The Forbidden Trilogy

by Kimberly Kinrade

  I stared down at the fancy parchment paper, unable to fully digest the news. Dear Sam Smith, It is our pleasure to inform you that you have been accepted to the undergraduate visual art program at Sarah Lawrence College....

  "Smith? That was the best you could do?" I laughed, clutching the letter that represented my entire future.

  "It's a good name. It's common and doesn't draw attention to you, all the things you want when you finally enter that life."

  "It's fine, I'll take it. Thank you, Headmaster Higgins."

  "You're welcome, Sam. You deserve it. You've been one of our best and brightest students. We'll be sad to see you go. That reminds me," he pulled out another file, "this job just came in, and I think you'd be perfect for it."

  He handed me the brief. I flipped through it: two kids with para-powers had been beaten and nearly killed at a prep school in New York. I needed to infiltrate the school and see if any other paranormals attended. I also needed to track down the perpetrators. Not so bad. At least I'd be in New York and helping kids like me—but, wait. Oh God. I so do not want this job.

  "Mary? You're sending me off with Mary? You've got to be kidding me. She's horrible. And what's she supposed to do, seduce the teachers? I can handle this alone, or send Lucy with me. She's great at these kinds of assignments. Anyone but Mary."

  "I'm sorry, Sam, but Mary has some unique skills that could come in handy, especially as it's likely that one of the leaders is a man. You'll need her with you."

  "But I just got back! And you promised that was my last assignment before I left. I have to pack and complete my studies. I want to spend time with my friends, and there's the art contest!"

  "You have a few months before you need to leave. It shouldn't take you long, and it will give you some extra cash for your new life. I'm throwing in a $10,000 bonus if you complete this assignment without any problems."

  "That doesn't help with my art contest. I don't have time to do this and prepare."

  Higgins looked down at his desk, shoulders slumped.

  Uh-oh.

  'How to tell her.... Will break her heart.... Wish I could skip this.'

  "Tell me what?"

  He looked me in the eyes, the way a doctor looks at someone whose loved one has died.

  "I have some bad news. There was an accident in the art building while you were gone. There's a lot of flammable material there and—we don't know what happened yet, but somehow... a fire started. Sam—"

  "No! Stop. This is insane. I don't want to hear this."

  "Sam, your painting. I'm so sorry."

  I grabbed my book bag and ran out his door and toward the art studio. I heard the headmaster follow me but didn't turn to acknowledge him. I had to see the damage for myself.

  On the outside, the building looked fine. A small sigh of relief escaped my lips. Surely it couldn't be that bad. Maybe I'd have to repair some smoke damage or something, but I could handle that. Mr. K would help me.

  I moved aside a yellow ribbon that marked the building as unsafe and walked into the dimly lit studio.

  And stopped breathing.

  The inside of the building had been gutted and turned to ash. I choked on a strangled cry.

  Higgins put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sam. Nothing survived."

  The remains of my painting stood in the corner. I examined the charred bits that had been my greatest work and couldn't stop the tears from flowing.

  Higgins tried again to comfort me, but I pushed him away. "Where's Mr. K?"

  "Sam, let's just go back to my office and talk about this."

  Panic stirred in my heart. I raised my voice in desperation. "Where's Mr. K?"

  "He quit. After the fire, he couldn't stand to be here anymore, and he left. He's gone, Sam, and won't be coming back."

  "No, that can't be true. He'd never leave me, not without saying goodbye. Not before I graduated. You're lying. What did you do? Where is he?" I ran through the studio, searching for my mentor, but no sign remained of him. All traces of his work, his passion, his presence—gone.

  I sank to my knees and sobbed. Everything I'd ever created, all of my artistic expression, had been housed in this studio. My entire portfolio was gone, just like Mr. K. Destroyed. I only had some pictures of the best pieces, but almost none of the originals. My entire life's work to date.

  "I need to be alone."

  Higgins left me without a word and I cried into the ash.

