Forbidden (22 page)

Brian shrugged. “Maybe they do, but angels aren’t proof either way.”

“I always thought angels were beings of pure goodness and light,” Claire went on, “so why did I have a vision of Alec killing someone?”

“The Bible also has warrior angels who carry swords and smite the wicked,” Erica pointed out. “Maybe that’s what you saw.”

Claire nodded, cringing. “He was definitely
smiting
someone.” She threw up her hands with a sigh. “None of this proves that
I’m
descended from an angel. How did it happen? Was one of my mother’s distant ancestors a Grigori? Or does the bloodline come from my father’s side?”

“You don’t know anything about your father, right?” Brian asked.

“Absolutely nothing. Except that he vanished not long after I was born.”

“Well, whichever side it comes from,” Erica said, “I think it’s real. It must be responsible for these weird psychic powers you have—and be the reason someone wants you dead.”

“Wonderful,” Claire added quietly, sinking down on the bed with renewed trepidation, “and the person who’s supposed to protect me is
Alec
.”

Claire didn’t sleep a wink that night. Although Erica, beside her, nodded off minutes after her head hit the pillow, and Claire could hear Brian snoring in the guest room across the hall, Claire tossed and turned all night long, too astonished and frightened by everything they’d just learned to even contemplate sleep.

On the one hand, the whole thing seemed impossible and ridiculous. Claire tried to convince herself that there was some other explanation for Alec’s incredible powers and for her freakish mental episodes. But the more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that it might be true.

All her life, her mom had been so secretive and neurotic, watching over Claire like a hawk, packing up and moving at the slightest indication of impending trouble. Was it possible her mother knew something about all this? Did her mom suspect that Claire might have inherited angel blood? All these years, had her mom been worried that Claire might come into some kind of weird, part-angel powers, and that somehow it would spell her doom? If so, it would explain a lot. But did it mean that the angel blood came from her mom’s side or her dad’s side? And why would somebody want to
kill
her? What possible threat could
she
be to anyone?

At breakfast the next morning, Claire sat silent and bleary-eyed as Erica and Brian made small talk with Erica’s family. Afterward, Claire picked up Alec’s car from the parking lot where she’d left it the day before and tried to return it, with Erica and Brian following in Brian’s silver Accord. When they got to Alec’s apartment, however, his curtains were drawn and he didn’t answer her knock. Since the car keys wouldn’t fit in his mailbox slot, she left him a note instead.

Alec,

I’m sorry I stole your car in a panic. I’m keeping it safe at my place. Please call me so I can bring it back to you
.

Claire

P.S. We have to talk. Now
.

Claire dropped the note in the box. As they headed back to their cars, Brian said, “Want us to follow you home and stay for a while? Just to make sure you’re safe?”

“Thanks, but no.” Claire slipped into Alec’s car. “I’ll be fine.” In truth, she didn’t feel fine at all. She was overwhelmed by fear and exhaustion, her mind was still in a whirl, and every nerve in her body seemed to be standing on end—but she was dying for some alone time. “I haven’t seen anybody lurking in the bushes yet,” she added, striving for a light tone. “Thanks again, guys, for everything. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The drive back to her place was mercifully uneventful.

“Mom! I’m home,” she called out in her cheeriest voice as she unlocked the front door and entered.

There was no answer. Claire saw a sticky note resting on the entryway table. It read:

Claire—

I have two showings this morning and an open house until 5. Please take the lasagna out of the freezer and pop it in the oven at 4:30. See you for dinner!

Love, Mom

Claire sighed with relief, grabbing the note and bringing it upstairs as a reminder. She’d assumed her mom wouldn’t be home—her mom almost always worked on the weekends. Although Claire was desperately curious to ask her mom a few things, she wasn’t ready to talk about this just yet. She looked forward to taking a hot shower and dropping into her own bed where, hopefully, she’d finally be able to sleep.

Sticking the note on her door, Claire entered her room, dumped her purse on her dresser, and kicked off her boots. With both hands, she grabbed the hem of her peasant top and was about to yank it up and over her head, when suddenly a calm, deep voice sounded from behind her.

“Wait.”

Claire yelped in alarm and spun, her fists still gripping her shirt.

Someone sat in her desk chair, his eyes on the floor. Someone looking as red-faced and sleep-deprived as she was.

Alec.

nineteen

“H
ow the hell did you get in here?” Claire cried, shrinking back and grimacing as she banged into her dresser.

Alec winced in sympathy. “I’ll explain in a minute,” he responded quietly.

To Alec’s relief, Claire didn’t appear to be terrified at the sight of him—just tired and astonished—although she blushed furiously, crossing her arms over her chest, as if she felt exposed even though he’d stopped her before she took off her shirt. “I’m really sorry I startled you, Claire,” he continued, “but I had to talk to you. I was afraid you wouldn’t let me in if I came to the door.”

