Indelible

  “Maybe Karl was just a pyro. I knew a kid who made flamethrowers with a lighter and a can of hairspray. He used to melt little plastic army men with them. What makes you think he had supernatural powers?”

  “People said his skin was always hot. One kid swore he saw him light a candle with nothing but his finger. And another said his fingers would glow red when he was upset. You said Thomas was trying to get strong enough to break the barrier. So wouldn’t he have picked people with a little extra oomph? He picked Brent, who can move things with his mind. Didn’t you tell me last year that Thomas seemed very interested in what you could do, too?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “It’s just a theory, but I found it interesting.” Cherie chewed on the tip of her eraser. “And if I’m right about Karl, maybe it’s the reason Brent’s body has been running so warm recently.”

  “Because he had a guy in his body who could start fires using super powers?” I walked over to the window and stared down at the stretch of lawn that was beneath it. It would make sense. He had been running hot. And suddenly I pictured Christmas Eve.

  “That does sort of make sense. When Brent had his seizure on Christmas Eve, we had a fire going. You should have seen it when he started shaking. The flames got huge. It melted all the plastic Christmas decorations on the mantle.”

  I turned around and rested my back against the glass. It seemed crazy. But was it too big a stretch from Brent’s manipulation of the weather and the air to him being able to control fire. No. It certainly gave me something to think about. I decided to call Brent and let him know what Cherie had found.

  Brent’s mom said he wasn’t up to talking on the phone so I didn’t get to tell him about Cherie’s new theory. When Cherie got back that night, we snuck over to the Alumni House.

  After shimmying up the tree and into the window I had left unlocked earlier in the day, I lifted the duffel bag Cherie had packed for us. She’d had it prepared all year along, stocked with everything we might need on a ghost adventure. I slung the strap over my shoulder.

  “You ready?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  Vovó was going to meet us in the changing room. I didn’t know how she was going to get in, but I knew Vovó would find a way. And it wouldn’t involve climbing a tree.

  We snuck down the hall as silently as we could. The bag quietly banged against my leg. We headed toward the rear of the building—the part that contained the old pool room. I fought off the nausea that automatically came up as I walked closer and closer to the old pool, the place where the Pendrell curse had started. We pulled out our flashlights when we entered the room.

  It looked the same. We were on the mezzanine level. Stairs led down to the head of the pool and the dangerous diving board still hung over the empty basin. My eyes rested on the two dusty glass murals behind the pool, which framed the diving board. Each depicted a pair of swans swimming majestically atop frosty swirls of water. New trash had been added since we’d visited it last. I guessed the school couldn’t be bothered to clean the room until the construction was underway.

  While the room looked the same, it felt different. Instead of an evil, parasitic feel, a strong sense of grief resided there. I could feel the despair trapped in the walls as if it were a tangible being. For a moment, I felt like I had lost everyone in the world that I loved. I only barely managed to swallow a sob of grief.

  Cherie sniffed next to me. “I don’t remember this room being so sad.” She usually had no paranormal radar. If she could feel the grief in the room, it must have been strong.

  “I think Thomas’s evil masked it before,” I said.

  Cherie nodded with another sniff.

  We carefully climbed down the flight of stairs and around the pool to a splintered door. The changing rooms had been decorated almost as elaborately as the pool room itself had been. I coughed on the stale, dusty air. It was thick and tasted old and abandoned, like dirt, mildew, and rot.

  The room had one large rectangular mirror set in a gilt frame above four porcelain sinks lining one wall. White louvered doors hung haphazardly on three of the four dressing stalls. One was missing, revealing an old wooden shelf seat dangling from its broken support. The walls were etched with the same frosted swans as the back wall of the pool, and the floors were laced with elaborate mosaics.

  The once elegant room now felt a little creepy, with its echoing walls and layers of dust. Spider webs hung from every corner and fixture. I wiped my shoulders to make sure none were on me.

  Something stepped out of the shadows and I screamed. My shout bounced off the walls and the duffel bag slipped from my shoulder.