  Chapter 10 – Sam

  Luke walked through my door to wake me up. He'd have been toast if my para-power included super strength or kickass reactions. Instead, he got to suffer through my weeping. He probably would have preferred the fight.

  He unlocked my door from the inside and let Lucy in, then closed and locked the door again.

  My suite wasn't as grand as theirs, but it had everything I needed as a fully stocked and decorated studio apartment, complete with mini kitchen.

  I didn't budge from my bed, nor did I acknowledge my best friends, but that didn't deter them.

  Luke pulled the covers off me and crawled into bed next to me. Lucy joined him on the other side and spoke softly, as if to a frightened kitten. "He told you?"

  I nodded, unable to speak just yet.

  "Did you see the damage?"

  Another nod.

  "Luke snuck in. He tried to salvage some of it, but...."

  My voice came out in a crackle. "I know. I saw."

  "And Mr. K. We have no idea what happened to him. We never saw him after the fire. I confronted Higgins about it. He says Mr. K quit, but Sam... he's lying."

  That got my attention. If Mr. K didn't quit, did Higgins fire him and lie to me?

  "Doesn't matter. I'm not doing art anymore."

  "Don't say that! You're a brilliant artist and you can't give up just because something bad happened. You have all that art in you, everything you've ever created or will create. Don't let this steal your gift."

  A melancholy seeped into my soul and quenched whatever small flame Lucy's pep talk might have ignited. Nothing mattered anymore.

  Luke, in an attempt to change the subject, gently brushed my swollen face. "What happened?"

  "I mouthed off to a client, and he punched me."

  Their eyebrows shot up in comical unison. Luke glanced at Lucy, and she nodded her head. "She's telling the truth, more or less. But she's definitely not telling us the whole story."

  "Hey, quit reading me!" I lightly punched Lucy on the shoulder, grateful to be talking about something other than my ruined art career. I pulled my red comforter over my head, as if that would keep her out of my secrets. No such luck.

  "Sam, what's going on?" Lucy's voice lost its playfulness. "You've never talked back to a client before. Not even that guy who kept undressing you with his mind, and then dressing you back up in his wife's lingerie."

  I'd forgotten about him. He was a real winner too. No one should ever have to see themselves naked in the mind of a pervert. I shivered at the memory and mentally closed my third eye to shut out the experience.

  "Tell us." Luke spoke our secret language, the one I had created. It had evolved over the years to include thousands of words. So I told them everything—about the assignment, the molester, Tommy, Mary at the hospital.

  "She's such a bitch," Luke said.

  Gotta love Luke, though Mary sure didn't. She hated the one heterosexual man in all the world that her powers didn't affect. No one knew why, but we were grateful.

  Lucy eyed me, no doubt waiting for the rest of the story. I scowled at her, but finally relented. I told them about the boy on the stretcher and the strange doctor with para-powers.

  "Sam, you cannot get involved in whatever that is. You know that, right?" Lucy adopted the rigid face of Mrs. Kellerbuckle, the eighth-grade taskmaster at Rent-A-Kid. It was usually funny when she did that. This time, not so much.

  "Yeah, I'm not. It was just weird, is all."

  She shook her head. "Not totally the truth, though
I think you believe your own lie at the moment. Just promise me you'll talk to us before doing anything stupid?"

  "I promise."

  Before they could start on me again, I slid over Luke and put in our favorite movie, "X-Men," and we settled in for some mindless entertainment. I pretended to ignore the voice in the back of my head that spoke of things best left forgotten.

  ***

  All eyes were on me the next day at school, with the rumor mill full of juicy tidbits about my black eye, the fire in the art building, and the sudden disappearance of Mr. K. I kept my sunglasses on and hid behind Luke as often as possible.

  When I bumped into him for the fifth time, he turned to face me. "Sam, I love you, and I know you're embarrassed, but if you bump me again, I'm going to have to walk through a wall to make it to class on time. Got it?"

  I nodded and mumbled an apology. He softened and put an arm around me.

  Lucy flanked me on the other side. "It doesn't look that bad. Honest."

