Indelible (16 page)

Cherie’s face fell. “Fine, don’t read it. I’ll tell you what it says. Right before the race, literally seconds before, a frantic man begged an official to call off the race because he had tampered with Bob Burman’s car wheel. But it was too late and the race started. The official asked why he would do such a thing, only to confess. The guy was acting crazy; said a man with checkered trousers and a handlebar mustache told him he should, and then for some reason, he did. After the race, no one could find the guy who tampered with it; after all, people traveled from all over to attend.”

“Really? I’ve never heard any of this before.” I picked up a bottle of lavender oil.

“I hadn’t either and I’ve done a ton of research on the race. I only found it mentioned in this one article.”

“Wow.”

“But wait there’s more.” Cherie held up her hands, her fingers spread excitedly apart. “After the accident, a woman was arrested for trying to steal an expensive diamond pin off the dying driver.”

“That’s horrible.” I took over driving the cart and guided it toward the produce aisle. I swear my grandma and I were the only reason they carried some of the items they did. But today I only needed some fresh fruit. I had a mango addiction and the cafeteria didn’t carry them.

“Yes, and when questioned, this woman was distraught. She said she had been minding her own business when a curly-haired man wearing a black suit, a bowler, and spectacles told her she needed to take the pin and give it to him. The next thing she knew, she had stuffed it in her corset, where the authorities found it.”

“Huh.”

“Now look at the picture again, taken on the morning of the race.”

I glanced back at the picture. My eyes darted between the images of Pendrell’s eldest two sons. I brought the picture closer to my face. I couldn’t be seeing what I thought I saw. Evan wore checkered pants and sported a handlebar mustache. Jesse’s hair was curly, and he had on a dark suit, a black bowler, and spectacles.

“You think that the two mystery men were the Pendrell boys? But how? Why?”

“I haven’t figured that part out yet, but I need to take a closer look at the sons. I also found an article that mentioned the Pendrell sons winning big in some side bets in that race.”

I handed the picture back, trying to process Cherie’s discovery and picked up a mango. By its firmness, I knew it was ready to eat, and I grabbed two more that would take a few days to ripen. Did Sophia’s death have to do with the events of the race? Did—

“That girl is either talking to herself, or a ghost,” Cherie said, nudging me with her elbow. I followed the motion of her chin to a girl a few years older than we were, with platinum blonde hair, talking with a man dressed in a butterfly-collared white shirt and mustard yellow pants. I pegged him at about thirty or so—at least he would have been if he were alive. She conversed freely with the spirit, like it happened every day, and didn’t seem to care that she was in public.

She sorted through the various herbs my grandma used, picking up wood betony, astragalus root, lemon balm and chamomile. Hilkepia and suntear were added to her bunch. I stared at her in shock. I’d never seen anyone use the last two except for Wakers like my grandma. She reached for another I didn’t recognize when the bracelet on her wrist flashed out from under her sweater. Amber beads surrounded the flower-shaped, wooden pendant. It looked like a matched set with my necklace. The girl and ghost moved to the checkout line.

I blinked several times, stunned. “Cherie. Did you see her bracelet?”

“I did.” Cherie grabbed a pumpkin from the Halloween display. “Is she a Waker?”

“Five minutes ago I would have said no, but . . . ” I rubbed my eyes and watched the girl walk out of the store. “I’ve never seen another Waker outside of Brazil before, but I guess she must be.”

Cherie guided our cart toward the checkout line. “An American Waker, huh?”

I placed our items on the conveyer belt. There were other Wakers in America? A support system? Maybe people who would understand what I was going through better than my grandma? I wanted to talk to her. To confirm what I had seen. The need and desire to talk to her was palpable. I glanced out the double-glass doors the girl had left through. “Hey, if I leave my ATM card with you, can you check me out?”

“Yeah, go find her.”

I raced out of the store. In the parking lot, a yellow car pulled away, a woman’s arm dangling out the window. I could see the wooden pendant of her bracelet fluttering in the breeze. I had missed her. Would I see her again? Were there more here? American Wakers? If that were true, what else didn’t I know about being a Waker?

v

One morning near the end of October, Cherie’s alarm woke me from a deep sleep. I mindlessly grabbed my bathroom bucket and made my way unsteadily down the hall. My bleary mind cleared a little as I splashed cold water onto my face, but it wasn’t enough to wake me completely. I plugged in my curling iron and dug out my brush. My cell phone buzzed on the counter next to me, and I picked it up.

