Embolden

by Syrie James

  Score! Claire thought triumphantly.

  She wished she could revel in her success with somebody—Alec especially. Claire fidgeted with the lapis-lazuli bracelet he’d given her, considering whether or not to tell him but then nixed the idea. He’d just lecture her again.

  Better to wait on sharing until she had some positive results to gloat about. Then maybe he’d understand her point of view. After all, she just wanted to help people like he did.

  seventeen

  The clock on Alec’s apartment wall read an ungodly 2:45.

  It was Saturday morning, the start of a holiday weekend. Alec was itching for something to do. Play rehearsals took up a lot of his time now, and although enjoyable—the scenes with Claire and the singing part, in particular—it felt a bit frivolous. Homework took mere minutes for him to complete.

  He wished he could fill his evenings with Claire, but she was still grounded.

  The thought of occupying his time with any of the trappings of his former, spartan life—meditation, cooking, exercising, weapons cleaning—chafed at him. Even his apartment felt like a cage.

  Frustrated, Alec gulped down some unsweetened iced tea and stared at his laptop.

  A week had gone by since he’d attached the GPS tracking device to Lance’s Lexus. Every night since, Alec had been waiting for the dot to move, indicating anything worth following. But it hadn’t budged. After the beating Alec had dished out, it would be understandable if the guy kept still for a few days. But a week? Lance should be on the move by now.

  People didn’t randomly carry around trunks full of blood. Alec wondered if UCLA was the only place the guy was stealing from. Was he stealing anything else? Working alone, or part of a larger group? Alec had scanned the Internet for clinics reporting stolen blood but found nothing. Which didn’t surprise him. The Fallen were good at covering their tracks.

  If only he could tap the latest info on the Grigori Nexus. But connecting to that psychic network would alert his kind to his presence. In his old life, he could have roughed up a couple of Fallen lowlifes for information. But he’d promised himself not to go there anymore.

  Something wrong was going on, Alec knew it. He needed to figure out what.

  It was a risk to put himself out there. But surely he could do a little digging without drawing unwanted attention to himself? He had to get to the bottom of this thing. But that required help from his target.

  A few minutes later, it happened. The dot on his screen finally started moving. Wherever Lance was going, Alec doubted it was a social call—it was 3 a.m. Alec leapt to his feet, grabbed his keys, and dashed to his car, setting the laptop on the passenger seat of his Mustang.

  As he drove, Alec monitored the progress of the glowing mass of pixels as it slowly snaked across the satellite map of the city, hoping he could reach the target before it arrived at its destination. But Alec was still a good fifteen minutes away when the dot stopped at Cedars-Sinai Hospital in Beverly Hills.

  To Alec’s frustration, after only a brief stop, the GPS dot was already on the move again, continuing eastward on city streets. Damn. He’d missed whatever had happened at the hospital. At least he could find out where the guy was going now and what he’d taken, if anything.

  By the time he caught up to the dot on his tracker, Alec found himself in a less-than-savory part of downtown. Amid a sea of old, abandoned warehouses, he spotted the silver Lexus turning down a small street. Alec followed the car until it pulled up to a sliding gate in front of a graffiti-covered concrete building, surrounded by a tall, chain-link fence. Watching from a discreet distance, Alec saw the gate open remotely. The Lexus drove inside, vanishing around the rear of the warehouse.

  There wasn’t a soul visible on the street or inside the fence. A security camera was mounted above a sliding gate. Alec made sure to park a good distance out of the camera’s view.

  Grabbing the tonfa from his trunk, Alec quickly made his way into a nearby alley. He followed the chain-link fence to a spot that was still out of sight of the camera. Holding his weapon tightly, Alec leapt into the air, using telekinesis to float the rest of the way over the fence and slow his drop.

  When his feet met the pavement on the other side, they barely made a sound. Crouching low, Alec checked to see if anyone—or anything—had seen him. Thankfully, nothing stirred in the damp night air. However, some of the rusted warehouse windows glowed with light.

