I felt my face blanch. Brent cast me a worried glance.
“It’s only happened twice though?” I asked, trying to find some measure of hope in all of this.
“Yes, but we’ve all felt the pull when we’ve been doing our Waker duties,” Lyn said. “There’s a feeling of bugs crawling over your skin and there’s more static electricity as well.”
I thought of the way my skin had been itching a few times over the last few days and the weird static in my hair on the plane. “I’ve felt that.”
“Nonsense,” Kathryn said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It hasn’t spread as far as Brazil. We’ve been monitoring the progress.”
“If you’ve felt it when a ghost walked into the light in Brazil, then it’s more wide spread than we feared,” Rachel said, grasping the scroll tighter.
“I noticed it when I was speaking with a ghost. The light hadn’t come yet, but I felt it. And today on the plane—”
“Impossible,” Kathryn interrupted. “It has only been felt when the light is present.”
“But I—”
“You’ve felt nothing.” Her eyes blazed and her voice snapped. “No one could feel it without the light being present.” She slapped her hand against the table like a judge with a gavel, declaring a verdict. “No one.”
I ground my teeth. She could say what she liked but I knew better. I’m not sure how I knew but I did. I’d felt the magnetic pull of the thinning veil without the light. Why couldn’t they?
“That is why we want help with Crosby,” Rachel said. “If he continues, it will get worse.”
“How are you sure that stopping him will fix things?” I asked.
“My daughter Kalina saw it in a vision. Unchecked, it will become an even greater problem. Hundreds of Wakers will die.”
That announcement surprised me. Rachel was Kalina’s mom? When I really looked at her I could see something similar in the shape of her eyes and tilt of her nose. I had my own experience with Kalina’s vision. She’d been scarily accurate.
“Kalina said if we stop Crosby the spirit world will be back in balance?” I asked.
“Yes,” Rachel said.
I spun around and found Kalina in the audience. She glanced at the council before she spoke.
“You don’t want to know what will happen if no one stops him,” Kalina said. The sincerity in her voice and the drawn expression in her eyes convinced me. Frowning, I turned back toward the front of the room.
“Have you used your compelled spirits to spy on him?” Vovó asked, her disapproval dripping from her words.
“Of course,” Kathryn said.
Vovó glanced at me then back at the Waker council. “And what happened to these spirit slaves?”
The thought of slave spirits made me shudder. It went against every lesson Vovó had taught me.
“None of them returned,” Kathryn grudgingly admitted. “He’s also begun threatening some of our council members. Which is why we’ve come to you for help.”
“And if Brent helps you do this, you’ll let him see the scroll?” Vovó asked.
“But why do you need Brent to help with Crosby?” I spread my arms wide to point out the whole room. “You have more manpower than we do. And military contacts.”
“None of our resources have worked.” Rachel sighed and her shoulders slumped. “He’s too well guarded, too strong. We can’t even get close. That’s why we need Brent.”
“And if he helps you do this, then you’ll give him the scroll?” Vovó asked.
Kathryn nodded. “Once you’ve done that, we’ll let you use the scroll.”
“That.” Brent’s voice rang through the room, deeper and stronger than I’d ever heard it. “That is exactly why I won’t work with you.”
Kathryn opened her mouth, but Brent cut her off before she could say a word.
“You expect me to trust you when you haven’t done a trustworthy thing in the entire time we’ve known you. If I’m going to work with Wakers, it’s going to be the ones who actually care if I survive the fight.” Brent glanced at Vovó and me before nodding. “I have my own reasons for wanting Crosby out of power. If you’re gonna help us, fine, but I’m not doing it for you. I trust you about as much as I trust the Clutch.”
Kathryn’s eyes narrowed but managed a brittle smile. “I don’t care what your reasons are, so long as you provide results.”
The scroll might have been the bait that had lured us out to talk, but it had been the revelation about the thinning barrier between the worlds and the dangers to Wakers that had convinced us. Plus, they were right. Crosby needed to be stopped.
I still didn’t trust any of the women seated before us. Kathryn might give us the scroll or she might not. Even if she did, there was no guarantee it contained information that would help us secure the cure for Brent. But it might not even matter. We still had to stop an enemy who’d escaped three years ago. I didn’t know how we could stop Crosby. I didn’t even know how we could find him, but I knew one thing for certain: we had to try. Brent’s life depended on it.
Chapter 4
The drive back to my parents’ house passed by in a blur and not simply because Vovó greatly exceeded the speed limit. Kathryn’s announcement about Brent seeing spirits still stunned me.
My mind kept replaying that moment over and over. Not the demands, the accusations, and the blame—not even the mysterious scroll they used to bait us. I fixated on Brent’s new ability to see ghosts, and that he’d kept it from me. Anger and hurt warred in my chest, making it seem like my lungs didn’t have enough room to expand.
My thoughts were still focused on Brent’s omission when we pulled into my parent’s driveway. The porch lights were on and the house I’d grown up in looked exactly as I remembered it: tan stucco with gray siding. The windows were framed with blue shutters, and the porch encircled with a white railing that looked freshly painted. It brought back a slew of happy memories that helped ease some of my stress.
