inevitablepub

I lowered my lashes. “No one. I’m just afraid that once we land at the airport it’ll spark some chain reaction and change everything.”

  “Well, things will be different there. There’s no way they can’t be. We’ll have the American Wakers and Crosby in play. But whatever happens, we’ll be able to get through it together.” Brent tugged me closer. “You’re not alone, Yara.”

  He kissed me then and I relaxed into it, allowing my worries to fall away as the clamor of the city carried on around us.

  We found Vovó in her favorite place: the garden. A smile lit up her face and she hummed to herself as she worked. The locket she always wore skimmed across the dirt as Vovó bent forward. Several of my cousins were on their hands and knees pulling weeds and trimming branches.

  My cousins had the same affinity for the earth as Vovó did. My strength seemed to be in manipulating water, an odd thing because no one else in my family line had ever manifested a water affinity, especially not as strong as mine. Then again, no one else in my family had drowned and managed to bring themselves back to life, either. My water ability had been well earned.

  I’d been working for the last few years with Vovó on increasing my connection to the earth. Vovó believed it would help me grow my own garden, which would provide me with the ingredients for various tinctures and poultices and other remedies I’d been learning. To my delight, I’d managed to form a small connection to the earth, but the smallest workings still took immense concentration and exhausted me.

  Brent gave me a kiss on my cheek. “I’ll go start cutting up the fruit.”

  He nodded at my cousins and they all waved and watched him cross the yard. Even after all the time he’d been here, the women in my family still found him fascinating. It wasn’t his good looks they admired or were curious about—well, not entirely anyway. He was an oddity among Wakers, because it was usually only the women who held any trace of spiritual talents. He couldn’t see ghosts, but he had an affinity with the spirit world and could astral project.

  I could too, even though none of the other women in my family could. Other Wakers had this talent but none in my line. Just one more thing separating me from everything normal, even ‘normal’ as defined by my extremely abnormal family. I couldn’t really complain, though. My unusual abilities had saved my life, and Brent’s. Of course with his out-of-the-ordinary skills he had returned the favor.

  “Wait!” My youngest cousin Marcio called after Brent. “Pick me up!”

  Brent reached for Marcio but my cousin shook his head. “Not with your hands.”

  I sometimes wondered if Brent ever felt like a trick pony. With an indulgent smile Brent narrowed his eyes and telekinetically lifted Marcio a foot off the ground.

  “Make the wind blow!” his brother Wagner begged. Brent smiled and a gust of wind swept across the garden. Both of the boys’ dark hair fanned out around their face, covering their brown eyes.

  The weeds and fallen leaves that had been tossed aside flew across the yard.

  “Make it snow!”

  Brent shook his head, his complexion a shade lighter than it had been seconds earlier and lowered Marcio to the ground. “Not tonight. We’re having a party. We want good weather.”

  Wagner appeared to be debating Brent’s words. “You could dry it up with fire.”

  Brent shrugged. “I don’t have that ability anymore.”

  I for one was glad about that. That talent didn’t belong to Brent. It’d been inherited after Brent’s body was inhabited by an evil ghost. When the spirit had been forced out, it’d left behind lingering remains of powers, knowledge and sicknesses of the other souls it had captured. And that’s what was killing Brent. His fire ability frightened me when it manifested, because it meant Brent’s illness was getting worse and needed a higher dose of medication.

  Wagner and Marcio continued pestering Brent to do other tricks while they followed him into the house.

  “You’re really leaving tomorrow?” My cousin Janae asked.

  I nodded as I knelt in the garden and dug my hands into the rich soil. With Vovó beside me it was easy to feel the pulse of life in the dirt, to understand the plants and nurture them. With her help, the tether between me and the earth wasn’t hard to find, but without her help . . . well, I was working on it.

  As if sensing my thoughts, Vovó withdrew her fingers and the energy pumping through me withered. I struggled to find it again, but I couldn’t grasp it. It was like trying to grab a glass globe with hands covered in oil. No matter how hard I tried to hold on, it always seemed to pop out of my grip. Vovó sighed, but gave me a pat on the shoulder as she walked into the house.

