Chapter 9

Chapter

Nine

Here's something I now know for a fact. Prophecies written by old wizards locked in towers with too much time on their hands are rambling, slightly incoherent works of crap.

Yeah, I said it.

Well, thought it. I'd never say it out loud. Wizards can be a fun combination of powerful and insane. All that time meddling and poking at the future tends to take its toll.

Anyway, I am now convinced that the only way they could get people to read these great works of, um, "art" was to put a dire consequence at the end of them, so the reader had no choice but to sludge through miles of flowery prose. At least Shakespeare told an entertaining story in his poetic speeches. This prophecy business is part threat, part badly written instruction manual, and all headache.

"In the moments before the first light kissed rose upon the ashen sky, trolls labored deep inside the belly of," blah, blah, blah, ten highly detailed paragraphs later, " coaxing stones upward to create the cradle of the mountains," more blah, three pages later, "burrowing the ancient ones deeper into the depths," something about titans and magical creatures, skim ahead, "giving home to goblins and other magic dwellers."

I want to take the prophecy seriously. I get that it's important, but damn, it made for a long night. Now, as I sit at the bar next to the kitchen, I'm tired and grouchy. Plus, my fingers hurt from cutting them all night.

No part of me wants to save the world.

Heat from the coffee mug warms my hands as I stare into the creamy liquid. I tap my bare toes on the marble floor as they dangle from the stool. At one point in the night, I showered and traded my jeans for blue pajama pants but kept the fuck you t-shirt. It's a small rebellion, but it's mine.

At least my period ended, and the cramps are gone. That's a positive in my sea of negative.

I finally fell asleep around six in the morning, but the four hours before Astrid had a housekeeper wake me were fitful and filled with nightmares. The kitchen is empty except for me and the current personal chef placing a bowl of sliced fruit in front of me for breakfast.

"What? No bacon?" I ask, partly because I'd rather have bacon and partly just to see the worry on his face as he tries to tell me Astrid forbids it. Yeah, it's childish, but I've been doing it to the staff since I could talk.

There is no distress as he shakes his head. "I have your dietary restrictions, Miss Devine. It's not on the approved menu. I can make you a bowl of oatmeal or a kale smoothie if you prefer."

I curl my lip at him and reach for a sliced strawberry. "This coffee better not be decaf, or I'm going on a rampage."

Seriously, a girl can only take so much.

He leans toward me and winks. "Of course not. I'm not a complete monster. Want me to sneak you an espresso shot?"

"You're all right, uh…" I look at his uniform for a name. It would have been on the staff memo Astrid left in my room, but I rarely read them. She goes through a lot of changeovers in the penthouse.

He points at his chest, "Howard."

"You're all right, Howard," I say, pointing into my cup for that shot.

Howard sets to work at the espresso machine. He's a lanky man in his forties with inky black hair vainly clinging to the top of his balding head. I notice calluses and scars on his hands. There are peeks of full-sleeve tattoos on his arms from beneath his uniform. I watch him return with the shot to dump it into my coffee.

"Bless you, sir," I mutter instantly, sipping the stronger liquid.

"So, are you nervous?" Howard asks conversationally as he makes a show of wiping down the clean counter.

I blink, confused. How does he know about the prophecy? "I'm sorry?"

"The wedding."

I choke a little on my coffee and clear my throat.

"Lady Astrid mentioned you're getting officially engaged tonight." He looks at his smartwatch. "I promise the menu will be worthy of such an event. I'm expecting a delivery of fresh shellfish in the next hour. It's being flown in. How about I sneak a little bacon into the recipe for the bride-to-be? Don't worry. We'll still make sure you fit into your wedding dress."

I resist the urge to answer. Nothing I say will be appropriate. I hide my expression in my coffee mug and force out a strange sound that's supposed to double as a response.

"Don't be worried. Tonight is for celebrating," he chuckles. "Cold feet are for the wedding day."

"Thanks for the coffee." I push up from my stool and take the mug with me. Trying to say something polite, I add, "I have so much planning to… yeah."

I hurry from the kitchen as fast as I can. Nowhere in this house feels safe, but my bedroom is the best option. I don't make it very far.

"Hold it right there," Astrid orders. The snap of her fingers follows her voice as she beckons me to her.

