Indelible (9 page)

“I know.” And I did. “I’m just being stupid. I want to avoid everything that is even remotely linked to the curse this year.”

“And aside from this building, which he no longer haunts, you will.” He let go of my chin and faced the building, taking a deep breath. “It doesn’t even look the same anymore.”

Despite his reassurances, an undefined sense of gloom floated above me like a dark rain cloud. My fingers absently rubbed the hand-shaped bruise still on my wrist. I didn’t want to say it out loud, but the mark only heightened the ominous feeling that death still awaited me, and with the smallest misstep, it would claim me once more.

“It’s not just the building,” I finally admitted. “There were guys following us last night.”

“Yeah. I haven’t forgotten them. But it’s going to be okay.” Brent dropped his forehead so it rested against mine before lowering his lips for a soft kiss. “I love you.”

The anxiety in my soul quieted as I entwined my hands behind his neck. “I love you too.”

He stopped, and pulled away slightly.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing. I just . . . pictured your dad holding that sword.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “Bok, bok,” I teased.

“Shut up,” he said, not meaning it, and pulling me forward. “You weren’t the one at the pointed end of it.”   He turned me so I faced the building. “Are you really afraid?”

I looked at the beautiful building. “No, you’re right.”

“See,” Brent said with a grin, as we walked up the front steps. “Nothing to worry about.”

He pulled open the heavy door and motioned for me to go in ahead of him. We stepped into a gorgeous foyer and although I glanced at the reception desk off to the left, my eyes were immediately drawn to the room itself. Sleek leather couches, shining coffee tables, soft lush carpeting, and a baby grand piano occupied the large room. Above a huge fireplace rested a painting of the Pendrell campus. Crystal sconces adorned the walls, a glass chandelier hung from the ceiling, and bright floral arrangements accented the room.

“Can I help you?” a friendly voice asked. A beautiful girl with black hair, maybe a few years older than we were, sat at a plush office chair behind the information desk.

“We’re your interns,” Brent said.

“Brent and Yara?”

“That’s us.”

She smiled warmly. “Hi. I’m Alma. I’m the liaison between the two branches of the Alumni House. Which is a fancy way of saying I’m in charge of making sure everything we kept at the old Alumni House gets here okay. It’s been a slow process.”

“So, where do you want us?” I asked.

“Let me find out where Lesley is. You’ll be working with her.” Alma picked up the phone and pushed a few buttons. “Hi, Lesley. They’re here. Are you free to start training them? Uh-huh . . . okay . . . great. I’ll send them up to you.” She hung up the phone and pointed down the hallway almost directly in front of her. “Down there is a set of stairs. At the top of those, you’ll find Lesley in our records room.”

Brent and I followed her directions and entered a room filled with cardboard boxes and rows of gray filing cabinets.

“Hello?” Brent called.

“Hi.” A woman poked her head out from one of the stacks of boxes, and slowly wound her way through the maze. She had short brown hair styled into a sleek bob. She held up her hands. “I would offer to shake your hands but mine are all dusty. I’m Lesley. Welcome to Pendrell’s records room.”

“Are we going to be organizing this?” I asked, hoping the answer was yes. I loved a good organization project.

Lesley wiped her hands on her black slacks and laughed. “No. That’s my job. I get to file all this away after I digitize it. You’ll be doing the unglamorous, but important job of making copies, collating and filing.”

Lesley showed us to a small adjoining room. The murmuring sound of hushed conversations greeted us. The room contained about a dozen cubicles; most occupied people seated in front of computer screens speaking into headsets, clacking on their keyboards, or doing other mundane office tasks. Lesley guided us to our own pair of adjacent cubicles. She sent Brent to pick up the papers we’d be collating from a man across the room. My eyes followed Brent as he walked away and then scanned the other faces in the room. No one looked familiar, but as I sat down, I caught sight of a face I knew and almost missed my chair.

DJ.

“You!” I started, but cut off the flow of words when he shook his head and kept walking. Lesley had caught sight of him just as I had, and waved him over. She pulled a note out of her pocket, handed it to him, and whispered something into his ear. He nodded, flashed her a grin, and exited the room, all without acknowledging me once. I blinked after him, wondering why he didn’t want to talk.

