Indelible

  The voice continued. “Even though we had heard the rumors about your ability to project, Miss Silva, we are still shocked to see you here. We’ve never heard of a young woman with this ability before.”

  Last year Brent had also been surprised when he found out I could project.

  “We have something we need you to see.” A man near the back pointed toward a TV and DVD player. “Please, press play, Mr. Springsteed.”

  “Can you do that?” I asked Brent, pressing my lips against his ear so only he could hear.

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Are you sure you want them to know?” I whispered.

  He gave me a sad smile. “Yara, they already know everything we can both do.”

  “He is right, Miss Silva. We know exactly what you can do. Don’t bother to deny it,” the voice said again. “Please, press play, Mr. Springsteed.”

  Brent pushed play and a video started. There was no sound but I immediately recognized Brent and myself on the screen. The footage was taken after the Homecoming Dance last year. I recognized that moment. It was the first time Brent and I had kissed.

  We watched as Brent created a small cyclone around us while we made out. The footage showed that the more we kissed, the more intensely the air whipped around us. Garbage cans tipped over, leaves flew off the trees. Brent’s ability to manipulate the elements was at its highest when he experienced extreme emotion. And based on the storm around us, he had really been feeling it.

  The kiss had been phenomenal and romantic, but watching a video of it in a room of strangers was mortifying. My face flushed. It wasn’t like I was naked on the tape; Brent and I were just kissing, but still, I felt exposed, violated even. That was a private moment.

  I opened my mouth to say, well, I wasn’t sure what to say at that point but Brent gripped my hand and shook his head. I pressed my lips together to keep from speaking.

  “That security footage is why you are here tonight, Mr. Springsteed. It confirmed to us some of the outlandish rumors we had heard about you.”

  “We’ve heard a lot about you, too, Miss Silva,” a gravelly voice to my left called out. “We’ve heard that you can see ghosts and have some minor telekinetic talent.”

  I stiffened. “So?”

  “We’ve also been told that you both can project and use these powers away from Pendrell,” a nasally voice stated. “How?”

  “We don’t know,” Brent said. He slid his arm around my waist. “You don’t need Yara involved in this. There’s nothing she can do that I can’t.”

  “You’re wrong, Mr. Springsteed. She has unique strengths we admire,” the baritone voice said. He twisted his ring around his finger. “You each have special rare talents. You can’t see and communicate with ghosts and she can’t manipulate the weather, and has hardly a drop of your telekinetic ability.”

  The gravelly voice said, “We aren’t here to hurt you. We know what happened last year. We’re not your enemy. As a matter of fact we are grateful for the service you performed for us last year.”

  “What did we do for you?” I asked. “How could we have helped you when we don’t even know who you are?”

  Brent gave me another sad smile. “I know who they are.” He squeezed my hand. “They’re the—”

  “We’re the Clutch,” the voice said before Brent could.

  The Clutch? I couldn’t have been more surprised if we had been kidnapped by the Easter Bunny.

  The Clutch, Pendrell’s secret society. The one that had supposedly disbanded because Thomas had scared them away. The one that Brent had wanted to restart last year. Brent had told me about them, but I was sure they wouldn’t like that, so I acted clueless.

  “What’s a clutch?”

  Brent squeezed my hand again, in what felt like gratitude.

  “We’re the Clutch. We are a secret society here at Pendrell. The last sixty or so years we’ve been forced into hiding, meeting at random places because Thomas was trying to destroy us. We’re sure he thought he succeeded. While we weren’t able to get rid of him, our society still stayed strong, but we became more secretive, more exclusive. Being able to project wasn’t enough, anymore. Several legacies never even knew we still existed. It was a shame, but it was imperative if we wanted our group to survive the storm.

  “You see, we knew something was wrong. Bad things kept happening to our members, but we couldn’t figure out who was behind it. You succeeded where we failed. We didn’t even have his name until this summer, and we’d never considered he might be switching bodies. But the truth is, even if we had known who it was, we couldn’t have stopped him. He was a powerful spirit. But you have fixed that. Now we can be the group we were meant to be. For that you have our thanks.”

