Intrinsical - Lani Woodland [70]
“Does he look familiar?” I asked
“No.” Brent started tracing the curse down its thirty victims. Brent’s fingers gently stroked the image of his brother Neal. His eyes shot back to the picture of Thomas. “So that’s what the guy looks like, huh?” Brent snorted. “No wonder he ditched his body.”
I gave him a small grin as I thought through some of the new information. “Why would the ghost want me to be able to astral project?”
“Well, it already knew you could see it—or, at least, could stop it. Maybe it guessed you’d be able to project, too. You’re a lot more vulnerable to it that way.”
“Maybe.”
“Then I kept trying to contact you. You’re being a Waker must have made you that much more important to silence.” Brent punched the wall. “You’re welcome for that final nail in your coffin.”
“It isn’t your fault, Brent. I was a target from day one.”
“Yeah, the day you saved my life,” Brent growled, throwing up his hands and scattering the messy piles of paper into the air. They cascaded around us like snow.
“I’m not the only one with a temper, huh?” I asked. Brent scowled at me. “None of this was your fault, Brent.”
“Sure,” he mumbled, reading more of Cherie’s notes about Thomas. “It says he had been diagnosed with cancer right before he died. And his best friend Dennis died in the fire with him. They were usually a trio but their other friend, Henry wasn’t with them that night. He was the one who reported them missing.”
“How did they die?”
“You don’t know?” I shook my head and he continued. “They died in the fire . . . in the old pool house.”
“The curse started there?” I shuddered, remembering how horrible I had felt in that room. Then another piece of information caught my eye. “Henry was the next person to die.” I tapped my fingers against the wall knowing that piece of information was important but not understanding why. “Why every two years?” Brent shook his head. “Did your brother act any different before he died?”
“Well, he never came home. He always had projects and stuff; we had to come here to see him. The last time he came home, a couple years before his death, he seemed skittish and left some journals in his room that he didn’t want to keep in his dorm room anymore. They’re the ones that had all the information about the Clutch.”
“So he didn’t come home for two years. Isn’t that strange?”
Brent smirked at me. “You’re new to prep school, but no, that isn’t unusual. Not until that college acceptance letter comes in the mail.”
“Oh. Why wouldn’t the guy posing as your brother come home or take off to a different country or something?”
“Maybe he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to control the body? Maybe he knew he couldn’t really fool us?”
“Or,” I proposed as a thought popped into my head. “What if he can’t leave campus either? Thomas said he was a prisoner like us.”
Brent nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He started snapping his fingers as his mental gears started to grind. “Yeah, and people eventually have to leave school. He’d need a new body if . . .” Brent didn’t finish his sentence, trying to piece things together.
I inhaled slowly and smiled, Cherie’s perfume heady in the room. I had been so excited about finding her and then so caught up in her notes, I hadn’t noticed her signature scent at first. The significance of her perfume faded as the sound of feet in the hallway had my fingers clasping tightly together in anticipation until they continued past her door. The corners of my mouth drooped.
I turned my attention back to Brent to quiet my disappointment. “Did your parents worry about sending you here after your brother . . . died?”
Brent laughed without humor, staring out the window. “No, they wanted me gone. I got in the way.” Brent held up a hand against my forthcoming denial and apology. “They love me, but they’re busy with their own lives. A good college was just an excuse to send me here. To ease their conscience, they have me meet with a therapist every few months though.”
“Did it bother you to come here?”
Brent