“I was so worried when he called and said you had an accident,” mom said, digging some tissue out of her bag.
“It wasn’t an accident. It was Sophia.”
Mom’s face paled even further. “That ghost? She did this to you?” Her eyes narrowed at my grandma. “Ilma, this can’t go on.”
“I agree.” Vovó sat down on the end of my bed. “Cherie and I have both been doing research and we think we know how we can help Sophia.”
“Really?” I asked. If it didn’t hurt so much to move, I would have clapped my hands together.
“There will be no more ghosts!” Mom said rounding on Vovó. “At least not until she’s taken more time to train with you. Do you hear me?” She hadn’t raised her voice but there was enough steel in there to give me the chills.
“Brooke,” my grandma said, “she can’t run from this. Ghosts are always going to be part of her life. I’ll be there with her when we help Sophia. She won’t be alone. This will be the best way to train her.”
“But this one—” Mom began sniffling.
“Is confused. She needs help.”
“But—”
“I’m here. I can help guide her through it.” Vovó walked to my mom and put an arm around her shoulder. “I’ll keep her safe. Please trust me.”
“I do,” my mother’s words were muffled in my grandma’s shoulder. “It wasn’t like this with Melanie.”
“Melanie and Yara are different.”
Mom nodded. “So I’m learning.”
“You are lucky this challenge has come to Yara and not Melanie.” Vovó rubbed mom’s back in small circles. “Yara is much stronger.” Vovó caught my gaping mouth. “Not a word to your sister.”
I pretended to zip up and lock my mouth and throw away the key.
“Why not just do it yourself?” mom asked stepping back from Vovó and sitting in the chair beside my bed.
My grandma sighed and something in her changed in that moment. My spry, life-filled grandma looked older than I had ever seen her. There were wrinkles I hadn’t noticed and her face had lost some of its rosy glow. “Because I’m not always going to be here and she has to know she is strong enough without me.”
“What?” Mom and I asked at the same time.
Vovó reached out and patted my hand. “Don’t worry, Querida, my time won’t be up for a long while.”
A knock came from the door. Holly poked her head in. “I know you wanted to be near your boyfriend, but isn’t this a little extreme?”
I laughed, having forgotten that Brent and I were in the same hospital. Maybe I could see him while I was here.
Holly small-talked with us as she checked and recorded my vitals. “Now that you’re coherent I’ll see what I can do about getting you out of here.”
v
Mom and vovó went to check me out and pick up my pain prescription. I changed into the clean clothes they had brought for me.
I sat on the end of my bed staring at the wall. Machines whirred, doctors and nurses walked by, and conversations carried in from the halls, when the noise abruptly stopped. I couldn’t move. Out of the corner of my eye I spied a nurse frozen in the act of walking past my room, examining a chart. Someone had projected.
Brent.
My spirit pulled free of my body. I hadn’t even made it to the door when he stepped in front of me. He was still in his hospital gown. He looked pale, but his eyes were bright.
“What are you doing here?”
“Mild concussion.” I angled my head so he could see my stitches. “And more than a dozen stitches.”
“Are you okay?” Brent asked. His eyes swept over me.
“I’ve been better.” I spun my hospital ID bracelet around my wrist. “How are you?”
“Fine.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“Steve called. He didn’t know how you were though.” He examined his fingernail and brought it to his lips. “You’re really okay?”
“Yeah.” We stared at each other.
I took a step toward him.
He took one toward me.
There was still an arm’s length between us.
“What would I have done if you weren’t okay?” he asked in a soft voice. He reached out toward me and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers then trailing softly down my cheek. I lost the ability to breathe. My skin felt alive where he touched me. I turned my head into his palm, my feet and body closing the distance between us. When his hand got to my chin he dropped it to his side. He took a deep breath and stepped back. “What happened to you?”
I missed his warmth.
“It’s a long story that doesn’t really matter.” I clasped my fingers together. “What does matter is that I think I know what’s wrong with you.”
“Really?” His attention focused on me.
“Well, it’s more of a working theory. It’s a pretty big leap.”
“Lay it on me.”
“Okay, first I have a question: Was Neal the one in your family allergic to peanuts?”
“Yes.”
“Was he color blind?”
Brent blinked. “Yeah. How did you know that?”
“It supports my theory.” I rubbed my fingers across my lips. “You know who loved eggs with blueberry syrup?”
Brent shook his head.
“Phil Lawson.”
“Huh.” Brent’s fingernails were instantly near his mouth.
“He also had epilepsy.”
“I think maybe all the spirits Thomas held captive in your body did affect you. Maybe they left a portion of themselves inside you, like a fingerprint on a window. It seems you’ve taken on their cravings and their weaknesses. The color blindness, the eggs, the seizures.”
I watched as he considered, and I saw the moment he got it. “Yara, you’re a genius!”
He threw his head back and laughed. The sound drenched me in longing. I loved his laugh. I missed it. I missed him. A lock of his dark, messy hair hung in his eyes. I wanted to brush it away.
“We’ve figured it out.” Then his smiled disintegrated. Brent cursed softly and slumped his shoulders, pinching the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath. “But we still don’t know how to fix it.”
