Forbidden (44 page)

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.