Indelible
Authors: Lani Woodland
Also by Lani Woodland
The Yara Silva Trilogy
Intrinsical
Pendrell Publishing
This is a work of Fiction, characters, names, places and incidents are either a product of the authors imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously
Copyright 2011 Michele Tolley
The scanning, uploading or distributing of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of Author rights is appreciated.
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First Edition 2011
Library of Congress in Publication Data is Available
ISBN 978-0-9827297-2-4
ebook available
This book is typeset in Banbridge
Cover design by Alma Tait
Photography © 2010 Sweet Expressions Photography
Pendrell Publishing
Los Angeles California
For my Handsome Husband:
Who sat beside me for many hours helping me craft this story. His faith in me gave me the
motivation to keep going and the strength to finish.
I love you, Handsome!
Indelible::
Making marks that cannot be erased,
or removed,
That which cannot be
eliminated, forgotten, or changed,
Chapter One
Being stuck in California rush-hour traffic wasn’t nearly so bad when I had something to keep me busy. My current activity was kissing my boyfriend, Brent. We were trying to make up for the three months we had spent on different continents. I had been in Brazil and he’d been in California.
The metallic groan of brakes roused me from my kiss-induced haze. I turned my head and the world swam back into focus. We were stopped in front of a historic home in Corona, California. Brent, who hadn’t anticipated my movement, ended up kissing my cheek.
“Are we already here?” I asked.
“Yes,” Cherie said from the front seat. “And what do you mean, already? We’ve been in the car for almost forty minutes.”
“And we’ve had to sit here and pretend not to hear you lips smacking the whole drive,” Steve added, looking at Brent in the rearview mirror.
Brent glanced toward our friends in mock surprise. “Hey look, Yara, there’s someone driving the car.”
“Ha, ha,” Cherie grumbled. “You two haven’t come up for air since we picked Yara up from the airport.”
“Circle the block,” Brent instructed. “I’m not done kissing her yet.” His velvet soft lips found mine again. He was the oxygen I had been deprived of all summer and I willingly kissed him back.
“We’re not circling the block,” Cherie said. “She didn’t come back a day early from Brazil so you could make out with her. She’s here for the school party.”
“It isn’t just any party,” Steve corrected in a sarcastic voice. “It’s the Pendrell Academy Internship Party.”
Cherie waved away his interruption. “Who cares what it’s called? What matters is, the drive’s over. She’s mine now.”
“Hey!” Brent scowled at Cherie. “I bought you a mani-pedi for sole access today.”
“Dude.” Steve dropped his chin to his chest and reached his hand back between the seats. “Hand it over.”
Brent slapped his outstretched hand.
“No.” Steve wiped his hand on his slacks while shaking his head. “You don’t get to give me five. Hand over your Man Card. I can’t believe you used the phrase ‘mani-pedi.’”
“Shut up.” Brent smacked the back of Steve’s head. “I only know it because of your girlfriend. She’s a ruthless negotiator.”
“And you should have checked the fine print.” Cherie said. “Our agreement was for the drive here. We’re here. It’s my turn. I haven’t even hugged her yet.”
With that she jumped out of the car, opened my door and pulled me out into a tight hug.
When Cherie let go of me she took Steve’s outstretched arm and turned toward the Alumni House, where the party was already in full-swing. Brent was lightning-quick to take advantage of her distraction. He pulled me back a few steps and wrapped his arms around me as I smiled and snuggled in closer. I breathed in his citrusy-musky scent. That simple smell held a complex mixture of desire, comfort, longing, and a feeling of being whole.
“I missed you,” he mumbled into my hair.
“I missed you too,” I said. I gave him another long, slow kiss.
“Keep kissing me like that, please. I’m not ready to go in yet.” Brent rested his forehead against my temple, his breathing still a bit ragged, while his fingers slid through my hair. I angled my head so I could stare into his dark, chocolate-brown eyes. I had missed the privilege of gazing at him whenever I wanted.
“Your kisses are better than I remember,” I said.
“Thank you. I practiced a lot while you were gone.” He brushed his lips across mine.
“Ha, ha.”
“So, Yara,” Steve said as he and Cherie walked back to where we stood. “From fledging Waker to all-powerful, right?”
“I’m up for Waker of the year,” I said, rolling my eyes. If only I really were all-powerful. Despite three months of Waker-training in Brazil with Vovó, my grandma, I still felt as though I knew nothing. Vovó always made it look so easy, being able to see and talk with the dead, like it is in the movies. If only. It took work and practice to develop the skills and instincts you needed to know how best to help a spirit cross over. One thing I had definitely learned was that I had so much more to learn. It would take years to become even half as comfortable, strong and knowledgeable as Vovó.
