inevitablepub

by Lani Woodland

  After kissing Brent good-bye I decided to check the Internet for any information I could find on Crosby. Cherie would probably know most of the stuff I found, but it wouldn’t hurt for me to become as informed as possible.

  After about an hour, my head was pounding. I hadn’t learned anything new about Crosby. The articles I found were bios or his announcement to run for senate. I needed more and I wasn’t sure where to look next. Stuck at a standstill, I readily agreed when my mom asked me to stop at the bookstore and pick up her order that had just come in.

  After paying for my mom’s book, I decided I needed some sugar and picked up a treat at the in-store café of the nearly empty bookstore. While eating my chocolate chip muffin, I browsed the large magazine section. A few political ones stood out and I decided to flip through them to see if Crosby had been mentioned in any. Grabbing a handful, I sat in one of the plush armchairs by the large windows. The sun warmed my back as I searched their pages. I’d never been more appreciative of Cherie’s love of delving into the boringness to find answers until now. She made it look easy. I wished her finals were over. I knew with her this would be fun.

  Crosby was mentioned several times, but they were even more useless than what I found online. No gossip, scandals, or anything negative at all. They were puff pieces. Every last one. Weird.

  As I stood and replaced the magazines, I got that tingling feeling at the nape of neck that someone was watching me. I shivered and my breath puffed out in a white mist. My arms and legs started to itch like they had in Brazil.

  I glanced quickly over my shoulder and my heart almost stopped. There stood one of the three ghosts that had attacked me in Brazil. The blonde one with the black, thick-rimmed glasses. He wore a Pendrell uniform, something I hadn’t noticed before. Looking at him now I could see he was just a kid.

  “Crosby knows you’re back.” He moved toward me mechanically, each motion jerky and unsure. My fingers went to my pocket where I kept the herbal mixture, but he grabbed my hand before I could throw and then snagged my other wrist in his grip. “Not this time.”

  His fingers sunk below my skin and I bit back a scream.

  “I hoped you were too smart to come back. He wants you dead, so now you have to die.”

  His filmed-over blue eyes kept flickering from light to dark blue. He shifted his arms so he held both of my wrists in one hand. I struggled vainly against his viselike grip. I kicked out at him and he dodged my foot. His other hand rose to my throat, his fingers sinking in until they grabbed my spirit’s neck, cutting off my air.

  He pushed me back and I rammed into the magazine racks, the back of my head hitting the top shelf, sending magazines raining down around us and sliding to the floor. I slammed my forehead against his nose as my leg connected with his knee.

  He seemed dazed, and for a brief moment his grip lessened and his eyes stayed light blue. It was only long enough for him to gasp, “I’m sorry.”

  In that second, I yanked my hands free and reached into my back pocket. I grabbed a handful of the herbs and smashed it into his face. The boy howled in pain, his hands coming up to cover his face as he fell backward. His clear eyes connected with mine.

  “Thank you,” he whispered before vanishing.

  I stumbled my way to an armchair and collapsed into it, struggling for breath. An employee walked by and noticed the mess I’d made. She gave me a few suspicious glances while she collected the fallen magazines. As gently as I could, I touched my neck and grimaced. He’d gone for my throat again. Really? They kept using the same trick. I needed to learn to keep my throat out of arm’s reach.

  Ghost attacks were nothing new, but this one felt different. In the past, the ghost’s eyes had blazed with rage. They had pushed forward until they’d completely exhausted their power and disappeared. Never had a ghost apologized for hurting me or thanked me for stopping him.

  I thought that Crosby’s ghosts had willingly done his bidding, but that didn’t seem to be the case. The spirit hadn’t wanted to hurt me. He’d acted like he’d been forced to attack.

  I sat up ramrod straight. Had he been ordered to attack me? Compelled to?

  Crosby and the Clutch had used mind control before. They had used it against DJ when we battled the Clutch back at Pendrell, but it had taken several members to make it work. All of the Clutch, except Crosby and Brent’s dad, were in jail.

