Page 17 of Barely Breathing (Merely Mortal #3)

Chapter

Seventeen

Devine Shipping Offices, Nine Years Ago…

The night air carries the scent of salt and diesel as I walk along the edge of Red Hook, Brooklyn. The supernatural port is a far cry from Manhattan, where my family keeps a penthouse, though I’ve heard worry of gentrification cleaning up the neighborhood. My parents never let Conrad and I come here as kids. They said it was too dangerous for mortals. I think they still believe that, as it took a lot of convincing to give me this job at my father’s shipping company.

To human eyes, this stretch of waterfront is a study in urban decay where abandoned warehouses loom against the dark sky, their broken windows like empty eye sockets warning people to stay away. Chain link fences topped with razor wire warn trespassers to keep out of the crumbling docks. That doesn’t stop the occasional vagrant from trying to sneak in. They never make it far. I’ve been told there are rumors amongst the homeless populations that a serial killer takes victims here or that there are monsters or ghosts. One of those I know to be true. I suspect two.

Hell, maybe all three. I mean, it’s possible we have a haunting.

I rub my arms and glance around to make sure I’m not being followed.

Even the police don’t look too closely when patrolling. Their eyes slide right past, part courtesy of old magic worked into the very foundations of this place, part my family’s generous contributions to their various funds. Bribes is too dirty of a word for fine society, but that’s what they are. They’re bribes. Money can hide a lot of secrets.

I press my palm against the scanner hidden in a graffiti-covered wall. It’s a combination of biometrics and magic. The glamour ripples to let me pass. I step inside to reveal the true face of Devine Shipping’s supernatural port. Merfolk security guards patrol the underwater perimeter, their powerful tails leaving phosphorescent trails in the dark water. Enchanted chains hang between reinforced pylons, clinking soft warning songs when anything unauthorized approaches. If that doesn’t work, they attack like vines, entwining and strangling anything that tries to pass.

We don’t talk about the dead gnome worker found hanging one morning. I didn’t see much, but his little hand was still clutching a beer bottle when they took him away.

Above me, gargoyles perch on the warehouse corners. I never see them move. I’m told they’re not just decorative stones but rather living guardians with claws and eyes that track movement. I’m not worried about them. I’m used to being around enchanted and dangerous things.

The above-water dock stretches into the harbor, its wooden planks inscribed with runic symbols that glow a faint blue under my feet. I know the ones to step over as they send an uncomfortable tingle up my leg when I press against them.

Massive cargo ships float at their berths, though at least half are glamours hiding supernatural vessels beneath. Supposedly, some of the older artifacts fare better inside Viking longships and pirate sloops rather than a metal haul. The way I understand it, this has something to do with natural wood instead of high-tensile steel and the imprint of past events giving them power. I suppose any ship that survived since the Medieval period and still floats has to have some kind of ancient power infused into it. Then there are those creatures that must be contained with iron hulls, like the 19th-century warships. I once saw the manifest for the iron warship was a single fairy.

I had to learn all this when I took the job. Shipping manifests for the containers cannot be altered, and their vessels are not interchangeable, no matter how much logistical sense it makes.

“We’re not a human shipping company,” my father reiterated repeatedly.

To my right, an underwater loading bay opens in the pier. The sound of flowing water erases all else for a brief moment. I watch as the current settles. A mermaid surfaces, her webbed hands clutching manifests in waterproof cases as she crawls on the dock. Merfolk look nothing like they’re portrayed on television… well, okay, that’s not true. Some horror movies come close. She nods as she passes, her gills flickering in the security lights.

I scan my badge at three more checkpoints before finally reaching the office building. Each floor serves a different supernatural shipping need. There are pixie-sized mail rooms for internal communications, reinforced receiving areas for beastly cargo, temperature-controlled storage for sensitive, magical items, holding tanks beneath the water, and a deep shaft under armed guard that drops into the earth. I don’t ask what goes down into the pit.

My tiny office is on the third floor, overlooking the water. It’s nothing special. There is a desk, computer, filing cabinets, and a coffee maker that’s seen better days. But it’s mine, and I’m kind of proud of the fact.