My studies over the summer would have gone better if I could have convinced myself that I actually wanted to be a Waker. I’d spent most of my life hoping I’d never be able to see ghosts, but last year my ability had developed and changed my life forever.
So, instead of spending the summer in California hanging out with Brent while he worked as a lifeguard or Cherie as she volunteered at the Senior Center, I had been sent to Brazil. I didn’t feel like I had absorbed as much information as my grandma had wanted about things like which herbs to burn while dealing with a depressed ghost—we met one who refused to get out of the bed he haunted because he didn’t think his afterlife was worth living—but I knew some of her teachings had stuck.
“Actually, I do think I might have gotten stronger.”
“How so?” Cherie asked.
“I didn’t see any ghosts when I flew out, but I noticed lots of them all over the airport when I got back.”
“Really? That’s awesome!” Cherie’s usual enthusiasm for anything paranormal sparked in her eyes “Did you talk to any of them?”
“No, I ignored them. I didn’t really have time. Besides, I didn’t want to deal with ghosts today. I’ve done it all summer and I wanted the day off, so I pretended I couldn’t see them. And I . . . wasn’t sure what to do.”
Steve’s eyebrows drew together. “But isn’t that what you learned this summer? How to deal with them?”
“Kind of,” I said. “I watched Vovó guide a couple of ghosts into the light, but she did all the work. I sort of assisted. I’ve never done it alone before.” I shrugged and tugged on the end of my blazer. “I’m not sure how to help them. Even if I knew how to help, it’s not like I can just talk to them in public. People will think I’m crazy.”
I fingered the scar above my left eye: a present given to me by a rock-throwing boyfriend in second grade when I told him that my grandma had seen his dead mother’s spirit. It stood as a reminder that people could inflict physical and emotional pain when they learned of my ability.
“So you’re nervous, not sure what to do, and you’re making up excuses,” Brent summed up.
I grimaced and dropped my hand. Sometimes I wished he didn’t know me so well. “Yeah, pretty much. But there were at least sixty ghosts at the airport. It would’ve taken hours to help them all. How do I choose which ones to help first?”
Brent’s forehead wrinkled. “Isn’t there a section on ghost triage in the Waker guide book?”
I smiled despite my emotional turmoil. “I wish.” Their questions only served to shine light on my own insecurities, the ones I was trying to ignore. What good was getting stronger if I still had no idea what to do with my ability? Part of me worried that the summer had been a waste of time.
I leaned against Brent, resting my forehead against his cheek, but jerked back. “Brent, you’re hot.”
Brent grinned lazily and puffed up his chest. “Thank you. It’s a burden I must bear.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Okay, you’re hot, but that’s not what I mean. You feel feverish.”
He shrugged. “I feel fine. Maybe you just haven’t picked up on the fact that you’re in a different hemisphere. It’s summer now, not winter. We’re all overheating here.”
“Oh, right,” I said, remembering that the season had suddenly shifted on me. “It’ll take me awhile to get used to the heat. But at least it won’t be as humid.” Brazil’s humidity had played havoc on my hair.
“I still can’t believe your parents let you fly alone,” Cherie said.
Honestly, I couldn’t either. And if it hadn’t been for the party tonight, they wouldn’t have. My mother had been over-protective since my near-drowning last year. I had made the mistake of telling her that it wasn’t so much of a near-drowning as a real one. Even though I was alive and well, my mom had still freaked out that I had been dead for a while.
So I was just as surprised as Cherie when mom agreed to let me fly without them. Still, I decided to play it off. “Why? It’s not like I’m five. I’m spending the night at your house and they’re coming tomorrow. They didn’t want me to miss the party tonight.”
“It sucks I have to wear a tie,” Brent said. He hadn’t knotted his yet and it draped loosely around his neck. The top button of his dress shirt still hung undone.
“You look nice in a tie.” I picked up the ends of his blue tie and knotted it in a Half Windsor for him, making sure it hung straight.
“But how does a tie make me more valuable as an intern? I don’t even want an internship. All it means is less time for homework and even less time with you.”
“I know.” I fastened his top button, tightened the now perfect knot, and adjusted his collar. “I tried to learn who goes with what company and which internship I really want, but gave up. I just hope someone wants me.”
I glanced down at my black pencil skirt, silk shirt and matching jacket. I felt like a kid playing dress-up in one of her mother’s business suits. Business attire wasn’t my usual style but it was expected tonight. This was our chance to wow the alums who would be giving out the senior internships.
