Modesto took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his forehead as he leaned forward. “Maria told her nephew that once he helped Christopher Pendrell, he was to go into hiding and not reveal himself unless someone recited the right words: Speak now, Guardian. This has been my family legacy ever since.”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “But that’s not all she told Modesto. She said that one day a girl would come to one of his descendants and say that Easter Lilies were her favorite flower, and that her grandmother had placed them on her casket. A living girl would talk about her own casket, and the Easter lilies on her grave.”
His words trickled into my brain trying to comprehend what he had just told me. “So, I was meant to say that line to you? Maria predicted it?”
“Yes.” He stood and walked to his water cooler. He filled one of the paper cups to the top and took a long drink.
“Because so many people are interested in this secret, I hesitated giving it to you, even when you gave me the hidden message you’d found. Your comment about the flowers is what convinced me.”
Something inside me clicked like tumblers aligning in a lock, affirming I was meant to be here. “And you’re supposed to give me something?” I fiddled with the bottom button on my shirt, hope rising taller than Everest in my chest. “Is this thing you have what Crosby was after?”
He nodded as he filled two more cups of water. Navigating around his cluttered floor, bypassing empty pizza boxes and stacks of paper, he handed Cherie and I each some water.
“I didn’t give it to him or his Waker. They didn’t know the phrase, but even if they had, I wouldn’t have given it to them. I know the man too well. As I said, I met him before. When I was a small boy. He tracked down my father, looking for our family secret. He killed my parents when they wouldn’t give him what he wanted.”
Cherie sucked in a breath and my heart skipped a beat.
“I escaped.” Modesto took a deep breath. “Since then, I’ve become very good at playing the hapless botanist who cares only about his tomatoes.”
I took a sip of water. “What if he figures out who you are and comes after you again?”
“I have no family now. The only thing I have to protect is the plant.”
“What plant?” Cherie twisted her cup in her hands.
He sat up straight in his chair. “Well, the Pankurem of course.”
“Why would he kill people for that?” I set my cup down. “It isn’t hard to find.”
The excited smile he gave reminded me of when he went off about his mango tomatoes. “This isn’t normal Pankurem. It’s the one genetically modified by the drought in Brazil.” Modesto took a breath and explained. “Before the drought, Pankurem had limitations. Consuming too much of it rotted the brain and brought on a severe addiction. But when the drought came, a new species of the plant appeared, one with pink flowers.”
“Pink?” Cherie asked.
Modesto nodded. “The altered plant had none of the damaging, addictive side effects. It was discovered quite by accident. One night, a young girl, delirious with fever, wandered off into the jungle. The next morning, the family found her unconscious in a patch of the pink-flowered Pankurem, where she had been eating the plant. Convinced she had poisoned herself, they carried her body home and laid her out for burial. After a few hours, she awoke, fully cured of her fever.”
My shoulders sagged. It sounded like nothing more than over-the-counter cough syrup.
“Word spread fast. People sought new uses for it. As you know from the story, Maria was given some during childbirth to save her life.” He shook his head. “But not all of the purposes were noble. Some people started using it to exploit the spirit world.”
He sat back down, and crossed one foot over his knee. “While Maria was out of her body, she had a vision. She saw that this plant, if allowed to grow unchecked, would bring great evil into the world. When she recovered, she set fire to the fields, destroying it all, except for the few shoots she sent here with Modesto.”
“But what can the plant cure?” Cherie asked, tossing her empty cup into one of the old pizza boxes by her feet. “What was causing the girl’s fever?”
Modesto loosened his already sloppy tie. “She was dying of various illnesses after an evil spirit had possessed her body.”
My heart missed a beat before thudding rapidly, like hooves of a wild bronco trying to buck a rider. “You have a cure for Brent?”
Modesto rested his elbows on a stack of file folders. “I don’t know Brent, but if he’s sick from the spiritual residue of having another soul in his body, then yes.”
