I had hoped that I’d be able to spy on the Fates and Mrs. Larson, maybe explain a few things. But now I can’t.
I doubt they would have let me anyway.
I step out of the office. Through the big display windows, I see Eric’s rust bucket pull into the parking lot.
He’ll be upset if I’m not waiting for him.
I hurry across the floor, and shout, “Thanks!” as I let myself out.
The cold hits me like a slap. Then the rust bucket squeals to a stop in front of me. I hurry around to the passenger side.
“How’d it go?” he asks.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I say, and slink down in my seat.
THIRTEEN
ERIC DROPS ME in front of the house. I stand there a moment, feeling tired and achy and lost. The narrow road goes slightly downhill, and if I stand on my tiptoes, I can almost see the lake.
It’s probably the same gray color as the sky. The air smells damp, and twilight is coming.
It’ll get even darker.
I shove my hands in the pockets of my coat, bow my head, and walk toward the house. It’s almost invisible from the street. Daddy thinks the house is horrible, but I like it.
I like it here more than I realized.
And now Daddy’s going to ruin it.
I walk up the driveway, the cold wind stinging my face. The front door is down the sidewalk to my left, but no one except company uses that door. I’m not company—at least not yet.
I round the garage and go up the back steps to the kitchen door. I step inside, and smell peanut butter and coffee.
The coffee still sits in the coffeemaker, but the maker’s unplugged. An open jar of peanut butter sits on the counter, and two slices of bread sit on a plate, but there’s no one in the kitchen.
“Hello!” I shout as I pull off my coat.
I really don’t want to see anyone, but one of the rules of the household is to announce your presence. No sneaking in.
“There you are!” Ingrid leans in from the dining room. “Ivan says you called.”
“I needed a ride,” I say.
“Well, you can deal with everything now,” she says. “I want lunch.”
She heads to the counter, grabs the peanut butter and the plate, and carries it to the kitchen table.
“What everything?” I ask.
“Well,” she says, digging a butter knife into the jar, “let’s see. It’s just been a zoo. Three ladies wearing dead animals showed up and wanted to talk to Mom and Dad. Dad’s working, and Mom disappeared somewhere. We can’t find her, but her car’s around, so she’s probably at the neighbor’s.”
“Three ladies wearing dead animals?” I ask.
“Yeah, and they had strange names too. They wanted to see your room, and Lise showed them before she went to work.”
My stomach has tied itself into knots.
“Don’t worry,” Ingrid says. “We only said good things about you. And Leif showed them the place where Dad’s going to build your new bedroom.”
“He did?” I ask.
“Yeah. I would’ve made coffee, but they said I didn’t need to.” Ingrid is learning how to do some simple things in the kitchen, like making coffee. The Fates have no idea what a disaster they missed.
The Fates. Here. And then at the store.
I have no idea how they managed to get here before I saw them at the store, but they can bend time a little if they want to. (I suspect they can bend time a lot if they want to, but I’ve never asked, and we Interims never heard about it.)
“Oh, yeah,” Ingrid says, “and your other sisters called. Hans answered.”
Oh, great. They had to talk to a six-year-old.
“He told them you were working, then Leif took the phone and told them you’d call back. I think he hung up too quick, but what do I know?” Ingrid smooths peanut butter on both slices of bread, then slams them together. She licks off her fingers before putting the lid back on the jar.
I’m holding my breath. I force myself to breathe out.
“And your drama teacher called. She says the information you sent to rehearsal was strange but fun. I took that call. She says she’ll talk to you on Monday.” Ingrid takes a bite out of the sandwich. “Oof. Mned mill.”
She heads into the refrigerator room.
I watch her, my head spinning.
As she comes back holding a carton of milk, she waves it at me. “Want some?”
“No, thanks,” I say, even though my mouth is dry. “What information?”
“Huh?” She gets a cup off the kids’ shelf, which has plastic cups and things for them to use. Then she pours herself some milk.
“You said that I sent information…?”
“Some people showed up and gave your teacher information on Troy? Helen? Something.”
“Helen of Troy,” I say, closing my eyes.
“Yes!” Ingrid points her cup at me, almost sloshing the milk out of it. “That’s the one. Your teacher says it was funny and theatrical and she had no idea you knew such talented people.”
“What?” I ask.
“I guess your friends put on some kind of show for her? They were dressed like Agent Carter, or something. That’s what your teacher says.”
“Agent Carter from the TV show?” I ask. We’ve all been watching it.
“Yeah, like that.” Ingrid takes another bite out of her sandwich.
The Fates. They saw Mrs. Schmidt too.
My heart sinks. I finally understand how they’re doing it. They haven’t left the library at all. They’re sending parts of themselves to investigate and report back, probably because they don’t trust anyone else to investigate for them, not with Zeus involved.
“Oh!” Ingrid says, talking with her mouth full. “N therz sumun feroo ina lavnrum.”
“What?” I ask.
She holds up a finger, then drinks the entire cup of milk. She wipes off her mouth with the back of her hand, then looks at me.
“Don’t tell Mom I did that,” she says.
“I won’t,” I say. “What did you just say?”
