Page 18

Chapter Sixteen

“…historical precedent cannot be ignored! The Queensland Incident. The Philadelphia fires. Pompeii.” Mortimer’s nasal tone is pitched higher than usual with what sounds like righteous indignation.

“All triggered by unstable hybrids which took decades of meticulous magic to cover up.”

“I thought wizards were responsible for Pompeii,” a man counters.

I recognize the voice and try to place it.

“A hybrid’s body was discovered there at the base,” Mortimer says, as if that is evidence enough for whatever nonsense he’s spouting.

“Wasn’t that creature chained?” a woman asks.

I stand in one of the lesser-used corridors, not wanting to join them and knowing I should.

“We’ve all heard the legends, Mortimer,” the man says, sounding bored.

“But legends are often exaggerated.”

I picture the man in my head.

He was at the council meeting.

Elder Birch, supernatural prison warden.

I follow the sound, moving silently down the hallway until I reach one of the smaller meeting rooms.

The door is slightly ajar, allowing me to peer inside without being seen.

“The evidence is irrefutable,” Mortimer continues, gesturing to a stack of ancient scrolls spread before him.

“Hybrid creatures are inherently unstable. The competing supernatural bloodlines war within the host until the resulting madness manifests in destruction.”

“But Zephronis must see something we don’t,” Birch says.

“He brought her here instead of a secure facility.”

Mortimer stands at the head of an oval table, his thin frame vibrating with self-important intensity as he addresses a group of solemn faced supernaturals.

I recognize a couple from the council.

Elder Birch with his perpetually narrowed eyes sits close to Madam Britannia.

There are several others whose names escape me.

“Zephronis,” Mortimer begins only to visibly stop himself.

“He is respected, to be sure.”

The others glance at each other.

Mortimer seems empowered by their silence.

“I can’t help but wonder if none of this would have come to pass if he would have upheld the marriage agreement between the Devines and Freemonts. So much could have been avoided. The Freemonts would never have been tricked into joining Thane in his misguided attempt to rebalance magic.”

Yeah.

That’s not what happened.

No one was tricked.

The Freemonts are treacherous, greedy assholes.

No wonder Mortimer likes them.

“Or if he’d let you take her under your care, Birch,” Mortimer adds.

“We need more than suspicion if we’re going to go against Zephronis,” Birch insists.

“I’ll say it again. Legends are often exaggerated. They cannot be used as evidence.”

“Are they? Then how do you explain this?” Mortimer unfurls a larger scroll.

I focus my vision as he reveals what appears to be a detailed illustration of a city in ruins.

“Queensland, after the hybrid Daina de Silva lost control. Over three thousand supernaturals murdered.” He touches a book.

“The Philadelphia fires inventory listing magical artifacts that were never recovered all because a hybrid couldn’t be contained any other way. There is a reason why hybrids should be forbidden.”

A murmur passes through the assembled guests.

“But you’re right. Let’s look at more recent events,” Mortimer presses, “my own niece’s destruction of invaluable magical texts. The library incident is merely a prelude to greater violence. The pattern is clear to anyone willing to see it. Werewolf and vampire natures are not meant to be contained in one body.”

My hands curl into fists at my sides.

The library incident wasn’t a sign of my inherent instability…

or not just .

It was the result of being attacked by Leviathan.

A fact Mortimer conveniently omits.

“Speaking of her werewolf nature,” another voice interjects, “are we not concerned that she spent the night running with Thane’s former pack? If she’s forming alliances with werewolves while maintaining her vampire sire bond, she could become a nexus of power that threatens the established order.”

How do they know where I was?

Has someone been watching me?

“Fair point,” Madam Britannia puts forth.

“She is already positioning herself at the center of a potential power struggle. The hybrid’s very existence disrupts the balance we have maintained for centuries.”

“Your concern is noted,” a deep voice says from somewhere I can’t see.

“Davis what are your thoughts? She’s your daughter.”

I can’t breathe.

My father is here?

I lean forward, trying to see him even as I want to stay hidden.

“I love my daughter,” Davis answers.

I strain my ears, not wanting to miss a word.

“However, I am not ignorant of the fact she was born human and was not prepared for such a fate. As a father, I hate to see her tortured in such a way. It breaks my heart. She’s too delicate for the supernatural world. I tried to protect her. I tried.”

“Of course you did, Davis,” Madam Britannia soothes, as if this conversation is all about my poor, suffering father.

“We all know the trials you have faced and how wonderful of a father you’ve been. None of us doubt that.”

I clench a fist.

Do I charge in and let them know I’m listening?

The urge to fight is strong.

I could tear apart the room, squish them like goblins and prove them all right.

Fuck.

I can’t prove them right.

I have to focus on my goal.

Freedom.

“She was never meant to be immortal,” Mortimer justifies.

“As a human, she would only have had a few more years. In fact, for her last birthday she chose the mausoleum that she wanted me to have commissioned for her.”

Yeah.

That would be inaccurate as well.

I did not choose a mausoleum.

He gave me a catalog and told me to pick one.

It was morbid as fuck.

