Chapter 5

Chapter

Five

"Another time, Tamara." Costin gives a polite bow of his head. My name sounds strange when he says it. Normally, he's mocking me as a castoff. "We will talk again soon."

He releases my hand and is gone from my side by the time I turn to look at him, disappearing into the library's shadows as easily as he arrived. I let go of the breath I didn't realize I was holding. My heart is still beating erratically from his nearness. I hate that he's got to me like this, hate even more than I want him to come back.

"That can't happen," Mortimer states with a dismissive wave of his hand toward where Costin had been standing. My uncle's commanding tone brings me back to the present .

"That's not happening," I mumble, utterly confused.

"Though I'm glad to see you are open to a supernatural relationship again," my uncle continues, as if he didn't hear me. "It will make this conversation easier."

I'd rather jump into a pool of hot lava than have a relationship with a vampire. Both would kill me, but at least the lava would have a temperature above freezing. And it wouldn't mock me.

I process Mortimer's comment. "What conversation? I thought you were here to talk about my funeral arrangements."

Crappiest birthday present ever.

"Come, your parents are waiting," he orders.

I don't want to go with him, but I know better than to refuse. Mortimer can make me follow him. I've accepted that I have little control over my life.

I think of Paul's warm hands on my body and begin rubbing off the remaining chill of Costin's touch. I'm not attracted to the vampire. I want Paul.

Why can't I have a normal life?

I leave the library, letting Mortimer set the pace as we cross over the marble floor. The click of my heels sounds abnormally loud in our silence. I watch my uncle's legs move, but his steps are quiet.

Ten thousand square feet of prime real estate, and I don't think the penthouse's décor has changed one bit since my childhood. I remember the statues standing guard over the wide corridors with their judging expressions and the paintings of my parents from bygone eras.

The common areas have an open floor plan. During the day, it's bathed in natural light, but now shadows crawl like they're hiding dirty secrets. The antique furniture is more elegant than comfortable. Nothing here is about comfort. It's about image. It's everything old money is made of—elitist traditions, a fear of change, and a sense of superiority.

There is that saying, if these walls could talk . If a spell ever made that true, these walls would scream. I see darkness against the glass doors leading to the wrap-around terrace. Being roughly five hundred feet above the streets, with the fall weather, the outside air tends to be crisp. Still, I'd rather be out there in this slinky dress than heading toward whatever family meeting this has turned out to be.

To the outside eye, this luxury high-rise has everything one could want. Sure, I can soak in a tub with skyline views and walk on heated marble floors, but I would trade it all for a bungalow with Paul. Is it wrong that I envy people who have to think about things like mortgages and utility bills? I feel like they have an innate understanding of life that I never will. I tried living on my own, by my own income. It didn't work out too well .

I hate how my childhood has trained me to live in this world. It gave me all the expectations and manners, but it could not give me the magic. I'm a mimic. A fake. I have all the dangers of being a Devine without the ability to protect myself.

"Constantine is an ambitious choice." Mortimer clearly isn't letting his mind wander. "How far has the courtship progressed?"

Courtship?

Gross.

I often find when people ask me questions in this family, they aren't really expecting me to answer. I'm a placeholder for their own thoughts. So I keep my mouth shut.

"Clearly, you're feeding him. You look pale and tired. More than normal."

Gee. Thanks?

He's one to talk. He looks like he's on death's door. I'd be worried if he weren't immortal.

Come to think of it, maybe I should worry. Immortality is a misnomer. Immortals can die under the right circumstances. My uncle might be an elitist prick, but he's still family. The polite thing would be to ask him about his health.

"We won't tell your mother about the feedings," Mortimer continues. "She wouldn't approve. You're smart to keep the bite marks hidden."

I want to tell him he's stupid and doesn't know what he is talking about. I don't. That would make me an idiot.

"I wish you would have sought my counsel before taking up with him. I understand you might feel a little rebellious after Conrad's passing. Death has that effect on some. I myself have enjoyed a tryst or two with the darker side. But vampiric alliances are not for the faint of heart. Constantine is powerful, to be sure, and he is an ambitious choice for a mortal, even one with your connections, but there are protocols in place for good reason." Mortimer stops walking, forcing me to do the same. "He's not the forever kind, Tamara. He won't marry you, at least not for any reason you would want."

