Echo Soul Seekers

it.” He locks eyes with me. “And the one who’s in charge of saving us isn’t prepared for the job. Daire’s training was cut short when Paloma lost her soul. They’re just now picking up where they left off. But with Paloma’s magick gone, Daire will have to face this thing on her own. And I hate to say it, but she’s far from ready.” He reaches for a roll of gauze, winds it snugly around my arm.
    “I’ll help her! I’ll…” I clamp my lips shut and stare out the window.
    How am I supposed to help her when I can’t even get near her?
    Can’t even think about her without strengthening Cade.
    The only way to help her is by replacing all loving thoughts of her with vengeful thoughts of Cade. Nurture my hate for him until my soul becomes dark enough to crush his.
    “You’re not ready either.” Leftfoot’s voice cuts into my thoughts. “You’ve been sheltered too long. Aside from a handful of parlor tricks we taught you as a kid, you have a long way to go.”
    I grit my teeth. That’s hardly my fault.
    He tugs on my sleeve, unrolling the fabric until it covers my wound. “Though, despite your lack of training, you must never forget you have one very distinct advantage over Cade.”
    Our eyes meet. I have no idea what that could possibly be.
    “While the dark delivers suffering and chaos, the light is the only thing that can illuminate it well enough to stop it in its tracks. You don’t have to become like your brother to fight your brother. Understood?”
    I nod. Though the truth is, I’m willing to sacrifice anything—play dirty if necessary—if it means saving Daire. Now that she’s a part of my life, there’s nothing I won’t do to protect her.
    I study the hand-carved wooden santos filling the niches, the assortment of feathers, and crystals, and herbs lining the shelves. The tools of the Light Worker trade. The talismans Leftfoot swears by. Maybe it’s good enough for healing the locals, but it’s hardly a match for my beast of a brother.
    I turn to Leftfoot. Catching him studying me with eyes that are hooded and deep. His gaze probing, as though reading my thoughts, he heaves a resigned breath and says, “Guess it’s time you learn some new tricks.”
    *   *   *
    “People are missing.”
    I sharpen my focus, unsure if he’s being serious or purposely trying to distract me just so he can remind me, yet again, of the importance of intent. How it’s magick’s main ingredient. The force that makes it all happen.
    I open my palm, fighting the urge to shout in triumph when the red-tailed hawk I’d been tracking lands on its center. Its sharp talons piercing my flesh as he settles for a few moments, taking a quick survey of the land, before spreading his wings and taking flight once again.
    “Who’s missing?” I ask, taking the bait now that I’ve nailed the part about connecting and blending with nature. Convincing that hawk to think, for a few short moments anyway, that I was a safe place to land. Hopefully the next lesson will provide a little more challenge. The last few were too easy.
    “Mike Miller, Randy Shultz, Tessa Harpy, Anthony Lopez, Carla Sanchez—all of ’em gone. Seeming to vanish without a trace. And those are just the ones that I know of.”
    I frown. His words instantly reminding me of the conversation I interrupted between him and Chepi when I barged into her kitchen just a few hours earlier.
    “Gone where?”
    Leftfoot shrugs. “No saying. People don’t often leave these parts, as you know.”
    “Some do.” I stare into the distance, remembering how Marliz managed to flee a bleak future of waiting tables at the Rabbit Hole, and an even bleaker future of marrying my insane cousin Gabe by moving to LA—with a little help from Daire’s mom, Jennika. And there was another girl I once knew … one who made it out and never returned.
    “There haven’t been many. And there’s never been five in one day.”
    “Did their families report them missing?”
    Leftfoot squints, his weathered face folding in a series of valleys and crags. “You think anyone in the police department is going to care, much less make a report? The whole town’s run by Richters—they’re probably behind it.”
    I work my jaw. Drag the bottom of my shoe across the dirt.
    “You’re nothing like them,” he says.
    I turn to face him, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Unwilling to say anything that might result in his halting my training. There’s so much left to