“It’s sad, but these are facts,” Mortimer continues.

“If it comes to it. That is how we restore order.”

“What exactly are you proposing?” Mr.

Deep Voice asks.

“Containment,” Mortimer answers promptly.

“For her own safety and ours. A specially designed chamber where both her vampire and werewolf natures can be suppressed until we determine if balance is possible. Tests need to be run in a controlled environment. Magics would be in control of her. Not the wolves. Not the vampire. Her mausoleum is almost complete. We can keep her there. It is the place she chose.”

“And if it isn’t enough?” Madam Britannia asks, tapping her nails on the table close to the scroll as if to draw attention to the other hybrid’s deeds.

Mortimer’s pause speaks volumes.

“Then more permanent measures for the hybrid may become necessary.”

My blood runs cold.

He’s talking about killing me.

My own uncle is calmly discussing my execution with his supernatural cronies as if it’s a regrettable but necessary step.

And my father is saying nothing.

“The hybrid has a name.” Astrid’s voice cuts through the room like ice.

I shift slightly to see my adoptive mother standing in the doorway opposite my position.

She’s dressed in a tailored gray suit that makes her look like she’s stepped into a board meeting rather than a supernatural gathering.

Her hair is pulled back in a severe bun, emphasizing the cold fury in her eyes.

Mortimer falters momentarily before recovering.

“Lady Astrid. I didn’t expect you to join us.”

“Clearly.” She steps into the room, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor.

Her eyes glance in my direction but don’t linger.

I don’t know if she knows I’m there.

“Otherwise you might have waited until I was present before discussing the fate of my daughter.”

“Your stepdaughter,” Mortimer corrects.

“And this is a matter of supernatural security that transcends family sentiment. Davis is the Devine patriarch, and she is his blood.”

“Supernatural security.” Astrid arches one perfect eyebrow.

“How curious that your concerns about security align so perfectly with your personal ambitions.”

A tense silence falls over the room.

Mortimer’s face tightens.

“I don’t know what you’re implying?—”

“Don’t you?” Astrid moves to the table, placing a slim folder before the assembled council members.

“Perhaps these documents will refresh your memory.”

Elder Birch reaches for the folder first, opening it with a frown that deepens as he scans the contents.

“What is this?”

“Evidence,” Astrid says calmly, “of Mortimer Devine’s correspondence with known necromancers over the past twenty years. Including, as you’ll note on page seventeen, arrangements regarding the possible acquisition of Tamara’s essence upon her death.”

Gasps and murmurs ripple through the gathering.

I press a hand to my mouth to stifle my own shock.

Mortimer has been planning my death for two decades?

I try to think about what I might have done to him as an eight-year-old that would have caused this.

“These are fabrications,” Mortimer protests, but his voice has lost its conviction.

“Are they?” Astrid produces another folder.

“Then perhaps you’d care to explain these financial records showing transfers from your accounts to known associates of Leviathan? It’s ironic that something as simple as human email and financial records are what revealed your intentions when you apparently loathe all things mortal.”

The room erupts in chaos.

I watch as Mortimer’s face drains of color, his thin hands trembling as he reaches for the documents.

“You’ve been working with Leviathan?” Elder Birch demands, rising from his seat.

“The very necromancer who threatens the balance you claim to protect?”

“It’s not what it appears,” Mortimer insists.

“These were research grants?—”

“For research into hybrid creation,” Astrid finishes for him.

“Specifically, research into creating a controllable hybrid that could harness multiple supernatural bloodlines. One you could reproduce.”

“She’s just a human,” Mortimer tries to explain.

“The family embarrassment. This way her existence could have real meaning.”

My mind reels with the implications.

Mortimer wasn’t just trying to get rid of me.

He’s been studying me.

Using me as a template for something worse.

“You’ve overstepped, Mortimer,” Madam Britannia says coldly.

“The council does not look kindly on those who play both sides.”

“I was protecting our family’s interests!”

“Were you?” Astrid opens a third folder.

“Or were you positioning yourself to assume control of Tamara once she was contained? These documents outlining a transfer of power in the event of her incapacitation suggest otherwise.”

“That was to take the burden off my brother,” my uncle insists as he glances around the room.

One by one, those gathered rise from their seats, their expressions ranging from disgust to fury.

Mortimer stands alone at the head of the table, his carefully constructed alliance crumbling around him.

“This meeting is adjourned,” Elder Birch announces.

“Mortimer Devine, you are suspended from council activities pending a full investigation into these allegations.”

“You can’t?—”

“We can,” Birch cuts him off.

“And we have.”

Still my father says nothing.

“Astrid, you will send us copies,” Birch states.

I take a quick step back and press myself against the wall as they file out of the room from the main door, none of them noticing my presence in the shadowed alcove.

Only Astrid remains with Mortimer and my father, gathering her folders with methodical precision.

“You’ve ruined everything,” Mortimer snarls once they’re alone.

“You have no idea what you have done. What this would have done for our family. All of this has been for the power of the Devine legacy, in service to?—”

“No, Mortimer,” Astrid replies calmly.

