Chapter 10

Chapter

Ten

The hotel's complimentary breakfast was a sad affair. Pre-packaged plain yogurt and granola sat on a coffee-stained counter. In the background, a pristine but empty breakfast buffet promised more. I don't care. Stress has taken my appetite.

Unfortunately, a grumpy Diana does care. She has been talking about waffles nonstop since we left the hotel. I tune her out.

Well, I try to tune her out.

While I slept, my dreams were haunted by fiery nightmares. Every time I woke up, I found myself peeking out the window at the parking lot and night sky. I can't shake the feeling that something is hunting us.

Now, I stare out of the car window at passing vehicles. My fear builds, but I don't want it leaking onto my traveling companions.

Diana wears an oversized gas station turtle t-shirt like a dress over her funeral slacks. It matches her dad's style for the day. I'm still in the workout shorts and tank top, and I'm using Paul's jacket like a blanket over my legs to block the air conditioning from my skin. Diana tried to get me to put on a dancing turtle, too. To her vocal disappointment, I couldn't do it. Matching outfits would scream to the world, hey, look at us! We're a family, a matching set. We belong together.

It might be a stupid stance, but I couldn't take the lying to myself.

I've offered to drive, but Paul declined. He seems the type that likes to have a task in front of him. Or maybe he likes control. Or perhaps he's just worried I'm not on his car insurance. Or that I don't know how to drive. I'm not sure which, if any, is true.

I wish my brain would shut off. I'm over-analyzing everything.

I wish Diana would stop whining about waffles.

I wish Paul would have kissed me back so I wouldn't feel awkward around him now.

Fuck, I'm in a bad mood.

Diana kicks the back of my seat. "I'm bored."

"Put your headphones on and play a game," Paul says.

I hear Diana moving around as she pulls something from behind my seat.

My phone dings and Paul glances over at the sound. He's been quiet, and I wonder if he's uncomfortable around me. I worry that in the cold light of day, he regrets agreeing to this trip.

I automatically flip the switch on the side of my phone to mute the notification sounds as I check my messages.

A text from Conrad asks, "Safe?"

I send him a thumbs-up, and he sends back a link to a news article.

My heart sinks and forms a rock in my stomach. The headline reads, "Police Search for Suspects in Bronx Arson," and pictures of the apartment fire accompany the article.

"Everything okay?" Paul asks.

"Uh, yeah, all good," I lie. "Just my brother checking in. He worries about me."

My hand shakes as I hold the phone. It's not a long article, but my vision keeps blurring, and I have a difficult time reading the words. I need to start over a few times to comprehend what it's telling me.

The article says a gas line had been tampered with, and a timer device had been discovered. Authorities concluded it was arson rather quickly. Three people were found dead. Sources saw an unnamed man and a woman fleeing the scene with a child. The couple is wanted for questioning.

Legally speaking, it's a mess. I know I'm innocent. I trust the lawyers can eventually get me out of trouble with the cops. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for the vampires. First, they blamed me for Costin and the fire at my party. Now, all three of us are wanted for questioning regarding the apartment fire in vampire territory.

Fucking hell, it looks like I'm trying to start a war with the vampires. It doesn't make sense—none of it. I've spent most of my life trying to stay off the supernaturals' radar.

Vampires aren't exactly known for due process and innocent until proven guilty. When it comes to humans, they have more of an eat-first-worry-about-it-never type of justice system. Their long lifespans and natural lack of compassion for their meals lend themselves to a type of apathetic boredom. Hunting and torturing me will give them a diversion to live for, if even for a short while.

I pretend to look at my phone while side-eyeing Paul. He's a handsome man. The more I look at him, the more attractive I find him. In what can only be considered twisted self-deprecation, I find the fact that he didn't return my kiss makes me want him more. I watch his thigh muscles flex beneath the slacks as he speeds past a long line of semi-trucks in the right lane. I want to touch his leg and run my hand upward.

Is this how Nancy felt, sitting in the car next to her lover moments before giving in to the sexual temptation? Was there something in her life she wanted to escape? I can't imagine anyone wanting to escape Paul. Did she know some secret about him that I'm not seeing? Or was she just broken and selfish?

I suppose we humans are all broken. We're all just fumbling our way forward, navigating our short lives.

Not only is Paul sexy, but he's also considerate and kind. It would be easier knowing what I've dragged him into if he weren't so thoughtful.

I try to think of ways of telling him what's happening. All of them end with the vision of me being left on the side of the road like a crazy person. It's hard enough telling people about the supernatural without proof to show them—not that I will ever admit out loud that I've tried. It's like the number one rule: Don't.

No, that's not what would happen. He's too much of a gentleman to dump me on the side of the road. He'd leave me somewhere safe—like locked in a hospital psych ward.

