Intrinsical

by Lani Woodland

  I jumped to my feet so fast I felt a little dizzy, or maybe I was just giddy. “That’s her room number. She’s still here. She left it for me in case I came back as a ghost to tell me how to find her.” I grabbed Brent’s hand, pulling him up. “Let’s go see her right now!”

  ****

  After climbing to the seventh floor, we quickly found the right room. Brent opened the door but let me stick my head in first to make sure she was decent.

  “She isn’t here,” I said glumly, motioning for him to come in.

  “Was she always this messy?” Brent asked, taking in the paper-littered floor and the wall adorned with pictures of students surrounded by hastily written Post-It notes.

  “Not to this degree . . . not unless there’s some project that she’s urgently working on.” I took the time to look at her wall and realized there was actually an order to the chaos. It looked like a timeline, the older-looking portraits to the left and Phil Lawson’s to the right. My own face was below his with a sticky note question mark attached. I climbed up on her bed to examine the first two pictures on the left, stacked one on top of the other. The first, a pale, freckled, red-haired boy was labeled Dennis Parker. The other was olive-skinned with beautiful green eyes. The name “Weld” under his picture had me reaching out to grab Brent’s hand. “That’s T.J. Weld.”

  Brent had been examining the papers piled on Cherie’s bed and shrugged, not looking up. “Who?”

  “He was the writer of the article that led me to astral project.” I looked closely at his name and gasped. “The T stands for Thomas. Could it be the same person?”

  That got Brent’s attention, and he stood up, coming beside me, examining all the little notes Cherie had scribbled under their names. “He’s one of the two original victims of the curse.” Brent clicked his tongue. “He is the curse.”

  “Does he look familiar?” I asked

  “No.” Brent started tracing the curse down its thirty victims. Brent’s fingers gently stroked the image of his brother Neal. His eyes shot back to the picture of Thomas. “So that’s what the guy looks like, huh?” Brent snorted. “No wonder he ditched his body.”

  I gave him a small grin as I thought through some of the new information. “Why would the ghost want me to be able to astral project?”

  “Well, it already knew you could see it—or, at least, could stop it. Maybe it guessed you’d be able to project, too. You’re a lot more vulnerable to it that way.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then I kept trying to contact you. You’re being a Waker must have made you that much more important to silence.” Brent punched the wall. “You’re welcome for that final nail in your coffin.”

  “It isn’t your fault, Brent. I was a target from day one.”

  “Yeah, the day you saved my life,” Brent growled, throwing up his hands and scattering the messy piles of paper into the air. They cascaded around us like snow.

  “I’m not the only one with a temper, huh?” I asked. Brent scowled at me. “None of this was your fault, Brent.”

  “Sure,” he mumbled, reading more of Cherie’s notes about Thomas. “It says he had been diagnosed with cancer right before he died. And his best friend Dennis died in the fire with him. They were usually a trio but their other friend, Henry wasn’t with them that night. He was the one who reported them missing.”

  “How did they die?”

  “You don’t know?” I shook my head and he continued. “They died in the fire . . . in the old pool house.”

  “The curse started there?” I shuddered, remembering how horrible I had felt in that room. Then another piece of information caught my eye. “Henry was the next person to die.” I tapped my fingers against the wall knowing that piece of information was important but not understanding why. “Why every two years?” Brent shook his head. “Did your brother act any different before he died?”

  “Well, he never came home. He always had projects and stuff; we had to come here to see him. The last time he came home, a couple years before his death, he seemed skittish and left some journals in his room that he didn’t want to keep in his dorm room anymore. They’re the ones that had all the information about the Clutch.”

  “So he didn’t come home for two years. Isn’t that strange?”

  Brent smirked at me. “You’re new to prep school, but no, that isn’t unusual. Not until that college acceptance letter comes in the mail.”

  “Oh. Why wouldn’t the guy posing as your brother come home or take off to a different country or something?”

  “Maybe he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to control the body? Maybe he knew he couldn’t really fool us?”