I shot out of my chair and lunged at Modesto, hugging him with everything I had.
He ‘umpfed’ and awkwardly patted my back. The miracle, the cure I’d been looking for since high school was being given to me by this man. He had the key to saving Brent’s life. A single burst of laughter burst from my mouth. “Thank you!”
Cherie threw her arms around both of us, her cast thumping him on the back. “Yes!”
He cleared his throat, flushing.
“You’re welcome.” He patted my back one more time and broke free.
I stepped back and wiped at my eyes.
Cherie danced in a circle, her cobalt blue arm waving in the air. She stopped, her eyebrows coming together. “But why would Crosby want it?”
“He wants to live forever.” Modesto sat back down and rested his chin in his palm. “You’re familiar with Thomas, correct?”
Cherie glanced at me, her lip twitching.
I nodded. “You could say that. He murdered me.”
Modesto’s eyes shot up. “ I guess I don’t know the whole story after all.”
Not many people did. Only the ones who helped us through it.
“Well, Crosby wants what Thomas wanted. What the Pendrell boys wanted. Power and immortality. With this plant, he could enter other people’s bodies without the physical decay that Thomas experienced. He might even be able to keep his own body from aging. He could become immortal, growing stronger as the years go on.”
I shuddered and my mouth went dry thinking of all the damage Crosby could do. “Then we’d better make sure he doesn’t get it.”
Modesto nodded. “My father always said my family’s legacy would be to help the light fight the darkness that would spread on the earth. I was tempted to move on when Crosby found me, but I felt that he could be the darkness I was meant to fight. Talking to you, I’m sure of it. Crosby is that darkness and you, Yara, are the light.”
More weight, more expectations, more destiny pressed against me. I closed my eyes and shook my head.
“The cure is for Brent, not me. If anything, he’s the light.”
Modesto shook his head. “You are the beacon of hope, Yara. I’ll brew the tea your friend needs to drink, but you probably won’t ever see me again after that. My purpose is to keep the plant safe for future generations. Once people know who I am, I’ll have to disappear.
He glanced around his greenhouse and sighed, as though he was sad to leave this place. Then he glanced at me and smiled.
“I’ll be by your house in an hour.” He flashed an amused smile at my crinkled brow. “Yes, I know where you live. You’re not the only one who can do research, you know. With the wards protecting your house—and yes, I know you have them—it’ll be the safest place for me to give Brent the cure.”
I’m not sure I answered him as Cherie and I left the room. I was almost afraid to believe that Brent would be healthy, that we’d found a way to save him. But I had. I’d found the cure. Brent wasn’t going to die. I pressed my lips together, holding back the tidal wave of elation trying to burst out.
When we got home Steve and Brent were watching a movie with my family. Dad paused it when we came into the room.
“You’re pale. What’s wrong? ”Brent was on his feet instantly. He took my hands in his. “You’re like ice. Did something happen?”
I cleared
my throat. “We found it. We found the cure.”
My voice cracked and a wide but trembling smile spread across my face, the salty taste of tears trickled past my lips.
“What?” Brent asked in a whisper.
“Modesto has the cure. He’s bringing it here.”
Complete silence greeted my pronouncement, but only for a moment.
My dad shouted with joy. Steve fist pumped the air and then slapped Brent on the back. Brent’s brown eyes filled with tears.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” I nodded, feeling like a bobble head. “He’s bringing it here.”
Brent locked his arms around me, holding me tight, his body shaking. “I can’t believe it.”
“What happened?” Steve asked.
I had so much repressed emotion bubbling inside I couldn’t talk, so Cherie explained to everyone what we had found.
My dad was uncharacteristically quiet. “So, my father teaching me about Wakers was important. I always thought it would be.”
“Actually, it seems that having all three of the lines working together is what found the cure.” I played with the hair at the base of Brent’s neck. “I couldn’t have done it without all three versions of the story.”
“Are you going to tell the council how Brent got better?” My mom asked.
