Forbidden Boys

by Chantal Cross

  Ravenous for more, I take my hand from hers and stroke back up her arm and to her collarbone. I keep my caress light, making sure to leave tingling marks across her flesh. I listen as her breath catches in her throat.

  “I could show you just how fun it can be…” I whisper, my voice husky and thick; it’s laced with hunger only for her.

  “Ebony!” a shrill voice screams.

  The stepmother. Or foster mother. Whatever they call it in this time.

  “Come here this instant!” Cordelia shrieks at Ebony.

  The beautiful girl looks at me.

  “I-I, I can’t!” Ebony exclaims, stealing herself away from me and running back to safety. I watch as she shrinks in the distance. The curves of her outline remain hypnotic even in spite of her abrupt exit.

  The stepmother grabs her arms and marches her towards the Tower. Her leaving is disappointing, but I’m not surprised. After all, she always did like to keep me waiting. Duty-bound as I am, I’ll keep on waiting until Ebony gives in. The time it takes is immaterial.

  5

  Ebony

  Stepmother’s grip on my elbow tightens as she drags me up the spiraling steps.

  “I specifically told you to stay in the car, and here you are, slutting around with the worst boy on campus.”

  I dig in my heels and try to resist, but she drags me higher and higher, livid. Her teeth are bared, her grip too tight, nails sharp and leaving crescents in my flawless skin. I pry at her fingers, desperate to get away, and she snaps around to punish me, pushes me closer to the edge of the steps, almost four stories off the ground.

  “You managed to find the worst possible influence, the devil of this establishment, and prostrate yourself before him—”

  I feel the rickety stairs sway as she backs me against the railing. She tightens her grip until I know it will bruise and shakes me. “Mother, please, nothing happened—”

  “Don’t you dare speak.” Cordelia shakes me again, raises her hand as if to slap me. “How dare you speak to me, you sick, corrupted girl—”

  Cordelia drags me to the window, blessedly away from the edge of the stairs, and I see the apple tree he was sitting under. Heat rises in me again.

  “Where did you learn to act like that? I taught you better than this.”

  I fight her grip, try to get away and back down the stairs. “Let go of me—”

  “If you can’t control yourself, then I will.”

  She turns, drags me up the steps again.

  “Where are you taking me? Mother, please—”

  “I’ve told the school about your disgusting habits, and they’re isolating you while I look for an apartment nearby and find a job at the school to keep an eye on you!”

  She drags me up the last of the steps, to a door with iron fastening and fittings for a bar.

  “No, please, not again—”

  She throws the door open. “You went straight for the wickedest boy on this campus, as though you could sense him.”

  She drags forward, and I fight, twist, scream. “Mother, please don’t lock me up—”

  “I was barely out of sight when you started whoring yourself out—”

  She heaves me toward the room, but I catch myself on the doorframe, desperate not to trapped away from everyone again. This school was supposed to be my escape, not my prison.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong—”

  “—demon of a child—”

  Cordelia twists my wrist, pushes at me, tries to force me in. I was supposed to be free, here.

  “—you insolent, soulless, ungrateful slut—”

  She twists my arm behind my back, hard enough to hurt. Something pops in my wrist, and I scream, in pain, in anger.

  “—you’ll be the ruin of all of us, you and that boy—”

  I’m terrified, but the heat of him, the golden, breathless sensation as our lips came close to touching, rises. Something in me, some bond that my stepmother had me in, breaks. I feel it snap and I scream again, now enraged.

  Cordelia raises her hand to slap me, loosens her grip on my other wrist.

  I yank it out of her grasp, shove her back.

  “I have always been in control of myself, I came here to be better than you’ve tried to make me, to continue this endless, unforgiving fight, and you dare to question my fitness? I did nothing wrong!”

  I curl my hurt wrist into my body, terrified by my own courage, scared as soon as those words leave my mouth. I would never dream of speaking like this to my mother. I feel like I hadn’t even meant to like someone else had taken over.

