Mostly Shattered (Merely Mortal #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

I’m not a stalker.

I may be stalking , but I’m not a stalker.

I like to think of it as watching, but if I were honest with myself—which I’m not sure I want to be in this case—I’m dwelling on my pain. There is an ache inside of me, deeper than breathing, harder than death. I had everything that mattered. For one tiny moment, I had it—hope, normalcy, Chinese food with a man who loved me and the birth mother who accepted me.

Then I lost it all.

I want so badly to be normal.

I watched my adopted brother, Conrad, shoot and kill the man I love. Paul died in my arms. Have you ever had someone you love die in your arms? I keep reliving that horrible second when his breathing stopped.

I trusted Conrad more than anyone in the world, and he betrayed me.

It’s a long story and one that I don’t particularly want to talk about, but it is in my head, churning my thoughts, haunting my nightmares, and filling my bones with a hollow emptiness that eats away at my very core. Even now, if I close my eyes, I feel Paul being ripped away from me. My skin literally aches to hold him again. I want so badly to go back in time, to that moment in the hotel room when we were naked and alone and hidden from the cruel supernatural world.

It’s not fair.

I fucking hate this.

I’m not being dramatic. At least not in this case. The pain is real. It breaks my heart, over and over again.

I wish someone would stab me in the chest so I don’t have to feel it.

Our entire relationship seems like a bad hallucination because here I am, sitting on a bench, watching Paul and his daughter, Diana, play catch with their new retriever.

I fight back the grief of loss and close my eyes, even as I know I’ll see the flash of his death tormenting me. In some ways, I need to see that moment. I need that reminder and that pain. Otherwise, I’d get up from my bench and I’d go to him. Then he and his daughter would both be in danger again.

It’s best they don’t remember.

“Paul,” his name forms on my lips, but I don’t call out.

He looks in my direction, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. I will him to recognize me, to remember that alternate timeline when we were in love before magic screwed everything up.

He doesn’t.

Of course, he doesn’t. Some magic can’t be reversed.

It was such a short time that we were together, but I can’t move past the idea of us.

I can’t see Paul’s eyes, but I remember the soulful light brown vividly. He’s had a haircut recently. The brown waves are tamer than when we were together. When I close my eyes at night, I can still feel him against me, and I hear his whispering voice. It’s faint and far away, but I do everything I can to hold on to it.

“Dad!” a distant shout washes over me, followed by laughter.

They’re so much better without me.

I don’t want to admit how I tracked Paul and Diana to a dog run near the East River, just down from Central Park and my Upper East Side home. Let’s just say being in a wealthy, supernatural family comes with some perks—even when you’re the only mortal blood relative.

Diana takes off running, and their dog chases her.

I’m the only one who remembers that other life. Well, me and the asshole ghost of Conrad, who has decided his new favorite thing is making my life a living hell. I used to think that Conrad and I were close. We were both mortals being raised in a magical family—the odd kids out. My parents adopted him from foster care when I was five.

My father had an affair with a human, Lorelai, and then brought me home to his wife to raise. I can’t say I blame Lady Astrid for having deep—if not highly suppressed—emotions about that scenario. Finding out my origin story as an adult sure explained a lot about my childhood.

I pick up the notepad on my lap to continue writing. In the digital age, handwriting letters is old-fashioned, but it feels safer and more private than email. Yes, I know magic protects my phone from hacking, but I’ve been having trust issues with everything lately. As I try to concentrate on what I’ve already written, I hold the pen at the ready while I read to myself.

Dear Lorelai ,

You won’t remember this, but we met a few months ago. I’m your daughter, Tamara Devine. A little while back, the woman I thought was my mother, Astrid, told me the truth of your existence, and I hired a private detective to find you. I always wondered why I wasn’t like the others in my family. Now I know. It’s because you aren’t like them either. We’re both human.

I came to your house in San Francisco. I saw the altar you made for my protection as you kept tabs on me my entire life. I know that you have loved me all these years. I know how you and my grandfather, George, kept in touch before he died and how you traded with trolls for the amulet necklace he gave me for protection.

I take a deep breath, feeling the grief. Like Paul and Diana, Lorelai is not dead, but she is lost to me. My life has become a series of losses. Sending this letter might be crueler than not.

I have a lot of confusion and guilt when it comes to Lorelai. I can imagine what it would have been like to be raised by her as a human in a normal house having mortal problems. It’s a fantasy I visit often—going to Lorelai’s for family dinners with Paul as my husband. Diana is our daughter and I love her like my own. The only drama is that someone overcooked a pot roast and maybe a storm knocks out the power for a few minutes.

