Forbidden

by Lori Adams

  Raph cranks Duffy’s stereo to “Sweet Home Alabama” and everyone in the pit cheers and sings and dances along. Then he saunters over barefoot and shirtless with shorts riding low on his hips.

  “Hiya, Sophie. You coming?” I shake my head, and he cops a mischievous grin and snags my T-shirt. “Don’t be shy now.” I am pulled unwillingly to the top of the muddy slide where Michael is standing. Even relaxed, Michael’s eagle eyes scrutinize everyone in the pit like a designated lifeguard. The throbbing springs to life in my chest, and I wonder if it will always be like this.

  Far below in the pit, mud and laughter are flying in every direction. The guys are nearly unrecognizable and the girls are brown from the neck down. Milvi flings slimy mud balls at Casey, who lunges after her. An earth-shattering scream follows as Milvi gets her due. J.D. and Holden are twin towers of dripping, gooey muck. They stomp after Bailey and Rachel like the rotting zombies.

  “The best way to do this,” Raph tells me, “is to slide right in.”

  “I’m not going in there,” I state firmly. It looks like fun but I have too much homework to waste the evening digging mud out of my long hair. “I’ll just watch.”

  Raph gives me a sly smile and then rubs his hands together in sweet anticipation. “Well, here I go.” He plunges down the hill, slipping and spinning and taking three people down with him. Everybody howls with laughter.

  Temptation wants me to march down to the pit and finish my conversation with Casey, but this hardly seems the time or place. I’ll wait patiently, biding my time.

  “They’re going to throw you in if you don’t go yourself.” Michael’s warning is soft but sure.

  “They wouldn’t dare,” I say indignantly. “They don’t know me well enough.” I am smug, crossing my arms and shifting my weight to one hip.

  We fall silent, watching. It’s not long before sporadic glances come my way. An unspoken understanding passes around the muddy group, a fissure breaking my resolve.

  “How long do I have?” I murmur.

  Michael says, “About thirty seconds,” and then bursts out laughing at my startled expression. I’ve never heard him laugh before, and I’m caught by surprise. The deep, rich tenor is like a warm breeze settling on top of my heart. It’s the most wonderful sound I’ve ever heard, and I smile cautiously, feeling myself give way.

  Michael’s laughter gradually dissolves into a gentle smile that eventually melds into a sobering look of awareness. We stare without blinking and I’d swear something unique passes between us. Something beyond the clumsiness of words …

  And then it’s gone, and his lips twitch like he’s hiding a secret. There is orneriness in his eyes and without looking away, he methodically slips his T-shirt over his head and drops it.

  Holy Mother of God.

  Okay, so he is slightly more muscular than I imagined. Not that I spend a lot of time imagining how Michael Patronus looks without his shirt, but with those broad shoulders and muscular arms … a girl has to wonder.

  I step back, and he lifts a skeptical eyebrow. I lengthen my retreat. “Think I’ll go wait in the truck,” I mumble. His mouth curves into a wicked grin that sends me spinning around. I manage one step before his arm wraps around my waist and hoists me up. “No, please!” I beg and squirm. “I’m not dressed for—” He is marching toward the slide, and I flop like a rag doll over his arm. “My shoes!” I call out anything to stop his progress. But I have alerted the zombies below, and they see my struggle and holler their depraved approval.

  Michael swings me over his shoulder and yanks off my Vans. The zombies shake their fists and cheer at my imminent demise. Then he rolls me back into his arms.

  “Anything else you’d like me to take off?” he asks, and my mouth falls open. “Didn’t think so.” He laughs as I blush, and then yells down, “Somebody catch her!” He tosses me onto the gloppy slide, and I fly through sludge and land on a horde of mud eaters. Thick, brown waves gush out on impact and coat everything but the top of my head. I am sitting in a giant bowl of chocolate pudding like a Willie Wonka reject.

  Clapping and shouting and jeering follow, everybody satisfied that I’ve been sufficiently initiated into the pit. Flying mud balls resume. At some point, the guys start a competition of sludge surfing, and only Raph can make it all the way into the pit without crashing. This is followed by the high-don’t-dive belly flop competition, and then the clash of the backward back-breakers. Wimps need not apply.

