Echo Soul Seekers Read Free Page B

hallucinations of glowing people and crows—staring down a future in a padded white room.
    Paloma saved me. Rescued me from that horrible fate. Only to startle me with a truth so strange I did my best to escape it.
    Though, as it turns out, she knew what the doctors didn’t.
    I wasn’t crazy.
    Wasn’t haunted by delusions.
    The crows—the glowing ones—they’re all real. I was hardly the first to undergo the experience. Every Seeker gets the calling—it was simply my turn.
    It’s the Santos family legacy. The birthright passed from parent to firstborn child for too many generations to count. For the first sixteen years it lies dormant—but once it emerges, the whole world is flipped upside down. And while it’s tempting to run, it’s better to accept that destiny is not always a choice. For those who try to deny it—it never ends well.
    My father, Django, is the perfect example.
    His tragic, premature death made Paloma even more determined to save me.
    As the last in line, I’m the only one who stands a chance at stopping the Richters. But with my training cut short due to Paloma’s recent illness, I’m hardly up for the task.
    I watch as she rises onto her toes, her arm straining to retrieve two mugs from the cupboard overhead. Her limbs appearing stilted, stiff. As though the joints need to be oiled and greased in order to move easily again. The sight serving as a bitter reminder of her recent soul loss that claimed all of her magick and nearly her life—one of the many reasons I need to find Cade and his undead ancestors before things continue to deteriorate.
    I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Filling my head with competing scents of spiced herbal tea, the sugar-free ginger cookies left to cool on the stovetop, and the smoky allure of the vertically stacked mesquite logs burning in the corner kiva fireplace. Their melodic crackle and pop providing an ironically soothing soundtrack for the bad news to come.
    “ Nieta. ” She places a steaming mug of tea before me and claims the opposite seat.
    I warm my hands on either side of the mug and blow a few times before venturing a first sip. Then I look at my grandmother and say, “Still no sign of them.”
    She nods, doing her best to keep her expression stoic, unchanged.
    “Actually, that’s not entirely true…” My voice drifts along with my gaze. Assuring myself I can do this. I have to do this. At the very least, I owe her the truth. I clear my throat and start again. “What I mean is, while we haven’t been able to find them, there are definitely signs of their presence…” I describe the deluge of dead fish we found in the Enchanted Spring (strategically omitting the bit about why we were there in the first place), but other than fussing with the sleeves of her sweater, she continues to sit quietly, giving nothing away. “And there’s absolutely no sign of Cade. He’s been absent from school—the Rabbit Hole too. No one’s seen him, and I’m no longer sure what to do, where to look.”
    My eyes search Paloma’s, seeking guidance, answers, something. But she merely nods in reply, urging me to finish my tea and enjoy one of her delicious ginger cookies before she pushes away from the table and leads me to my room, where she perches at the edge of my bed and instructs me to open the beautiful, hand-painted trunk she left for me the night she fell ill.
    I unlatch the lock and peer at the contents. My heart racing in anticipation of whatever bit of magick she’s willing to share. It’s been weeks since she taught me to crawl with the lizards and soar with the birds—merging my energy with theirs until I’d claimed their experience for my own. And the truth is, I’ve missed our lessons. Missed our talks and the time we spent together.
    Other than cooking my meals and looking after me (despite my protests that there’s really no need, that thanks to my mom and my nomadic existence, I’ve been looking after myself since I was a kid),