“I asked you not to tell Mom—”
“Before that. When you were chewing and talking at the same time.”
She makes a face at me. She knows she’s not supposed to talk while eating, and she didn’t make me promise to be quiet about that, although I will. It seems like a minor offense.
“There’s someone waiting for you in the living room,” she says.
“Why didn’t you tell me that right away?” I ask. Can this day get any worse?
“I needed lunch,” she says. “Besides it’s been weird, and I had to tell you—”
“Who is in the living room?” I ask, hoping it’s not more versions of the Fates.
“Some weird guy with long hair, and his wife. They’ve been here since you called.”
“And you didn’t tell me then?”
“Ivan answered the phone, remember?” Ingrid peers at me. It would be a good effect if it weren’t for her milk mustache. “He hung up before I could tell him.”
I sigh. I don’t know any weird guy with long hair, but I’m sure I will.
I thank Ingrid because, you know, be-nice, and I sling my coat over my arm. Then I head for the living room and the next disaster that waits for me, whatever it is.
Hilde sits at the dining room table. She clutches a battered Barbie doll in each hand. They bob and bounce as she talks to herself, playing with them.
I stare at her for a moment. I don’t remember ever playing like that, making things up about toys or having quiet moments with myself. Someone always watched because I or Tiff or Crystal would set a leaf on fire or make an ant grow to five times its normal size.
Then whoever found us would always yell at us, reverse the spell, and try to get us to stop using our magic. Finally, Athena stepped in and found a few old mages who taught us rudimentary spells.
Hilde doesn’t even notice me. Her dolls’ whispered conv
ersation is apparently a lot more important than anything I’m doing. I smile at her anyway, and take the remaining steps to the living room.
A couple sits on the couch, with their backs to me. He has long brown hair, tied with a leather cord. Her hair is red, but not as fiery red as Crystal’s.
“Megan?” I ask quietly.
She stands and faces me. She’s changed from her sweats to a pretty, pale green summer sweater and some flattering black pants.
The man beside her stands too. He’s wearing an LA Clippers sweatshirt over a pair of skin-tight jeans, and he looks gorgeous, as always. His narrow face has high cheekbones and his dark brown eyes are filled with intelligence.
We three girls mooned over him for weeks after we had met him.
Megan’s husband, Rob Chapeau.
The original Robin Hood.
Which is a long story, and Megan says I don’t know the half of it. I suspect I don’t know an eighth of it, but I also know that it’s none of my business. They’re meant for each other, and they look it.
“I asked Rob to help me reach you,” Megan says. “He couldn’t quite locate you, so I had him bring me here.”
Megan hasn’t come into her magic yet, if she ever will. She is one of the strongest empaths anyone has ever met, but simple magic—spells and transportation and transformations?—she can’t do them at all.
But Rob’s been doing them for centuries.
“Do you need me to leave?” he asks.
He’s very respectful of boundaries. He often brings Megan to Superior for our therapy sessions, but he’s never even in the building when I arrive—except one time, after she had some trouble with Crystal and was running late.
Megan glances up at him, apparently about to answer, but I speak faster.
“You may as well stay,” I say. “I’m not going to confess to anything private, and this is such a mess, I’m sure it’ll be the topic of conversation around Mount Olympus for years.”
“Still,” Rob says to me. “I never go to Mount Olympus. I come from a different history and tradition. If you don’t want me to stay—”
“Please,” I say. “It’s not important.”
“Actually, it is.” Megan slips her arm around Rob and pulls him into a sideways hug. “Can you give us a few minutes? I’m sure the little girl who wanted you to play Barbies still has her dolls.”
I smile. “That’s Hilde. And she likes handsome men like you, hottie.”
Rob flushes, like he always does when I call him “hottie.” I’ve done it from the start, but back then, I was angry and disrespectful. Now, Mom would probably have my head for disrespecting Rob.
But I have to keep a little of my edge.
“I’m not that good at Barbies,” he says. “But I’ll see if someone can get me that coffee your sister—Inga?—”
“Ingrid,” I say.
“Ingrid mentioned,” he finishes. He kisses the top of Megan’s head, then lets her go. He ambles into the kitchen, and I can’t help myself. I watch him go.
After he’s out of earshot, I say to Megan, “I’m sorry, but he’s still the best-looking man I’ve ever seen.”
She smiles. “I’m not going to correct you. Especially since I agree with you.”
She sweeps her hand toward the couch. It’s saggy in the middle, and the edges have been clawed to shreds by the cats. It’s covered with dog hair, mostly Beauregard’s.
I don’t see any of the dogs, which means that Leif or Ivan have taken them upstairs, to keep them away from the guests.
The Johnson Family is nothing if not polite.
I don’t sit next to her. I can’t. I sit on the matching (and equally saggy) armchair that half-faces the dining room door.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” Megan says as she sits down. “Your father caught me off guard. If I had known that he was planning something, I would have been prepared.”
I can’t quite tell, but it seems that she thinks I knew Daddy was up to something.
“He surprised me too,” I say. “I hadn’t seen him since we were all in Los Angeles.”
She shakes her head slightly. “And yet he was watching you.”
