Forbidden

thirty-six

Alec parked at the curb in front of Claire’s complex, where he traded his shredded suit jacket for his combat vest and leather jacket, then hauled his guitar case out of the trunk and slung it over his shoulder.
“What are you bringing that for?” Claire asked, discarding her ruined gloves.
“Insurance.”
“Do you mind waiting out here for one second while I brace my mom for what you’re going to tell her?” Claire asked as they rushed across the courtyard toward her apartment.
“Fine.”
Claire unlocked her front door and hurried in. She’d only just stepped into the entryway, the door still ajar, when she caught sight of her mom on the couch. She wasn’t alone. There was a man with her. And they were kissing.
Claire froze, shocked and mortified. “Mom?!”
Her mother broke from the embrace and instantly leapt to her feet, her face turning red. “Claire! You’re back already? I didn’t—” She broke off, flustered.
The man turned to face her.
It was Mr. Patterson.
Claire’s stomach convulsed with fear, disgust, and terror. Which Mr. Patterson was this? Was it the real Patterson? Her teacher? Making out with her mother?
Or was it Vincent? Already here. In her home. With all of them at his mercy.
Frantically, she tried to remember what the imposter had been wearing earlier that evening. She had no idea.
Whoever it was, he seemed to be just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
“Mom! What are you doing?” Claire blurted.
Her mother looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry, honey. I thought you were still at the dance. This is Dennis. I told you about him.”
“You’ve been dating my history teacher?” Claire cried, still uncertain.
Her mother’s blush deepened. “I didn’t know he was your teacher when I first met him. And then I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Brennan.” Mr. Patterson quickly stood. “We thought you might find it … awkward if you knew.”
Claire stared at the pair in confusion. Who was this man? His gentle words of apology didn’t match up with the sudden flash of anger in his eyes—anger that Vincent would certainly feel on seeing that she had survived the were-cougar’s attack.
“Mom, get away from him,” Claire cried, hoping her voice would reach Alec. “That’s not Mr. Patterson. It’s Vincent!”
“Who?”
“I told you! He’s the Grigori who—”
With a crash, the front door behind Claire slammed fully open as Alec barreled through it in a blur, pinning Mr. Patterson to the wall with a dagger to his throat.
“What are you doing?” Claire’s mom screamed at Alec.
Mr. Patterson’s surprised expression turned to a wolfish smirk. “This makes more sense.” He studied Alec calmly, as if ignoring the blade at his throat. “I wondered how she escaped without a scratch. You’re heartier than I thought.”
“You should’ve been honest with me from the beginning,” Alec spat out with devastating calm. “Then I wouldn’t have to kill you.”
“No.” Mr. Patterson chuckled. “No matter what, we would’ve ended up here.”
“Take your hands off him!” Claire’s mom shouted.
“Mom,” Claire cried urgently. “You don’t understand!”
Before their eyes, the image of Mr. Patterson flickered and was replaced by Vincent.
Claire’s mom jerked back with a scream.
Vincent’s eyes locked with Alec’s. “Do you really have the stones to kill me, boy? After everything I’ve done for you and your parents?”
“You’ve made all that meaningless now.” Alec’s eyes blazed with a fury Claire had never seen before.
Just as Alec’s blade began to pierce the skin of Vincent’s throat, the entire apartment shook as if rocked by a massive earthquake. Claire stumbled back a step, and Alec, in surprise, did the same. The earth beneath them rumbled. A horrible, buzzing sound assailed her ears, growing louder every second.
Claire gasped as a swarm of locusts burst in through the front doorway, circling Alec in a frenzy. His dagger fell from his hands as he batted away the flying horde. In seconds, to Claire’s horror, the entire room was alive with the flapping insects. She and her mom ducked and covered their faces with one hand, trying to swat at them with the other.
Claire heard Vincent’s chuckle mingling with the terrible hum of the swarm. Eyes still covered, she put her hand down to steady herself. But instead of carpet, she felt hot sand. Stunned, she looked around to find they were in the middle of an endless desert. A strong wind whipped past her ears, drowning out the buzzing of the locusts.
The insects concentrated in a swirling tornado around Alec. Her mother was a few yards away, staggering to her feet, screaming with bewilderment and terror. Vincent now stood above Claire, a confident smirk plastered across his face. He withdrew a large silver pistol from his waistband. Claire shrieked. Before she could move, Vincent pressed the steel of the barrel against her forehead.
Claire’s pulse pounded in terror. Suddenly, her mother threw herself against Vincent, shouting, “Don’t you touch my daughter!”
Vincent smashed the butt of the gun up against the side of her mom’s head. Lynn fell to the ground, unmoving.
