Embolden

by Syrie James

  “Great, Señora Gutierrez!” Claire cried. She’d gone for it—hook, line, and sinker!

  As she sped down the hill to the theater complex, Claire couldn’t stop smiling. What were Helena and Alec talking about, saying that this power of hers was dangerous? It was amazing! She was helping people!

  “Hey, you look happy,” Alec commented, as Claire raced into the theater auditorium, where the entire cast had assembled.

  Should I tell him now? she wondered.

  But this wasn’t news you could just casually blurt out. Anyway, there was no time. Ms. Donnelly clapped her hands and invited everyone up to the stage to work on the first production number.

  “I had a good day,” Claire responded, kissing him. She’d tell him later, when they had time to talk about it.

  The week was over before Claire knew it. Fridays were short at Emerson, letting out at one thirty, just in time for a late lunch.

  Claire dropped Alec off in the village to pick up a pizza for the two of them, then took her car to gas up nearby. She’d just finished paying at the pump when she sensed someone behind her.

  “Hey, Claire.”

  The familiar female voice sent panic rushing up Claire’s spine. She whirled to find Celeste and Rico blocking access to the driver’s side door.

  What do they want now? And wait—they always traveled in a pack. Where was Javed?

  Suddenly, Claire felt a rough hand on the back of her neck. There was a crackling sound, her whole body jolted—and to her horror, she was unable to move.

  Claire was caught from behind and lifted off her feet. Every muscle in her body felt rigid, yet at the same time they were vibrating. Is this what it was like to be Tasered?

  Rico opened the rear door of the car, and someone shoved her in the back seat.

  It was Javed. Alec had told her that Javed’s gifts were electrical, so he must have been the one who zapped her.

  The trio piled into the car around her, the boys in the front and Celeste in back, with Claire’s head on her lap. Rico gunned the car onto the street.

  Claire lay there, paralyzed, unable to utter a word, her mind racing as she stared up in terror at Celeste. Why had there been no psychic warning from Helena that these three were about to abduct her?

  “Don’t worry,” Celeste said softly, stroking Claire’s hair, “this will all be over soon.”

  nineteen

  Claire tried to speak. It was the only way her mind-control power seemed to work, and she needed to get herself free from the Fallen trio. But all she mustered was a hoarse moan. Desperately, she tried to grab ahold of Celeste’s mind: Let me go, Let me go. But it didn’t work.

  Trying a new tactic, Claire focused on the touch of Celeste’s bare fingers against her forehead, trying to get a vision from her as to why she was here and what they wanted. Nothing happened. Maybe getting her nerves fried by Javed had jumbled that ability, too.

  She was stuck, powerless, on her way to who knows where. If her car had been left by the side of the road, Alec might have figured out she’d been kidnapped. But since they’d driven off in her own car, he’d have no idea what was going on. As they rumbled along, Claire prayed that Alec would worry when she didn’t pick him up at the pizza place and would start looking for her.

  That hope was dashed when Celeste reached into Claire’s backpack and took out her phone. Using voice-recognition mode, Celeste dictated a message: “Hey, Handsome, so sorry, I gotta skip rehearsal. Family emergency. Don’t worry, I’m okay.” Celeste then shut off the phone, smiling.

  As she stared up at Celeste’s face, Claire caught a glimpse of a tiny, translucent plastic device just inside Celeste’s ear canal. They looked like the fanciest wireless earbuds Claire had ever seen. Was Celeste listening to music while she kidnapped her?

  Claire was unable to see anything out the window except the tops of trees and telephone poles rushing by. Adrenaline pumped through her paralyzed body, only increasing the terror that seemed to infuse her every nerve. How long did a stun gun’s effect usually last? Not that it mattered. Javed wasn’t an ordinary Taser.

  Finally, the car slowed to a stop just as she started to feel a tingling in her fingertips, a slow, painful awakening that gradually spread to the rest of her limbs. As the guys got out, Claire began to feel hot, and her skin started itching like crazy. She sat up, scratching her arms fiercely.