All the seniors at Pendrell Academy, our boarding school, were required to intern at a local business, government agency or non-profit organization a couple hours every school day until graduation. Most of these internship opportunities were offered by Pendrell alumni, who would be at the party tonight. They’d meet us all and then pick their favorites to work with for the year.
I think it was also meant to inspire us. To let us see how successful we could be. How successful so many of the alumni already were. And it was meant to be a lesson in networking. The right recommendation letter from an important alumnus would be a huge plus on a college application.
“I want this over with already,” Brent grumbled. I stepped back and surveyed my last-minute fixes. They hadn’t been necessary. With his slightly disarrayed sable brown hair, his broad shoulders, and his thumbs tucked casually in his pockets, Brent looked like he’d been born to wear a suit. The slacks and jacket looked tailored just for him—which, from what I knew of his parents, they probably were. And as miserable as I knew he was, he seemed like he’d fit perfectly into this kind of life. He sighed and grabbed my hand to pull me closer to him.
“I say we ditch this,” Brent suggested. “School doesn’t start for another three days. It’s still summer vacation.”
“I’m game.” Cherie shook her head. “But my parents would kill me. They have informed me that the networking I do tonight—” Cherie cleared her throat and adapted a scarily accurate imitation of her mother’s voice, “—may have long-reaching effects on my career.”
We all laughed and I took a moment to look around the neighborhood. The Alumni House was located in the heart of downtown Corona, right on Grand Avenue. Grand was the street that had earned Corona its nickname, the Circle City, because the street formed a perfect three-mile circle around the city. In fact, it had once been used as a racetrack, hosting some international races in the early 1900s.
I loved Grand Avenue, even though I didn’t make it to this part of town very often. It gave the city character. Since it had once been the center of town, most of the Victorian houses still left in Corona were built on or around Grand Avenue. Some of the homes looked shabby, but most had been well cared for or lovingly restored.
Brent turned me toward the Alumni House. A large event tent had been spread out in the back yard and decorated with miniature lights. I was glad that we would be outside. Beautiful or not, the house looked too small to accommodate over a hundred people, especially in the lazy August heat.
I forced a smile on my face as I curved my hand around Brent’s elbow. We followed behind Steve who guided Cherie up the candle-lined walkway and stopped in front of the sign-in desk.
Mr. Tait, Brent’s swim coach, tapped his watch. “Cutting it close.” He gave us each a name-tag and we were pushed through the door.
Nobody built houses like this anymore. Its dark, wooden walls radiated an almost tangible history, but not necessarily a pleasant one. The house felt sad, melancholy, like an old song that brought up painful memories.
Even the art seemed morose. A stained glass window adorned the top of the stairs, probably original to the house. In it, a woman knelt, weeping, the head of a fallen soldier resting on her lap, his broken body nestled in her arms. Her blue glass tears wet his closed eyes.
I didn’t have more than a couple of seconds to take it in, though. The house was so full that we had to push our way to the right and into the crowded sitting room. We soon lost Cherie and Steve in the crowd. There didn’t seem to be enough air to share; the press of bodies was almost claustrophobic. The mingled scent of perfumes overwhelmed the aroma of the fresh flowers arranged around the room.
A waiter approached, holding out a tray laden with several glasses of sparkling apple cider. “Would you like a beverage, Miss?”
“Yes, thank you.” I grasped the long, slender stem of the glass and took a drink as we made our way outside to the tent. “Where should we start?” I asked Brent, letting my gaze roam over the throng.
“My dad told me to find his friend,” he said, searching the faces for one he would recognize.
“Where is your dad? He’s an alumnus, right?”
“He couldn’t get out of a business trip, but he gets back late tonight.” Brent gestured to a middle-aged man standing on the outskirts of the crowd. “That’s the guy. Mr. Seager!” he called out, and the man looked up and smiled, waving for us to come over.
I followed Brent through the maze of people until we reached a small garden with recessed benches where Mr. Seager and a woman I guessed to be his wife stood talking with several other alumni. As we approached, they excused themselves from their friends and greeted us. Brent immediately turned on the charm. His family had been attending Pendrell Academy for generations and he’d been groomed for this since elementary school. Unlike me, Brent fit seamlessly into Pendrell’s polished world. Despite my great-grandfather being an alumnus, these sorts of events made me feel like a triangle being stuffed into a round hole. I sipped cider from my fancy glass, smiled when necessary, and added comments when I could.
