Page 12 of Barely Breathing (Merely Mortal #3)

Chapter

Twelve

The penthouse lobby feels too bright after Costin’s candlelit bedroom. Dawn is peeking over the city. The taste of betrayal lingers metallic on my tongue. Costin’s blood. My head still spins from the forced memory he pulled out of my brain, and from the threat of blood and moonlight. His vampiric blood magic is far beyond my understanding. I didn’t know vampires could extract memories like that. And I worry about how many other memories he might have taken from me.

The idea nags at the edge of my consciousness, like a shadow seen from the corner of my eye. I see tiny hints of flashing red warning lights. The battery backup on the wall at the gas station? Or something else? The smell of salt water tickles my nose, but it slips away before I can capture it, leaving only unease behind.

A doorman hurries from behind his desk when he sees me at the door.

“Miss Devine,” he says, pulling it open. His uniform is too tight against his stomach. I see the buttons straining. Astrid wouldn’t be pleased to see that fact.

“Hello, Simon,” I answer. Astrid wouldn’t appreciate me being on a first-name basis with the help, either. I don’t care. Simon is a human who knows about the supernatural. For that alone, I feel a kinship with him.

“Miss Devine,” he lowers his voice and leans toward me as if to reveal a secret. “A woman has been waiting all night to speak to you. She’s not on the list. Lady Astrid doesn’t want me to send up anyone who isn’t on the list.”

I see his worry.

I follow his gesture to see a figure curled in one of the lobby’s leather chairs, wild curls escaping a bright scarf headband. For a moment, I’m transported back to that first meeting in California—the shock of seeing my hair on someone else’s head. It was the realization that I inherited more than just mortality from her.

I knew she was in town, but I’m not prepared to see her again. My emotions are still raw from Costin, and I’m unsure how much more I can take. I’ve been up all night, and I’m exhausted. I think about turning around and hiding before she sees me.

Lorelai looks up from her book, and our eyes meet. I’m struck by how we have the same hazel shade. She unfolds herself from the chair with a fluid grace that contrasts sharply with the lobby’s rigid formality. Her layered dress appears handmade, adorned with the same eclectic plastic jewelry I remember. The butterfly tattoo peeks from beneath her neckline—the mark she got to keep me close after giving me up.

“Tamara.” Her voice catches. She starts to reach for me but stops herself, uncertainty crossing her features. She glances at Simon, and I know she’s aware of her standing as the family secret. I’ve only known of her existence for less than a year. “I’ve been trying to call...”

“I was...” How do I explain being mesmerized for a week? It’s more than I have the emotional capacity to get into right now. “Unavailable.”

She nods like she understands, though she can’t possibly. “I hope it’s all right that I came. I felt something was wrong.”

I struggle to find words.

Lorelai’s expression falls. “You remember me, don’t you?”

“Miss Devine?” Simon hovers uncertainly. “Should I...?”

“It’s fine. She can come up. You can put her on the list.” I head for the elevator. Lorelai falls into step beside me. The contrast between us feels stark—her flowing bohemian layers against my rumpled clothes from Costin’s floor.

We wait for the elevator doors to close before turning to each other. She wraps her arms around me in motherly affection. I’m not used to it, and my first response is to stiffen up in surprise.

“You look tired, butterfly.” She uses the old nickname cautiously. “I’ve been so worried about you.”

Suddenly, she pulls back just as I lift my arms to tentatively return the hug.

“Too soon,” she says, wrongly reading my reaction. “It’s okay.”

She pats my shoulder. I remain silent. What do you say to the birth mother you barely know on the way to the home of the mother who raised you?

The truth is, I’m emotionally drained from my fight with Costin. I’m not sure how much more I can process at the moment.

“You remember what happened at my house?” She searches my face before looking down at the amulet I wear. “I don’t know what kind of magic caused it, but I forgot about your visit for a time. Then it all came rushing back last week. I was painting in my dining room, and the protection altar started shaking. The photos were falling, and the salt was spilling. I knew I had to come.”

The protection altar. All those photographs of me growing up, surrounded by salt and charms. She’d been trying to keep me safe from across the country all these years, doing what little she could for the daughter she couldn’t keep.

