My throat aches, but my eyes are finally dry. I hate feeling stupid, and I feel stupid as I stand here.
I didn’t defend myself when Tiff spoke for all of us and had me sent here. I didn’t speak up about Mother when I had the chance. I let events pull me along, so I’m here, alone—really alone—with no real reason to be here, putting up with crap from my half brothers and hatred from my mother.
I can stuff all the emotions down and just get through, which is what Mother recommended (in a sideways fashion), and I’m tempted to reject that just because it was her idea. Hell, I really
want
to reject it because it was her idea.
Besides, I always stuff the emotions down. Emotions are Brittany’s job. Thinking is Tiffany’s. I didn’t connect with either before coming here. And I’m going to have to do it all on my own now.
I haven’t moved. My feet are chilled and my shoulders hurt. I look down. I’ve forgotten my shoes in Mother’s office, not that it matters. Some member of the staff will bring the shoes to my room when no one thinks I’m here.
I hate to say it, but Megan’s right: I have no idea what my function in life is. I’m not smart, I’m not emotional, and I’m really not pretty. I was powerful, but The Powers That Be took that away from me, which—if I’m really honest with myself—makes me really, really, really mad.
I hadn’t realized just how important my magic was to me until they took it all away.
Screw it. I’m not waiting until the winter holidays. Mother doesn’t want me, there’s no reason to keep seeing Megan, and I don’t belong here. So, I’m going to go home.
Somehow.
I raise my right arm and sweep it in front of my body, doing what the magical always do when they need emergency assistance. I cast the best spell I can, and say, “To The Fates!”
My voice echoes in the large room. I’ve never spoken that loudly in here before.
I bring my right arm down in its arc again, and say, “To The Fates!” again, thinking hard about that stupid library where my sisters and I acted as Interim Fates. Generally, the arm movement and the thinking should be enough.
Even when their magic is temporarily disabled, the magical can always call the Fates. I think of it like someone else’s iPhone. Even when the phone is password-protected, I can still use the thing to dial 911. (Yes, I know what 911 is. Everyone made sure of that
before
I arrived here, like they expected me to have an emergency from the get-go.)
But my magical smart phone isn’t working. I’m still standing barefoot on the thick pile carpet in my bedroom at Mother’s.
So I arc both arms, think really really hard, and say, in Ancient Greek, “To The Fates!!!!!!”
And nothing, I mean,
nothing
happens.
I sink onto the bed as a realization hits me. The Powers That Be didn’t just disable my magic. They removed it completely. I can’t get to the Fates any more than Mother can. She’ll be able to when she goes through menopause and her magic flares up—and won’t that be a shock to Miss I-Had-Hallucinations-The-Day-You-Were-Born?—but she can’t contact the Fates now, any more than Owen or E or Veronica at school can.
The shaking has returned. I haven’t just been abandoned by my mother (repeatedly, apparently. This is some kind of trend for her). I’ve also been abandoned by my magic.
I grab my purse and pull out my phone. I have fifteen texts from M, V, & A about something school related. I don’t care. With luck, I’ll never have to see them again.
I open the phone, type in my password, and dial Megan. She said I can do that in case of emergency. And won’t she be pleased that I’m in touch with her again?
She answers the phone without saying hello. Instead, she says, “Crystal, are you all right? I’m sensing distress.”
I’ll distress you
, I almost snap, but that’s to cover the urge to sob into the phone about Mother. I’m not going to say anything about that either.
But apparently, Megan’s empathy-magic works across long distances, because I know she’s not here. She’s either in the Midwest or Oregon or Los Angeles. She left New York after our appointment time ended.
“I can’t reach the Fates,” I say, because I’m not going to dignify that distress thing with an actual answer.
“Why do you need to reach the Fates?” she asks in a shocked tone.
“I want them to reverse the decision of the Powers That Be,” I say. “I want to go home.”
Megan doesn’t sigh, and she doesn’t explain to me in that too-patient voice she sometimes uses that I’m not supposed to go home until the winter holidays.
Instead, she says, “The Fates will only respond in an emergency. Is this an emergency?”
“
Yes
.” I say. I don’t add that I know it doesn’t have to be an emergency to get to the Fates, considering how many times stupid magical people came to us with stupid dilemmas like how do they deal with their possum familiar when it’s eaten too many cupcakes? That was never an emergency, although Brit didn’t like the way that mage treated his familiar (even if the thing looked like an obese rat). She wanted to spell the mage right then and there, taking away his magical abilities, but Tiff said we couldn’t.
And I don’t want to think about that stuff. I have to force my mind away from what I know, and back to the conversation.
“Are you in danger?” Megan asks.
My heart sinks. No matter how I look at it, I’m not in danger. I’m beginning to think contacting Megan is a mistake.
“What kind of danger?” I ask.
“Is someone trying to harm you?” Megan asks, but her tone has settled a little. Do I seem calmer or is it the verbal game I’m playing?
“Right now, Crystal, is someone trying to
physically
harm you?”
I’m gripping the phone so hard it bits into my fingers. “No.”
She lets out a breath of air that I can hear through the phone. “Good. I was concerned.”
And she’s not anymore? Jeez.
“What kind of emergency is this, then?” she asks.
“I need to go home,” I repeat.
“We had that discussion earlier today,” Megan says. “You have to wait. It’s not that long—”
“That’s what Mother said,” I say. “She’s never coming to see you, by the way. She thinks this is all stupid. Me too. We don’t want to be near each other, but you’re making us.
That’s
why I want to go to the Fates.”
“Oh, dear,” Megan says. “I’ll come there and talk with you both. Let’s see if we can resolve this.”
