Indelible (2 page)

I should have been more comfortable than I was. After all, I had aspirations of becoming a journalist, and would be required to interview people. Usually I was good at it, but for some reason, my heart wasn’t in it tonight. I hadn’t felt so out of place last year, but I felt somehow different after this summer.

“So, you said you spent your summer in Brazil?” Mr. Seager asked.

“Yes, most of my father’s family is still there. I spent a lot of time training with my grandmother to be a Waker.” I swallowed and wondered what in the world had made me say that aloud.

“A what?” Mrs. Seager asked.

It suddenly seemed hard to breathe. I hadn’t planned to share that detail of my life, but now that it was out, I didn’t want to hide it either. “A Waker,” I repeated.

Brent looked at me, his eyebrows raised. I could see that he would support me if I needed it, but he obviously hadn’t thought I would bring it up here. Him and me both. Last year I never would have.

“I’m not sure I’ve heard that term before,” Mr. Seager said, his tone polite, but barely interested.

I knew I was probably committing internship suicide, but I smiled anyway. “The women of my family are
Acorderas
, Wakers in English. We communicate with ghosts and help them pass into the afterlife.”

The Seagers laughed politely, assuming it was a joke. After a few seconds Mr. Seager frowned. “You weren’t kidding?”

This was one of only a handful of times I’d admitted my ability to someone who wasn’t already a strong believer in the paranormal. I felt like I was staring down that rock-wielding boy again and part of me wanted to shy away from the truth. That old familiar denial crept its way up my throat. I couldn’t though; it would be like denying part of myself now, and I wasn’t going to do that again. I was no longer ashamed of my heritage. So why did this feel so hard?

I forced a smile. “Not at all. I was completely serious.”

The Seagers’ eyes grew wide. Even Brent cleared his throat. I sipped my sparkling cider again, pretending that hadn’t been hard to admit.

“Interesting,” Mrs. Seager said politely.

Tears blurred my vision. Why was this affecting me when I knew it was the truth? I took another drink, buying myself time. A startling thought came to me. Had I hurt Brent’s chances for this internship? My cider went down the wrong tube and I coughed. I patted my sternum as I assessed the situation, hoping I hadn’t ruined it for him. Mr. Seager glanced at his watch and his wife’s eyes searched the room, probably looking for someone to rescue her from the uncomfortable conversation. Mr. Seager was no longer even paying attention to Brent. The tent suddenly seemed even more crowded and I couldn’t get a proper breath. My hands shook. I had to get out of there.

I forced the closest thing to a smile I could muster. “If you’ll excuse me.” I spun around and pushed through the crowd. Brent called for me to wait, and I glanced over my shoulder but saw him waylaid by someone. I was falling apart fast and I couldn’t stop. My feet kept moving of their own volition until the crowd thinned. Finally able to breathe, I dropped onto a lounge chair and rested my forehead on my knees while I tried to catch my breath. Sadly, I hadn’t been able to outrun my tension and anxiety. They were soon replaced by dread thick enough to crush me.

I forced my emotions away and tried to consider my problem rationally. Brent wouldn’t be harmed by my confession, or his association with me. He was smooth and charming enough to win over anyone. That just left me. But aside from one internship—that I probably didn’t want anyway—my life hadn’t changed. It was common knowledge at Pendrell that I saw ghosts. Most of my peers already knew what I could do—or that I claimed I could do it—so it was probably only a matter of time until the alumni knew as well. My real secrets were still safe. At least I hadn’t confessed those.

I could just imagine what the school rumor mill would do if they knew that Brent and I could not only astral project, but also move objects with our minds. Telekinesis was a rare skill, even for those whose spirits could leave their bodies. Brent was much more skilled than I, but he’d been helping me strengthen my abilities. And no one but Brent, Cherie and Steve knew he’d been training me to manipulate the weather like he could. All in all, I hadn’t revealed anything the alumni wouldn’t have found out soon enough anyway, but somehow that didn’t brighten my mood.

I pressed the palms of my trembling hands into my eyes, fighting back tears, grateful for waterproof mascara. My neck and shoulders clenched from the tension and I rolled my head to the side to stretch my stiff muscles, feeling them relax. Everything was going to be okay. I exhaled slowly and opened my eyes. I had to bite back a scream. In front of me lay a large pool.

