and I’ve seen it.” I grin. “And while I may not be able to see the actual pages, I can read its energy.”
“And what is its energy telling you now?” Paloma slides the ancient leather-bound book across the table until it’s resting before me.
I lift my palms so they’re hovering just a few inches above it. My attention instantly claimed by a very strong impression I’m reluctant to share.
It can’t be.
It’s impossible.
And what if I dare say it out loud and it turns out that I’m wrong?
“What do you see?” Paloma urges, her tone leaving no question that she’s onto me, knows that I’m not being entirely forthcoming.
“Yeah, tell us what you see,” Lita says. “Don’t hold back on my account.”
I take a deep breath, clear my throat, and say, “The prophecy has changed.”
“How?” Paloma moves her chair closer to mine.
“You were right about Cade. He’s the one who filled the sky with fire. He did it to force the prophecy. He was impatient. Convinced that if he could just get it going, then he could hasten the day that he’d rise up and rule. But some things cannot be forced, and now the prophecy is … dormant … for lack of a better word.”
Paloma’s energy deflates as she sinks deeper into her seat. “I’m afraid you’re right,” she says. “The night Daire went missing, Chay stood right here beside me as we watched the words lift from the page. I didn’t mention it to you until now because I wasn’t sure what to make of it. But I’m sure your impressions are correct. Cade is immature, impatient, and so he forced the signs before their time. And though I check the book daily, the space where the prophecy stood remains stubbornly blank.”
“Have you checked today?” I venture, unsure if I should voice this incredible sensation I’m getting.
“I checked this morning. It’s the first thing I do.”
“Check again,” I say. “You know, just to see.” I strive to keep my voice light, as though I’m merely hoping to be humored. Afraid of giving too much away, planting a seed of hope, when there’s a chance I might have it all wrong.
I hold my breath as she slides the book toward her. My cheeks bubbled with air as the cover sounds a dull thud against the tabletop, and the worn vellum pages turn one by one. That same rush of air whistling from my lips when she and Lita both gasp, the sound alone confirming the very thing that I sensed. Those ancient, yellowing pages are now shimmering with the promise of new text, where just a few moments earlier it stood blank.
“What does it say?” Lita asks.
“I don’t know.” Paloma’s voice is uncertain but more enthusiastic than I’ve heard in days. “The symbols are hazy, out of focus…”
I’m about to lean toward it, wanting to see if I can maybe intuit something, when I sense a subtle shift of wind. The slightest alteration in the atmosphere that might’ve gone completely unnoticed if it weren’t for the bright flashes of color, the surge of warmth, and the celestial chorus that accompanies it.
It’s a chorus I’ve heard once before.
The tempo lilting, lifting, until it rises into a crescendo so glorious, I can no longer contain it. I leap from my chair and cry, “Somebody needs to go open the gate.” Making sure I have their full attention before I add, “Somebody needs to go open the gate and let Daire in—she’s home!”
ten
Daire
I pause in the doorway with my eyes closed. Savoring the aroma of mesquite logs burning in the fireplace and ginger tea seeping into the air. Along with the sweet smell of cardamom cupcakes, lavender oil, vanilla perfume, and peppermint soap—the scent of home, family, and friends.
“ Nieta! ” Paloma crushes me to her chest so tightly I can feel her bones jutting from her shoulders in a way I don’t remember. “ Nieta, what happened? Where have you been?” She draws away, runs the back of a hand across my brow and presses both palms to my
“And what is its energy telling you now?” Paloma slides the ancient leather-bound book across the table until it’s resting before me.
I lift my palms so they’re hovering just a few inches above it. My attention instantly claimed by a very strong impression I’m reluctant to share.
It can’t be.
It’s impossible.
And what if I dare say it out loud and it turns out that I’m wrong?
“What do you see?” Paloma urges, her tone leaving no question that she’s onto me, knows that I’m not being entirely forthcoming.
“Yeah, tell us what you see,” Lita says. “Don’t hold back on my account.”
I take a deep breath, clear my throat, and say, “The prophecy has changed.”
“How?” Paloma moves her chair closer to mine.
“You were right about Cade. He’s the one who filled the sky with fire. He did it to force the prophecy. He was impatient. Convinced that if he could just get it going, then he could hasten the day that he’d rise up and rule. But some things cannot be forced, and now the prophecy is … dormant … for lack of a better word.”
Paloma’s energy deflates as she sinks deeper into her seat. “I’m afraid you’re right,” she says. “The night Daire went missing, Chay stood right here beside me as we watched the words lift from the page. I didn’t mention it to you until now because I wasn’t sure what to make of it. But I’m sure your impressions are correct. Cade is immature, impatient, and so he forced the signs before their time. And though I check the book daily, the space where the prophecy stood remains stubbornly blank.”
“Have you checked today?” I venture, unsure if I should voice this incredible sensation I’m getting.
“I checked this morning. It’s the first thing I do.”
“Check again,” I say. “You know, just to see.” I strive to keep my voice light, as though I’m merely hoping to be humored. Afraid of giving too much away, planting a seed of hope, when there’s a chance I might have it all wrong.
I hold my breath as she slides the book toward her. My cheeks bubbled with air as the cover sounds a dull thud against the tabletop, and the worn vellum pages turn one by one. That same rush of air whistling from my lips when she and Lita both gasp, the sound alone confirming the very thing that I sensed. Those ancient, yellowing pages are now shimmering with the promise of new text, where just a few moments earlier it stood blank.
“What does it say?” Lita asks.
“I don’t know.” Paloma’s voice is uncertain but more enthusiastic than I’ve heard in days. “The symbols are hazy, out of focus…”
I’m about to lean toward it, wanting to see if I can maybe intuit something, when I sense a subtle shift of wind. The slightest alteration in the atmosphere that might’ve gone completely unnoticed if it weren’t for the bright flashes of color, the surge of warmth, and the celestial chorus that accompanies it.
It’s a chorus I’ve heard once before.
The tempo lilting, lifting, until it rises into a crescendo so glorious, I can no longer contain it. I leap from my chair and cry, “Somebody needs to go open the gate.” Making sure I have their full attention before I add, “Somebody needs to go open the gate and let Daire in—she’s home!”
ten
Daire
I pause in the doorway with my eyes closed. Savoring the aroma of mesquite logs burning in the fireplace and ginger tea seeping into the air. Along with the sweet smell of cardamom cupcakes, lavender oil, vanilla perfume, and peppermint soap—the scent of home, family, and friends.
“ Nieta! ” Paloma crushes me to her chest so tightly I can feel her bones jutting from her shoulders in a way I don’t remember. “ Nieta, what happened? Where have you been?” She draws away, runs the back of a hand across my brow and presses both palms to my
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