When Brent returned, Lesley began explaining what we were supposed to do. I tried to focus, but I only caught about half of her instructions. I was too busy trying to figure out the significance of DJ’s headshake. Did he not want Lesley to know we had met? Why not? Did she have something to do with the photos of me? I studied her as she moved between the cubicles. She seemed so nice; it didn’t seem possible for her to be involved in anything sinister. I shook out my tingling wrist before sorting the stack of papers she’d given me, thinking maybe Sophia had pinched a nerve in my hand during our scuffle. I shuffled through my papers and forced thoughts of DJ out of my mind.

v

Aside from my bathroom break, during which I almost got lost searching for DJ, I stayed seated in the padded leather chair for three hours. When four o’clock rolled around, I stood and stretched, letting out a sigh of relief that I was done for the day. I collected my finished folders and put them in the appropriate stacks. On second thought, I picked up Brent’s folders as well, so he wouldn’t be late for cross country practice. He gave me a grateful grin and a kiss on the cheek before hurrying on his way.

I followed him into the hallway, trying to remember where Lesley had said to leave our work at the end of the day. I had been focusing on the DJ situation and only vaguely remembered something about turning left and going down the . . . third hallway to the fourth door? Or was it the fourth hallway and the third door? Not sure which, I decided to try them in order.

Several people were congregated in the hallway, talking by the water cooler. I navigated around them, inhaling the lemon-scented polish the janitor must have used.

The third hallway was short, with several doors branching off into private offices. I tried the fourth door at the very end. It was ajar and I pushed it open, expecting Lesley’s office. Instead, a blast of warm, unconditioned air hit me and I squinted into the huge, dark space.

“Wrong room,” I murmured to myself.

I turned to go when something clattered to the floor behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw my pencil box lying open with its contents of pens, erasers and number two pencils littered across the floor. I groaned in frustration as I watched my favorite mango-flavored lip gloss roll across the floor and into the darkness. I un-slung my backpack to check it out and found the smallest compartment, which I knew I had zipped up, hanging open. My MP3 player dangled precariously from the open pocket. I grabbed it before it could fall, but lost my grip on the folders, spilling papers into the room.

“Great,” I muttered. My fingers groped the walls, searching until they found the light switch. Yellow fluorescent lights flickered to life. They were old, and several of the bulbs had burned out, leaving the room poorly lit.

The room was as big and high as a basketball court, which maybe it had been. Construction wasn’t finished in this area yet and it seemed to be trying to bridge the gap between the new building and the old. Half the walls were paneled in expensive wood, the other nothing but studs and sheet rock. Plastic tarps hung from walls, two by fours lay heaped in piles next to power drills, saws, and hammers. Bent nails were strewn across the floor, and the chalky smell of dry wall dust lingered in the air.

I stepped in to collect my stuff and the fallen paperwork, the door clicking shut behind me. My mango lip gloss was covered in dust and I brushed it off before shoving it back in my bag. I didn’t bother doing that with the rest of my pencil box stuff. It took almost forty-five minutes to sort the papers into the right folders again. After gathering everything, I reached for the door. It was locked.

I banged loudly, hoping someone would hear me, but no one responded. After a few more futile knocks and one kick for good measure, I rested my back against the door, hoping there was another way out. On the far side of the room, behind a wall of clear plastic sheeting, I spied what looked like a hallway. I wound my way through the stacks of lumber and equipment and pushed aside the plastic curtain that had been protecting the finished wood from the construction mess.

There were no lights in the hallway, and I couldn’t judge how far it went or what lay at the end. But seeing no other option, I decided to enter the narrow passage when the door I had been banging at swung open.

“Why is this light on?” A deep voice asked, footsteps echoing around the room. “Is someone in here?” I heard the door swing closed again.

I twisted toward my rescuer with a grin.

“Yes! Um, I am. Hi.” I backtracked through the plastic sheet, giving him an awkward wave as I parted the curtain. I had expected to see a construction worker. Instead I saw a man wearing a well-tailored suit, a silk tie, and an unfriendly scowl.

“You seem to have taken a wrong turn,” the deep voice rumbled. “This area is off limits for students.”

“I got lost trying to turn in my paperwork,” I explained, gesturing to my folders.

