Forbidden. Part 17

twenty.

"Are you okay?" Alec regarded Claire with concern as they paused on her threshold.

"Not really," Claire replied honestly.

She felt overwhelmed, both mentally and physically-and as if she were a completely different person than she had been the day before. But in fact, she reminded herself, she was not a person at all. She was this paranormal ... being ... who shouldn't even exist.

Nothing was simple anymore. Her relationship with Alec was illegal. Her birth-her very life-was illegal. Some supernatural police force she'd never known existed might decide to imprison or execute her the minute they found her-just because her father was an angel.

"It's a lot to digest," she added, "and it's all ... terrifying."

"I'm sorry."

"I still have a lot of questions. Like, who is Helena? If she's a Grigori and she knows who I am, isn't she supposed to turn me in? Do you think she already has? But if so, why send me all those warnings?"

"I don't know. But unless she contacts you again and gives you more information, there's nothing we can do about it. Meanwhile, you're exhausted and so am I. Right now I think we should get some sleep."

"I hope I can sleep. Two weeks ago, my biggest concern was how to fit in, how to be normal. Now I know that's never going to happen and instead I'm afraid for my life."

"Normal is overrated, Claire. And as for your life... I swear, I won't let anything happen to you." A weighty pause followed and then a gentle smile lit his handsome face. "After all, I don't want to sing at the Homecoming a.s.sembly all by myself, do I?"

Claire could tell that behind Alec's smile he was still very worried about her-but the affection in his voice, and the way he was looking at her, made her heart skip a beat. She matched his playful tone, hoping to ease some of his concern. "I forgot all about that. I owe you a rehearsal."

"How about tomorrow, after school? In the music room?"

"Deal," she answered, realizing she was looking forward to it.

He fell silent. Claire glanced up at him, catching a sudden, uncertain look in his eyes. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was. Here they were, standing just a few feet apart, at her front door. Were they supposed to kiss good-bye?

Remembering their kiss yesterday-at least before it turned disastrous-made her tingle in antic.i.p.ation. But, she reminded herself, she wasn't just a girl with a crush, and Alec wasn't just a boy she had a crush on. There were bigger things at stake now. Did she dare kiss him again, knowing what might happen? And of far greater consequence: If their entire relationship was against Grigori law, what would happen if they pursued it?

"Alec, even if you can convince them that I'm not a threat," she whispered, her heart seizing, "what would they do if they found out about ... us?"

"I don't know," he answered, staring at his shoes. "At the very least, I imagine they'd sever all ties between us and send me away. At the worst..." His eyes lifted to hers again, fiercely determined. "Let's not think about the worst. I believe that anything worth having is worth fighting for. Don't you?"

"Yes," she replied emphatically.

They moved into each other's arms then for a quick, intense hug. Through the thin fabric of her blouse, Claire felt the warmth of Alec's hands as they pressed firmly against her back. It made her feel comforted, rea.s.sured ... safe. And then he was stepping back and carefully shoving his hands in his pockets again.

"See you at school tomorrow?" he said softly.

All she could do was nod as he turned and walked away. Claire undressed and turned on the shower, gratefully stepping beneath the comforting warm spray. As she washed her hair, she tried to calm herself, but her mind was in a whirl, her thoughts consumed by all that she'd just learned.

Was her mother aware of her father's true ident.i.ty, and the dangerous heritage he'd pa.s.sed on? Did she dare ask her about it? Claire frowned, nixing the idea. Whatever her mom did know, she was finally happy, and she'd even had a coffee date the night before. Alec had insisted he was going to do his best to defuse the situation. What would be the point of disrupting her mother's newfound harmony? Besides, the woman in Claire's vision had been so emphatic: Don't tell anyone. Claire had already screwed that up. Twice.

It'd be best, Claire decided, to wait a few days until Alec talked to his G.o.dfather. When Alec came back with a report that they were safe, then, hopefully, it would be okay to talk about all this with her mom.