  After a couple of hours of sliding, sludging, and slinging, we are fatigued from the thick muck. Bailey and Rachel grope for the grassy edge and lean against me, as I sit there panting from sheer exhaustion.

  “We should’ve thrown in some straw,” Rachel muses weakly. “We’d have enough bricks to build a new school.”

  My legs are sore and I have mud in my ears. I contemplate sliding back in for a mud nap when Michael clomps over.

  “No sitting. Come on.”

  “There’s more?” I groan. The girls and I pull each other up on shaky legs. They understand what comes next and follow the others migrating left along a path. It is slow going for me, and they disappear into a dark outcropping of trees before I can catch up.

  I gaze across the countryside and watch the sun as it gives up on the day. It’s getting dark and I wonder what time it is. I don’t know where the others have gone but I think I should be getting home.

  “You don’t want the mud to dry,” Michael says, coming up behind me. We look down at the brown coat hardening on my legs in the cool night air. “Your knees aren’t bending so easy.”

  “I don’t suppose you have a garden hose in there?” I nod toward the trees where everyone disappeared.

  “Better. A waterfall.” He flashes an easy smile that I hardly have time to return. His smile drops like a stone, and my second heartbeat jerks into a double-time beat. I want to ask him what’s wrong, but there is movement over his left shoulder.

  I catch my breath in recognition. That grungy guy is at the edge of the forest, about fifty yards behind Michael. Just like the night of the accident, Michael goes ramrod straight as though he knows that the guy has appeared. My attention is piqued and my eyes swing back and forth between them like a pendulum. The grungy guy takes a step forward, igniting something more in Michael. His eyes wash out, and he averts them.

  “What’s wrong?” I stare in wonder, uncertain of what I have seen. Michael refuses to answer. The grungy guy beckons me with a wave and a smile.

  Oh, Lord, he doesn’t want Michael this time. He wants me!

  A thrill shoots through me. I don’t feel scared or agitated like Michael, but curious. Who is this guy? What on earth does he want with me?

  Maybe I should walk over.

  “Don’t,” Michael growls against my unspoken deliberation. His chest is heaving and his jaw muscle is flexing violently. His silhouette is blue in the muted night but I can see his alarm; I can feel his anxiety.

  I try to understand the situation in the way Mom did, reading the underside of silence, the inside of feelings. I narrow my focus on Michael but it’s no good. He won’t look at me or give anything away. Maybe this guy will. Maybe he’ll explain about the night of the accident. Maybe he’ll relieve my hallucination fears.

  I am going to walk over.

  Michael’s head jerks up, and I see his eyes, wide, worried, and translucent. It’s enough to make my chest swell like a balloon. And then the air between us ripples like water, and I feel a mild tingling sensation. It starts in my hands and feet, making them feel as though they’ve fallen asleep. It spreads by degrees up my arms and legs, racing toward my chest with a fierce urgency. I feel a tug at my heart, barely a nibble but enough to draw me a step closer. It intensifies like it’s coming to a head. The second heartbeat is raging out of control until the nibble snaps like a band and I spring forward, flying through the air and slamming into Michael’s chest. We gasp on impact, and he rocks backward, stunned and off balance. His arms envelope me and I am crus
hed against him. We stay like this for several moments, and then he gently lowers me to the ground and takes my shoulders. He holds me at arm’s length, steadying me while we stare in sheer wonder.

  “I … didn’t do that,” I murmur because Michael isn’t saying anything. His eyes are sparkling prisms that hold me in place as though he is willing me to be quiet. I feel caught in the beautiful myriad of colors that tilts the world around me. My vision begins to swirl and I feel my head grow heavy and loose on my shoulders. My eyes close without my permission and I am weighty with too much gravity working against me. I am a lifeless marionette. Through the fog I hear Michael order Milvi to take me to the house.

  No, I don’t want to go! I want to know what’s happening!

  I fight the bizarre effect dulling my senses and push my eyes open. “Stop it!” I demand.