  “Sorry I’m stealing Vovó away from the family,” I told Janae. I sat back on my feet and plucked out a small weed daring to grow in Vovó’s garden.

  “You’re not stealing her. She’s going willingly.”

  I threw the offending weed into the bucket by my feet.

  “You can’t control Vovó any better than you can control plants.” Janae gave me a teasing smile and flicked the dirt from her fingers in my direction. “And from what I hear you’re going to need her.”

  I sighed. “You’re right. I do.”

  “I wish I could come. I would fight with you, you know.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” I let the soil sift through my fingers. “It might be better if we aren’t all in one place, though. Just in case things go bad.”

  Janae stroked her finger along a plant’s flower and the drooping bud perked up. Watching her work was like spying on a garden sprite weaving a spell among the plants. I longed to be able to do that.

  Janae appeared deep in thought. When she finally spoke she didn’t give me the ‘it’ll all be okay’ garbage. Instead, she held my gaze as if acknowledging the possibility of everything going epically wrong. “I had another idea on how to make your connection to the earth stronger.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “I was watching a movie, one where this superhero mom could bend and stretch her body. Think of your connection to the earth being like that. Imagine your fingers lengthening and all of the flecks of soil being an extension of your hands.”

  “I do that with water.”

  “Exactly, and when you feel that connection, imagine it’s simply your fingers moving. You’ll connect not only with the earth, but also with the plants. I think it’s mostly just a mental block. You see the soil being in your way, and you aren’t working with it.”

  We practiced for an amazing twenty minutes where things actually clicked for me. It’d be a stretch to say I’d become proficient, but I’d definitely improved. Janae gave me a tight hug when Vovó called us in for dinner.

  Vovó’s small home was packed with aunts, uncles and cousins. I stuffed myself full of fried bananas, pastéis filled with palm hearts, and black beans. The smell of fried onions and garlic, homemade bread and mangos invaded my senses. I popped open another can of guaraná, knowing I would be going through withdrawals once I got back to the States.

  “Everyone? Can I have your attention?” My quiet-spoken great-aunt, Rosane, held up her hands, but most of the family couldn’t hear her over the conversation. Finally, her husband Ronaldo let out an ear-splitting whistle and everyone began to quiet down. Rosane smiled and stood. “Tomorrow, Ilma, Brent, and Yara are leaving for America. They may face quite a struggle, but we want them to know we are behind them.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement and my great-aunt Dalva took over speaking. “In honor of the work Yara has been doing over the past three years, Ilma and I have decided she is ready to receive her Waker journal.”

  I dropped my drink, but Brent grabbed it before it spilled all over the table. My eyes found Vovó’s. “Really?”

  She nodded once and gave me a beautiful smile. A Waker journal was more than just a regular journal. I had plenty of those. I even had ones where I kept what I’d learned as a Waker.

  This was different. A Waker journal was only given to a Waker when
her mentor felt she’d matured into her abilities. Vovó had two. One was her personal journal given to her by her mentor, a book that had been mostly blank when her mother presented it to her and where Vovó had recorded a lifetime of lessons. The other was the Matriarca tome that was passed down directly from one Matriarca to the next. I didn’t know what secrets that journal held. No one but the Matriarca did.

  Dalva held up my leather journal, a beautiful creation of hand-tooled leather. “Each of us helped to make your journal, and each of us has written inside.”

  Tears welled up in my eyes. The women of a Waker’s family always shared their stories inside journals, personal tales about what being a Waker meant to them and what they’d learned over the years.

  “This is the first of many, since one day you—”

  Vovó snatched the journal from my aunt’s hands and shook her head at Dalva. An odd look passed between them and I would have thought I’d imagined it, but Vovó sent the same look around the whole room. A feeling of dread lodged in my gut and the sweetness and joy of the moment soured. What didn’t Vovó want me to know?