Simple. Normal.

I want it so badly .

The guilt comes when I think of my parents. To be normal means to reject them and the life they gave me. Davis and Astrid Devine are not perfect—far from it. I think that comes from being so powerful. As magical beings, they have a lot of responsibility to the supernatural community. I know that much of how they raised me was for my protection. And, I hate to admit it, but as much as I long to be normal, there is that little girl part of me that longs to be as powerful as they are. That is what I used to daydream about, having magic and belonging. That is until I got older and told myself that I needed to put away childish fantasies.

There is a rift inside of me, like two sides of the coin battling it out—supernatural versus normal, mortal versus immortal. I feel pulled in both directions. And there are times that I want them both equally.

My grandfather, George, was a remarkable man who treated me with kindness and love. I think about him every day and feel the ache of his absence. Growing up, he was my only steadfast supporter, always making time for me, even though I was a mortal in a world filled with magic. His presence was a warm shield, allowing me to navigate my childhood without ever making me feel like I was less than.

“You are a delicate butterfly in a world of fiery dragons,” he would say. “The world needs butterflies, Tamara, as much as it needs dragons. Probably more. We all have our place.”

Even now, I hear his voice in my head, and it comforts me.

I touch the small pouch tucked away in my pocket that holds the amulet. I can’t help but imagine that the stone is a physical representation of my life. Like me, it’s mostly shattered—here but broken with a few shards missing. It will never be what it was.

I will never be what I was.

I can’t wear it, but I carry it with me. The once red stone is now a fragmented green. The magic is completely drained, no longer able to stop any death that comes for me.

Until three months ago, I didn’t even realize the story my grandfather told me about it being enchanted was true. Then, it saved my life a bunch of times before killing Conrad in an act of what I can only call karma. In doing so, it broke. It’s stupid but having it near makes me feel loved. I like the weight of it in my pocket.

I turn back to the letter, wondering if I’m even explaining any of this right. How do I address the birth mother who doesn’t remember meeting me as an adult?

I write, The amulet’s magic worked. It kept me from dying on several occasions—vampire attacks, explosions, and, well, other things.

Conrad tried to shoot me, and when that didn’t work, he shot Paul. I can’t write about what happened to Paul. Seeing his life draining from his gaze…

I gasp for breath as I feel the pain raging through me, trying to leak out of my eyes. I won’t let it. I won’t cry. Not here in public.

I need that image out of my head. I wish I could claw it out of my brain.

Part of me wishes the amulet would have erased my memory, too. Then I could grieve Conrad as a brother, not a betrayer.

I met Paul at the cemetery. We were both attending different funerals, which probably should have been my first clue that our time together was doomed. Who starts a relationship at a funeral? Well, besides ghouls.

I look up, seeing the retriever run around Paul’s legs, almost tripping him. It’s good to see him happy. He’s a single dad whose cheating, estranged wife just passed away. The internet was all over the fact Nancy had been giving a guy head in a car at the time of her death. People can be such assholes when anonymously making fun of a stranger.

The dog barks. Paul would have gotten the animal for Diana. He loves that five-year-old more than anything, as it should be. It’s a joy to hear Diana’s laughter as she watches her father play-wrestle the dog. It gives me hope for her future, even though I can’t be a part of it.

I’m reminded of the day I met Conrad. I was the same age as Diana now, and I expected a puppy for my birthday, not another brother.

Turns out I had been right. A puppy would have been loyal.

Diana is better off not knowing me. Safer. Being around me almost got her killed on multiple occasions. It did get her father killed. Where would she be if time had not reset? Parentless. Alone. Hunted by monsters. Tormented by nightmares. I’m glad she doesn’t remember monsters are real. She is everything I couldn’t be at her age. I want to keep her that way—innocent and perfect.

But to do so, I need to stay out of their lives.

I can’t be with Paul.

I can’t ruin them.

Where did I leave off? I strangle the pen like it might try to escape my hand as I continue to write. The pressure of the ballpoint deepens on the paper.

I know how you tried to protect me as a baby but couldn’t when the monsters came. They wanted me as leverage over the Devine empire. You had to give me up, and I forgive you for that. It was right that you gave me to my father and Lady Astrid. They protected me. I don’t like it, but it was right.