Years of childhood training kick in, and I instantly obey. I turn toward the foyer, where Astrid stands by the front door, holding a blue silk gown draped over her arm. As always, she looks immaculate, with perfect hair and makeup. Her dress is the height of New York fashion. Just once, I want to see her with a ponytail and pajama pants, eating ice cream out of a tub.

She crosses to me and holds the dress material against my face.

"This color is much better suited." Astrid drapes the gown over my arm, careful to miss my coffee mug. "Is that decaf?"

I nod and lie, "Uh-huh."

"Good. I don't want you all hyperactive and fidgety tonight." Her expression is all business. "You will wear this gown. We'll have to figure out another dress for the charity ball. The Freemonts will be here at six to sign the betrothal agreement. It's with the lawyers right now. I just came from there. After it is signed, an elder from the wizard council will seal it."

"That was fast." I feel like a deer in someone's gunsight as the start of my horrible future is laid out for me. I hold the soft silk over my arm to keep it from dragging on the floor.

"No reason to put a decision off once it is made," Astrid answers.

I'm deciding not to marry Chester. And I'm definitely okay not putting that decision off.

"What's wrong with your hand?" She eyes the puncture wounds. The skin is a little bruised and discolored. "Vampire?"

I don't answer.

"Never mind. I'll give you something to heal that before tonight. The Freemonts will never know."

"Thanks."

"Your affair with Costin stops now. We can't have anyone finding out about that."

I don't bother denying the affair. None of them seem to believe me, anyway.

"After a few years of marriage, people will lose interest, and you can discretely take up with him again," she says. "Nod that you understand."

I nod.

"Have you seen Anthony? He wasn't in his room this morning. I want to make sure he puts in an appearance tonight. It's important that the family shows solidarity." She looks at me expectantly.

I shake my head in denial. "I haven't seen him this morning. I believe he went out with friends last night."

"Very well. About tonight… Before signing, you will be expected to formally apologize for that unfortunate business with their lost shipping container," she continues. "Keep it short and don't get emotional. It's a formality."

I worked for a short time as a shipping clerk for my father's company. I miskeyed an entry, and a secret shipment was lost somewhere in the Atlantic. I have no clue what was in there, but it was enough to get me instantly fired. I had no idea it belonged to the Freemonts.

"What are you going to say?" Astrid asks.

"Um." I frown. "I formally apologize?"

"Good." She nods. "Hopefully, this marriage will end that discussion once and for all. Between us, I wouldn't be surprised if that is the cause of this whole threat against our family."

Gee, thanks, Mom.

"If you ask me, they're being ridiculous about the whole thing. We have the merfolk and every other sea creature searching the ocean bottom for it. What more do they want?" She waves her hand as if she can erase the whole unpleasant incident. "Mabel Freemont is a drama junkie who hasn't seen a fainting couch she didn't want to land on. Between us, she's always been jealous of me because she wanted to marry your father. Instead, she wound up with Francis Freemont, who has the face of a puffer fish."

I snort, trying to hold back a laugh. "I never understood how that man got a stable of mistresses."

The second I say it, I regret it. I don't want my mother to think I'm criticizing her life.

Astrid takes a deep breath and then gives a wry smile. "Love potions and a yearly membership to the aquarium. His latest mistress has the mouth of a trout. I wouldn't be surprised if she's a fish shifter."

This time, I can't hold my laughter back. Partly, I'm shocked that she said it to me, but mostly, it's the fact she's laughing too. The sound is very rare in our conversations.

I have to wonder what is causing this shift in her demeanor toward me. Does she see me as an equal now that I'm marrying into her same circumstance? Only I need to believe she loves my father in her way. I don't love Chester. I don't even like him. The sound of his voice makes my skin crawl.

I'm not stupid enough to ask.

My laughter fades, and her expression returns to the reserved fa?ade I'm used to seeing .

Astrid studies me for a long moment and I wait for her criticisms. Finally, she says, "I'm proud of you, Tamara, doing this for your family."

Proud of me.

The words strike me hard in the chest. Astrid may be reserved, and I might complain about her, but she's said nice things to me over the years. This is different. All I ever wanted was for her to be proud of me as a daughter. Even after I found out she wasn't my birth mother, I still seek her approval. Now I have it, and all I have to do is give up my future.