  “That was weird, right?” Brent whispered in my ear.

  I nodded. “Very.”

  Vovó held out the journal with a radiant smile and most of the unease I felt melted under the strength of it. Whatever Vovó didn’t want Dalva to say must have been nothing. She probably didn’t want Dalva to ruin a story in the journal. That had to be it.

  I crossed the room, stopping at each chair so my family could give me a hug or a pat on the back, until I finally stood in front of Vovó. I’d never been to a journal presentation before; I’d missed my sister’s and I’d never expected the overwhelming and wonderful feeling of having earned my own. Vovó’s eyes were misty with tears and I fought back my own, as my heart felt like it’d been given wings. All the years of practicing and studying had been worth it. Words abandoned me as Vovó held the journal out to me. She did it with such reverence, the moment felt sacred, and the whole room fell silent as she passed it from her arms to mine with the care of a priceless artifact.

  A tingle ran up my arms and down my legs. Bringing the leather book to my chest, I hugged it tight and breathed in the smell of the leather cover. Vovó wrapped me in a hug infused with love. “I am so proud of you, Querida. You are ready for this.”

  I let the tears trail down my cheek but I couldn’t find the words to express the emotion rising up from my core. Vovó thought I was ready.

  For the rest of the evening we laughed and danced and ate, and my relatives gave me encouragement and lots of advice. I pushed my earlier unease to the back of my mind and tried to memorize every suggestion they offered. At nine, Vovó shooed everyone out the door, which caused another round of hugs and good luck wishes. When my cousin Janae finally left, Brent and I convinced Vovó to head to bed while we cleaned up the party mess. Her bright smile didn’t hide her exhaustion.

  “You never told me about the journal before,” Brent said as we started washing the dishes. “Based on the sniffles, I’m assuming it’s a big deal.”

  I smiled and dipped a platter into the soapy water. “I never told you because I wasn’t sure I’d ever get one.”

  “What makes it so special?”

  “It’s kind of like a diploma. On the first few pages your family writes advice and stories and whatever lessons they want to share. It’s very personal. The only other person who will read it is your daughter, or whoever you train.”

  “Nice. My family passes down ugly jewelry that no one wants to wear. They just keep it in a safe deposit box and brag about how expensive it is. It’s all very pretentious, I assure you. My dad took me to the bank when I was eight to show them to me.” He sighed and threw the dishtowel over his shoulder. “He was disappointed when I asked how many comic books I could get with one of the rings.”

  I laughed. “That must have made him mad.”

  Brent grinned. “Oh, it did.”

  “The journals may not be worth as much as an old ugly ring, but they have a legend attached. It’s said that the person you gift your journal to also gains your power when you die.”

  “Whoa. So it’s like an inheritance? Or passing of the torch?”

  “I never thought of it that way before but, yeah.”

  Brent took the platter and rinsed the soap away. “If your grandma mentored so many people, who will she pass her journal along to?”

  “I’m not really sure. Whoever she picks becomes our Matriarca. It’ll be either Rosane or Dalva, but I’m not sure which one. They are practically the seconds in command already so it will be easy for them to take over our line. She’ll give the one she chooses her personal notebook, as well as her Matriarca one.”

  Brent whistled. “Your great-aunts are already strong. Especially Dalva.”

  Dalva would be perfect because not only was she a powerful Waker, but she never backed down if she knew she was right. “Can you imagine what she’d be like if she gets those journals? Her natural skill plus Vovó’s awesomeness?”

  Brent shook his head. “Her poor husband, he’ll never be able to contradict her again.”

  “Right?” I laughed and dropped the forks into the sink, my eyes straying to my journal on the countertop. “I can’t believe Vovó still gave me my journal after the way I screwed up with Ana.”

  “No one’s perfect, Yara. Your grandma knows that.”

  “Yeah but—”

  “But nothing. I’m proud of you.” Brent leaned over and kissed the top of my head before reaching over to collect the last of the dishes to dry. “We should get some sleep, though. We have an early flight tomorrow.”

