Chapter 18

Chapter

Eighteen

"Who are these people?" I ask Conrad, pacing outside the diner as we talk on the phone.

I'm confident that Diana picked it because of the giant statue of a chicken in a tux holding a hamburger on a tray. Other than the statue, it looks like every other roadside diner in the Midwest. I can pretty much guess the menu without even looking at it. I suppose most people find comfort in the familiar.

"Marge and Larry Turnblad." Conrad's voice draws my attention away from the window where I look for Paul and Diana. I don't see them.

"And who are Marge and Larry?"

"Does it matter?" he counters, sounding annoyed. "Don't you trust me?"

I forgive his tone. I should be there helping him with the lawyer and estate instead of bringing more problems to his doorstep. He lost our parents, too. I remind myself to be patient.

"Don't ask stupid questions." I force my voice to remain calm. I know how stubborn he can be when he gets into one of his dark moods.

"You don't ask stupid questions."

I take a deep breath and bite my tongue. Silence comes from the phone, and I wait. I again look for Paul but don't see him. I walk along the sidewalk out front to get a better view of the diner's interior.

"They were one of the better foster families I stayed with," he finally answers. "So they're used to having strangers in their house. I wired some cash for you to one of those send-cash-to-anyone-anywhere places, so it can't be traced. Larry will have it ready for you. And there will be a ticket to California waiting for you at the Kansas City airport check-in kiosk. I used Mary's name. You still have that ID, right?"

"Yeah, good old Mary Bennet," I answer. "Never leave home without her."

"Good," he says. "And you're sure about this? About California?"

Fuck, no. Of course, I'm not sure. It's the only plan I can think of. "Yes."

"Fine." He's frustrated, but at least he's trying to hide it. "Just, Tam…"

"What?"

"Don't expect too much. I mean, the woman abandoned you. She didn't want you. Don't forget who your only family is. You and me, sis."

"I know, Conrad. You and me." My heart sinks a little. I finally find Paul sitting at the counter, watching me.

"No one else knows what it's like to be us," Conrad insists. "How can they understand?"

"I know."

"I don't want you getting your hopes up. You tend to romanticize things in your head. You're fragile right now, and it's my job to take care of you. You remember the day I joined the family, right? Our parents said you're my responsibility. I'm in charge."

I frown and turn away from Paul so he can't see my expression.

I don't think that's a fair assessment of past events. Conrad is not the boss of me, even if he likes to act like it sometimes. I find it slightly manipulative that he is using the what-the-dead-parents-wanted argument now.

"I'll bet you even convinced yourself you have a crush on that guy you're traveling with," he says.

I don't like the slight mocking in his tone.

"You know he isn't?—"

"Was," I correct. "I was traveling with them. And no. I don't have a crush on some…guy. It's your fault I even needed a ride. You sent me off after the funeral with no warning. It's not like I had enough money to hire a cab to get me out of the city."

"I saved you from being arrested. And I warned you about the vampires," he says. "You're welcome."

"I'm lucky I came across someone willing to let me in their car," I amend, trying to stop the tension I feel brewing between us.

"Right? What an imbecile. Who does that? It's like he's never seen a true crime drama." Conrad starts laughing at me. "God, could you imagine? You playing suburban stepmom to some brat? I just got an image of you wearing sweatpants and dropping kids at soccer in a minivan."

I shift my gaze downward to the drawstring pants that Paul bought me, feeling defensive. My heart beats a little faster, and I realize I'm boiling for a fight. I manage to say, "Yeah, crazy, right?"

"Oh, hey, don't be touchy," he scolds, still laughing. "It's not our fault we are the way we are. We didn't have good parental role models. Besides, kids are the reason people like us hire nannies and tutors. We have more important responsibilities. The Devine empire isn't going to run itself."

He can keep the empire.

No. I take that back. I would never abandon him.

"I should go find a ride," I say. "I have a little cash left. It shouldn't be a problem getting there."

"Shouldn't be too hard. Midwesterners are rubes. I remember that much from living there."

"I'll text you when I'm close. Talk later." I hang up on him, unable to take any more of his superior attitude.

