My left hand was clenched in a tight fist and my fingers resisted as I forced them open. The wand of my mango lip gloss tumbled out of my grip. The tube lay on the desk, tipped over, a sticky puddle underneath it.
Weird.
I shook my arm, trying to get the blood circulating and ignoring the pinpricks of pain. My stretching roused Cherie from her sleep. She turned her head toward me, her groggy eyes squinting.
“You have something on your forehead,” she said around a yawn.
“What?” My hand went to my forehead and came back sticky and smelling of mango.
I climbed out of bed, dropping the blanket to the ground and reached for the wet wipes I kept in my backpack. I walked to the chest of drawers, and glanced at myself in the mirror that hung there. Something was on my forehead. I opened the wipes and pulled one out when I realized it wasn’t some random glob of something. I went on my tiptoes, bringing my face closer to the mirror. It took me a second to recognize it, because I had smeared it when I touched it earlier, and it looked backward in the mirror, but I made out a single word.
MURDERER
I had to hold onto the chest of drawers for support because my knees turned to oatmeal and my stomach dropped to the ground. My eyes flashed to the lip-gloss wand that my fingers had been clenching. I strode to the desk, picked it up and held it out to Cherie.
“I woke up with this in my hand.”
Cherie glanced at the wand. “Okay.”
“And look!” I pointed to my forehead.
Cherie stopped mid stretch. “Does that say ‘murderer’?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Just checking.” Cherie took the wand, but kept her eyes on my forehead. She titled her head to side. “That isn’t your handwriting.”
“I know.” I scooted onto the desk, my mouth spewing out words as my mind thought them. “It had to be a ghost, but I’ve never heard of them doing this sort of thing before.” I looked at my hand. “The wand was in my hand. Which suggests I did it. But I don’t remember doing it. Have you heard of people sleep-writing?”
I grabbed a wipe and rubbed furiously at the lip-gloss. Even after it was gone I could still feel its stickiness. My skin turned red but I kept scrubbing, trying to erase the memory too. I’m not sure how long I would have kept at it but something distracted me. Something moved out of the corner of my left eye. I spun toward it.
Sophia.
I yelped, fear exploding inside me. She stood less than a foot from me, but she was practically transparent. Her soft scent of jasmine circled around me. The glare of her light brown eyes bored into me with an almost physical pressure. Aside from her murderous eyes, her face was blank, her body rigid. I stumbled back and lifted my hand in front of my face. Her right hand rose and she moved toward me. The nails on her right hand were glossy red, the color of persimmons.
“Cherie,” I said in a small shaking voice, “Sophia’s here.”
“What?” Cherie sprang out of bed, tripping over her blankets. “Where?”
“There,” I pointed my already outstretched hand toward Sophia and her upraised hand pulled back. I dropped my hand, just as she dropped hers. Odd. Despite my fear I paused, trying to figure out what I was seeing.
She raised one eyebrow at me then lifted her right hand out to the side at shoulder height. Involuntarily, my left had rose until it hung in the air, mimicking hers. Her right hand swung through the air in front of me and my left slapped me hard across my face. My cheek stung as I reeled away from her, holding up my left hand like I’d never seen it before. Her arm flung up too. It couldn’t be, but it seemed that our arms were linked. Like a marionette puppet, my arm followed her every move.
“Our arms are attached,” I said aloud, not sure if I was saying it for me, Cherie, or Sophia.
“I know.” Sophia brought her right arm to her chest and yanked, brining me closer to her. I jerked myself back only to have pulled her with me. It was like having an angry shadow I couldn’t escape.
I tried to gather my scrambled thoughts. “I can help you.” My words sounded feeble, not at all the way my grandma’s did.
Sophia laughed, a sound that reminded me of nails being dragged slowly across a chalkboard, making me cringe.