I nod, deciding to give her the elevator-ride abridged version. “I remember. Conrad came to kill us and instead killed himself when he took my amulet. When it broke, time was reset. That is why you forgot. I fixed it a week ago.”

“Does everyone…?” she starts to ask.

“No. Only you and I and…” I look up at the numbers counting up to the penthouse floor. We’re almost there.

“Paul,” she finishes for me.

I nod.

“It must be because we were there when it broke. That makes sense. We were closest to the magic,” Lorelai says. “I’m glad you were able to restore its protection. I hate the idea of you not having it.”

I think of the story she told me about goblins stealing my breath as a baby while she sat bound in a rocking chair, and of all the other monsters that forced her to give me up. I have no clue who would have sent the goblins after me or why, but it was twenty-eight years ago. It probably doesn’t matter now. I wonder if they’ve been watching, waiting for another chance. And if not, it seems like Lorelai believes it. The trauma of those memories is etched plainly on her face. I hate to tell her, but we’re about to face a different kind of monster—Astrid’s cutting disapproval.

The elevator rises, and with it comes the weight of what awaits. Two mothers, two worlds, and me caught eternally between them.

“Astrid’s home,” I warn as the elevator comes to a stop.

“I assumed she might be.” Lorelai’s tone carries an edge. I don’t pry. Being as I’m the result of her affair with Astrid’s husband, it’s already awkward.

“My father is away,” I add.

Yep. Awkward.

The elevator doors open, stopping her from answering.

We step into the penthouse foyer, and I notice it no longer smells like a carnival. Hopefully, that means Astrid will be in a better mood.

Hopefully, but probably not.

I hear voices from the kitchen. This is a bad idea.

“Maybe we should go—” I start to say, but it’s too late.

Astrid emerges from the kitchen, stopping when she sees us. Her gaze focuses on Lorelai, and her expression barely registers a change. Her emotionless tone, however, could freeze hell. “Lorelai.”

“It’s nice to see you again, Astrid,” Lorelai answers politely. I wouldn’t say there is gratitude in her demeanor, but there seems to be a silent acknowledgment that she knows who actually raised her daughter. “You look well.”

Astrid turns to me, and I see her gaze moving over my face before dipping to the floor. I have witnessed all moods of the woman, but there is a flicker in her expression I’ve never seen before. Sadness? Regret? It’s so hard to tell. I’ve never had a warm relationship with my mother, but she is still the only mother I’ve had most of my life. Seeing my birth mother in her home can’t be pleasant.

The silence stretches like a rubber band about to snap. I stand between them, still struggling with how to reconcile these two realities—the cold, precise mother who raised me and this warm stranger who shares my curls. After decades of Astrid’s calculated distance, Lorelai’s open affection feels almost overwhelming. A few months isn’t enough for me to know how to navigate my feelings. And this being the first time I’ve been in the same room with both of them… Well, I have no clue how the hell I’m supposed to deal with this.

I’m caught between these two versions of motherhood, astutely aware of their apparent differences. Astrid in her tailored suit, every hair in place, while Lorelai’s wild curls escape her scarf in artistic disarray.

Astrid is the mother who stayed. She wasn’t loving or affectionate, but she was here. She gave me the skills I needed to survive as a mortal amongst supernaturals, even if I’m only starting to understand why she kept the truth from me all these years.

Then there is Lorelai, who exudes warmth, but she left because, as a mortal, she couldn’t protect me. I touch the amulet at my throat, drawing comfort from its existence. Lorelai bartered with trolls to get the amulet. When my grandfather gave it to me, he never mentioned where it came from.

As different as these women are, they both tried to keep me safe in their own ways.

“I know it’s early. We won’t be long,” I tell Astrid.

“Nonsense.” Ever the proper hostess, Astrid motions toward a couch, inviting Lorelai in from the foyer. “May I offer a drink? Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea,” Lorelai says. “Thank you.”

Astrid’s perfect posture never wavers. She nods and leaves for the kitchen.

I sink into a chair. Lorelai sits across from me, crossing her legs to twitch her foot nervously in the air. I want nothing more than to curl into a ball and close my eyes. I think of Costin in his bed. The rising sun will keep him locked in his home .