  Alec moved around to the back of the warehouse, where he spotted a few parked vehicles, including the silver Lexus, which had its trunk open. From his vantage point, Alec couldn’t see what was inside. A steel roll door large enough to fit an eighteen-wheeler was open nearby, greenish fluorescent light spilling out from the opening.

  Moving closer to the light, Alec heard a sound from inside the building and ducked behind a dumpster. Peering around the edge, he saw Lance exiting the warehouse, accompanied by a heavyset man in a road-worker orange puffy jacket and a trucker-style baseball cap. From the trunk of the Lexus, the man hoisted out two coolers with the Cedars-Sinai logo.

  The bags were labeled exactly like the ones Alec had seen before: human blood.

  So, this was all about blood. But why?

  The heavyset man nodded, handed something small to Lance, and trudged back inside the warehouse. Lance stared at the thing in his hands as if it were a prize. Alec recognized it now: it was a small vial, identical to the one he’d confiscated outside the bar. Clutching it tightly, Lance hopped in his car and drove away.

  Alec considered his next move. Should he could sneak inside the building to learn more? Just then, he spied a gaunt man with slicked-back gray hair, watching the scene from inside the roll door while balancing a pump-action shotgun on his shoulder.

  Shite, Alec thought. He’d brought a stick to a gunfight.

  Once the heavyset man was inside, the older guy dropped the door closed, leaving Alec alone to process what he’d seen. It seemed like the guys in the warehouse were using junkies like Lance to steal blood, which they turned into some sort of drug as payment.

  From his pocket, Alec pulled the small vial he’d confiscated earlier. He had no way to analyze what it was. But—since it seemed to have enhanced Lance’s strength and speed—Alec had an idea. The thought that members of the Fallen could be distributing something so potentially powerful was frightening. Going into the lion’s den right now, though, so woefully unprepared, would be idiotic.

  Not yet, he told himself, making his way back to the alley and over the fence. Not tonight.

  It would take awhile to form a solid plan of entry. But he’d be back.

  eighteen

  A three-day weekend was absolute murder when you were grounded.

  Claire spent the entire time barely speaking to her mom or Helena, just answering their questions with a simple “yes” or “no,” and eating all meals in her room. Deep down, she felt guilty about what she’d done. She knew she’d screwed up. No one should try to brainwash their mom. But house arrest? For however long her mom felt like? That was harsh.

  Claire sensed that her mother felt bad about the situation, too. Although she didn’t ease up on Claire’s punishment, her mom got up early on Tuesday morning and made Claire’s favorite breakfast: French toast topped with melted cheddar and crispy bacon. It was too delicious to resist. Claire enjoyed every bite (actually eating in the kitchen!) and expanded her vocabulary of late to include a brief but neutral “thanks.”

  As Claire was leaving for school, Helena finally snapped, “Young lady, how long are you going to maintain this monosyllabic routine?”

  “How long until you get around to digging up ‘intel’ on your son?” Claire shot back.

  “You’re acting very adolescent about all this.”

  “I am an adolescent,” Claire responded, hefting her backpack and heading for the door.

  “You do know that you’
re acting just like Erica, right?” Alec said bluntly on their way from AP English to Spanish class, after Claire told him about what had happened that morning.

  “Meaning what, exactly?” Claire asked.

  “You’re ignoring their attempts at peacemaking.”

  “It’s a totally different situation. If Mom and Grandma really want to make peace, they should unground me or actually bother to look for my dad.”

  Just then, Claire caught sight of Gabrielle Miller heading down the stairs, holding hands with Jason Tate, both of them with smiles on their faces. Claire couldn’t prevent a gasp of delight. It worked! They looked so cozy together. Guess he found time in his busy schedule to go out with her after all!

  Alec gave her a sidelong glance. “What’s up?”

  “Um … Nothing important,” Claire said quickly. Now wasn’t the time to tell Alec about her little experiment. It was just minutes before class, and he was already in a mood. Changing the subject, she added, “So, how was your weekend?”

