The Forbidden Trilogy

by Kimberly Kinrade

  Mr. K didn't meet her eyes when he spoke. "It's late."

  "Yes, I have to go." Lucy's heart raced as she hurried out of the tree's shade and made her way back to her rock.

  She sat down on her rock and cried with abandon—no more holding back, no more pretending to be okay. Nothing was okay and she knew it. Who had she become that she would use her shadow power on Mr. K?

  He would lie for her. He would do what she said.

  Because she'd given him no choice.

  Chapter 92 – Drake

  Visions flit in and out of his mind in a jumble of chaotic and ominous warnings—kids lined in a hospital, crying out for help, tearing apart their skin to claw out of their restraints; himself as a child, helpless and abused, beaten by the foster parents the state trusted to care for him.

  Then, he grows up, and he isn't helpless anymore. The face of that man flashes before him—the way his lip curls up in a sneer as he beats his wife and child; the way they shrink in on themselves to escape the punishment.

  Drake, now initiated into his power, catches the man's fist mid-air and throws him against the floor, then beats him until he can't walk or speak or move.

  Then the dream changes, and he's back with Sam the night they were captured by the Seeker, the night he lost the love of his life.

  The Seeker rears up at him and morphs into a giant snake-like monster, his huge mouth stretched open, sharp teeth gleaming. "I am your brother," it hisses, before that mouth wraps around Drake and swallows him whole, crunching into his bone and twisting him inside out.

  Drake woke, startled and with a head full of cotton balls. The use of that much drug-induced power had stripped him of any natural strength he had left, so they'd found a nice hotel and holed up while he slept it off. Good thing Steele had been more generous with the cash than the drugs.

  When he peeled his eyes back, Toby leaned into his face and grinned, just as he had after Drake had woken up from his Blue Power-induced high. "Good morning."

  "Thanks, good morning to you too." Drake sat up and stretched his aching body. "How long have you been up?" Toby had still been passed out when Drake settled them into the hotel.

  The boy looked around vaguely, then shrugged. "A few hours. Three, maybe."

  Drake checked the time on the clock by the bed. 5:00 p.m. His stomach chose that moment to announce its hunger. "What kind of food do you like?"

  Toby grinned. "Pizza. Burgers are good too. Why? Are we going out?"

  Drake reached for the phone on the nightstand. "No. We're staying in. I'll call room service."

  "Wow. Thanks." The kid's grin stretched wider across his face, and he looked around the room as if taking it in for the first time. "You must be pretty rich, yo."

  Drake ordered them cheeseburger sliders—whatever those were—and soda, then replaced the receiver. "This isn't my house. It's just a hotel."

  "Exactly!" Toby flopped onto the other bed in the room.

  Of course. Toby had probably never stayed at a hotel. His house had definitely been a dump, so his mother couldn't have made much. She may have even been on drugs, by the looks of her, probably Meth. Not that Drake could judge. Look at all he'd done.

  He looked at Toby more carefully and noticed his red, puffy eyes, as if he'd been crying for a long time. The boy had been through hell and back the last couple of days, and now he was alone in the world. Even his shitty mother must have felt safer than being totally abandoned. He'd have a lot to process in the coming weeks, and it wouldn't be easy.

  Nature reminded Drake that it had been awhile since he last used the bathroom. As he pushed his sore body out of bed, he noticed Toby was still wearing his dirty shoes on the bed.

  "Toby, get your shoes off the furniture." He hadn't meant to sound quite that stern, quite like foster fathers of the past.

  "Well, fine. You don't have to say it like that." Toby pulled his shoes off and threw them to the side.

  "Now, put them in the closet," said Drake.

  The boy rolled his eyes but did as he was told.

  As Drake walked toward the bathroom, Toby grabbed the remote for the television.

  Drake stopped and turned to him. "You should ask before you use the TV."

  Toby just shook his head as if it made no sense to him at all. "Why?"

  "We only have one room," Drake explained. "The TV may bother me, so you should ask. It's polite."

  Another eye roll. "Fine. May I use the TV?"

  "Yes."

  "Sheesh man, you're wound tight." Toby hopped back on the bed, turned on the television, and started scrolling through channels.

