I remembered the exhilarating power that had tunneled inside me. “That was amazing.”
She pushed her glasses up her nose. “Yes, it was.”
“What happened to the journals?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Let’s hope the fire burned them and Crosby didn’t escape with them.”
I hoped she was right, but when had I had that kind of luck? My mom walked in the door, then, a vase of flowers in her hand. Her eyes were puffy from crying. “You’re both awake!”
She set the vase on the table and took my hand in hers.
“Hi,” I said.
I tried to sit up so I could hug her, but when I put pressure on my arm, a sharp pain stabbed through me.
“Ow.” I turned my head and examined a large bandage over my bicep.
“Fourteen stitches in your arm and twenty in your shoulder,” my mom said.
I didn’t care about my stitches. “Is everyone else okay? Brent? Cherie? Steve?”
“Cherie and Steve are fine. Brent’s stabilized. Apparently he forgot to take his meds. Steve brought them from school.”
If Steve brought them, it meant it was Brent’s cure. I settled back into my bed.
“I’m so glad everything is okay,” I said.
Mom cast a worried glance toward the door. “Actually, honey, there are some detectives out in the hallway who are wanting to talk to you about the fire and the body.” She patted my hand. “I won’t leave you.”
Mom pulled my blanket up and fluffed my pillows.
Detectives Roberts and Velasco walked in. They each pulled up a chair and took out their notebooks. “We were really hoping we wouldn’t have to meet you like this again.”
“Believe me, the feeling is mutual.” I gave them a weak grin.
Roberts saw me reaching for my water again and handed it to me. “You must be thirsty.”
“Thanks,” I said taking a sip. It tasted good but it hurt to swallow. I knew why they were here and started straight into my story. “So it all started at the internship party . . . ” I didn’t hold anything back. At some point during the story they had both stopped taking notes.
“So you’re saying Jamie Crosby, the politician, murdered Bryan Pendrell. None of the other people we have interviewed mentioned this. Not even your boyfriend. As a matter of fact no one even saw him after a . . . ” she read her notes. “After a bright burst of light hit your school.”
“I saw it too,” Vovó said from her bed.
“You’ve told us a fantastic story, Yara,” Velasco said. She tapped her notebook against her knee. “We have a freak storm, a fire caused by either lightning or a fallen lantern during a wind storm, then we have that fire raging, devouring a couple acres until the same storm started a downpour and put out the fire. But to top it all off we have the dead body of the school president and CEO.”
Roberts added, “We have a flash drive left at the station for us that is filled with some very disturbing evidence concerning a lot of your school’s alumni.”
A flash drive? Where did that come from?
“And even though we have several witnesses who saw the murder of Bryan Pendrell, no one can tell me the name of the man who shot him, though many people saw it happen. The only people to ID him are you two, but the other dozen or so witnesses say he wasn’t there.”
That didn’t make sense to me at all. How could no one else have seen it? Especially Brent.
“A lot of your story measures up with what we were told but . . . the rest.” Roberts shook his head. “This one isn’t going to be easy.”
v
The next Monday I was summoned to Headmaster Farnsworth’s office. A ball of dread settled in my stomach like rancid chicken. I was going to be expelled. Cherie, Steve and Brent were waiting outside of his office too. We were called in and asked to take a seat.
Headmaster Farnsworth frowned at us from across his desk. His bushy eyebrows crinkled as he considered us. “I don’t remember inviting you, Mr. Springsteed.”
“I figured my invite got lost in the mail,” Brent said, making no move to leave.
We sat down in the chairs in his office and waited for him to say something.
The headmaster sat in his own chair and watched us all for a moment before speaking. “Mr. Crosby handed me some tapes the night before he resigned. He thought I should be aware of some of the activities my students were up to. I was shocked to see you, Mr. Wilson, Ms. Higgins, and Ms. Silva and two of your friends destroying school property, breaking and entering and a few other things.”
