“I don’t know. Was anything else different?”
I shivered as I replayed the horrific events. “Well, instead of being with you, everything was black and I felt like an empty shell. It was like I was . . . nothing.”
Brent looked pensive as he ran his fingers above the pool, making small waves across the water. “Maybe your reenactment needed to keep you with your body the whole time.”
“Why?” I placed my good hand over the water, willing it to move, smiling when it rippled slightly.
“I don’t know. I’m just so glad that we were dragged here. I thought we were trapped.” We shuddered simultaneously at the thought of the mist. “How’s the stab wound?”
I winced, being reminded of the throbbing pain in my arm. Burning. Agonizing. I bit back my immediate responses and gritted my teeth. “Fine.”
“Still trying to lie? Did you miss the ‘We’re connected’ seminar held earlier?” Brent asked, rubbing his own shoulder. “Even if I wasn’t having sympathy pain, I wouldn’t have believed you.” He rolled his shoulders again and cursed under his breath. “It sucks there can be this much pain in the afterlife.” He turned toward me reaching for my arm. “Let me see it.”
“It’s fine.” I angled away from him, suddenly tense. “No need to fuss.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Good, then you won’t care if I take a look.”
“It’s fine.” I shoved his hand away.
“Yara.” His voice was firm with a touch of warning. “Just let me look at it.”
He gently took my elbow and eased me around. A long, low whistle pushed through his lips as his cool fingers touched the wound, examining it carefully. When I finally got the courage to peek at it, I felt nauseated. It was a gaping, jagged wound, black around the edges and crusted over by the blue liquid that had oozed from it.
Brent’s hands were now covered in the sticky blue substance, but he didn’t seem to care— he was concentrating on my injury, his eyes focused, his finger gently applying pressure. I could hear the words Brent repeated in his mind, like he was following a set of instructions, his soft fingers soothing the angry tear. Sweat formed on his face and his body trembled as my ragged skin fused back together, heating and molding like wax. Under Brent’s fingertips, the wound then cooled, taking the pain away with the warmth, until the only sign of the injury was a jagged black scar. Brent collapsed onto his back next to me, totally spent.
“How did you do that?”
“I . . . I wasn’t sure I could. I only read about it in Neal’s journals.” Brent breathed deeply. “I had to try. That injury was really serious. The mist wasn’t playing around.”
“What does it want?” I hugged my knees to my chest.
Brent rolled onto his back and draped his arms over his eyes.
“Besides you?” “That isn’t funny.” “It wasn’t meant to be.” His voice sounded hoarse and weak. “Do you mind if we get out of here? This really isn’t my favorite place.”
“Yeah, okay.” Brent looked wistfully at the door, as if trying to make it move closer so he wouldn’t have as far to go.
Chapter 11
The sun was rising and the air still chilly when we emerged outside. A few scattered clouds broke up the robin’s egg blue sky. Rays of sunshine made diamonds of the dew glistening in the grass and clinging to the leaves. The campus was quiet, most students still asleep.
“Did you notice all the people in the mist?” I asked Brent as we neared my former dorm. I stopped at the fire escape, contemplating if I was ready to check in on Cherie.
“Yeah.” Brent’s eyes were on me, waiting for me to decide if I was going up or not.
“I noticed them when we first saw Neal, but I hadn’t really thought of it before. They didn’t seem happy there,” I said, twisting away from the steps, moving onto the shrub-lined lawn.
Brent followed, his shoulders hunched. “Agreed.”
“So why do you think they were part of it?”
“I doubt they had a choice.” He let out a deep breath. “Probably they were captured souls, like Phil and Neal, forced to join. Soldiers being conscripted into an army. I mean we saw Neal was in it against his will.”
“Who are they?”
“I assume they’re the other victims of the curse.” Brent’s eyes glazed over with a faraway gleam as he started biting at his nails again. “I can’t shake that image of Neal.”
“But why would it capture souls?”
“Obviously for something bad. Power maybe?”
“To what end?”
“I don’t know,” Brent said tersely.
“It said it needed me. What’s so special about me?”
“No idea. I’m sure it has nothing to do with your natural talent, your family lineage, and your ability to see evil ghostly fogs,” he said sarcastically. “Then, to top it all off, your dead friend was trying to warn you and you were starting to listen. No matter why he needs you— I’m sure your attempt to contact me made him act sooner than he planned. You needed to be stopped before you figured it all out.”
I gulped loudly and my mouth went dry as something new occurred to me. “I know Cherie. She’s going to start poking around into my death. Will he go after her, too?”
“Don’t worry Yara, she won’t get far. I tried contacting her first. She has no paranormal radar.” Brent was quite for a beat. “It surprised me. I thought after all the stuff you said she saw that she’d be easy to communicate with. Imagine my surprise when I got through to you instead.”
I felt my cheeks burn in shame. “Cherie didn’t see any of that stuff. It was all me.”
Brent rubbed his temple where his bruise had been, a feeling of hurt in his eyes. “Why did you lie?”
“I was afraid you’d think I was unstable. And I was right.”
“Fair enough,” he said pulling on his gray sweater. “Well, it bothered me that people like her treat my brother’s death like a game.”