  “You’re welcome?” I said, taken aback. This ominous group DJ had warned us about only wanted to thank us. That didn’t seem right. What about the . . .

  Before I could even complete my thought, Brent challenged, “And to thank us you followed us, destroyed Yara’s room, spied on us?”

  Yep, that would be what was wrong with the baritone voice’s little speech.

  “We were vetting you. Making sure you were as worthy as we had heard,” the baritone voice explained reasonably. “We are exclusive. Not many people are chosen to join us. That is how grateful we are. We are offering you membership.”

  “Thank you?” My fingers tugged gently at my necklace. “Why would we want to join?”

  “We are powerful friends. A scholarship might come in handy for you next year. Don’t you think? Columbia is an expensive school. Wouldn’t your friend, Cherie, love to get into Stanford? We can help.”

  My stomach twisted. They knew which college Cherie wanted to go to and that I’d been accepted to Columbia. The things they were offering sounded too good to be true. Which meant they probably were. There had to be strings hidden in there somewhere. I would have bet my soul on it.

  “Just like that? No strings attached?”

  “No strings attached.”

  I snorted. I didn’t believe that at all. “We don’t want your help,” I said. “We’re not interested.”

  The room burst into laughter and this time the sound did bounce off the walls, making the chortles seem scary, ominous. Goose pimples formed on my arms.

  “Tell me, Mr. Springsteed, have you been experiencing any unpleasant symptoms lately? Fatigue? Nosebleeds? Seizures? Other reactions you can’t explain? Have they been happening closer together?”

  Brent stilled and his grip on my hand tightened. “What do you know about that?”

  “We know everything. We know that Thomas controlled your body and tried to kill Miss Silva.” The baritone voice paused. “We also know that an experience like that can have lasting, indelible effects on a person. More than one would expect.”

  His words stole my breath. I cast a glance at Brent, who had tensed beside me. His brown eyes flashed with raw fear.

  “What do you mean?” Brent asked through clenched teeth.

  “Oh come now, Mr. Springsteed. Do you really think you can host another spirit in your body for so many months and not have far-reaching consequences?” The voice paused again and Brent’s face paled. “You have no need to worry. We have the resources to help you.”

  “What sort of consequences?” I couldn’t help but ask. Brent shushed me.

  “Tell me, have they been able to determine what’s wrong with you?”

  “And I suppose you know,” I snapped.

  “As a matter of fact we do.” He paused. “And we can help. Without our help, Mr. Springsteed, you won’t make it to graduation.”

  “Really?” I asked. My arm went around Brent’s elbow. I held on against the sudden spinning in the room.

  “We aren’t lying.”

  “And you’ll give us this information?” I asked slowly.

  “Well,” the baritone voice drew out the word. He twisted his ring again. “I wouldn’t say ‘give’ so much as ‘exchange.’”

 
“Exchange for what?” Brent asked.

  “In exchange, you provide us with your skills, when needed. Wouldn’t you say that’s fair?”

  “Doing what?” I asked.

  “Oh, this and that.”

  If that didn’t scream a warning, nothing ever had. “You’re saying you know what’s wrong, that it’s life-threatening, but you won’t tell us what’s wrong?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying at all. We are more than willing to give that information. Are you willing to pay for it?”

  Was I?

  My first instinct was to say yes. But several things made me hold my tongue. The first was I didn’t trust them. Aside from listing symptoms, they hadn’t provided us with any proof they actually knew what was going on in Brent’s body. They were just playing on our fears. Second, they hadn’t been upfront about what exactly they wanted us to do. There had been no information about what we were agreeing to, what they were expecting from us. And third . . . I looked to DJ. His green eyes were so full of emotion they almost knocked me off my feet. DJ had made his own deal with them, and he had told me to run. He had said they would dangle a carrot before me, one I wouldn’t be able to resist. There was no way I would consider their offer over a scholarship for me, or Stanford for Cherie. But Brent’s life? I swallowed hard, the tears in my eyes making my throat thick. DJ had grabbed his carrot, and didn’t want me to make the same mistake.