  Alec seemed to choose his words carefully. “Pretty boring without you around.”

  “Oh, I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.” Claire laughed.

  The bell rang as they took their seats in Spanish. A couple of minutes later, Señora Gutierrez rushed in the door.

  “So sorry I’m late. Office hours went long today.” Pausing behind her desk to catch her breath, the teacher opened a folder, and added with a solemn expression, “Our first item of business today is one of my least favorite tasks: handing out warning notices.”

  Claire sat back in her seat, surprised. Warning notices were given out midsemester to anyone with a C- or less, reports that had to be shared with their parents.

  Señora Gutierrez stepped forward with a single piece of paper, the size of a postcard. Claire felt bad for the unlucky student, whoever it was, and hoped it wouldn’t be Neil. When the teacher passed by Neil, Claire blew out a sigh of relief. It seemed that her tutoring last fall was still paying off.

  To Claire’s complete astonishment, Señora Gutierrez stopped immediately before her, silently handing Claire the notice. Claire accepted the piece of paper mutely, her face growing hot with embarrassment. How could this be happening? She was doing just fine in Spanish. Wasn’t she?

  “Claire,” the teacher intoned dramatically, “please do us the favor of reading your notice aloud.”

  The room had gone dead silent. Claire felt every pair of eyes trained on her and couldn’t help but see the expression of pained surprise on Alec’s face. Could her humiliation be any greater?

  Her stomach churning, Claire quickly scanned the notice. Oh. Oh! A smile curved her lips, as she read aloud:

  SPECIAL REPORT TO PARENTS

  Class: Spanish III

  Claire Brennan is not making satisfactory progress for the following reason(s):

  She refuses to dream in Spanish.

  Grade to date: A.

  The class erupted into laughter.

  “Just an old Spanish teacher’s attempt at humor,” Señora Gutierrez announced with a little grin. “I hope you’ll forgive me.” She laid a hand on Claire’s bare upper arm and gave her a friendly squeeze.

  Claire started to join in the laughter, when all of a sudden she felt heat diffuse her body, and her visuals started to go wonky, signaling the onslaught of a vision. Oh no oh no not now not now, Claire thought. Then … WHAM.

  Claire—as Mrs. Gutierrez—was reclining on a couch in an unfamiliar living room, her legs propped up on the coffee table, a red pen and a stack of papers in her hand.

  “Mom,” a female voice pleaded. “If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me.”

  Claire heard herself reply in Mrs. Gutierrez’s voice: “I told you, I don’t have time, Rachel. There aren’t enough hours in the day.”

  A woman who looked to be in her early twenties sank down close by on the sofa. Her long, dark hair was twisted into a knot atop her head, and her brown eyes glistened with unshed tears as she clenched her hands in anguish. “You have to make the time, Mom. The doctor said exercise is really important for your heart.”

  “I get plenty of physical activity every day at school, just walking up and down those stairs.”

  “It’s not enough! You heard the doctor. You have to raise your heart rate to a certain level, and you can only do that with sustained aerobic exercise for twenty to thirty minutes.”

  Claire/Mrs. Gutierrez laughed. “What? You want me to start jogging or dancing? At my age?”

  “You have to do something, Mom.” A tear trickled down the young woman’s cheek. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  “Stop worrying, honey. You won’t lose me.” Claire/Mrs. Gutierrez turned back to the papers in her lap with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Now go home, it’s late, and I have all these tests and papers to grade.”

  Claire’s body shuddered slightly as the vision ended. Blinking, she found herself back in her Spanish classroom, her upper arm being jiggled by Señora Gutierrez, who was looking down at her with concern.

  “Claire? Claire? ¡Dios Mío! Are you all right?”

  Claire caught Alec’s eye. She could tell he knew what had just happened. If everyone in class had been glancing in her direction before, now they were positively staring. “Sorry. I’m fine. I was just … so surprised by all this.”