We all started arguing but he held up his hand. “Sadly, this morning all of the evidence was gone. I even asked a young student to help me but he couldn’t find a trace of it either. Consider yourself lucky.”
I snapped my mouth shut.
Brent leaned forward. “Then you called them in here, why?”
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” He pointed to the painting of the tree on his wall. “Go ahead and take a look.”
We walked over the painting. Now I understood why the picture looked odd; it was really a family tree, filled in with genealogical records. The pedigree lay over the tree so each name rested on a branch. It went back several generations.
“I think this one might interest you,” he said tapping his finger above a name.
“Lee Pendrell Davis,” I read aloud.
Cherie gasped. “Sophia’s cousin Doris. The one I couldn’t find information on. She married a Davis. Is that Lee, Sophia’s Lee?” She looked over at our headmaster who nodded.
“You’re a descendent of Sophia and Christopher Pendrell aren’t you?” I asked.
He nodded. “I am.”
“I wasn’t able to find out what had happened to Lee,” Cherie said with a frown. “I couldn’t find anything.”
“They protected him by changing his last name, like Sophia had asked, and hiding the trail. They were afraid of his half brothers coming after him.” He rested his shoulder against the wall. “Lee lived a very happy life, to all accounts.”
“That’s my grandma!” Brent leaned closer to the pedigree chart. “Lee’s daughter was my grandma.”
“Yes, we’re distantly related.” The Headmaster chuckled. “I assume it’s one of the reasons that the men in your family can all project.”
“You know about projection.” Brent sat down on the corner of the desk as our headmaster nodded again. “Can you project?”
“My line were warned away from it. As far as I know, none of us have tried. We’ve all become the watchmen of the Clutch, here. Lee was the first, and every generation has taken over the reigns.” He took off his glasses and cleaned them. “The Clutch has never known who we were. The men in my family have felt the obligation to keep the Clutch from spreading. It was what Sophia begged her family to do, to protect her son from their grasp. My father and I have taken the charge to try and keep the Clutch from gaining power.”
“What are you going to do now?” I asked.
“I’ll keep doing what I have been doing. I know the barrier is down. But there are members of the Clutch that still need to be found. And there will be others wanting to follow in their footsteps. I’ll keep protecting the school. I don’t want my students at risk. Half of the original Clutch lost their minds to the plant, you know.”
I hadn’t known that, but it made sense; they were drinking it and eating it. I wondered how he knew about the barrier. How did he get his info?
“I’m not sure the current members of the Clutch are even aware of the dangers of the plant,” The headmaster said. “But I doubt they’d care.”
“Did you know all along who were members?” Brent asked.
“No, but I wasn’t surprised to find out who it was.” Headmaster Farnsworth rapped his knuckles against the wall. “I do know for a short time you were a member, Mr. Springsteed, and that you would be unable to provide me with the names. Thanks to the gag they put on you.”
Brent rubbed the back of his neck. “
You’re very well informed.”
The headmaster continued, “Crosby was always very ambitious. You better get along to class now.”
When we exited the building, talking about our enigmatic headmaster, I spotted DJ standing by the Pendrell statue. He motioned for me to come over. I excused myself from my friends and walked toward him. The depth of his betrayal still stung, but I felt the need to see what he wanted. His arm was in a sling and he had scratches on his face.
“Thanks for the tip about the statue,” he said. “I found a flash drive hidden in it and left it for the police.” He let out a humorless laugh. “Have you heard? With your testimony, Brent’s, Cherie’s, and mine, the police are questioning the Clutch about trying to abduct us. They’re all turning on each other. All but Crosby; they haven’t even questioned him.”
“How did Crosby not get dragged into it? Why did no one say he killed Bryan Pendrell?”
“He was a smart man. When he applied everyone’s gag spell he added some countermeasure that made it impossible for them to talk about him. Only those people like you who hadn’t joined were immune.”
“Wow.”