I’d been so upset I’d allowed myself to get within feet of it. No one knew how terrified I was of water since my death last year. The fear made sense, but still, it felt like a weakness, and I hated it. I avoided taking baths, going to the beach, or soaking in hot tubs. Even showers longer than a few minutes were frightening. And the smell of chorine almost completely debilitated me. Not even Brent knew how terrified I felt at the idea of swimming or going near a pool.

I forced myself to look at the water. It looked so tranquil and innocent. People were milling around the pool, carrying plates of food, laughing and mingling as floating candles bobbed in the water. But fear stung me like a thousand angry wasps as I watched the water twinkle and glisten in the light of the fading sun and the candles dancing along the surface.

I feared that if I went anywhere near the water, death would reach out to me with a siren song, trying to lure me back and retake what had been stolen. A strange sensation washed over me, a nibbling at the edges of my mind. It enticed me, calling in my ear, and my body stiffened. It sang for me, begging me to dive into its depth. Water had been doing that to me for months and I had a pretty good idea why. Death wanted me back.

Sweat trickled down my spine and suddenly I was on my feet—pulled by some irresistible urge—gliding toward the pool’s edge. I stood close enough now to see my reflection in the surface, but instead of my own image, memories of my death flashed before my eyes. The struggle, the weight of my dress, the buttons I couldn’t loosen, the battle against my fate, and the weight of the knowledge that help wasn’t going to arrive in time.

I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to block out the nightmarish reel of events. Behind the safety of closed lids, the lure of the pool quieted, freeing me from the hold the water had over me. Once the call was no more than a whisper, I wheeled around, forcing my eyes open and wound my way inside the house. I was shaking, terrified that I had almost given in to the water’s call. For a moment, I had been a girl possessed, and it scared me.

A waiter walked by and I grabbed another sparkling cider. I gulped it down, almost wishing for something stronger than cider. I paused when the hairs on the nape of my neck stood on alert. I recognized that feeling. Someone was watching me.

Chapter Two

My fingers gripped the stem of my glass, my suddenly sweaty palms mixing with the condensation on the crystal. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that of course I was being watched. I was here to parade around, flaunt my stuff and land an internship. Still, this felt different.

Pretending to look for someone, I turned casually and found a pair of green eyes studying me. A boy around my age—cute, in a boy-next-door kind of way—leaned against the stair railing. He was tanned, with wheat colored hair that looked like it needed a trim, and a freckled nose. I paused, waiting to see if he’d look away, but he didn’t. Instead he raised one eyebrow and lifted his glass to me.

He started in my direction, weaving through the crowd, his eyes never leaving me. I didn’t feel like making any more small talk. I wanted to cry on someone’s shoulder. Where were Brent and Cherie? My eyes swept the room and found Brent talking with Headmaster Farnsworth. Cherie and Steve were engrossed in a conversation with a gray-haired man I didn’t know. Brent must have felt my gaze; he glanced up and our eyes locked. He looked relieved to see me and began excusing himself.

“Hi,” the boy said when he stopped in front of me. Up close he looked familiar. A half formed image teased my memory, but it disappeared before I could grasp it.

“Hi,” I said, grabbing a shrimp appetizer from a passing waiter. I popped the shrimp in my mouth and chewed. “Some party, huh?”

“Yep, too bad it’s not a good one.” He smirked and took a swig of his drink.

My fingers fiddled with the amber beads of my necklace, and traced the wooden pendant, carved in the shape of the Pankurem flower. Touching this particular piece of jewelry comforted me. My vovó had given it to me last year and it had saved my life more than once. It had broken last year during my showdown with a ghost named Thomas and the first thing I’d done was re-string it. Now I never took it off, whether it matched what I wore or not.

As soon as Brent made his way to my side, one arm went around my waist. “Hey, I’m Brent.”

The stranger’s index finger tapped against his glass. “I’m DJ.”

“Nice to meet you, DJ,” Brent said. “Are you having a good time?”

“Yeah.” He leaned closer to the two of us. “You know, this house has some interesting stories that go along with it.” He sipped his drink again. “It’s rumored to be haunted.”

I sighed. Of course it would be haunted. Why would anything related to Pendrell not be creepy?

DJ grinned at me. “I heard your conversation earlier about believing in ghosts and thought that might catch your interest.”