The reason you don’t remember our meeting is because my adopted brother, Conrad, followed me to California. He killed my parents and my half-brother Anthony on my twenty-eighth birthday. He killed other people, too, but that’s a long story and I’m not writing a book. He wanted me out of the way so he could inherit the Devine empire for himself. Stupid, really, since there is no way supernaturals will respect a mere mortal in a position of great power. Inherited wealth would have only gotten him so far. Anyway, it wouldn’t be long before a vampire brood or shifter clan or warlock coven or necromancers or goblins…

I think she’ll get the point. I scratch out part of the sentence.

…supernaturals burned everything to the ground and danced on all-things-Devine’s ashes.

Conrad tried to kill us, too—me and you. When he took the magic amulet from me to harness the power for himself, it backfired and killed him instead. It gave all the deaths that should have been mine to him, but in doing so, it brought me back to the first time I should have died—the fire at my twenty-eighth birthday party. That is why you don’t remember any of this. No one else does either. The troll magic set things right, I suppose, in the grand scheme of everything, but it also took away everything I had gained in those erased weeks .

The amulet is now broken. It can’t protect me, and I know I’m vulnerable to…

A familiar icy chill crawls over my skin. My body involuntarily stiffens in fear. I can’t help it. He’s found me.

Fuck. All I can do is wait.

Dogs bark louder, appearing more energized and on edge as they run toward their owners. Animals can sense things humans can’t. I imagine they notice the ripple of hate emitting from my brother’s vengeful spirit.

“I dare you to send that to her,” Conrad whispers in my ear. I can’t see him, but I feel him, and I smell the lingering scent of ash and decay that always chokes the air when I’m near his ghost.

They say hindsight is twenty-twenty. For me, I think it’s more forty-forty, or sixty-sixty. Is that even a thing? There were so many obvious signs I should have realized about Conrad’s true nature, but I had been willfully blind to them all. I gave him leeway because he had the same hard childhood I did. I thought he was misunderstood. Turns out, everyone else was right. I was wrong.

Again, to say life has given me trust issues is an understatement.

I rip the sheet from the notepad, not finishing it. Crinkling the letter tightly in my fist, I feel the frustration boiling inside me. I shove the crumpled ball in my pocket next to the broken amulet. “I’m not sending anything.”

“If you contact her, you know what will happen,” his voice warns. “I’ll finish what I started.”

The sun is bright, but I no longer feel it. I don’t rise to his baiting, mainly because ignoring him is one of the few defenses I have, and it annoys the fuck out of him.

“Do I need to show you what I’m capable of?” Conrad’s body comes into transparent view. His back is to me, and he faces Paul and Diana.

“I know, Conrad,” I say in a rush to placate him. “I’m not telling them who I am. I’m just here. It’s a park. We’re strangers.”

This is a time I wish I had magic so I could zap him into eternal rest. Unfortunately, until Conrad, the most I experience I have dealing with ghosts was Mr. Farty—aptly named for his smell when we were kids—the residual haunting stinking it up in the country estate’s smoking room.

Conrad killed so many people, including our parents, our brother Anthony, his own druggie prostitute birth mother, and my sweet Paul. Fate might have reversed those deeds, but I still feel the pain. I can’t watch his ghost torment Paul and Diana.

“We made a deal. You leave them alone, and I don’t talk to them,” I say. “I kept my word. I have said nothing about you to anyone, and I won’t. ”

That isn’t exactly the deal. Conrad allows me to see Paul and Diana because he knows how it tortures me that I can’t have a normal life with them. He likes the threat looming over my head. If he kills them, that threat goes away.

It’s a fucked up delicate balance.

“If you hurt them, I’ll tell everyone what you did,” I threaten.

He finally turns to look at me. The hollow pits of his eyes are a demonic black. I wonder if it’s a face he puts on to scare me or an actual manifestation of his evil that he can no longer hide.

“Ooh, you’ll tattle to mommy and daddy?” He mocks.

“You think Lady Astrid can’t find a way to exorcise you?”

“She can try, but not before I tear it all down.” He keeps laughing. I hate the sound.

His voice reminds me of all the lies. He’d been my best friend. To know I mean nothing to him…

“Stop,” I whisper. “You’ve got what you want. I’m miserable and alone.”

His face appears right before mine, so close we’d be touching if he was corporeal. I hold still. No one else can see him, and I don’t want to draw attention to myself by swiping at him like a madwoman. His coldness creeps across my face like a melting ice cube .

“You’re not thinking of doing something to yourself, are you?” he asks. “Oh, Tam-tam.”

In fact, I have considered it. I’m not proud of it. In those dark, lonely hours of the night, I think of diving from the penthouse gardens onto the street below, screaming, ego sum avis stultus!