I heard Cherie rummaging through her bag behind me and a cloud of textured dust flew from over my shoulder. The granules hit Sophia and her image flickered, tiny holes forming where she had been pelted. The holes grew, connecting, traveling up and down her torso, across her contorted face.
“No!” Sophia screamed, her arms rising in fury. My hand copied hers, lifting into the air with such force I lost my footing and slipped to my butt. My movement pulled her down as well, her nose inches from mine, her breath cold on my face. “I will be back, little Waker.”
Then she shimmered out of sight. My arm, the one connected to hers, burned and felt heavy. I was back in complete control of it, but I knew she was still there, waiting. I pulled my knees to my chest, not bothering to get off the ground.
Cherie collapsed beside me.
“What did you throw at her?”
“Sea salt.” Cherie dusted her hands off and granules of salt fell into the grooves of the cheap, tightly woven carpet.
I was impressed and extraordinarily grateful. “How did you know that would work?”
“I researched it.” Cherie helped me up and gave me a self-conscious grin. “I wanted to be prepared so I always keep some with me. Your grandma mentioned it once and I read more about it online. I know I don’t have a lot to contribute when it comes to all this paranormal stuff.”
“That isn’t true.”
Cherie lifted her lips in the semblance of a small smile. “Yes, it is. I’m no help in a fight. Last year I couldn’t help at all. Research is about the only thing I can do to keep you safe. I can’t see ghosts, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help.”
“Cherie . . . ” I started but she cut me off.
“Tell me what happened.”
I filled her in on the attack, still trying to make sense of it myself. Ghosts didn’t usually travel from the area they haunted and I hadn’t felt cold like I usually did around ghosts. But despite all that, Sophia had been in the room, glowering at me like I, alone, caused all of her misery. And unless I was wrong, she was still here; I just couldn’t see her.
“But how did she get past the magical barrier around Pendrell in the first place?”
Decades ago, my grandpa had known that an evil ghost was terrorizing the campus. Not able to see it, and not able to fight it, he had created a barrier around the campus so it could not spread to the rest of the world. It had kept the spirit trapped here, but also prevented those who projected to leave campus without their bodies.
“That’s a good question. I hadn’t thought of that.” I tilted my head to the side, considering. “I’m not exactly sure how the barrier works. I know it keeps things in, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that it won’t let in new things.”
“But if she’s here now, does that mean she’s like Thomas, trapped here, unable to leave?”
I shuddered, afraid to consider the possibility that she’d be here all year.
Cherie handed me the phone, eyeing my hand warily. “Call your vovó right now.”
I dialed my parents’ number only to be told Vovó had gone to Arizona to see some friends, and my parents didn’t have their number. I called the cell phone Dad had given her. It rang a few times before Mom picked it up. Apparently Vovó had left it at home. I thanked her and hung up, letting my head bang against the wall, wishing more than ever that I could talk to my grandma.
Chapter Six
A gray haze covered everything in a thick dense fog, only the fog felt hot, like a dragon’s breath. I could barely make out my hand in front of my face. Ash rained down on me like grizzly snow. I knew I had to get out of here.
I took a step forward and tripped over something blocking my path, tumbling toward a ground I couldn’t see. My outstretched arms broke my f
all, rocks digging into my palms. I couldn’t see what I had fallen over, but my hands felt around the uneven dirt path, searching for it. My fingers skimmed across something soft. A hand. Carefully I followed the contour of the arm to a pair of limp shoulders. My fingers dove into the creases of the neck, trying to find a pulse. Nothing. My heart surged as I shook the shoulders but got no response. I needed help!
Smoke choked my lungs; my breathing was barely a wheeze punctuated with a cough. I lifted the sleeve of my sweatshirt to my mouth, trying to filter what my lungs breathed in. I stumbled to my feet, staggering forward, not sure which way to go, when a hand grabbed my shoulder. The person’s touch comforted me and I knew I could trust them. I could hear the rumble of the voice, but I couldn’t understand the words, which were overpowered by the snapping and popping roar surrounding us.
