inevitablepub

by Lani Woodland

  “Then that’s what you should do.”

  There was a beat of silence before she turned to me and grabbed my hands, her eyes wide and scared. “What are we going to do, Yara, when Brent’s illness kills him?”

  The heartbreak on her face and the defeat in her words propelled me from my seat and into her arms. We held each other, neither of us wanting to contemplate a future without Brent.

  We stayed with Katie all day as the condolences poured in. When I finally left at midnight, Brent decided to stay. DJ traveled with me as I drove home, making corny jokes to keep me awake.

  I was only about halfway home when I heard a siren and saw flashing lights in my rearview mirror.

  I glanced at my speedometer and found I wasn’t speeding or anything. Putting on my signal, I slid to a stop on the shoulder of the road, unstrapped my seatbelt and reached into the glove compartment for my registration.

  “Do I have a taillight out?” I asked DJ.

  He held up one finger and vanished. “Nope. Lights are good,” he said as he reappeared back beside me.

  The street was deserted this time of night and the three broken streetlights made me wish I’d been stopped in a safer area.

  I locked my doors even as I rolled down my window for the approaching officer. He was a few years older than me with buzzed, bleached blonde hair and dark brown eyes.

  I kept my hands on the steering wheel and gave the cop a nervous grin. “Hello officer, did I do something wrong?”

  He flashed his light toward the back seat, peering inside. “I’m going to need you to step out of the car, ma’am.”

  “What?” I’d been prepared to hand over my license and registration, not get out of the car.

  His hand shifted so it rested on the grip of his gun. He pointed the light in my face, blinding me. “Step. Out. Of. The. Car.”

  The way he bit off each word made me swallow hard. I brought my hand to my eyes to block the glare, but I still couldn’t see his face. I studied his tan trousers; they didn’t match his blue uniform. That was weird. In the rearview mirror his unmarked police car was parked behind me. All of those TV specials about bogus cops who lure girls away to murder them flashed in my head.

  “Not until you tell me what I’ve done.” I said, sliding away from the window.

  “Yara, don’t—”

  DJ’s warning came a second too late.

  The cop’s hands shot into the car and he unlocked my door through the open window, yanking it open and dragging me out of the car. I fought his grip, but it only tightened. “You’re coming with me, Ms. Silva. We have a mutual friend who insists on seeing you.”

  Fear surged through me. “Let go of me!” I yanked my arm free just as he released it. He gaped at his hand like it had betrayed him.

  DJ appeared next to me. “Get out of here, Yara! He’s one of Crosby’s bodyguards.”

  I got about two steps before I tripped on a hubcap that rolled directly into my path. Scrambling to my feet, I jumped into my car, starting the engine. A dumpster skidded in front of the car before I could move.

  In my side mirror, I could see the guy approaching. His fist moved toward the window like he was going to punch it, but the window shattered before he made contact, pelting me with glass. He was like Brent and maybe just as strong.

  I threw the car in reverse as he stuck his hand through the window, grabbing a fistful of hair. DJ appeared on the guy’s other side and yanked his arm.

  The fake officer spun toward DJ, but kept his grip on my hair. I scratched at his hand, my fingers drawing blood, and grimaced at the pain as he wrenched my head to the side. I pounded on his arm but his fist never gave way.

  “Let go of me!” I shouted.

  The guy’s arm dropped and his mouth went slack as he stepped away from the car. That’s when it hit me. He was like Brent. Vovó had been able to compel Brent because he was closer to the spirit world and she was the Matriarca.

  I was the Matriarca now.

  “Move the dumpster.”

  He glared at me, his face beet-red and sweating as he trembled, struggling not to obey me. He moved awkwardly, like a puppet fighting his strings.

  The dumpster slid out of the way, sparking as the metal grated against the road.

  “Look at me,” I told the guy. He obeyed. “Go to the nearest police department and turn yourself in. Confess everything about what you and your boss are doing.”