The fluorescent lights flicker to life as I enter, casting harsh shadows. I hang my coat on the rack, settling into the night shift routine. Out of habit, I look out through the wire-reinforced windows to the water. The view helps pass the long nights. I watch the play of moonlight on the water and the graceful arcs of merfolk diving between ships. The sound of waves mingles with distant foghorns and the occasional splash of merfolk surfacing to check sensors. A strange glow emanates from some containers, but I’ve learned not to look too closely at those. It’s the boxes that don’t have visual warnings that scare me the most.

I start a pot of coffee and get ready to settle in. The shipping office feels different at night. I like the late shift. It’s calmer, quiet.

Yes, my father owns everything around me, and he gave me this job—an entry-level position, the bottom of the corporate ladder, supernatural nepotism at its finest. But, hey, it’s a start. For once in my life, I’m not just the mortal Devine daughter who needs protecting. I’m employee number 38655, a shipping clerk on the night shift. Knowing about the supernatural world makes me qualified to be here, or at least that’s what I tell myself. There are days I’m way over my head.

I need this to work. I need to prove I can take care of myself.

During the day, this place bustles with supernatural energy. There are merfolk negotiating passage through their territories, pixies delivering internal mail between departments, and even the occasional dragon representative discussing Norwegian air space regulations. But at night, when I’m alone entering manifests into the system, I can pretend it’s just a regular office. Just me, a computer, and endless shipping records that need to be digitized.

I boot up the ancient machine and pull up the current manifests while my coffee brews. The irony is not lost that for all my family’s magic and money, I’m staring at a green screen, first generation, older than me piece-of-shit computer. The shipping world loves its paperwork, supernatural or not, and every item needs documentation. I have filing cabinets full of special permits for dragon-flame forged metals, environmental impact studies for merfolk cargo routes, quarantine certificates for magical creatures, and wizard council approval forms. My security clearance is nonexistent, which means I can only read the manifests of the more mundane cargo—art, antiquities, and specialty items that need to cross between human and supernatural territories .

A massive shadow glides past my window. One of the guards is doing the rounds. Its wings scrape softly against the building’s edge. I’ve started leaving snacks out, though I’m not supposed to. They’re security, not pets, but I swear the harpies check on me more often since I started sharing my candy stash.

My coffee mug, proudly declaring “Devine International Shipping,” sits on a coaster beside my keyboard. A small protection charm hangs from my lamp. It was a gift from the office pixies after I helped them reorganize their mail room. My filing cabinet is plastered with notes in multiple languages, including Atlantish, which looks like water spots. It’s not much, but it’s mine.

Wait, why is my coffee mug on my desk? I always put it away before I leave. I reach to pick it up and notice a chip on the rim. My arm brushes the computer, and it feels warm.

Someone was in my office.

I take stock of my surroundings and find that the stack of finished manifests in the basket is misaligned. I frown, grab the stack, and begin flipping through it. I have my own system to remember where I left off the night before. This isn’t it.

Pulling out a form that’s not where it should be, I frown and take it to the computer to check it. This manifest doesn’t make sense. Container FMNT-666 lists art supplies, paintings, designer clothing, cigar crates, and the usual Freemont family imports. But the weight is wrong. Way wrong. And someone altered the order from a regular cargo ship to piggybacking on an ironclad.

The cargo hasn’t been cleared from the ship yet. There is no way the form belongs in the done bin. I pull the original documents from my filing cabinet to compare against what’s in the system. According to the record, FMNT-666 is still two days out in the middle of the Atlantic, even though the ironclad just docked.

My stomach drops.

That absolutely cannot happen.

Shit. I’m screwed. This is a big fuck up.

Three months into my attempt at independence and I’ve stumbled onto what looks like fraud. If I report it, I’ll probably be fired. If I don’t report it, I’ll definitely be fired when someone finds out. So much for proving I can make it on my own.

And why did it have to be the Freemonts? They’re family frenemies. No part of me thinks they’ll be understanding.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Think, Tamara, think,” I whisper, my hands shaking. Who could bypass the shipping yard security? No one will believe I didn’t have something to do with this .

A splash outside draws my attention. One of the merfolk guards is gesturing urgently at the water. Others surface, their webbed hands making quick signals I’m not trained to understand. The dock runes flare a bright yellow.

This is worse than I thought. There is no time to think.

The harpies react first, launching from their lookouts with screeching sounds that set my teeth on edge. They circle the water where the merfolk are gathered, their wings casting massive shadows in the security lights. One hovers near the windowsill, studying me before darting along the building.