Despite my excitement to see my parents, I stayed in the car as Vovó went inside to surprise them. Brent started to get out of the car, but after one look at me, sat back with a sigh.
I turned in the seat until I faced him. It was dark outside, but the streetlight cast enough light for me to see his face. With a guarded expression, he met my eyes, waiting for the inquisition.
“You never thought to mention you could see spirits?” I tried to keep the anger out of my words, to make my tone neutral, but I failed miserably.
Brent slumped back against the seat, but his jaw clenched. “Are you really going to turn this around on me and make me look like the bad guy?”
Indignation flared through me and I leaned forward. “I’m in the wrong here?”
“That’s not what I meant.“ He crossed his arms over his chest and stared out the window.
“I’m trying not to be angry, but Brent . . . I thought we were a team. I thought we were in this together.” I rested my temple against the soft leather seat and stared out into the night. My parents’ neighbors were out; a few were shooting hoops in their driveway, kids rode by on their scooters. All of their lives appeared so easy, so normal. I envied them. I took several deep breaths. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I thought I was dying!”
Whatever anger I had accumulated vanished in an instant. I reached out and took Brent’s hand in mine, searching his eyes, trying to understand. His gaze skittered away from mine.
“Why would you think seeing a ghost means you’re dying? I see them all the time and I’m not dying.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and rubbing his thumb across the back of my hand. “Yeah, but I see different ones than you do. You haven’t noticed the ones visiting me.”
I watched the swirl of his thumb on my hand while I considered his sentence. “What ones have you seen?”
“The ones I see have already crossed over.” He licked his lips and his nostrils flared as if preparing
himself for his next confession. “I think they’re trying to get me to go with them into the light.”
It felt like a bolt of lightning had struck me, making my heart skip a beat. Silence fell around us, not the usual comfortable kind, but one filled with worry.
My gut twisted and I cleared my throat. “You’ve been seeing the light?”
Brent shook his head.
“Well, that’s good. I think. How long has this been going on?”
Brent still wouldn’t look at me. “Since we fought Crosby.”
“Three years?” His answer floored me. I took a deep breath, but it didn’t calm me. I shifted so I was on my knees and leaning between the seats. Brent pressed himself against the back seat. “You’ve been hiding this for three years?”
Brent brought his finger to his mouth and gnawed on his nail, pointedly studying the window. “Not exactly.”
“Then tell me how it is, exactly.” The level of frost in my voice could have frozen an inferno.
Brent pursed his lips. “For the first couple of years I thought it was my vision. They were just splashes of bright light that came and went. You remember how I kept thinking I needed glasses?”
I nodded. “But they always said your vision was perfect.”
The corner of Brent’s mouth lifted up. “Like the rest of me.”
I closed my eyes, my chest tightening.
“Until about a month ago, I thought the optometrist was wrong. I couldn’t figure out what those spots could be. But then the lights turned into spirits, really bright ones, almost painful to look at.” Brent ran his fingers through his hair. “I always checked to see if you were seeing them too but you never did. I didn’t know what was going on.”
While my fingers traced along the thick stitching on the headrest I considered what he’d said. How would I have reacted if I suddenly started seeing ghosts Vovó couldn’t? It would have freaked me out and spirits were part of my every day life. They weren’t part of Brent’s.
“That must have been really scary.”
Brent nodded his agreement. “It about gives me a heart attack every time. I didn’t know if I was minutes away from death or going crazy.”
I reached out and touched the dark circles under his eyes. “Is that why you haven’t been sleeping?”
He caught my hand and pressed it into his cheek. “Yes.”
I stroked his cheekbones, my anger had eased but the hurt remained, and the confusion. “You thought you were dying, and instead of asking me—the expert on weird afterlife phenomenon—for help, you hid it? I thought that after what happened senior year, we weren’t going to keep secrets.”
“I know.” He let out a sigh that sounded soul deep. “But I was trying to figure out what was happening. Everything about the spirits I saw was different than what you described.”
“You had Vovó at your fingertips, Brent. She’s a fountain of information.”
Brent’s eyes dropped. “I talked to her about it.”
I snatched my hand back “What?”
“I told her what was happening, that I could see spirits, but I couldn’t hear them.” He bit his nail and looked away. “I keep seeing my brother beckoning me to follow him. I thought he was some sort of . . . angel of death.”
Betrayal, hard and ice-cold, sprouted in my chest. “You confided in Vovó and neither of you said one word to me?”
Brent held up his hands as if to shield himself from my angry words. “I didn’t want to worry you. You were busy with school, with your training.”
“That excuse stopped being valid a month ago. What about since then?”
“Yara, you never wanted to talk about my being sick. You always have this optimism about everything. I just . . . I didn’t want to be the one to snatch it away.”
His answer was like an arrow straight to the heart. I had only ever wanted to talk about his illness in positive terms, encouragement that we’d find a way to cure him, but he knew this was different. This wasn’t a fear or a doubt; this was a new symptom. A really bad one.
“Brent, I wanted to keep things positive, but you had to know I would’ve wanted you to tell me about this. This is big.” He only met my eyes for a second and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hug him or hit him.