“Here.” He handed me a large manila envelope. “It’s the tapes of you and your friends. I found them when I was going through the files, looking for the stuff they had on my sister. I cleared it off of all the Clutch’s computers too.”
“Are you the one who took it from Farnsworth’s office?”
He nodded. “I wiped it from his computer too. It was the least I could do after betraying you like I did.” He started to turn but I caught his hand.
“Thank you.”
He surprised me by giving me a quick hug. “Anything for you, Cupcake.”
He released me and walked away.
By the end of school that day it was rumored that ten faculty had resigned along with Mr. Crosby. If what DJ guessed about the gag were true he would never even be a real suspect in the case. I liked to think the detectives believed me, but I think my talk of seeing ghosts and astral projection had made me seem like an unreliable witness. I hoped I was wrong because I didn’t like the idea of him running around a free man.
v
“I think I’m obsessed with death. I keep thinking about it,” I told Vovó the following week while she was teaching me to make some herb concoctions in her room.
Vovó’s glasses were resting on the very edge of her nose and she squinted in concentration as she poured the herbs we had just blended into a capsule. “You aren’t obsessed, you’re aware. You have more experience with it than others.” Some of the powder spilled on the table and she glared at it. “You lost Kevin in your early teens, then you, yourself, died. Most people your age think they’ll live forever. But you know better. And of course being a Waker, you now have a regular reminder.”
“Yeah, but. . . it’s more than that.” I dragged my fingers through the herbs that had spilled and looked around her tidy room. I had inherited my organizational love from her. Next to the kitchen, her room was my favorite in the house. It was so warm and peaceful here. Her favorite color was butterscotch and it reflected in her room with her warm yellow walls, shimmery golden bedspread and her accents of amber. She had a wind chime just outside her window and it tinkled merrily in the slight wind. The air was infused with the smell of herbs which, to me, now meant helping people. Her shelves and windowsill were lined with bottles of her home-grown remedies. Even the small table we worked out now was neat. “Half of this year I felt like death was hunting me. Like it wanted me back.”
“Really?” Vovó glanced up, looking over her spectacles at me. “Why did you think that?”
I dusted off the tip of my finger. “The water called to me and I thought it was death.”
Vovó shook some more of the blend into the capsule. “But now you know it was your element calling to you.”
“I know, but then Mr. Pendrell was killed and we almost died in the fire. It’s like death is still breathing down my neck.”
My grandma gave me a sad smile. “Yara, it follows everyone, but especially one of the Returned.”
“I know, but now the barrier is down. I have no idea what that will do in terms of the Clutch. Mr. Crosby is out there doing who knows what and he probably has the journals. I hope they were burned in the fire. But what if they weren’t? I don’t even want to guess what other sort of evils he could learn from them.”
My grandma squeezed me hand. “Yara, it will all be okay. I had a dream and I knew we had to take down the barrier. I don’t know why, but it was time for it to be destroyed.”
I wasn’t about to doubt my grandma. She seemed to always end up being right.
“Ilma,” my mom said, entering the room. Her hand was wrapped in a wet dishtowel. “I’ve burned myself on the stove. Do you have anything for it?”
“Claro!” Vovó said. She put down the paper filled with the herbs and shifted in her chair so she could look through her bottles. Her room was filled with jars of herbs, vials of essential oils, books on natural healing and her Waker journals. In her little room she had cures for everything from depression to protecting your spirit from evil ones and of course, for burns.
“What would you suggest?” she asked me.
“Lavender oil.” A weird feeling swirled through me at knowing the right answer and knowing it would help my mom.
Vovó beamed at me. “Exactly.” She handed my mom a bottle of lavender. “Put a few drops of this on. It will help right away.”
“Thank you,” mom said, taking the bottle in her uninjured hand and leaving the room.