Well, in all honesty, he probably has secret tunnels all over the city where the sunlight won’t touch him. I look at the windows where the sun is starting to shift the color of the sky. I can’t imagine living in his land of darkness, never seeing daylight for an eternity.

“I appreciate the hospitality,” Lorelai says carefully.

I turn to see Astrid rejoining us. A servant follows her, carrying a tray toward Lorelai, and offers her a porcelain tea cup on a saucer. The waif of a woman is new to the household. She walks quietly, placing her feet like a dancer. She comes to me and offers me a coffee. I take it, grateful. Finally, she brings a coffee to Astrid, who sits on the opposite end of the couch away from Lorelai.

The forced civility feels wrong, but I don’t fight it. I sense the weight of unspoken history between them. It can’t be easy for Astrid to face her husband’s mistress and, conversely, for Lorelai to face the woman who raised her daughter.

Lorelai takes a polite sip of her tea before setting the cup and saucer on the end table beside her. “I came because I was worried about Tamara. The protection altar I built?—”

“Yes, your altar of human charms.” Astrid’s lips thin slightly. “I remember your unconventional methods. ”

“They worked, didn’t they?” Lorelai’s hand drifts to her butterfly tattoo and directs her attention to me. “The amulet protected you.”

“The amulet works because it is real magic,” Astrid corrects. It’s not quite a criticism, but it’s close.

“Which is why I helped George find it.” Lorelai’s response carries a quiet strength. “We all did what we could to protect her.”

How many conversations like this happened when I was a baby? How many times did these women negotiate my safety? Were those conversations this strained and civil?

The amulet pulses warmly against my skin as if acknowledging its complicated origins. Before I can speak, a wave of dizziness hits me. The room tilts slightly.

“Tamara?” Both women lean forward in concern.

“I’m fine.” I press my hand to my forehead. “It’s just been a long night. I’m tired.”

“Constantine,” Astrid says with knowing disapproval.

“The master vampire?” Lorelai demands sharply. “Has he threatened you? Does he blame you for what happened? George told me about him. Is that why the altar tried to warn me?”

Astrid stiffens at the mention of George. I wonder if she knew he kept in touch with my birth mother over the years.

“No. Nothing like that,” I lie, not wanting to explain about being mesmerized or reliving the forced memory.

“They’re dating,” Astrid says.

“What happened to Paul?” Lorelai looks confused. “You two seemed so good together.”

Astrid sips her coffee.

“It’s complicated,” I say for lack of a better answer. I take a big gulp of hot liquid. It burns, but I don’t care.

Lorelai gives me a pointed stare. “Uncomplicate it.”

“He forgot who I was, and I tried to leave it that way. My being in his life only brought him and his daughter into danger. We’re better apart.” I start to take another drink.

Astrid furrows her brow and gives a slight shake of her head to stop me. She lifts her cup slowly as if to set a more ladylike example.

“But he remembers now,” Lorelai insists. “I liked him for you.”

“And as soon as his memories returned, knowing me put Paul’s life in trouble again,” I say.

“Constantine is a powerful leader,” Astrid puts forth, strangely defending my choice.

“What is happening with Paul?” Lorelai asks .

I don’t like the tension. I want this weird meeting to be over. “The werewolves took him.”

Lorelai turns to Astrid. “There are werewolves involved now?”

“There are always werewolves involved,” Astrid sighs. “Though I agree it’s better when we don’t have to deal with them. Feral creatures.”

The elevator doors chime before I can respond. Anthony’s voice carries from the foyer, “Tam? You here?”

Perfect timing.

My brother steps into the foyer with Peter in tow. Great. Now, all we need is for Costin to materialize from the shadows, and this uncomfortable day will be complete.

I glance at the window. It’s too light for him to be out.

“Well, this is cozy,” Anthony says, taking in the scene. His usual easy smile falters when he spots Lorelai. “Oh. I didn’t realize we had a guest.”

Peter hangs back, shifting his weight from foot to foot like he’s unsure whether to stay or go. I wonder if he heard Astrid’s jibe about werewolves. His messy brown hair falls in his eyes as he studies Lorelai with obvious curiosity. I notice Peter’s nostrils flare slightly. I can practically see him cataloging her scent and wonder if he notices similarities to mine.