  “I’ve done my duty, held the line against an evil ten times bigger than myself, I have sacrificed everything for this fight, and you have the audacity question me like this—”

  Her hand whips my head to the side, stings like fire when it hits my cheek.

  I have no idea where any of this strength and fire came from. It’s as though those words came through me, but who was speaking? What have I done? God, what have I done?

  Some part of me, freed by that snap inside of me, rises up regal.

  It answers, Only what has always been necessary.

  The back of Mother’s hand hits my other cheek, whips my head around and splits my lip. I taste blood. My pain and confusion wash away that regal, self-assured voice until all I have is fear.

  “I’m sorry, Mother, please—”

  She grabs my hurt wrist, drags me to the door and shuts me in. I scream as I hear the bar slam shut outside, pound on the door. “Let me out, please, I’m sorry. I’ll be better—”

  Muffled through the wood of the door, I hear her say, “You’ll never be good enough.”

  Her footsteps retreat back down the steps of the tower.

  Tears rise, and my knees go weak, my breath coming too hard. The last time she locked me up, I had been alone for three days, and I’d felt crazy when I came out again. It had felt endless, seconds had stretched to hours.

  I turn to look at my surroundings—a bed with a thin blanket, a desk, an armchair, a fireplace to one side, and my trunk. No one here but me and the spiders.

  I check through the door at the opposite side of the room, hoping for an escape. All I see is myself in the bathroom mirror, crying.

  You’re no use to yourself like this.

  That strength and fire overcome me again, and my back straightens, my head lifts. Steel finds its way into my eyes, and my tears dry.

  Someone who isn’t me stares back from the mirror. She tosses back her hair, turns just slightly in that way gesture confident people have, and says, Don’t be afraid.

  It’s already started. The crazy.

  I slam the bathroom door shut, stagger backward into the room. God, none of this makes sense, nothing makes sense.

  I don’t know how my mother found me or how she knew I’d been overcome by that boy. I don’t know what came over me with him. I’ve never felt a pull that strong to anyone or anything.

  And who was he? What was that—magnetism that he had, that pull on me, like magic?

  How did my mother know him? If he was a student, how could she possibly know him well enough to be so sure he was the worst person I could know?

  My eyes well up with tears when I remember the things she’d said. It’s nothing new, but the fury in it, the absolute condemnation—she’ll never come back for me, never let me out again.

  You’ll never be good enough.

  I back into the chair at the desk, feel my knees give as I sink down and cry. I can’t get enough air in my lungs. What if I’m trapped in here forever?

  There, there.

  I startle and jump. The desk rattles as I back into it. “Who said that? Who are you?”

  Someone you’ve known a long time.

  I turn, look to the bed where the voice seems to come from. Not the mirror, not that strange place of strength inside me.

  Not the same person. Not the same voice.

  Let me help you, it says.

  My eyes set
tle on a polished glint of red on the pillow.

  Is that—an apple? Another apple? Where did that come from?

  My mouth waters. It looks delicious, ripe, perfect.

  Perfect like you, the voice croons.

  The skin looks so crisp, the stem and leaf at the top still damp with morning dew. I can’t remember having eaten one before, I always thought I was allergic as a kid.

  Only the best for beauty such as yours.

  I don’t remember deciding to walk over to the bed, but my feet move. Every step I take deepens the cushioned, blissful distance from the pain in my cheek and wrist, the hurt in my heart and head.

  Come taste freedom.

  Yes. That’s all I want. Just a taste of freedom.

  Come thrill your senses.

  Just the brush of a hand, a soft touch on my cheek. I just wanted a kiss, once, when there are girls who have done so much more than me. I’m almost 18, why is a kiss too much to ask?

  Come to me.

  My fingers brush the skin of the apple, and it feels like the touch of a hand. I shiver.

  Come.

  I lift the cool weight of it up before my eyes. It’s so beautiful, flushed like that boy’s lips. It’s heavy with promise, with sweetness.

  Come.

  My eyes close. What could be wrong with a taste? Just a taste.

  Come.