My chest felt heavy, my brain sluggish. Through the demented fog a bright red light licked the sky. Fire. The deadly beauty of crimson flames danced all around, moving closer, surrounding us.
I sat up in bed gasping, coughing and clutching my bedspread to me. There was no fire. Still I panted as I glanced around, searching for any hint of smoke. It was a nightmare, nothing more. I was safe in my room. Cherie slept in her bed under her tangled sheets. It had been two weeks since our room had been vandalized, and I still couldn’t sleep through the night. Even having my side of the room back to its properly organized state didn’t take away my fear. Cherie’s side had stayed clean for about three hours before returning to its normal state of disarray. Nothing had changed.
I was drenched in sweat. I wiped the back of my hand against my forehead. My skin felt hot, fevered, like the fire had been real, instead of a dream. For a moment, the smell of smoke hung in my nostrils. I ran my fingers through my hair, only to find it a tangled mess.
It had been so vivid. I drew my blankets tightly around me, shivering, knowing it hadn’t been a normal dream, but a glimpse of the future. Like those I’d had before. I had ignored the first one, about my brother Kevin, and he had died, but I didn’t understand the dreams then. In the dream where I drowned, I had known it was important, but didn’t know what to do with it. After my third dream, Brent had been able to alter the outcome because I had told him what I had seen. It had worked to our advantage. Remembering this, I tried to examine the nightmare.
I brought my knees to my chest as I thought carefully back to the nightmare, trying to make sense out of it. Unlike my drowning dream, this one had several details that were missing. But there were things that stood out, too.
For one, I hadn’t been alone this time. Someone was with me, someone I trusted. There had been a third person too, someone who had died. My stomach rolled at the thought of touching the lifeless arm. I pushed away the nagging fear that it had belonged to someone I loved. I wanted to ignore this dream, to write it off as a simple nightmare, but I knew better than that, now. There was going to be a fire and I was going to be in the middle of it. And someone would die.
With my knees still cradled to my chest I rocked back and forth. “You’re going to change it. You’re going to change it.”
A loud knock at the door startled me out of my reverie. I jumped as my eyes searched for the digital clock on Cherie’s desk. It was six o’clock in the morning. Who would knock at this unholy hour? Was it the people who had searched our room? I mentally slapped myself. They wouldn’t knock.
“Who is it?” I called from the safety of my bed.
Cherie gave a low moan of disapproval from her corner of the room and slammed a pillow over her head. “Whoever it is, make them go away,” she muttered.
“It’s your grandma,” Vovó said from the other side of the door.
“Vovó?” I flung the blankets off as I floundered around in an attempt to get quickly out of bed.
She had left a message the night before to let me know she’d be stopping by, but I figured it would have been after school, not at the crack of dawn. I had told her about the Sophia attack, but we hadn’t gone over it in great detail yet. She hadn’t had a lot of answers at the time, and I was hoping that was about to change.
Cherie nestled like a sand crab under her covers while I flung open the door to reveal Vovó standing in the hallway, holding a nondescript cardboard shoebox. A scowling Mercedes stood beside her, sporting a major case of bed-head.
“Good morning, Querida,” Vovó said, grabbing me in a one-armed hug.
“Hi, Vovó. What are you doing here so early?”
“She was pounding on the dorm’s door.” Mercedes softened her scowl long enough for a yawn that was accentuated by a stretch. “She woke Mrs. Hewett, who in turn woke me up.”
“I’m sorry, Mercedes,” I said before looking back to my grandma. “How did you get a visitor’s pass so early?”
“Pass?” Vovó adjusted the box in her arms. “I just parked and walked in.”
“Of course.” The corners of my mouth twitched upwards.
Vovó had a habit of wandering around places she wasn’t supposed to be without permission. She considered rules and regulations of no consequence when she went about her business. She always got away with it, too. I shook my head as I realized that this was just the way Vovó worked. I would probably never understand how she did it.