  Oh, no. Could Brent’s dad be helping Crosby do this? Or had the Pendrell journals taught Crosby how to use mind control alone? I wasn’t sure which scared me more.

  But something bothered me. His mind control hadn’t worked on Sophia; it only seemed to influence the living. Even if Crosby had figured out how to use it alone, only a Matriarca could compel a ghost, right? He wasn’t a Waker. Neither was Brent’s dad.

  Maybe the journals had shown Crosby how to reach out to the spirit world and control it, too.

  Despite the bright day and the warmth of the sun, an arctic cold spread through me. If Crosby could do that, then all the rules had changed.

  As soon as I got home, I bounded upstairs and barged into Vovó’s room. I dropped down on the edge of her bed and told her what had happened, adding my thoughts and theories to the end. While she listened, Vovó gathered a few jars and started applying some of her remedies to my new and still healing injuries.

  “Do you think he’s found a way to infiltrate the spirit world? Is that even possible?” I asked.

  She continued to rub her herbs onto my bruises and burns the ghost had left behind. “Possible, yes, but it’s more likely he’s found his own Waker.”

  I flinched and not just because her gentle fingers rubbed my sore throat. “Would a Waker really align herself with him?”

  She clucked her tongue. “Wakers aren’t incorruptible. Power and money are strong motivators.”

  I had been sickened by the council’s use of slave spirits, but to think that a Waker would align herself with Crosby for money was beyond comprehension.

  “How could someone do that, Vovó?”

  She didn’t answer. She just kissed the top of my head and curled her arms around me. In the shelter of her arms I felt safe and the world made sense. People didn’t abuse the abilities they had for greed, and they didn’t order ghosts to kill for them.

  “What am I going to do? I can’t reason with a ghost being compelled to murder me. How can I fight that?”

  Vovó lifted my chin. “Compelled or not, stopping them is no different than any other ghost. Sophia wanted to kill you. In the end you were able to reach her.”

  I didn’t point out that Sophia had given me a concussion and almost killed me several times. “It’s different this time, Vovó. If Crosby’s Waker can compel ghosts, she has to be a Matriarca. I can’t compete with the hold she’ll have. I’m not that strong.”

  “You’ve already competed with it twice, and both times you won. You can’t order them to obey, but you know how to protect yourself and you’ve learned how to help ghosts. That will be enough.”

  I pointed to my new wounds. “Did you miss my black and blue wallpapering?”

  “You survived. A lesser Waker would have perished.” She wiped her fingers on the towel in her lap. “And you’re not a normal Waker. You’re stronger than you know, Yara. You are a Returned. We’re not yet sure what you might be capable of.”

  I glanced at the dark bruises on my arms. “I’m capable of being hurt.”

  Vovó looked at me for a moment and then patted my cheek. “Bring me your Waker journal, Querida.”

  Not sure why she wanted it, I went to my room and retrieved the journal from its hiding place. When I returned, she pulled me onto the bed next to her and opened the book. With everything that had happened since she gave it to me, I hadn’t had the time to look through its pages. Now I watched as she turned page after page, all filled with handwriting I recognized. Her handwriting. She’d written a lot.

  “There are two things working in your favor, Yara. As a Returned you have a
stronger connection to the spirits than other Wakers.”

  She kept saying that like it was a good thing. I nodded because she expected it.

  Vovó stopped and smoothed out a specific page. The tree of Matriarcas had been sketched there. She tapped on the branch that would belong to the person filling her place after her death. A heavy silence filled the air, crackling the room with a weird anticipation and goose bumps formed on my arms.

  “You’re also the heir to the Sousa line. You’re the next Matriarca.”

  “What?” I jumped to my feet. “You can’t be serious.”

  Vovó didn’t respond; instead she closed the journal and watched me pace.

  I placed a shaking hand over my heart. Try as I might, I couldn’t slow it down. It seemed like the world had split in two at my feet and I was struggling not to fall into the abyss below.

