Forbidden

twenty-seven

The dress was blue. It was short but not too short, sexy but not slutty, and somehow managed to be classy, sophisticated, and slinky all at the same time. It was delicately beaded at the bodice, made of a clingy, textured fabric that Claire knew would hug her curves, and shimmered when the light hit it from a certain angle. And … it cost four hundred dollars.
Claire stared at the dress as it hung on the rack, unable to disguise her longing.
“Oh, that’s gorgeous,” her mom exclaimed, coming up behind her.
Claire couldn’t remember the last time her mother had taken off from work on a Saturday to spend time with her in any fashion, no pun intended—but to shop in the department store formal-wear section? Clearly, this Homecoming Dance was important to her.
“You’d look great in that dress! How much does it cost?”
Claire flashed the price tag at her mother with a defeated sigh.
“Four hundred dollars? That’s ridiculous. It’s not even silk. What is it, designer?”
Claire nodded sadly. “Nothing here fits our budget.”
Her mom put an arm around her affectionately. “I’m sorry, honey. It shows you how long it’s been since I’ve bought formal wear. Let’s try the junior section.”
As they made their way through the store, Claire had the sudden, uncanny feeling that someone was watching her. She glanced around warily but saw nobody suspicious.
“Can you explain the gloves to me again?” Lynn nodded toward Claire’s hands. “They’re germ protection, is that right?”
“Yes,” Claire lied. “It’s an extra-credit experiment for AP bio. Erica and I want to try this for a few weeks and see if we stay healthier than our classmates. Plus, we think they’re cool.”
Her mom shrugged. “Well then, we’d better get you a pair for the dance, to match your dress.”
“That’d be awesome, Mom. Thanks!”
They descended on the junior discount rack. “What’s Alec’s favorite color?” her mom asked.
“I don’t know.” Claire grabbed her cell phone from her purse. “Let me ask him.”
She dialed his number, hoping he’d pick up. But—just like the last time she’d called him this morning—it went straight to voice mail. She’d also tried texting him once and had gotten no reply. Where was he? When they’d kissed good-bye the night before, he’d promised to call her in the morning, but he never did.
“Hey, Alec,” she said after the tone, “I’m dress shopping with my mom and I have a question. Call me back.” She hung up. He’d seemed so happy while they were floating above that Westwood rooftop, and later, standing by his car, it was as if he couldn’t take his eyes off her. So why hadn’t he called?
“He isn’t answering?”
“No.”
“Well, he’ll just have to live with whatever we find.” Her mom held up a black, one-shoulder dress with a skirt that was cut on the diagonal. “What do you think of this one?”
“I prefer symmetry.” Hearing footsteps close behind her, Claire turned, but there was no one nearby. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Had someone been there? Or was she hearing things?
Her mom replaced the dress on the rack. “Symmetry. Got it.” Noticing Claire’s troubled expression, she added, “Don’t worry, honey. I’m sure there’s something here that’s worthy of a Homecoming Princess.”
Claire dropped her phone into her bag, grateful that her mom thought her worries were just about the dress. “Thanks, Mom, but I’ll only be a princess if I win, and I’m not popular enough for that to happen.”
“Don’t say that. You have as much of a chance as anyone else. Did I ever tell you that I was Junior Prom Queen?”
“You were? Really?” Claire’s mom had revealed so little about her teen years, this news came as a shock. Without thinking, Claire added, “That’s so great! Did you go with Tom?”
Her mom froze, her stunned gaze meeting Claire’s over the clothes rack. “What did you say?” Lynn’s voice was charged with quiet intensity.
Claire caught her breath. Could she pass off her slipup as a lucky guess? No. There was no way on earth she could explain away the fact that she knew her dad’s name. Desperate to cover it up, Claire played the moody teenager card: Crossing her arms defensively, she said, “Why are you so freaked? I just asked, who’d you go with to prom?”
“Oh.” Her mom sounded visibly relieved. She glanced back at the dresses, suddenly unable to meet Claire’s eyes. “To tell you the truth, I don’t remember the boy’s name.”
Claire knew it was a lie. What little her mother had told her about her past was that she’d gotten pregnant during her junior year of high school, left school to get a job and get married, and never graduated. Claire did the math. Since her birthday was in December, that meant her mom must have been two or three months pregnant with her at that very dance. And no knocked-up girl would ever forget the boy who took her to prom—especially not if he was the child’s father and the guy she married.
Desperate for a subject change, Claire grabbed two dresses at random from the rack and smiled brightly. “Can I try these on?”
“Sure.” As they made their way to the dressing rooms, her mom looked like she was a million miles away.
Minutes later, they stood before the mirror studying Claire’s reflection in the second of the two dresses. The first one was so skimpy and sparkly, it had made her look like a prostitute. And the second…
“I’m wearing a tent,” Claire lamented.
“That one should go straight to army surplus,” her mother agreed. “It’s okay, honey. We have lots of time. If we don’t find something today, we still have a whole week before the dance.”
As they filtered back into the crowded mall, the weight of disappointment caused Claire’s shoulders to sag. It seemed as if nothing was going right today. The dresses they could afford were hideous, Alec was mysteriously MIA, and she still couldn’t shake the creepy feeling that an invisible pair of eyes was trained on her.