  “It’s only me,” Vovó whispered.

  My heart took a few minutes to return to normal and she cackled with good humor.

  “You scared me!” I wagged my finger at her.

  Vovó grinned as we started to prepare the room. Cherie handed me the candles, pulled out her mp3 player, and turned on Sophia’s favorite classical song. I spritzed the air with Jasmine perfume, especially near the mirror, shivering as I approached it, the conditioned reflex of too many previous bad experiences.

  Vovó lit the various candles we had brought, filling the air with their many scents. Cherie hung up the picture of Sophia with her husband and son on the door of the stall opposite the mirror. With the preparations all done, Cherie gave us a pleading grin.

  Vovó saw it. “All non-Wakers must wait outside for their own safety.”

  “It was worth a try,” she said. “Good luck.”

  Vovó let out an undignified harrumph. “She has me, she doesn’t need luck.”

  I hoped some of her confidence would rub off on me. As it was, I swallowed the saliva that had pooled in my mouth and tried to rein in my untamed nerves. I’d seen what she was capable of at the banishment and I knew no ghost stood a chance against her. That thought comforted me.

  “I wish I didn’t have to go,” Cherie said.

  Grandma stood on her toes and patted Cherie on the head. “So brave. But we each have our own ways to help. If tonight is a success, it is because of your research.”

  Cherie seemed mollified. She gave me a quick hug and left without another word.

  Vovó uncovered a box I hadn’t noticed. She lifted several potted plants from them and placed one on each sink.

  “Spread these up on the shelf above the mirror,” she instructed, helping me climb onto the sinks. Careful to not touch the mirror, I arranged them in a row as she handed them up. I hopped down, and wiped my dirty hands on my jeans.

  “What are those for?” I hadn’t ever seen her use plants while dealing with a ghost before.

  Vovó eye’s twinkled. “You’ll see. Begin.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  My hands shook as I found the right page in the poetry book. Vovó settled herself in the corner and motioned for me to continue. I forced myself to focus on what I had to do instead of the anxiety knotting my insides.

  “Sophia Pendrell,” I said, wincing at how loud my words sounded in the empty room. “Sophia, I need to talk to you.” She almost immediately appeared in the mirror. Her beautiful face warped with anger and her perfectly shaped nails tapped against the glass. My fingers tightened around the book, the edge pushing into my palm.

  “Yara.” My grandma’s voice reminded me why I was here.

  Sophia turned her hate filled eyes on Vovó. “You. It is because of you I’m trapped in here.” Sophia threw herself against the glass and for the briefest of seconds the bottom portion lifted from the wall.

  Ice started forming along the mirror, spreading along the wall, up the ceiling. My teeth chattered and the hairs on my arms rose. Sophia pounded against the mirror, the bottom banging against the wall hard enough for the mirror to crack. The heavy gilded frame slammed against the wall again, chipping the tile.

  My fingers stung from the cold as I grabbed a pinch of the sea salt and pankurem and threw it at her. “Calm down.”

  It didn’t e
ven faze her. Her knuckles punched the glass, lengthening the crack. Even with all of our precautions, she was strong. Maybe too strong.

  “Calm down!” Vovó ordered. She took a handful of our mixture and threw it at the ghost. Sophia’s eyes glassed over; her movements slowed. “We are here to help you.”

  “Murderer,” Sophia shouted, slapping the mirror. “Thief.”

  The mirror rattled, the walls shook, squares of tile broke loose and fell, shattering on the floor and raising little clouds of dust. I expected the dust to tickle my nose, but instead my nostrils filled with the smell of freshly turned soil, of flora, of life. The plants that Vovó had positioned on the shelf and sinks were growing, creeping up the walls, edging the mirror, roping together to hold the gilded frame firmly in place. How was this happening?

  Beside me, Vovó had her hands outstretched, her pointing fingertips glowed with a deep green aura, and with a sudden burst of clarity, I understood. She was guiding the tendrils of the plants. Sweat trickled down her face, her arms shook, but she set her jaw and kept binding the mirror until Sophia’s struggles had no more effect. No matter how hard Sophia pummeled against the glass, it didn’t even vibrate.