  Celeste shook her head. “Don’t scratch, sweetie. The feeling will pass, and in the meantime, you’ll only hurt yourself.”

  Claire made fists, trying to get her bearings as Celeste guided her out of the vehicle. Javed and Rico shoved their hands under her armpits and yanked her upright. Claire violently yanked herself away from both of them.

  “Easy, girl,” Rico warned with a smug grin.

  Finally, Claire felt steady enough to look around. They were parked on a circular driveway in front of one of the most beautiful houses she’d ever seen. It reminded her of one of her mom’s travel posters of a fabulous hilltop estate in Tuscany. Three stories high, the sand-colored stonework and stucco building had countless arched windows and doorways and was topped by a red tile roof. The lush landscaping included tall palm and cypress trees, pale flagstone paths, and numerous flowerbeds.

  “Can you walk?” Celeste asked.

  “Let’s find out.” Claire was relieved to have her voice back even though it was a raspy crackle. She needed water, and her skin felt like needles were sticking into it. She took a step, then another.

  “Wonderful. Follow me.” Celeste walked off down a path that wound around the side of the house. Claire followed, with the boys close behind.

  There has to be a way out of here, Claire thought. But a high fence surrounded the property, and there was no way she could just dash off, with Celeste’s two meatheads marching behind her. Now that she had her voice back, though, she could try her new power again. This was exactly the type of situation she’d been arguing with Helena about—a time when her power was necessary to protect herself. She was thankful she’d been practicing.

  Claire trained her thoughts on Rico and Javed. She’d never tried to influence two people’s minds at once before, but it was worth a shot. “This is a bad move, guys,” she said, knotting her stomach up with fury. “No way is Alec going to buy that B.S. text message.” At the same time, she thought at them: Let me go. Let me go. Let me go. Waiting for her metaphysical fishing lines to catch hold, she silently repeated the mantra in her mind, continuing aloud, “Alec will be coming for me—and you—if you don’t let me go right now.”

  “Great,” sneered Javed.

  “Let him come,” Rico agreed.

  Claire glanced back at them anxiously. No glassy eyes, no subliminal connection with her targets. Clearly, her efforts weren’t working. Why? Helena had warned her that it would be more difficult to influence a Grigori or a Fallen. But she’d already done it successfully to Celeste two weeks ago. Claire tried again, saying, “Alec is probably on his way right now,” while projecting: Stop this. Let me go. Let me go.

  But all she got in response was another comment from Rico. “We’d look forward to it. Dipshit’s been asking for it the past couple weeks.”

  Wait—what? That statement caught Claire off guard and disrupted her focus. Asking for it? What did Rico mean?

  Before she could wonder any further, they emerged onto a stone terrace at the rear of the villa, which had an incredible view of the green treetops and scattered rooftops from downtown all the way to the beach. Yet all the windows on the house were shuttered by wooden blinds.

  As Celeste opened a rear door, Claire had one last escape notion: what would happen if she leapt over the railing at the edge of the terrace? What was on the other side? A hill, or just empty space?

  She never had a chance to find out because Rico and Javed grabbed her and forced her inside. The room they entered was shrou
ded in dim light, but Claire made out a long, mahogany table and numerous chairs beneath a crystal chandelier. She was then led down a darkened hallway, and finally through a brick-lined archway into a large living room.

  Every single window in the room, as well as the French doors, was shuttered, letting in only narrow shafts of light. Through the dimness, Claire made out a high, open-beamed ceiling, a massive stone fireplace, and a bunch of comfortable-looking couches and chairs upholstered in tasteful colors. A glossy black grand piano stood in one corner. Everywhere she looked were antiques that rivaled Helena’s in their beauty and uniqueness.

  A low, central glass table held three pairs of silver candlesticks with tall, lit candles, illuminating platters of fruit and sandwiches, several crystal glasses, and a pitcher of some kind of dark beverage. To Claire’s embarrassment, her stomach growled at the sight of the food. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

  There didn’t seem to be anyone else there. Rico, Celeste, and Javed all just stood at her side, as if waiting for something.