  Michael and Milvi startle at my outburst. They exchange astonished looks like they didn’t expect me to struggle. Whatever strange hypnosis technique Michael was using was supposed to quiet me.

  “Michael, what’s going on? Tell me … what’s happening?” My head is waterlogged and I blink hard to focus on their static images. Michael stares like I’m speaking in tongues. After a moment he overcomes the confusion, defaulting to an alternative plan.

  He sighs like he’s so bored his teeth might fall out. “What are you talking about? You got dizzy and almost fainted. Probably one of those girl things.” He snarls like I gave him cooties. “Milvi can walk you back to the house if you—”

  “What?” I yell. “Are you gonna tell me—”

  “Come on.” Milvi whisks me around and I stumble with stiff, muddy legs. My knees are crackling.

  “I’m not finished!” I say, craning to see if the grungy guy is still around. All I see is Raph striding up to Michael and looking furious.

  “Yes you are!” Milvi snaps, and then calms down and adds cheerfully, “I mean, everybody’s headed back, okay, Sophia?”

  “Milvi, what happened? Tell me, please?”

  “You got dizzy.”

  I stare at her but she won’t look at me. I know she is lying. She didn’t appear out of nowhere for nothing. Her grip tightens against my tugging, and I relent. It’s no use; I’m stiff as a board in all this mud and she’s a strong little sucker. When we reach the trucks, I look back. Michael and Raph are arguing, and my mind is screaming to be heard.

  Look at me, Michael Patronus!

  Michael whips around, and we lock eyes, and the earth falls off its axis.

  Chapter 13

  Michael

  Michael scrubbed a towel over his wet head, tossed it aside, and grabbed a fresh T-shirt. Raph and Gabe were taking up space in his bedroom, waiting for him to explain what happened to Sophia at the mud pit. He was purposely prolonging the inevitable, wanting to analyze it for himself.

  One thing he did know, that slimy soul seeker, Degan, had no reason for skulking around in the shadows. There were no souls in jeopardy. So had he come to talk to Sophia? She’d obviously seen him again and was willing to speak to him. That alone required Michael to tell his parents about her unique ability.

  Michael’s mother, Katarina, was a Seer for The Council of Guardians. She sensed when the boys would receive a call for help before they did. Her job was to ensure the guardians answered the right calls at the right time. When Michael’s father sent him to watch over the nurse at the accident, no one mentioned seeing any probable complications. Not even his mom. And certainly no one mentioned a human girl who would see into both spirit realms. All that the family knew was what little Michael had told them; Sophia showed up at the accident, and he felt an unusual pain when she came near him.

  What worried Michael most was his mother’s inability to foresee Sophia at the accident, which begged the question: If spiritual entities in the upper realm couldn’t detect Sophia, did that mean entities below could? If so, would that imply she belonged to the regions … from Hell?

  The idea irritated Michael and he told himself it was speculation. Pure conjecture. He would not share his theory with anyone until he understood what happened tonight when Sophia slammed into him. The rush of emotions and energy had been so overpowering that he’d been rendered speechless. Was it a manifestation of Sophia’s doing? Or was someone else pulling the strings?

  Certainly someone must have helped her deflect his subliminal suggestion. She should’ve gone easily into an idle state of awareness so that he and Milvi could deal with Degan, and they could remove her memory of the strange incident. Thank God none of the others had been around. But the fact that Sophia resisted was unnerving. Another secret he would keep. For now.

  “She got dizzy.” Michael finally told his brothers, knowing it was only half true.

  Gabe was perched on the edge of the desk, perusing the ancient Book of Spiritual Auras. “Well, there could be another explanation for her.”

  “I’m all ears,” Raph said, grabbing a bar hanging from the ceiling for a set of chin-ups.

  “She is a vessel.”

  Raph scoffed between reps. “I object on the grounds that she smells too good to be a vessel. You know how those things reek like wet dog.”

  “Is all your reasoning connected to your olfactory?” Gabe complained, and then looked at Michael. “What do you think?”