I had overcome my temper a lot in the last year but I couldn’t help but shove his shoulder. He caught my hand against his shoulder. His fingers closed around mine. A sigh escaped my lips. My heart fluttered back in my body. It felt so good to touch him. I was too nervous to look up, too worried that it might not mean as much to him. He brought my fingers to his lips and kissed them before releasing them.
My hand went to my forehead and my mind searched for what I had been about to tell him. Finally, I remembered. “Brent we’re going to figure out how to make you healthy.”
“Again with the optimism.” Brent gave me a half a smile.
“Again with the pessimism.” I stared at his lips, wanting them to smile, for real, wanting to feel them against mine. I forced myself to look away.
“Let’s say this is true. Neal and Phil weren’t the only ones inside me. Thomas was there too.” He sat down on the chair in my room. Brent held his hands out and stared at them, like he had never seen them before. “And he had—” Brent suddenly stiffened before his chin fell to his chest. “Thomas had cancer. He was dying of it when he started the curse.”
He wrapped his arms around himself. His brown eyes darkened and his eyebrows pulled together. “What if it goes beyond medical stuff. I mean, somehow I know about the constellations when I’ve never studied them. I started to like the same foods that Phil did. What if it goes beyond that? He was a murderer. What if I become a murderer like Thomas?”
I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the idea, but the terror on his face stopped me. He was serious. He was worried.
“Brent, no.” I wanted to stroke my fingers along his face to ease the fear painted there. “I know you and that isn’t possible.”
“I want to believe tha
t.” He shook his head. Brent held out his hand and examined it again.
I sat down on a rolling stool and concentrated on it moving until it rolled near Brent’s chair. I stopped it before my knees could bump his. Only a few inches separated us. I wanted to adjust my knee so it would brush his, but those inches seemed like miles. So I forced my legs still and stared at the gap.
“Are there any Waker legends about this sort of thing?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll start looking.”
“Will you ask your grandma?” He brought his hands together like he was begging. “Please, Yara. Will you ask her?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Thank you.” Some of the tension left his face and his posture relaxed.
“I wanted to find the other victims’ medical history, so we could see what else is looming, you know, but that didn’t work out so well.” I told him about my snooping and how it had led to the fight with Sophia.
“I guess that proves you’re theory right. Why else would they have put the note in all the files?”
“Exactly. Don’t worry; we’ll find out their medical histories some other way.” I took a deep breath before broaching a possibly explosive topic. “Have the Clutch helped you yet?”
Brent shook his head. “Not yet. I have to earn the information.”
“You don’t need them anymore. We know what’s wrong. We can figure out the rest.”
“I do need them.” He held my gaze. “They have a cure, Yara.”
“How do you know?” I asked. “What makes you want to trust them?”
“They let me try a mouthful. It eased the pain, it made me normal, healthy. It wasn’t enough to cure me but it was enough to make me believe them.”
“You’ve been working for them all this time. How much longer until it’s yours?”
Brent’s brown eyes flickered with a strong emotion I couldn’t name. “I failed at the task they gave me. I had the seizure in the middle of it. I was lucky my spirit got sent back to my body when it started. I think I will lose some ground with them after that.”
Brent fidgeted in his chair, looking past me. “Remember before when we were wondering why it took the Clutch so long to recruit us? We wondered what they were waiting for? I think they knew how sick I was going to get and they waited until I was desperate enough to say yes.” He looked miserable, like a wounded animal. I couldn’t see him like that and not offer what help I could.
I scooted closer and rested my hand on top of his. My knee brushed his and he let out a strangled breath. His fingers curled around mine and his brown eyes stared at our hands, a small smile on his lips.
“Thank you.” He wet his lips. “I wasn’t sure you’d ever touch me again.”
“I didn’t think you’d want me to.” My voice cracked. “Brent, when I said no it wasn’t because of you. I didn’t trust them. I still don’t, but I’ll work with them if it will help you.”
“No!” his fingers dug into mine. “I’m glad you’re not involved. You were right to say no.” He brought our entwined hands to his cheek. “I’m sorry. I’ve been such an—”
I brought my fingers to his lips. “Yes, you have been.”
“I’ve missed you.” He kissed my finger pressing against his mouth. “I’ve needed you.”
“Me too.” My body warmed as love flooded through it.
He leaned in just as I did and suddenly we were kissing. Brent pulled me to my feet and I pressed against him. I kissed like him like parched earth soaked up rain after a drought. I had missed him, needed him, and I never wanted to let him go. The air grew hot and humid around us. I twined my fingers in his hair and his hand pressed into the small of my back. When we finally pulled apart my breathing was ragged.
“We should fight more often if that’s how we make up,” Brent said with one of his lazy grins.
I appreciated the joke but I had no desire to even kid around about the emotional torture of the last few weeks.
I held his hand in mine and I traced the lines on his palm. “Do you wish you’d said no?”
“Yep. But I don’t want to talk about it. I want to forget.” His neck muscles tightened. “Please. I can’t deal with this right now.”
