Page 18 of Mostly Shattered

“…will protect her,” my grandfather is saying.

“All right, let’s get this cast on, Miss, uh…” A woman’s voice trails off, and I feel someone tapping my cheek. “Miss Devine?”

“She was restless.” My grandfather sounds closer like he’s standing next to me. “They gave her a sedative. You may put on the cast.”

I’m too weak to follow what’s happening.

“Don’t wake up,” my grandfather whispers, his breath tickling my ear. The dream slips away.

Chapter

Five

“Another time, Tamara.” Costin gives a polite bow of his head. My name sounds strange when he says it. Normally, he’s mocking me as a castoff. “We will talk again soon.”

He releases my hand and is gone from my side by the time I turn to look at him, disappearing into the library’s shadows as easily as he arrived. I let go of the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My heart is still beating erratically from his nearness. I hate that he’s got to me like this, hate even more than I want him to come back.

“That can’t happen,” Mortimer states with a dismissive wave of his hand toward where Costin had been standing. My uncle’s commanding tone brings me back to the present.

“That’snothappening,” I mumble, utterly confused.

“Though I’m glad to see you are open to a supernatural relationship again,” my uncle continues, as if he didn’t hear me. “It will make this conversation easier.”

I’d rather jump into a pool of hot lava than have a relationship with a vampire. Both would kill me, but at least the lava would have a temperature above freezing. And it wouldn’t mock me.

I process Mortimer’s comment. “What conversation? I thought you were here to talk about my funeral arrangements.”

Crappiest birthday present ever.

“Come, your parents are waiting,” he orders.

I don’t want to go with him, but I know better than to refuse. Mortimer can make me follow him. I’ve accepted that I have little control over my life.

I think of Paul’s warm hands on my body and begin rubbing off the remaining chill of Costin’s touch. I’m not attracted to the vampire. I want Paul.

Why can’t I have a normal life?

I leave the library, letting Mortimer set the pace as we cross over the marble floor. The click of my heels sounds abnormally loud in our silence. I watch my uncle’s legs move, but his steps are quiet.

Ten thousand square feet of prime real estate, and I don’t think the penthouse’s décor has changedone bit since my childhood. I remember the statues standing guard over the wide corridors with their judging expressions and the paintings of my parents from bygone eras.

The common areas have an open floor plan. During the day, it’s bathed in natural light, but now shadows crawl like they’re hiding dirty secrets. The antique furniture is more elegant than comfortable. Nothing here is about comfort. It’s about image. It’s everything old money is made of—elitist traditions, a fear of change, and a sense of superiority.

There is that saying,if these walls could talk. If a spell ever made that true, these walls would scream. I see darkness against the glass doors leading to the wrap-around terrace. Being roughly five hundred feet above the streets, with the fall weather, the outside air tends to be crisp. Still, I’d rather be out there in this slinky dress than heading toward whatever family meeting this has turned out to be.

To the outside eye, this luxury high-rise has everything one could want. Sure, I can soak in a tub with skyline views and walk on heated marble floors, but I would trade it all for a bungalow with Paul. Is it wrong that I envy people who have to think about things like mortgages and utility bills? I feel like they have an innate understanding of life that I never will. I tried living on my own, by my own income. It didn’t work out too well.

I hate how my childhood has trained me to live in this world. It gave me all the expectations and manners, but it could not give me the magic. I’m a mimic. A fake. I have all the dangers of being a Devine without the ability to protect myself.

“Constantine is an ambitious choice.” Mortimer clearly isn’t letting his mind wander. “How far has the courtship progressed?”

Courtship?

Gross.

I often find when people ask me questions in this family, they aren’t really expecting me to answer. I’m a placeholder for their own thoughts. So I keep my mouth shut.

“Clearly, you’re feeding him. You look pale and tired. More than normal.”

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