With a cry of rage, Claire leapt to her feet, some instinct urging her to bring her knee up hard into Vincent’s groin. To her satisfaction he doubled over in agony, dropping the gun. Claire stared at the weapon, hesitating—she’d never touched a gun before—then frantically scooped it up and trained it on him. It was heavier than she’d imagined. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alec still surrounded by the horrible whirlwind of locusts.
Vincent fixed her with a malevolent glare. “Not comfortable holding a gun?”
Suddenly the pistol was gone, and in its place was a writhing rattlesnake.
Claire screamed and let it drop to the sand, where it reverted back into a gun. In one fluid motion, Vincent snatched it up and backhanded Claire forcefully across her face. She reeled away in pain, her vision blurring, tasting blood in her mouth.
“I have never relished violence,” Vincent said calmly and rather ironically, adjusting a crick in his neck. “But you leave me no choice.” He grabbed Claire by her hair and yanked her to feet.
“Why are you so afraid of me?” Claire cried, tears stinging her eyes.
Vincent looked at her coldly, still gripping her by her hair. “You are an abomination, and I will not have you destroy the world that I have spent my entire life protecting.”
“You’re wrong. I’m just a girl. I don’t want to hurt anybody.”
“But you will,” he returned with conviction. He cocked the gun and pressed it to the underside of her chin. “I brought this to kill your mother. Now it will prove doubly useful. And it will have Alec’s fingerprints all over it.”
In a blink, it was no longer Vincent holding the gun to her head, but Alec, all the way down to the scrapes on his face, but overlaying his handsome features was Vincent’s leering grin. Claire cried out in dismay, the illusion disorienting her as she struggled vainly to free herself from his iron grip. But it was a lost cause.
She was going to die.
There was a whizz of something flying through the air, followed by a sharp, wet sound. Claire heard Vincent’s grunt of pain as her attacker stiffened, releasing her and the gun. She staggered back in astonishment. The swarm of locusts was dissipating, but the hot desert wind still blew harsh and strong. The real Alec stood with a broadsword at the ready, as his clone reached to yank the dagger out of his back.
Claire watched in a fever of panic and dread as the two Alecs engaged in battle. Vincent-Alec hurled the dagger with swift precision directly at Alec’s chest. Alec batted the weapon aside with a swift tilt of his blade. Vincent-Alec raised his hands above his head, conjuring a broadsword identical to Alec’s, and brought it down against the other’s weapon with a mighty clang.
Claire ran to her mother’s side and knelt down, calling to her gently. Her mom let out a low moan, but remained unconscious. At least she’s still breathing, Claire thought with relief.
Spotting the pistol in the sand, she grabbed it. There must be some way she could help. But as she raised the gun on the continuing duel, she hesitated in confusion. In a flurry of blade and footwork, the two identical men were changing places so quickly that Claire had lost track of who was who.
She aimed first at one, then the other, then back again. Her heart hammered in her chest. Which one was the real Alec? What was she supposed to do?
Claire knew that Vincent’s illusion was all in her mind, but that didn’t make it feel any less real. A sudden thought occurred to her. Her powers involved the mind as well, and both Alec and Helena had told her that she was capable of far more than she knew. If everything she was seeing was in her mind—in all their minds—maybe she could, somehow, peel back the layers of illusion to reveal the truth.
The men continued exchanging angry blows, the tip of a blade nicking the cheek of one Alec and drawing blood. She knew she didn’t have much time.
Crouching down, Claire touched one hand to the sand. Weeks ago, when she’d touched her father’s blazer, it had revealed its secrets to her. She knew that the carpet of her own living room lay somewhere beneath her fingers. Was it possible for her to connect with the truth beneath this mirage of sand in the same way?
Claire focused on her breathing, just as she’d done when she first contacted Helena, but this time she refused to close her eyes. She stared at the sand below her, concentrating on its warmth and texture as she pressed her fingertips against it. This is not sand, she told herself with certainty. It’s a carpet. She looked up at the desert landscape around her. This is not a desert. We are in my living room. Show me. Show me the truth.
Claire sensed that she was doing something right when the sounds of the desert wind around her vanished. As she stared hard into the distance, the image began to flicker, the way the fake blood had flickered on her glove earlier that evening. The environment flashed back and forth between the desert and her apartment—illusion and reality—but she suspected that only she could see the difference. In between flashes, one of the fighting Alecs was revealed to her as Vincent. He was blocking the blows from Alec’s sword with nothing but air!
Claire raised the gun shakily, aiming at the figure she could now see to be Vincent. But the combatants were moving so fast, she was still afraid to fire. Her aim might be off. She might inadvertently shoot the wrong person.