Warning chains begin to clank. Their ungodly sound rises in pitch until my ears pop. On my computer screen, a warning message scrolls past in green, “Unauthorized magic detected in shipping lane four. Multiple containment breaches detected. Security protocols engaging. Lockdown.”

I should do something. There’s a procedure for everything here, but for the life of me, in my panic, I can’t remember what it is, and I hesitate.

I stare at the manifest. Who could do this? The Freemonts are powerful enough to alter shipping records. What if they smuggled in something and set me up to be the fall guy? Or does someone else want this to look like my mistake? My heart is beating so fast that I feel like I might puke. I glue myself to the window, watching for a sign of what hell is being unleashed.

The merfolk disappear beneath the surface in perfect synchronization, leaving only ripples in their wake. The security lights along the dock flash red, reflecting off the water like blood. A large shadow swims under the ships and the dock runes spark like fireworks.

The lights in my office flicker and dim.

“That looks worrisome out there.” Chester’s sudden appearance makes me jump. He stands in the doorway, clearly overdressed for the shipping yard. This is the first time he’s shown up here. None of the Freemonts come to pick up their containers.

This feels wrong in so many ways. His being here can’t be a coincidence.

He comes inside, making the tiny office feel suddenly so much smaller.

The overhead lights go off, taking the computer screen with them as the power goes out. The security lights flash through the window, making Chester’s shadow dance across my office wall.

His eyes glance down at the paperwork on my desk, and he sighs. “What’s all this?”

“Your shipment is not due for a few days,” I manage. I push the original manifest toward him, though I’m not sure why. Maybe because it’s his family’s shipment. Perhaps because I’m an idiot. All I can do is hope he knows nothing about the switch, and I can buy some time to figure out what to do.

He taps against his thigh like he’s playing a piano. Blue magic twines his fingers before fading. It feels like a threat, but I may be overreacting.

Please let me be overreacting.

“Did someone call you to pick something up?” I step back from him and bump up against the filing cabinet. “Because it’s not here.”

He tilts his head, watching me. I see a kind of perverse pleasure in his eyes. Finally, he reaches for the manifest on my desk and picks it up. He then reaches for the altered manifest that was in my done bin.

“That’s not what this says.” He holds up the forged paper.

“The weight doesn’t match the original,” I say. “Someone changed a shipping order. I’m sure there is a reasonable explanation for?—”

Magic flows from his fingers into the paper. Symbols emerge on the manifest in glowing script, and I make out the words Sanguis et Lūnāria .

I have no idea what it means.

The air presses down on me, and I find it hard to breathe. This room is too small, and the way he looks at me makes my skin crawl. If I scream, maybe a harpy will pluck me out of the window and get me out of here .

I doubt it.

I dare a glance at the window. The creature in the water moves closer to the dock. “What is happening out there?”

Chester moves too fast. The papers flutter to the floor as he darts at me. I scream in fright at the sudden attack. The harpies don’t come to save me.

Chester’s hand wraps around my throat, and I feel magic tingling against my skin like a heating stove. I struggle to get away but it’s useless. The pain is getting worse by the second. If I don’t push him off soon, I will surely sizzle into a pile of ash.

“What are you even doing here?” he asks. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“I work the night shift,” I whisper, terrified by the way he’s glaring at me. “Fewer supernaturals, and there’s security. It’s supposed to be safer.”

Chester tilts back his head and laughs. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

My throat burns where he touches me. I’m going to be sick.

“Please, I don’t know anything,” I beg, hoping he’ll determine I’m a waste of his time.

“I was hurt when you canceled our last date,” he says, studying my face.

I know it’s a lie. The date was an obligation arranged by our parents. “I’m… sorry?”

“You know they have big plans for us, don’t you?” he continues, his tone soft like he’s not holding my neck. His smile reminds me of his father. It’s the same entitled smirk Francis gets when bragging about his latest mistress at supernatural gatherings.

I try to look out the window at the water but can’t turn my head. “Who?”

“Our parents.” Chester grins. “The wedding is practically planned.”

“Why?” I find the idea of marrying Chester utterly repulsive.

“Family alliances. Power. The usual reasons.” He acts like I should be grateful to receive this information. In reality, I just want to push him out the window. I wonder if we’re high enough to do any damage.

