Fated

Could one even do such a thing?
    “I’m afraid it’s too late for a soul retrieval.” Chay looks at me, having already accepted what I’m dead set on refusing. “It is time. The signs are all present. So please say your good-byes so she’ll be free to move on.”
    “No.” I glance between Chay and Paloma. Repeating, “No. Not yet. No way. This is no accident—the Richters have done this—Cade in particular.”
    Chay looks at me, his narrowed gaze implying his surprise comes not from the sentiment so much as from hearing me voice it.
    “How does one lose a soul?” I set my jaw and focus on him, needing to learn all that I can if I’ve any hope of saving my abuela. “And once it’s lost, how does one get it back?”
    Chay fingers his ring, the eagle’s golden eyes glimmering as it twists back and forth. “A soul loss can occur in a number of ways. Some trade their power to malevolent beings in exchange for fame, fortune, even love. Sometimes it’s the result of trauma—death of a loved one, a violent event—something that leaves a person in a state so weakened they’ve lost their will to live, which inadvertently allows the soul to become vulnerable to those same malevolent beings who are eager to claim it. And in other cases…”
    He looks at me, unsure if he should say it, but I nod for him to continue—sparing me from the truth won’t make it any less real.
    “In other cases, the entire soul, or even bits of the soul, are taken outright—the result of being targeted by a very powerful sorcerer with ill intent. And I’m afraid once one is targeted, it’s nearly impossible to undo without the aid of an equally powerful Seeker or shaman—a Worker of Light.”
    “Well, I’m a Seeker—so where do I start?”
    My tone is frantic, my gaze all over the place. Nothing about me inspiring the least bit of confidence, so Chay can hardly be blamed when he says, “Soul Retrieval is very dangerous work. It requires one to journey to the place where the soul is being kept, then confronting the malevolent being that stole it, which often involves lengthy, extremely costly negotiations to get it back. Only the most gifted shamans and Seekers are able to do this—those with many years of experience.” He looks hard at me. “You’re nowhere near ready. I can’t let you risk it. Paloma would never allow it.”
    At the sound of her name, my grandmother stirs. “Daire…” she whispers, prompting Leftfoot’s apprentice to move aside, as my grandmother, my abuela, strains to open her eyes.
    “Sweet nieta…” She struggles to focus. Her voice so labored, so forced, the sound makes me shiver. “Do not worry for me. I’ve lived a good life. Focus on them. You must stop El Coyote, no matter the cost. I haven’t taught you everything, but I’ve taught you well. And now you must let me go, nieta —”
    “No, Paloma—no, don’t say that! I can’t do it—not without you! I don’t even know where to start!”
    My voice breaks, my eyes fill with tears, as I gaze upon my grandmother, her essence fading when she says, “You cannot, must not, save me. Do you understand? Today is the day, nieta . Please go—you must hurry…”
    Her eyes already closing, shutting me out, as I turn to Chay and say, “What day is it?” Wondering just how long I spent in the Lowerworld with Dace.
    “November second, Día de los Muertos ,” he says, his hand reaching for my shoulder in an effort to comfort, but I’ve already slipped out of his reach, am already racing toward the door.

forty-six
    I hop on Kachina and make for the Rabbit Hole. My horse racing down the road at full speed—her mane lifting, ears pinned, as the wind lashes hard at my cheeks.
    I may not know what I’m doing—I may not be properly trained—I may have no idea how to stop the Richters from invading the Lowerworld—but Paloma’s counting on me to stop them, and I won’t let her down.
    She always said I showed great promise, that someday I’ll surpass all of my ancestors … well, maybe that someday starts now.
    I lean forward. Bury my face in Kachina’s neck. Focusing on the reassuring beat of her hooves meeting the dirt—a reminder that every stride brings us closer—when the sky cracks loudly overhead, releasing a blast of thunder so piercing the earth vibrates beneath us, causing me to cringe and squeeze the reins tighter, eager to get there before the rain starts to fall, not wanting to be caught out in the open in a New