  Drake used the bathroom, then went out onto the balcony and breathed in the fresh air while looking out over the city and the ocean. The wind blew through his hair and calmed him. As he relaxed, he found himself piecing together his dreams. Sam. He'd lost Sam. How would she react when he came back? Would she hug him? Hit him? Or would she just leave him once they found Ana, as he'd left her?

  His heart sank into his gut and he brushed the thought from his mind. Their love could be mended. He could make things right with her. He would make things right with her. They'd been apart before, and they'd gone through so much together; surely they could bridge the gap between them this time.

  Of course, this time was different. Drake had left her. He deserved whatever anger she felt toward him, but he hoped that she could forgive him.

  He turned back to watch Toby lying on the bed. He'd settled on some show that sounded like CSI, maybe. One of the CSI shows anyways. It shocked Drake to really consider the fact that there was a kid in his room, a kid under his care. He wondered if this is what it would be like with Ana when she got older. He tried to imagine her at Toby's age. She'd looked like Sam, but with a few of his features too. Strong, but delicate. He pictured her with dark hair like her mother's, and blue eyes like both of her parents. She'd be the most beautiful girl ever, and her smile would light up Daddy's world.

  He needed to be with Ana, needed to be there for her as she grew up, for her first crawl and first steps, her first words and first dance with a boy. He could teach her to surf and play guitar. He'd love her and give her the best of everything, the best of himself.

  But what did he know about being a good parent?

  Toby sat on the bed, sadness still swimming in his heart, the loss of his mother so fresh.

  Yet Drake could think of nothing comforting to say or do. What would a father say in a time like this?

  He'd never had a father to show him, at least not his own father. The Seeker had told him his father had been a doctor, someone who ran off with his mother before she'd been killed. What had they been like? What kind of person would he be if they hadn't put him in the system and left him there? Would he have been the kind of man who would have stayed with Sam and his baby, if he'd been raised by a family who cared?

  Drake looked back toward the ocean, and then toward the city lights. His father could still be out there somewhere. Why hadn't he tried to find Drake? He'd left him, but Drake wouldn't be that kind of father.

  Besides, he'd had someone to give him the wisdom of a parent. Father Patrick had raised Drake to know what to do, even if he didn't see the priest as often as he would have liked.

  He walked back into the room and sat next to Toby. He thought about putting his arm over the boy, to offer comfort, but decided against it. "Are you okay?"

  "What?" Toby asked, as if he wasn't listening, though Drake was sure he heard.

  "Are you—" Drake stopped himself. Of course Toby wasn't okay. Crap. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

  Toby seemed to think about it. "Nah." He turned his attention back to the show.

  "We're going to drive to Washington tonight. It'll take two days."

  "Why?"

  "I have... friends there." Drake wondered if that was true anymore. "They'll take good care of you."

  "Thanks, but I don't need them."

  "I'm sorry, Toby, but you need someone t
o look after you. You can't just live on the streets."

  "Why not?" The boy turned to face Drake. "I spent most of my time out there anyway. It's not like my mother did much to raise me."

  Drake understood that, remembered the times when he hated coming home to parents that felt nothing like parents. Still, he needed them. Kids needed someone.

  "If you stay on the streets, it's only a matter of time until someone finds you, calls social services. Then you'll be in the system, thrown around from one home to another."

  "Hmm. That sucks."

  "Yeah, it does. Trust me on that. If you come with me, you'll get a caring home, and people who'll understand you. Understand what you can do."

  Toby's eyebrow popped up at that. Then he raised his hand, and looked at it, watching it fade away into nothing, as if someone poured invisible paint on it. "It freaked me out, at first. I couldn't see myself in the mirror." He pointed at the mirror in the room. "So I wanted it to go away, and it did. I can control it, I think."

  "It's a lot to take in, but you have powers. We both do. That's why I healed. That's why you turn invisible. Pretty crazy, right?"

  "Pretty cool," said Toby, as he disappeared completely.

  "Toby?" The mattress shifted in the bed and he could tell Toby stood up. "Where are you?" Drake got up, a feeling of butterflies in his stomach. "That's enough, Toby." Something pinched his back. "Oww." He heard Toby laughing and turned around.