“Alec!” she cried, lowering the weapon. “His sword is in your mind! It’s not really there!”
Alec wavered, his brow furrowing as if trying to process what she’d said, but the illusion was too strong to resist. He kept deflecting Vincent’s blows.
Somehow, Claire thought desperately, I have to get Alec to see what I’m seeing. Was it possible? Did she have the power to transmit the truth behind Vincent’s illusion to Alec—even if just for a second?
Setting down the gun, Claire placed both hands on the hot sand again and gazed intently at the two men fighting before her. The scene continued to flicker back and forth strangely between desert and apartment. Show him, she repeated in her mind. Show him the truth.
As she watched, to her horror, the two men erupted into flame! Claire gasped, but then she realized it was not real fire. In her effort, she must have inadvertently activated her aura vision. Both men’s strength seemed to be waning, because the golden flames leaping off their bodies were sputtering. She had to act fast.
Summoning every ounce of her willpower and concentration, Claire struggled to connect Alec’s mind to her own. The effort was so intense, it caused her head to throb, and she lost touch with the ground below her. A crushing pain speared through her temple, but she ignored it and pressed on.
Alec! she called silently. Alec! See what I see!
Alec wearily sidestepped Vincent’s blow and swung into position to parry again. It was useless dueling the very man who’d taught him to fight with a blade—he knew every trick up Alec’s sleeve. If only he could use telekinesis, he might be able to gain an advantage; but he’d tried and failed. He was nearly tapped out.
Just then, to Alec’s amazement, the world before him flickered, revealing glimpses of the reality that lay behind it. In that split second, he caught a clear view of his opponent.
Vincent’s hands held nothing whatsoever. Nothing but air.
Thank you, Claire, Alec thought. As Vincent swung at him with the imaginary blade, Alec ignored the attack, lunging forward with determination and stabbing him straight through the chest.
Vincent gasped deeply and crumpled to his knees. The entire illusion instantly vanished. They were in the apartment again. Alec turned—and caught his breath in astonishment.
Claire was several yards away, hovering two feet above the floor, illuminated by an aura of massive emerald flames.
She dropped to the carpet with a thud, moaning, blood dripping from her nose. Lynn lay unconscious on the dining room floor nearby. He heard Vincent wheezing, as if one of his lungs had been punctured, and blood seeped through his clothing.
Alec pressed his foot on Vincent’s chest for leverage and pulled his sword free, then lowered it to Vincent’s throat. “Any last words?” he asked dangerously.
“Yes. Don’t … do this.” Vincent inhaled weakly. “If I don’t report back alive, they’ll come looking for me. Which … will lead them to you.”
“Let them try to find me. You deserve to die. You’ve lost sight of what’s important.”
“No, you have. No one is innocent, Alec. She will … turn someday. If I don’t stop her, someone else will.”
“Not on my watch.”
“Mark my words,” Vincent insisted. “Someone will have to kill her. It may even be you.”
“Never.” Alec raised the sword, holding it above Vincent’s neck, ready to deal the final blow. Then his eyes caught Vincent’s and he hesitated. Could he really do this? Could he murder his own godfather?
“I told you,” Vincent taunted, chuckling, “you don’t have it in you.”
Fury gathered like a storm in Alec’s chest. He brought the blade down on Vincent’s neck with a forceful swing. It connected. Vincent’s broken body lay before him in a pool of spreading gore.
Relief spread through him. It was done. Claire was safe. That monster could never harm her.
Suddenly, to his dismay, the body on the floor in front of him vanished into thin air.
He heard Claire gasp.
A deep chuckle sounded across the room.
“Or … maybe you do.” Vincent stood in the front doorway, still bleeding and grimacing in pain, but very much alive. “Be seeing you.” He darted out, slamming the door behind him.
“Shite!” Alec cried, aghast, even as he glanced back in concern at Claire. “Are you all right?”
“Yes! Just go!” she cried.
Alec raced after Vincent, clutching his sword. Claire followed at his heels, her head pounding in agony, pressing her hand to her nose to stanch the bleeding. They dashed through the courtyard to the street, but it was dark and deserted. There was no sign of Vincent anywhere.
“Shite, shite, shite!” Alec cursed.
They stopped on the sidewalk, Claire’s chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. There was no way to find Vincent now. He could be anything, anywhere.
Sudden tears welled up in her throat and blurred her vision, releasing her anger, disappointment, and relief all at the same time. Her nose, she noticed, had stopped bleeding, but her head was still hammering, and her cheek and jaw felt bruised.
“He’ll come back.” Alec’s was voice tight with frustration.