However-her mother's peace of mind notwithstanding-Claire was still dying to know the truth. Who was her father? How and when did they meet? As Claire dried off from her shower and finished dressing, she wondered if she could find proof that he was a Grigori.

She had been tempted many times to look through her mother's things for some clue to her father's ident.i.ty, but she'd always talked herself out of it. Back then, her father had just been a man who'd abandoned her and her mom. Now, he was something else entirely-a Grigori in danger who had to flee to protect them. She just had to know more.

Stifling a wave of guilt, Claire opened her mother's bedroom door and snuck in. The room was as starkly furnished as Claire's: just a double bed, an end table, and a dresser strewn with a few knickknacks. Matted and framed posters of Paris, London, and other far-flung locations hung on the walls, offering the only hint at her mother's personal interests.

Claire spent several minutes going through her mother's drawers. Not finding anything special, she moved to the collection of little boxes on her dresser, which contained an a.s.sortment of costume jewelry. Then she remembered that her mom kept her best jewelry hidden in a shoe box in her closet.

Claire methodically searched through every shoe box on the closet shelf, but to her disappointment, she found nothing but shoes. Come on, she thought, there has to be something in here. As her hand grazed a pair of blue pumps, Claire felt a sudden tingle rush up her arm. She gasped and dropped the shoe instinctively. She'd forgotten her new ability could be triggered by an object and not just a person. Brian's theory was that it had only worked because the bracelet's owner-Erica's mom-was having a traumatic experience, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe if she concentrated really hard, harder than she had with Alec's lockbox, she wouldn't have to rely on physical evidence alone to find out more about her dad.

She paused, bracing herself, and then wrapped her fingers around the shoe she'd dropped. Speak to me, she implored with her mind, repeating the phrase over and over. To her satisfaction, the tingle grew stronger, and then came a brief flash of a vision: She was in a store, trying on those very shoes, and admiring the way they looked on her feet. Her mom's feet.

Claire let go of the shoe with a smile and returned the shoe box to the shelf. Any item in this room might, if she was lucky, give her the information she was so desperately seeking-and that last vision hadn't made her feel woozy at all.

On the floor beneath the clothes were a few more shoe boxes. Claire dug behind them and found another box, buried in a deep corner of the closet. When she saw what was inside, her heart leapt. It was the hidden jewelry stash-the one Claire's mother had shown her once or twice when she was younger-an a.s.sortment of tiny boxes and pouches containing various pieces of precious jewelry.

Claire fingered every piece, admiring them and hoping for a vision. One tiny, old box contained a beautiful, antique-looking gold ring with a large, emerald-cut amethyst. Claire had never seen it before. Even in the dim light of the closet, the stone reflected a pure, deep purple light. She took the ring out of the box and studied it. The band was engraved on the underside: TO L, WITH LOVE, R.

Could it be an engagement ring, engraved with a message to her mom? She slipped it on. The ring was so small, it only fit her little finger. Strange, she thought. Her mother's hands were the same size as her own.

Then she felt it. A vision was coming. Claire blinked, and then- She was sitting at a wrought-iron table set with a bone china tea service, on the back porch of a large brick mansion, overlooking a green expanse of garden.

The amethyst ring sparkled on the slender ring finger of her right hand as she sipped from a cup. The tea was warm and fragrant, and it relaxed her.

The sound of a little girl's laughter caught her attention. A golden-haired child, perhaps four years of age, sat at her own miniature table across the lawn, serving tea from a tiny teapot to a group of dolls and stuffed animals.

"Lynn!" The womanly voice that issued from Claire's mouth was concerned but not angry. "Be careful not to spill any tea on your dress."

"Okay, Mommy," the little girl replied.

With a rush of sound and light, the images disappeared.

Claire caught her breath. The child-Lynn-must have been her mom. And the body she'd inhabited must have been her mom's mother-the grandmother Claire had never met. Tears sprang into Claire's eyes as she carefully replaced the ring and returned the shoe box to its hiding place. She'd just seen where her mother grew up! She'd felt what it was like, for a fleeting instant, to be her own grandmother!