  Toby reappeared looking very puckish. "Man, this is going to be fun."

  Drake's face couldn't decide whether to smile or scowl, but the smile won out. "So, what do you think about Washington? They have a big mansion and everything."

  That got his attention. "Mansion, you say? That's like a big house, right?"

  Drake nodded.

  "Then Washington may be pretty good. Right now, I figure I should stick with you."

  "Me?"

  "Yeah. I mean, you saved me, didn't you? That's why I'm here. I remember them strapping me down to a bed, putting a needle in my arm, making me sleepy. Then I wake up here and see you passed out. So you saved me, man. Right?"

  Drake nodded again, amused by Toby's enthusiasm.

  "You're like a hero, yo."

  His amusement faded. "No. Trust me, I'm not." Even Sam would agree with him on that.

  "Of course a hero would say that," said the boy as he pounced around on the bed. "I can be your sidekick."

  "Don't need one."

  "Every hero thinks that at first. But they always learn, eventually."

  Drake was about to argue some more when someone knocked on the door. He opened it to the smell of food. A man in a white apron wheeled a small table in and left them two silver dome-shaped plates. Toby and Drake sat down to eat, each anxiously pulling off the cover to reveal the world's smallest cheeseburgers.

  Toby started laughing. "Man, no wonder there's lots of skinny rich people if you all eat like this."

  Drake laughed with him and scarfed down his burger in one bite. He wiped his mouth, sucked down some soda, and stood. "Time to pack up and get going. We've got to get to Washington as fast as possible, but first, let's grab a real dinner and pick you up some clothes that aren't covered in holes. How's that sound?"

  "Awesome!" The kid jumped up and down and whooped.

  They checked out, stopped for a very filling Mexican dinner, and each picked up a few changes of clothes and backpacks at the store. With the cheap car Drake had picked up using Steele's cash, they started their drive to Washington.

  The sun set and Toby, finally clean and full, fell asleep in the front seat.

  So far, they were in the clear. Steele hadn't called yet, so he must still trust Drake. He must not know Drake was on his way to Sam. But it would be a temporary reprieve. He'd call eventually, and if Drake didn't answer, or didn't do what Steele wanted, then Ana would pay the price.

  They had to act fast to put an end to it all so he could bring his family back together and be the kind of father he'd always wanted.

  A sign to the right of the freeway caught Drake's attention, and he pulled off to follow it. Before he saw Sam again, he had one more stop to make.

  Chapter 93 – Lucy

  The sound of pigs mating woke Lucy. No wait, did I just dream that or hear that? She wiped sleep from her eyes and took a moment to relieve herself and freshen up, then did a light stretch routine to keep the skin on her back from shrinking as it healed. She wished for some lotions or creams to use. Maybe she could find some aloe vera plants, or ask Mr. K if there was an equivalent around here that would help. She really didn't want horrible scars across her back forever—especially from a lizard.

  Now a wolf mark, that would have some dignity. But lizard? Didn't the Native Americans believe that if you were scarred by an animal and survived, it became your animal guide? She wasn't sure, but she really didn't want to get stuck with a giant mutant lizard for hers.

  On a patch of sand near the water, Luke and Hunter sparred with each other—the source of the grunting that had woken her. Topless and in shorts, with their bare skin reflecting the sun and white waves crashing on the smooth beach, they looked like a PlayGirl Calendar photo shoot. But one of those hot bods belonged to her brother, so it didn't quite have the same impact on Lucy that it might have had on others.

  They moved a bit slower than normal, with controlled speed, but still.... "Aren't you two supposed to be resting from your injuries?"

  Hunter shrugged, and the muscles in his chest flexed. Lucy flushed at the sight of it, and he smiled a lopsided grin, as if he knew what she was thinking. "We were."

  "We might have healed," said Luke.

  Hunter winked. "Only one way to find out."

  He hopped around like a boxer, back and forth between the balls of his feet, fists up and ready, and made a few jabs at Luke. His natural, fluid grace was almost animal-like, yet despite his grin and playful attitude, Lucy knew the lethal speed and ferocious skill that lurked underneath. He was a natural fighter, and had been well trained.