  Michael was rifling through his sock drawer. “Actually, Raph has a point. Human vessels used by spiritual entities emit a definite aroma. Not sure I’d call it wet dog, but it’s definitely nonhuman. More of a medicinal flavor, like Nyquil.”

  “Original or cherry?” Raph asked.

  “Original.”

  “Original smells like black licorice.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Good grief!” Gabe yelled. “Stay focused! This is serious.” But his brothers laughed, making him feel unworthy of their peculiar brand of humor. He toyed with the corner of a page and grumbled, “Well, what does Sophia smell like?”

  “Honeysuckle,” Michael and Raph answered together. Their eyes locked and they stared uncomfortably, trying to assess each other’s emotions. Michael broke away first, slamming a drawer. He finished dressing, and they followed him out.

  “Where are you going?” Gabe waved the book. “I thought we should hash out some theories. There are several variations we haven’t touched upon and—”

  “I have to be somewhere,” Michael said flippantly and immediately sensed their suspicion. It was unlike him to be vague; their work dictated they stay in constant contact. He turned on the landing. “Look, you guys can stay here and discuss all the possible theories about Sophia St. James, but I’m going to get some answers. By the end of the night, I’ll know if Sophia is a demon or a test or a vessel or a variety of whatever. And when I know, you’ll know. Got it?” He didn’t mean to be rude, but after today Michael was more determined than ever to figure out who Sophia was or who she worked for.

  Chapter 14

  Star Light, Star Bright, First Star I Smack Tonight

  It’s late and Dad and I are sharing a typical dinner of frozen pizza, salad, and silence. I am dying to tell him what happened tonight with Michael and the grungy guy at the mud pit, but giving Dad another opportunity to think I’m a distrusting suspicion-junkie isn’t on my bucket list. No, I have a need to shake off our old ways like a deciduous tree in autumn. I know I should say sorry about yesterday, not to mention the last two years since Mom died. But am I truly sorry for wanting answers? Isn’t that what life’s all about? Understanding things?

  Whatever I was looking for seems found, or at least revealed enough to bring closure. I understand Dad didn’t have my answers, and I have moved on. I want that for him, too.

  “Dad, are we okay?”

  The sound of my voice makes him twitch, and I pay my restitution with a pang of guilt; it is owed. So many of our conversations have begun with me accusing him of something or demanding something.

  I lean in to catch his eyes and offer a smile. “Really, I mean, I know I’ve interrog
ated you about the way Mom died and … I put us through a lot and … I’m sorry. But we’re gonna be okay, right?”

  He searches my face like a reluctant lion tamer, skittish and uncertain. “Well … I know things were hard and … yes, if we can move on we’ll be fine.”

  It’s all he can offer so I take it. I want to pat his hand to smooth out his worry but I know it won’t be enough.

  A knock on the front door makes Dad jump. His hands tremble, and a seed of suspicion takes root in me. Is something else bothering Dad? With Sundance barking in the hallway, there’s no time for my thoughts to germinate. I start to get up, and Dad reacts.

  “No, no. I’ll get it.” He drops his napkin on the table and hurries away. I contemplate following but decide I’ve had enough strain for one night. After the bizarre encounter with Michael and the unrealistic fear that he can actually read my mind, I’m emotionally exhausted.

  Male voices mumble in the hallway, and after a few minutes Dad returns. “Sophia, there’s a young man here to see you.” He seems unexpectedly relaxed and is smiling for the first time in ages.

  “Huh?” I frown and unfold from the chair. Tugging at my baggy sweats, I shuffle down the hall in my fat house socks and stop cold.

  Michael is in the foyer with his arms full of Sundance, jumping against his chest. He ruffles him playfully and laughs at the sloppy response.

  “Sundance!” I yell and snap my fingers, but Sundance just looks over his shoulder and his big red tongue flops out.

  “He’s okay,” Michael says, as mutual affection continues.

  The second heartbeat in my chest is a war drum signaling an impending battle. I imagine ways of torturing information out of Michael. Why won’t he explain about the grungy guy, or the weird way I slammed into him?

  When I don’t speak, Michael pushes Sundance aside and graces me with his full attention. “You forgot.” His voice is a hammer striking a nail.