Indelible (3 page)

“She died of a broken heart?” That was sort of sweet, I supposed, if a little overly sentimental, but it explained the grief I felt.

“Nope. Broken neck. She took a tumble down the stairs.” He jerked his head towards the stairs we’d just climbed. They were narrow, steep and unforgiving. Shivering, I imagined how easily someone could lose their footing, especially in the dark. He paused for a moment, studying my expression. “Rumor has it she was pushed.”

I turned away from the staircase to look at him. “Do the rumors say why?”

He lowered his voice, his eyes darting around as though he expected someone to come looking for him. “Christopher left something important in her possession. Someone wanted it, and she wouldn’t give it to them.”

My forehead furrowed. “So they killed her?” No wonder the house was said to be haunted. Violent deaths, especially murders, often left ghosts behind, and sometimes even non-Wakers could sense their presence. They couldn’t communicate with the spirits, though. That was what made Wakers different, or as my vovó insisted ‘
abençoada
,’ blessed. I, however, occasionally felt the word ‘freak’ described us better. Still, I found myself intrigued by the story DJ spun. “What was it that they wanted?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. But they say her ghost still guards it.”

“As dramatic as that story is, I haven’t see–” I started, but then something stirred on the edge of my peripheral vision. The corridor temperature dropped so quickly that one breath was normal and the next hung in the air like a white fog. The smell of jasmine drifted down the hallway, accompanied by a feeling of longing so strong it brought tears to my eyes.

Sophia’s thin, spectral figure stood between the curtains, her dress swirling in an unseen breeze, her auburn curls bouncing as she rocked back and forth in front of the window. She looked out into the night like she was waiting for something or someone. The hallway was dimly lit, but she stood deep in the shadows, her auburn hair and white gauzy dress the only spots of color in the near darkness. She turned and walked past without even noticing us.

Like most of the other ghosts I’d seen, she looked alive. Unlike in some movies, ghosts didn’t look transparent; they appeared solid, real. Being a Waker gave me a sixth sense, one that was attuned with the dead. It allowed me to sense them with more than just my eyes. I could feel them. It turned out that connection was a two-way street. After a few minutes, they usually noticed me too. That was when my life usually got complicated.

“What is it? Do you see her?” DJ asked. He swung his head to look where I was staring, but the smirk on his face told me that no matter his claims, he didn’t believe in ghosts.

“Ssshhh!” I whispered. Vovó believed that it was often best to observe ghosts without their knowledge. It gave you insights to them they might not want someone to know. I tried to look casual and leaned against the banister, staring at the photographs. I could still see her out of the corner of my eye.

“They’ll never get it,” Sophia said to herself. “The fools.” She turned and walked back toward the window, peering out expectantly once more. Perhaps she was waiting for her husband to come home and had no way of knowing he never would. Maybe she did this every night, trapped in an endless loop like the one I had been stuck in last year.

She raised her hand and ran it along the wall beside her, still gazing intently into the night. As she repeated the motion, she kept pausing in the same spot, above a knot in the walnut wood. Her slender shoulders relaxed visibly as she rubbed the surface, her forehead resting against the heavily paned window.

“They’ll never get it. I’ll die first.” She repeated her words three times, and I realized suddenly I couldn’t look away. The movement of her dress, her murmured words, and her repetitive motions all washed over me. I felt odd, hypnotized, drawn into her obsession.

In the next instant, her light brown eyes locked into mine; she knew that I could see her. Her delicately painted lips dropped open in surprise. She narrowed her eyes, and vanished.

“Hey! Are you okay?” Brent asked, squeezing my hands and looking straight into my eyes. “You spaced out for a second.”

“She was here,” I said without thinking, still locked in the hypnotic daze Sophia had entangled me in. Automatically—almost against my will—I walked toward the window and modeled myself into the same stance she had taken as she stared out into the moonlit night. A feeling of raw grief clamped over my heart with such force that I had to place one hand over my mouth to restrain a sob.