“I don’t believe you. I’m just a human. Why would you want to marry me?” The pain of his touch makes it hard to sound brave.

“To secure my family’s future.” He tilts his head, and his smug look fades into confusion. The flashing red lights illuminate his expression. “They really didn’t tell you?”

“I don’t believe you,” I repeat. My parents are a lot of things, but I don’t think they’d engage me to someone without telling me.

Or is that just na?ve?

I already know the answer. Duty comes before love.

I’ve seen how Chester looks at me, just like he’s doing now. It’s why I’ve avoided him. To be completely cliched, I’d be nothing but another notch in his bedpost, and that thing has already been whittled down to toothpicks.

“Let’s end this. Marry me tonight,” he says, giving what he probably thinks is a charming smile. “Let’s join our families.”

He has to be joking. It’s not funny. The idea of having a life like Mabel and Astrid, turning a blind eye while my husband screws other women… no thank you. I’d rather dive face-first into those murky waters out there than marry this tool.

The thought of danger in the water brings me back to reality.

“I can’t play this game now,” I try to push him back, and my eyes go to the phone on my desk. I have to call someone for help. “The shipping yard is under attack. I have to?—”

“I figured that might be your answer.” Chester cuts me off. There is no love lost in his expression. He appears more annoyed than anything.

“The security systems—” I try to explain rationally before he cuts me off again.

“Are doing exactly what they’re supposed to.” His hands glow brighter.

“Ches— ”

“You shouldn’t have come to work tonight.” His grip tightens on my throat. “If the council finds out about tonight, they’ll execute anyone who knows about this cargo. Even you, despite your family name.”

“Ches…” I gurgle for breath as I claw at his choking hands, struggling to be free.

“The wolves aren’t the only ones who can harness old magic. When the power shifts…” He gives a small laugh. “You know, never mind. I don’t have time for the whole Bond villain speech. Sorry, Tamara, you should have said yes to me while you had the chance. Too late now.”

The blue glow of his magic wars with the red security lights on his face. As his power intensifies, so does the burning on my neck. He presses closer. I feel his body brushing against mine. My position doesn’t allow much leverage, but I still fight. I slap his arms and try to knee him in the groin. My blows only seem to fuel his attack. His gaze narrows as he focuses on his deadly task, but his eyes spark with pleasure. He likes it.

My eyes roll in my head, and my vision blurs. A shadow appears to detach from the wall behind him. The temperature in my office drops so fast Chester’s breath fogs against my face. Costin materializes behind him, and my initial relief quickly turns to fear. What’s he doing here ?

“Release her,” Costin commands. He’s one who is used to being obeyed.

When Chester doesn’t comply, Costin grabs his arm and jerks him back. Chester flies through the air and hits the wall.

My lungs feel as if they’re on fire. I drag in a ragged, loud breath, holding my bruised throat with protective hands. I feel the hot amulet dislodge from my skin, where the pendant pressed into my flesh. So much for my grandfather’s claim of its protection. A minute more and I would have been dead at Chester’s hand.

“This doesn’t concern you, vampire.” Chester’s voice shakes.

I turn from them, still gasping as I try to make my way along the window to a corner. There aren’t many places to escape to in the tiny office. Below, I see the water has gone completely black as if something’s swallowing all of the light. The merfolk are gone. Most of the runes on the dock have burned out. Suddenly, the water churns in the red light, and something massive rises to the surface. I can’t quite make them out, but the container appears covered in large symbols that match the writing on the manifest.

“What are you trying to smuggle in?” Costin demands, his attention fully on his prey .

“What are you doing here?” Chester demands. “This doesn’t concern you.”

I pass the window and manage to huddle in the corner of the room, hoping they forget about me.

“What is in that container? What are the werewolves planning?” Costin growls, the demon in his voice. His eyes churn with crimson, and his face distorts into that of a monster. Bared fangs threaten Chester, who throws a barrage of fireballs at the vampire. Costin dodges most of them but catches a couple on the forearm. He hisses in pain.

“You can’t do this,” Chester warns. “You know what will happen if you kill me. The council?—”

Costin moves faster than my gaze. Before I realize where he is, he has Chester by the throat. “Will never find your body.”

“Kill me, and they’ll give Elizabeth your power,” Chester says, squirming in fear. “The Freemonts are too powerful. Even for you, bloodsucker.”