I've spent my whole life trying to earn her approval. Even now, part of me still craves it. Maybe if I go along with the family's plans—marry Chester, secure the alliance—she'll finally look at me like I'm not a disappointment. Maybe she'll finally see me as something more than just the mortal lovechild she got stuck with raising.

It's a foolish dream. No matter what I do, I'll never be enough for her. I'll never be her true daughter.

"Thank you," I whisper, unable to say anything else.

She lightly touches my cheek. "And you'll do something about your hair? The curls are escaping captivity again."

It's not a question, but I nod that I understand .

I can't stop staring at her face, knowing that soon her expression will turn to disappointment. What she's asking of me is too much. I can't condemn myself to a life married to Chester.

"I appreciate everything you've done for me," I tell her.

"I need to speak to the chef to finalize the menu," she answers, turning her back to me. Whatever sweet moment that passed between us is over.

I watch her walk away, wondering what my future will hold. I pray it won't be an arranged marriage. Out of all my fates facing me, that one feels like the worst. At least with an ancient evil, it will be a fast end. The idea of spending the rest of my short, mortal life looking down the dining table at Chester, letting him touch me, thankful that he has his mistresses so I don't have to spend time with him, putting all my attention into appearances… that's the real definition of hell.

I head toward my room with renewed purpose. The amulet changed my future once. Maybe it can do it again.

When I enter my bedroom, I find a maid has left the curtains open to let the daylight in. The bed has been made with a fresh comforter and sheets, and my dirty clothes have been picked up off the floor. The pizza box has also disappeared.

I set my coffee on the nightstand before laying the gown across the bottom of the bed to keep it from wrinkling. I then hurry to change out of my pajama pants into a pair of jeans. I shrug out of the t-shirt, discarding it on the floor only to replace it with another. This one has the word " love " written across the chest in cursive. It does not fit my mood as well as the finger flipping off everybody, but it's clean and was on top of the pile.

I drop a pair of sneakers next to the bed before kneeling on the carpet to dig the book out from behind my dresser where I hid it. I can't help but think it's pathetic that I'm twenty-eight years old and going to run away from home.

Then again, I know there are some who would argue that it's a little pathetic that I'm twenty-eight and still living in my parents' home.

Those people can kiss my ass.

The air in the room feels still, too still. I hear a soft scrape. The heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me I didn't imagine the sound. My attention goes across the room to a framed photograph on my nightstand. It's of me and Conrad during happier times. A maid must have taken it out of my dresser drawer and put it back. The picture appears to move on its own, the motion so slight I almost miss it.

A chill works up my spine, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. I freeze, stuck with my arm between the wall and the dresser.

"Congratulations are in order." Conrad's voice is loud. His energy is up. That's not a great sign.

I release my hold on the book, leaving it where it is as I withdraw my arm. Touching my earlobe, I ask, "Have you seen my diamond earrings?"

"One of the maids probably stole them," he answers.

I push up from the floor. He's standing by the bed, staring at the blue silk gown. His form is more solid than usual. I can barely see through him.

"Lady Chester Freemont," he mocks. There was a dark, gravelly quality to his voice. He doesn't sound like he did when he was alive.

"I think the word you're looking for is Mrs."

"Ah, come on, don't sell yourself short. As Lady Astrid Junior, I think you deserve the same made-up title of aristocracy." He turns toward me, the black pits of his eyes reminding me of the darkness inside of him.

"Let me guess, you're here to tell me I better not marry into a family so powerful." Finally, there is one thing we would agree on.

"No," he says to my surprise. "I want you to marry him. I want to watch you squirm when he comes into the room. I want you to squeeze out his ugly babies. Every time he touches you, I want you to know that you are trapped in a loveless sham and can never have Paul. And I'm going to be there as your constant companion, watching you grow old and wither."

"What happened to you to make you so twisted?" I'm not trying to be an asshole. I really want to know. "I loved?—"

"I loved you, Conrad. I loved you, Conrad," he mocks my voice. "I considered you a brother, Conrad."

"You're not funny."

"Please," he gives a wave of his hand, "spare me your emotional bullshit."

"It's not bullshit," I defend weakly. "I would have done anything for you."

"Apparently not," he laughed. "Otherwise, you would have died in the fire like you were supposed to."

