Fated (20 page)

I huff under my breath and avert my gaze. Refusing to answer, to engage any more than I have.

“Hey, come on, now. Throw me a bone, will ya? A simple
yes
or
no
will do. I can’t help being concerned about you.” He grins, not at all daunted by my unwillingness to play. “Every time I see you, you’re in some kind of trouble, and I have to confess—I find the whole damsel-in-distress thing completely irresistible. I blame it on Disney movies and fairy tales, what’s your take?”

I frown, eyes leveled on his when I say, “I’m not looking to be rescued. I do just fine on my own.”

His gaze grows deeper, the flat expanse of his irises becoming a fathomless void that lures everything in—everything but me. “Wow, you really know how to hurt a guy, don’t you?” He shoots me a wounded look I don’t buy for a second. “Isn’t there some way we can move past this? Convince you to give me a chance?”

I roll my eyes, tug on the reins, ready to leave this behind, when he reaches for Kachina’s bridle again, and I jab my heel so hard into her side she ends up charging right at him.

It’s only after he’s lunged out of her way that I realize how close I came to killing him, if not seriously maiming him. And the realization fills me with doubt.

Doubting my ability to distinguish between reality and dreams.

Doubting my ability to seek the truth behind the mirage.

Every time I’ve seen him he’s been smarmy but kind. The only time he’s ever proved himself to be evil is in my darkest moments—and during my sleep.

Our gaze meets—mine horrified—his flat and unreadable.

And that’s how I leave him.

Kachina and I storming the trail as fast as we can, unable to rid myself of the overwhelming burden of doubt that chases me all the way home.

the raven’s song

twenty-four

Chay pulls up to the curb, stopping outside a large two-story building that, despite its efforts to mimic the ever-popular adobe style, is really no more than a concrete slab with a sandstone façade, surrounded by a big iron gate, with a scowling man standing guard at the entrance and a large painted sign on the side stating:
MILAGRO HIGH—HOME OF THE MAGUS
—with a cartoon wizard just underneath it.

Milagro High.

Miracle High.

From the looks of it, it’s as poorly named as the town it resides in.

My face goes grim as I try to take a fortifying breath, which comes out shaky. Reminding myself how I came away completely unscathed and empowered from full-body dismemberment in the cave—so surely I can survive this: my first day of eleventh grade at this prison-like school.

Though try as I might, the pep talk’s a fail. Today marks a major letdown in more ways than one.

After leaving the cave in triumph, I was eager to face whatever came next, excited about this whole new world that was open to me—sure that being a Seeker would be way more Superhero than Student. But despite my praising the wonders of Internet school—explaining how it improved my vocabulary and made me a math whiz—Paloma still wouldn’t budge. According to her, now that I’ve completed my vision quest, it’s imperative I get out into the community, and, unfortunately for me, that involves going to school.

“They need you,
nieta,
” she’d said, her gaze fixed on mine. “They don’t yet know it, but they do. You alone will keep the community in balance. No one else can do what you do.”

“What about you?” I’d asked, seeing her turn away, her fingers curled around a bloodied tissue in an attempt to hide it from view.

“My powers are diminishing.” Her gaze grew distant, far away. “It was never meant to be this way, it’s supposed to be parent and child working in tandem. But I’ve been on my own for so long, trying to compensate for Django’s loss, I’m afraid it’s taken its toll. And now I must hang on to whatever’s left, so I can pass it to you. Soon you will be stronger than any other Seeker that’s come before. There is nothing to worry about,
nieta
—you are more than ready for this.” She turned to me then, her expression telling me the discussion was over.

The decision was made despite all my protests, and now I’m clinging to the door of Chay’s truck, staring down my new school on a gloomy Wednesday morning, which still seems ridiculous. Who the heck starts school on a Wednesday?

“It is better this way,” Paloma says, in her uncanny way of tapping into my thoughts. Her hand patting my knee when she adds, “You will take a few days to get adjusted, meet a few people and find your way around, and by Monday, you’ll be ready to face the whole week, and all those that follow.”