Sometimes the pain is too much.

But I’d never.

“You die, they die,” he warns.

“I hate you,” I whisper through my teeth.

“I don’t care.” Conrad disappears, and the warmth of the sun returns. It takes a moment for it to thaw my face.

I can usually tell when he’s close by the chill, but I always feel like he could be watching. It’s more than a little creepy. Don’t get me started on bathrooms and getting dressed.

“What up, sis?”

I jolt in fright as Anthony leaps over the back of the bench to sit next to me. He automatically settles with his arm across my shoulders.

“Shit, you scared me.” I give him a light punch. “How did you find me?”

Anthony laughs. His lighthearted mannerisms are a stark contrast to Conrad, and I take a moment to adjust. “City hide and seek. You’re going to have to do better than a dog park if you want to disappear. ”

To be honest, I’m emotionally drained, and it takes everything in me to hide my growing depression from him. I feel isolated and alone, but I don’t want him to see that.

My half-brother is Conrad’s opposite in every way. Born fully into magic, Anthony has never known a mortal day in his life. He inherited power from our father, who hails from formidable Welsh magic, and his mother, Lady Astrid, who supposedly comes from a Nordic line descended from gods. Even though Conrad was older, Anthony has always been the heir apparent to the Devine empire.

I don’t mind. I never wanted that headache.

Whereas Conrad brooded, Anthony hides his emotions behind smiles and charm. Conrad had been obsessed with gaining respect through power—both money and magic. Anthony does everything he can to avoid his destined responsibility. Anthony went to a special private school for supernatural children. Conrad taught himself about the supernatural out of the family library—spending endless hours reading the old tomes.

With Anthony always gone, I had logged more childhood hours with Conrad.

The one thing my brothers have in common is they both died in the fire during my twenty-eighth birthday party. Only Conrad’s timeline remained. And Anthony was given another chance at life .

Fuck, this is confusing. It’s strange having the overlapping timelines in my head. I know this is the right one, but…

I glance at Paul, but don’t let my gaze linger.

“You have that look again,” Anthony says. “I can feel you brooding from across the park. Talk to me. What’s swirling around in that brain of yours?”

If only I could tell him. If only anyone knew the truth.

“It reminds me of when we were kids. Whenever I came home from school, I’d see you and Conrad huddled and brooding and whispering secrets like you thought the world was going to end. Something changed in you when he came to live with us. I’m not saying I regret our parents adopting him, but I think you were happier before. I know we were closer before he came. I’m not implying that’s anyone’s fault. Our parents sent me away to school and trapped you two with tutors.” Anthony sighs. “I know I’m not him, but I’m a good listener.”

I wish it were that simple. I can’t tell him what Conrad did.

“You wouldn’t understand.” I try to think of Paul’s timeline as a dream, or a story I read.

Or a glimpse.

Yes, a glimpse. I miss that feeling of normalcy and belonging I had with him. Sometimes, I wish it hadn’t happened because now that love is replaced with an ache for what can’t be.

I want to be normal, but I can’t. Maybe that means I’m meant to surrender to my supernatural heritage, even though that world considers me defective.

Maybe I don’t belong anywhere.

Anthony lets loose a playful sigh and tussles the top of my head before dropping his arm back down around my shoulders. I feel him give me a light hug. He’s been more attentive since the fire. I wonder if he’s sad about Conrad or if it’s become all too real that I have an expiration date and he’s going to lose me someday.

Maybe both? It’s difficult to tell with Anthony. He’s a master at hiding his deeper emotions.

After some thought, he grins. “Ah, you’re probably right, little Tammy. I don’t understand a lot of things.”

“Don’t call me Tammy.” I jolt him in the ribs, and his whole body jerks before he laughs.

The sadness remains inside me like a permanent scar, but he makes me feel better.

“Seriously, talk to me,” Anthony urges. “Conrad’s gone. And, you know, I miss him, too. But we’re still here. You and me. Maybe I can help if you talk to me. We Devines got to stick together, right?”

“I’m just feeling…” I struggle to find the wo rds. “Overly mortal. I’m like a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit into the family picture.”

“Oh.” He nods, and I see him struggling to understand what it must be like for me. “Mortal or not, you’re a Devine. Your blood is my blood. This is where you belong. With your family. With me. I will not let anything happen to you. I promised you a long time ago that I would find a way to make you immortal.”

We were kids. I’m not holding him to a promise he made at the age of seven while feeling guilty about handing me a fireball.