He turns to me. His brow furrows in thought. After a few seconds, his expression softens as if he's forcing himself to look caring. It's not convincing.

"I understand that, at twenty-eight and mortal, you feel the pressure of time. Your life will be over soon." His hand lifts to my hair, and he awkwardly pats me like some family pet. "The idea of immortality must be a great temptation, but… vampirism?"

"Grandfather liked him." I don't know what makes me defend Costin. It's not like I care. I don't want to be turned into a vampire, and I don't want to be someone's portable feeder blood bag.

"My father had a soft spot for…" Mortimer holds up his hands. I see the faint swirl of blue magic wr apping his pinkie finger before dissipating. "He would not have wanted a vampire to join the family, especially not one as powerful and feared as Constantine. Alliances need to be carefully planned. The joining of the most powerful magical family and a master vampire who rules all of North America will not make the other vampire broods happy. I know it's difficult for you to understand, but there is a delicate balance to the supernatural world that must be maintained. Wars have broken out over less. I have seen great empires fall. This is not just about you. I'm sure you're aware of Constantine's sister. We do not want Elizabeth to take over if the vampires rebel. And we don't want the European vampires thinking we're part of some vampiric uprising."

I should tell him I'm not dating Costin, but his arrogance is irritating, so I decide to let him fret over it.

I meet his gaze. "My relationship with Costin is my business."

It's not a lie. There just isn't much of a relationship.

His eyes narrow, as if answering my silent challenge. All softness leaves his expression. "Everything you do is family business. There is an order to things, whether or not you like it." He taps his finger against his palm to emphasize his meaning. Tiny bursts of magic light up with each contact. "The family must be preserved and protected."

All this talk about my love life and family business is worrisome. There is more to his visit than picking out my burial arrangements. I have a feeling I'm not going to like where this evening is heading.

"Anthony is expected to carry on the bloodline." Mortimer tries to bury his frustration, but I can hear it leaking from his tone. "He's young. He has time to find someone."

Ironically, Anthony is older than me.

And my brother isn't exactly on the procreation track.

"You're innocent. It's not your fault you're mortal. You can't help it," he continues.

I brace myself for the patronizing speech I feel coming.

"You don't understand the real world. You never had to. Your parents babied you because of your mortality. It's time to grow up. Rival factions will try to use you as a pawn, as a way to worm themselves into our family. Mortality makes you vulnerable, and there are those who would take advantage." He awkwardly pats me again. "You must trust your elders. We will guide you. We know what is best for you and for the family."

I want to leave, but there is nowhere to run. I won't make it to the elevator before he stops me. I hate being petrified by magic—not knowing what happens when I'm unaware.

Maybe I can escape with Anthony on a shipping container to Africa? That idea sounds better and better.

"Whatever happened with you and Jasper Blackwood?" Mortimer studies me expectantly.

When have I ever, in the history of my existence, made my uncle think I wanted to discuss my love life with him? Jasper was my last boyfriend, well, not counting alternate-timeline Paul.

"The Blackwoods are a solid family from an old line of magic," Mortimer insists.

"Jasper cheated on me." That fact might embarrass some, but I see it as his weakness, not mine. "He was only with me because he wanted to be close to the family. He kept asking about shipping schedules and wanted to know how much family money I could access. If you're looking for worms circling the family apple, there's one."

My father's fortune is tied to his shipping company. He specializes in moving things that can't travel by other means—enchanted objects, vampire coffins, fairy rings, trolls. Those are the shipping containers I know about. I'm sure there are many things I don't know.

"So, no chance of you two…?" He lets his words dangle like I'm going to suddenly change my mind an d want to take Jasper back. "I suppose that makes the choice easier."

"What choice?"

"Your parents are waiting for us." Mortimer resumes walking, forcing me to go after him.

"What choice?" I call after him, hurrying to follow.

"All will be revealed." He moves faster.

First, my brother's ghost tormented me in the park. Then Mr. Vampire tried to sign me up for some prophecy. Now Mortimer is poking his nose into my love life. This day has really taken a turn for the worse.

