Fated

world shrouded in darkness—a legend that happens to be true, as it was during Valentina’s time, and she made sure to document it in some writings I will one day share with you. Though, as you well know, everything is cyclical, nieta, and it was just a matter of time before El Coyote regrouped and came back stronger than ever…” She picks at the hem of her dress, as her gaze joins her thoughts on a long-distance journey. Then shaking her head, she returns to me and says, “Anyway, enough of that—now it is time for you to join him, to soar with the raven.”
    Just like I did with the cats, the lizard, and the rest, I narrow my gaze until I see only him, and a moment later it clicks. With a minimum of effort we’ve merged, and when the raven springs from his perch and soars overhead, I’m soaring right along with him. The experience so freeing, so exhilarating, it’s like every cell in my body is vibrating with the pure life force of his energy.
    I gaze down upon treetops. Get a bird’s-eye view (literally!) of my neighbors’ roofs. I am the surveyor of everything. My eyes see all. Tracking the white cat I will soon claim as a pet, I watch as he stalks his prey, a small gray field mouse, then move on well before he can leap.
    I soar above rutted dirt roads, over small adobe homes with rusted-out cars in the yards. Wishing we could soar all the way to the mountains, the Sangre de Cristo range that looms in the distance, but the raven has other plans. And while I’m pretty sure I could steer him, if not convince him, there’s something specific he wants me to see.
    We arc left, dipping lower, gliding just shy of the telephone wires, before stopping on the shelter of the bus stop just opposite the Rabbit Hole. And it’s then that I realize what’s really happening here—while my body remains with Paloma, by merging my energy with the raven’s, I can watch the goings-on in various locations—see what he sees, no matter the distance.
    We flit closer, the raven and me landing on a light post overlooking the alleyway. Seeing Auden’s station wagon parked near the back door as he and his bandmates haul equipment into the club.
    My interest further piqued when Dace exits through that same door, lugging two heavy trash bags, one in each hand, stopping to allow passage for Auden’s bandmates, before making his way down the alleyway. Arms flexing from the weight of the bags, gait confident and long, moving in a way that makes the diminishing sunlight seem to shimmer around him.
    I note every detail. Track every move. Torn between feelings of exhilaration and shame for spying this way. Repeating Paloma’s words in my head:
    He’s not your enemy—not like the other Richters—his soul is good and pure.
    He stands before the Dumpster, taking a moment to survey the alley, ensure no one’s watching, before he closes his eyes, lets go of the bags, and I stare in astonishment as they leap from his hands and dunk straight into the large metal bin.
    Guess I’m not the only one around here who enjoys a little telekinesis.
    He wipes his palms down the sides of his apron and makes for a redbrick building, where he pulls his phone from his pocket, inserts his earbuds, and shutters his eyes as he leans against the wall and listens to a melody that leaves him looking so peaceful and dreamy, I’m tempted to land on his shoulder and listen in too.
    I flit from my perch, desperate for a better view. Using the raven’s eyes to soak in the casual slant of Dace’s shoulders, the gleam of his hair falling down the front of his tee, the long, lean line of his body, the way his apron dips low at his waist and skims over his thighs. Content with watching him for as long as it lasts, regretting the moment he sighs, pushes away from the wall, and heads back.
    I follow his lead, careful to keep close to the buildings, remain unobtrusive, unseen. Tracking him all the way to the back door of the club, where Auden and his bandmates have been replaced by the waitress who served me the last time I was here.
    She stands in the doorway, posture stooped, arms folded across her chest, while Cade looms before her, berating her in a way that leaves her wincing in shame.
    I creep closer, wondering if I should do something to stop him, jab my beak into those creepy blue eyes—when Dace moves in and handles it for me in a less violent way.
    He slips an arm around her, murmuring soft words of comfort, as he fixes a hard stare on his brother,