It only took a few minutes before my mom came back, informing us her hand felt much better, and gave my Vovó a kiss on top of her head. I rested my chin on my hand, my elbow on her table, and really looked at Vovó as my mom left. She had so much knowledge that could help so many, if they took her seriously. And even when people who didn’t believe in her asked for help, she willingly gave it to them. She believed it was her calling to help ease suffering for everyone. I was proud of her. A feeling that reminded me of how I felt when I had helped Sophia slithered through me, and I was hit with a startling realization. I wanted to feel this way all of the time. This, being a Waker, is what I wanted to do.
I wanted to be like my grandma. A feeling of harmony settled deep inside me even as I acknowledged there wouldn’t be time to really be a Waker while I was studying journalism at Columbia or working at a paper after college. And that was okay. Because I suddenly knew I wasn’t meant to be a reporter, I was meant to go into the family business. I squeezed my grandma’s hand. “I think you’re amazing.”
She dropped the capsule she had been holding, the contents sprinkling across the table. She grabbed a Kleenex and wiped her eyes that had suddenly filled with tears. “I’m sorry. I know I push you hard.” She blew her nose. “It’s just I want you to be prepared.” I slid out of my chair and moved until I was beside her, kneeling down. “I love you and I am proud you,” she said.
It felt like I had swallowed a jawbreaker whole and it had wedged itself in my throat. She was proud of me? There was no way I could talk now; instead, I enjoyed the serenity I found in her arms and her words that had been a balm to my spirit. I knew I was making the right choice.
v
The next week I sat across from Cherie who was holding a letter from Stanford. With shaking hands, she opened the envelope and then shouted for joy. “I got in!” We both let out whoops of joy and I reached across the table and hugged her.
“I’m so happy for you!” I decided now was the time to bring up the conversation I’d been dreading. I tore my dinner roll in half. “I’ve been thinking about college.”
“And. . .” Cherie prompted, her smile still movie-star bright.
“I’m not going.”
“But you got into Columbia.” She lowered her acceptance letter, which she had been re-reading. “That’s your dream. Your parents said you could go.”
I met her blue eyes. “My dream ch
anged.”
“Into what?” Her eyebrows rose.
“I want to be a Waker.”
“Newsflash: you are a Waker.” The corners of her lips turned into a smile.
“I know. I know. But I really want to do this and I have a lot to learn. Vovó has suggested I study to become a holistic nurse. I’ll be able to blend that with the concoctions, poultices and brews we learn to make as Wakers to help patients.” I wiped the condensation away from my cup of ice-water. “My grandma says I’d be a Waker of a new generation. I’d have my abilities and credentials as a holistic nurse. People would listen to me because I have the degree to back up everything I’ve been taught. You know, bridge holistic healing and western medicine. I’ll be in Brazil with my grandma, studying both.”
“Wow,” Cherie said nodding.
I cleared my throat. “What do you think?”
“You could help people get better as well as help the dead to make peace and pass on. I can see why you’d want that.” She tapped her fork against the table thinking. “I think that would be perfect, actually.”
I’d already made up my mind but Cherie’s opinion meant a lot. “Really?”
“Yes, but are you sure this is what you want?” She frowned. “You’ve been railing against this your whole life. This isn’t your grandma pressuring you?”
“It’s what I want.” It felt good to say it out loud. “My dad and even my mom agreed it sounds perfect.”
“Your parents are very supportive.” She grimaced. “Unlike mine, who are dead set on me becoming a lawyer even if the law bores me. You’re lucky.”
“I know.” I really was. My parents had given me the freedom to be who I wanted to be.
That night I found a note shoved under the door of my dorm room.
Yara,
You broke your promise.
You’ll be hearing from us.
K
I took a deep breath. I knew it was from Kalina. I hadn’t thought about her and the warning, or even considered the Waker Council since the barrier came down. I might have been misreading the letter, but it sounded like a threat to me.
v
Our graduation would have been boring if Steve and Cherie hadn’t hijacked the stage and done some complicated dance to Pomp and Circumstance. I had one week before I left for Brazil and I planned on spending all of it that I could with my friends and family.