“You must be Anthony.” Lorelai stands, smoothing her dress. “I’ve seen pictures of you growing up with Tamara. I’m Lorelai.”

“Funny. Can’t say the same.” Anthony’s tone carries an edge beneath its politeness. He moves to stand protectively near my chair, just like he did when we were kids and supernatural visitors came calling.

“Hello, Peter.” Astrid, ever the proper hostess, tries to break the tension. “Would you care for coffee? Raw meat?”

Well, okay, that was catty. She’s almost always the proper hostess. I can’t fault her. She’s probably under a lot of stress.

“No, thank you, Lady Astrid.” Peter’s gaze keeps darting between me and Lorelai. I see the moment he puts it together, his eyes widening slightly.

“Peter, this is Lorelai Weber,” I introduce. “Lorelai, Peter.”

“We have information about your friend,” Anthony says, directing his words to me. “But maybe we should discuss it when you’re done here.”

I straighten in my chair.

“No,” Astrid commands. “Now is fine. Everyone here knows about Paul being taken.”

“Everyone?” Peter asks, his usual playfulness replaced with caution. I can’t blame him. Astrid was never a fan of his friendship with Anthony .

“Lorelai has certain interests in the situation,” Astrid explains, her tone perfectly measured.

“Right then.” Anthony claps his hands together. “Should we maybe order breakfast while we sort out this mess? I hear the candy chef is gone, but I’m starving.”

Trust my brother to try lightening the mood with food. But his eyes tell me he has serious news to share about Paul. The question is, do I want to hear it in front of both my mothers?

No. I really don’t.

“Whatever you know about Paul, just say it,” I tell Anthony against my better judgment. “Everyone here is involved one way or another.”

Anthony exchanges a look with Peter, who shakes his head in denial with a glance at Lorelai.

“She can be trusted,” I say. “Please, Peter. I know you’re putting yourself at risk by helping us. We won’t betray you.”

“I promise,” Lorelai adds softly.

“You have my word,” Astrid adds.

“You have our protection,” Anthony says in front of his mother, so there is no mistaking his promise to his friend.

Peter sighs and then looks resigned. He gives a slight nod. “Tell them.”

“The ritual the wolves are planning requires three blood sacrifices under the full moon,” Anthony says.

Blood and moonlight.

“Three?” My hand finds the amulet. Thane was so insistent on getting it off me. The stone trembles against my skin, its ancient magic stirring like a restless beast. “Paul is one. I’m the second. Who’s the third?”

“That’s where it gets complicated.” Peter runs his fingers through his messy hair, which makes it worse. I can see he’s troubled, but I also know he wants to do the right thing. Betraying his pack by talking to us is not something he’d do lightly. “The Alpha’s been really secretive, even with the pack.”

The amulet flares with sudden heat like a warning beacon. Draakmar’s presence grows more insistent, as if he fears what Peter will say.

Peter glances nervously at the windows as if checking for watchers. Unless someone is watching from the sky, we’re too high for anyone to see us.

“But from what I’ve gathered, they need specific types of people. Someone touched by death magic. Someone with draconic magic. Someone with forgotten magic. All three are pure mortality. They’ve been searching for centuries.”

The stone around my neck shivers with energy, sending ripples of warmth across my skin. Draakmar stirs uneasily within the amulet. I want to tell him to calm down. His constant need for attention is becoming annoying.

“Why now?” Anthony asks. “What’s changed?”

Peter shifts uncomfortably. “Like I said, the Alpha’s been really secretive, but something’s got him scared. Really scared. I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s always been ruthless, but this...” He swallows hard, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. “I don’t know. This is different. The other night, I overheard him talking about ancient debts coming due. I’m pretty sure he said something like even the moon herself can’t hold back what’s coming if they don’t complete the ritual.”

The amulet pulses, and I remember how Thane’s hands shook slightly when he reached for it, not from desire or bloodlust but from genuine fear. Whatever is driving this ritual is bigger than werewolf politics or power grabs. Even Draakmar seems unsettled by it.

“Conrad shot Paul and killed him before the amulet erased time. His mortality was affected when the timeline reset,” I say, slowly reasoning what we’re facing. “He remembers both versions of events. That makes him touched by death magic.”