  “Or,” I proposed as a thought popped into my head. “What if he can’t leave campus either? Thomas said he was a prisoner like us.”

  Brent nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He started snapping his fingers as his mental gears started to grind. “Yeah, and people eventually have to leave school. He’d need a new body if . . .” Brent didn’t finish his sentence, trying to piece things together.

  I inhaled slowly and smiled, Cherie’s perfume heady in the room. I had been so excited about finding her and then so caught up in her notes, I hadn’t noticed her signature scent at first. The significance of her perfume faded as the sound of feet in the hallway had my fingers clasping tightly together in anticipation until they continued past her door. The corners of my mouth drooped.

  I turned my attention back to Brent to quiet my disappointment. “Did your parents worry about sending you here after your brother . . . died?”

  Brent laughed without humor, staring out the window. “No, they wanted me gone. I got in the way.” Brent held up a hand against my forthcoming denial and apology. “They love me, but they’re busy with their own lives. A good college was just an excuse to send me here. To ease their conscience, they have me meet with a therapist every few months though.”

  “Did it bother you to come here?”

  Brent rubbed one of his shoes against the back of his leg. “Yeah. Didn’t seem to matter though, did it?”

  I really had no idea how to respond to that, so I didn’t say anything. Instead, I watched Brent crouch down to read the last of Cherie’s notes about me. Beside my picture was a big red question mark. Next to it another scrap of paper listed everything I had told her in detail. He swore, pointing to an arrow that led from my picture to a small snapshot of Brent we hadn’t noticed before.

  “She suspects him.” My knees gave out on me and I plopped onto Cherie’s bed. “She won’t let it go, either.”

  The curtains at the window fluttered in a chilly breeze and the room seemed darker. Brent tugged me to my feet, across the hallway, down the stairs, and outside, while my mind swirled with the danger Cherie was in. I had to warn her— I wasn’t sure how, but I had to. My arm ached where Brent’s fingers dug into me as he cursed. The air around us had grown frosty, pressing in on us.

  Brent stopped and spun me so I was looking at him. “Yara, run. Get as far from here as you can,” he pleaded, his fingers loosening their grip on my arms.

  “What are we waiting for? Let’s go,” I said reaching for his hand, but he pulled it back.

  “I’m not coming.”

  “What? Why? Come with me,” I begged, not understanding.

  “I can’t. We can’t both get away from it and I’m not about to let him get you.” I looked at him, dumbfounded. “You go hide, I’ll hold it back. Go,” he commanded, trying to push me back with his wind, but I planted my feet in rebellion.

  “Not without you.” I tried to breathe deeply but the air lodged in my throat refusing to go further. “It’s me he wants.” Tears trudged down my cheeks. Another gust of wind pushed against me, away from him, soft but insistent. For an instant the wind stopped pushing, instead circling me in a gentle hug, like Brent was holding me in his arms. When I closed my eyes, it felt like he was physically next to me and I was in his warm embrace.

  “We can get away tog
ether,” I stammered. The wind forming the shape of his fingers wiped away my tears then gently stroked my cheek. Something I didn’t know existed stirred within me. Despite the upcoming fight, he was much more content than I had ever seen him before.

  “Go,” he said softly and I was again being pushed back against my will. My arms reached out toward him and I screamed his name as I strained to touch him. Frantically I tried to cling to trees, to branches as they whipped past me.

  Tears blinded me and I sobbed, “Please, let me stay.” My feet dragged on the ground through leaves and gravel despite my hysterical kicking. My limbs continued searching for anything to get leverage, to help fight against the wind Brent was commanding, until he was no longer in view.

  My determined fight was interrupted by Brent’s urgent voice in my mind, Please . . . stop resisting, please. I don’t think I can

  fight you both. I need to be able to concentrate.

  With that I stopped and dropped helplessly to the ground, bawling, rocking back and forth. As it drew close to him, I could feel his terror grow. That fear made my tears stop and in some twisted way gave me courage. I couldn’t hide like a coward; he might need me. Brent thought he knew me better than anyone else. If he truly did, then he knew he couldn’t keep me away. I would help, not complicate things. I hoped.