  Señora Gutierrez let go of Claire’s arm and stepped back, attempting a smile. “No, I’m sorry. It looks like that warning notice gave you a bigger shock than I’d intended.”

  A chuckle rippled through the classroom again as Señora Gutierrez went back to her desk. “Ahora,” she continued in Spanish, “Let’s get started.”

  As class went on, Claire’s mind kept drifting back to the vision she’d had. It worried her that her teacher had a medical condition—clearly, something to do with her heart—yet she wasn’t following her doctor’s orders. Señora Gutierrez’s daughter was worried, too.

  Claire’s experiment with Jason had been so successful, she yearned to try again. What better way to practice her newfound talent, she thought, than to help someone in need? Maybe she could somehow … persuade Señora Gutierrez to exercise.

  She just had to figure out how and when to go about it.

  Claire completed the daily written exercise as fast as she could and spent the remaining free time going through various scenarios in her head. By the time class was over, she had devised the perfect solution.

  “So what did you see?” Alec asked quietly, as they left Spanish and headed for their next class with the hordes of other students.

  Claire hesitated. If she told Alec about her vision, and he later got wind of a change in Señora Gutierrez’s routine, he might suspect that Claire had had something to do with it. Making a face, she whispered, “Just some argument Señora Gutierrez was having with her daughter. I had no business being there.”

  “Awkward.”

  “Yeah. Sometimes it sucks to have these visions.”

  During her break, Claire did some online research. When the final bell released her from AP bio, which she didn’t share with Alec, she dashed to the upper level of the South Quad.

  She only had fifteen minutes until she needed to be at the theater for rehearsal. Quickly, Claire found the small room that was shared by two of the Spanish teachers. She lucked out: Señora Gutierrez was just dropping into the chair at her desk for after-school office hours, and she was alone.

  “Hola,” Claire said.

  The teacher smiled. “Claire? Is everything all right? I hope you didn’t mind my little joke today.”

  “No, it was cute. I’m here about something else. Can I ask your advice about something? It’s kind of a personal thing.”

  “Certainly. I don’t know if I can be of help, but I’m happy to try.”

  Claire plunged ahead with the speech she’d prepare
d. “It’s about my mom. Her doctor says she needs to exercise more, but no matter what I say, she won’t listen. She says she doesn’t have time. I’m so worried about her.”

  Señora Gutierrez’s eyebrows lifted. “You sound exactly like my daughter.”

  “Do I? Somebody told me that you are obsessed with exercising, that you never miss a day at the gym.”

  “Oh, that’s not—” Señora Gutierrez began with a short laugh.

  “Which is why I came to you,” Claire interrupted, focusing on her intense, inner emotions, and the subliminal message she was trying to send to Señora Gutierrez: You need to exercise. You need to exercise. “I found a gym not far from where we live, and I was wondering: do you know if it’s a good place or not?” Claire handed the teacher a piece of paper with the gym’s website and address.

  “I have no idea,” Señora Gutierrez replied hesitantly.

  Her eyes, Claire noticed with growing satisfaction, were starting to look a bit glassy, and Claire felt lines of invisible energy growing taut between her heart and her teacher’s.

  “I hear they have great equipment and all sorts of classes,” Claire went on. “I keep thinking my mom might be able to get some of her reading and busy work done while she’s on the treadmill.” As Claire spoke, she mentally pulled those lines like puppet strings, thinking at Señora Gutierrez: Your life might be on the line. Schoolwork can wait. Join the gym! Join the gym!

  Gradually, Señora Gutierrez’s face shifted to the silent, starry-eyed, complacent expression Claire had hoped for. “I have some money saved up,” Claire finished, “and I was thinking of buying her a trial membership. What do you think? Should I do it?”

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Señora Gutierrez said, staring at the note Claire had given her. “I’m sure your mother will appreciate it. And you know what, I think I’ll stop by this gym today myself and sign up for a membership.”