim the empty chair between them, unwilling to play this particular game. “It’s time you leveled with me and told me the truth.”
Leftfoot mumbles something about needing to leave. But before he can get very far, I say, “As it happens, I need you here too.”
He locks eyes with me and returns to his seat. Directing his words to my mother, he says, “Chepi, it’s time. You can’t avoid this day forever.”
Chepi kneads the table with hands calloused from years of jewelry making—the turquoise and silver pieces once coveted by galleries and tourists alike. But over the last decade, the galleries have all closed, and Enchantment has fallen way off the tourist path. Forcing her to make frequent trips to Santa Fe, where she hawks her wares in the plaza, trying to keep us afloat.
“I know what happened to you on the Day of the Dead,” I begin, hoping to spare her from reliving that hell. “I know what Leandro did. I know what I am, what Cade is, and how we were made. I know you were not at all responsible for what happened to you. I know how hard it must’ve been for you to look at me for the last sixteen years—”
“No!” Her hand finds mine, squeezing with surprising force when she says, “Don’t you believe it—it’s not at all true!”
I free myself from her grip, rock my chair back until it’s balanced on two legs. An act that always resulted in a disapproving look followed by a verbal reprimand when I was a child but goes unnoticed today.
“You are my son. I have never once regretted bearing you. You were destined to come to me.” Her fingers twist nervously.