My parents are waiting for us in the living room. The light is on in the kitchen behind them, but I don't see anyone else here. The room catches my eye for a moment. I was wrong in my musings earlier. The kitchen appliances have changed since my childhood, a requirement of the family chef.

Davis and Astrid Devine have been married for a long time. I see glimpses of affection between them, but they're fleeting moments, almost as if it's an old habit rather than rooted in passion. On the surface, the family shines like a glossy portrait of perfection. I wonder at what point in their long lives Lady Astrid decided her lifestyle was worth more than a faithful husband. I'm living proof of his affair with my birth mother. I wouldn't blame Astrid for leaving him, but then I don't blame him for finding comfort elsewhere. Astrid will never be accused of being a warm person.

The crystal chandelier above our heads holds my mother's attention. I see Astrid's eyes move as if she's tracing each shard for defects. She is perched on the edge of the couch with a martini glass balanced between her fingers. A speared olive swirls in circles.

My father stares out the window at the terrace. Or maybe it's at his reflection in the glass. I can't be sure. Magic snakes lazily through the curved fingers of one hand like he's playing an air piano. An empty whiskey glass is on the floor by his foot.

Is there a better example of what immortality looks like?

Most people imagine living forever as a great gift of time. I see it as boring decades that drift aimlessly into eternity. Immortals aren't lucky. They're living fossils who lose the ability to be anything but the shell of themselves.

That thought is a little harsh.

Fuck, I'm irritable.

"Ah, Tam-tam," my father says when he sees my reflection. The magic dissipates from his fingers as he turns to look at me. "You look lovely tonight."

"That dress is all wrong," Astrid says at the same time. "I told them the scarlet was too orange. You need crimson."

I automatically glance down at the criticism. One comment from Astrid can always make me feel so small.

"Good fairy seamstresses are becoming a rarity," Astrid mumbles. "It will have to be redone. Luckily, there is time before the charity ball."

"Drink, Mortimer?" Davis lifts his empty glass before producing a bottle hidden beside his chair.

"No. This isn't a social call." Mortimer takes a seat close to my father before turning his full attention toward me.

"Drink?" My father gestures toward me with his bottle.

I shake my head in denial. I've given up alcohol since my birthday fire. Not that any of them have noticed.

"Have a seat, Tamara," Astrid motions to the empty spot next to her on the couch.

I obey, mimicking my mother's pose by perching on the edge and crossing my ankles.

"You look like you've just crawled out of a werewolf den after a full moon Mardi Gras." Davis eyes his brother. "What is so urgent you need to see us?"

"Since the birthday fire, I've been flooded with strange dreams," Mortimer says. "I know the pieces are important, but the full picture has eluded me. "

"You've forced a vision?" Davis inches forward.

Mortimer nods.

"That's tricky work," Davis muses to himself.

By tricky, my father means dangerous.

"I felt I had no choice," Mortimer says.

"Enough mystery. This isn't an Agatha Christie novel, and you're not Miss Marple," Astrid grumbles, using her martini glass to enunciate her demand, "Out with it."

"I've seen death that should not be there," Mortimer states. "Time has an overlap like it's been folded and twisted in all the wrong ways."

I stiffen and hold my breath. Does he know about the other timeline? And what is this about more death? I don't want more death in my life.

"Who?" Astrid's expression shows no fear, but she is more alert.

"You," Mortimer directs a nod at Astrid, "Davis and Anthony."

No. Not again.

A wave of panic fills me and centers in my chest. I start to speak but am cut off.

"Anthony should be here." My father doesn't say it, but I know he thinks there isn't any way I could help during a crisis.

"No. Tamara should be here," Mortimer says. "There is nothing for Anthony to do at the moment. No need to worry him. "

"As far as I can ascertain, Tamara lives." Mortimer refuses to look at me. "Every divination I performed in the last year has changed. I think the birthday fire was meant for the three of you, but it got Conrad instead. That seems to be where the ripple in the timeline starts. I honestly don't know what has caused this shift in destiny, but we must act to disrupt this timeline. Clearly, Tamara is not under threat for being magical, but she is a Devine. If anything were to happen to the three of you, she would inherit everything. I don't know who is planning an attack, but it's ingenious."