“You ruined everything yourself. Did you really think I wouldn’t discover your schemes? That I would allow you to sacrifice my daughter for your ambitions?”

“She’s not your daughter,” he yells.

“She’s the bastard spawn of your husband’s infidelity. A reminder of his betrayal that you’ve been forced to tolerate.”

Astrid goes very still.

When she speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper, but it carries a weight that makes even me shiver.

“I pity you, Mortimer. How lonely your life must be, spent clinging to the coattails of your older brother, trying to find meaning in nothingness. You have never understood family, have you? You see only power and position, calculations and advantages. You’ve never comprehended what it means to love someone beyond yourself. To take responsibility and do the hard things in service to another’s wellbeing.” She closes the distance between them, looking down at him with cold contempt.

“Motherhood is a choice. Tamara has been my daughter from the moment Lorelai placed her in my arms, just as Anthony is my son by birth. I chose to be a mother, Mortimer, her mother, their mother. I continue to choose her. Can you say the same about anyone in your miserable existence?”

Mortimer has no answer.

He stands there, diminished, as if Astrid’s words have physically reduced him.

“You will leave this house today,” she continues.

“Your personal effects will be sent to you. If you attempt to contact any member of this family again, I will ensure the council receives the complete record of your dealings, not just the excerpts I shared today. Think about that. Think about all those letters and emails and scrolls. Centuries worth of evidence.”

“Davis, you won’t allow this,” he says, but there’s no conviction in his voice.

“Mortimer, I think Astrid…” My father’s voice trails off.

Astrid gives a soft laugh.

“Davis has never been the one making these decisions, have you darling?”

Astrid’s smile is thin and sharp as a blade.

My father stays quiet.

“We just let the world believes he is,” Astrid continues.

“The magics do so love the idea of their perfect patriarchy.”

With that, she turns and walks toward my door forcing me to quickly retreat down the hall and around the corner.

I sag against the wall, my mind racing with everything I’ve just heard.

Mortimer’s betrayal hurts but it doesn’t surprise me.

He’s always treated me as a burden.

But Astrid’s defense of me, the ruthless efficiency with which she destroyed him, the blunt revelation that she’s been the true power behind the Devine name all along shakes me to my core.

I mean, I’ve assumed as much, but to hear it confirmed as a cold hard fact…

All my life, I’ve been led to believe my father is the central figure in our family’s power structure.

Davis Devine, the charismatic patriarch whose decisions shaped our world.

But it was Astrid, working from the shadows, making the real choices that kept our family secure.

And she chose me.

Not out of obligation or appearances, but because she wanted to.

She claimed me as her own, defended me as her own, even knowing I wasn’t her blood.

I hear the sound of the door closing, followed by the sound of Astrid’s heels moving toward me.

I try to put distance between us, but her voice stops me.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

I hang my head and take a deep breath.

When I turn to answer, she’s gone.

I find myself moving down the hallway in a daze, my mind full of worry.

The sun has fully risen, its light filtering through the sides of curtains in golden streams that I instinctively avoid.

I don’t know where to go or what to do.

I start to head back to the protected wing only to stop in the foyer.

“Costin,” I whisper, my heart aching.

“I think I need you.”

The world tilts and suddenly I’m pulled toward a study in the east wing.

This house has so many rooms that I’ve barely spent time in this one.

I’m standing on the red carpet.

I turn ready to put my arms around Costin, but he’s not there.

“Costin?”

The floor begins to vibrate and a tile near the fireplace lifts from the ground and slides to the side.

Costin’s hand reaches out of the darkness.

It’s then I realize I traveled with vampiric speed on my own.

I’m too hurt and tired to be pleased by the revelation.

I go to the hole in the floor and sit to drop my legs in.

Costin’s hands grab my hips and help me down.

I drop to the floor in the darkness.

It’s cool here in the secret room.

The ceiling is low but I’m able to stand.

I see Costin’s face in the shadows as he pulls the tile back into place to hide the light.

His arms wrap around me, and he doesn’t speak.

For a moment, he holds me.

Then, sweeping his arms around me he lifts me into his embrace and carries me to a bed.

I feel sleep pulling me in, the kind of deep sleep that makes me think of the dead in their graves.

My breathing stops and I wait to see if my lungs will burn for air.

They don’t.

I don’t resist the needs of my vampire to find respite from the day.

Costin holds me against him as my thoughts drift.

I am Tamara Devine, daughter of Davis and Lorelai by blood, but Astrid’s daughter by choice.

Hybrid, vampire, werewolf, mere mortal, all of these things and none of them completely.

Whatever comes next, I’ll face it standing firmly on my own two feet.

Not because I’m alone, but quite the opposite.

Because I finally understand what it means to be loved.

It’s not all sunshine and roses and happiness.

Sometimes it’s darkness.

It’s having those around you willing to make the tough choices, to push you to do what you don’t want to.

It’s support and understanding.

And, yes, sometimes it feels like control…

but only when I let it.

Tomorrow will bring new challenges, new battles.

But for now, in this moment of clarity, I know who I am.

Today, that is enough.