  “Well, this looks sufficiently dark and creepy,” Claire commented.

  “That’s not precisely what I was going for,” drawled a hushed male voice. The speaker appeared from the shadows of an adjoining doorway and strode into the room.

  Claire stared at him, unable to prevent a little gasp.

  He was the most handsome man Claire had ever seen. Well over six feet tall, he wore dark slacks, a purple button-down shirt, and a fitted, vintage tapestry vest that hugged his slender frame. He looked about thirty. His short, honey-colored hair and mustache were impeccably groomed, and spots of color bloomed in an otherwise pale face.

  “I always hope,” the man intoned, his ice-blue eyes sparkling with intelligence as he sipped red wine from a crystal goblet, “that my guests will find the decor rather pleasant.”

  Claire swallowed hard, searching for something to say. “Maybe you should try opening the blinds. And a window or two. And actually treat people like guests—instead of kidnapping them.”

  He nodded with regret. “Forgive me. But it was vital that I speak with you. We employed the most expedient method. Celeste assured me that you would refuse again if we asked nicely.”

  Again? Claire suddenly recalled what Alec had told her about this guy and how dangerous he was. “You’re Shane Malcolm.”

  “Last I checked.” The man smiled as he swirled his wine.

  Claire bit her lip, glancing at Celeste. “He’s your boss?”

  “In the dreamy flesh.” Celeste strolled to the table of food and plucked a sprig of grapes from a tray. Javed and Rico eyed the sandwiches hungrily.

  “Please, help yourself, Claire,” Malcolm said. “All this is here for you.” He darted a glare at Celeste, who put back the grapes.

  Although she was starving, Claire had no intention of touching anything on that table.

  “Celeste,” Malcolm added, “would you and the boys kindly leave us and keep an eye out for unexpected callers?”

  Looking disappointed, the trio strode out of the room.

  “Holler if you need a refill,” Celeste said, nodding toward Malcolm’s glass.

  There must be some way out of this, Claire thought desperately. Her powers of persuasion hadn’t worked on the others, and she had less confidence they’d sway someone as powerful as Malcolm—but there weren’t many options left. Tightening her stomach into a ball, she forced her will into her words. “This is a bad idea. You should let me walk out of here.”

  Her mind kept hammering the thought: Let me go, let me go toward Malcolm’s mind. But again, instead of the dazed look and tendrils of psychic connection she’d produced in others, Malcolm just cocked his head at her for a moment, his brow furrowing. Then his features relaxed, as if he’d suddenly realized something. “Ah, good, you have developed that talent after all. Well done.”

  Claire stifled a gasp. Had he just figured out what she was trying to do?

  Tapping his ear, Malcolm shook his head almost apologetically and went on, “That’s not going to work on any of us. We’ve learned to be prepared.”

  What was he talking about, Claire wondered. Why was he tapping his ear?

  “You seem confused,” Malcolm continued with a little smile. “Allow me to enlighten you. How do you prevent someone’s vocal frequency from brainwashing you? You filter it out.”

  Then she saw it: Malcolm was wearing the same tiny, wireless earbuds as Celeste. Horror spiraled through her as she finally understood. These people have figured out a way to block my power. No wonder she hadn’t been able to influence any of them. The bodyguard in that hotel room who injected my father—was he wearing something similar?

  “Let’s get down to business, shall we?” Malcolm gestured to one of the sofas.

  This new development was so upsetting and distracting, Claire found it hard to process what he was saying. “What?”

  “Won’t you have a seat?”

  “Why?” she said cautiously, struggling to stay calm. “How long is this going to take, Mr. Malcolm?”

  “Just Malcolm will do, thank you. And that depends on you.” He took another sip from his goblet. “I believe that we can help each other, and I hope that by the end of our conversation, you will agree.”

  “I doubt it.” Claire sank reluctantly onto a couch and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

  He laughed, a bold, infectious sound. “We’re not off to a very promising start, I agree.” He relaxed into a dark blue chair and set down his glass on a wooden end table that looked hundreds of years old. “Next time I see your father, I’ll tell him his young lady is possessed of a fiery spirit.”