His scowl turned into something almost like a smile. “Ah, you were looking for Lesley’s office.”

“Um… yeah. I’m one of her interns, Yara Silva.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. I’m Mr. Crosby. The assistant headmaster.” He stuck out his hand and shook mine. I vaguely remembered him as one of the speakers at the internship party. Up close, I judged him to be in his mid-forties with black hair, gray lining the edges of his temples, and cool blue eyes.

“Right.”

“Nice to meet you, Yara.” He gave me a full-on politician smile, and my memory of him at the party became sharper. I remembered that grin. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“You have?”

“Yes, I had to approve all the internships. Several alumni wanted to work with you. But thanks to your organizational skills, Headmaster Farnsworth decided to place you here. But students aren’t supposed to be in this area. A student in our construction zone could wreak havoc on our insurance policy.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go anywhere I wasn’t supposed to. My paperwork fell and the door locked behind me when I went to pick it up.”

“Ah,” he said, still sporting that too-wide grin. “It’s a good thing for you I was checking out the progress on the construction in this area, or you could have been stuck in here for a long time. This room has very thick walls. I doubt anyone would have heard you call for help.”

“Oh.” I took an involuntary step toward the door. “That would’ve been bad.”

“Indeed.” Mr. Crosby checked his watch. “Be more careful from now on. Let’s get you out of here.” He pulled out a ring of keys, walked me back to the door, and unlocked it. “I apologize for this. We really need to put a sign outside, to let people know it’s a construction zone.” He held the door open for me and gestured for me to step outside. He grabbed a large cinder block and propped the door open. “Would you ask Lesley to come see me on your way out?”

“Of course. Nice to meet you.” I shook his hand again.

“Likewise. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

v

When I got back to my room, I felt exhausted. But then I flipped on the light and my mouth fell open. It looked like a tornado had hit. Drawers had been opened and ransacked, all of the clothes in my closet had been dropped on my bed and paper carpeted the floor. The smell of Cherie’s perfume was heavy in the air, so thick I could almost taste it.

What had happened? Had the guys following me found my room? Was Cherie okay? I stepped forward, my legs feeling like over-cooked spaghetti noodles.

“Cherie?”

Something thudded behind me. I jumped around to find an open-mouthed Cherie standing in the doorway, her backpack at her feet.

“Were we robbed?” she asked.

I threw myself at her, hugging her tight. “I was afraid you were here when it happened.”

She pushed past me and circled our room, her fingers trailing over her ripped band posters, her pillow that had been de-stuffed and her overturned jewelry box. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

Cherie ground her teeth, looking completely ticked off. “I’m going to go get Mercedes and Mrs. Hewett.”

She took off down the hall and I stood alone in our room. My journal lay open on my desk, the cheap lock busted. It surprised me to see it there. I never thought anyone would find it in the false bottom of my jewelry box. I flipped through it, feeling violated. The ragged remains of ripped pages stuck out from the broken spine. It didn’t contain the normal juicy teenage secrets about making-out or school gossip. I wouldn’t even call it a diary. Mostly it contained things I had learned from Vovó over the summer about being a Waker: herbal blends and medical tips she had shared with me.

But there were other secrets I had hidden there: my experiences from last year, my fear of water, my abilities, Brent’s abilities. Goosebumps formed on my arms and my head pounded hard at the base of my skull. I couldn’t stand being alone in the room anymore. I retreated to the hallway and slumped against the glossy-painted cinder-block walls.

Mrs. Hewett, the dorm mom, walked toward me, followed by Cherie and Mercedes, the resident advisor for our floor. After inspecting the damage, she gave me a tight hug, like my own mom would have done, telling Mercedes to call campus security. Mrs. Hewett escorted Cherie and me downstairs to her personal suite of rooms.

We sat on her comfortable, floral-patterned sofa, drinking hot chocolate while the police and campus security nosed around. The warm liquid heated up my chilled insides. I hadn’t realized I was shaking until Mrs. Hewett tucked a blanket around Cherie and me. I felt surprisingly calm, almost numb, as if our room-trashing had only been a dream. The police questioned us briefly, asking us what had been stolen. With the room torn to shreds, it was hard to tell.