Chapter 23

Chapter

Twenty-Three

Devine Country Estate, Eighteen Years Ago…

"You're not supposed to be in here," I warn.

Conrad hunches over the spell books in the library. We're not allowed to touch them, let alone read the secrets inside, but he has never shown fear of the rules. If he's told he can't do something, it's a sure thing that he'll want to try.

"I'm just reading," Conrad dismisses. His tie is abandoned on the floor, and he'd thrown his suit jacket over a bust of some old wizard. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, and I can see a stain he's trying to hide. "In case you haven't caught on yet, touching things will not make your insides explode. That's just Lady Astrid's version of Santa Claus—an acceptable lie you tell children about magic. I'm almost thirteen. You might be a baby, but I'm not a child anymore."

"I'm not a baby," I protest.

Touching the books and paintings might not poison us like she claimed it would, but trying to wield magic as a mortal would end up just as badly.

He gives a tiny scoff. "You probably think Santa is real."

"I'm not stupid." I frown at his sour mood. "If any supernatural creature were to go around giving presents to a bunch of children in the middle of the night, I have one word for them."

"Pedo?" Conrad mutters.

"Run," I say at the same time. I'm not sure what his word means, but I'll never admit it.

I watch him, waiting for him to give me his full attention. I'm bored and want to be distracted.

"What do you want? Are you going to tattle on me again?"

The accusation hits me like a slap to the face, and I bow my head. When he says nothing more, I look back to where he's sitting by a lamp. I slowly make my way over and sit on the arm of the couch.

"What are you reading?" I ask.

"You're too young to understand." He waves me away.

I slide onto the couch cushion and inch closer to him. I try to see the words on the page. "I'm almost as old as you."

"But you're not." He dismisses me by angling his back toward me like a wall.

"Do you want to go outside?" I ask him. "Charlotte says it might rain, but I don't care."

"No." He turns a page.

"Come on. Anthony has his special lessons all weekend, and I'm bored." I inch closer and nudge him with my elbow. "Let's build a fort."

He makes a point of pulling away from my touch. "I should be the one taking lessons. I'm the oldest."

I notice he likes pointing out that he's older than both Anthony and me, not that it matters. I could say that we've been in the family longer, and in that way, Anthony is the oldest, but I know from experience that arguing only feeds his displeasure. I think Conrad enjoys quarreling with people.

"They should be teaching us what they're teaching him," Conrad continues. "This is our world, too. It's like they want us to be helpless."

I shrug.

"I'm never going to be helpless again," Conrad swears. "No one is going to hurt me. You watch. I'm going to do what I want when I want."

This conversation is boring. I don't want to have it again. "Anthony is magical. We're mortal. There's nothing you can do about that. Just accept it."

"I can become a vampire," Conrad disagrees.

"Ugh, gross!" I wrinkle my nose and try not to gag. "They drink people and have no souls. And they always feel cold, like meat in the fridge."

He sneers. "You don't know what vampires feel like."

"I do so. Costin touched my hand once."

"His name is Constantine," Conrad corrects.

"He said I could call him Costin."

"That's stupid. Constantine sounds scarier. I'd pick a better name than Costin if I were a vampire. He sounds like he belongs in the bargain bin."

"Whatever." I want to tell him this conversation is stupid, but I don't.

"Maybe I'll be a necromancer," Conrad considers, tapping his book.

"Ew. That's worse. They play with dead people." I shake my head. Then, teasing, I say, "What about a werewolf? Then I can finally have my puppy."

"No. Werewolves are filthy beasts. No one respects them." Conrad frowns. "I can use potions and learn spells. I'm just as good as the rest of them. I'm smarter than Anthony."

"Mom and Dad—" I start to say.

"They're not my real parents." Conrad glares at me. "They're probably not really your parents either. That's why you're nothing."

I know that's not true. My parents are my parents. They wouldn't lie about that.

He's in a cranky mood. He gets like this when Anthony goes on his special trips.

I flop back on the couch and stare at the ceiling. I don't like the paranormal, not like Conrad does. He's always trying to find ways to be in that world. I just want the supernatural to go away so I can live a normal life. I want to go to the parties when the house is full of guests. I want to go to school and not a room with a tutor. I want to play baseball in the park with other kids when we are back in Manhattan.

"Do you want to raid the kitchen?" I suggest. "You can lift me up so I can reach the cookies."

"Astrid is going to make us run an extra hour if she catches you," he warns. "Now, leave me alone so I can finish this chapter."

"Want to see if we can summon Mr. Farty's ghost?" I ask, using the supernatural as a last-ditch effort to entice him away from his task. "I know how to make a spirit board."

"Ghosts are stupid. When I summon something, it'll be a demon, and he'll burn everything in the fires of hell." He flips another page.

I hate it when he's like this.

"Go away," he says. "I have to keep to a schedule if I want to get through all these books."

I look at the shelves, and my eyes drift over the towering wall of ancient tomes that rest there. The worn and faded spines attest to their age despite being well cared for by my family for centuries. The sheer number of books is staggering, and the task of reading all their boring words seems insurmountable. Many hands have flipped over their pages—supernatural hands. Their knowledge is not meant for us. The second Conrad broke the code to make them readable, he's been obsessed.

"We're never going to be them." I try to tell Conrad, but my words are too soft, and he only glances at me in annoyance. He might be older, but there is one thing I understand better. We can't alter who we are. We're mortals, and no amount of wishing is going to change that fact.