His phone dings, not for the first time, and he ignores it. It's rare to see someone not addicted to their electronic devices.

"Do you need me to drive so you can answer those?" I offer.

"They'll wait," he says, reaching over to silence his phone without checking. "If it's an emergency, they'll call."

The highway lines come at us, repetitive and hypnotic. Riding next to Paul makes me want a different life, a normal life. I wonder what it would be like to be ignorant about magic, to never have that fear embedded deep into my soul.

"Are you sure you're all right? You've got a death grip on your phone." Paul gives me a half smile.

I force my hand to relax and pinch the bridge of my nose. "Headache."

"Crawl in the back. There are water bottles and a first aid kit," he says.

"I'm hungry," Diana demands.

"You should have eaten breakfast," Paul answers.

"I. Want. Waffles," she protests with light kicks to the back of my seat to punctuate her words.

My headache gets worse, and before I can stop myself, I grumble, "Enough with the freaking waffles."

Paul stiffens.

I instantly feel like an asshole. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"It's fine," he says.

"No, it's not." I rub my temple. "I'm sorry. She's just a kid."

And she's dealing with a lot. The kid lost her mother. Her world has been shaken.

Shit, I'm such the asshole in this situation.

Anxiety fills my stomach and tightens my chest. I press my hand between my breasts to try to force it back down. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to jump out of the window and splat against the pavement. Usually, I wouldn't go for suicidal ideation but fuck if life isn't screwed up right now.

"We all need to get out of the car to stretch our legs. We'll stop for an early lunch and a supply run." Paul leans forward in his seat and stares at the road.

The man definitely is a problem solver. He's a fixer, a helper. Lady in the cemetery needs a ride? He gives her one. Woman in the parking lot is hungry? He tries to give the druggie a sandwich. Older gentleman needs help lifting suitcases into his car outside the hotel? He runs across the parking lot to help.

I want Paul to fix me so I don't have to fix myself.

I stare at him, trying to figure him out. No one can be this nice, this decent. Even Conrad, who loves me, isn't this patient with me. Sometimes, I wonder if Conrad would even like me if our bond hadn't been forged on the fires of childhood trauma and neglect.

"Why did you say yes to this?" I ask.

"To what?" He glances over at me.

"To this trip. To me coming with you."

"Haven't we talked about this already?" He leans back in his seat. It's the first sign of real annoyance I've seen. It's slight, but it's there. "It's good to get away from the city and for Diana to see her grandparents. She needs a sense of family to remind her that she has a support system."

The phone vibrates in my hand. Conrad is trying to call. I don't answer and instead text him, "Give me a minute."

Paul takes an exit off the highway that leads to gas stations, fast food restaurants, and discount stores. We don't speak as we turn into a small strip mall. He stops at a place that boasts all-day breakfast.

I take my phone with the intent of calling Conrad. "I'll meet you both inside."

I wait for them to reach the front door before calling my brother. He doesn't take long to answer.

"Where are you?" Conrad asks by way of a greeting.

"Ohio, I think." I wait for him to speak, but he goes quiet. "I didn't do it, Conrad. I didn't start either fire. I don't know what happened. I went to her apartment, and before I could even sit down, everything was in flames. I barely made it out of there alive."

"I believe you." He sighs loudly.

"What the hell is happening? Are we cursed?"

"Don't be dramatic." His tone grates my nerves. "The police aren't on to you about the second fire, but it won't take them long to piece together that you were there. They're looking for a couple with a child for questioning. The lawyers are monitoring it."

"But I didn't do it," I insist. He says he believes me but isn't acting like it.

"Forget the police," Conrad dismisses. "Vampires know you were at the second fire. They're looking for you, and their resources are greater than any police department. They were here at the house last night questioning me. They put out the word to the supernatural network. Everything scary out there is looking for you. I need you to let me know where you are at all times."

Conrad doesn't sugarcoat his words to make me feel better.

"Who was that woman, Conrad?" I ask. He didn't answer me the last time we talked. "Why did you send me into vampire territory?"

"What isn't vampire territory in this city?" he counters.

"The woman?" I insist when he tries to avoid answering. He'd changed the subject yesterday, but I won't let him do it again.

"She was…" He sighs again. "Darlene Muller was my birth mother."

"Your…?" Stunned, I stare at the front door of the restaurant, watching a couple walk inside. I barely register them. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I reconnected with her about a year ago," he admits. "You saw her. Why would I want to tell people I was related to that? It's embarrassing. Darlene was a drugged-out mess. I offered to put her into rehab, but she didn't want it. You can't force common sense on people."

"Conrad, I'm so sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" He's grouchy and under a lot of pressure, so I forgive his tone.