  My teeth sink in with a crisp tug and sweetness explodes onto my tongue, into my blood. Some dark, smoky pleasure rises up within me, and I feel my body tingle, my breath pulls into my lungs just a little harder. My eyes drift open, enchanted.

  Two eyes, glowing green, stare back at me from a beautiful face made of shadow, eerily familiar but impossible to place. Impossible to look away from. She’s still for a moment, beguiling, and then a smile breaks over her, sensual and pleased.

  Hello, beauty, she says.

  Her hand slams into my throat and squeezes, nails sharp, her grip too powerful to break. The spell of allure shatters, and I claw at her hand and try to suck in air around her icy grip.

  Nothing works. She lifts me higher and higher. My feet leave the ground, and she grows, past my height, past the height of any human, her face splits in a too-wide grin.

  So good of you to care for my vessel so well.

  Darkness creeps up the edge of my vision, and my head goes light. I feel a suction, the pull of some vital part of myself being drained away, my magic, my essence.

  My vision speckles, and I see her face change from beauty to a black hole, an endless void that rips something out of me and consumes it.

  I open my mouth to scream, but my world goes dark before I can make a sound.

  6

  Gabriel

  Cordelia always knows. No matter where she is or how far Ebony strays, Cordelia can always sense when something is amiss.

  The way she’d marched off to find Ebony had been brutal, her steps hard and unkind; Ebony is in so much trouble. I should be worried, and part of me is, however, my other half is amused. Somehow, Ebony keeps falling into unfortunate situations, the foolish girl. She just can’t help herself.

  After discovering Ebony with Lucien, Cordelia brought all of us back to keep an eye on us. We were left in the front courtyard near the school.

  I grin at the situation.

  “It’s not funny, Gabriel.” Seth snaps. I turn my eyes to him, my expression still dancing with amusement. This guy needs to lighten up… After all these years, Seth’s still as rigid as ever, unbending when every detail about our lives is subject to change. He should learn to embrace it, be more like the rest of us.

  “Oh come on, it’s funny — Ebony knows better than to wander off,” I retort, a snigger breaking from my lips. Seth’s eyes flare at me.

  “And you know she can’t help it. It’s in her nature to be inquisitive, as Cordelia knows all too well.”

  “Take it up with Cordelia then. Not me. Well, I’m gonna enjoy the fireworks,” I say. I can see the small creases in his brow, the way his pupils dilate as he looks at me. He’s ready to lunge. Any second now and Seth will fly into a fury, unable to stop himself because of his love for her. I sympathize, as I too am driven by my feelings for Ebony, but unlike Seth, I’ve learned to embrace whatever comes our way. The more chaos ensues, the more I devour it, my hunger is never sated. Variety is said to be the spice of life, and I’d be a fool to turn down such a filling meal.

  Seth’s clenched fists pulsate, the energy rolling off of him as he struggles to get a handle on himself. As much as I know I shouldn’t, I laugh. It’s a hearty sound, deep and booming. Seth’s too much fun! I should stop, hold my tongue, but there’s just so much for me to enjoy — why would I stop, why would I want to? The more he feeds these little tidbits to me, the greater my appetite becomes.

  Seth steps forward, a raised fist pulled back as he goes to strike me. But before he swings, he suddenly stops dead, his body frozen in place and time. Initially, I wonder if he’s playing a trick on me, trying to get me to come for him so that he can surprise attack me. However, it soon becomes apparent that something has riled him.

  “What’s up?” I ask, all the laughter draining from me. Seth points past me to the open window behind. Turning, I see plumes of vile, greenish-black smoke polluting the sky. The way it catches the breeze would be mesmerizing if not for what I know it symbolizes: Rhiannon’s energy is free.

  “We need to find Ebony. Now,” I order.

  Seth is already out the door and barreling down the corridor as I race after him. The smoke comes from one of the towers. There’s so little time and so much ground to cover. We try our hardest to get to her before it’s too late. If she’s left vulnerable, all hope will be lost.