  DJ shook his head and mouthed the word, “No.”

  I started to say no aloud but . . .

  But what if they were telling the truth? What if Brent’s condition was so serious that he would be dead in a few months? What if they had information that could save Brent? My mind began spinning out possible scenarios. A headache formed between my eyes. I brought my fingers to my head and rubbed the sore spot.

  A tug of war strong enough to rip me in half battled inside me. Yes or no, yes or no.

  “Yes.” The sound of Brent voice pulled me from my struggle. I spun toward Brent. Had he just agreed?

  Brent gave me a grim smile and slight nod. He wanted me to say yes.

  My eyes darted between DJ and Brent. This was an important choice. One of life and death. But the question was not “Would I help Brent?” The answer to that would unequivocally be yes. The real questions were “Is it true, or are they scaring me into a trap? And if it is true, do I trust them enough to keep their end of the agreement?”

  I didn’t know much about the men in room, except that they had stalked us, followed us, stolen from me, and destroyed my room. And that they claimed they could save Brent’s life, but wouldn’t help until we became indentured to them. What in that led me to trust them in the slightest? Nothing. What it really boiled down to was, “Did I trust the Clutch?” and the answer to that was . . .

  “No.” Once I said the words, a feeling of peace resonated though me, until Brent dropped my hand and stepped away from me. His strength, his warmth, the safety he brought, it all left me when he moved. I felt lost without it.

  My eyes met his, which were filled with hurt. I could tell he was shocked by my answer. He’d expected me to say yes. He looked like he thought I’d betrayed him.

  “Why?” He asked in a voice that scratched at my heart.

  Tears formed in my eyes and flowed down my cheeks. “I love you, Brent, but we can’t trust them.”

  “Then you should go.” The cold look in his eyes and the hostility in his voice had me stepping back. He had never used that tone with me before. His voice was so harsh it felt as though it sliced through my heart, leaving behind a tangled mess of blood and gore where it once beat.

  His lips pursed together. “Can she go?”

  “Interesting.” The baritone man chuckled. “Of course she can go. You were both able to leave at any time.”

  “Go. Home. Yara.”

  I felt like I had been slapped. “You don’t really trust them do you?”

  Brent wouldn’t look at me.

  “It’s not too late, Brent. You can come with me.” I sounded hysterical. I stepped toward him and grabbed his arm, pleading with him.

  He shook me off. “Go. I don’t want you here.”

  I was looking at a stranger, one who wanted me gone. I felt numb as I reconnected, too hurt to cry anymore. Was Brent making a mistake? Was I? Should I have agreed to work with them to help? Why had he stayed? These and a dozen other questions tumbled through my mind and I didn’t have any answers.

  v

  When I saw him sitting alone in the cafeteria at breakfast the next morning my heart was galloping in my chest like a wild mustang. Did I dare approach him? Did he want me to? Did I want to?

  I debated for a second, before heading toward him. I didn’t bother getting food. I just sat across from him. There was a hunch in his shoulders and the corners of his mouth sagged down. He stared out the windows toward Corona, lost in his own thoughts.

  I reached across the table about to take his hand in mine then thought back to last night and brought it back.

  “Brent?”

  He jumped and turned toward me. His brown eyes flashed a thousand thoughts but they all raced by too fast for me to understand. Finally he frowned at me.

  “What do you want?”

  That was a good question. I wasn’t sure myself. “I want to understand why you made the choice you did last night.”

  He guffawed. “I’m wondering the same about you. I thought you loved me.”

  My mouth hung open. “I do—”

  “No, you don’t. If you did, then you would have said yes. If the tables were turned, I wouldn’t have had to think about it. I would have done anything for you.”

