Page 20 of Barely Breathing

Blood and moonlight.

“Oh?” I prompt.

“Lorelai Weber has come from California.” Astrid doesn’t look at me. When she told me she wasn’t my birth mother several months back, so many things in my life started to make sense—most significantly, my lack of magic. “She left the address where she’s staying. I put it on your dresser.”

I wish words would come more easily when I talk to Astrid, but our relationship has never been one of easy words. She’s been my protector in many ways, raising me within the confines of the powerful Devine family, keeping me healthy, and teaching me what supernatural society expects of women. However, what little affection is shown is heavily veiled by her strictness, and I spent most of my childhood isolated and feeling like an outsider in my own family.

Sometimes, I wish Astrid would yell at me and lay voice to what has to be true on some base level. My life is the product of her husband’s affair and a constant reminder of his betrayal. How can she not resent me for that? Or my father?

I tried once to tell her I was sorry for what my existence must do to her, but she didn’t want to hear it.

“What…?” I search her expression for a hint of what she’s feeling. I’m not surprised when I don’t find it. I don’t expect emotion from the woman. She’s too practical for that.

“Speak up.” Astrid turns a page with deliberate precision before finally lowering the book to meet my gaze. Her perfect posture is in stark contrast to my travel-ready attire. “Going out?”

I nod.

She glances at my hair. The curls are tamed, blown straight and styled. “Cosette did well.”

“Are you…?” I stop short of asking if she’s all right.

“She’s called here multiple times looking for you, as well,” Astrid states, as if she doesn’t know what I’m trying to ask.

I inch closer to where she sits. I see an empty martini glass near her foot. “Did she say what she wanted?”

“To speak with you, obviously.” Her diamond wedding ring catches the light behind her for the briefest of seconds, making me think of her life with my father. “The woman has become quite persistent since you fixed that amulet. You should decide what you want to do there.”

She doesn’t invite me, but I sit beside her anyway. The gesture seems to catch her off guard, and she closes the book. I can tell by the worn cover it is old and probably in a language I don’t understand.

“Thank you,” I say.

Astrid frowns. “For taking a message?”

“For raising me.” I can instantly tell that my attempt at connecting makes her uncomfortable. She much prefers her mask of emotional detachment and practicality.

“Duty is duty. There is no reason to go on about it.” She starts to open the book, but I put my hand on top of it to stop her.

“Are you all right with…?” I want to say the right things. They never seem to come out correctly. I take my hand back and place it in my lap. “Do you have an opinion on all of this?”

“You’re asking for my advice? This is new.” She keeps studying me. “Here it is. Don’t let sentiment cloud your judgment. Lorelai left for a reason.”

I nod. “I know. Goblins were attacking me in my crib, and she couldn’t protect me.”

“You can’t fault a human for failing any more than you can fault a snowflake for melting. Mortals are fragile and easily exploited.” She reaches to pat my hand. “I know you don’t always agree with how I’ve raised you, but look at who you are becoming, look at what you’ve achieved, look at your resilience as a mortal in a supernatural world.”

“But I’m human,” I say. By her logic, I’m doomed to fail. I touch the amulet. All magic I have is borrowed. “Mortal.”

“No, Tamara, you’re a Devine. It’s not the same. Mortal attachments often bring pain and vulnerability. This is why I’ve taught you to focus on survival and your responsibilities as part of the Devine family.” If I didn’t know better, I’d say there is a grudging respect in her tone. “Appreciate Lorelai’s sacrifice but keep her at a distance. Her leaving might have been necessary, but those dangers she ran from when you were a child are just as real now. Reopening the old wounds will only invite vulnerability and distraction.”

Like always, it is practical advice.

“If you didn’t…” I take a deep breath. Part of me feels this is not a road I should go down. Still, I find myself saying, “If duty didn’t come into this, would you have agreed to…”

I’m a coward. What I want to know is if she loves me.

Talk about mommy issues.

She touches her wedding ring and gives it a slight wiggle back and forth on her finger. “Don’t dwell on what you can’t change. Duty is a real thing, and you belong here.”

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