  Breaking through a throng of gathering students, I try to stay on the smoke’s tail. When I draw near, the energy pulsates, throwing itself at me as I try to catch it. I tussle with it as best I can, encouraging it to attack me so that we can prevent it from flying off. However, it proves a difficult task, one I ultimately fail. As the last of its wisps slip through my fingers, the darkness drifts away, leaving me alone on my knees.

  “You let it get away!” Seth screams at me then leans over and holds his knees, panting like his lungs are fit to burst. I grind my teeth as I look at him. He has some nerve speaking to me like that.

  “Shouldn’t you be doing other things, Seth.” I bite back. I can’t help it. He’s wasting time: he should be checking on Ebony. Instead, he’s here criticizing me. As if he could have done better in my position. You can’t catch smoke, it’s nigh on impossible!

  Realization swiftly coloring his features, Seth leaves me to amble after him as he makes his way to the tower.

  The ascent is quicker than I expected, and we’re able to reach Ebony with some time to spare. Not much, but at least we arrive in time to help her. Seth has her in his arms and carries her to the infirmary wing. I lag behind with the gathering students. We are shooed away, told by concerned teachers that this is nothing but an introduction to magic stunt. For the most part, the lie works. Nonetheless, some of us are aware of the real danger.

  I make my way inside and find Ebony lying on the bed. Her skin is covered with a light sheen of perspiration, which makes her look like she is carved from wax. I fear she will melt away beneath the harsh lights right before our very eyes.

  Leaving Seth to his frantic pacing, I choose to steady my nerves by watching the nurses tend to Ebony. They all look troubled by what they see. There is one among the group, who looks capable of helping her. I don’t blame her. Well versed in magic or not, this kind of occurrence isn’t your everyday experience.

  Taken in by the dedication of the nurse, I almost don’t hear the door open. Then I hear the stomping of heavy feet and know, without looking, that Dorian has arrived. Not wanting to draw his ire, I give him a quick sideways glance. He’s visibly infuriated by what he sees, but as always, he pretends not to care. Whatever gets you through, buddy. Leaving his striking frame behind, for now, I t
urn my sights back to Ebony’s delicate, blank expression. It’s so unlike her to look vacant.

  Still, I find myself amazed at where we find ourselves. I’ve longed to be this close to her for longer than I can remember. For thousands of years, I’ve pined after her. And now that I have my chance, she’s unreachable to anyone. At the back of my mind however, slithering into my thoughts, is the suggestion just to take her. Right here, right now. Rhiannon be damned — why should I wait another lifetime, possibly more, just because Ebony doesn’t want me? Haven’t I done enough, earned enough respect from Ebony yet? That kiss should be mine to take. It belongs to me…

  My feet carry me over to her bedside, neither the nurse or Dorian pays attention to my actions. But no sooner do I come to stand by her than the door bursts open and a gaggle of people press into the room: Lucien, Cordelia, and Seth are among the faces I see. As I’d anticipated, none of them look cheerful. Cordelia is the angriest of the group by far. It’s as if she prides herself on being a sour-faced battle ax.

  “One of you did it, there’s no other explanation — I’m positive it’s you, Lucien. I saw the way you were looking at her, and you were under that apple tree!” Her accusations seem to hold weight, but Lucien is quick to deflect them.

  “You embarrass yourself. If I wanted to take Ebony, I’d do it without using an apple as my weapon of choice! I’m lust incarnate, the master of sin; it doesn’t control me, I control it.” Lucien's lids become heavy as he glares at Cordelia. “Maybe it was you who planted the apple. We’ve all seen how you treat her, you have no love for Ebony.”

  “How dare you,” Cordelia screeches, her tone shrill and sharp. “Haven’t I proved myself enough — it was me who brought her here in the first place!”

  “And it’s a good thing you did,” The nurse interjects. “Because you clearly aren’t capable of doing your job any longer.” Cordelia’s mouth flaps open, but no sound is heard. I admire the nurse for stepping in like that, as I too believe our stepmother is out of her depth; Ebony has been compromised, which means extra care is needed. Care Cordelia can’t provide.