  I resisted the urge to slug him. “If the situation had been reversed I wouldn’t have expected you to say yes! I would have expected you to think the decision through. We don’t even know if they’re telling the truth. Your doctors haven’t even given you your results. You—”

  “I lied,” he broke in. “I lied when I said I couldn’t feel my illness. I feel it almost all the time. It’s like a cancer eating away at me. I can hear and feel it devouring me piece by piece.”

  “What?” My anger funneled out of me. “Since when?”

  “Since last year.” He dragged his fork through his normal gross breakfast. “Almost immediately after I got my body back. It started with small things. Like aches and pains.”

  I crossed my ankles and folded my arms on the table. “You should have gone to the doctor earlier then.”

  “I’ve been going to the doctor since this summer, Yara,” he interrupted. I stared at him, goggle eyed. He had never mentioned that. “I knew something was off, and given the fact that I had hosted another soul in my body for so many months I figured it would be in my best interest to get some medical opinions. But it wasn’t like I could tell them what really happened.”

  He dropped his fork and it clattered against his plate. “I just told them I felt off and they did a basic check-up on me. Blood work and all that. They didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. That’s the main reason I’ve been downplaying everything for the last few months. But then I had the seizure.”

  “Which is why you took their deal,” I finished. Things were beginning to make sense. No wonder he had been so quick to believe the Clutch.

  He laid his napkin on top of his plate. “Yeah.”

  “So what’s going on?” I asked. He tensed. “Not with the Clutch, with the doctors. Have they figured out what happened?”

  He sighed. “They don’t know. I have all of these horrible things happening but they can’t find the cause, so they’re just treating the symptoms. That’s all they know how to do. They have no idea how to fix it because they have no idea what’s really wrong.”

  He stopped and took a deep breath. “This is more of a spiritual problem. Or metaphysical. Or whatever. Anyway, the doctors can’t fix it. They’ve done all the blood tests, but aside from the secondary protein in my blood, all was normal.”

  “Se
condary protein?”

  Brent took a drink of his orange juice. “When I was a kid, we spent a summer in Europe. I was in a bad car accident with my nanny. They had to give me blood transfusions, and I had a bad reaction to one. There was some protein that my body tried to reject. I almost died.”

  “Did they give you the wrong type?”

  “No, you know how there are A and B blood proteins with Rh positive or negative?”

  I nodded.

  “Well there are other proteins in your blood, but most of the time they don’t cause a problem. With my transfusion they did. The doctors had to do some experimental gene therapy to keep me alive. It worked—obviously—” He picked up his fork and tapped it against his tray. “My body stopped creating anti-bodies against that blood protein. A couple years ago, when I was getting a physical to come to school here, they did a follow-up blood test and found that my body had actually started producing that protein.”

  “Is that what’s wrong with you?” I asked. A seed of hope began to sprout in my chest. If they knew what was wrong, we could find out how to fix it.

  Brent pushed his plate aside. “No, my blood work hasn’t changed since the physical I did last year.”

  “Okay, so did the doctors tell you anything?”

  “The doctor told me that one more seizure like the one I had could cause permanent damage.”

  “He did?” It felt like my insides went through a paper shredder

  “They said I can’t drive, and I can’t be on the swim team. The meds make me feel slow and even my powers seem weaker.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” I said, my voice sounding more accusing than I had meant it to. “You told me right before Christmas the doctor had given you a clean bill of health.”

  “I lied. I never went to the doctor because I’d already been going. And I didn’t want your grandma to examine me. I didn’t want you to worry.” Brent leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table.

  I picked at a piece of lint of my skirt. “You didn’t want me to worry,” I repeated. “That plan sucked. Brent, I’m worried now. And we’ve lost all that time—” I tried to stop my bottom lip from quivering and swallow down the panic that was rising up my throat like vomit. “We’ll fix it Brent. Don’t give up.”