Page 38 of Mostly Shattered

I don’t want my parents or the staff to see me frazzled. I can’t even think of the words I would use to explain my heightened state. Only now is it beginning to dawn on me that somehow I moved from lower Manhattan to here without memory of the trip. What had been seconds of blissful haze in my mind had to equal a minimum of twenty minutes in reality.

Unless we teleported.

Or Costin carried me with his supernatural speed.

Did he carry me? I don’t remember him carrying me.

Movement along the corner of my eye startles me, and I try to chase the reflection along the doors. It’s nothing. I’m still alone in the elevator.

I resist sliding down the metal wall to curl into the elevator floor. Holding my breath, I watch the doors finally open, and the foyer comes into view. I don’t wait as I stumble toward my bedroom. I try to keep my footsteps quiet by running on the balls of my feet to keep my heels from thumping. I rush inside and shut the door behind me as softly as I can.

I push my back into the wooden barrier just as I pressed against the brick in the alley. Now that I’m alone, I visualize Costin standing in front of me. I try to capture that feeling of when I was under his enthrall. My body tries to make my mind follow theseductions, but my brain insists on figuring out how he moved me from the graveyard to the alley without me being aware.

There is no answer. All I remember is him—his shimmering face, that deep ache, and the smell of…

Pizza?

I frown, coming out of my thoughts as I cross the room to turn on a lamp. A pizza box sits on the end of my bed. I spin around, looking for Costin, but he’s not there. I put the book and amulet pouch down and slowly open the box, feeling the heat of the food from within. Pineapple, green peppers, and ham? That’s an interesting choice. Though, I suppose it’s more the thought that counts. He probably stole someone’s order and dropped it off in the time it took me to ride the elevator up.

My phone dings and I give a little jolt of surprise at the noise. I fumble to pull it out of my back pocket.

It’s a text from Anthony.“Come down. Let’s find trouble.”

“No. Home. Have fun,”I answer before tossing the phone on the bed next to my homework for the night.

I see his answer light up the screen notification,“Boo. Boring.”

If he only knew. My life is suddenly anythingbut boring.

I grab a piece of pizza and begin picking off the green peppers to drop them into the box. When I bite into the slice, I can still taste the residual flavor. I wonder what made him get it for me. The gesture seems almost… sweet.

Blood smears my palm where he bit me, but it’s no longer bleeding. I stop to study my hand and wonder why I don’t feel as repulsed as I should.

My attention goes to the book. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I am terrified. Everything in me wants to throw it into a fireplace and forget it exists. I have enough problems with my brother’s ghost haunting me, and now Mortimer’s plan to marry me to a magical idiot. The idea of ancient evil coming for us is almost too much to bear.

I’m just a mortal. How am I supposed to save the world?

“Grandfather?” I whisper, wishing it was his ghost lurking in my shadows. “Why didn’t you warn me about this? I don’t think I can do it.”

Maybe he planned to at the right moment but died before he could.

He doesn’t answer. I don’t expect him to.

I remember how, when I was growing up, reading books of magic had been strictly forbidden. Now, as I sit in my room, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m doing something wrong. I reach for a pocketknife from my nightstand and pull the box of pizza next to me on the bed.

“Why did it have to be a blood lock?” I mutter, lifting the knife tip to my finger. With a heavy sigh, I resign myself to a long night of translating a prophecy that I want no part of, feeling the weight of my so-called destiny pressing down on me.

Chapter

Nine

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

Yeah, I said it.

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

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

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