Despite her words of encouragement, I can’t help but feel disappointed. I had high hopes for this school. It’s the first one I’ve ever attended, and I was hoping it would be prettier, more inviting. I was hoping it would look more like the fancy schools you see on TV, and less like the bleak house of doom that sits right before me.

“Remember what I told you,
nieta.
”

I lick my lips. Flick my gaze toward hers.

“Cade will be here, so you must be on guard. Do not let him intimidate you. Do not let him manipulate you. And never allow yourself to doubt his true nature again. Your impressions of him were right all along. He is a powerful sorcerer—his entire clan, the Richters, also known as El Coyote, are masters at manipulating perception. Controlling the consciousness of others is the very thing that’s allowed them to hang on for so long. It’s a skill the Seekers have yet to accomplish and have fought hard to overcome. Though even if we do find the key, we would never use it in the way they do. They’ve chosen to play in the dark—while you, my
nieta,
are a Santos, a Seeker, and we always remain firmly entrenched in the light, no matter what. You are ready to face him, I assure you of that. Otherwise, you would not be here, so there is no reason to worry.”

I swallow hard. Press my palm against the window. Despite what she says, I don’t feel ready, not in the least. My stomach’s a jumbled mess of nerves, and yet I’m all too aware that there’s no use fighting it. Paloma is right. It’s time I head inside and face up to my destiny.

I push the truck door open and slide from my seat. Doing my best to quash my fears, but I’m pretty sure no one’s fooled.

“I’ll be back to get you at three,” Chay tells me. “I’ll meet you right here.” But as nice as the offer is, I can’t accept it. He has a life, an important career. He doesn’t need to waste his time playing chauffeur to me.

“No worries. I can get myself back,” I say, my words met with a skeptical look that prompts me to add, “What kind of Seeker would I be if I couldn’t find my way home?”

Before he can reply, before Paloma can say another word, I step away from the truck and head through the gate. Making my way across large squares of gravel and dirt standing in for a lawn, before pushing through the big double doors and stealing a moment to orient myself. But, as it turns out, I pause for too long, and a second later I nearly fall victim to a trio of girls storming the hall.

They’re the kind of girls I instantly recognize as being in charge.

The kind of girls determined to snag the lead role.

Marquee girls.

Pretty much the opposite of me—the lowly kid of a crew member, used to keeping quiet, out of sight, doing whatever it takes to avoid the spotlight.

This may be my first day at school, any school, but I’ve spent enough time on various movie sets to recognize a social caste system when I see one.

Their gazes are piercing and gleaming—darting like crazy—calculating the number of students checking them out, which is just about everyone within a ten-foot radius. The majority of students content to stand on the sidelines—smiling, waving, and striving to be noticed—knowing never to approach unless summoned. Never to breach the invisible red-velvet rope that separates the popular crowd from everyone else.

I duck my head low and maneuver around them, about to make my way down the hall in search of the office, when the girls stop. Their jaws dropping, eyes popping, as the one in the middle, the one with the long dark hair and brassy blond highlights, approaches and says, “Hey.”

I nod, force a half-smile, and meet her
Hey
with one of my own.

“You’re the girl I saw on the horse.” Her eyes are dark, kohl rimmed, and narrowed on mine.

I stand before them, refusing to confirm or deny—having dreaded a moment like this ever since Paloma broke the news about my enrolling in school. With only one high school to choose from, it was only a matter of time before I ran into the kids I saw that day on the trail. Though I was hoping I’d at least make it a little farther into the building before I was outted.

“You are her, aren’t you?” She checks with her friends, her gaze turning first to the girl on her right wearing the gloppy pink lip gloss, and then to the one on her left with the overplucked eyebrows and iridescent purple eyeshadow, turning back to me when she says, “Even without the bandanna and the horse, I know it’s you. You were singing too—weren’t you? How’d that song go again—something about
strength, perception, and giving direction
? Maybe you should sing it for us?” Her dark eyes flash on mine as her friends fall all over themselves, laughing hysterically into their hands.

