Crystal Caves Read online

“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.

  As the phone rings, I say to Tiff, “Let me talk.”

  A kid answers the phone, and I say in that same American (kinda) accent that I had before, “May I speak to Brittany please?”

  “Hey ya, Brit!” the kid yells in my ear. “Phone’s for yew.”

  The accent startles me almost as much as the loudness. An
d then it hits me: Brit’s coming to the phone with no trouble at all.

  “That was easy,” I say softly to Tiffany.

  “You didn’t get her mother,” Tiff says, also softly.

  “Have you talked to her mother?” I ask.

  “No,” Tiff says. “I didn’t even talk to her mother when she came to the family gatherings.”

  “Me, either.” I remember Brit’s mother because she was so fair, she actually had to be magicked so that she wouldn’t die of sunburn or something. Her real-world sunscreen was never strong enough to do anything. Brit got her looks, and I guess, now that Brit’s no longer living the magic life, she’s had her first sunburn too.

  “Hello?” Brittany’s voice sounds warm and familiar, and holy Hermes’ underwear, have I missed her. The tears are back and I have to swallow to stop from sobbing.

  “Hello?” Brit repeats.

  “Hey,” Tiff says. “Crystal needs to talk about something. Go somewhere private.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Brit says, using a phrase I’ve never heard her use before. I can also tell from the sound of her voice that she’s blushing because she knows she’s doing something wrong.

  The phone rustles as she moves out of wherever she was to somewhere new. I hate these phones because they don’t let me see my sisters. We could do Skype or something, but we never set that up, and Brit’s family doesn’t have the right internet connection for it. If they’d let her keep the iPhone, then we could’ve done it, even with the tiny screens.

  “Crystal,” Brittany whispers. “What’s wrong?”

  They know. That’s what sisters do. They know, without being told. Except that I will have to tell them the details, because while they know that I’m upset and this call is important, they don’t know why I’m upset or what exactly is so important.

  I don’t know how to even begin. But I take a deep breath and give it a shot anyway.

  “It’s not working,” I say.

  “What’s not?” Brit asks as Tiff says, “With your family?”

  “They’re not my family,” I say to Tiff. “They’re just people I’m related to. My mother and I talked tonight. She doesn’t want me here. She told me that I’m not really her daughter—”

  “You’re kidding,” Brit says. “You look just like her.”

  I smile. My literal sister. Tiff’s being quiet. I think she knows what I mean.

  “She gave birth to me,” I say, “but only because Daddy made her carry me to term.”

  Tiff sucks in air. Brit says, “Oh, jeez, Crystal. I’m sorry.”

  And she means it. I wish she were here so I can hug her. Brit gives the best hugs.

  “Mother never wanted me,” I say, because if I don’t get this out now, I never will. “She was forced into doing this, says she had no choice, and refuses to talk to Megan.”

  “She won’t talk to Megan?” my sisters ask in unison. They sound so shocked that I decide not to tell them that I’m done with Megan too.

  “She won’t talk to Megan, she won’t work with me, and she says we just have to hang on ’til the winter holidays when we can tell the Powers That Be that I should go home.” My voice is hitching. I don’t want it to hitch. I don’t want to make that noise at all.

  “Oh, Crystal.” Brit says, and I notice that she’s handling the emotion. Dammit, Megan. I notice that, and I don’t like noticing it, because that makes it feel just a little dirty, and just a little wrong.

  “I don’t want to hang on,” I say, the hitch getting worse. Actually, I sound totally mush-mouthed. More like I don wanna hang on than I don’t want to hang on.

  And then I realize I’m whining. I don’t whine, not even to my sisters.

  But I have to tell them. I can’t keep this bottled up.

  “I want to go home,” I say, “but I asked Megan and she says I can’t. And I can’t leave here. Mother and Owen are really famous, and they say if I embarrass them, then Mother will have me put away.”

  “Put away?” Brit asks.

  “Institutionalized,” I say. “Like Girl, Interrupted.”

  “Holy crap!” Brit says.

  “They wouldn’t,” Tiff says.

  “Mother would,” I say.

  My sisters are silent. They’re never silent. I’ve shocked them. I’m not sure I’ve done that before.

  “We gotta get you out of there,” Tiff says. “You can’t live like that.”

  “People say I’ve got it good,” I say. “Unlimited money, great room, rich parents.”

  “People don’t know anything.” Brit’s voice is shaking. She’s going to cry. “Oh, Crystal, I can’t bring you here. They had to curtain off a room so I’d have privacy, and they really can’t afford me. I have to get a job to pay my way.”

  “You’re kidding,” Tiff says.

  “No,” Brit says. “I’d bring you here if I could, but I can’t.”

  At least she stayed focused on me. Tiff got distracted.