  “You know where my father is, I get it,” Claire replied stonily. “You people keep dangling that like a carrot in front of me. How many times do Alec and I have to say it? We don’t need your help.”

  “Is that so? From what I can tell, you aren’t making much progress on your own. And Alec is no longer important in this regard. His late-night activities make it clear he isn’t interested in working for my organization. Quite the opposite.”

  Late-night activities? That must be what Rico was talking about. “What do you mean?”

  “He assaulted a member of my organization, stole crucial material, and has been poking his nose into matters that don’t concern him. Specifically, he seems intent on screwing with my medicine supply, which I need to survive. In a way, he’s trying to kill me, albeit slowly.”

  Claire was so shocked she didn’t know how to reply. What medicine supply? Could it be true? Was Alec working nights, assaulting people, actually stealing? If so, it must be for a good reason. But she couldn’t believe he’d hide something that big from her.

  Malcolm took another sip of his wine, which left thick red streaks on his glass. “Are you telling me you didn’t know?”

  Claire shook her head, staring at the glass in his hand. That’s not wine, she suddenly realized. It’s blood. Is that what he calls medicine? Her stomach churned with horror and disgust.

  “Interesting.” Malcolm stared at her keenly. “I wonder what else you don’t know. Are you aware, for example, of the primary reason the Grigori consider Halfbloods an abomination?”

  Claire was momentarily caught off guard by this sudden switch of topics, but it was a subject she’d been intensely interested in ever since she’d learned what she was. She answered, “Yes. Alec’s godfather said that a Halfblood’s allegiances would always be questionable and their will is weak.”

  Malcolm shook his head. “I’m not talking about that ideological nonsense. It’s not only their will that’s weak. More importantly, it’s their tainted bodies.”

  “Tainted? Tainted in what way?”

  “As Halfbloods’ abilities mature,” Malcolm explained, “these rare, unfortunate creatures are generally torn between the two sides of their genes, resulting
in debilitating physical weaknesses that accompany their great power. Genetic defects from inbreeding, if you will.”

  Oh my God, Claire thought. Was that why the visions sometimes made her sick? She wondered if she was doomed to something even worse down the line.

  “Take me, for instance,” Malcolm added casually. “I inherited near invulnerability and great strength from my Grigori mother, but my half-human body cannot bear the brunt of it.”

  That statement blindsided Claire. “Wait. You’re a Halfblood?”

  “Indeed,” Malcolm nodded, setting down his glass. “It’s why we needed to meet face-to-face. You and I are more alike than you know.”

  “That’s impossible. Alec told me the last Halfblood was executed a millennium ago.”

  “That’s the common perception of what happened, but it’s untrue. I was very young at the time. The Grigori who slew my parents couldn’t bring himself to kill me, so he lied to the Elders. I was cast out to fend for myself. A Snow White without any dwarfs.”

  “Nice story,” Claire said, “but how can I believe anything you’re saying?”

  “I think you know how.” Picking up a large, heavy, silver serving spoon from the nearby table, he pushed with one thumb and slowly, deliberately, began bending it in half. “Go ahead,” he dared her. “Search for it.”

  All at once, Claire understood what he meant. He was using one of his powers—challenging her to look for an aura. Warily, she shifted her perception to stare hard at Malcolm, in aura mode. And then she saw it. Her jaw dropped. Malcolm’s aura glowed a brilliant green. Just like hers.

  “You’re a lucky girl, Claire. It appears you haven’t developed any serious side effects of your gifts. At least not yet. Whereas I’m crippled like a vampire. The heat of the sun or any flame burns my skin like paper, and I wither away to nothing without a fresh infusion of human blood.”

  Claire felt her eyes widen as she took that in. Alec had told her once that most mythological creatures were inspired in some way by encounters with Grigori or Fallen. “So,” she replied, nodding, “even vampires are real.”