A sense of overwhelm fills me. I fight the memories of their previous deaths, of standing outside the Devine mausoleum with Mortimer, watching as pallbearers carried three coffins inside. I remember thinking the gothic entryway reminded me of a giant evil beast consuming my family like a meal.

"It's up to you now, Tamara," Mortimer had said to me in that alternate life. He might not remember the conversation, but I do. "The bloodline must be preserved and protected above all else. You're too innocent to know it, but rival factions within our world will try to use you as a pawn because of who you are and the position you now control. Everyone is watching. Your mortality makes you vulnerable. There are those who would take advantage. But I don't want you to worry. I'll take care of everything. You might be the last of my brother's line, but we can fix that. You will be expected to carry on the legacy by marrying a person of great magic. I'll have to find the right spells, of course, but I'm sure we can have you pregnant with an heir within a year."

I blink rapidly to get the images of the past that didn't happen out of my head.

"The visions keep coming, each one worse than the last," Mortimer mutters, his hand brushing nervously over the edges of his suit jacket. He paces the length of the room while he speaks. "Shadowy figures… power beyond our reach… it's all closing in around the family. I've seen this very building collapse."

I frown, hating the creeping sensation of dread that settles in my stomach. Mortimer always had a cryptic streak to him, mumbling about some unseen threats, but this time, there's a nervous edge to his voice that cannot be ignored. There's a genuine fear beneath his showmanship. I can see that my parents notice it as well.

"You want me to marry." It's the only answer that makes sense. Of course, he'd come back around to this crap-filled idea when faced with the same situation as before.

Mortimer clears his throat in surprise that I guessed his plan. "Well, actually, yes."

"No." The word slips out of me before I can stop it. I was repulsed the first time I heard his idea of turning me into a supernatural broodmare. I don't want to hear it again.

Here's the truth about predictions—especially forced predictions—they're more like high probabilities. They don't come organically from the universe.

"Are you sure?" my father asks.

"Yes," Mortimer answers.

"No," I repeat at the same time.

"An alliance with the right family will offer all of us protection." Mortimer disregards my protest.

"Don't leave everything to me," I put forth. "Make a new will. Leave it to Mortimer. I won't protest."

I don't want control over any of it, anyway. I want to find a way out of the family drama, not dig deeper into it.

"You know I would handle the Devine holdings in your absence if I could, but that was never my path." Mortimer rejects my idea. "I would, of course, counsel the children if the need arose."

It says a lot that Mortimer isn't eager to take over the family business. He knows the burden of it. I think he might also suspect he doesn't carry the same respect as my father in the supernatural world. I'm sure there is a lot of history there that they think I'm too mortal and too young to know about.

"It is my belief," Mortimer continues, "that even though Tamara is mortal due to unknown?— "

"She knows," Astrid interrupts. "I told her."

"—that even though Tamara inherited her mortality," Mortimer easily amends, "she still has Devine blood. With the right spells, she could carry a supernatural child as long as she marries a person of great magic."

I don't bother to explain that babies do not require marriage.

Or that I have no plans to get pregnant. Ever. Why would I bring a baby into my world?

He doesn't bother to needlessly explain that an arranged marriage in this family doesn't necessarily require my consent. If I'm not careful, I'll find myself magically petrified and dragged down the aisle.

I look at my hands in my lap. My gaze moves to the small cut Costin had licked earlier, and I turn my arm to hide it from my view. Goosebumps rise over my flesh, and I visibly shiver. I don't want that vampire in my thoughts.

"I should tell you something…" I take a deep breath. I think Mortimer is worried about past residual from the amulet's magic. The premonitions he's having are from the erased timeline. All this worry is probably for nothing.

I feel a chill work over my back and stiffen as the smell of Conrad's spirit wafts past. I glance around to find him standing near the kitchen. The light comes through his transparent body. No one else turns to look.

Conrad shakes his head once and draws a line across his neck with his thumb in warning. Black ooze begins to bleed out of his eyes, dripping down his face. It's become one of his favorite go-to threats: talk and die.

"Yes?" Astrid prompts.

I force my gaze away from Conrad, refusing to finish the sentence.

"She's dating Constantine," Mortimer answers for me, even though that is not what I was going to say.