  The whole wall, the sinks, and the mirror’s gilded frame were now covered in plants, choking out the ice. Small purple flowers had bloomed and the room was filled with the smell of its sweet blossoms. The mirror had been effectively strapped down, only the middle of the mirror visible past the foliage, framing Sophia in a beautiful bouquet. I let out an impressive laugh. I had no idea Vovó could do that.

  “I will. . .” Sophia said before her voice trailed off. She panted, her hands no longer beating but resting against the glass for support. Her eyes fluctuated between dazed and furious.

  “That’s it. Rest now,” Vovó cooed in a gentle voice. She lowered her hands and shuffled back until she hit the wall, her head falling against it. Her chest heaved and her trembling arms rested by her side. “Now, Yara.”

  My tongue felt clumsy, unable to enunciate, but I forced out the words from the first line of her favorite poem. “Your love is the course by which I plot my life’s journey.” I swallowed and tried to speak louder. “It is the anchor that secures me in rocky waters.”

  Sophia stopped banging against the glass. Her pale cheek flattened against the glass. Her usual glare shifted to confusion, her brown eyes lightening.

  “It is what will calm life’s stormy seas,” she finished. Both of her hands went to her temples. She blinked out from her prison, her eyes roaming around the room until they landed on the portrait Cherie had hung.

  “Christopher? Lee?” She asked. She shook her head, her auburn curls bouncing. “Where am I?”

  “Sophia,” I said in a quiet voice.

  She spared me a quick look but her eyes drifted back to the portrait of her family. Finally she gave me her attention.

  “Sophia, I’m Yara.”

  She rubbed her forehead like she had a terrible headache. “I feel like I’ve been asleep for a long time. I know you. No . . .I’ve dreamed of you. I’ve dreamed of hurting you.”

  “That wasn’t a dream. That happened.”

  “But why would I do that?”

  “You thought I’d stolen something from you. The key.”

  Her palms went flat against the glass as she pushed against it. “The key. We can’t let Evan and Jesse have the key.”

  “It’s okay they don’t have it.”

  She visibly relaxed. “Where am I? What happened?”

  “You died.”

  “I died.” It was horrible to watch her take in the words I had just spoken. Her brown eyes went from confusion to sorrow. The she bristled and her hairs started to straighten again. “I didn’t die. I was murdered. For the key.” She glanced at me again, tilted her head, and frowned. “If I’m dead, how are we able to talk?”

  “I can see ghosts.”

  She no longer frowned but she didn’t smile either. “I could too, when I was alive. All the women in my family could too. I was what you called a—”

  “Waker,” we both said unison. I’m sure my eyes had the same shocked expression I could see in hers. Sophia had been a Waker while alive. So many things suddenly made sense: her ability to move things, her strength as a ghost, knowing how to tether herself to me with my hair. She had even called me Little Waker. I turned to look at Vovó, who looked surprised too.

  “Are you really?” Vovó asked.

  Sophia nodded. “We’re the same,” she said. “We’re Wakers. No wonder I attached to you.”

  Attach, Attack. I supposed it all boiled down to semantics. At least she no longer seemed bent on killing me. My palms had stopped sweating and I could breathe.

  “I need to know where you put the other key,” I said in a rush. I figured now that we’d bonded over being Wakers she’d help. Brent would be okay.

  “I can’t.” Sophia looked back at the picture of her family. “I made a promise.”

  My seedling of hope that had blossomed withered. So the ‘we’re both Wakers’ thing didn’t do the trick. Only Vovó’s hand on my shoulder stopped me from screaming at Sophia. I could command Vovó to make her tell. But, no, that wouldn’t work. The compulsion didn’t work on Wakers. I took a deep breath and decided to come at it in a new direction.

  “Let’s think this through logically,” I said slowly. “Everyone you knew has been dead for a long time. Why would that key still matter? Is it the reason you’re still here?”