“I might be a tad touchy about the word crazy,” I admitted, tucking a curl behind my ear.
“Why?”
“Vovó. Like I said, she can see ghosts. It’s fine in Brazil— people accept it and admire her for it. But when she comes to the States and talks to ghosts in public or wherever, people start using the ‘crazy’ word.”
“Why does she even talk to them when other people are around?” Brent asked rubbing his arm.
“She feels like it’s her duty to help them.”
“And you don’t.”
I chewed my lip in thought; this was getting to the painful parts that I didn’t talk about much. Even Cherie had learned to sort of gloss over the finer points whenever our conversations got too close to this subject.
“I . . . I never felt that way,” I admitted. “Ever since we moved here, my family was called crazy and lots of worse things because of her conversing with thin air. I was hoping I would be lucky and not get the gift. Then I came to Pendrell and started seeing the mist. And when I told you about it and you called me crazy—” The words spewed out of my mouth before I could stop them. “it hurt,” I finished, staring him right in the eye so he would be sure to get the message.
Brent scowled at me for a second before he chuckled. “Yeah, well, so did that book.”He lifted his head watching the clouds stroll across the blue sky. “If it makes you feel better, I believe you now.”
I fought a grin as Brent leaned against a large tree crossing his arms deep in thought.
I was quiet for a moment, watching an elephant shaped cloud traipse across the sky. “Vovó felt I was the great hope for the legacy since my sister looked every bit the blue-eyed, blonde-haired American, and I every bit my Father’s Brazilian daughter with hazel eyes, brown-tinged skin, and dark hair.” I ran a finger through my dark locks. “I was relieved I was allowed to stay in California when my dad was transferred, missing out on years of unwanted lessons in the family legacy. But I ended up here . . . surrounded by ghosts.”
“So you couldn’t hid
e from who you really are, huh?”
“I guess not.” I bit the inside of my cheek before confessing, “I’m a Waker.”
“What’s a Waker?”
“In Brazil they call it Acordera, but Waker is easier to say. It’s a name for people who can see ghosts. I was just starting to be able to see them . . . the ability gets stronger with age. A Waker, though, does more than just look at spirits; she can communicate with them as well. If I had tried harder, you wouldn’t have had to go to such dramatic lengths to talk to me.” I let my shoulders relax. “If I hadn’t been so afraid and trying to block everything, we could have been able to talk to each other just like this.”
“That would’ve been nice,” Brent said, still cloud-watching. I had been expecting some smart comment about how much work I could have saved him. Since I didn’t get one, I knew his mind was mulling over something. When he reached his decision, he stood taller, tightening his jaw, his eyes cutting to mine.
“If I want Neal free and you want to make sure Cherie isn’t in danger, we’re going to have to fight the mist.” Brent rolled around so his back was against the trunk. “Not just defend ourselves, but really attack it.”
“I know that, but we barely escaped last time,” I said, leaning against a tree opposite his.
“I wasn’t expecting it to be so strong. Now I know; we’ll be prepared. I swear I’ll never let it get you.”
“That’s very sweet but I don’t think you can make that promise.”
Brent shook his head in disagreement.
“I notice he didn’t give you a chance to accept his offer,” I commented in a small voice.
“I didn’t expect him to.” Brent shrugged. “Like I said, he isn’t to be trusted. He was only hoping to get you without a struggle.”
“That’s not going to happen.” I clenched my teeth, my eyes flashing. “You need to train me. I need to be able to fight, too.”
Brent nodded in approval and his eyes twinkled. “I would expect no less from you.” I caught his eye and a feeling of warmth heated my insides forcing me to drop my eyes. “Let’s start training.”
****
“Concentrate,” Brent said.
“I am,” I snapped. My outstretched arm was shaking above a volleyball that rolled around but refused to leave the ground.
“Then concentrate harder.” He was standing beside me, his feet spread apart in a solid stance, watching the stubbornly un-levitating volleyball.
“I can’t.” A storm of frustration was brewing inside me and my face grew red, sweat forming on my forehead.
“Then I won’t let you fight.”
“If you let me practice on you instead of this stupid ball, I could probably do it,” I yelled over the tempest pounding behind my ears.
“Why should I let you? You can’t even manage a stationary object.” Brent moved his finger in a circle and the ball followed the motion. “You’d probably hurt me.”
I dropped my exhausted arm, rubbing the base of neck to prevent the tension headache I felt building. “If I remember correctly, you hurt me when you knocked me out of the way of the lightning.”
Brent’s gaze dropped to his shoes, wringing his hands together. “That was different.”
“How?”
“I had to act quickly.” Brent dangled his fingers toward the ball and it lifted into the air and soared toward him.
“How did you know it was going to hit me?”
Brent twirled the ball, giving it the illusion of spinning on his fingers like a top. “Outside of my body, I’m always more aware of things. Heightened senses and stuff.”
“That’s true for me, too.”
He waved the ball away and it bounced to the ground, rolling back toward the sand. “Yeah and I’ve always felt more connected to the elements, able to bend them to do what I wanted them to do.” He studied his nails like he really wanted to chew on them, but shoved his hands into his pockets. “Since I died, though, my connection to them has grown stronger. I just knew you were going to be hit by that bolt. I’m sorry for hastily pushing that day. The lightning surprised me.”
