Echo Soul Seekers

“Does this mean you’ll reconvene after the New Year? Or perhaps you can delay until well after Valentine’s Day in order to steer clear of all the more romantic holidays?”
    I gaze down at my tea. If only it was that easy.
    She sighs long and loud, as though resigning herself to the burden of always being right. Adopting a cloying, singsongy tone, she says, “Well, I hate to say I told you so—”
    “No you don’t.” I slide my elbows across the table and lean toward her, looking her straight in the eye. “You don’t hate it at all. You practically live for those words.”
    She studies me. Probably trying to determine whether I’m angry, amused, or indifferent. The thought lasting a handful of seconds before she casts it aside. “True.” Her shoulders rise and fall. “But in this particular case it would’ve been nice to be wrong. I know you don’t believe me, Daire, but I truly am sorry, and I really do understand what you’re going through. Dace was your first real boyfriend, but he won’t be your last. So while it may feel bad now—”
    “Could you please not do that?” I say. Responding to the confused look she gives me when I add, “Could you please not talk about other fish in the sea, stallions in the barn, roosters in the pen, or any other animal analogies and just allow me this moment to wallow? Like you said, it’s my first breakup, so let me experience it in its entirety before you push me toward some phantom boy I have no interest in meeting just yet, okay?”
    I slump low in my seat, surprised by the way my voice broke at the end. My intention was merely to play along, tell her what she wanted to hear, by pretending that it really is as simple as she thinks. Just your average high school romance gone suddenly south—all so Dace could be spared the burden of buying me a Christmas gift. But the longer I spoke, the more the words became real. And it’s not long after that my paranoia sets in.
    What if this isn’t just a short break?
    What if I can’t find a way to overcome the curse of the Echo?
    What if I can’t overcome Cade?
    How many people will suffer because of my failure?
    Jennika moves toward me, starts fussing over my hair. Unraveling my braid, she gathers the strands into her hand before arranging them to spill in soft waves down my back. “I’d take you out for some ice cream, followed by some heavy-duty retail therapy, which, just so you know, are pretty much the two best cures for a broken heart. Except, we’re stuck in this dump of a town with no good shopping to be had.” Her eyes dart toward Paloma. “No offense,” she says, but Paloma just waves it away and continues preparing our snack. “But while I failed to pack any ice cream, I did manage to bring a little retail therapy to you.” Jennika kneels beside me, smiling so brightly it practically begs me to smile brightly too.
    So I do.
    This is Jennika trying.
    Jennika doing her best to show me she understands.
    Jennika determined to pull me out of my slump.
    The least I can do is relent.
    “I was going to save it for Christmas, but I see no reason why you can’t have it now.” She digs through a bag she’s left by her chair, retrieving a hidden cache of designer jeans and a bunch of cute tops to wear with them, along with a tangle of silver jewelry, and a new pair of black boots. All of it chosen with Jennika’s uncanny eye for all-things trendy and cool.
    While the sight of it doesn’t lift me in quite the same way it used to, I pretend like it does by crowding my fingers with rings and smiling when Jennika pulls out a new red wool cardigan she gives to Paloma.
    Relieved to know that her suspicions are forgotten for now. Though it’s just a matter of time before Jennika’s back on course, determined to make me explain what Paloma and I have been doing.

 
    twenty-one
    Dace
    By the time we arrive at the sweat lodge, the sun has dropped, the sky has turned the color of soot, and Leftfoot’s apprentice, Cree, is already waiting for us. Focused hard on the blaze he continues to stoke, barely sparing a glance our way when Leftfoot says, “Cree will serve as the firekeeper.”
    I nod, aware of what an honor it is to keep the wood blazing and the river rocks properly heated for ritual.
    “One is required to fast before a ceremony—when was your last meal?”
    I go over the day, conducting a quick mental review. But unable to remember, I lift my shoulders in reply.
    “Good enough.” He turns