  “Dalva is stronger. She has so much more experience. She should lead,” I said.

  Vovó shook her head. “My sister is strong, but nowhere near your potential.”

  Potential. I hated that word.

  “What about my other aunts and cousins? Or Melanie? They’re older. They should be next in line.”

  “Age isn’t what matters. They are all powerful Wakers, but they aren’t meant to replace me. I’ve known since you were a child you would be the next Matriarca.”

  “You can’t be serious,” I said, but looking into her eyes, I knew she was.

  When I was young, she’d always said I would be a strong Waker, that I was her great hope for maintaining a mighty family legacy. I never suspected she meant as Matriarca, but she did. She expected me to lead our family. To make decisions that would affect all of them, to know what to do with difficult ghosts, to give advice, to mentor, to lead. And thanks to what I learned yesterday, Vovó wasn’t just a normal Matriarca, but the ‘grand dame’ as my father had dubbed it.

  “Am I going to be the head of all of the families or . . .” I couldn’t even finish the sentence.

  Vovó gave me a pitying look, but I could see the pride in her eyes. “Not just our family line. You’re destined to be the head of them all.”

  Her revelation pressed in on me like gravity, coming in at me from every side. I couldn’t breathe, like strong hands were squishing my chest. My heart galloped and yellow dots hovered before my eyes.

  “Vovó,” I tried to say but I’m not sure if the words actually came out. My feet slid out from under me and I collapsed to the floor. Vovó rushed to my side and gathered me in her arms again. Her familiar orchid scent wrapped around me, and the steady beating of her heart calmed my own. She murmured comforting words, stroking my hair until the panic attack stopped.

  “It’s okay, querida.”

  “Some great leader. How do you expect me to be the head of the family when the idea has me curling in the fetal position gasping for air.” I meant the words to sound like a joke, but we both knew they weren’t. “I don’t want it! I don’t want to replace you.”

  She squeezed me tighter. “The calling picked you.”

  I shook my head hoping refusal would transfer the responsibility to another.

  “You took the announcement better than I did.”

  My eyes flew to hers. “I don’t believe you.”

  She tapped her finger to the end of my nose. “I ran away from home.”

  I pushed back enough so I could see her. “You didn’t.”

  “I did. I thought Dalva should inherit. She is strong and quick to make decisions. I never doubted the destiny was hers. After all, I had no strength, no real knowledge.” She smiled. “I thought I would become an actress.”

  “What?” I asked around a laugh. “An actress?”

  Vovó blushed. She blushed! I couldn’t think of any time she’d done that in the past. I couldn’t picture her as anything but a Waker and a Matriarca. Her abilities were so strong and she knew almost everything. How could she ever consider herself weak? How could she have thought that?

  “How long did you fight it?”

  “Two years.”

  My eyebrows rose. “What made you come back?”

  “My mother’s funeral.” Vovó stared at a black and white picture of her family on her nightstand.

  I couldn’t reconcile the Vovó I knew with the young girl who ran away from her Waker responsibilities.

  “Vovó, I had no idea.”

  “My sisters have spared me the pain of talking about it—not even your father knows—but I haven’t forgotten.” She ran her hand over my hair. “I see so much of myself in you. That is why I was so patient when you insisted you wanted nothing to do with being a Waker.”

  I snorted. “That was patient?”

  The corner of Vovó’s mouth twisted into a slight grin. “As patient as I could be.”

  “What changed? How did you become so strong?”

  “A lot of practice. And time.” Vovó gently pinched my chin. “I made a lot of mistakes, just like you.”

  “Really?”

  She helped me to my feet and guided me back to her bed, handing me my journal. “I read my mother’s journal after her funeral. She had written me a beautiful letter. Each Matriarca does that for the one who follows. It gave me strength and courage. That is why everyone wrote something in your journal for you. Why I wrote the most. We’re here to support you.”

  I’d been excited to get my journal, but I hadn’t thought of the ways it could help me. “The letter transformed you into the new leader?”