  “I know but I’m really wound up. I won’t be able to sleep.” It was partial truth and partial lie. I knew Brent wouldn’t sleep even though he was exhausted. It didn’t seem fair for him to be the only one suffering sleep deprivation. Plus, we so rarely got to be completely alone without some member of my nosy and over-protective family playing chaperone. “Want to go for a walk?”

  “Sounds good. I’m not going to be able to sleep either,” he admitted.

  “Ever going to tell me why?” I knew he’d started having nightmares, but I didn’t think that was the whole story. Especially, since he never told me what the nightmares were about. From the way he wouldn’t meet my eyes, it didn’t look like I’d be getting answers tonight either.

  “I’ll go get your jacket.”

  He’d been avoiding this conversation for a month and it made me nervous. Last time he hid something from me, I found out he was dying. Now, my stomach churned whenever he went into hiding mode. I already knew he was sick. Surely nothing else could be worse than that. Right?

  Brent helped me slide into my jacket, took my hand, and led me into the night. He guided us to the park that Vovó and her neighbors shared.

  Papavers and Laelias bloomed among the trees and thick grass, their sweet scent stirred in the slight breeze of the evening. Brent pulled me to him, running his fingers through my hair.

  “I’ve seen so many beautiful places in Brazil,” he said as we walked. “Waterfalls, beaches, rainforests, but I think this is my favorite spot.”

  “Mine too.” I snuggled closer, letting his cologne mix with the bouquet of the park. We’d spent a lot of time here, studying, talking, and playing games. The park felt like an extension of Vovó’s home and thriving garden. Other neighbors wandered past us, enjoying the night, and I felt a serenity come over me.

  We hadn’t walked very far when the hairs on the nape of my neck stood on edge and I shivered, digging my hands into the jacket’s pockets. The same itchy feeling I’d had when I saw Ana traveled up my legs and carried through to my arms.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw three men in their early twenties or late teens watching me. Ghosts. They looked like they were alive, wearing—and on occasion not wearing—what they had on when they died. Based on their clothes, these three had died recently. They’d noticed me before I saw them, but that w
asn’t surprising. Ghosts had the same inner compass for Wakers that Wakers had for ghosts.

  What did seem odd was that they were talking together. Ghosts didn’t usually interact with each other. Maybe they’d died in the same accident? But why hadn’t they crossed over? And what were they doing in this private park? Maybe they were relatives of one of the neighbors. I peered into the darkness, but I didn’t recognize any of them.

  After my failure with Ana, I wanted to help these three, to prove to myself Vovó hadn’t wasted her time teaching me. I also needed to confirm to myself I deserved my journal.

  “There are some ghosts,” I whispered, tugging on Brent’s arm to stop him, my eyes still locked on the guys.

  “Of course there are.” Brent was used to this now. He pulled his phone out of his pocket before dropping onto one of the stone benches. “Do your thing. I’ll entertain myself by hacking fruit to bits.”

  I hated doing this to him. It seemed like there was always some Waker responsibility that pulled me away from him—especially on nights like this—but my grandmother’s sense of duty to our calling had somehow become mine. So many spirits needed my help. But at the same time, I needed a life. I sighed. Brent didn’t deserve this; he deserved a girlfriend who would pay attention to him during a romantic moonlit stroll.

  “You know what? From now on, I’ll set up ghost office hours or something. We’re on a date.”

  “Really?” He jumped to his feet. The smile Brent gave me made my insides warm. “Sounds good.”

  “I’ll be right back. I’m going to tell them my cousins can help them tomorrow.”

  I turned to the ghosts and squinted into the night. They’d vanished. Defeat hit me like an uppercut to the jaw.

  But between one blink of the eye and the next they reappeared, surrounding me. Okay, that was weird. And very direct. Ghosts only got that aggressive when they were angry.

  Or dangerous.

  My heart tripped in my chest, unease spreading through me. They didn’t seem threatening but just in case I let my hands fall by my side, close to my pocket.