If he had not been born human, I might wonder if he was the ancient evil that I am meant to stop. But to classify Conrad as evil… I can't do it. Even now. Even after everything. There is a part of me that wants to make excuses for him, that doesn't want to see what he truly is even as it stares back at me from those lifeless eyes.

Conrad is not evil. He's broken, and he's done evil things.

I am making excuses for him again, just like when he was alive. Deep down, I know better. I've seen the darkness in his eyes, the cruelty that lingers behind his smile. I have to tell myself that he wasn't always this way—that there was a time when we were just two kids trying to survive in a world we didn't belong to.

Somewhere along the way, everything distorted inside of him, and now I see nothing left of the brother I used to love.

And yet, a piece of me still hopes. I want to believe that I can save him, that there's still something good inside him. I take a deep, calming breath. I know better. The last time I made excuses for him, Paul died. I have seen what he's capable of. He's dangerous. And I can't afford to forget that.

"You're thinking of running, aren't you?" He glances down at my sneakers and smiles before gliding closer to me.

I take an involuntary step back. My fear gives him pleasure.

He comes close. I can feel the chill radiating off his spirit. "Sorry, little bird. This is one cage you can't escape."

I watch in horror as he vanishes from sight. The sound of the lock on my bedroom door clicks loudly. I rush to the door, frantically twisting and shaking the doorknob, but it refuses to budge. I am trapped inside .

Conrad's laughter reverberates through the room, reminiscent of the lively music from the parties we were never allowed to attend as children. My heart races with anxiety. This can't be happening. I can't be here. I need to get out.

I desperately knock on the door, hoping someone will come to my aid and open it. I scream for help, but no one answers. Realizing that I'm trapped, I let go of the door and back away. The sulfuric smell of Conrad's ghost lingers in the room, leaving me at a loss for what to do.

My mind races. I look around the bedroom, turning in circles as I try to formulate a plan. Seeing the picture, I grab it from the nightstand and throw it in the trash can in my bathroom. I don't want Conrad staring at me.

I don't know what to do. I'm just a human. I'm not special. Isn't that what they've been telling me since the day I was born?

I want a normal life with Paul. But that's never going to happen. My life is too dangerous for normal. Not for the first time I tell myself that I need to forget him. They're better without me. Besides, I really only knew him for a week. Am I really going to let myself pine away over the love I had for one week? My brain and my heart have two very different answers to that question. Logic needs to win. I need to let him go .

The family elders expect me to marry Chester. It would be the path of least resistance. It would make a powerful alliance for the family. Astrid would be happy. I would finally have her respect. It would keep them safe from the threat of Mortimer's premonition. But I can't do it.

I wish my grandfather was here. He would know what I need to do. He would never let them marry me off to the Freemont family.

Then there's Costin and the prophecy.

Costin is dangerous. I feel it every time the vampire is near me. I can't get the look in his eyes out of my mind. There is a darkness in him, ancient and untouchable. He's a predator that's been stalking the shadows of this world for centuries.

My grandfather trusted him, but why? Why place the weight of this prophecy in the hands of a vampire?

Costin acts like he's just a guide sent to protect me and see the prophecy through, but he knows more than he's letting on. I'm not sure I want to find out what that is.

But the scariest part is, despite all my fears, I want to trust him. I want to let him in, to believe that he can keep me safe.

What is wrong with me? I'm a hot mess.

What was my grandfather thinking when he neglected to tell me about his alliance with a master vampire on my behalf? If the prophecy is true and an ancient evil is rising from the depths of the earth to consume us all, then my other problems don't matter. If this ancient evil is real, and if it succeeds, everyone will be dead or tortured. It won't just harm the people I love—it will bring suffering to the entire world.

Considering the potential consequences, there is no question as to which path I need to take. I need to confront this threat, even when that path is uncertain and filled with danger. I grapple with the weight of this responsibility, and I find myself questioning my place in this crazy world.

Grandfather George is the only person who ever really loved me unconditionally. Despite my aversion to vampires, I trust my grandfather. And he trusted Costin. He put the book of prophecies in the hands of a vampire over those of our family. He told Costin about the magical curse attached to the amulet, but no one else.

It looks like I'm going deeper into the supernatural realm. It is a place I don't belong. But then, I really don't belong in the mortal world either.