  But then, Luke was no amateur, either. He dodged the jabs easily enough, and didn't seem to be favoring his foot—much.

  Lucy sat on the grass and studied them, noting the small tells they both had that revealed where the next attack would come from. This was her specialty. Rarely could she overpower an opponent with strength, but she was fast, skilled, and could read a fighter like the Sunday Times. Maybe her lie-detecting abilities gave her a heightened sense for it, but wherever it came from, it made her just as dangerous as the two hopping around in front of her. She smothered a smile at the thought of sparring with Hunter.

  Weeping willow branches rustled and shifted in the still air around her. Through the parting curtain, Mr. K filled the valley with his booming voice. "Who you rooting for, Lucy?"

  Luke guffawed and took a swing at Hunter. "Her brother, of course."

  Hunter ducked and brought his right fist up toward Luke's jaw in a powerful uppercut. "Pfft. If she had half a brain, she'd root for the better of us two. That's me, naturally."

  The fist missed Luke by a fraction of an inch. He cocked his head. "So the question is, does she have half a brain?"

  "Oh thanks, Luke," Lucy huffed and crossed her arms. "You helped me make my decision. I'm rooting for Hunter."

  Hunter pumped his fist. "Woohoo! That's my girl."

  Mr. K smacked us all with his branches. "Wait, wait, wait. Is this fight with para-powers or without?"

  Luke jabbed Hunter in the gut in a mostly friendly way. "The bastard has no powers."

  Lucy felt Hunter's eyes on her, and her brow wrinkled in thought. She doubted his lack of powers—there was more to him than he let on. Still, she didn't say anything. Not without proof. Besides, he probably had a reason for not telling anyone.

  "Okay," Mr. K said. "No powers? I'm going with Hunter."

  Luke scowled. "What?"

  Hunter laughed.

  "Come on." Mr. K whipped his branches around and knocked them both
gently in the head. "Let's get this show on the road. Hunter, show this kid why he shouldn't have skipped class back in the day."

  Hunter saluted. "Yes, Sir."

  "Lucy and I have placed our faith in you."

  Lucy nodded. "Yup." She shifted uncomfortably and battled the guilt she felt about last night. Mr. K either didn't remember anything that happened, or this was his way of smoothing things out between them. Either way, she'd play along for now.

  "Ready," yelled Lucy, with a finger raised in the air like a gun, "set, go!"

  They resumed their fight.

  Hunter and Luke both jabbed at each other, clearly just feeling each other out. From the set of their eyes, Lucy could tell that the fight had gotten serious.

  Tired of the quick jabs, Luke took the fight to the next level with a right cross that just missed Hunter's chin.

  Hunter blocked a series of aggressive blows, but refrained from counter-attacking, trying to figure out Luke's patterns.

  Luke must have noticed because he changed up his style, relying more on kicks now.

  Hunter blocked low, then threw a few jabs back, but didn't really connect.

  "Come on," Luke swung wide, trying to taunt him, "is that all you got? The old woman and the tree will be disappointed."

  "If I could walk," Mr. K said, "I'd be over there right now, kicking your ass."

  Luke threw a few more jabs but spared a glance at Mr. K. "Stick to drawing."

  Hunter blocked, but Luke didn't let up in his attacks—jab, punch, uppercut—a relentless push to tire Hunter out and land a blow. His persistence paid off with a direct punch to Hunter's cheek.

  Lucy winced as if he'd hit her. "Ouch." She could imagine the pain all too well and hoped it didn't bruise. It would be a pity to mar such.... oh blah! This isn't some sappy romance novel. Besides, a guy with some bruises could also be hot. She put her mind back on the fight and not the one sexy fighter.

  Luke continued to rain blows, but as he tired, he began to favor his uninjured foot, based on the subtle shift in his body weight.

  Even through Luke's relentless attacks, Hunter seemed to compose himself and gain strength. His back straightened and shoulders squared as he dodged blows with more speed. Ten points to Luke for enthusiasm, if nothing else—though he did keep impressive form. They circled each other, and Luke's limp became more pronounced. Hunter could take advantage of that—trip Luke, or get him off balance. Luke had to be getting tired after his jackhammer approach.