Page 5 of Mostly Shattered

Maybe I don’t belong anywhere.

Anthony lets loose a playful sigh and tussles the top of my head before dropping his arm back down around my shoulders. I feel him give me a light hug. He’s been more attentive since the fire. I wonder if he’s sad about Conrad or if it’s become all too real that I have an expiration date and he’s going to lose me someday.

Maybe both? It’s difficult to tell with Anthony. He’s a master at hiding his deeper emotions.

After some thought, he grins. “Ah, you’re probably right, little Tammy. I don’t understand a lot of things.”

“Don’t call me Tammy.” I jolt him in the ribs, and his whole body jerks before he laughs.

The sadness remains inside me like a permanent scar, but he makes me feel better.

“Seriously, talk to me,” Anthony urges. “Conrad’s gone. And, you know, I miss him, too. But we’re still here. You and me. Maybe I can help if you talk to me. We Devines got to stick together, right?”

“I’m just feeling…” I struggle to find the words. “Overly mortal. I’m like a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit into the family picture.”

“Oh.” He nods, and I see him struggling to understand what it must be like for me. “Mortal or not, you’re a Devine. Your blood is my blood. This is where you belong. With your family. With me. I will not let anything happen to you. I promised you a long time ago that I would find a way to make you immortal.”

We were kids. I’m not holding him to a promise he made at the age of seven while feeling guilty about handing me a fireball.

For a fleeting moment, I see his charming smile fade, and I sense his loneliness. Growing up, Conrad and I were often envious of Anthony, believing him to be so lucky. He went on all the adventures and attended supernatural parties while we were confined to the secure corridors of the protected wing of the country estate. As the golden child, he possessed all the inherited magic and charm.

It never occurred to me that he’d feel alone in his crowded rooms.

I look at Paul and think about telling my brother everything.

“How’s Louis doing?” I ask instead.

“We’re not seeing each other anymore.” Anthony’s voice is soft.

“Oh?” I lean into him. Louis was a fun guy, andhe made my brother happy. “Is it because of the fire? Did it freak him out?”

Louis died with Anthony in the fire during the other timeline. The dark irony is that they were both in a closet at the time. I’m sure there’s a metaphor in there somewhere.

He shakes his head. “He gave me an ultimatum, and it ultimated.”

“Have you ever thought about just saying something to the parents?” I ask. “The supernaturals aren’t bedroom prudes.”

I only half believe what I say. They may not be prudes for sex—I mean, it’s hard to be judgy when half of them eat people, and the other half does gods-know-what with their misspent time—but magics are definitely elitists when it comes to perception and appearances.

Anthony plasters on an easy smile. I doubt he feels it. “Do you honestly think it would change things? The last thing I want is for them to monitor every interaction. I hate to say it, but they don’t care about us, Tamara. They care about the glossy family portraits hanging in the foyer.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear it. I like Louis. He made you smile. But say the word, and he’s dead to me.”

“Nah, he won’t remember you,” Anthony gives a small laugh. “I erased his memory of me.”

“Anthony!” I shake my head in disapproval.

“C’est la vie.” He waves a hand to dismiss the subject. “It is what it is and nothing more.”

We sit in a long silence. I lean against his shoulder and watch Paul with his daughter while trying not to be obvious about it.

“Do you believe we’re meant to be with one person?” I ask.

Anthony chuckles. “In our family? Sure. It’s called an arranged marriage.”

“I’m serious.” I nudge his ribs with my elbow. “Do you believe there is a single soul mate out there for us?”

Anthony’s half hug tightens around my shoulders. “It’s a sweet concept, a little naïve and human, but sweet. To answer your question, though, no. I don’t think we get one love. One thing I’ve realized, listening to all the old timers tell their war stories, who we love changes with who we become. We’re not the same at sixteen that we are a three hundred. Or in your case, thirty. I think we’re meant to have many loves and many heartbreaks.”

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