  “We have more company, Yara!” DJ tipped his head toward a ghost hovering beside the car, one of those who’d attacked me in Brazil. The spirit glided toward us, his brown hair stirring around his shoulders and even at a distance I could see the compulsion flickering in his blue eyes.

  “Stop!”

  The ghost jerked to a halt, his anger radiating off him like heat waves.

  Before I could say anything else, the ghost vanished.

  I swung my eyes back to the faux-cop. He hadn’t moved, but stood there watching me, his face twisted in loathing.

  “Go to the police station,” I repeated, putting more power behind my voice.

  His fists clenched and unclenched, but he nodded and walked to his car, his posture stiff, one leg dragging as he fought my order.

  DJ whistled. “Wow. I’m super impressed right now. You really think he’ll turn himself in?”

  “I think so. We’ll follow him and make sure.”

  I watched the man in the review mirror, still struggling against my order. The revving of an approaching car cut through the silence of the night. The vehicle sped up and veered, aiming right for the officer. With a sickening crash of metal hitting flesh, the SUV rammed him, sending him airborne.

  A scream burst from my mouth and I looked in horror at the piece of road where the man had been standing seconds before. The SUV slammed on its breaks and swung to a stop, smoke rising from the tires. I released my seatbelt, intent on seeing if the fake-cop was okay.

  “Stop.” DJ grabbed my arm. “Look who’s hovering around the car.”

  The spirit that had watched me compel the fake-cop stood next to the SUV. The passenger side window rolled down and a woman leaned out, long dark hair spilling from the window as she spoke to the spirits. Then two men hopped out of the SUV and ran toward the man they’d just hit. One of the men pivoted around, coming toward me.

  “Go!!” DJ shouted.

  The wind surged around me and the dumpster shivered again as I floored the accelerator, screeching away from the men and the idling vehicle.

  My heart nearly beat out of my chest as they jumped back in their SUV. I swerved with a hard right onto a residential street. DJ and I made a series of quick turns in case they tried to follow, and then went directly to my house. I was still shaking when we pulled into the garage.

  “They hit him to keep him from turning himself in and we just left him there. He . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence. A man had been murdered because of an order I had given. With wide eyes I glanced at DJ. “Was that my fault? Did I kill him?”

  “Of course not. Don’t be stupid.”

  I knew it was true, but I still needed to hear it. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t look so sad, Yara. You’re alive and I doubt that was the way Crosby wanted this night to end.” DJ smiled. “Tonight was a win.”

  “Well, when you put it like that . . .” I gave him a shaky smile. “I guess it was.”

  But I shuddered to think that a win had included a man’s death.

  The next few days were a blur of grief as we planned the service for Brent’s dad. Shock had set in for both Brent and his mom, probably the only way they survived it all. The night before the service, I was at Brent’s house putting together a few casseroles and storing them in the freezer so they wouldn’t have to worry about something so mundane as cooking while they grieved. There was a sharp knock on the door. Kalina and Faith were waiting on the porch.

  “We need to talk.” Before I could say anything, Kalina stepped in. “Get Brent and his mom.”
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br />   After they were settled in the living room, I called Brent and Katie in to join us. They each expressed their condolences and Faith gave Brent a long hug. She knew what he was going through, her own pain being so fresh and new.

  Kalina took a long deep breath and then blurted out the reason for her visit. “Brent and Yara can’t attend the service tomorrow.”

  “What?” Brent asked.

  “Crosby’s planning on attending. And not to pay his respects.” She put her hand on her head, closing her eyes. “If you go, he’ll capture you both.”

  The color drained from Brent’s face. “I have to go. We had our issues but he was my dad and I loved him.”

  I grabbed his hand. “We know you did.”

  “What about my mom?” Brent asked.

  Kalina’s eyes flickered. “She’ll be fine, but you won’t be if you go.”

  Katie trembled and took a gasping breath. “If what she’s saying is true . . . I forbid you from going.”

  “You shouldn’t have to go through that alone, mom.” Brent’s hands convulsed around mine.