“I know.”
“But not tonight, I think. He was wounded. He’ll need time to heal, to plan.”
Claire exhaled a little, choking breath. Thank God for that. For right now, at least, she was safe. And she had Alec at her side. Tears fell down her cheeks as she looked at him, standing there at the curb—bruised, bloodied, and battered, his clothes in tatters, a look of fierce determination on his face. Their eyes connected, both relieved to be alive and together. Claire felt a rush of affection and gratitude so strong, she couldn’t stop herself from wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him.
“Thank you,” she murmured in between kisses and tears, ignoring the pain in her jaw, her cheeks wet against his. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Alec responded with equal passion, pressing her close against him with his free arm. “Thank you,” he said softly, kissing away her tears. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You showed me the way.”
“I love you,” she whispered against his lips.
“I’ll always love you,” he whispered back.
His words infused her with joy. Their kiss deepened, and Claire felt as if she’d come home at last. She knew that this was where she belonged: in Alec’s arms and at his side.
When their lips finally parted, Claire wiped her eyes and rested her forehead against Alec’s chest. “Promise you won’t ever leave me again.”
He held her tightly. “I hope I’ll never need to.”
Claire heard a car approaching. She looked up to find Neil’s Lexus pulling to the curb. Three doors flew open, and Neil, Brian, and Erica jumped out. Claire stepped out of Alec’s embrace, glancing down at the bloody sword he still carried. They had a lot to explain, and she had no idea where to begin.
Neil strode up first, hurt and angry. “Where the hell have you two been?” As he drew nearer and caught sight of their appearance, he stopped short in dismay. “Oh my God. What happened?”
Claire’s hand flew to her cheek, aware that she must be a bruised and bloody mess. “I—had a nosebleed,” she said uncertainly.
“Are you guys okay?” Erica demanded, with a look that conveyed her frustration that they couldn’t talk openly.
Claire nodded silently.
“Shit, Alec. You look like you’ve been through a meat grinder,” Brian observed.
“I feel like it, too,” Alec answered.
“Is that a real sword?” Brian added in awe.
Alec, Claire, and Erica all shot Brian a wide-eyed, silencing glare. Claire saw Neil pick up on their collective response. He frowned.
Erica instantly changed the subject. “Why aren’t you answering your phone, Claire? Why’d you guys leave the dance? You promised you wouldn’t go outside alone … with those weird kids around!”
“Yeah, well, Mr. Patterson told me that Alec was injured in a fight with them,” Claire answered slowly. It was the truth, and Alec’s appearance certainly supported her statement. But what else could she say, with Neil standing there? She hated to lie to his face, but what choice did she have? “So… I went out to help Alec, and then drove him to the hospital. He’s okay now. We just got back.”
Neil squinted at her, obviously not buying it. “How’d you get that bruise on your face?”
“I … tripped on the stairs at school.”
“Bullshit,” Neil said, angry again. “The police broke up the dance. A sophomore went up the hill for some air and found a dead mountain lion on the main stairwell, with its head cut off.” Neil’s eyes swerved to collide with Alec’s. “So, MacKenzie. Did you and your sword have anything to do with that?”
Erica and Brian stared down at the ground knowingly, while Claire shot Alec a silent, desperate glance.
“Does it matter?” Alec replied quietly.
Claire felt the heat of Neil’s gaze as he studied the four of them. “Something really weird is going on. You mind letting me in on it, Brennan?”
Claire swallowed hard. “I … can’t. I’m sorry.”
Neil shook his head in disgust and backed away, raising his hands in the air. “You know what? Screw you guys. I don’t need this.”
“Wait, Neil—” Claire began, racking her brain for some explanation that would smooth things over, but her head and jaw still ached fiercely, and nothing came to mind.
With undisguised pain in his eyes, Neil added, “The first half of the evening was really nice, Claire.” He turned, climbed into his car, and screeched off.
Claire sighed. It hurt her deeply to see Neil leave like that. But no matter how upset she was, she knew that he felt worse. And it was all her fault.
“One of these days, you’re going to have to tell him what’s going on,” Erica said.
Claire shook her head. “I hope not.”
“Who says he’d believe it?” Brian muttered.
Just then, Claire heard her mother’s frantic voice calling out from her front door. “Claire? Claire! Where are you?”
“We’re out here, Mom!” she yelled. “We’re okay! I’ll be right there.” To her friends, she said wearily, “She’s got to be so freaked by what just happened.”
Brian and Erica looked at the both of them. “What did just happen?”
Claire and Alec exchanged a glance. Then she sighed and turned back to their friends with a bittersweet smile. “It’s a long story. You’d better come inside.”