Fantastic. Other people had overheard my conversation with the Seagers. I lifted my glass to my lips and eyed him carefully.

“I believe in ghosts, too,” he said when I didn’t respond.

“Hmm,” I muttered noncommittally.

“I didn’t always, but now I do.” He paused for a second, as if waiting for something. “This would be the point where you ask me why I now believe in ghosts, or who is rumored to haunt this house.”

DJ took a breath, giving me a chance to comment, but when I didn’t, he scrubbed his face with his free hand and apparently decided to broach the subject on his own. “In this case, it’s good ol’ Christopher Pendrell’s wife who haunts the house. They used to live here.”

DJ motioned to a large portrait hanging over the ancient brick fireplace. Within an expensive, gilded frame inlaid with an elaborate design, the man in the picture wore a puckered scowl that made him look as if he had sucked long and hard on a sour lemon. He wore a starched, high-collared shirt and his sideburns connected to his mustache. Despite the facial grimace, the oil painting was exquisite. Too bad it had such an unattractive subject.

“Who’s the guy in the painting?” Brent asked before I had the chance.

“That’s Christopher Pendrell. The founder of Pendrell Academy.”

“Good to know,” I said.

“You guys really didn’t know who he was? The founder of our school?” He sounded so incredulous you would think we’d never heard of the Declaration of Independence. He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Will you guys come upstairs with me? There’s something I want to show you.”

He began walking up the stairs backwards, his eyes never leaving mine. “Christopher Pendrell’s wife died here in the house, and under some very suspicious circumstances.”

When I didn’t budge, he came back down a few steps. “There’s a picture of her up there and I want to show it to you. That’s it. What do you think I’m going to do to you in a house full of people?”

I groaned, dropping my head on Brent’s shoulder for a second. “What do you want? You just want me to see her face so I can tell you if her ghost is here?”

“Or anywhere else,” he said. “What if her ghost needs your help?”

Wow, he was really piling on the Waker Guilt—as I had dubbed it over the summer. Of course a ghost needed my help. I really wasn’t going to be allowed a single vacation day from ghosts.

DJ frowned. “Can’t you just take two minutes to come with me and look at her portrait?”

“Fine,” I agreed. The sooner I looked at the portrait and informed him I didn’t see her anywhere, the sooner Brent and I could leave. “Two minutes.”

“You sure?” Brent asked. “I know you wanted the day off.”

“Yeah, let’s just get this over with,” I mumbled to Brent as we followed DJ up the stairs.

“Um, I don’t think we’re supposed to be up here,” I said when DJ turned at the second floor landing and mounted the steps to the third floor.

“Don’t worry, I disabled the security cameras before I asked for your help.”

I hoped he was joking, but I decided I’d rather not know. The heels of my shoes clacked against the wood as I climbed up the stairs. My heart felt heavier with each step. An incredible sadness filled this part of the house, like an emotional black hole, devouring all the happiness. The stained glass image of the woman in mourning fit the mood perfectly. The third floor was deserted and DJ led us down a hallway adorned with a dozen antique portraits in polished, ornate frames. He stopped in front of one depicting a woman with auburn curls and a big smile.

“This is Sophia,” DJ explained, looking at me instead of the portrait. “She was the love of Christopher Pendrell’s life. They were very devoted to each other.”

I glanced down the hall over my shoulder, and then turned toward DJ. “I haven’t seen her.”

He ignored my interruption and kept talking. “Christopher was a car enthusiast and always watched the Grand Avenue races. He never drove in them but always placed a bet or two on the race and watched from the front row. Sophia hated it. She thought the races were dangerous, and the betting was a waste of money.”

“Hard to be dangerous when you’re driving fifteen miles an hour,” Brent said with a snort, leaning against the wall and pulling me with him.

“More like a hundred.”

“Really?” Brent’s eyebrows crinkled together. “They drove that fast a hundred years ago? What kind of engine—” He shook his head, refocusing. “Never mind.”

“Sophia was right about the danger,” DJ continued. “There was an accident. One of the cars lost a wheel and rolled into the crowd. A few people died, including the driver, and several more were injured. Christopher was one of them. A piece of the car hit him in the head. He was taken to a hospital and died of a heart attack a few days later. Sophia took it pretty hard and died herself two months later.”