  Katie dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “I’d rather do that alone than lose you too.”

  Brent surged to his feet and stomped around the living room, muttering some very creative curse words. “Why doesn’t he just come and get me? Why try to lure me out?”

  “Yara’s grandma put wards around both of your houses.” Kalina stood. “He wants to know exactly when and where you’ll be to make his move.”

  Brent reclined against the wall and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I hate this.”

  I did too, but what choice did we have? None. He’d robbed us of any.

  “We can go and visit his grave later, Brent,” I told him, once we were alone. “After everyone’s gone. You can still say goodbye to him. It will just be more private.”

  “That might be better,” Brent agreed, an almost-smile playing around his lips. “My final words to him aren’t any I want everyone else to hear.”

  True to his word, Brent skipped his father’s funeral. Later, at about one in the morning, Cherie, Steve, Brent, and I piled into Steve’s car and drove to the cemetery. Cherie picked the lock on the gate and Steve drove us as close as we could get to Richard’s plot. I held Brent’s hand as we approached his father’s final resting place. Steve and Cherie walked a few paces behind us.

  A wilting wreath still lingered on the fresh grave. The smells of recently turned soil, dying flowers, and moist decay surrounded us. I stroked my malachite bracelet, the only thing that let me step into a graveyard without being swarmed by spirits.

  We stood around the raised earth, silently saying goodbye.

  I had nothing respectful to say, so in my mind I thanked him for Brent. And for being enough of a jerk to send his youngest son to the same school where he believed his first son had killed himself.

  Cherie and Steve retreated to the car while Brent started talking to his dad aloud. I withdrew a few feet to allow him time alone. I could hear the anger in his words along with the grief. He sobbed and sniffed and ranted.

  “It’s your fault I’m dead!” a familiar voice yelled.

  I jumped back. Brent’s dad stormed toward me, murder in his eyes.

  “I’m taking you to Crosby.”

  “Brent! We’ve got to go!” I shouted.

  Brent was already spinning. He must’ve heard his dad’s voice too. Running towards me, he grabbed my hand, urging me faster. I could feel his dad drawing closer, nipping at our heels.

  “You can’t outrun me!” his dad taunted.

  “Steve, turn on the car!” Brent ordered.

  Richard’s fingers grazed my elbow, but before his hand closed, Brent swooped me up and tossed me into the backseat, through the door Cherie had opened for us.

  “Go!” Brent yelled.

  Steve floored it.

  We sped down the street and each light we passed went dark as we reached it. The temperature dropped and our breath hung in the air.

  As we raced down the darkening lane, ice formed on the windows.

  Richard appeared in the middle of the street, directly in our path. I screamed as we drove right into him. Richard passed through the car and Steve, but collided with me, slamming my body back into the seat as he grabbed my shoulders. The strength of the impact crushed me, forcing the breath from my body, and making my ribs creak.

  “Stop the car!” Brent ordered. “He’s killing her!”

  Steve slammed on the brakes and the car fishtailed into an abandoned lot, skidding to a dusty halt. Brent swung his fist, punching his dad in the jaw. Opening his hand, he shoved a packet of ghost-be gone powder in his face.

  Richard jerked back, his eyes opened wide, before he vanished, cursing in pain.

  “You okay?” Steve asked, spinning around.

  Brent stroked my hair with a shaking hand as I nodded.

  “Let’s get you home.” Brent tucked his arm around my shoulder.

  Steve revved the engine, but the car only lurched as the tires spun uselessly into the soft sand.

  Three men stepped out from the shadows of the darkened streetlights and approached the car. Cherie’s window shattered and a hand reached through, grabbing her.

  She screamed.

  Steve flung himself toward her attacker as my door swung open and I was dragged out of the car.

  Brent dove after me, but one of them yanked at his ankles. Spinning around, Brent kicked with his free leg, nailing the guy in the nose. I fought, kicking, screaming, and biting. I pulled things from around me using the training Brent had given me. Rocks and a glass bottle responded, flying toward my attacker.