I shook my head instantly. “No. Not even Vovó knew about the secret. We can’t tell anyone. People could abuse it. The three versions of the story are still out there. If the need comes, others can find Modesto the same way we did.”
A knock on the door made me swallow hard. “He’s here.”
Brent held out his hand. “Pinch me. Let me know I’m not dreaming.”
Before I could do the honors, Steve pinched Brent. Hard. Brent grimaced, shoved him back, and laughed. Melanie led Modesto into the kitchen. He set the tackle box he had tucked under his arm on the kitchen counter, and gave us a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry, but I’ll need you all to step out. How to make the tea is another part of the secret.”
I understood the need for his secrecy. After all, I had met Thomas, read the accounts of the Pendrell sons, and had seen how power hungry Crosby was. The promise of eternal life without the repercussions would tempt anyone.
Modesto looked around the kitchen. “Do you have a kettle I can borrow?”
My mom opened the cupboard and handed him one, while the rest of us filed out.
Melanie, Vovó, and my parents returned to their movie, Cherie and Steve headed toward the living room with a stack of bridal magazines, and Brent and I retreated to the backyard.
The evening air was still, filled with the sweet scents of my mother’s flowerbed and the plants from Vovó’s garden. Bees moved from flower to flower, unaware of the tension twisting my insides. I had to move. I pushed off the wall, the stucco pulling at strands of my hair. My feet paced the path between my dad’s grill and the coy pond. Usually watching the fish calmed me, the feeling of my element tempering my taut nerves, but not tonight.
Everything we had done since high school had led to this point. It had to work. Kevin had assured us a cure existed, we’d found it and Modesto seemed to know his stuff, but a faithless part of me doubted.
I shook out my shoulders and watched the gentle way the dying light of day filtered through the tall Eucalyptus trees, casting shadows on Brent’s features. He slumped against the metal patio furniture rubbing his forehead with one hand and biting the nails of his other.
The sliding glass door opened and my eyes snapped toward Modesto holding a steaming cup.
“It’s done.”
Brent jumped to his feet and we both rushed toward Modesto, who held out a dainty cup to Brent. The porcelain’s amber color reminded me of Pankurem beads.
“This is it?”
Modesto nodded.
Brent took it gently, as if afraid his fingers might smash it. He stared into its depth, then closed his eyes, took a deep breath and lifted the cup to his lips.
A strong surge of air rushed by me and pummeled into Brent.
He staggered back, lowering the cup and cradling his body around it protectively. The wind was too strong, too focused on Brent to be natural. It carried a strange scent, cedar mixed with something rotten.
I spun around, tracing the smell. Like a living embodiment of my worst nightmare, Crosby stalked through my backyard.
My throat constricted, my knees knocked together and the bitter taste of fear filled my mouth. Cedar was the scent of his expensive cologne, but the rotten smell, that was something different, something new.
“How did you get here?” I slithered back. “Past the wards?”
Crosby made a tsking sound like he was scolding a young child. “Your wards only keep out spirits, not humans. And Clarke knows how to break them. They’ll all be joining us soon.”
Cherie appeared in the doorway. I shook my head and Steve grabbed her, pulling her away as she took out her cell phone. Modesto slid into the shadows of the avocado tree. I kept my attention on Crosby.
My tongue felt like it had doubled in size, making it hard to swallow.
Here? After all these years, the battle to determine everything would happen in my backyard? But what had brought him out, had finally made him bring the fight to us?
Then I understood. The drink. Modesto.
Crosby wanted it for himself. If he swallowed Brent’s tea, he’d be virtually unstoppable.
“Drink it, Brent!” I ordered.
Brent struggled to bring it to his lips, but he seemed to be fighting something, the cup wouldn’t go any higher. If anything it seemed to lower. His hands shook and a dribble of blood trailed from his nose.
“Give me the cup.” Sweat trickled down Crosby’s pale, lined face and into his sunken eyes. Rail thin, he looked like an addict, and I wondered if he’d been ingesting Pankurem.