I’m surprised when that threat seems to work. He tosses Chester at the door. The man stumbles, backing away as he keeps his eyes on his enemy.

“That shipment is going to be lost at sea. I’ll take care of the rest.” Costin’s fangs catch the red light, and I can’t stop staring at them. The creature terrifies me. In return, I barely seem to register with him. “And you’re going to let it happen.”

“She’s seen too much. The Alpha will never let her live,” Chester warns. He raises his hands, magic gathering. “Let me take care of her. No one has to know we were here.”

Suddenly, the lights flicker back on. Chester’s relief is almost palpable, and he grins. “You’re too late. We have it.” His gaze flickers to me, and he winks. “Kill her, or the others will.”

I clutch my neck. Not only is it bruised and sore, but now I have a full-blown vampire alone with me in the room, and he looks mean enough to feed.

Chester flees. I hear his feet running down the hall toward the elevators. I should be grateful, but all I can think about is how this will probably cost me my life.

“Please,” I mouth, shaking my head as I hold my neck to hide my arteries. I know it’s useless. If he wants me, he’ll get me. “No, no, please, no.”

Costin seems torn between following Chester and looking at me. Finally, he comes toward me, and I lift my hands, cowering. Everything inside me shakes.

Pale fingers come at me. I flinch as they wrap my arm. I have no choice as he lifts me to stand before him.

His eyes take in my expression, and slowly, the worst part of the monster fades. “What was in the container?”

“Art supplies? Cigars?” I manage .

Costin’s brow furrows in displeasure. His eyes swirl, and I feel myself being compelled to answer.

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I swear. The weight doesn’t match the original manifest. The paperwork’s been forged. I didn’t do?—”

“Do you know anything useful?” He has that same patronizing tone I get from my family. I hate it. “Tell me.”

“Chester’s a creep who follows his father’s example with women. I’m not about to become another Mabel Freemont, pretending I don’t know about my husband’s mistresses.” I don’t mean to say it, but it’s the truth. The words feel forced out of me. “I don’t want to marry Chester Freemont. I’d rather you eat me.”

His lip twitches up at the corner. Light reflects in his eyes, making him look human… well, almost. “Don’t tempt me.”

I should be scared, but there is something a little sexual in the way he says it. This is not a side of the vampire I remember seeing as a child.

The crimson swims harder, and his gaze pulls me into his will. “Do you have any idea what you’ve stumbled into?”

I shake my head, unable to look away from him. In the distance, I hear a werewolf howl. Costin tenses as if torn on what he should do next.

“Did you see anything about the shipment that can be of use to me?” he demands, more specific in his questioning this time.

“Magical words. Um,” I try to remember what showed when Chester’s magic infused the documents. “Something like…?” I shake my head. “I can’t remember.”

I feel like claws are reaching into my brain and forcing memories out. I try to pull away but can’t.

“What was it?” he asks as if trying desperately to unbury the thought.

“I don’t know. I don’t speak the old languages.” I’m too scared and sore to focus. “There were so many strange symbols.”

I see confusion passing his gaze. “Try to remember. It’s important.”

“I don’t know,” I repeat, sounding lethargic, even to my own ears. “What does all this mean?

“It means the Freemonts are working with the Alpha to traffic in magic that could reshape the supernatural world. This magic is powerful enough and scary enough that it could get everyone involved killed just for knowing about it. And I have no clue what it is or how to stop it.”

“Are you going to eat me now?” I can’t take my eyes off him. Frankly, if he says yes, I’ll probably lean my head to the side and let him. I have no willpower left to resist.

“Is that an invitation?” He grins .

How can he smile at a time like this?

Before I can answer, he adds, “Sorry, castoff, not tonight. Your grandfather asked me to watch over you. I’m going to keep that promise.”

Costin cups my face, and his touch feels different than usual. The way his fingers caress my cheek is less protector and more... My mind starts to drift. …more something that makes my pulse quicken despite my fear.

“I should call my father. We need to report?—”

“Sorry, castoff, but you can’t remember this night. Some secrets are better left buried in the ocean.”

“No, wait?—”

But his eyes are already swirling with power. “Sleep now. Forget...”

The moment starts to blur and fade. His expression is neither triumphant nor controlling but sad. His face begins to disappear into the darkness as my consciousness slips away.

“Sleep now,” his voice whispers. “Sleep.”