“Just one question.” Finally, I asked the thing that had been troubling me the most. “What did they ask you to do for them, Brent?”
His thumb that had been brushing the back of my hand stopped. “I’m not telling you.”
“Did they forbid you from telling me? Like they did with DJ.”
He shook his head and closed his eyes. “I just don’t want you to know.”
“Why?”
He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his free hand. “Because I don’t want you to know what I’m willing to do. I don’t want the way you look at me to change.”
“It wouldn’t Brent,” I insisted.
“That’s only because you don’t know.” He pulled his hand away. “I . . . I have to go. I’ll call you soon.” He vanished, the familiar blue flash and electric volt letting me know he had reconnected.
After my sprit went back to my body, I felt heartsick. I was glad Brent and I had made up, but I was now more worried about him than ever. His association with the Clutch was changing him.
I was lost in troubled thoughts when my mom and grandma returned. On our way out of the hospital, I was surprised by who we ran into: Detectives Roberts and Velasco.
“Hey. Remember me?”
“Hello, Yara.” Velasco’s smile turned troubled when her eyes took in my wounds. “Does your trip to the E.R. have anything to do with the people following you, or the burglary?”
“Nope. This,” I motioned to my head, “was done by a ghost.”
The stunned look on the detectives’ faces would have made a fantastic snapshot.
Mom gave a wry grin before interjecting, “She has a concussion. But she’ll be fine.”
The detectives both laughed. I guessed they wanted to blame my ghost theory on my head injury.
“Well, we’re glad you’re alright.” Roberts folded his hands together behind his back. “Anything else suspicious happen to you?”
“No,” I lied.
Velasco gave me a measuring once over. “Okay. You still have our number?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” she said. “Call if you need us.”
We exchanged goodbyes. I really hoped I’d never have to see them again.
In the car, I told Vovó my theory about what was wrong with Brent, and she promised to start researching it right away. She stared out the window, her eyes unfocused.
Vovó clicked her tongue. “Maybe all we need to do is banish Thomas. Maybe his lingering essence is making Brent sick. Do you still have the vial?”
“I can get it. Steve has it.” I thought for a moment. “I thought you didn’t like to banish spirits. I thought you said it was a last resort.”
“When you see it happen, you’ll understand why. But it still needs to be done, even if it doesn’t help Brent.” That was it, no justification, no explanation, but I understood. She knew Thomas was beyond saving.
v
The next night I stood in my backyard, surrounded by my mother’s flowers, the patio lit by my grandmother’s special candles made from lavender, chamomile and a third substance she still hadn’t told me about. The smells of sandalwood and frankincense added to the aroma that danced around me. It felt peaceful and soothing, a complete contrast to the brutal work of banishing a murderous soul, which we were about to perform.
On the ground, a line of grainy powder formed a four-foot circle broken only by the half-dozen candles interspersed around the ring. The thought of releasing Thomas from his prison made my knees knock together, even though it was to banish him forever. I didn’t want to see his evil green eyes and remember again all he had done to me last year.
Vovó stood beside me, her long gray hair flowing down to her waist. She was whispering words that were quiet with reverence but thick with a
uthority, a mixture of chant and song. She continued her words in a blend of Portuguese, English and other languages I didn’t know while she held the vials above the circle. She uncorked the outer vial, removed the smaller, original one, and set aside the larger container. The cracks in the small vial had grown and were visible even by candlelight.
Making sure her hands were inside the ring, she grasped the cork firmly and pulled. Black smoke billowed out. Vovó tilted the glass tube and Thomas’s inky essence poured onto the ground, spreading to the edges of the circle. The black fog coalesced in the center, settling into Thomas’s form. His face was a sea of wrinkles, his back hunched, his frame gaunt.
Emaciated and weak as he appeared, the sight of him chilled me. Fear gripped my throat, squeezing it closed, and I backpedaled until my spine pressed flat against the sliding glass doors. My head bumped against the glass and my stitches groaned in protest. Pain lanced through my skull but I held back a moan, not wanting to draw his attention.
His blank, green eyes darted around until they landed on me, then they opened wide, hardening into a glare. His mouth twisted, the veins in his neck bulged. “You!”
He slunk closer to me. Goose pimples erupted on my arms. Closer. Little gasps escaped my throat. Closer. My hand dove into my pocket, grabbing a handful of the pankurem and salt powder my vovó had prepared. Closer. And then he stopped. But not by his own choice. The smoky walls of the protective circle held him prisoner. His aged features twisted and snarled like a caged animal.
I rubbed my tongue against the roof of my mouth trying to get enough moisture to speak. “I have some questions for you.”
Vovó sent me a surprised glance. I hadn’t told her of my desire to interrogate him. It hadn’t occurred to me that I wanted to until I watched her preparing the circle. He knew more than anyone about what had happened to Brent and what the consequences might be, seeing as he had started the whole problem. Perhaps if I knew how it was done, I could figure out how to fix it.
He cracked his bony knuckles one at a time but didn’t say anything.
I licked my lips and played with the powder in my pocket, letting the granules glide between my fingers. “How did you know you could take over another body, that first time, when you stole Henry’s body?”