  "I don't need to be able to read minds or tell when someone is lying to know that's a big fat one."

  She squeezed my shoulder. "Well, Chica, it could be worse. And it will get better. You should just ignore it and go on like everything is normal. People are only staring because you're acting so weird about it."

  She's probably right. But with a mild case of OCD, I couldn't resist popping into people's minds as we walked down the halls to English.

  'Wonder what happened to her?'... 'Heard she got punched by a client.'... 'Looks painful.'... 'She must have really screwed up.'... 'I wonder if Higgins punished her.'... 'I heard she got into a fight with a new kid... and he's been in the infirmary ever since.'

  That last thought stopped me. Were they thinking of my mystery boy? I searched the crowd of teenagers to see who'd thought that, probing minds as I did. Everyone rushed to get books out of lockers and head to their next class before the bell rang. I couldn't pinpoint the person, but it gave me hope.

  Lucy pulled me along. "What's the matter? We're going to be late."

  "Sorry, just caught a stray thought that bothered me."

  "Don't worry about what people are saying, or thinking. You'll be old news in no time flat. Besides, you won't even be here much longer, and none of this will matter."

  No more thoughts came up about the boy, but the school was abuzz about the fire. Anyone with a penchant or para-power for fire became a suspect. When Lucy and Luke left me, I just ignored everyone, hid in the bathroom, and applied another layer of cover-up to my bruise, but hiding was no use.

  Mary and her pack entered the bathroom chattering away.

  I scurried into a stall to avoid her, but not in time.

  Her hand wrapped around my arm and pulled me out before I could close the door. "If it isn't the little kiss-ass hiding in the bathroom. What? Afraid you might scare the younger kids with your new look?"

  I backed away from Mary, fear of conflict once again ruling me. But something snapped. The small fire that had started when I stood up to Dollinger now flamed to life. I stepped forward, for the first time invading Mary's personal space, and stared her in the eyes, so close her breath crawled over my skin. Power flooded me and I finally felt in control. This dwarfed even the rush I'd felt by the pool.

  "What is your problem, Mary? Honestly, what do you gain by tormenting me? Does it stroke your fragile self-esteem? Are you so pathetic that only hurting other people makes you feel better? Do you really think that makes you hot shit?"

  I didn't wait for her to reply. "Well, you know what, I don't really care anymore. Say what you want, it makes no difference."

  Her eyes narrowed and her mouthed dropped open. Not the response she'd expected.

  Her two lackeys held onto frozen sneers, waiting to see what would happen.

  "And here's a tip for you. Don't mess with a girl who reads minds. I can pull out every thought you've ever had. What do you think I'll find if I do that? I can tell you what everyone else thinks of you too. Do you think the guys at this school really like you? That your powers make real feelings? You're fooling yourself, Mary, but no one else. They despise you for what you do to them." My voice sounded ugly, nothing like the real me—at least, the me I'd always imagined. Yet the raw righteousness of it, of feeding her the bile she always spewed at us, was like peeling off an itchy scab.

  Her face collapsed, and she ran out of the bathroom, followed by her friends.

  I sank onto the nearest toilet, shaking. Out of fear, rage, guilt? Standing up to her didn't feel as good as expected.

  Maybe I felt bad because it felt so good, if that made any sense at all.

  But something inside me rose up to greet this new girl who wouldn't allow herself to be pushed around, and against my own better judgment, I thought of my mystery boy.

  ***

  I lost track of how long I sat in the bathroom, alone in my thoughts. When a group of giggling girls came in, I slid past them and out into the crowded halls of my school.

  The bustle of life and my swirling thoughts made it hard to focus on anything. The adrenaline surge from my confrontation with Mary had long since passed, leaving me shaky and tired. My head ached and my eye pounded a steady pulse of pain with each heartbeat.

  A familiar tug pulled at me, beckoning me to hide out in my room and cocoon myself from the harsh realities of life, but I couldn't. I first had to figure out what had happened to the art studio and my mentor.

  With this renewed determination as armor against my pain, I focused my mind to search for the one person who might have some answers.