“There’s no resolving,” I say. “I need to go home.”
“Is Monique making you move out?”
If Megan didn’t have super powers of empathy, I would lie to her. But I can’t. She’ll know it if I do. (I know this, because she’s caught me in lies too many times.)
“No,” I say, and I sound sullen even to me.
“Is she denying you food or a comfortable place to sleep?”
“No.”
“Is she keeping you imprisoned in the apartment?”
“If I say yes to any of this, will I get to see the Fates?”
“I’m sorry,” Megan says. “I know you want to leave, but we were expecting that from all three of you girls. We know it’ll be hard. That’s why I’m here to talk to you.”
“Talking doesn’t work,” I say. “It won’t work. Mother doesn’t want me. So let me go home.”
“I have to speak to your mother,” Megan says.
“She’s already mad that you called her once today,” I say. “I don’t want to bother her again. Just get me out of here.”
“I’m sorry,” Megan says. “But part of growing up is learning how to live through things you don’t enjoy.”
“You mean like being an Interim Fate?” I ask. “Because I
hated
that.”
“Crystal…”
I repeat in the same tone, “Megan…”
“I would love to help,” she says, “but my hands are tied. Unless something is going seriously wrong—”
“It
is
,” I say.
“Wrong in the way that would involve the police or child protective services or something,” Megan continues, finally using her patient voice. “Unless something like that is happening, I can’t bring you to the Fates. That was one of our agreements with the Powers That Be.”
“That we don’t talk to the Fates?” I ask, wondering if those three women had something against me and Brittany and Tiffany because we were Interim Fates. “Is that it?”
“No,” Megan says. “You can talk to the Fates the way any other mortal can talk to the Fates. If you’re infused with magic or in a magical situation not of your own making, or if your life is in danger, then you can talk to the Fates. Otherwise, someone has to send you there or you have to wait until you come into your magic.”
Which won’t be before the winter holidays.
“Oh, great,” I say. “How about sending me to The Powers That Be? I’ll ask them to change everything—”
“I can’t even see the Powers That Be without permission,” Megan says. “Come see me next week, and we’ll discuss this. Because I’m the only one who can get you out of this situation early.”
“And you’re not going to, are you?” I ask.
“I can do so if I think the situation is dangerous for you,” Megan says. “But I’ll be honest. The situation you’re in is emotionally difficult, but it’s not dangerous. We don’t always get what we want in life.”
“I know that,” I say, sounding defensive. For a moment, I toy with telling her what Mother said, and then I think Megan’s not going to care. Megan’ll just tell me to bring Mother with me next week, and of course, Mother won’t want to come, and then we’ll have another fight, and I don’t want to do that.
“Crystal, I can come tomorrow if that will help.” Megan’s voice is gentle.
I don’t need gentle right now. I need to go home.
“It won’t help,” I say, and hang up.
Then I hit a few buttons, blocking Megan. If she can’t get me back to Mount Olympus, she’s no good to me. She’s just going to harangue me for her own agenda, as if I’m the same as Tiff and Brit.
But I’m not.
I’m not like anyone.
And I’m just beginning to figure that out.
EIGHT
I FALL BACK on the bed. I’m still clutching the phone, even though I’m not going to talk to Megan anymore.
Megan, or Mother, or those stupid boys down the hall, or Owen, or anyone here. Tomorrow, I’ll talk to M, V, & A, but not about anything important. Still, they’re going to have to stand in for my sisters.
Or maybe, since I’m really not following the rules anymore, they won’t have to.
Before I can think it through, I start a conference call using my iPhone. I’ve Googled how to do it more times than I care to think about, ever since I bought those iPhones for Tiff and Brit. I included instructions on how to make conference calls when I sent them the phones, and those instructions got sent back to me when Tiff and Brit’s mothers made them return the phones.
But I memorized the instructions, because I wanted to talk to them all the time.
I dial Tiff first, and who do I get but Ms. VanDerHoven. She doesn’t say hello, like I’ve been trained to do. She says, “VanDerHoven residence,” like it’s this completely posh place which, if Tiff is to be believed, it’s not.
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound like an American kid. I even strive for the accent. “Can I talk to Tiffany?”
I don’t add the
please
because most kids I know never say please or thank you or any of that overly polite crap.
“May I tell her who’s calling?” she asks, and something in her voice tells me she already knows.
“Just a friend,” I say.
“Crystal, sweetie,” Ms. VanDerHoven says—and she doesn’t sound unkind. A little gentle, actually, as if she’s afraid of hurting my feelings or something. “Your name and your phone number showed up on our display.”
“Can I talk to her please?” I ask, and damn if I don’t sound teary. “I know I’m not supposed to call except on Saturday, but I really need to talk to her.”
There’s a silence that I just hate, and then Ms. VanDerHoven says, “I’ll get her.”
Just like that. No quizzing, no worries, no nothing. Just a simple “I’ll get her,” in that warm tone again, and I feel like I’m going to cry. Hard.
I have to swallow several times. I’m going to wait until Tiff gets on the phone and then I’ll call Brit. And thinking about the mechanics of all of this eases that pressure in my throat just a little.
“Crystal?” Tiffany sounds worried. “Mom said I could talk to you.”
“Yeah.” I say. “I need to talk to you and Brit. Can you hold while I call her too? And if I accidentally hang up, I’ll call right back.”
“Sure.” Tiff sounds even more worried now.
I miss her. I miss her so much that I hurt.
I wipe at my stupid left eye, the one that insisted on shedding tears when I talked to Mother, and then I do the weird phone things that Google had instructed, dialing Brit’s number, and somehow making it all work on the very first try.