“They’ll never get it,” I said as if the words had been mine and not hers. My hand rose involuntarily, rubbing the wall where she had touched, and paused above the knot in the wood. As I pressed the knot, the wood gave way at my touch. A squeaky groan of rusted metal emanated from within and a small section of the wall slid up, revealing a shelf inside. The sound shocked me out of my fogged mental state. The trance lifted and my temples pulsed as the hazy feeling slowly evaporated. My eyes rested on the compartment and the item in the shelf wrapped in a yellowed cloth.

“Whoa. What is that?” Brent asked, coming to stand beside me.

“How did you know how to do that?” DJ asked his expression flickering between suspicion and awe.

I shook my head, not ready to explain. Unsteady on my feet, I took a step back, pulling my hand away. The secret compartment clicked closed.

“How?” DJ pressed. There was urgency in his voice.

“Sophia. She touched the wall and said no one would find it.”

He suddenly looked pale. He turned back toward the wall, pushing the compartment open and closed, then open again, the squeaking of its hinges the only sound on the third floor.

Finally DJ turned back toward us. “You can’t be serious. You couldn’t have seen her ghost.”

I gritted my teeth. I’d had enough of non-believers tonight. “You’ve caught me. I made up the whole thing. I knew where the compartment was and I lured you up here so I could perform a party trick.”

DJ’s eyebrows pulled together. “So, Yara . . . you really can see ghosts.”

I felt another prickling of memories I couldn’t quite grasp. But something else he said jumped out at me. “How do you know my name? I never told it to you.”

DJ opened his mouth, I assumed to deny it, but I didn’t give him the chance.

“I knew you seemed familiar. How do I know you?”

“Why wouldn’t I know your name? I searched you out, didn’t I?” he countered.

I crossed my arms and took a step closer to Brent, making sure that we had clear access to the stairs in case we needed to bolt. “Cut the crap. Who are you? How do you know about me?”

He gave me an enigmatic smile. “Everyone knows about you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

The smile dropped and he looked over my shoulder toward the stairs and the party below. “Look, Yara, I need your help,” DJ said, his voice losing confidence as he leveled with me. “We all do.”

“We?” I asked pointedly. “Who’s ‘we’? What type of help?”

He opened his mouth to say something but all that came out was a grunt. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “I’m not allowed to tell you.”

Brent guffawed. “Of course you’re not.”

“I can’t,” DJ said, his mouth set in a firm line. “They already have me. And the two of you are next.”

“Next?” I asked. “Okay, now you’re trying to freak me out.” He reached out to me but I took a step back. “I don’t want to get involved in whatever game you’re playing.”

His hand hung in the air for a second before dropping to his side. “It’s not a game. And it doesn’t matter what you want. You’re already involved.”

A feeling of dread shimmied down my spine. “No, I’m not,” I said with a firm shake of the head. “And neither is Brent.”

DJ reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out an envelope. “I happened to come across this. It begs to differ.” A series of questions were on the edge of my tongue but he shoved the envelope at me. “Just look at it.”

Brent grabbed the envelope and quickly tore it open. A stack of glossy photos spilled out into his hand, but the light was too dim to make them out so he walked closer to the stairs, stopping under one of the sconces. He squinted at the pictures in his hand briefly before his jaw clenched.

“What is it?” I asked warily, walking toward him, DJ hard on my heels.

Brent pulled a few from the stack and thrust them at me. They were all photos of us.

In the first, I was walking through an outdoor market, rubbing my arms against the cold humidity of the Brazilian winter. The next one had Brent at the beach on his lifeguard tower. The stack held a dozen others: me delivering herbs with Vovó, Brent and Steve picking up fast food, on and on. We hadn’t posed for any of them, and we certainly hadn’t been aware they were being taken. I held up one of Brent and me taken the day before I left for Brazil, staring at it as though I could force it to explain how it had been taken.

“There’s something written on the back,” Brent said. He grabbed the photo and flipped it over. This was crazy. Things like this only happened in spy movies. I brought the picture closer and scanned the red-ink scrawl.

They know who you are. They know what you can do. They want to own you.

The blood drained from my face and I felt woozy. Brent gently pulled me into his embrace as he turned the picture back over and studied the shot. It all seemed so sinister.

“Who are these people?” I demanded, turning to look back at DJ, but he was nowhere in sight. “Where did he go?”