"That she died," I explain. "I'm sorry you lost her."

He snorts. "I'm not. I wish I never met her."

"But she's your birth mom." I know, deep, deep down inside him, he must have some feelings about it. The emotions might be complicated, but they have to be there.

I think about the birth mother I never met. Even if she turned out to be that drugged-out wreck I met in the apartment, I wouldn't wish her dead.

"Conrad—"

"Tamara, stop," he cuts me off. "She was a whore who got pregnant by some random dude while turning tricks on the street. The only good thing she ever did for me was abandon me at that gas station. Do you know what she said when I asked her about it? She said she forgot where she left me. Some guy showed up with five bucks and a teenth of meth. She climbed into his truck and never looked back."

My chest is tight, and I frown at the phone. "If she was so horrible, why did you send me there?"

"I had all of three minutes to come up with a plan. Forgive me if I had a lot on my mind dealing with cops outside our family's funeral." He doesn't sound apologetic. He sounds annoyed that I'm questioning him about it. I remind myself that Conrad is my brother, and he loves me, even if he doesn't say it. "You should have been safe there. We needed a place where no one would think to look for you. I thought that was it."

"I know you care more than you're letting on. There were security cameras in her home."

"She said she was being harassed."

I look around the parking lot and see a woman staring at me from inside a car. I turn my back on her.

"You have to tell the vampires," I whisper, though I don't think anyone is close enough to hear me. "And the police. Show them proof that it wasn't me."

"Tamara, the cameras were dummies. There is nothing to show. They just made her feel better."

My heart sinks into my stomach. "What? Why would you?—"

"Would you want footage of the mother who abandoned you as a baby having sex with strangers for drug and liquor money? I can only imagine the illegal activities she was involved in. Having proof didn't seem like a great idea."

I think of the mother I've never known. He has a point. I wouldn't want to see that. I wouldn't want visual evidence that's what her life is.

"But she was being threatened," I insist, wishing I could send him back in time to make the cameras work.

"She also said she was the Queen of the Nile, the Princess of Wales, Mrs. Rodeo Royalty 2014, and Cleopatra reincarnated. The woman was batshit crazy. I sent over a few groceries, paid her rent so she wasn't thrown out starving on the street, and did my best to avoid situations where she tried to blackmail me for money. It's about all I could do."

He's right. I should let this topic go. I think of the rude woman and her dirty apartment. I can see why Conrad might be embarrassed by her. "Even if she had a mental illness, I can't believe you didn't tell me you found her. I'm your sister. We share these things, right? I told you the second I found out that Astrid wasn't my bio mom."

"Listen," he changes his tone, and I know he's done discussing it. "While I have you on the phone, there is something else I need to tell you. I was going to wait until after the funeral, but…"

He's breathing heavily, and I can tell he doesn't want to have this conversation with me.

"What?" I prompt him.

"There isn't really a great time to tell you this. I heard from Wick a couple of days before the funeral. He's located your birth mother. Her name is Lorelai Weber, and she lives in California. He gave us a phone number."

If he wanted to distract me from questioning his decisions, this was the perfect way to do it. Wick is the private investigator we hired to track my birth mother down.

"Are you sure it's her?" I ask.

"Would I tell you if I wasn't?"

"Did you see her? What does she look like? Did Wick talk to her?"

"Slow down," Conrad says. "No. I have no clue what she looks like. Wick says she has no social media presence and lives a secluded life. I couldn't find much information online either. He didn't contact her. I told him not to."

I find it hard to breathe and begin pacing in the parking lot. I see the woman in the car window still watching. I hear the sounds of traffic all around me. My vision blurs, and I hide from the woman behind Paul's SUV, leaning against the back to steady myself.

Lorelai Weber.

My birth mother's name is Lorelai Weber.

She's alive and in California.

Lorelai Weber.

"Tamara?" Conrad asks. "Are you still there?"

"This is a lot to take in," I say.

How am I supposed to feel? Part of me is numb and doesn't know what to think about it, and another part is terrified to have an answer. It's different knowing she's out there in the abstract compared to actually having a way of confronting her. All the imagined conversations I've had with her try to surface. I don't like confrontation. I like things to be friendly and smooth. Now, I feel like I have to ask the hard questions, starting with why.

"I can't…" I don't know what to say. There are too many thoughts in my head. Vampires. Police. Fires. Mothers. Paul and Diana. "I can't think."

"I'll text you her number, but I don't recommend calling her. You need to be focused on the present. Not the past. She left you, Tamara. She's not your family. She's just an incubator. Trust me. I learned that the hard way. My mother lived what Wick would call a secluded life, too, with no social media profile. There is nothing there for you. Let the idea of her go."