“Draconic magic,” Anthony says, staring at my amulet. “That one is pretty obvious. ”

“Thane offered a trade in three nights. Me for Paul.” I touch my necklace, disturbing Anthony’s focus on it.

“So that leaves forgotten magic,” Peter says. “I don’t know who that could be. No one will talk about it.”

The implication hits me like a ton of falling bricks.

“Diana,” I whisper. The amulet’s reaction is immediate. It forcefully vibrates at her name, as if Draakmar reacts to the threat against an innocent child. “They’re going after Paul’s daughter.”

“A child?” Lorelai stands abruptly. “They would sacrifice a child?”

“The full moon is in three nights,” Anthony says. “We don’t have much time.”

“That’s why Thane wanted you to come back. He’s trying to manipulate you to get all three sacrifices together,” Peter says. “You can’t do it. You can’t go.”

“He tried to get me to take off the amulet.” I grip my fist around the stone and think of Thane’s words about choices and Costin’s desperate attempts to keep me away. Had he known? Was he trying to protect me or control me?

“We need to get to Kansas City,” I say, standing. The room spins slightly, exhaustion hitting me hard. “ We have to protect Diana. She’s with her grandparents.”

“You need to rest first,” Astrid states firmly. “You’re no good to anyone in this state.”

“I’ll make arrangements,” Anthony offers. “Give me a few hours to set things up safely. Peter can?—”

The elevator dings, interrupting him. We all freeze, looking at each other.

“Are we expecting anyone else?” Lorelai asks.

“No,” Astrid answers, her tone sharp. “We are not.”

“Shit,” Peter whispers, already backing toward the kitchen. “I can’t be seen here.”

Anthony quickly moves to shield his friend’s retreat. “Go. Use the service elevator. I’ll call you later.”

The way Anthony protects Peter reminds me of how much my brother sacrifices to meet family expectations. Being the magical heir means living the life they want, not the one he dreams of. I wish I could make him realize it’s okay to be his true self, but I know the weight of duty too well. His path is not mine to dictate. It’s too bad our parents don’t feel the same way.

Anthony’s expression reminds me of how he looked after he broke up with Louis, that same forced smile hiding real pain. He’s always been too good at pretending everything’s fine. Since discovering that he had erased Louis’ memories to make his human boyfriend forget their relationship, I worry my brother will never let himself be happy.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft hiss that somehow feels louder than it should. My heart pounds, and I feel Draakmar stir restlessly within the amulet. After the night I’ve had with Costin, after learning about the ritual, I’m not sure I can handle another supernatural crisis.

“Why don’t you have a front door?” Lorelai asks, her hand drifting to the butterfly tattoo on her chest. “In California, I have three locks and protection charms on every entrance. Here, anyone can walk right in.”

“We have magic,” Astrid says with the kind of certainty that comes from centuries of power. Her posture somehow becomes even straighter. “The doors don’t open to those who mean us immediate harm. I had the hallway removed because it was an eyesore. Besides,” her lip curls slightly, “no one would dare attack the Devines in our own home.”

I hear the distinct click of heels before Mabel Freemont emerges from the elevator. Her perfectly coiffed hair and designer suit look out of place this early in the morning, considering where I’d seen her hours before. But her expression of perpetual disdain is precisely as I remember it. Francis follows. His face is already red with self-importance.

“Lady Astrid.” Mabel’s gaze sweeps the room, lingering judgmentally on Lorelai’s bohemian dress. “How quaint to find you entertaining at this hour.”

I see the calculation in Mabel’s eyes, the same look she had when trying to force me to marry Chester. Now that plan failed, they’re trying a different approach to gain control.

Astrid rises with practiced grace. “Mabel. What an unexpected intrusion.”

Francis comes in behind her and puffs up his chest, visibly dismissing the women and Anthony. “Where is your husband? I want to speak to the man of the house.”

Astrid bristles. “How can I help you?”

Francis makes a show of being put out as he says, “The council has concerns about your daughter’s recent activities.”

At the mention of the council, my temple throbs with a sharp, unexpected pain. Something about Francis mentioning the council feels dangerous, like a half-remembered warning, but I can’t place why.