  She rested her forehead against her glass prison. “I promised Christopher I’d keep it safe. When he gave it to me as a wedding gift, it was a huge show of trust on his part. Every morning on his way to work, I’d hand it to him with a kiss, and every time he returned home from work, he’d entrust that half with me again. He said I held his heart in his hands when I had it.”

  Her eyes returned to the portrait of her family. “And the last thing he asked me to do before he died was to protect it.” Tears formed in her eyes. “I let him down.”

  Sophia ran her finger over her wedding band. “I waited for his spirit to come to me after he died, but he didn’t. When I passed on I thought he’d come for me but he never came. We’d had an argument right before he died and I don’t think he ever forgave me. Not even now. I loved him,” she said. “I still do. Even though . . .” her words trailed off. She looked into the distance, a pained expression on her face, and then her eyes snapped back to me. “It doesn’t matter what he did. I have to protect it. I promised I would.”

  “Sophia I need you to tell me where the other key is.”

  Sophia shook her head. “No.”

  “Listen, the Clutch are lo—”

  “They want what Christopher hid. They’ve wanted it for years. That key unlocks a wealth of information, little Waker. Information that, in the wrong hands, could be deadly.” Sophia’s rage flared and her voice rose in volume.

  “You mean you’ve been protecting it all these years from the Clutch?” I interrupted, ignoring the way my breath hitched under her returned angry stare. “How do you even know about them?”

  “Evan and Jesse started it. There’s more to that group than young boys at play,” she said, her voice lowering until it was almost a whisper.

  “I know,” I said. “I know they had the ability to control people.”

  “They did. And that’s not all.” She worked her lips between her teeth. “But the mind control was all I saw. The more often they pushed their will onto someone, the easier it became. The person’s mind eventually lost the ability to fight it at all. But it didn’t work on me, because I’m a Waker.”

  It didn’t work on Wakers? Good to know.

  “Evan would tell me to do things, and he’d get angry when I didn’t obey. He would get so upset when I would tell him no. I didn’t realize that no one else ever refused him. He struck me.” She held her cheek to her hand. “I . . . I still have a hard time imagining the sweet young man I first met turned into such a monster. When I
came home to meet his father . . . one night Evan came at me in a rage and Christopher saved me.”

  “That’s awful.” I wanted to reach into the mirror and give her a hug.

  “It was.” She dabbed at her eyes with the collar of her dress. “Evan left that night for school, leaving me stranded far from home. If not for Christopher’s kindness . . . well it didn’t take long at all for us to fall in love. I hated the ways his sons used him. He did whatever they wanted without question. It took me a while, but eventually I understood they were doing something to control him.”

  “Did Christopher realize what they were doing?”

  “No, but if he had, I don’t think he could have stopped it. He would tell me he wasn’t going to give them any more money, but then they would ask and he’d give it to them.”

  “So I turned to Waker knowledge and found something to protect him and I gave it to him. He stood up to his sons the morning of the race. I had told him about my dream, about his friend Bob dying. He was going to warn Bob. I had already warned Helen. But he never got the chance. His sons found him and asked for money. He told them no. No more money, no more plant, and they turned on him. They said they’d get money elsewhere and anything that happened because of it was on him. Then there was the race and they . . .”

  “They forced someone to tamper with the car.”

  “Yes. My once-sweet Evan did it. He was so much worse than when we were engaged. I didn’t understand it. I didn’t. It made me sick how they bragged about it to me later. Especially since the piece they told the man to alter caused the accident that led to Christopher’s death. After the funeral, they threatened me. They threatened to kill me and to kill their own baby brother if I didn’t give them the keys. I gave Lee to my cousin Doris, whom Evan new nothing about. I asked her to change his name and gave her a letter for him to read when he was a man. I hope he made it to manhood. I hope he read it.”

  “I’m sure he did.” My heart went out to her as I listened to her sad tale, but I had a tragedy of my own and only she could help me. “Sophia. I need to know where the second key is.”