"No, I—" I start to protest.

My father chuckles. I can't tell if he thinks it's impossible or just ridiculous. He gives a slight lift of his glass before taking a drink.

Astrid arches a brow. "A vampire? You can't be serious, Tamara."

"I'm not," I say. "It's not. We're?—"

"No denials. Your secret is out," Mortimer answers. I wonder what happened to his plan not to say anything. "I have explained to Tamara that a relationship with Constantine cannot happen."

"We do not want the European vampires visiting," Astrid agrees. "Savage lot. And that Elizabeth…"

Astrid takes a drink .

"Do we know where the threat to our family comes from?" Davis asks. "Any clues?"

"It's magical, so I suspect the Blackwoods or the Freemonts. Not that I can prove either case." Mortimer takes a deep breath. "I also strongly feel Tamara should marry into one of those two families. Both are powerful and either alliance will be advantageous for us. Either the alliance will stop a takeover, or the alliance will make the other party think twice about trying a takeover."

"Both have shown interest in Tamara," Astrid agrees.

Jasper Blackwood or Chester Freemont. The former is my cheating ex that I want absolutely nothing to do with. The latter and I had a series of botched dates arranged by my parents. He actually talked about how many mistresses his father kept like it was a benchmark he needed to surpass.

I won't voice my thoughts on a husband taking mistresses to my parents. There is no kind way to point that out to Astrid when it reflects her life.

I don't want her life.

I don't want this life.

Please, universe, make my life normal.

I don't think the universe hears me. Or cares.

"Freemont," Astrid sounds like she's coming to a decision. "They're more respectable. "

"Blackwoods have better connections," my father counters.

"Better for what? Shipping routes?" Astrid shakes her head. "Freemonts have that property in France."

"True." Davis nods at his wife's logic. "And there was that unfortunate issue with their shipping container. That could put this issue to bed once and for all."

"The Freemonts' magic is powerful, stronger than most. This could be the only way to secure the family's future. The Devine name will be torn apart if we don't act now. Of that, I am sure," Mortimer says.

Astrid nods.

I stare at them, feeling the weight of their words settle on my shoulders. They can't be serious. This is not just about Chester, even though I can't stand the man. This is about locking me into a life I have fought so hard to avoid. The legacy. The family. The endless politics. And for what? Power? Protection? I try not to care about any of that. I care about getting out and being normal. I care about living a life where I am not someone else's pawn.

But can I turn my back on my family? Does what I want matter?

If what Mortimer says is true, and the visions are real, do I have the right to refuse? The thought makes my chest tighten, anger bubbling beneath the surface. It's not just Chester I hate—it's the idea of being forced into a future I never wanted.

"I…" I glance toward the kitchen. Conrad is still there, staring at me. I can't force the words out. "You really think Chester is the answer?"

My tone is more disrespectful than I intended. The name alone makes my skin crawl.

"You don't understand," Mortimer states, his voice strained. He paces behind the couch and leans to grip the back. I watch his knuckles turn white. "We're walking a tightrope, Tamara. We'll lose everything if the Freemonts or the Blackwoods turn against us. They have resources we can't match, and if they side with our enemies, we won't survive what's coming."

I stare at him, taken aback by the genuine fear in his voice. Mortimer has always been so calculating and in control. I don't think I've ever seen him scared.

I try to think of a solution that isn't marriage. "But Chester?—"

"Is our only option," he interrupts. "I'm not asking you to like it. I'm telling you that you have a duty to save your family."

I try again. "Maybe we should see if your premonitions change?—"

"He's the only answer," Mortimer interrupts, his eyes flashing with frustration. "My visions don't lie. If we do not solidify an alliance, we won't survive what's coming."

I want to point out that he just admitted his visions changed.

"I know you think we're being unreasonable," Astrid says, her voice cool as ever as she adjusts her diamond bracelet. "But this isn't about what you want, Tamara. It's not about what any of us want really. This is about the survival of our family, of our legacy."

My father stares into his glass and takes another drink.

I clench my fists at my side. "Please, I beg you. There has to be another way—something that doesn't involve him."