“No idea. Probably down the stairs.” Brent frowned and shoved the pictures back into the envelope. “It has to be a joke. A cruel, sick one.” He stuffed the envelope into his pocket. “We don’t want to leave these lying around, though. Let’s go.”

“Wait,” I said, my gaze cutting towards the secret compartment.

Brent’s eyes followed mine and he raised an eyebrow, a small smile on his face. “I thought you wanted the day off.”

“Yeah, but this is what I’ve been training for. If I’m going to help this ghost, I have to see what she’s protecting.”

Brent held my hand tightly as we walked back to the compartment. My fingers pressed the knot and the catch sprang loose. Brent eagerly leaned forward, peering into the dark recess, and then frowned.

“What?” I asked, suddenly worried. “What’s in there?”

“Nothing,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing for me to take a look.

“What?” I took his spot. “I swear, there was something in there earlier.”

“Well, whatever it was is gone now.”

As soon as he said that, I knew what had happened. “DJ. He must have pocketed it when he was playing with the latch. He can’t have gotten far. We have to find him,” I said, taking Brent’s hand and pulling him towards the stairs. We’d only gone two steps when my skin broke out in goose pimples from a sudden drop in the temperature. Sophia materialized at the edge of the stairs, her eyes sparking with anger and her hands clenched in fists. She stalked toward us, each step dropping the temperature even further. I stopped so fast that Brent slammed into my back.

“What’s wrong?”

“Sophia is blocking our path and she does not look happy.” I felt ashamed by how afraid I was, but the fury in her eyes dissolved all thoughts about my ability to help her.

“So? She’s a ghost. They can’t touch the living, right?”

“Uh-huh.” I still didn’t move.

“And you’re wearing your necklace, right?” Brent whispered.

“Yes.” I patted the flower pendant for reassurance.

“Then let’s go.”

He had a point. As long as I wore the Pankurem necklace, a ghost couldn’t touch me. Encased in its amber beads was a plant called Pankurem, which acted as a spirit— and body—guard. Not only did it protect the wearer—or the person who had ingested some—from a ghost that might want to harm them, but protected the body of whoever could project from having their body snatched while soulless. Sophia, no matter how terrifying she seemed, was just a single specter. I knew he was right, that she shouldn’t be able to touch me, but it was hard to walk toward a ghost who looked like she wanted to fillet me alive.

I took a deep breath before taking a step forward. I just had to remind myself I wasn’t supposed to be afraid of ghosts.

“Where is it?” she hissed, her fear and fury slamming against me. I backtracked into Brent, crushing his toes under my heels. “You took it!”

“Back up, back up, back up,” I whispered to Brent. He listened and we started slinking further into the depths of the third floor. I turned toward Sophia. “I didn’t take it.”

Her hands flew to her face, her eyes widened impossibly, and a heartbreaking wail burst from her.

“It’s gone!” she wailed. “All these years! It’s gone!”

Her red curls straightened, standing on end like she’d put her finger in a light socket. Her scream cut off and she grew to twice her size, her pale skin flaming red. She seemed to morph before my eyes from a proper, if angry, socialite, to fury-fueled psychopath. The heat of her anger washed over me like scalding water.

Brent’s hand tightened on my arms as we distanced ourselves from the stairs. My eyes never left Sophia. I knew she needed help, but it was hard to think of helping her when I was afraid she was going to kill me.

“This is your fault,” Sophia screamed.

She surged forward, her face contorted with rage. Despite my confidence in my necklace’s protection, I recoiled against Brent as she reached for me. I didn’t flinch as her nails drew near, expecting them to slide right through me. But not only did her fingers connect with me, they melted through my skin, closing around my spirit’s wrist. I gasped as pain lanced through my wrist and radiated up my arm. For a split second she paused, like she too was surprised, but then her eyes glinted with something horrible.

“Do you know what you’ve done?” she shrieked at me, her voice crashing against my eardrums. The ghost’s deranged howls filled my ears as her glowing red eyes made my insides shudder. “You led them here.”

I blinked in confusion at her hand on my wrist. She shouldn’t have been able to touch me. She shouldn’t have been able to hurt me. But she did, on both accounts. Terror washed through me as she yanked hard on my wrist. My spirit rattled inside my body, my ghostly head smacking against my physical skull.