Forbidden

thirteen

Alec sat in his car, watching as the other students vacated the junior parking lot. All day, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the hug he’d exchanged with Claire in the cafeteria.
The sensation of Claire’s warm body pressed against his—her arms locked around him—her face nestled against his shoulder—the fragrance of her shampoo—it had all been so incredible and so intoxicating. He’d been distracted ever since, unable to concentrate in class, much less on the assignment Vincent had given him. He sensed that Claire had felt it, too, but he couldn’t be sure.
At least Claire seemed placated enough after their conversation to stop asking questions about the incident. Alec sighed and leaned back in his seat. It was time, he reminded himself, to stop thinking about Claire and focus on the task at hand. His very freedom depended on it.
Vincent’s digital tablet felt heavy in his hand. Alec still dreaded the thought of turning it on. Once he started a hunt, it became all-consuming, and he knew he wouldn’t feel comfortable at school anymore—or with himself. It wasn’t just the idea of going back to work that bothered him, however temporarily. It was the possible consequence that awaited the target, especially if he was actually a Halfblood. The Council’s decision, however, was out of his hands—and would occur whether or not Alec got involved. In fact, it would be much worse for the Awakened if Alec didn’t find him before the Fallen did.
Reluctantly, Alec pressed the tablet’s power button. The screen lit up, and with one click Alec restored it to the last file Vincent had opened: a series of detailed notes with bullet points culminating in a surveillance photograph of Vincent’s prime suspect. Alec almost dropped the device in astonishment.
It was Neil Mitchum.
Alec leaned on the rooftop railing eighteen stories above the sleeping city, watching the ribbons of empty, illuminated streets stretch away westward toward the distant, endless expanse of dark ocean.
Could it be true? Was Choir Boy the Awakened that Vincent was looking for? If so, it would make sense.
Everybody said Neil had a beautiful singing voice, which of course came with the territory. Apparently he was the fastest sprinter in the school and a superstar soccer player—that could be a sign. Plus, the kid had unbelievable charm and influence—a definite potential talent. Somehow, Neil had managed to convince a music teacher to add an untested singer to an exclusive honors choir at the eleventh hour. And Alec couldn’t forget how incredibly shy and tongue-tied Claire had been around Neil on Book Day, or how swiftly that shyness had evaporated under Neil’s influence in the two weeks since. The last time Alec had been around someone with such presence, it was his mark in Panama five years ago. Who knew what other hidden abilities Neil might possess?
Alec shook his head, frowning, and leaned against the wall, his back to the city. Taking his guitar from its case, he began plucking away at the strings, filling the air with a melody of his own creation.
It could just be the jealousy talking, Alec admitted to himself. It seemed that every time Claire had expressed even the remotest flicker of interest in Alec, Neil had shown up and diverted her attention. If Neil really was the Halfblood, it would be very convenient. In one fell swoop, his competition for Claire would be gone.
Alec’s blood ran cold at the thought of what the Council might do once Vincent turned Neil in. Alec wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone, not even Neil. But Vincent was right. Humanity was probably safer if the Halfblood was in the custody of his own kind. He’d give Vincent what he wanted. He’d identify the Awakened, protect him during Vincent’s absence, then turn over the information and be done with it.
Alec’s mind worked on his strategy as he played faster and faster, a musical frenzy, like a train racing down a track. It wouldn’t be enough to just keep a lookout at school. The Fallen made it their business to corrupt the innocent. If they’d caught wind of this fledgling, they were likely to descend at any time to sway him to their side. Generally, they favored meetings in public places, where—with so many onlookers—it was difficult for someone like Alec to exercise any overt protective powers. Alec doubted, however, that they would dare to make an appearance at a closed campus like Emerson Academy, where they’d probably stick out like a sore thumb. No, he thought, they’ll choose some other location to make contact.
Alec struck a final chord, the note reverberating in the stillness of the night.
He’d just have to be on hyperalert, and keep a particularly close eye on Neil.




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