Astrid's gauge flickers toward me, and her lips tighten. "This isn't cruelty. This is survival. We can't afford to let sentimentality or personal feelings get in the way of that. Sometimes, we must do things we don't want because the alternative is far worse. Too much is at stake." Her tone softens, and she adds, "Ours is not a life of Disney fairy tales. We all must make sacrifices."

Her words land like a punch to the gut, and for a second, I wonder if she's speaking from her own experiences.

"But Chester?" I feel like an asshole as the word escapes me. But my repulsion of him is such a visceral reaction I can't seem to keep it in.

"Would you rather Jasper?" Mortimer asks.

I know firsthand that he's a cheating asshole and a control freak. He never actually hit me, but I saw violent tendencies in him that frightened me. Between the two, at least Chester will ignore me most of the time.

I shake my head in denial.

"Tamara, the Freemonts hold more power than you realize," Astrid says. "I know you don't fully understand the inner workings of the magical world."

I can't help but think that's their fault, not mine. They're the ones who decided I needed to be sheltered from such things because of my mortality.

"Their reach extends into the highest levels of the magical councils," she continues. "They control key alliances we can't afford to lose, and if we're tied to them through marriage, no one will dare make a move against us. Including them, if indeed they are the threat we are facing."

Bile rises in my throat. History and logic tell me not to keep pushing, but this might be my only chance to protest the decision. What is it with today and fate? First, Costin and his prophecy nonsense. And now Uncle Mortimer with his premonition. Part of me wishes I could break the amulet all over again to erase this timeline and start a fresh one.

"Do you really think Chester's family is going to protect us out of the kindness of their hearts? Maybe this gives them exactly what they want," I say.

"Kindness has nothing to do with it," Astrid says. I can tell by the coldness in her gaze that I have pushed too hard and too far. "The Freemonts are pragmatic, and they understand the value of strategic partnerships. If we offer them what they need, they'll give us the protection we require. It's simple math. Power for power. Alliance for an alliance."

I can tell by her tone that she believes this marriage to be a political necessity, and that my resistance could have real consequences for the family. If I continue to protest, it would be like saying I don't care if they all die.

But I do care. I can't live through that again.

Everything inside me turns cold. I have no choice. I have to do what they ask. I want to cry, scream, run myself right off the side of the building to fall to the sidewalk so I don't have to face it.

This isn't fair. This can't be my life. I beg the fates to make it go away. What did I do to deserve this fresh hell?

"Are we decided?" Mortimer asks.

My parents nod even as I'm shaking my head. I see Conrad grinning, the dark expression mocking me. Of course, he's enjoying this. He knows how I feel about Chester. His spirit slowly fades from view.

"I'll make the necessary approaches." Mortimer stands.

"Get some sleep first," Astrid instructs. "You need to be at full power."

Mortimer nods at her advice.

My father stands and helps him to his feet. "I'll walk you out."

I turn to Astrid next to me on the couch as we are left alone. "I don't love Chester. I don't even like him. Please, you can't ask me to do this."

"These arrangements are never about love or like." Astrid's expression holds a touch of pity. It's slight, but it's there.

"Is that why you married? You were told to?"

She takes a drink, finishing her martini before setting the glass on the floor next to the couch. She studies the rings on her hand. "Who knows? It was so long ago. I'm sure there were many reasons."

I want to say something comforting to her. Blood or not, she's been my mother my entire life. Things may be complicated, but that fact is not. I might not always like her, but I do love her.

"I'm…" I don't know how to say what I'm feeling. We don't talk about feelings. "I'm sorry."

She arches a questioning brow .

"It couldn't have been easy for you," I clarify. "Having me around."

Her expression changes, and her brow furrows. "Life is not meant to be easy. It is meant to be lived."

It's not what I want to hear from the woman, but then, it is what I expected her to say. I want to ask if she loves me, if she ever did. I want to ask if any part of her feels connected to me. I might resent her and her coldness sometimes, but I feel that invisible thread of family—even if it's worn and scraggly.

To my surprise, she touches my hand gently. It's a rare moment of contact.

"I regret the way you found out about your birth." Astrid releases my hand. To the outside world, it might not look like much, but to me, knowing my mother, the contact is equivalent to a hug. "That color isn't right for you. Go change and leave the dress on the bed."