"Conrad?" I say to the empty room. "Are you there?"

He doesn't answer. The scent of his spirit is beginning to lighten. Although I can't be one hundred percent sure, I think he's gone for now .

I wait for a few minutes, listening to my surroundings before carefully retrieving the book. Someone will come to let me out of the room eventually. All I need to do is wait.

Piling the pillows along my headboard, I make a comfortable nest to read. I flip open the book and see the words, "Fate cannot be changed."

I turn past the flowery, very detailed troll history lesson—it's literally like the first two-thirds of the book—to the meat of the prophecy. No matter how many times I went over the words last night, I couldn't find any actionable clues. Most of it is vague statements and dire warnings. I can only imagine what it would sound like if the blood lock didn't translate it into something I can supposedly understand. Sure, the words make sense, but for fuck's sake, wizards.

My book report would read: I have to fix a magic stone somehow, or everyone dies horribly.

Here's me trying again. Maybe daylight will make it easier to understand.

"A mortal born with immortality lost…"

Okay, I'm relatively sure that means me, the mortal in an immortal family.

"…upon the shattering of the troll magic, the countdown commences, and swift action becomes imperative within four full cycles of the lunar moon."

Let's forget for a second that "lunar moon" is redundant. I had to look this one up on my phone, but a moon cycle is roughly equal to a month, or a little less. It's been over three months since Conrad broke the amulet. That means the clock is ticking. Costin wasn't being dramatic when he said we needed to get going on this.

"When the destined soul beholds these words, omens shall guide their way to the realm of prosperity."

I look around the bedroom, not seeing any magical signs. Unless the locked door is one? It's telling me don't do it.

"Maybe I'm not the chosen one," I mutter, turning the page.

"… embracing a power long laid dormant…"

I don't have any dormant powers. I've never had them. That's the one true fact of my life. Now, suddenly, this book is telling me I need to embrace my supernatural heritage?

Or is it telling me to embrace the evil power that's been dormant?

Or is it telling me the wizard who wrote this is an asshole?

I vote asshole.

It's impossible to stay positive considering everything that's going on.

Oh, and here's my favorite bit. Feel the sarcasm leaking from my eyeballs.

"In the depths of shadows, foes masquerade as friends. Their hidden truths poised to unfurl and rend. Tough decisions must be embraced, or a world unmade lest dire fates befall, and all efforts begin to fade."

What. The. Fuck.

Don't trust Costin? My grandfather did. He basically sent him to be my life-debted adventure buddy. That means something. Unless this is a test.

Don't trust Uncle Mortimer? Done.

Don't trust my future— gag —husband? Never have.

Or is it referring to Conrad's betrayal? Is it something that already happened that kick-started these events?

I don't want to be doing this. None of this.

"Behold the shattered fragments in need of mending, where the restless wickedness yearns to be unchained but shall instead be forever tamed."

Fix amulet. Got it.

Maybe that's my dormant power? The amulet's protection. If I fix that, maybe I fix everything.

But do I really want to go through this again? What happens if time is reset? What if I'm not enough? The thought of falling deeper into the supernatural world—into that scary realm beneath the mausoleum—makes my stomach churn. I can only imagine what is down there, and it terrifies me.

Costin wants me to follow him, to trust him. But how can I trust someone who's part of this prophecy I never wanted? A master vampire at that. Humans shouldn't trust vampires, that's kindergarten stuff.

And yet, what choice do I have?

I try not to let myself think about Paul. Even if I get the opportunity to pursue that life, I don't think I should. This prophecy business proves that. I need to let him go. Maybe everyone else is right, and I need to lean into the supernatural protection that my family can offer. Maybe it's time to grow up and embrace my responsibilities. I can only hope that does not mean marrying Chester.

The last page is an illustration. It's difficult to tell, but I think it depicts people dying in a river of lava coming from a volcano. This is the one page I didn't drop blood on to translate. I search the details for clues, but don't see any. I'm not sure it will do any good, and I'm not exactly sure I want to see what it has to say, but I scratch at the scab covering one of the puncture wounds from Costin's bite.

Taking a deep breath, I glance nervously around the room, looking for Conrad. I don't see him. Squeezing a little blood out of my hand, I tap it against the page.