Echo Soul Seekers

lifts a brow.
    But instead of explaining, I clamp my lips shut, refusing to say anything more. The vow lasting only a handful of seconds, before I look at her and plead, “Paloma, please, I need to know what you know—and I need to know it now.”
    She nods sagely, about to speak when Xotichl pokes her head out from the archway that marks the entrance to Paloma’s office, saying, “Maybe I should leave?” Her gaze seems to dart between Paloma and me as though she can see us.
    Great. Now I’m crying in front of my friends. Could this possibly get any worse?
    Knowing Xotichl needs Paloma’s help just as much as Paloma needs the money her clients bring in, I shake my head and turn toward my room, saying, “No. You should definitely stay.” Though I don’t even make it to the hall before Paloma’s noticed my finger and pulled me back to her.
    “ Nieta, how did you get this?” She inspects the wound that just a few hours ago was barely noticeable, but now, after a trip to a grossly corrupted Lowerworld is a hot flaming mess. Then she takes me by the elbow and steers me up the ramp that leads to her office, where she deposits me onto a chair at the square wooden table next to Xotichl, before busying herself at the counter with her potions and herbs.
    I peer at Xotichl’s black long-sleeved T-shirt, the word EPITAPH, the name of Auden’s band, scrawled in a blaze of silver across the front, and her dark skinny jeans that are tucked into dark suede boots. With her hair gathered into a loose ponytail that allows her finely honed features to take center stage, I’m struck once again by her quiet brand of prettiness. Her soft blue/gray eyes staring straight ahead, she reaches for my shoulder, and says, “I felt your distress the moment you arrived. I’m so sorry for whatever’s happened. If you want my help, just say the word.”
    I smile faintly, so unused to having friends, people to confide in, people willing to help, I’m unsure how to respond. So other than a quick, mumbled thanks, I sit silently beside her. Feet crossed at the ankles and tucked under my chair, as Paloma grinds a handful of carefully selected herbs with her mortar and pestle. Humming one of her healing songs under her breath, she forms the mixture into a thick green poultice she applies to my finger, then wraps a strip of gauze over the concoction, telling me to hold it in place until she says when.
    I do as instructed. Waiting for her to join us at the table before I ask, “So how did you know? Or, better yet, what do you know?”
    Paloma pauses long enough to warm her fingers against the base of her mug. “I’m afraid it’s all part of the prophecy,” she says. “I read it in the codex.”
    I inhale sharply. Vaguely aware of Xotichl stirring beside me, placing her hand on my arm, providing a welcome comfort I didn’t expect.
    “Please know, nieta , that a prophecy is a tricky thing. It’s never as black and white as it seems. The language is often confusing, written in code. Allowing for more than one interpretation. It was only when I saw you and Dace together—saw the stream of energy that binds you—that I began to suspect. Then after a little digging, I learned that your birthdays fall on the same day. Did you know that?”
    I shake my head, scowling when I say, “Guess I forgot to check his ID.”
    My caustic remark causing Xotichl to pat my arm in an attempt to calm me, and Paloma to flash me a look that tells me that while she forgives my mood, she’s not about to answer my question until I get ahold of myself.
    “So, what does it mean?” I ask, making a concerted effort to soften my tone. “What exactly is it you’re getting at?”
    “While the prophecy hints at the Echo effect, its definition is not entirely clear. I took it to mean that the twins are connected—deeply so.” She looks to me for confirmation, and when she gets it, she adds, “Though, I must warn you, nieta, the prophecy also states that one of you will die.”
    Xotichl gasps, squeezing my arm so hard it jolts me awake from my dumbfounded state. I lean back in my seat. Allowing the words to roll around in my head, before I heave a deep breath and say, “Fine. Then Cade dies. I’ll kill Cade. Then it’ll be over and done and we can all move on. And I doubt anyone but Leandro will miss him. And I seriously doubt Dace will mind, since they’re not exactly close.” I stare at Paloma, my decision now made. But she returns the look with an