Page 20 of Mostly Shattered

“Your parents are waiting for us.” Mortimer resumes walking, forcing me to go after him.

“What choice?” I call after him, hurrying to follow.

“All will be revealed.” He moves faster.

First, my brother’s ghost tormented me in the park. Then Mr. Vampire tried to sign me up for some prophecy. Now Mortimer is poking his nose into my love life. This day has really taken a turn for the worse.

My parents are waiting for us in the living room. The light is on in the kitchen behind them, but I don’t see anyone else here. The room catches my eye for a moment. I was wrong in my musings earlier. The kitchen appliances have changed since my childhood, a requirement of the family chef.

Davis and Astrid Devine have been married for a long time. I see glimpses of affection between them, but they’re fleeting moments, almost as if it’s an old habit rather than rooted in passion. On the surface, the family shines like a glossy portrait of perfection. I wonder at what point in their long lives Lady Astrid decided her lifestyle was worth more than a faithful husband. I’m living proof of his affair with my birth mother. I wouldn’t blame Astrid for leaving him, butthen I don’t blame him for finding comfort elsewhere. Astrid will never be accused of being a warm person.

The crystal chandelier above our heads holds my mother’s attention. I see Astrid’s eyes move as if she’s tracing each shard for defects. She is perched on the edge of the couch with a martini glass balanced between her fingers. A speared olive swirls in circles.

My father stares out the window at the terrace. Or maybe it’s at his reflection in the glass. I can’t be sure. Magic snakes lazily through the curved fingers of one hand like he’s playing an air piano. An empty whiskey glass is on the floor by his foot.

Is there a better example of what immortality looks like?

Most people imagine living forever as a great gift of time. I see it as boring decades that drift aimlessly into eternity. Immortals aren’t lucky. They’re living fossils who lose the ability to be anything but the shell of themselves.

That thought is a little harsh.

Fuck, I’m irritable.

“Ah, Tam-tam,” my father says when he sees my reflection. The magic dissipates from his fingers as he turns to look at me. “You look lovely tonight.”

“That dress is all wrong,” Astrid says at the sametime. “I told them the scarlet was too orange. You need crimson.”

I automatically glance down at the criticism. One comment from Astrid can always make me feel so small.

“Good fairy seamstresses are becoming a rarity,” Astrid mumbles. “It will have to be redone. Luckily, there is time before the charity ball.”

“Drink, Mortimer?” Davis lifts his empty glass before producing a bottle hidden beside his chair.

“No. This isn’t a social call.” Mortimer takes a seat close to my father before turning his full attention toward me.

“Drink?” My father gestures toward me with his bottle.

I shake my head in denial. I’ve given up alcohol since my birthday fire. Not that any of them have noticed.

“Have a seat, Tamara,” Astrid motions to the empty spot next to her on the couch.

I obey, mimicking my mother’s pose by perching on the edge and crossing my ankles.

“You look like you’ve just crawled out of a werewolf den after a full moon Mardi Gras.” Davis eyes his brother. “What is so urgent you need to see us?”

“Since the birthday fire, I’ve been flooded with strange dreams,” Mortimer says. “I know the pieces are important, but the full picture has eluded me.”

“You’ve forced a vision?” Davis inches forward.

Mortimer nods.

“That’s tricky work,” Davis muses to himself.

By tricky, my father means dangerous.

“I felt I had no choice,” Mortimer says.

“Enough mystery. This isn’t an Agatha Christie novel, and you’re not Miss Marple,” Astrid grumbles, using her martini glass to enunciate her demand, “Out with it.”

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