My exhaustion burns away under a wave of irritation as I remember seeing Mabel conspiring with Elizabeth in Thane’s court. Of course, the Freemonts would try to use this against my family. Did Mabel go straight from the werewolves to the council? She reminds me of those people who have the police on speed dial to self-righteously report every infraction of her neighbors.

“The council has no authority over my personal life,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady despite my exhaustion. The Freemonts have sought leverage since the wizard Zephronis declared my engagement to Chester impossible. “Zephronis made that clear.”

“This isn’t about your shameful rejection of our Chester.” Mabel’s lips thin as if she’s tasted something rotten. “Though I must say, trading a respectable marriage for a vampire lover hardly speaks well of your judgment. Every choice has consequences, girl. You chose to spurn our family’s protection, and now you’ll see what it means to make powerful enemies.” Her smile turns cruel. “I think Chester did well not to marry you.”

Anthony moves to stand beside me. “If you’re only here to insult my sister?—”

“We’re here,” Francis interrupts, “because your mortal meddles in werewolf affairs. The Alpha himself contacted us about her interference.”

Sure, he did. I feel the sarcasm radiating off me.

It’s evident Mabel being at Thane’s court isn’t a coincidence. The Freemonts are working with both the werewolves and Elizabeth, probably hoping to use the chaos to grab more power.

Assholes .

“Really,” Astrid’s tone drips sarcasm. “Why would the Alpha contact you instead of coming to us directly?”

“Because we understand the delicate balance of supernatural politics,” Mabel says.

Anthony snorts and doesn’t try to hide his laughter.

“Something your daughter obviously has no clue about,” Mabel continues. “Running around with vampires, starting fights with werewolves… The council won’t stand for it.”

“You’re lying. There was no fighting,” I grumble in annoyance. “I had an audience with the Alpha. You should know, Mabel. Or were you and Elizabeth too busy making out with werewolves?”

Anthony laughs harder, not trying to hide it.

Francis’ face turns a deeper shade of angry red. “How dare?—”

“How dare she what?” Astrid demands. “Tell the truth?”

“If she says she had an audience, she had an audience,” Lorelai speaks up, her quiet voice carrying unexpected strength. She steps forward before Astrid can respond, and I see my adoptive mother’s jaw tighten at the intervention. But for once, they’re both fighting the same battle, even if they can’t entirely fight it together. “You can tell your council to go to hell if they don’t like it.”

Mabel’s perfectly shaped eyebrows lift. “Who are you to speak to me?”

“Someone who doesn’t like you,” Lorelai answers. I see Astrid’s lip twitch in what might almost be a smile.

“This will not be tolerated. You will—” Francis starts, lifting his hand as magic forms in his palm.

Astrid cuts him off. “You have delivered your useless threats. Now get out of my home, or your lost shipment won’t be the only thing the merfolk are looking for at the bottom of the ocean. And if you think I’m bluffing, I’ll remind you why the Devines don’t need political conniving to maintain our position.”

Magic crackles in the air—not from Francis this time, but from Astrid. I’ve rarely seen her display power so openly. The Freemonts take a step back.

“Threaten a member of my family again, and you’re fish bait,” Astrid strides toward them, forcing them toward the elevator. Francis holds magic in his hand but is too hesitant to use it. Mabel frantically presses the button to open the doors. When they finally slide apart, Francis pushes her inside. As the door closes, the magic dies on his fingers, and I hear their muffled arguing coming through.

Astrid snuffs the magic in her fist and slaps her hands together as if dusting them off. “I believe we were discussing breakfast. I’ll speak to the chef.” She studies my face. “You look pale. Come to the kitchen. You need herbal tea, not coffee.”

I follow her, too tired to argue. She pulls herbs from a cabinet and begins preparing the blend herself. The scent of chamomile fills the air, mixed with something I can’t identify. It reminds me of that night with Chester and the engagement contract, how she’d made me the same tea before everything fell apart.

“Drink,” she says, pressing the cup into my hands. “It will help you relax.”

“Is it…?” I take the cup and stare into it. I want to ask what’s in it.

“Tea?” Astrid finishes for me with a wave of her hand, urging me to drink. “Yes. It’s just tea.”

I probably shouldn’t drink it, knowing how her special blends tend to affect me, but I’m too exhausted to resist. The truth is, I wouldn’t mind a little oblivion.