  “Maybe if we all say we want to go home, they’ll send us,” I say.

  That silence again. Someone’s breathing kinda loud, and I can’t tell which of my sisters it is. Somehow that bothers me, because I used to be able to identify everything about them instantly.

  “Um,” Brit says into the silence, “I promised I’d stay. And Mom’s taking some big risks to have me here. I can’t just leave.”

  “Yeah,” Tiff says. “I like it here. I don’t want to go back right now.”

  I close my eyes. I didn’t expect them to say no to that. I take a shallow breath. I don’t want Tiff and Brit to know how much that upset me.

  “Okay,” I say.

  “Look,” Tiff says, “let me ask if you can come here. We can say it’s for a visit or something, and you just won’t go back to New York.”

  And she sets the phone down before I can tell her not to bother. Although I’m not sure I would have said not to bother, because I’m kinda thrilled she is bothering.

  Okay, I’m really thrilled. My heart starts pounding hard. Maybe that’s the solution—staying with Tiff until the winter holidays. Then I can go back.

  “I can’t believe your mom said that,” Brit says while we wait. “She sounds mean.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “But mean’s not the right word. Mean implies that she cares. She doesn’t care. I’m not even sure I’m a real person to her.”

  “Gosh, Crystal. Harsh.”

  I flush. “I know I’m being blunt, but she’s—”

  “No,” Brit says. “I don’t mean you’re harsh. I mean she is. And you’re kinda defending her. I don’t think you should. I never liked her. She was always complaining about being at the family gatherings, and she treated you awful. I’ve been really worried about you, Crystal, and I’ve been trying to figure out how to help.”

  But I can’t go there, because they don’t have the money to take me in. And Mother would probably cut off my credit card if I go.

  The phone rustles as Tiff comes back.

  “My mom wants to talk to yours,” she says.

  “No,” I say.

  “She won’t even consider you coming here without a conversation between them,” Tiff says. “She says your mom has to understand the stakes here.”

  “Oh, she does,” I say. “That’s why she wants to wait until the winter holidays. She doesn’t want to be accused of not trying.”

  “But she’s not trying,” Brit says.

  “I know,” I say softly.

  “She needs to talk to your mom before she makes any decisions,” Tiff says.

  I think about it for a minute, remembering Mother’s reaction to that phone call from Megan. I’m shaking my head before I even realize I’m doing it.

  “Thanks, Tiff,” I say, “but please don’t have her call. She’ll just piss off Mother even worse. And they’ll probably take my phone privileges away. I’d rather not do that.”

  There’s silence on the other end, then the phone rustles again.

  “Crystal?” Ms. VanDerHoven
says. I can just picture her. She’s really pretty (all of our moms are really pretty; that’s what attracted Daddy. He says he’s never been involved with an ugly woman, and he might just be right). She’s got chocolate skin and dark hair and has this power-woman vibe going that Mother would just love to have.

  “It’s okay, Ms. VanDerHoven,” I say. “Mother and I just don’t get along, but we’ll work it out.”

  “I’d like to talk with her,” Ms. VanDerHoven says.

  “Megan’s talked to her,” I say.

  “Maybe if another mother talks to her, she might calm down. Because this is hard, but it’s rewarding, and I can tell her that.”

  “Thanks, but no,” I say. “Please don’t. It’ll just make her mad. She barely mothers my brothers and she raised them. She’s just not you.”

  Maybe if Serena VanDerHoven were my mother, things would be different. Maybe I’d want to stay like Tiff does.

  “I’ll call her at any point,” Ms. VanDerHoven says. “You just say the word.”

  “Thanks.” I’m hoping she’ll get off the phone, but I don’t want to tell her to get off the phone. I mean, she’s being nice.

  She sighs. She hears the brush-off, even though I don’t say it. “I know this is upsetting,” she says. “I hope you’re talking to Megan.”

  “She knows,” I say.

  “Good. Well, as far as I’m concerned, if you have another emergency, you call here. Okay?”

  I nod. I would have been happy with that half an hour ago, but that moment of hope, that moment when I thought I might be able to leave here, trampled all over it.

  “I will,” I say, kinda surprised at how much calmer I sound.

  “I’ll give you back to Tiffany,” her mother says, and the phone bangs as she sets it down. I can hear her walking away.

  “Wow,” Brit says. “I wonder what Megan would think about giving you permission to call.”

  I bite my lower lip. “Don’t tell her, okay?”

  “Yeah, okay, but I don’t lie to her. It’s hard to lie to her.”

  “I know,” I say, “but…please?”

  “All right,” Brit says as the phone bangs again. Tiff’s back. I wonder where she went while her mother was talking to me. Why wasn’t Tiff listening in?