  Vovó laughed. “Not exactly. One day I was helping Dalva with a difficult spirit. I was overwhelmed and felt so lost and scared that I wasn’t sure what to do. But my locket bounced against my chest. My mother had left it for me in her will. It had a picture of her and my father in it. In that moment, I thought back to the words I’d read in the journal. I could hear her voice telling me again, that this was what I had been born to do.” She fingered the locket she still wore. “For the first time I believed that I was meant to be the leader, and the power of the Matriarca surged through me. Then I studied, I worked, and I worried.”

  Vovó smoothed back my hair before resting her forehead against my temple. “You seem to think being in charge means you know all of the answers and always know what to do. It doesn’t. I’ve made mistakes and I’m still learning.”

  The honesty of her confession allowed me to see my grandmother behind her title of Matriarca. In my mind, Vovó’s wisdom and courage had never faltered. Today, I’d seen the woman who occasionally doubted herself, someone more like me.

  I’d never felt closer to her.

  My eyes darted back to the picture of the young Vovó, the girl who had dreams of acting. She’d tried to escape her calling, but had eventually accepted it. We were alike in ways I’d never known. She’d always said she understood me, but until now I’d never believed it.

  “Do you ever still wish you’d been an actress?”

  Vovó touched her locket again. “Of course. But then I think of how many I’ve helped, both living and dead. And I remember your grandfather, who I never would have met and married. Being an actress would have been fun, but it was a youthful dream. Having a family has filled my heart with a greater joy than fame ever could.”

  “Thank you for sharing that, Vovó.” My eyes skimmed over all the books, herbs, and journals my grandma had. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

  “You know more than you realize. None of us feel ready to take on the burden of leadership. But when the time is right and the duty falls to you, you’ll be ready.” She kissed my forehead. “Don’t worry, querida. I’m not planning on going anywhere for a long time.”

  “Good.” I put my hand on her wrinkled cheek. “I love you and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  We sat for a while without talking as I digested her words. The revelation made my head spin. I couldn’t fathom a future without Vovó to turn to; it scared me too much. I decided to focus on today. Today I had her to help guide me and I needed
her advice.

  “What do I do about the ghosts compelled to kill me?”

  “What do you think you should do?” Vovó studied me, giving me another test to see how I’d progressed.

  “I’d like to get them out of Crosby’s grip. If he is using a Matriarca, I don’t know how I could break through that kind of a binding. Unless…” I thought of Sophia and how angry she’d been, how hard to help. Vovó had surrounded her with her favorite things and reminded her who she’d been when she was alive.

  If I could get these ghosts to be themselves for a moment, maybe they could break free. That moment of true clarity might be enough for the light to appear.

  “Can I help them cross over? Could they do that while still tied to a Matriarca?”

  Vovó raised an eyebrow and waited, obviously wanting me to work through this on my own.

  “Okay, so because they’re being compelled, the Matriarca’s orders are fighting with their own desires, right? Does that give me an opening?”

  Vovó smiled. “Sim.”

  “So . . . if I can get through to them, I might have a chance?”

  “Yes, but you must be prepared to defend yourself if the Waker’s hold is too strong.”

  “I know. I’m still wearing the marks from the last time I wasn’t on guard.” I licked my lips, thinking the problem through. “I’ll have to find out more about the ghosts. The one who showed up today was a Pendrell student. I recognized the uniform, and from his haircut, I’d guess he died not too long ago. I just need to find out which Pendrell students died recently.”

  I fiddled with the button on my shirt as I tried to remember any relevant details about the other two spirits from Brazil. Most of the night was still a blur. Apparently oxygen deprivation also kills memory cells. I sighed. “The other two aren’t going to be easy. And what’s to stop her from simply compelling more?”

  “Nothing.”

  I sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  “But keeping three spirits compelled, especially spirits who are fighting her control, is not easy. It is simpler for her to only keep a small number under her thumb.”