For a fleeting moment, I see his charming smile fade, and I sense his loneliness. Growing up, Conrad and I were often envious of Anthony, believing him to be so lucky. He went on all the adventures and attended supernatural parties while we were confined to the secure corridors of the protected wing of the country estate. As the golden child, he possessed all the inherited magic and charm.

It never occurred to me that he’d feel alone in his crowded rooms.

I look at Paul and think about telling my brother everything.

“How’s Louis doing?” I ask instead.

“We’re not seeing each other anymore.” Anthony’s voice is soft.

“Oh?” I lean into him. Louis was a fun guy, and he made my brother happy. “Is it because of the fire? Did it freak him out?”

Louis died with Anthony in the fire during the other timeline. The dark irony is that they were both in a closet at the time. I’m sure there’s a metaphor in there somewhere.

He shakes his head. “He gave me an ultimatum, and it ultimated.”

“Have you ever thought about just saying something to the parents?” I ask. “The supernaturals aren’t bedroom prudes.”

I only half believe what I say. They may not be prudes for sex— I mean, it’s hard to be judgy when half of them eat people, and the other half does gods-know-what with their misspent time —but magics are definitely elitists when it comes to perception and appearances.

Anthony plasters on an easy smile. I doubt he feels it. “Do you honestly think it would change things? The last thing I want is for them to monitor every interaction. I hate to say it, but they don’t care about us, Tamara. They care about the glossy family portraits hanging in the foyer.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear it. I like Louis. He made you smile. But say the word, and he’s dead to me.”

“Nah, he won’t remember you,” Anthony gives a small laugh. “I erased his memory of me.”

“Anthony!” I shake my head in disapproval .

“C’est la vie.” He waves a hand to dismiss the subject. “It is what it is and nothing more.”

We sit in a long silence. I lean against his shoulder and watch Paul with his daughter while trying not to be obvious about it.

“Do you believe we’re meant to be with one person?” I ask.

Anthony chuckles. “In our family? Sure. It’s called an arranged marriage.”

“I’m serious.” I nudge his ribs with my elbow. “Do you believe there is a single soul mate out there for us?”

Anthony’s half hug tightens around my shoulders. “It’s a sweet concept, a little na?ve and human, but sweet. To answer your question, though, no. I don’t think we get one love. One thing I’ve realized, listening to all the old timers tell their war stories, who we love changes with who we become. We’re not the same at sixteen that we are a three hundred. Or in your case, thirty. I think we’re meant to have many loves and many heartbreaks.”

“I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.”

Anthony’s body shakes with a small laugh. “If our father taught us anything, it’s we can have hundreds of true loves, but they only last a few months at a time.”

“That is so…” I shake my head .

“True?”

“Mean,” I correct. “Poor Lady Astrid.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever felt sorry for our mother. I, for one, would not tell her you pity her.”

“Right. Appearances.” I nod.

“It’s funny that you ask about that now because?—”

“Tamara, get back here!” Diana’s voice rings out, and I stiffen, instantly sitting up at the sound. I turn toward the child in fear and anticipation. My heart beats to hear my name.

Diana chases her dog.

Anthony laughs. “That dog has your name.” He tussles my hair like I’m a pet. “You’re such a good little sister. Who’s my good little sister?”

I slap his hand away. “You’re an asshole.”

Diana named her dog after me? I’m not sure what that means. She doesn’t recognize me. I’ve seen her look in my direction.

“That’s fair,” Anthony agrees.

“Hey, I have a magical question.”

“What’s that?” He settles back against the bench and stares at our surroundings. I feel his chest lift with a deep breath as he holds it.

I glance at Paul. “Do magically erased memories ever reverse?”

“Like coming out of amnesia?” Anthony shakes his head. “No. It’s easier to subtract than replace. Once you kill something like that, it’s dead. Not even the necromancers can bring it back.”

I again turn my head to watch Paul, forgetting to look away. “So Louis will remember nothing?”

“Maybe shades of things, like from a dream. Residual thoughts or feelings. He might walk past a bar we went to and recognize the name but not remember how or if he’s ever been there. The real concern is that he might run into people he doesn’t remember meeting, but they might remember him. You have to stretch the magic out, spreading over connected people like the silken threads of a spiderweb.”

That makes sense. The dog’s name is residual magic, like the distant echo of a lost dream.

“So you can’t undo it.” The statement is unnecessary, but I need my heart to hear it. “That hardly seems fair. People should be able to make their own choices without fear of… never mind.”