“
Tudo bem, Querida
?”

I yawned. “Yes, everything’s fine, Vovó.”

“Any more signs of Sophia?”

“No, I’m still Sophia-free.”

Once her name left my lips, the room grew chilly. I breathed in the scent of Jasmine and shivered from the sudden cold. My phone fell from my hand and dropped with a splash in the sink when Sophia’s image materialized next to my reflection. A quick glance over my shoulder reassured me that she was only in the mirror. It still held her prisoner. She flattened her palm against the glass, curled up her finger and banged one manicured nail against the mirror.

Tap, tap, tap.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” Her perverse, twisted grin made my insides knot in dread.

Tap. Tap. TAP.

“This prison won’t keep me, forever.”

Her taps grew louder and more forceful; the mirror started to clank against the wall.

“Come closer, little Waker,” she purred in a hypnotic voice, her eyes meeting mine. I swayed toward her, leaning closer to the mirror, my palms sliding forward on the slick countertop. A jolt of pain shot through my fingertips, and I pulled them back from the hot curling iron, rousing from my trance. My face was so near to the mirror my bangs nearly brushed against it. My heart stopped for a terrifying moment and my stomach dropped to my toes before I jerked back, breaking eye contact. She screeched, pounding her hands so hard on the glass that the whole line of mirrors shook. I gulped, suddenly afraid she’d escape from her mirrored chamber.

I grabbed my bucket, curling iron, and wet phone, and ran past the row of sinks. She appeared in each mirror as if she strode along beside me, following like a shadow bent on my destruction. I pushed through the bathroom door and almost toppled into the hallway, grateful for the lack of mirrors along the walkway.

I opened my bedroom door but didn’t move into the room.

Cherie was tying her bathrobe around her waist. “Are you coming inside?”

“I’m debating that.”

She raised one eyebrow. “Am I missing something?”

“Sophia visited me in the bathroom mirror and I’m afraid she might have followed me. She has the ability to mirror-hop.”

Without missing a beat, Cherie reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a handful of salt. “Where is she?”

“I don’t think she’s here. But could you do me a favor? Cover our mirrors.”

Cherie quickly draped towels around each of our mirrors. “There, I think the room is Sophia-proofed.”

“Thanks.” I walked into our room and let the door close behind me, double-checking the cover on the mirror there. “This isn’t a permanent solution, but hopefully it’ll be enough to hold her until I can figure out what to do.”

“But I thought your grandma said she could only attack you if you touched the mirror.”

“That’s the working theory. However, she put the whammy on me and I found myself reaching for the mirror.”

“The whammy?”

“She looked me in the eyes, and it’s like I was hypnotized.” I sucked on my burned fingertips. “I suddenly felt all warm about coming closer to her.”

Cherie grabbed a clean pair of socks from her drawer. “That’s freaky.”

“I know, and she tapped the mirror so hard it shook. I’m afraid she’s planning a prison break.”

“Can she do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Should I start avoiding mirrors?”

“You should be fine as long as I’m not around. I seem to be the only one she can touch, but just to be safe, keep your bracelet on. And keeping a safe distance from the mirror wouldn’t be a bad idea, either.”

“Good, because it’s really hard to put make-up on when I can’t see myself.” Cherie added a clean uniform to her bathroom bucket.

“If I could keep my distance from the mirrors, she wouldn’t be able to touch me either. But . . . ”

“But you’re afraid of getting whammied again.”

“Yes,” I said, only half joking. “I now live in fear of the whammy.”

“You need this.” Cherie handed me a brush. “Are you planning on avoiding bathrooms for the rest of your life?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

Cherie’s face lit up and she started to laugh. “I just got the best idea how to solve the problem.”

“How?”

“I’m going to decorate.” Cherie grabbed her own bathroom bucket and opened the door. My face must have shown my confusion. “I’ll explain later. I have to get ready.”