I hear his wisdom and what can only be genuine concern in his voice. Sure, it doesn't sound like concern, but I need to believe. I trust his advice. Still, a deep fear causes my hands to shake in anticipation. I don't say it to him, but I want to feel like I belong to something, to someone.

I push away from the car and turn toward the restaurant. Diana's face is pressed to a window with her hands next to her cheeks. She stares at me with anxious eyes while Paul reads the menu.

Still embarrassed by my outburst in the car, my eyes dip down to avoid contact with the girl. Unfortunately, they focus on a symbol drawn in the dust on the back of the SUV. It's a vampiric tag matching the graffiti we saw outside the apartment. Someone marked us.

"Tam?" Conrad asks. "Are you still there?"

I spin around, scanning the parking lot for signs of the supernatural. It's daytime, so vampires and other nocturnal creatures won't be active. That doesn't mean their human minions aren't around. I don't know what I'm looking for. Everyone is a threat.

"I have to go," I say.

"Wait. I should have a safe house lined up for you by the time you reach Kansas City," he says. "I'll send you the details when I have them."

"Okay. I'll get in touch when I'm closer." I hang up on my brother. He's my only real ally left in the world, but I need to focus on my surroundings.

I don't feel safe. Something is tracking us.

The woman who'd been watching me from the passenger seat of a car is currently being driven off by a man. Nobody seems to be paying attention, but I can't be sure. There are so many parked cars and people walking around the shopping center.

I rub my hand over the symbol to erase it.

I catch my panicked reflection in the window. I feel exposed and fold my arms like I'm pulling an imaginary coat around me as I rush toward the restaurant. I push my way inside and slide into the booth next to Diana. Paul is on his phone answering texts.

"Do you want pancakes?" Diana asks. "They have sparkles on them."

Her resilience is inspiring, and I smile, relieved she's not mad at me.

"Everything okay?" Paul puts down his phone and slides a coffee in front of me. He notices my trembling hands, and I clasp them together in my lap to hide them.

"Yeah. And with you?" I nod at his phone.

"Check-ins. Work questions." He shrugs. "It never ends."

A melancholy guitar plays on the radio, and the accompanying voice evokes feelings I'd rather not have. I grab the mug and gulp hot coffee in an attempt to look normal. It burns my tongue, and I cough in surprise at my stupidity.

Emotions run rampant through my body, aching and burning their way to my core. A warm tear slips from the corner of my eye. My hands grip the cup like a clamp, and I can't force them to relax even as the hot coffee uncomfortably heats my fingers.

"Hey." Paul reaches for me, holding my wrist as if to steady me. "Whatever it is, it'll be okay."

But it won't. He doesn't know.

There is so much kindness in him. I feel as if I've known him my entire life, but from a distance—like a girl staring out from her glass cage at the bigger world, longing to be a part of it. I've always wanted to be here, with someone like him, but I'm keenly aware that I don't belong.

"I'm sorry you met me," I whisper.

He frowns and leans closer.

"Three sparkle cakes," Diana announces loudly. "Extra sparkling."

The sound causes me to jerk, and I see a waitress approaching. She has distinctive blue eyes encased in black eyeliner and dark shadow. Is she a shapeshifter? Will she report me to the vampire council? There is no way to tell. Shifters look like everyone else in their human forms.

"You got it, sweetie." The waitress glances at me as she stands next to the table. I can see she's curious, but she doesn't comment.

I swipe at my face, dashing the tear into oblivion before reaching to toy with my necklace.

"Anything else?" the waitress asks.

"That's all," Paul says, handing our menus to the woman.

Diana reaches for me, and before I can think of reacting, she's got her arms wrapped around my shoulders. Her head presses to my neck. The heat from her breath hits my skin as she says, "It's okay if you want to cry. I miss my mom too."

I touch the edge of the amulet against my lips. Every stranger seems to be staring at me. I feel danger all around. I don't know if it's my imagination or if it's really there.

Actually, I feel a little sick to my stomach. Judging from the tabletop advertisement, sparkle pancakes are nothing more than candied starch patties smothered in whipped cream and sugar cookie sprinkles. Lady Astrid would never have allowed such a breakfast.

I try to steady myself. "I have to go to the restroom. I'll be back."

I push free and rush toward the back of the restaurant. When I enter, a kid is at the sink washing one hand. The other is in a brightly colored pink cast covered with stickers and signatures. I lock myself inside a stall.

I hug my arms around my waist and stand, trying to muffle the sounds of grief and fear erupting inside of me. I watch the girl through the open slit created by the door, staring more at the pink cast than at her.

My hand strays to the amulet as if the simple contact can make me feel safe. It doesn't. I can't help but think we're all going to die, and it's going to be my fault.