Anthony sighs. “Since you currently think so highly of me, I guess I should tell you why I’m here.”

I frown. “Why are you here?”

“Uncle Mortimer is looking to speak to you.” Anthony seems torn over whether to be sympathetic or laugh at me. “He’s called a family meeting.”

I stiffen. The last time I talked to Uncle Mortimer had been during Anthony and my parents’ funerals in the other timeline. He’d wanted to set me up with one of his supernatural friends. No, that’s sugarcoating it. He wanted to marry me off to a supernatural ancient, then perform magic rites to ensure I became impregnated by said supernatural so that our Devine magical bloodline could carry on.

I’m so happy that didn’t happen.

“He gave me a funeral plot for my birthday and is waiting for me to pick it out,” I grumble. “I’ve been avoiding his calls.”

What is it he’d said to me when he gave me the gift? “Since at twenty-eight and mortal, you don’t have much time left, Tamara.”

Jerk face.

“He’s a class act, that one.” Anthony stands and reaches his hand toward me. “I’ll say it again, I promised you when we were little I’d never let you die. I intend to keep that promise.”

“If you turn me into a zombie, I’m going to be pissed,” I tell him as I let him pull me to my feet and guide me away from the bench.

The easiest— and I use that word with massive air quotes —path to immortality comes with curses. Vampires and werewolves come to mind.

“Are you sure? I hear necromancers can be real party animals.” He holds my hand against his arm, patting my fingers.

“I hear their parties are dead,” I quip.

I glance back for one last look at Paul. He’s looking in our direction.

“You have good taste. I’ll give you that much,” Anthony says. “Almost perfect, except for the dad thing. Could you imagine having a kid?”

Yes.

I force a laugh and shake my head. “Never.”

Some things are not meant to be.

He walks a little faster, pulling me with him. “Can I help you pick out a mausoleum? We could make it into a clubhouse.”

“Are we twelve?”

“The real parties are six feet under the mausoleums,” he says. “We can dig a tunnel and tap into the supernatural city underground. A quick drop down a hole and we’re clubbing with hot warlocks.”

I have no clue what he’s talking about. Before I can ask about his joke, he picks up his pace.

“I have a great idea. You distract the parents and make your funeral arrangements to keep Uncle Mortimer happy and distracted. I’ll sneak into our father’s office to check the company manifests, and then we’ll hitch a ride with a shipment to Africa. We’ll leave tonight. Let’s see how far we can get before they send someone to collect us.”

“Africa?” We near the street, and I see a town car slowing as if on cue to give us a ride .

“Sure. I always wanted to check a grootslang off my list.”

“List? What list?”

“I have a contest going with some guys from school to see who can encounter the most supernatural creatures. Goblins, trolls, etcetera, are all give-mes, so meeting one of those is worth one point. But a grootslang or ninki nanka? No one has those.”

“And this is a game you play?”

“Sure. Hand me your phone.” Anthony pulls open the car door.

I hesitate, so he takes my phone from my back pocket and then waits as I slide into the seat.

A car honks behind us as Anthony stands in the doorway, not getting in. I watch my brother look up from my phone to give the upset driver a cocky wave before sliding into the back seat next to me. He slams the door shut. The privacy window separates us from the driver, and Anthony knocks on it to tell the driver to go.

I feel the car move as I watch Anthony play with my phone. He waves his hand over the screen and a blue glow comes from the device.

“Give me your hand,” he instructs.

I obey the request.

Anthony presses my palm down on the screen. I feel a sharp jab the base of my thumb and jerk my hand back. A dot of blood mars my skin, matching a spot on my phone. The blood soaks into the device, and a series of three long beeps sound.

“All set,” Anthony says.

He doesn’t give me my phone back as he scrolls.

“What’s set?” I stare at the bead of blood on my hand.

“Your entry into the game. A simple blood spell is finding everything you’ve encountered.” He reads the phone as he scrolls. “You got all the basics—troll, goblin, vampire, wood sprite, werewolf, succubus, fairy, reptilian, necromancer…” He stops scrolling and frowns. “When did you come across a vengeful spirit? Whose?”

I can’t meet his gaze and refuse to answer.

I shrug and turn my attention out the window. Paul and Diana are out of sight, but the ache and loneliness remain.

I just want a normal life.

It’s torture. I have to quit seeking them out. I have to let them go.

I have to let myself go.

Normal is not in my deck of cards.

“Seriously, vengeful spirit sightings are rare,” Anthony says, completely unaware of how much I hate everything supernatural in this moment. “I don’t even have that one.”