  None of them hit their targets.

  I sought the plants, but they were too dry to respond. Grabbing the air, I sent a dust devil up, a small twister of sand and debris.

  He swiped it away.

  The fire inside me burned, turning my skin hot. He cursed, but didn’t let go.

  I called more things from the field—a broken hubcap, an old computer monitor, a tricycle missing a wheel, empty oil cans—but everything fell short or sailed off course.

  My eyes found Brent fighting with one of the others.

  He clapped his hands together and a torrent of wind shoved his opponent back. Brent took two steps toward me when I felt something sharp poke my neck.

  I struggled, but the world started to blur and spin until blackness engulfed me.

  Chapter 15

  I came to with a pounding headache. My wrists were tied to the arms of a chair, my ankles to its legs. My eyes struggled to focus on the scrolled detail of the cherry wood chair.

  The inside of my mouth tasted bitter and I ran my tongue along the roof of my mouth. Frantic voices were speaking, but I couldn’t concentrate enough to understand them. My vision swam in and out of focus, the fibers of the thick rug gaining and losing their sharpness. I lifted my head and squinted against the bright light leaking between the slats of the blinds covering the floor-to-ceiling window.

  Where was I? My first guess was a high priced lawyer’s office. A perpetual motion desk toy sat on a large mahogany desk with a dark leather chair tucked in behind it. A large tapestry that looked like it belonged in a medieval castle hung against the dark wood wall. The three men from the attack were in the room and so were almost a dozen spirits.

  I wasn’t going to get out of this. My head felt too heavy to support my neck and it flopped forward.

  “She’s awake!” a deep voice announced.

  A door opened and I felt the vibration of approaching footsteps on the hardwood floor. A pair of shiny black men’s dress shoes stopped in front of me, accompanied by a smell of cedar.

  “Is she?” The man in the dress shoes asked. He had a smooth voice, one made for public speaking.

  I knew that voice and the smell of that cologne. Crosby. My heart clenched in terror and frost seemed to form in my chest as my eyes traveled up the length of him. Gray still streaked his black hair, and his bl
ue eyes were still hard and cold. His smile, full of evil promises, widened as I met his stare. Something about him seemed different, but I couldn’t place it.

  He crouched down to my eye level. The weight of his eyes on me made the pounding in my brain more acute. I rolled my head to the side, but a pair of hands roughly forced it back so all I could see was Crosby. I closed my eyelids but more hands forced them back open, leaving me no choice but to stare into my enemy’s eyes.

  “Where is it?” Crosby demanded. “Where did DJ hide it?”

  “What?” I asked, my voice sounding like I had a mouth full of cotton. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t lie to me!” He shook my shoulders. “Where is it? Being brave won’t save you. It’ll only make it more painful.”

  A bead of sweat trickled from his temple into my eye

  I blinked it away. “I’m not trying to be brave,” I mumbled, my tongue clumsy and slow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  A bolt of pain throbbed in my head so intense my vision darkened. The pain felt weird, wrong, unlike anything else I’d felt before. It seemed to move and scatter, tracking the movements of Crosby’s eyes.

  Oh, no.

  That foreign pain was him. He’d invaded my mind.

  I could feel him poking around inside my brain. It hurt like spikes being driven into my skull. His breach left me feeling dirty and violated.

  Now that I recognized the source of my pain, I could feel his touch, like clawed fingers combing through my thoughts. I tried to protect myself mentally, but I didn’t know how. The mind control serum Vovó had taken from Thomas wasn’t ready; it needed another two days to properly steep. I wished I’d taken it anyway.

  The pressure in my skull increased and my body jerked, as if lightning jolted through my brain, sizzling, burning. Crosby brought his forehead against mine, his eyes boring into mine. My body spasmed and writhed, and a scream tore up my throat, an agonized, inhuman wail.

  The pain stopped, leaving me gulping for air. Spots twirled before my eyes and my limbs trembled. My head would’ve sagged forward if not for the rough hands holding it up.