Brent’s fingers tightened on the cup and he glowered at Crosby, who laughed and then stretched out his fingers, curling them toward Brent in a come hither motion. Did he really think Brent would simply hand it over? Brent didn’t move, but the cup jerked in his hand. Crosby’s hand moved again, and the cup responded, while Brent struggled to maintain his grip, a tug of war over the delicate cup.
My mouth dropped open. Crosby didn’t have telekinetic abilities.
“How?” I asked before I could stop myself.
I took a step back at the creepiness of his answering smile.
“Surprised?” He raised an eyebrow and his smile grew. “I’ve recently come into some power of my own. You’ve met my guards before, haven’t you?”
His spirit hand lifted partly out of his skin, projecting just enough so we could see it bulge and distort as the trapped souls inside pressed out, trying to break free. Bile rose in my throat, I’d only seen something so horrible one other time.
“You’ve trapped their souls inside you? Enslaved them?”
“They were too strong, too much of a threat to keep alive. After Brent weakened them for me, I was able to overpower them.” His hand descended back into his skin. “All I need now is that drink to keep me from getting soul-sick.”
“You soul is too sick to be cured!” I screamed.
Crosby narrowed his eyes, nostrils flaring. The cup in Brent’s hands twitched again. “Just imagine how much more I’ll be able to accomplish when you two join the collection. And you’ll have an eternity to make amends with your father, Brent.”
“You have him?” Brent paled and stumbled, his grip loosened, and the cup flew from his hands to Crosby’s who brought it his lips with a triumphant smirk. “Cheers!”
He couldn’t have it! Rage coursed through me and the leaves of the avocado tree behind Crosby responded, quivering in tandem with my pulse.
Without even trying, I guided a thick branch of the tree to smack Crosby. It hit him hard in the back of the head, sending the cup and its contents flying. Crosby dove for the precious object, skidding to the ground. As it tumbled toward the ground, I caught the l
iquid from the air, gathering the cure into a hovering, quivering ball that floated to my hands as the delicate porcelain shattered on the bricks.
“No!” Crosby crawled to the broken remains, beating his fist against the ground. “No!”
The air exploded with motion. Branches creaked, leaves went airborne. I didn’t know if it was Crosby or Brent, but it raced around me, pushing me left, then right, ripping the air from my lungs. I clung to the ball of tea, fighting to keep it intact. Brent yelled something I couldn’t hear above the wind. With a point of my fingers, I directed the airborne cure straight past his lips. The liquid flew into his mouth with such force he staggered back. Modesto rushed forward, pushing Brent’s mouth closed, forcing him to swallow.
“NO!!!” Crosby watched Brent gulp down the potion he’d been searching for. He leapt to his feet and from the back of his pants drew out a gun, aiming it at me.
But before he could pull the trigger, the smell of burnt flesh permeated the air. Crosby dropped the revolver, cradling his hand to his chest. The gun fell to the cement before it exploded, the bullets in the magazine bursting. Brent threw up a wall, deflecting the shrapnel.
“Nice trick, Mr. Springsteed,” Crosby shouted. “But like you, I no longer need a weapon.”
He brought his hands together and the ground shook, the air ripped at my hair, my shirt undulating in the wind.
DJ appeared, taking in the situation. I felt him draw some power from me before rushing Crosby. His fist connected with Crosby’s face, slamming it to the side.
Brent stood tall, gathering his own power. His arms spread wide, summoning; his pull like a magnet. Leaves and twigs twirled, the patio chairs rumbled up and down and screeched toward him. But then Brent paled, the nosebleed now coming from both nostrils and he sagged to the ground, convulsing. I ran toward him dropping to my knees.
DJ uppercut Crosby again, stealing more of my energy.
“What’s happening?” I asked Modesto.
Modesto frowned. “It’s cleansing him.”
“How long will it take?”