  Kyle. The only fire starter in school.

  His mental signature led me out of the building and through the gardens and walking paths near The Hub. I found him slumped over on a bench, lighting his finger like a lighter and then blowing it out. Light, blow, repeat.

  "Kyle, can I talk to you?"

  Though I'd kept my voice calm, he still jumped out of his seat and let loose a small ball of flames into the air. His eyes widened in fear at the loss of control, and he quickly diffused it before it could start any bigger fires.

  "Sam, I heard you were back. I'm sorry about what happened... with your art."

  I gestured to the bench. "May I join you?"

  His eyes shuffled back and forth like a man hunted, but he nodded.

  I settled in next to him and tried to maintain eye contact despite his shifting gaze. "You know I can read your mind whether you're looking at me or not."

  "Sorry. It's just... I know everyone thinks I caused the fire, but I swear, I didn't."

  'Don't know anything... but sensed something that night.... No one believes me.... Think I don't have control.'

  "I believe you, Kyle. Can you tell me what you sensed that night?"

  His golden eyes dropped, leaving me to stare at his auburn scalp.

  "Okay, look. I know this sounds weird, but I can sense if there's a fire around. It's like, my body tingles or something." He looked back up, perhaps to judge my reaction.

  I kept a neutral face and encouraged him to continue.

  With more confidence, he did. "I can also tell something about the fire. Like, I know in my bones if it's manmade or natural or what, you know?"

  "Makes sense."

  "So, okay, that night, something weird happened. Like, that fire didn't just happen by accident. Someone started it on purpose."

  "It was arson?" I had no room left in me for fear or shock, only a numb sadness.

  "Yeah, but more than that. See, the fire started with power. Like, someone else who has a power like mine started it."

  This shoved away some of the numb. "Another fire starter?"

  "Yes and no. Like me but not. Fire starting's not their real, full power. It's like they were stealing the power from somewhere else. Then I felt it."

  "What?"

  "The draining. They stole the power from me. So you see? It really was my fault. I'm so sorry, Sam."

  Tears filled his eyes and he dropped his head a
gain to hide his pain, but it still washed over me in thoughts and feelings and images. I opened myself and let everything he thought and felt hit me. Then I took all that raw data and shoved it into a special compartment in my own mind to examine later.

  I reached for Kyle's hand. "It's not your fault. Whoever did this stole your power... you can't be held responsible for that. Thank you for telling me."

  He looked up with something akin to hope in his eyes. We all needed forgiveness for our sins, perceived or real. We all craved absolution, so I gave him his.

  "It's okay, Kyle. I'll figure out what happened. It's not your fault. But, don't tell anyone else this, all right? At least not until I uncover the truth about that night."

  A buzzing filled me, and I left him to his thoughts as I walked through the winding paths without purpose or destination. Someone had stolen another para-power and burned up my work.

  Why would anyone do that? And who could possibly have that kind of power?

  I needed to find out, and I needed help.

  Chapter 11 – Drake

  Awareness flickered in and out like pinpricks of light through a torn window curtain. Voices, footsteps, the clank of metal, the medicinal smell that permeated his dreams—these small, mundane sounds woke Drake from his unconscious visions and pulled him from the blue-eyed girl in his mind.

  The thump of his heart seemed abnormally loud, and for a moment he wondered if he had died and gone to some limbo place where grey souls lived. But no, not dead—the sound belonged to a monitor attached to him, broadcasting the rhythmic beat of his heart to the world.

  He focused on keeping the sound steady as he opened his eyes to take in his surroundings. The unremarkable hospital room gave him no sense of place or time.

  A tickle itched his nose and he moved his arm to scratch it, only to find that he couldn't move. His limbs had been restrained to the hospital bed: two thick straps across his legs, a strap across his chest and a strap to tie down each wrist.

  An I.V. dripped a viscous yellow solution into his veins and created a mild burn that ran up his arm and through his body. The door to his room was closed, so he focused his powers to surge through his muscles and free him from his prison.