The Forbidden Trilogy
THE FORBIDDEN TRILOGY
(Special Omnibus
Edition)
by
Kimberly Kinrade
THE FORBIDDEN TRILOGY Copyright © 2012 Kimberly Kinrade
Cover Art Copyright © 2012 Sarah Melville
FORBIDDEN MIND Copyright © 2011 Kimberly Kinrade
Cover Art Copyright © 2011 Sarah Melville
FORBIDDEN FIRE Copyright © 2012 Kimberly Kinrade
Cover Art Copyright © 2012 Sarah Melville
FORBIDDEN LIFE Copyright © 2012 Kimberly Kinrade
Cover Art Copyright © 2012 Sarah Melville
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Story Consulting by Dmytry Karpov
Edited by Lane Diamond and John Allen
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thanks so much to Lane Diamond and John Allen for doing
such an amazing job editing this series, and to Mallory Rock for her proofreading,
and Dmytry Karpov for his work as my story consultant. Also to Sarah Melville
for such awesome cover designs for this series.
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Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and
incidents are products of the author's imagination, or the author has used them
fictitiously.
For Jan.
Thank you for your continued support in all of my
pursuits and for always believing in me.
Love,
Kimberly
Part One – A Deal with the Devil
Part Two – The Different Names of
Love
TOP
SECRET: IPI Paranormal Profiles
Tell Me No
Secrets by Sam Smith and Drake Davis
Question
& Answers with Author Kimberly Kinrade
(Book 1 of The
Forbidden Trilogy)
by
Kimberly Kinrade
One more stroke of red... and done! My cramped fingers
reluctantly released the paintbrush. After six hours of non-stop painting, no
part of my body wanted to move, but all of it needed to. When in the zone, I
never felt the strain of time—only
after
the project did it catch up to
me, the aching muscles and burning pain in my hand, the serious need to pee.
I darted for the bathroom attached to the art studio, but
nearly tripped over my still-asleep legs when they failed to move as
instructed. With a groan and a very full bladder, I lumbered in and relieved
myself, then returned to my easel and stretched all of my angry muscles.
A deep voice startled me out of my back stretch. "Wow,
Sam, this has got to be your best work yet." Mr. Krevner, Mr. K for short,
stood in a shadowed corner of the studio and stared at my painting.
I'd never seen him so enraptured by any of my work. I'd
never seen him speechless before, either, and that stroked my artistic ego as
nothing else could. The 16x24 canvas oil painting that had stolen my social
life for the past two months radiated an aliveness and color that I'd never
been able to capture before.
My art professor came forward, walking as though in a church
and speaking in a hushed voice. "Where did you get the inspiration for
this? The layers of texture and use of tone are extraordinary, and the
juxtaposition of fluid brush strokes and harsh, jagged lines creates a dynamic
movement to the piece, a conflict that has been missing in your other work.
Extraordinary. What are you calling it?"
The hitch in my voice betrayed my nerves. "The Color of
Thought. It represents how I 'see' the world, with the thoughts of everyone
swirling around me, and the conflict I feel at having so many minds invade my
own. I went with a more abstract style to capture the frenetic energy of my
experiences. I know my work is usually more realistic, but...."
Nothing in my art had ever been so personal. Maybe great art
had to be ripped from a person's soul, before it could evoke emotion in others.
"Do you think it's good enough for the International
Art Contest?" I dipped into his thoughts, but he spoke exactly what was on
his mind.
His long fingers intertwined, and his thin, penciled-in
eyebrows shot up and down in excitement. "Good enough? It's better than
that. It's incredible! In two weeks, you'll be the winner of one of the most
prestigious art contests in the world. It'll make your career and get you into
Sarah Lawrence."
I covered my painting with a piece of canvas, careful not to
touch the wet paint, scrubbed my hands and brushes in the sink, and grabbed my
book bag. "I haven't even gotten accepted yet."
He walked me to the door. "You will. Don't worry about
it. Your future is assured."
I adjusted my backpack onto my shoulders. "I'm going to
get something to eat. I'll come back later to talk about the contest details
with you."
When Mr. K smiled, his hawk nose and skeletal facial
features transformed into something less reminiscent of Jack Skellington from
The
Nightmare Before Christmas
—his usual look. He was almost, for just a
moment, handsome—though not my type at all. Way too old.