Page 11 of Mostly Shattered

I think of all the violence and death I’ve witnessed. I think of Paul’s eyes draining of life as he stopped breathingin my arms.

Yeah. Dante got that wrong.

My mind is eager to continue the philosophical debate over what constitutes the worst kind of living hell. I could rant for a century about the idea that it’s worse to disobey your appointed master than being the one who’s subjugated. Ask any abused wife or victim of assault in a power dynamic which sin is worse.

If I’m thinking about this, I’m not thinking of other things.

I stare at my reflection in the library mirror, the dark room wrapping me like a shroud. The tinted glass of the floor-to-ceiling penthouse windows mutes the glow of city lights, and forms one wall. I like being fifty stories high in a city full of people. The streets are so crowded that it feels like up is the only way to escape. Sometimes, I imagine the lights from other buildings are stars, and I’m drifting through the universe untouchable.

I close my eyes and think of Paul’s face, the gentle warmth of his smile, the way he made me feel safe. That feeling is beginning to fade, and I do everything I can to hold on to it. Unfortunately, it’s being replaced by the sharp dread of imminent danger. Conrad’s hauntings are taking a toll.

I have come to this room to hide from my family. It’s tucked into a quiet corner. Something about the dark wood paneling on the walls and rows of oldleather-bound books on the custom-built bookshelves sets it apart. Some shelves are so high a ladder is needed to reach them. Brass sconces would give ambient light if I bothered to turn them on. A dormant fireplace anchors the wood with ornate marble.

It’s a room of reflection and intellect. So many secrets fill the volumes, ones I can’t read because I don’t speak the ancient languages. No one thought it necessary to teach me.

I hate to admit it, but the room reminds me of Conrad—the Conrad I thought I knew before he betrayed me and tried to kill everyone I care about. He might be bad, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss the brother I thought I knew. Even now, I can hear the distant echo of his voice telling me about a spell he’d read about. I imagine I’ll see him if I turn around, limbs draped over the arms of a tufted leather chair with an old tome braced on his stomach. Conrad had taught himself how to read the books. I should have insisted he teach me as well.

I wonder why I never tried. I wasn’t lazy or stupid. I think maybe I was scared—of failure, of my limitations, of proving everyone right. My whole life, I’ve been told I’m delicate like a butterfly and monsters trample butterflies. I hid in that cocoon my family gave me, believing it to be safe.If I didn’t think about it, if I went along with their plans, everything would be all right.

Then I met Paul and Diana.

I don’t move, not even blinking as I meet my eyes reflected back at me. My vision wavers and blurs, distorting me like I’m staring into a funhouse mirror. I want it to pull me into the reversed world where I can be with Paul.

But Paul can’t save me from Conrad or the supernatural. It’s not fair to wish that he could. He’s human, and I know better than anyone what being mortal means. Even the fantasies of shared normality are filling me with guilt. I need to forget him and move on. This isn’t a romance novel. It’s reality.

The fact that my features are shadowed feels like a blessing. I don’t want to see how tired I look. Even the slinky red dress I found laid out on my bed when I got home, and a layer of makeup can’t hide my exhaustion.

Lady Astrid picking out my clothes is nothing new, but the dress indicates that more than Uncle Mortimer might be coming over. The scarlet V-neck chiffon clings to my hips before flaring at the skirt. The spaghetti straps leave my arms exposed, and I feel a chill from the air conditioning. I lift the toe of my shoe and twist the high heel into the rug. Theypinch my feet, but I’ll trip on the floor-length skirt if I take them off.

This outfit is not what I would’ve picked out for myself. It reminds me of my childhood. I’m Astrid’s living doll, and to her, appearances are everything.

Suddenly, my senses prickle with intense awareness, and I stiffen.

“In all my centuries, I have never seen a beautiful woman so angry with her reflection,” a man whispers. The softness of his voice doesn’t hide the danger in it.

I inhale sharply. The surprised sound is more audible than I would like. I didn’t hear anyone join me in the library. I’m not even sure how he got in here. Still, I don’t make sudden movements.

“Hello, castoff.”

I let go of my breath, recognizing that mocking, bored tone. The vampire scares me, but I don’t think he’d attack while I’m in my parents’ home. Closing my eyes, I acknowledge, “Hello, Costin.”

The vampire gets off on calling me a little castoff. There is no world in which that’s a compliment.

My disposition continues to sour. What is the bloodsucker doing here? I’m not in the mood to deal with him.

Lord Constantine, master vampire and pretentious asshole. I’m unsure how he’d feel about my title for him, but it’s true. He’s been lurking aroundmy family’s shadows since before I was born. I remember seeing him at my parents’ parties, hoping he wouldn’t notice me peeking out from my hiding place. His eyes always seemed to find me, though.

I should be nicer to him, but there is just something about his predatory nature that puts me on edge. He was never inappropriate with me when I was a child, and he’s never threatened me directly, at least not in any way that would hold up in front of a supernatural tribunal. But he looks at me strangely, like the only thing keeping him from devouring me is my family name. Even now, there is an intensity in him. I used to think he didn’t like me, maybe even hated me. But then I realized he didn’t think I was important enough to hate.

I’m human. Food.

The fact I’m untouchable is the only thing that would make me interesting to an elitist creature like him. He can’t kill me, but he can be annoyed by my existence.

Then why has he been invading my thoughts recently? He keeps appearing at the edge of my nightmares, watching me. I can hardly blame him for my brain’s fucked up dreams.

When he doesn’t move, I can’t stop myself from glancing in his direction. There is something about him that makes me both uncomfortable and inexplicably drawn to him. I assume that’s his vampiricnature. Everything about him is made to lure humans into his death trap of an embrace.

He is the Venus flytrap, and I’m the fly.

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