I start to walk away, only to have her slip right before me, and say, “Seriously.” She nods, smiling like she means it. “We’d really like to hear it. So go ahead—sing your psycho song.”

My hands curl to fists. She’s mocking the mountainsong. Has no idea how much power it holds—how much power
I
hold. I could crush her in ways she couldn’t begin to imagine. Or, at the very least, humiliate her in a way she’d never live down.

But I can’t.

Won’t.

Paloma warned me about that. Said I had to use my skill for the greater good—to not squander my powers on protecting my ego.

I try to move around them, but they move right along with me. Their arms linked together in an impenetrable wall of designer knockoff jeans, padded bras, and pop-star perfume. Still, as much as I make fun of them in my head, the actual effect is far more intimidating than the big iron gate that surrounds the school grounds. Without the use of my magick, I’m no match for them. I have no idea how to deal with this. No idea how to get out of this.

“How’d you get to school?” one of them says, the one on the right with the glossy pink lips. “Is your horse parked out front?” She laughs well before the joke is out, which kind of ruins the timing. Still, her eyes flick toward the girl in the middle, seeking her approval, as I stand there and stare, telling myself that they’re silly and stupid and not worth my wrath. But even though I know it to be true, the crowd of students growing around us pretty much deletes all that.

They press closer, everyone wanting to get a better view of the kind of new-girl hazing they don’t get to see every day—every last one of them relieved that it’s me and not them. The sheer size of the audience encouraging the girl in the middle to speak up again, voice rising when she says, “Clearly nobody told you we don’t allow psycho girls at this school. So maybe you should go back to your mental ward.”

I swallow hard. Tell myself to let it go, to not make it any worse than it already is—but discard that thought just as quickly. It’s better to nip it right now. Let them know I’m not one to be messed with. My silence will only encourage them to stalk me until graduation.

Despite a lifetime of being told to remain unobtrusive, in this case I’ve already failed. I’ve been spotted, picked out of the crowd, so there’s really no point in acting submissive.

“No psychos?” My eyes dart among them, until I settle on the ringleader and take a step toward her. “Then how do you explain yourself? Did they bend the rules for
you
?”

Her eyes bulge. Her face burns with rage. As her sidekicks stand mutely beside her, too shocked to react, or at least not right away.

She steps toward me, face scrunched and feral, but I remain in my place, staring her down and keeping my cool.

She has no idea who I am. Has no idea what I’m capable of, the kind of magick I’ve been practicing since I completed my vision quest. A verbal insult is nothing. She’s getting off easy.

With her face just inches from mine, so close I can just make out the circle of pink, unhealed skin surrounding her Marilyn piercing, she reaches for my shoulder, presumably to give me a nice good shove—start a fight she cannot, will not, win—when
he
appears, masquerading in his favorite role as the noble white knight on a mission to save me.

“These girls messing with you?” He stops the girl from going any further by sliding his arm tightly around her and pulling her close to his side, the move instantly subduing her to silence. His gaze fixed on mine when he adds, “Or, maybe it’s the other way around—you bothering them?” He throws his head back and laughs, the sound so alluring, so magnetic, it causes the girls to forget about me and train their focus on him. “Sorry you got off to a rough start.” He smiles. Extends his right hand. “Maybe I can make up for it. We’ve met a few times already, I know, but never formally, so now’s my big chance—I’m Cade. Cade Richter.”

His hand hovers before me, but I make no move to take it, no move to acknowledge it. “I know exactly who you are,” I tell him, noting the way his lip twitches with delight, as his gaze connects with mine. The two of us knowing what no one else does, I’m no longer hiding.

It’s me against him.

Santos vs. Richter.

Seeker vs. El Coyote.

The game is now on.

I turn, determined to leave it at that, or at least for now anyway. There’s no need to rush into anything, especially when Paloma still has so much more to teach me.

Doing my best to ignore him when he calls out from behind, “Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Milagro High! If you should need anything, I am at your service.” His words met by a chorus of laughter that bursts out all around him.