“And Yara, please inform your family of the approved visiting hours for future visits,” Mercedes said, turning toward her room. “I’m going back to bed.”
Vovó reached out and grabbed her arm. “Here. I am sorry for waking you.” She pressed a plastic container of what looked like her homemade chocolate chip cookies into Mercedes hand.
Mercedes gave her a grin before walking away. My grandma’s cookies would make anyone forgive her. Again, Vovó managed to get away with breaking the rules.
“I brought something for you too.” She thrust the box at me and I took it enthusiastically.
“A care package?” My mouth watered as I imagined it brimming with home-baked goodies.
“Yes, something that shows how much I care. Open it,” she said, gesturing to the box.
I lifted the lid and peeked inside. It was filled with bracelets, earrings, and necklaces.
“Thanks, but . . . aren’t there any more cookies?”
“No. I gave yours to your friend.” Vovó patted my hand when she saw my frown. “I will make you more. But the jewelry is far more valuable. They are made from the same Pankurem beads as your necklace.”
“Do I need a new one?”
“No, yours still works.” Vovó pushed past me and into my room. “Those are for your friends. I don’t like what happened to you with this ghost and I want to make sure you’re protected.”
“I never take my necklace off.” I touched where it lay against my breastbone. “Why would my friends need one? I think she can only touch me.”
“That’s true.” Vovó pushed her spectacles further up her nose. “But things at Pendrell are changing. We need to be prepared for anything.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Instead, I asked a question that had been bothering me. “So you really think Sophia has been attached to me since the internship party? How come I haven’t been able to see her?”
“She used a lot of energy that night. It takes time for her to get her strength back enough to be visible on our plane. Hopefully it will be a while before she appears again.”
I didn’t want to think about the next time. “So how did she follow me here?”
“Tell me again about your encounters with her.”
I recounted everything in great detail and she listened with her eyes closed, nodding her head and tapping her index finger to her lips.
After a few moments of silence, Vovó’s eyes popped open. “She must have a physical tie to you, something of yours that allowed her to leave home and come to Pendrell with you. We need to get it back. That should sever the link between you, and stop her control over your wrist and arm.”
“What could she have of mine?”
“Yo
u said she pulled some of your hair out, right?”
“Yes.” I winced in remembered pain while I rubbed the spot on my head where she had yanked several strands out by the roots.
“If I had to guess, she kept some hair for herself. I’m not sure how she would know to do that, though.” Vovó was quiet for a second considering that. Finally she waved off her thought and continued. “If you can get that back, the physical thing, the link to you should be broken. Then we can help her find some peace.”
I didn’t even want to think about how hard it could be to find my strands of stolen hair, so I moved on to my next question. “Why did she write ‘murderer’ on my forehead?”
“Ghosts often get confused.” Grandma tsked at me, as this was one of the first things she had taught me about spirits. “She probably believes you’re the one who killed her.”
“Oh, of course.” I threw my hands up in the air. “Not only does she think I stole something from her but now she thinks I killed her too.”
I plopped myself down on my bed and glanced at Cherie. Her eyes were open but when I looked at her she shut them, pretending to be asleep. She opened one eye a sliver, pointed toward the box, and then motioned toward her neck. Sure, she pretended to be asleep, but still wanted her questions answered. Vovó had always answered all of Cherie’s paranormal questions, but Cherie suspected that my grandma held back some of the more juicy Waker secrets. That faulty belief had led Cherie to spy on Vovó more than once.
“So, what makes you think my friends need the necklaces?”
Vovó threw an amused grin at Cherie, who hadn’t been as stealthy as she thought.
“I’ve had a dream of a darkness settling at Pendrell again. Although it didn’t so much settle as raise from the ground.” She cocked her head to the side thinking. “I’m not sure what it means yet, but I decided your friends should have them, just in case.”
“You had a dream too?” I sat up tall and held her gaze. “About a fire?”