Page 41 of Nearly Dead

My skin prickles, the nerves raw and electric.Everything feels like a warning.Instinct tells me to retreat underground, to escape the sun.

I look toward the front doors.What would happen if I ran out into the sunlight?

“Don’t.”Costin’s voice whispers in my head.I gasp, coming out of my deep focus to look for him.He’s not there.

“Costin?”I whisper.

He doesn’t answer, and I’m unsure whether he actually spoke to me or if I just imagined it.

“They can’t help you.No one can help you,”Conrad’s voice taunts.It’s followed by the sound of children laughing and the hammering of running footsteps.

Again, I don’t know if it’s real.

I force myself to keep moving.I follow the smell of essential oils that I associate with my birth mother.At the bottom of the stairs, I turn left, moving through the main corridor.It’s broader here.The ceilings are arched and painted with elaborate frescoes depicting ancient family triumphs.A line of marble figures frozen in stern contemplation stands guard along the wall.I feel as if their heads move to follow me.My footsteps echo too loudly, despite the thick rugs laid down at intervals.

No, not my footsteps.That’s a heartbeat.

Ahead, the conservatory doors loom.The ornate wrought iron is set within glass panels.Morning light filters through the intricate patterns, spilling a lattice of shadows onto the stone floor.I hesitate, one hand reaching for the iron handle.Through the glass, I see the lush, almost chaotic greenery within.Palm fronds brushing against tall windows, tendrils of ivy spilling from hanging pots.The air in there always feels thick with humidity and the earthy scent of soil.Today, it looks scarier, like splashes of deadly light have taken root alongside the plants.

My fingers bounce on the metal handle, and it burns me.I jerk my hand back.

Without me pushing them, the doors creak open to let me pass.

I immediately find Lorelai and Zephronis, sitting on a wicker chair surrounded by dormant plants.I remain in the doorway.Winter sunlight streams through the glass walls, casting long shadows across the tiled floor like the first warning shot from the heavens.Zephronis stands nearby, examining a withered fern with apparent fascination.He touches the leaf, and the plant instantly perks up.

Lorelai rises when she sees me, her long curly hair loose around her shoulders.A bohemian skirt swirls around her ankles.Her face is so similar to mine in structure but weathered by years of California sun.Thanks to my predator eyes, I can now see the texture of it in more detail.It’s her heart I’ve been listening to, thumping away like a dinner bell.

“Tamara,” she breathes, moving toward me with arms outstretched.

I step back instinctively deeper into the shadows, keeping out of the sunlight.I hold up a hand.“Don’t.I’m not stable.”

Her arms drop, but her expression doesn’t change.“I don’t care.You’re my daughter.I’m not scared of you.”

“I’m dangerous,” I insist.“I killed goblins with my bare hands.I attacked Costin.I’m not safe.”

“All the more reason you need a mother’s care,” she says, stubbornly stepping forward again.

Before I can retreat further, Zephronis speaks.“You will not harm her, Tamara.The potions are working, and my presence adds an extra safeguard.”

I hesitate, torn between hunger for comfort and fear of myself.Lorelai doesn’t wait for me to decide.She closes the distance between us and wraps her arms around me.

The hug is warm.Solid.Real.For a moment, I’m transported back to the first time I can remember her holding me.It was only a few months ago, but I was human then.I feel the monster inside me quiet at the comfort, just a little.

When we pull apart, I see tears in her eyes.

“Look at you,” she whispers, touching my face.“My beautiful girl.”

I laugh without humor.I’m a monster.A hybrid freak that shouldn’t exist.

Her smile seems a little too plastered on.A tiny tremor works over her hands.She’s trying.Hard.But I know she sees the changes in me, and they’re not beautiful.

I again focus on her heart thumping faster now.

“Let’s move to another room,” Zephronis says, placing a guiding hand on Lorelai’s back to usher her away from me.“Tamara will be more comfortable away from the sun.”

He leads us past a series of closed wooden doors before waving his hand to open the library.

There is comfort in the scent of old leather and parchment.Dark wood gives the space a somber, almost oppressive feel, but there’s consolation in the familiarity.I spent endless hours here as a child, but it feels different now.I’m different.

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