For the first time, she had an inkling of what Alec had meant when he said she had a potent gift that might make others wary. This power she had, it was truly amazing ... incredible.

With no boxes left to go through, Claire sifted quickly through her mother's clothes. She made sure to deliberately touch each garment, but nothing happened. She was about to slide the closet door shut, when her eyes fell on a garment bag hanging at the far end of the rod. It occurred to her that-even though she'd touched the bag-she hadn't looked inside. In fact, although Claire had seen this old garment bag every time they'd moved, she'd never seen her mother open it. With a sudden, eerie sense of premonition, she took the plastic bag out of the closet, lay it on the bed, and unzipped it.

A brown corduroy sport coat that looked older than she was-and was obviously meant for a man-was inside. Claire's heart raced. What was her mom doing with a man's blazer? She extended her hand toward the jacket, her fingers trembling. It seemed as if the room was filled with an electric charge. Slowly, gently, she placed her hand on the rough corduroy lapel and waited. And waited.

Nothing.

Nothing?!

Claire frowned, annoyed, refusing to admit defeat.

She wrapped her fingers tightly around both lapels. "Breathe," she said aloud, trying to reproduce the trance Erica had put her in. "Focus." She stared at the jacket lying on the bed and mentally begged it to speak to her.

"Whose jacket are you?" Claire implored quietly. "Who do you belong to?"

A wave of dizziness consumed her, along with a mild twinge in her stomach. Claire felt a sudden, strange sensation of loss and distance, as if this coat had been separated from its master for a long time, dimming whatever memories it contained. She had to fight to stay upright and to hold on to the jacket.

"Tell me!" she insisted.

All at once- Claire's ears were a.s.saulted by the sounds of traffic. A city in motion came into focus around her. She was walking down a crowded sidewalk. On one side, she was flanked by tall buildings that reached to the sky. Across the street was a huge green park dotted with trees bursting with autumn color. In the street, a line of yellow taxicabs honked and inched slowly forward.

It looked like the New York City she'd seen depicted in every TV show, movie, and picture postcard.

Someone was holding her hand. It was a woman, blond, and shorter than she was. It was a younger version of her mother! She looked about seventeen years old and radiantly beautiful in a bright blue turtleneck and scarf.

Looking at her mom, the person that Claire was inhabiting felt a surge of warmth and happiness, a feeling so intense that it nearly took her breath away. Claire glanced down to discover that she-or whoever she was-was wearing the brown blazer. She heard herself speak. But it was a man's deep voice that issued from her throat.

"Lynn, you look cold."

In one smooth motion, the man shrugged out of the jacket and wrapped it lovingly around her mother's shoulders. It was at that moment Claire noticed the gentle swell of her teenage mother's belly. She was pregnant.

"Don't be an idiot, Tom. You'll freeze," her mom replied with a gently reproving look.

Tom, Claire thought. Was that her dad's name? My G.o.d, this was incredible! She was experiencing a precious moment from her mom's past-a moment her mother had never shared with her. Claire desperately wished her mom was wearing reflective sungla.s.ses, so she could see the man's face.

A new sound entered Claire's consciousness, louder than even the New York traffic: the thump and vibration of the front door closing. She blinked and came back to the present with such force that she almost fell backward. The sounds of her mom dropping her bag and keys on the table downstairs filtered upward.

"Claire?" came her mom's voice. "Are you here?"

Claire quickly zipped up the garment bag and stuffed it back in the closet. She shut the closet doors and double-checked that the room was in the exact same state in which she'd found it.

"Claire?" Her mom was starting up the stairs now.

Claire tiptoed down the hall into her own room, where she dove onto the bed, jammed earbuds in her ears, and s.n.a.t.c.hed up a textbook from the floor. Her mom appeared in the doorway. Claire kept her eyes on the text, pretending to read.

"Why are you reading in the dark?" her mom said, flicking on the light switch.

Claire gave her mom her most innocent, surprised look, as she tugged loose one earbud. "What?"