I didn’t know what her plan entailed, but knowing Cherie was on the job made my spirits rise. I dressed quickly, brushed my hair into a messy ponytail and grabbed some breakfast.

v

Instead of standing at the front of the class like normal, Ms. Converse, my first period Health teacher, strolled through the door, wheeling a cart with several bundles wrapped in pink or blue paper. A couple of TAs followed her in, pushing similar carts. Ms. Converse and the TAs began handing out gallon-size plastic zipper bags containing a diaper, a doll’s head, and infant-sized footed pajamas. Things clicked together in my head.

“Oh, please no,” I groaned.

“Good morning,” Ms. Converse said, moving to her normal place in the front of the class. “Today we begin our two-week long parenting section. On your desk you will find everything necessary to create your infant.”

I frowned at the pink-covered bag of flour sitting on my desk. The sound of plastic bags zipping open and diaper tabs pulling apart filled the air. I sighed and started the doomed task of creating my flour baby. I was terrible at crafts, and my poor kid ended up with her head sticking out crookedly through her jumper. No amount of tweaking on my part could fix her.

“You will be paired with a partner,” Ms. Converse continued. “Unfortunately, we have an odd number of students, so I’ll be assigning a TA to one of you. Yara, you’re the only senior in the class, so you’re the lucky one. Congratulations.”

The rest of the class began whistling and laughing as the TA started toward me. I had been so lost in the depths of my personal craft purgatory, so wrapped up in hot glue and heads that refused to sit straight, that I hadn’t noticed one of the TAs still in the room. I recognized his green eyes and his cocky smirk, and my jaw went slack.

It was DJ.

“DJ, meet Yara,” Ms. Converse said. “Yara, DJ.”

He grinned at me and slid into the seat beside me. “Hi Cupcake, nice to see you again.”

I sat up straight in my chair. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He lowered his voice and leaned in closer. “We have a legit reason to be seen together now.” His fingers drummed the table. “We need to talk. In private. Meet me in the library after you finish at the Alumni House. Bring Taffy with you.”

“Taffy?” I asked, confused.

DJ gestured towards my crafting disaster. “The baby. I named her. She makes a good cover.” His already quiet voice dropped further. “I’m serious, Yara. I’ve been looking for a way to meet with you and it’s taken me this long to arrange something inconspicuous.”

“Come again?” What was he talking about?

“I was under orders that night to ask you about Sophia, but this is me going rogue.” He pushed up the sleeves of his sweater. “Meet me in the library. We’ll talk then.”

“What makes you so sure I’ll come?” I did want answers, but it bothered me that he showed up and assumed I’d come running.

He rested his elbow on the table. “I know you want information from me. To at least ask about the pictures.” He searched my hazel eyes before nodding and smirking. “I knew it; you want to talk to me, too.”

He seemed to know exactly what I was thinking, so I gave up my pretense.

“Alright yes, I’ll be there. But I also have some questions, about Christopher Pendrell’s wife. Like, why is she such a psychotic ghost?”

He cradled his chin in his palm. “Psychotic? The reports all say she’s harmless.”

My laugh had a bitter undercurrent. “She tried to strangle me. And thanks to her I needed stitches.”

His eyes went wide and he shook his head. “Sophia?”

“Yes, and it’s your fault, for dragging me up the stairs to meet her in the first place.” I leaned into his personal space, hoping he found it intimidating. “You got me into this mess, so you’re going to help me get out of it. I need to know everything you know about her. And you need to give me whatever you stole the night of the party.”

“Okay, we have a deal. You come to the library, alone, and listen to what I have to say. In exchange, I’ll tell you everything I know about Sophia and I’ll bring the object.” He patted Taffy and grinned at me. “Take good care of our baby. See you after school, Cupcake.”

He got up and left the room before I could say anything else. I picked up Taffy and made my way to my next class. It wasn’t much to go on, but I had my first real lead in solving the Sophia Pendrell mystery.

v

My heart swelled like a balloon when I found Brent sitting at a table in the cafeteria at lunch. Just seeing him made my whole day better. I sat next to him and plopped Taffy onto the lunch table.

“How are you?” I asked.

“I’m fine. Better than I was last night anyway.”