It was only when they stepped down onto the escalator that she saw him. He was standing across the mall, one floor above, leaning over the balcony. A complete stranger, staring at her intently. He wasn’t very tall, but he was broad-shouldered, with a tanned, sinewy frame, a square jaw, bushy goatee, and a mane of platinum-blond dreadlocks.
Claire felt a chill race up her spine. Who was he? Why was he staring at her like she was a piece of meat? With a sudden rush of dread, she wondered, could it be Vincent? Could Alec have failed in his attempt to placate him? Had Vincent done something to Alec and come here to finish her off?
Just then, Claire’s body began to tremble, followed by the warmth and odd sensations that preceded a message vision. Oh God, not here! Not now! she thought. It had been so long since she’d had one of these, she’d begun to hope they’d stopped coming. But there was no way to prevent it. Claire clutched the rails of the escalator just as her knees began to buckle, and—despite her struggle to keep them open—her eyes clamped shut.
She heard the familiar, raspy, feminine voice with the British accent:
“Claire! It’s Helena. Why haven’t you come? You’re still in danger. Look! Look!”
A fragmented image infiltrated the blackness of her mind, like a TV with bad reception. As the image came into focus, Claire saw a young woman standing on a landscaped hillside under a canopy of twinkling stars. She recognized the setting: It was at school, just above the northern stairway. The girl turned, and she saw her face.
It was her!
She was wearing the blue dress—the classy, four-hundred-dollar blue dress. There was a rustle in the bushes nearby.
“Alec?” the vision Claire cried, worry in her voice.
Suddenly, with a loud growl, a large, tawny-furred creature leapt from the bushes behind her. It was a giant mountain lion. In a blur of teeth and claws, it hurled itself at the back of her neck, knocking her to the ground. The vision Claire screamed as the beast tore at her flesh.
Claire jerked in horror and felt as if she was falling. A blast of pain infiltrated her skull. Then everything went black.
“You actually fainted on the mall escalator?” Erica asked.
Claire lay back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling with her phone to her ear. “Yeah. I woke up on the floor, with my mom and a bunch of strangers crouched over me. It was horrible. Thank God Mom believed me when I said I tripped.”
“But you’re okay—mysterious dreadlocked stalker and scary vision aside?”
“Not really. Alec still isn’t answering his phone. I’m worried about him.”
“Claire, he’s an angel. He can take care of himself.”
“Then where is he? It’s four p.m. He said he’d call me this morning.”
“Maybe his cell phone battery died.”
“He has a charger.”
“Maybe he’s buried in homework. I know I am. Or maybe he forgot.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Have you guys ever even spoken on the phone before?”
“A few times. It was always pretty brief.”
“Well, maybe he’s one of those people who don’t like to talk on the phone. I mean, he’s not exactly the most chatty guy in the world.”
“He has been with me … lately. He was supposed to see Vincent by now. Do you think Vincent said something that changed Alec’s whole position about us? I mean, he did say it’s forbidden for us to be together.”
“Claire, Alec is crazy in love with you. There’s no way he changed his mind about anything. Maybe he’s still negotiating with Vincent, and he doesn’t want to call you until he’s wrapped that up.”
“Maybe.”
“Seriously, I’m not worried about Alec. I’m worried about you and this whole cougar thing on the hill. What does it mean?”
“I don’t know. But it was terrifying. And Helena, whoever she is, sounded really upset.” Claire sat up cross-legged on her bed, frowning. “Maybe she’s getting confused. ’Cause in the vision, I was wearing this really expensive dress I saw today, that I am never going to own.”
“Huh.”
“What am I supposed to do, Erica?”
Claire could almost hear Erica’s frustrated shrug through the phone. “I don’t know. But she said last time that Alec was supposed to protect you. So ask Alec.”
“You mean, if he ever calls me,” Claire replied with a heavy sigh.
The rest of the afternoon and evening inched by at a snail’s pace. Claire plowed through her homework, constantly staring at the phone and willing it to ring. As the hours passed, her worry grew. She tried calling Alec again, twice, and sent another text message. No answer. Something was wrong—she knew it in her bones—and the only way to find out was to drive over to his place. But she knew her mom would never let her go out alone at night. It was agony waiting for her to go to bed.
Finally, when the sound of her mother’s even breathing was audible from the next room, Claire slipped quietly downstairs, stealthily grabbed the car keys from the entry table, and snuck out the door.
The ten-minute drive to Alec’s apartment seemed to take ten hours. Claire parked on the street. As she crossed the dimly lit lot at Alec’s tiny complex, she caught sight of his Mustang in its usual spot and felt a surge of relief. He was home!
Claire sprinted up to his front door, where she stopped to collect herself, resisting the urge to hammer against it. Everything is going to be okay, she reassured herself. Alec would have a good reason for not calling, and together they’d figure out what to do about the latest message from Helena. She knocked quietly and waited. She heard stirring from within, and then the curtains parted slightly as someone peeked out, although she couldn’t see who.
There was a pause; then the sound of the series of locks sliding.
The door creaked open.
Claire’s blood froze. It wasn’t Alec who answered. The man standing before her was tall, black, handsome, and clad in an expensive, gray, three-piece suit. She’d never seen him before in her life, yet his dark eyes beamed with recognition.
“Ms. Brennan!” he intoned in a deep voice, smiling as he pulled the door all the way open. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
That’s when she knew.
Vincent.