  I crept from tree to tree until I was able to see Brent and the huge blanket of vapor approaching him. He seemed so small against such an enormous foe that my heart careened in my chest. Thomas had left Brent’s body behind for the fight; there was nothing human in the villain moving toward Brent, only the mist.

  I watched as Brent, standing firm, raised his hands to the heavens as if summoning something. And it came. The cloudless blue sky grew dim; dark rain clouds moved in, quickly blocking out the sun altogether. The ominous clouds were drawn to him, thunder rolled, a crash of lighting brightened the suddenly dark sky. Rain poured down, drenching the world around us. Birds flew from their nests and far-away dogs howled in fear. Brent’s hands were spread wide and I noticed that as he brought them close together a small ball of the elements he had summoned swirled there. As forms began to take shape in the gloom, he dropped his hand pointing it toward the shadows. The ball he had created attacked the mist, scattering the forms back to vapor. Before they could re-form, his hands were raised again. I had thought him a powerful warrior and he was. I would gladly follow him into battle.

  I clung to the tree as the wind whipped my hair and dress in its fierceness. The separated mist was gathering to go against Brent one more time but a small part of it broke off, gliding toward me.

  Trying to control the wind as I had the volleyball, I tried to push back the slithering darkness, but my frantic attempts had no affect.

  Thomas’s voice seeped out from the mist. “So glad you’ve come to play, Yara. It’s time.”

  Brent cursed loudly as his head snapped toward me. He pointed a clenched fist in my direction, cursing again, and a strong gust pushed me back with such force that I lost my grip on the tree and was hurled backward, landing heavily on my right side. The small vein of haze that had been moving toward me scattered and slid back to join the whole. I turned my attention back to Brent and gasped.

  The mist had encircled him entirely. He held both hands out wide as he slowly looped around, sizing up the strength of his foe. He was strong enough to keep his enemy from advancing any closer, but couldn’t repel it entirely. He looked toward the skies and a small cyclone formed directly above him. The twister descended and engulfed him, safely keeping him in its eye as it twisted and whipped away the darkness.

  Run, Brent commanded me in his thoughts. You need to get away. I’m not sure I can hold this off any more. The cyclone lifted just high enough for him to duck underneath and run toward me. Things seemed to be moving in slow motion and I watched as the remaining mist swirled around Brent’s legs and pulled him to the ground with a thud. His fingers grabbed futilely into the dirt as he was being dragged away from me.

  I opened my mouth to scream but no sound came.

  “Go!” He yelled.

  Suddenly I felt faint, unable to move. The mist grew denser and again several distinct beings became evident. I could feel it growing stronger as it rejoiced at capturing Brent. I stood, unsure what to do. I couldn’t run. I couldn’t leave Brent. He needed me. I was scared, I was angry, and it was the mist’s fault. I wanted to throw all of my erupting emotions out toward the enemy in all-out assault. My eyes locked on my foe, concentrating, channeling my fury into my fingertips. A movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. Brent was shaking his head adamantly.

  In an instant, his lessons came back to me. I needed to be smarter than that— I couldn’t be ruled by anger or fear. I had to keep control or risk being left completely powerless—  or, even worse, hurt Brent. Not sure what else to do I mimicked what I had seen Brent do; I lifted my hands up toward the sky.

  I felt a surge of power around me, awaiting my command. My eyes focused on the fog holding Brent. I dropped my hand and I pointed at it with all my might, all my heart, all my determination. The power I had summoned obeyed, scattering the dark substance. To my astonishment, the wind felt like an extension of my hand. It bent to my will as if attached. I reached out with my elemental hands and grabbed Brent’s.

  I pulled with all my strength, but he didn’t budge. Our eyes met and I felt his strength combine with mine. His power surged through me, burning my insides with its intensity. I felt invincible as I leaned back to give myself more leverage, wrenching him free. The mist’s tendrils reached for his ankles, trying to reclaim its grip. The air rang with its anguished cries as Brent stumbled into my arms. A sense of completion filled me, like some long forgotten half of me had suddenly returned. I set that thought aside, promising myself to ponder it at a better time. Like when I wasn’t fighting for my soul.