"h.e.l.lo to you, too. Why didn't you turn a light on?"

"It was, like, totally sunny five minutes ago."

"Well, now the sun is setting. Thanks for putting the lasagna in the oven-it'll be ready in ten minutes. I'll make the salad. Come down and set the table."

"'kay. Just let me finish this paragraph."

Her mom nodded and headed briefly into her own room. Claire held her breath, listening, waiting. A few seconds later, she heard her mom return downstairs, apparently not having noticed anything out of the ordinary.

Dodged that bullet, Claire thought, heaving a sigh of relief.

Throughout dinner her mom was uncharacteristically quiet. Which was just as well, since Claire's thoughts were preoccupied by the strange couple of days she'd had and all the questions that were burning in her mind. Like: What had her mom's childhood been like? Where was that palatial house? Not to mention the whole angel thing. Tom had to be her father. Her mom was pregnant at the time. Why else would her mom have kept that jacket all those years, unless she loved him very much-and missed him? Still, did her mom really know who and what Tom was, and that Claire was a Halfblood?

And oh yeah: Am I destined to be vaporized by a Council of celestial beings?

This wasn't the right time to bring any of this up. She'd stick to her plan and say nothing. For now.

Thankfully, however, Claire could talk to Brian and Erica. She spent several hours on video chat that night, telling them about her dad's jacket vision, and detailing everything she'd learned from Alec.

"Fascinating," Brian said, in a dead-on impression of Mr. Spock, when she'd gone over all that she remembered. "And frightening." He insisted he'd been paying full attention, even though his eyes were glued to the video game he was playing-and winning-simultaneously.

"I sure hope Alec knows what he's doing," Erica added, "and can get you off the hook."

"You're not the only one," Claire agreed.

"What I want to know is, what's Alec doing here?" Brian said.

"What do you mean?" Claire asked.

"He said the Grigori watch over the Awakened and police the Fallen-but that he wasn't a.s.signed to you. So what is his a.s.signment?"

"Huh. That's a good question," Claire said. "We'll have to ask him tomorrow."

Mr. Patterson faced the cla.s.s, swinging his right hand up forcefully against his left fist, an action that propelled a tiny wad of paper up with a resounding pop. "Okay! Pop quiz, everyone."

The cla.s.s groaned. Claire stifled a yawn. After the late-night chat with the gang, she'd been up until two in the morning doing homework. That, compounded by her lack of sleep on Sat.u.r.day night, made her so groggy that she'd barely been able to drag herself out of bed that morning.

"Clean sheet of paper, name at the top," Patterson commanded. "Question one: Name three things that Benjamin Franklin invented."

Claire leaned toward Alec, who sat beside her. "How about, name the true source of Franklin's genius," she whispered with a covert smile.

Something whizzed past her head and hit the wall behind them-a small, pink rubber eraser. Claire started up guiltily to find Mr. Patterson glaring at her.

"I'm sorry, Miss Brennan, I seem to have dropped something back there," Patterson intoned flatly. "Would you mind bringing it back to me? Or would that interrupt your conversation?"

Claire flushed and was struggling for a reply when Alec scooped up the tiny eraser and stood. "It was my fault, sir. I wasn't sure I heard your question properly, and Claire was just repeating it for me."

"Next time, Mr. MacKenzie, raise your hand and ask me to repeat it."

"Yes, sir." Alec walked to the front and calmly set the eraser on Patterson's desk.

Claire hid a grateful smile. Mr. Patterson continued with the oral quiz. After cla.s.s, she waited for Alec outside.

"Thanks for taking the blame," Claire said as he emerged.

"I told you I'd protect you."

She returned his grin as they headed off together toward their next cla.s.s. She was bursting with questions for him, but first she was eager to share her news. "I have something to tell you."

"What?"

"I found my father's jacket last night."

Alec's green eyes widened as Claire told him the whole story, from the thing with her mother's shoe, to her grandmother's ring, to the vision about her mother and Tom.