It's not exactly Conrad's fault. How can he comprehend the glimpse of normality Paul has given me? He has never experienced it himself. Yes, we ultimately grew up in the same household, but Conrad had to endure certain traumas during his early life that he might not have fully come to terms with yet. Meeting his druggie mother has made it apparent there are things I don't know about what happened to him before he came to be my brother.

All he ever wanted was to be special, powerful, magical.

All he got was frustration and a deep need to be accepted and looked at as superior.

Ego sum avis stultus.

I can't think of the distant past now. I need to figure out today's problems. I've been over the party, again and again, trying to remember every detail, and there is nothing out of the ordinary. The supernaturals were being elitists, like usual. I didn't like the way Costin looked at me like I was an amuse-bouche, but he died. I last saw Conrad trying to score some good luck from a leprechaun. Anthony, Louis, and I got stoned in a closet. My parents were being their normal social selves.

A digital bell dings as I go inside. I want to be next to Paul. I want every second of our time together.

It feels different somehow. Maybe because our time is almost over. Maybe because I lied to Conrad about him when I implied Paul was nothing to me. That lie feels wrong. Necessary, but wrong.

I give a quick survey of the diner. A few customers glance in my direction, but none seem that interested in me.

"Is everything okay?" Paul stands as I near and reaches for me.

I take his hand, needing to feel connected to him. I know it's not real supernatural magic, but I feel as if my energy is flowing into him and his into me. It would be the most natural thing in the world for me to continue into his arms—chest to chest, mouth to mouth, his breath coming into me.

I don't.

Of course, I don't.

But, fuck, I want to.

My gaze flits down to his mouth.

"Tamara?" He arches a brow.

"Tamara," Diana pipes in behind him, "I got you a big surprise!"

I know she's just a kid, and I like her—I do—but I want one tiny moment alone with Paul.

Okay, not tiny. I want a big minute. A big steamy minute with no interruptions so we can finish what was started by the back of his SUV.

"What is it?" I force a smile and pleasantness to my tone as I lean over to see Diana kicking her legs from the circular stool. It's bolted to the floor and rocks back and forth without spinning all the way around.

She scoots in her seat and gestures to something hidden under a napkin on the counter. "Open it!"

Paul simply shrugs and nods before tilting his head that I should do as Diana says. I sit beside Diana and pull the napkin to find a strawberry cake donut covered in sprinkles.

"Happy birthday!" she cries, throwing up her hands.

"Shh, honey, not so loud," Paul says.

"Look, it's your favorite, and it has little fairies on it." She points at the sprinkles.

"So it does." I feel myself getting a little choked up at the gesture.

"And…" She reaches for the plate and lifts it off the counter and wobbles it in the air while making a spooky ghost noise. "Ooo-ooooh-oh."

"It floats," I whisper, wiping at my eye before a tear escapes.

"Okay, that's enough." Paul taps Diana's shoulder.

Diana puts the plate down, grinning.

"It's…" I don't know what to say. It's probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. "Thank you."

Diana giggles. "You can eat it."

I pinch it between two fingers and take a big bite. With my mouth full, I say, "Mmm, this is the most delicious thing I've ever tasted."

Diana laughs louder. "You're eating fairies!"

"They tickle," I answer before taking another giant bite.

It's best I don't think too closely about how this idea would offend real fairies. Also, that'd be gross.

I tear the donut and offer an unbitten piece to Diana. "Want to try?"

She eats it and giggles. "We should have fairy cakes every day. Can we, Dad?"

I meet Paul's eyes over her head. His soft smile says he's grateful and a little sad. I know the feeling. Our time is almost over. I don't think he's told Diana that I'm leaving them yet.

"It's not a good idea to eat cake every day. I think we should save it for special occasions," he tells her.

"My teacher, Mrs. Larsen, says every day is special," Diana counters.

"Kid makes a good point." I shove the rest of the donut in my mouth.

"Yeah, Dad, I make a good point," Diana repeats.

A waitress appears. "Did your mom like her surprise?"

Diana's expression falls.

"Oh, I'm not…" I hold up my hands and shake my head to correct the mistake.