  We were both panting heavily as we wheeled together toward our enemy. I faltered for a second when I saw a face that had emerged from the mist. It was Thomas Weld. He looked just like his picture in Cherie’s room; he hadn’t aged in the sixty years since he was thought to have died.

  “Focus,” Brent hissed as he grabbed my hand, and together we raised them to gather whatever force we could. We sent a wave of hail, rain, and wind so strong it knocked the leaves off all the trees in our area and ripped at branches that creaked in protest. The mist, instead of spreading, huddled together in a tight ball, the independent shadows joining the whole. With one last glare in my direction, Thomas drew the mass into himself.

  I had been so surprised to see Thomas that I hadn’t realized Brent was still working. With a final push of air, Thomas was knocked back a step before retreating out of sight. The storm quickly cleared and the sun shone as brightly as it had before the battle. Brent lowered our hands and collapsed on the ground, cradling one of his ankles. We had won the skirmish, but the war was still not over.

  Chapter 13

  “Is it gone?” I asked hopefully, wiping away the sweat on my face.

  “For now,” he said, his chest rattling with exhaustion. “It’ll be back.”

  A knot formed in my stomach. “How do we get rid of it for good?” He shook his head. “How did it know to find us in Cherie’s room?”

  “I’m pretty sure it was looking for Cherie and found us by mistake,” Brent said, resting his hands across his body.

  “How come he wasn’t in your body this time?” I asked, arranging the length of my dress around me.

  Brent let out a tired sigh. “He was done toying with us and was moving in for the kill. I know I’m stronger when I’m without my body. I’m guessing it’s the same for him.”

  “Do you—”

  Brent held up a hand to stop my flow of questions. “Can we do this later, after I’ve had a chance to rest?”

  I bit my tongue, but my mind began theorizing and trying to make sense of what had happened.

  “That includes thinking too loud,” Brent said
wearily, his eyelids fluttering closed.

  “Sorry,” I apologized sheepishly. He had risked everything to save me and I moved closer to him, taking one of his hands in mine. A lump of gratitude formed in my throat, so strong it was almost painful. Without thinking I threw my arms around his neck and went to kiss him on the cheek.

  Or, at least, I meant to— but at the same moment Brent turned to me and started to say, “I was thinking—”

  I’ll never know what he was thinking because his lips met mine. My eyes popped open in surprise. His eyes were wide in astonishment as well. For a long second, we sat there staring into each others eyes, our lips touching, totally frozen. My mind was a blank except for wondering if I could will the mist back to take me now and save me from this uncomfortable situation.

  Finally, my wits returned to me and I pulled back hastily, my cheeks flushing with color. My fingers rushed to cover my offending lips. Brent tried to sit up but was still too weak and finally settled on scooting further away from me. Wanting more distance, I retreated back a few feet. I looked up at the sky, at the ground covered with fallen leaves, at the bare branches of the trees, anywhere but at Brent. Silence can be deafening.

  Finally Brent cleared his throat. “Can’t say I’m that surprised that you succumbed to my charms.”

  “I didn’t mean to kiss you,” I said, embarrassed beyond belief.

  “Really? So your lips just ended up close enough to touch mine by mere coincidence?” While his words almost seemed to be teasing, his tone wasn’t.

  I dared to glance at him and saw that he too was avoiding looking at me. He was studying the palm of his hand like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

  “I went to kiss your cheek as a gesture of thanks but then you turned to talk to me and . . .” it was far too humiliating to finish the sentence so I didn’t. The fact that I had to explain my actions bothered me. “Don’t you already know this? Can’t you tell through means other than having to speak?”

  He seemed as flustered as I did, his cheeks tinged pink. “I could, but you’re all muddled right now. And I really do try to respect your privacy.” Finally Brent seemed to have composed himself and he laughed. “I told you I’m irresistible. You’ve got it bad for me.”