Alyson Noel - Horizon

I shake free of the thought, and return to Leftfoot who’s still waiting for my response.

“Is this how you enjoy the break? By reading books on shape-shifting?” He flicks the stack with his index finger and thumb.

“Looks like you’ve already decided the answer.” I meet his look square-on. Even though he’s technically my uncle, Leftfoot’s always been like a father to me. Despite struggling to raise his son, Lucio, on his own, he never hesitated to look after me. And I’ve never thought of him as anything less than a dad. Because of it, we argue as much as any father and son.

He shoots me a look that manages to convey his extreme annoyance while still managing to be supportive and fatherly. Tossing a wad of bills on the table, he rises impatiently and motions for me to follow.

“Where we going?” I glance from him to Chay, but Chay just pushes away from the table and shrugs, even though I’m convinced he’s informed. The two of them are thick as thieves. Always in cahoots. There’s no dividing them.

“Your honeymoon is over.” Leftfoot slips an arm around my shoulders and pushes me into the daylight. “We’ve got work to do. Serious work. Make no mistake, the worst is yet to come.”

DAIRE

Having spent the first sixteen years of my life studiously avoiding pretty much all forms of physical activity that don’t involve lounging and/or reading, I’m amazed by how much I’ve come to love running. How quickly I’ve taken to it. How fast I’ve progressed.

Turns out there’s nothing like a good, brisk run to clear away the cobwebs and relieve a little of the tension crowding my head. Not to mention how it’s a useful way to get home after a night spent at Dace’s. Or at least until I get around to getting my driver’s license. And though there are quicker routes to choose, none allow for as good a view of the Rabbit Hole.

I slow when I reach the far corner, cast a quick glance each way, then dart across the street and edge toward the alleyway. Where I take a quick detour and cruise by the chain-link fence where I secured the padlock as a symbol of Dace’s and my love, if only to ensure it’s still there. With so many forces working against us, there was no guarantee. Then, I move toward the clamor of hammering and workers shouting from the other side of the barrier. The clouds of dust and noise providing ample proof that the rebuild continues. Though the barrier fronting it is so solid, tall, and imposing, it’s impossible to get a sneak peek—one thing is sure: El Coyote is alive and well and planning on making one hell of a comeback.

And, I’ve no doubt Dace knows it too.

No way does he truly believe that they’re dead.

Dace is too smart to ever believe such a thing.

Like me, he’s prepping for what’s next—whatever that should turn out to be.

I’ve caught him doing push-ups, crunches, and lunges when he thinks I’m not looking. I’ve even caught him shadowboxing, but I just slipped back into bed without saying a word. If he wanted me to know, he’d tell me. Besides, I’m sure his secrecy is less about keeping things from me, and more about quelling my fears. And while I’ve no doubt his aim is well intentioned and sweet, truth is, it’s not really working.

Great clouds of dust waft over the partition, as a chorus of jackhammers and drills drones on without ceasing. About two months after the explosion, the construction began. And now, after four months of working in earnest, I have to think it’ll be ready soon.

And then what?

The doors spring open and it’s back to business as usual?

With large crowds of people lining up for overpriced drinks, loud music, and mediocre food?

I duck my head low and place a hand on each knee, forcing deep exaggerated breaths as though I need a break from the run, but really using the moment to take a good look around. Searching for at least one familiar face—something to clue me in to exactly what’s going on.

My wish is seemingly granted when a big, black truck pulls into the lot that at first glance, I mistake for Cade’s. It’s only when I see the red-and-orange flames licking the sides, and Marliz behind the wheel, that I realize it belongs to her fiancé, Gabe.

While she’s not exactly the person I was hoping to see, I can’t help but wonder why she’s still here, driving his truck, if Gabe’s supposedly dead.

I lower my cap, tuck my chin to my chest, and crouch to one knee. Fumbling with my laces as though retying my shoe, I track Marliz as she slips free of the cab, takes a quick nervous glance all around, and darts for the barrier, leaving me only a handful of seconds to decide what to do.

Our relationship, if you can call it that, has always been troubled. She’s the first person I met in Enchantment (other than Paloma and Chay), and, to her credit, she did try to warn me away. But aside from that, and the brief period I managed to release her from the Richters’ curse when she fled to L.A. with a little help from my mom, she’s pretty much been working against me. Last time we spoke she made good on her threat to thwart me. And with the Richters holding her spellbound again, there’s no reason to believe she’d be up for a chat.

Still, I shout her name as loudly as I can in an effort to be heard over the din. Watching as she pauses and turns, her yellow-blond hair swirling around her slim, suntanned shoulders—her heavily made-up eyes widening when she finds me waving from a few feet away.

She stands frozen before me, her tattooed arm with the snake slithering around her bicep clutching hard at her purse, as her long, skinny legs teeter atop a pair of impossibly high wedged heels.

With both hands raised in surrender, wanting her to know I mean no harm, I slowly approach. All too aware that the slightest misstep will only serve to scare her off.

“Marliz—it’s me. Please don’t run. We need to talk . . .”

Her gaze darts wildly. She lifts a hand to her hair. Then the next thing I know, she’s spinning on her heels and racing for the barrier. Her left hand raised before her, she aims her bright blue tourmaline ring toward the wall, causing a blinding flash of bright light and a glimmering veil of dust that seems to swallow her whole. One moment she’s there, and the next I’m left staring at the empty space where she stood. Wondering if I somehow imagined it, until I see the trampled mound of glittering powder she left in her wake.

After a quick look around to ensure no one’s looking, I drop to my knees and skim a tentative hand over the top. Coating my fingers with a strange, dark, sparkling substance with razor-sharp edges that looks nothing like the usual construction dust.

I quickly fill my palms with the stuff, pull my hat from my head, and drop it into my cap. While I may not know what it is, one thing’s for sure: This is not your average rebuild.

The Rabbit Hole is getting a mystical makeover.

The building’s enchanted—protected by some kind of spell—and the Richters are at the helm of it all.

Just as I suspected, they’re not dead—they haven’t gone anywhere.They may be lying low for now, but they’re in there—somewhere—I feel it in my bones.

They’re plotting.

Planning.

Biding their time.

Just as I’m biding mine.

DACE

“How long is this gonna take? I have to be at work in an hour.” I cast an agitated glance at Leftfoot, but he purposely ignores me and hurries me along toward my truck.

Settling beside me, he thrusts an impatient finger toward the window, and says, “Make a left at the corner.”

“Care to tell me where we’re headed?” I crank the key in the ignition, once, twice, until the engine roars to life.