“I guess so,” I say. “He knew about the house and the play and the job.”
“He never learns,” Megan says, more to herself than to me. “Or, rather, he learns the wrong things. He tried different approaches with Tiffany and Crystal. I should have expected him to try something new with you.”
“It’s okay.” I’m surprisingly calm, for me. For the drama queen. Except for that moment when I got back and I was thinking about the phone, I haven’t teared up at all.
I don’t even feel any tears lurking, not even when I think about the phone. (If those tears were about the phone, which I kinda doubt.)
Megan is watching me closely.
“It is okay, isn’t it?” she says to me with obvious surprise. She knows what I’m feeling and how not-upset I am.
I nod. I have to explain because she can’t read minds, although it seems like it sometimes.
“We’re in a process now,” I say. “And the Fates know what they’re doing.”
Megan frowns at me. “You’re familiar with this process?”
I nod. “The advocacy system. It’s really complicated. When Tiff and Crystal and I were Interim Fates, we had to get some help when advocates came to us. Mostly, we decided it was best to send out someone experienced but not a Power That Is or Be or, you know what I mean.”
“I know.” Megan smiles. English doesn’t always work well with our various magical titles.
“We didn’t know that you could split yourself into groups and investigate on your own. It would’ve gotten us out of the library.” I sigh.
“That’s what the Fates are doing? They’re investigating?”
“They’re bound by the advocacy system,” I say. “They have to make a decision based on evidence. Daddy’s forced them into a tight position, again.”
“Because he feels that you are being mistreated.” Megan sighs. “He can’t see beyond the superficial, can he?”
I shrug. I can’t control Daddy. I can’t even control my own life. I just have to go with it. Be like a willow in the wind, as one of Karl’s favorite songs says. You have to bend so that you don’t break.
“Are you unhappy here?” Megan asks.
I give her a withering look. “You should know.”
She shakes her head. “I know how hard this has all been for you. But I want to know how you feel deep down about being here.”
I look around. The scruffy furniture, the toys on the floor, the battered lamps, the half-finished walls, they’re not what the Johnson Family Manse is all about. It’s about the chaotic dinners and being nice and learning how to be better people and finding a quiet corner even when everyone’s home.
“I like it here,” I say.
“And you said that,” Megan mutters to herself. Then she peers over at me. “Didn’t you? When we were talking to the Fates?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “It was so weird, and Daddy wants me to go back to Mount Olympus. I mean, he’s pulling out all the stops.”
Megan leans back, and then nearly tumbles into the saggy part of the couch. She braces herself with her left hand and moves slightly to the right.
“I should’ve warned you,” I say.
“It’s all right.” She scooches even farther to the right, but she’s still in danger of toppling into the saggy part of the couch.
I start to get up to help her, but she waves me back.
She says, “I didn’t ask—and I don’t know—what happens if the Fates decide your father is right?”
I sit up straighter. No one has ever really asked me about Fate information before. I’m not sure what I’m allowed to say and what I’m not allowed to say.
But I’m talking about me, and I’m alone with Megan. So I guess I lied to Rob. I am having a private conversation after all.
“If they decide Dad
dy has a case and I’m being mistreated,” I say, “then the Fates will reinstate me.”
“As an Interim Fate?” Megan asks.
“No, they’d need to change Tiffany’s and Crystal’s lives then, and Daddy didn’t advocate for them. Did he?” I peer at her.
“No,” she says. “I can’t tell you what he did to them, but they can tell you.”
“Something with Tiff’s magic,” I say, “and he kidnapped Crystal.”
“Not exactly, but yes,” Megan says. “He did something different with them than he did with you.”
“So if he didn’t advocate for them,” I say, “then nothing will change for them. Just for me.”
“What does reinstatement mean?” Megan asks.
I bite my lower lip, and shrug one shoulder. “I don’t know for sure, but it’s probably what he asked for. I’ll get my magic back and I’ll move to Mount Olympus.”
“Where you’ll do what?” Megan asks.
“Be ignored by my dad again, probably,” I say. “He just wants to win.”
“He seems genuinely concerned,” Megan says.
“For his daughter,” I say.
“Yes,” Megan says. “You.”
“No,” I say again. “His daughter. Someone connected to him. Not for me. He doesn’t know me. He hasn’t even really talked to me.”
Megan threads her fingers together, then taps her index fingers against her lips. “And I can’t advocate for you.”
She didn’t ask a question, but I answer her anyway.
“It’s too late,” I say. “They’ve already investigated.”
“And their decision is final?” Megan asks.
I blink hard, expecting tears. There are none. I’m still strangely calm.
“They’re the Fates,” I say. “No one can overrule them.”
“Well, that’s just wrong,” Megan says.
“Now you sound like Daddy,” I say.
She frowns at me. “No need to get insulting.”
“Sorry,” I say.
“It’s all right.” She stands. “We need to get Rob. And we need to find your mother. She has to know what’s going on.”
I stand too, and wipe the dog hair off my jeans. The back of Megan’s pants is coated in various kinds of hair. I almost tell her, then decide there’s too much to get off without some serious roller time.
Brittany Bends Page 13