“Go rest.” She pats my shoulder, not looking at me as she puts her ingredients away as if nothing unusual has happened this morning.

I hold the cup and return to the living room, not sipping the hot liquid quite yet.

Anthony comes to me and whispers, “Go, Lady Astrid! Did you see Mabel’s face?”

“Are you all right?” Lorelai asks me in concern.

I nod. The Freemonts don’t scare me. Compared to werewolves wanting to sacrifice me and a vampire boyfriend I’m not sure I can trust, Mabel and Francis’ blustering barely registers.

“I’m exhausted,” I say, wrapping my fingers on the warm mug. “But I can’t sleep. We need to get to Kansas City to ensure Diana is safe.”

“I’ll order the family jet. You should rest,” Anthony says before wrinkling his nose to tease, “and shower. You smell like wet dog and old motorcycle oil.”

“Thanks, bro. You’re so sweet,” I drawl wryly. I catch something in his expression, a familiar melancholy I’ve seen more often lately. He’s been throwing himself into family duties, paying more attention to me, and trying to keep busy. I know him well enough to see he’s hiding from himself. But now isn’t the time to push.

“I want to come with you to Kansas City,” Lorelai says.

Anthony looks at me for guidance. I’m not sure that’s a great idea, but I’m too tired to think of a reason to say no. If she’s with us, she’s not here with Astrid.

“You might not need to fly there. I’ll call the lawyers.” Astrid appears from the kitchen. “We have contacts everywhere. I’ll have someone check on Diana and get her to safety.”

I nod, trying to remember what I know about Paul’s family. “She’s with her grandparents. Uh, Ben Cannon. He is a retired firefighter who has worked in construction. Skyscrapers. His wife is or was a nurse. They live in Kansas City on the Missouri side.”

“We’ll find them,” Astrid says. “In the meantime, Anthony is right. You need to clean up and sleep.”

“I should go to my hotel and do the same,” Lorelai says, lightly touching her butterfly tattoo and looking at me as if she feels like she’s hugging me by doing so. “I’ll let you rest.”

I want to ask her to stay, but the words stick in my throat. We’re still strangers in so many ways, connected by blood but separated by years of absence. And yet, seeing her stand up to the Freemonts and watching her try to protect me in her own way stirs something in me I didn’t expect. I glance at Astrid, not wanting to hurt her feelings.

“I’ll come back tonight,” Lorelai promises at my hesitation. “We can talk more then. About everything.” She reaches for me, then stops herself. “I know I wasn’t there before, but I’m here now. Whatever’s coming, whatever this ritual is, you don’t have to face it alone.”

This time, when she hugs me, I don’t stiffen. It’s strange having a mother who hugs and can show affection so freely. It’s particularly uncomfortable to know Astrid is watching us. I lift my arms to pat her back, the gesture awkward. It’s brief but warm, carrying the scent of patchouli and paint that seems uniquely her. When she pulls back, I see tears that mirror the ones I won’t let enter my eyes.

I glance at Astrid, who has diverted her gaze. She raised me for twenty-eight years, teaching me to be strong and never show weakness. And here’s Lorelai, offering comfort like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I’m unsure which approach I need more right now, but I know which one I’m more comfortable with.

“Be careful,” I manage. “The Freemonts are dangerous. They don’t take insults lightly.”

“Oh, butterfly.” She smiles, and for a moment, I see the fierce protectiveness that made her bargain with trolls for my amulet. “I’ve been dealing with supernatural politics longer than you’ve been alive. I’ll be fine.”

Anthony offers to escort her down, leaving me with Astrid, who watches with an unreadable expression.

When they leave, I say, “Thank you for finding Diana for me.”

Astrid nods. “Children should not be used as pawns.”

I wonder at her words, but she doesn’t elaborate, and I’m too tired to force the conversation.

“Go,” she orders. “I’ll make the calls about Diana and will come get you if I learn anything. There is nothing else you can do right now.”

I turn to go, bowing my head to sniff myself. I do smell questionable. Gross.

My mind whirls. Costin. Rituals. Diana and Paul. And, above them all, three words whisper over and over through my mind.

Blood and moonlight.