Intrinsical - Lani Woodland [53]
“Maybe, but I can’t think of a better term. You’re right though; if it involves death, it’s dark magic.”
Brent gave me a knowing look, his eyebrows knit together as he studied my face silently for a moment. “You sound like you know something on the subject.”
My knee-jerk reactions tried to kick in, shielding me from embarrassment, but obviously things had changed. If any one person deserved the truth of what I knew, it was Brent. After all, he was a part of this, too; this wasn’t just about me anymore.
“I’m not an expert,” I said, “but I do know something about magic, or whatever you want to call it.” I paused and looked at him, waiting to see if he was going to freak out or laugh or even worse, start the ‘you’re crazy’ talk again. He didn’t do any of that, though; he just kept looking at me in respectful, non-judgmental silence, so I pressed on. “I told you that I’m from Brazil.” He nodded. “Vovó, my grandmother, she’s like a wise woman in her town, making poultices to help the living with their grief, burning herbs to help ghosts cross over. She’s able to see spirits and interact with them. She’s almost like a . . . shaman . . . sort of . . . She’s all about helping the spirits and those around her.”
Brent pushed the sleeves up on his sweater. “Cool.”
I started pacing around. “Something’s wrong with this, though. I’ve heard lots of stories from her over the years, everything from possession to voodoo, but I’ve never heard of anyone being able to force someone out of their body and then steal it.”
“Possession? Voodoo? Man, what must family dinner be like at your house?”
For a moment I was in my family’s warm kitchen, eating feijoada, drinking guaraná, listening to Vovó’s stories, laughing and joking. I longed for it so fiercely I could almost imagine myself there. The image faded into Brent, who was still watching me.
“Family dinners were never dull,” I said. “I heard about some weird stuff. Enough to know that whatever happened to you is dark magic, evil.”
“Hmm,” Brent murmured, thinking. “So what should we call it then? I can’t call it magic.”
“Trickery?”
Brent laughed bitterly. “Yes, trickery works. Him having my body is a trick that’s fooling everyone.”
I squeezed his arm.
The outlines of the tall campus buildings could be seen over the tops of the trees. Figures moved behind the windows and I wondered if they had heard about my death yet. My whole life, world, existence had altered only a few hours ago. It felt more like years than hours but it was still the same night that I had died. My life was over but maybe Brent’s wasn’t.
“Brent, it is a trick! You may not have your body, but you’re not really dead. He said as much himself.” I turned toward him. “We just have to get this other spirit out of your body and then you can move back in.”
“It won’t work,” Brent said, sounding defeated.
“Why?” I demanded, tapping my lips with my fingers.
“It just won’t.” Brent drew his legs to him, sitting cross-legged, and rested his hands on his knees. “It might even make things worse.”
My brow furrowed. “Were you always such a pessimist? I mean, we’re already dead; how much worse could it get? I’m kind of thinking it can only improve.”
“I’m being realistic.”
“Okay, how can it get worse?”
Brent chewed on his nail again. “Other people might get hurt. Let’s learn from my disastrous example. I died, I tried to fix it by reaching out to you, and that got you killed. The prosecution rests.”
I pushed my bangs back off my forehead. “Okay, yeah. Well maybe we won’t get anyone else involved. It can still work.”
“There are other reasons it won’t work. First, we aren’t warriors in a fantasy novel.”
“Says the man who can astral project and was kicked out of his own body by another spirit.”
Brent rolled his eyes at me. “Second, we have no idea how to get him out.”
I waved my hand, conceding he had a small point. “Let’s say we figure it out. It should work, right?”
Brent nodded slowly. “If we managed to do that . . . maybe.” He groaned