After everything Claire had seen yesterday, he had no idea what she was thinking or feeling, or what she imagined him to be. But to his chagrin, there was no longer any doubt about
her
. Claire was definitely the Halfblood Vincent was seeking. Alec still didn’t know what her true power was, or why she’d reacted so violently when he’d kissed her, but he’d seen her emerald aura, a color so rare he’d never witnessed it in his entire life—and had only heard about it in old legends.

“How long have you been here?” Claire asked, her hazel eyes wide.

“A few hours. Since your mom left this morning.” Alec noticed several small purple bruises on her chest above the neckline of her blouse, and he cringed inwardly. “You’re hurt.”

“Your car doesn’t have air bags. No big deal, they’re just bruises.”

“I’m sorry, that’s my fault,” he said again with deep sincerity, not moving from his chair. She was staring at him tensely, as if she might bolt at any second—and any movement on his part might trigger her flight. “There’s a lot to say, Claire. But the most important thing is: I’m not here to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

She nodded, her wariness now giving way to what looked like a mix of awe and fascination as she studied him. “Every time I’ve asked you what you are, you’ve avoided the subject or made me feel like I was crazy. Are you here to tell me the truth?”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Now that he knew what she was, it wasn’t against the rules to discuss this with her. In fact, it was encouraged. “Aye.”

“Finally.” Then, with confidence and conviction, she said, “So, you’re a Grigori?”

The question was so unexpected that Alec nearly fell out of the chair. “How do you know that word?”

“Just answer the question: Are you or are you not a Grigori? A Watcher?
An angel?
”

His heart pounded in a frenzy and he glanced away. He couldn’t believe it:
She knew
. How was it possible? No one had
ever
asked him that question point-blank before. It felt strange not to broach the subject himself with a reluctant or skeptical subject.

Alec returned his eyes to hers again. “I don’t like the term
angel
. None of us do. But—yes. I am a Grigori.”

“Okay. Okay.” She looked like she was about to hyperventilate now. “And
what am I
? Am I really a Nephilim?”

If he’d been surprised before, it was nothing to this. He’d had a speech all prepared, but apparently it was unnecessary. All he could do was nod, dumbfounded.

Claire reacted in equally stunned disbelief. “Wow. This is … really…” Her voice trailed off, and it took a long moment before she looked him in the eye again. Then they were just staring at each other.

He broke the silence. “How do you know all this, Claire? Can you read minds?”

“Not exactly.” Claire shook off her exhaustion with a deep sigh. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it, and I have about a million questions to ask you. But I’ve just spent the past twenty hours cooped up in Erica’s bedroom, and with what I know now, being alone here with you is kind of … nerve-racking, to say the least.”

“I understand.”

“Do you mind if we go somewhere else to talk? Someplace
outside
that maybe has one or two other people around?”

Alec rose to his feet, his lips twitching with repressed amusement. “As in, a quiet location with a few potential
witnesses
?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Alec took her to one of his favorite spots: the Venice Canals, a unique and peaceful neighborhood in West Los Angeles just five blocks from the famous Venice boardwalk, where paved sidewalks meandered alongside intersecting water channels covered by arched bridges, past long rows of beautiful homes with small, landscaped gardens.

“I can’t believe I live only a few miles from here and I didn’t even know this place existed.” Claire gazed about with a tense smile as they strolled along, listening to the ducks splashing in the canal and the chirping of birds in the nearby trees.

The hot sun baked Alec’s shoulders and was reflected so brightly in the dark greenish-blue of the canal that he wished he’d brought sunglasses. They passed a mom pushing a baby in a stroller, a couple working in their yard, and several people walking their dogs on the other side of the canal, but otherwise the area was quiet and serene.

“Some people live in L.A. their entire lives and never find out about it,” Alec said. “I hoped you’d find it the perfect blend of visibility and solitude.”

“It is,” Claire agreed, although she still looked nervous and wary.

As they walked, Claire told him what had been happening to her over the past two weeks—that she’d been receiving weird visions through touch, revealing random glimpses of people’s past or future—and how she’d actually changed Neil’s future by tutoring him in Spanish.

“So
that’s
your gift,” Alec mused. “A form of second sight.”

“It doesn’t feel like a gift. It feels like a curse. The visions make me sick, and I have no idea when they’re going to come.”

“We call each of our abilities a gift or talent. You’ll learn to control yours in time.” Alec sent her a look that he hoped was reassuring. She looked so pretty and vulnerable, walking beside him, the sunlight glinting off her hair. How much did she really know about her own situation? Was she aware of how much danger she was in, if she was found? He wanted more than anything to take her hand in his—both to offer her comfort, and for the joy her touch would bring him—but in light of her newly awakened abilities, that didn’t seem like a good idea.