The waitress quickly sweeps her assumption aside. Something about her face reminds me of a goblin forced to socialize—not how she looks, but how she's trying really hard to appear pleasant with a plastered smile. The expression doesn't meet her resentful gaze. "What can I get you to drink?"

Vodka.

"Water," I answer.

"Water," my duckling mimics, her tone not as excited as before.

"Coffee," Paul says. "Thank you, Ivy."

"Done, done, and done," Ivy answers abruptly as she leaves.

Diana's mood has dampened, and I don't know what to say to bring it back up.

"Why don't we look at the menus?" Paul slides a kid's menu in front of her and reaches down the counter to grab a cup filled with crayons. "You can have whatever you want."

Diana nods as she rubs her cheek.

"Hey," Paul whispers as he leans closer to his daughter. "That lady didn't mean to make you sad. She didn't know. But whatever you're feeling right now is okay. I'm here anytime you want to talk about your mom."

Diana doesn't move. "I want Plop."

I want to say something, but I have no clue what that should be.

"I know, baby," Paul whispers.

I feel like an idiot. I've been thinking of how resilient and innocent Diana is, but she's more than that. She's hiding her pain.

I remember when I was her age. I would do anything to please my parents. It was important for me to make them happy, even if it meant concealing my own anguish and discomfort. Lady Astrid did not have the capacity to deal with disobedience. She'd rather lock us away and not deal with us. But if I was good, if I swallowed my feelings and pleased her, if I logged my exercise hours and listened to the nutritionists and excelled with my homework, then I gave her something to brag about, and she was more likely to let me out of my cage.

Well, cage might be harsh. It was a protected wing of a giant estate.

Then there was Conrad. He did the opposite. He acted out. He was willfully disobedient at first. Even when there was no reason to be defiant, he was anyway. He terrorized the staff with pranks, broke the rules, and touched forbidden books and objects. Then, as the years passed, he became sneakier.

Diana reminds me of me.

What would I have wanted someone to tell me?

"Your dad is right," I say, unsure if this is helping. "It's okay to feel sad. I feel sad about my mom."

Diana gives a small shrug.

Ivy comes back with the drinks. "We ready to order, or do you need a minute?"

"Hum." I pull Diana's menu toward me. "I can't decide between a happy face pancake or chicken tenders and fries. Oh, and mac and cheese. Got to have mac and cheese. What do you think I should get? Mac and cheese pancakes?"

Diana gives a small laugh. "Chicken."

"Awesome. I'll have chicken tenders, fries, and mac and cheese," I tell the waitress.

"You have to be under twelve to order off the kid's menu." She doesn't write it down.

"I want mac and cheese pancakes," Diana giggles.

Ivy sighs and puts her hands on her hips. "We don't have that."

I'm already annoyed with this woman for dampening Diana's mood. I put my hand flat over the menu and give the woman a firm stare. "Then get me the adult version of mine and bring her the pancakes and mac and cheese."

She huffs a little and rolls her eyes a bit as she starts writing the order down. All I can think is, you have one fucking job, lady. We've had a bad couple of weeks and don't need her taking her shit out on us.

"Uh, yeah, same, the chicken," Paul orders.

I grab a blue crayon and start coloring the picture of a tuxedo-wearing chicken on Diana's menu. It prompts her to do the same. Paul gives me a small nod of gratitude.

A sudden prickle of warning runs up my spine and spreads throughout my body. This feeling has become all too familiar to me lately, and I hate this knot taking up permanent residence in my chest. It's like my mind is on constant high alert, always searching for potential threats even in situations where there aren't any. Despite my attempts to rationalize the feeling away, the unease persists, leaving me on edge.

I glance around at the other tables. Two kids are bickering as their tired mother stares out the window. A young couple appears more interested in their phones than each other. An older man watches his hands as if the mysteries of the universe are hidden inside his coffee cup.

I envy their normal.

The dread doesn't go away. My gaze lifts to a security camera in the corner. It's pointed toward the register.

"Everything all right?" Paul asks. He glances meaningfully at my neck as if to say he notices I'm nervous.

I realize I'm playing with my necklace. I drop the stone and force a smile. "I think we just invented mac and cheese happy face pancakes. What could be wrong?"