Intrinsical - Lani Woodland [61]
I shivered as I replayed the horrific events. “Well, instead of being with you, everything was black and I felt like an empty shell. It was like I was . . . nothing.”
Brent looked pensive as he ran his fingers above the pool, making small waves across the water. “Maybe your reenactment needed to keep you with your body the whole time.”
“Why?” I placed my good hand over the water, willing it to move, smiling when it rippled slightly.
“I don’t know. I’m just so glad that we were dragged here. I thought we were trapped.” We shuddered simultaneously at the thought of the mist. “How’s the stab wound?”
I winced, being reminded of the throbbing pain in my arm. Burning. Agonizing. I bit back my immediate responses and gritted my teeth. “Fine.”
“Still trying to lie? Did you miss the ‘We’re connected’ seminar held earlier?” Brent asked, rubbing his own shoulder. “Even if I wasn’t having sympathy pain, I wouldn’t have believed you.” He rolled his shoulders again and cursed under his breath. “It sucks there can be this much pain in the afterlife.” He turned toward me reaching for my arm. “Let me see it.”
“It’s fine.” I angled away from him, suddenly tense. “No need to fuss.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Good, then you won’t care if I take a look.”
“It’s fine.” I shoved his hand away.
“Yara.” His voice was firm with a touch of warning. “Just let me look at it.”
He gently took my elbow and eased me around. A long, low whistle pushed through his lips as his cool fingers touched the wound, examining it carefully. When I finally got the courage to peek at it, I felt nauseated. It was a gaping, jagged wound, black around the edges and crusted over by the blue liquid that had oozed from it.
Brent’s hands were now covered in the sticky blue substance, but he didn’t seem to care— he was concentrating on my injury, his eyes focused, his finger gently applying pressure. I could hear the words Brent repeated in his mind, like he was following a set of instructions, his soft fingers soothing the angry tear. Sweat formed on his face and his body trembled as my ragged skin fused back together, heating and molding like wax. Under Brent’s fingertips, the wound then cooled, taking the pain away with the warmth, until the only sign of the injury was a jagged black scar. Brent collapsed onto his back next to me, totally spent.
“How did you do that?”
“I . . . I wasn’t sure I could. I only read about it in Neal’s journals.” Brent breathed deeply. “I had to try. That injury was really serious. The mist wasn’t playing around.”
“What does it want?” I hugged my knees to my chest.
Brent rolled onto his back and draped his arms over his eyes.
“Besides you?” “That isn’t funny.” “It wasn’t meant to be.” His voice sounded hoarse and weak. “Do you mind if we get out of here? This really isn’t my favorite place.”
“Yeah, okay.” Brent looked wistfully at the door, as if trying to make it move closer so he wouldn’t have as far to go.
Chapter 11
The sun was rising and the air still chilly when we emerged outside. A few scattered clouds broke up the robin’s egg blue sky. Rays of sunshine made diamonds of the dew glistening in the grass and clinging to the leaves. The campus was quiet, most students still asleep.
“Did you notice all the people in the mist?” I asked Brent as we neared my former dorm. I stopped at the fire escape, contemplating if I was ready to check in on Cherie.
“Yeah.” Brent’s eyes were on me, waiting for me to decide if I was going up or not.
“I noticed them when we first saw Neal, but I hadn’t really thought of it before. They didn’t seem happy there,” I said, twisting away from the steps, moving onto the shrub-lined lawn.
Brent followed, his shoulders hunched. “Agreed.”
“So why do you think they were part of it?”
“I doubt they had a choice.” He let out a deep breath. “Probably they were captured souls, like Phil and Neal, forced to join. Soldiers being conscripted into an army. I mean we saw Neal was in it against his will.”
“Who are they?”
“I assume they’re the other victims of the curse.” Brent’s eyes