“Is that why it left huge welt marks on my chest?” I asked, cringing slightly at the memory.
“Yeah, I wasn’t as careful as I should have been.”
“Well, considering you saved my life, I’ll let it slide. I never did say thank you. So . . . thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” The muscle near his left eye twitched. “The thing is, Yara, the lightning wasn’t near your game. That random bolt came out of nowhere.”
I climbed to my feet, reading between the lines. “You mean that lightning was meant to kill me?”
A slant of uncertainty crossed Brent’s face. “I think so.”
“So he tried to kill me several times?” The baby hairs on the nape of my neck stood on guard. I hadn’t just been murdered; I’d been stalked like prey.
“Yeah. By then I knew he was trying to kill you. I wasn’t sure what was in that vial he gave you, but I hid it.”
“Oh, I thought I lost it. Not that it matters; I wasn’t going to use it.” Brent gave me a level stare. “Okay, I considered it the first time I projected accidentally.” A group of students picked up the volleyball Brent had dropped and started a game. “If he did that, controlled the lightning, he’s pretty powerful, huh?”
A patch of cloud covered the sun, making the day seem colder as Brent nodded.
“Alright— then I need to practice.”
I stood the way Brent had shown me, my legs spread shoulder-width, pushing into my feet to keep me solidly on the ground. “Hmm . . . they took my ball.”
“See if you can take it back,” Brent said, a dare in his voice.
“Oh, I can do it.” I pointed at the ball and concentrated.
While it did sail off course a few times during their game, it wouldn’t obey me. From the corner of my eye, I watched Brent’s shoulders slump in disappointment.
“It’s okay,” he said, giving up on me and rubbing his chin. “It can take a while to master. I’ve been pushing you too hard.”
“I can do it,” I yelled, my eyes focusing on the ball. All the pent up emotions unfurled from me and attacked it, for a brief, triumphant moment it glided toward us. I motioned for it to come closer, but felt myself losing hold of it. In annoyance I sent everything I had into the command, knowing I had done it, confident in my success until it exploded, leather and other odd pieces of material littering the sky before snowing down around us. The students watching shrieked; a few backed away, while the brave ones crept toward the ball.
Brent’s face went pale and he licked his lips. “Glad we started with the ball.”
“Told you I could do it,” I said, stumbling to my butt as my strength deserted me. I expected to see Brent impressed or at least pleased, but his chestnut brown eyes darkened.
“You call that ‘doing it’?”
My head dropped and I bit down on my quivering bottom lip.
“If we had been practicing together, you could have obliterated me.”
“No. I wouldn’t have hurt you.” I panted for breath that I tried to remind myself I didn’t need.
“You don’t know that. You have no control.” He cut me off as I opened my mouth to argue. “You let that childish temper of yours rule you. You wasted all your strength on that stupid explosion leaving you too weak to do anything else. If we were fighting, I would now be trying to defend not only me but you as well. Not to mention I’d probably be trying to correct whatever damage you created. You’d be nothing more than a distraction.”
Like a human teapot, my blood boiled, my cheeks burned, and I could almost feel the pressure escaping like steam from my ears. “You said I was gifted and powerful.”
“A battle is more than a flash of power, Yara. It’s strategy and control,” Brent said, trying and failing to keep his voice calm.
“I can learn to control my temper,” I said, rising to my knees, each of my words clipped.
<
br /> “I’m really starting to doubt that.” His eyes were cold. “I’m starting to think your temper may be your defining characteristic.”
His eyebrows lifted questioningly as my mouth opened to defend myself. My tongue rose to the roof of my mouth, becoming a dam to stop the rush of angry words that certainly weren’t going to help me prove my point. I inhaled deeply, holding the air until it collected all the cutting words I longed to speak and then exhaled, letting them float away unspoken.
Brent applauded, nudging me with his shoulder, “I thought I had you there.”
“It wasn’t easy,” I grumbled honestly, though part of me found his clapping condescending, treating me like a child who had learned the alphabet.
“Proud as a papa,” he chided.
I gave him an evil eye before covering my face with my hands— I had forgotten he knew what I was thinking. “I can do it. It’s just harder with you than with anyone else.”
Brent’s lips twisted up. “I wonder why that is?”
“Because you’re so annoying?” I offered, watching the students abandon the court.
“I’m far too charming to be annoying.” He tapped his index finger against his smooth lips. “If I remember correctly, you get angry when you’re scared.”
“You’re right. I’m so afraid of you.” I rolled my eyes. “I constantly worry that you’re going to kidnap me or beat me up.”
He stepped close to me, lifting his hand to my cheek. Brent’s face moved close to mine, his intoxicating citrus and musk scent following him. Softly his fingers traced my cheek, turning my face toward him, his touch making my stomach pivot like a ballerina.
“There’s more than one reason to be scared, Yara. More than one way a person can hurt you, too.” The teasing tone was gone.
My useless dead heart floated up to my throat. “I . . . I . . .” I stuttered, staring into his silky brown eyes.
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