“We weren’t trying to lie to you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “We just decided not to tell you until we knew what was happening. I thought it might be another symptom of Thomas’ hordes of stolen souls. Vovó agreed and thought I might need more of the medicine and we upped my dosage again, but now… now, I know it has nothing to do with Thomas and everything to do with the fact that I’m apparently someone’s genetic experiment.” He let out an unhappy snort of laughter. “So I’m normal, I guess . . .”
“But—”
He shook his head, his eyes pleading with me to stop. “I know you’re mad at me. I get it. I do. And I’m sorry. But I’m kinda still reeling. Can we have this fight later? Please?”
“Fine.” I turned to open my car door. He gently grabbed my arm.
“I’m not shutting you out. I just need—”
“You’re keeping secrets from me, Brent. Again. Big, important secrets.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sure,” I scoffed with a shake of my head. “You said that last time.” I hesitated before getting out of the car. “Will you promise to tell me if any other symptoms appear?”
He didn’t answer.
I fought back tears while hurt, betrayal, and fear swirled inside me. “Well, thanks for not lying to me this time. I guess that’s an improvement at least.”
I didn’t wait for him to get out of the car before I slammed the door.
The strain of my smile relaxed a little when I let myself into my childhood home and breathed in its familiar vanilla scent. I noticed small changes right away. The white tile had been removed and the floors were now a hard wood laminate. A new lamp graced the black entryway table and a dark leather sectional had replaced our old comfy green one. A seascape hung where an old copy of a Monet had been for years. A pang of wistfulness pulsed through me. Life had gone on without me.
“There she is!” My dad said, swinging in to give me a hug. His hazel eyes reflected his joy. He arched back and examined me. “Didn’t they feed you in Brazil? You’re too thin.”
“You always say that.” I gave him the once over. He’d thinned down a bit and had more gray strands in his dark hair than the last time I’d seen him. I patted his taut belly. “Looks like you’ve lost some weight yourself.”
He pulled me in for another hug, before releasing me and peering over my shoulder. “Where’s Brent?”
“He’ll be right in.”
“How’s he doing?” My dad asked in a gentle voice. “Any success in duplicating his meds?”
“No, but we have a new lead. That’s why we’re here.”
“I’m glad it brought you home. I wish you were here under happier circumstances, but it’s good to see you.”
My smile was real when I hugged him back. “Me too.”
“Yara.” I spun towards the sound of my mom’s voice. Her blue eyes brimmed with happiness. Other than her blonde hair now cut so it rested just above her shoulders, she looked exactly the same. “You’re home.”
She opened her arms and I rushed into them. She’d always been a fierce hugger and could have given the world’s strongest man a run for his money if hugging were a recognized event.
The front door opened and Brent walked in. My parents turned their greetings and affections to him. After more tight hugs and a few extra tears, my mom whipped up a fantastic dinner. Vovó caught my parents up with all of the news from Brazil and my parents filled us in on what we’d missed in Corona. They hadn’t pressed us on why we’d dropped in unannounced. I figured they were waiting for us to bring that up.
After finishing dinner, Brent wandered to our picture wall and stared at the unframed photographs that formed an informal wallpaper. He studied them with surprising inten
sity, but I could guess why. His family didn’t have the strong bonds mine did.
Guilt welled in me as I considered Brent, studying the images as if wondering what it’d be like to not go through things alone. During dinner I realized I’d overreacted. I couldn’t apologize because I still thought I was right, but I also knew he was doing it to spare me. I walked up behind him, slid my hands around his waist, and rested my head between his shoulder blades.
“I know you were dealing with things the best you could. I’m glad you talked to Vovó. I’m just scared and hurt. Fear can turn to anger pretty quick.”
He leaned back against me. “I know, and I’m sorry.” I stood on my tiptoes so I could kiss his cheek. I knew he meant it, but I also knew he would make the same choice if put in the situation again.
Brent touched his finger to the wall, tracing my face in a few pictures. My parents had added new ones, some of my sister Melanie at work, a few from graduation, and some that Brent and I had emailed from Brazil.
“Your family looks so happy.” He pointed to a picture of my family that had been taken a week before my brother Kevin died in a car crash.
“We were.”
“He looks a lot like you.”
I smiled. “Everyone says that.” We both shared my father’s hazel eyes and dark coloring.
“I—” Brent started to say something, but his mouth snapped shut when we heard someone else come into the room.
“Your mom has gone upstairs.” My dad settled himself into the chair at the head of the table. “Now would be a great time for you to tell me why you’re really here.”
Vovó followed him into the room and told him of our last few days in Brazil.
“What did the American Wakers want?” my dad asked.
Brent glanced over his shoulder and I released him so we could move back to the kitchen table. “Basically? They want me to handle Crosby for them.”
My dad, always obsessed with Waker business, raised his eyebrow at Brent. “You could do that?”
Brent made a so-so hand movement with his hand and then twirled his fingers. A rush of gust of wind picked a napkin up off the table and deposited it in my dad’s lap. The rest of the room didn’t stir at all.
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