“Yeah, two very different halves,” I snap, the words as sharp and bitter as I currently feel. “Dace is good—Cade is evil. Dace I…” I pause, not quite ready to admit to the L word just yet, even though Paloma’s the one who told me we were destined for each other. Starting again when I say, “Dace I care deeply about—Cade I hate.”
I drop the pendulum onto the blanket, and wipe my finger down the leg of my jeans, leaving a light trail of red. Then I reach for the row of feathers, choosing the eagle, the one for sending prayers, eager to move on with the lesson.
“So, how does this work?” I wave it before me. Wanting to move past the pendulum debacle and staring in dismay when Paloma takes it from me and forces the pendulum back in my hand.
“You must try again, nieta. Ask another question this time—one that will definitely result in a no.
“I already did! What’s the point?” I cry, instantly regretting the harsh tone—but, seriously, what is she getting at? “Trust me when I say that me loving Cade is about as ridiculous as it gets. It’s revolting. Grotesque. Completely unfathomable. It’s what nightmares are made of. It’s my own personal version of hell. It’s the definition of no!”
I shake my head and scowl. Muttering a stream of angry words under my breath as Paloma sits patiently beside me, waiting for me to get back to the task. But there’s no way. I’m too tightly wound. Too inflamed by her reaction—choosing to believe some stupid pendulum over what I know to be true.
We sit like that for a while—Paloma in silence, me an angry, fuming wreck. And then it hits me—she’s holding something back.
“What are you not telling me?” I eye her with suspicion. “What’s going on here—what’s this really about?”
I rise to my feet, knees shaking so badly I fight to regain my balance. “Tell me!” I insist, the words hissed between clenched teeth. “Just say it, whatever it is. Because I promise you, whatever I’m thinking is way worse than the truth could ever reveal itself to be.”
She reaches for my hand, grasping it tightly in hers and pulling me back down beside her. “No, nieta,” she says, her voice so troubled it only makes me feel worse. “If I’ve learned nothing else, it’s that here in Enchantment, the truth is often far worse than anything the mind is able to conjure.”
four
I try it again.
And again.
And even a few more times after that—and the result never differs.
Every time I ask the pendulum a question that should result in an undeniable no, it responds as it should by spinning in a counterclockwise direction. And yet every time I repeat the one about me loving Cade, it spins the opposite way.
The ritual leaving me so red-faced and frustrated, I can’t help but blurt, “Paloma—what the heck?” I scowl, having no idea what this could possibly mean, why the pendulum insists on torturing me.
And then I remember something the Bone Keeper said.
Something about Dace being the Echo.
Which mirrored Cade’s taunt the last time I saw him:
You’ve been working for me since the day you started having those dreams about my brother … you know, the Echo?
An echo is a repetition.
A reflection.
A figure from Greek mythology who pined for Narcissus until all that was left was her voice.
How could that possibly relate to Dace?
I search Paloma’s face, in need of some answers.
“They are connected, nieta. It is all that I know. As for how deep that connection goes is for you to discover. But clearly it is deep enough for the pendulum to confuse the two.”
“It’s not possible!” I say. “They’re nothing alike!”
But Paloma just nods and places her hand over mine. “My client will be here soon,” she says. “Let’s move on to the feathers while there’s still time.”
* * *
When Paloma’s client arrives, I start to head out. But when I pass a window on my way and get a glimpse of a dark and ominous sky, I make a quick U-turn and head for my room where I stand before my closet, weighing my options.