“Rob,” she calls.
“Just a second,” he says from the kitchen.
We look at each other. He emerges without any coffee. I hadn’t smelled any either.
His amazingly handsome face is scrunched into a frown. (He looks hot even when he’s frowning. Megan is sooo lucky.)
“We have a problem,” he says.
“I know,” Megan says. “The Fates—”
“Not the Fates,” he says. “Well, yes, the Fates, but not the way that you think.”
I don’t like his tone.
“What do you mean?” Megan asks.
“Brittany’s mom,” Rob says. “Remember when we got here, Ingrid told us their mom disappeared.”
“Yes,” Megan says.
“She literally disappeared. I was talking to Hilde—”
“She’s four, Rob,” Megan says dismissively.
“—and she kept insisting that Mommy went poof! like some character from some movie I don’t know,” he says. “I remembered what Ingrid said, so I ran a see-spell, and there it was. One minute Brittany’s mom was talking to Hilde, and the next, she had vanished, right out of the dining room. That’s what Hilde’s dolls have been discussing. That’s why Hilde wanted to talk to us. She wanted grown-ups to know.”
I let out a small breath. A see-spell recreates a moment, exactly as it happened.
“Did Hilde look at the see-spell?” I ask.
“I’m not an amateur, Miss Interim Fate,” Rob says.
“And I’m not an Interim Fate anymore,” I say.
“That was a Fate question,” he says.
I don’t like his tone. “No,” I say. “That’s a sister question. And she doesn’t know about magic.”
“She’s four,” Megan says. “Their brains are pretty elastic at that age.”
“It sounds like she’s shocked,” I say.
“She’s okay,” Megan says, but I walk past her.
Hilde’s still in the dining room, and the dolls are bouncing as they talk quietly to each other.
“Are you worried about Mom, Hilde?” I ask.
She looks up at me and then nods.
“Would it make you feel better if I go get her?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says in a tiny voice.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll do that. It might take some time, but I’ll make sure she comes home, all right?”
“K,” she says, and sets her dolls down. She slides off the bench seat and runs toward me. She body slams me with such force I almost fall backward. But I stay upright, because she’s hugging me, and she’s never hugged me like this before.
I put my hands on her tiny shoulders. She’s shaking.
I ease out of her grip and crouch.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I promise. I’ll bring her back safe.”
“Without the scary ladies?” Hilde asks.
“Without the scary ladies,” I say, mentally cursing the Fates.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“You’re welcome,” I say, and kiss her messy hair. “I love you, Hilde.”
“Love you too, Brit,” she says. “Bring Mommy back.”
“I will, as soon as you let me go.”
She squeezes extra hard, then steps back. She gets a fierce look on her small face and glares over my shoulder. I turn slightly.
Megan and Rob are standing there, watching.
“Brit will do it,” Hilde says and there’s blame in her voice. Apparently, she thought she had asked them. “You help.”
“We will,” Megan says.
“Swear,” Hilde says.
I frown, wondering what swearing has to do with it. But Megan gives her a gentle smile.
“I swear,” Megan says.
Then Hilde nods and grabs her dolls.
“Make Mommy wake me when she gets home,” she says, and walks, proudly, into the kitchen.
I watch her go.
“The scary ladies took Mom,” I say. “They’ve been everywhere today.”
“All without leaving home,” Rob says, sounding disgusted. He never liked the Fates much. Not many mages do.
“Take me to Mom,” I say to Rob.
He claps his hands together. “To the Fates!”
And away we go.
FOURTEEN
WE ARRIVE IN the stacks. The bookshelves run from floor to ceiling. Dust motes float around us, disturbed by our arrival.
A few feet from us, a man and a woman yell at each other, their voices echoing down the rows and rows of books.
Megan grabs my arm, probably to hold me back, but I shake her off and walk to the edge of the row.
It opens into the big main room. I don’t see the Fates. Their couches are empty. Their mule slippers are lined up by end tables I hadn’t seen before, as if waiting for the Fates to return.
Daddy stands in the center of the room, his arms crossed in front of his round chest.
Mom stands only a few feet from him. She’s using the index finger of her right hand as emphasis, pointing at Daddy’s massive nose.
“You. Will. Not. Take. Her. Away. From. Me. Again.” Each time she says a word, she jabs at his face.
Daddy just leans back as the finger gets closer to him.
“Face it, Kathy,” he says. “You can’t take care of her.”
My breath catches. They’re talking about me. They’re arguing over me.
“Kathy?” Mom says, her voice rising. “Kathy?”
“Katie?” Daddy asks, sounding unperturbed.
“Are you kidding me?” Mom asks.
Daddy shrugs, his I-can’t-be-responsible-for-everything shrug. “You pretty blondes. You all look alike.”
Mom starts to launch herself at him, then stops. She lets her arm drop. It’s almost like she puts on her mom-self, her grown-up self. Her be-nice self.
She takes a deep breath and says in a voice that isn’t mad but isn’t calm either, “My name is Karin. I am the mother of your daughter Brittany, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“I haven’t forgotten Brittany,” Daddy says, “although it’s amazing how much she looks like you.”
Mom rolls her eyes.
Megan comes up behind me and leans forward. “You might not want to watch this,” she says softly.
I ignore her. I do want to watch this. I want to see everything.
“It’s amazing how little she’s like you,” Mom says. “She’s nice and considerate and loving. And that’s all on her, since you did nothing to raise her.”
“That’s not true,” Daddy says. “I gave her the best possible care.”
“You didn’t even know her name until this summer,” Mom says.
“I—I—I did too,” Daddy says unconvincingly.
My heart sinks. Of course, he didn’t know. He didn’t care either.
“She’s my daughter,” Mom says. “I’ve done everything I can to raise her from far away. She’s living with me now, and she’s going to stay.”
“Not when the Fates figure out how you’re raising her,” Daddy says. “Slave labor, impersonating a mass murderer, living in a hovel—”
“Enough!” The Fates appear in front of their couches. They’re wearing black robes and those rolled wig things that British judges wear in all the movies. The wigs trail over their shoulders, and don’t seem to fit properly.
But, come to think of it, they don’t fit actors well in the movies either.
Still, Atropos’s dark hair peeks out around her wig and Lachesis has kept her red hair long. Only Clotho’s hair is completely tucked under the wig.
“We have the floor now,” Clotho says. She’s holding a gavel as well. Daddy looks at it warily.
“Brittany, Megan, Robin,” Lachesis says.
“Please join us,” Atropos finishes.
We glance at each other. My heart is pounding. I step forward. Megan’s a few steps behind me, and Rob stays at her side.
Mom lets out a huge sigh and extends her hand to me. “I was worried about you. You
r father said he had no idea where you were.”
I glare at him. “Liar,” I say.
“I didn’t know,” he says. “I didn’t send you back.”
“Then how do you know I went back?” I ask.
“Enough!” All three Fates speak together for the second time.
“You will listen,” Clotho says, shaking the gavel at us.
Lachesis puts her hands on her hips, bunching the robe over her wrists. “Zeus has appeared before us, not as a Power nor as a father, but as an advocate.”
“A what?” Mom whispers to me.
I shake my head. I can’t explain it quickly and besides, the Fates would think it rude.
“We are duty bound to investigate the claims of any advocate,” Atropos says.
I take Mom’s hand. She glances at me, startled, then threads her fingers through mine and squeezes.
Megan and Rob hang back, and Daddy straightens, as if he’s already proud of the decision.
Clotho looks at me. “We have investigated.”
“And we are appalled,” Lachesis says.
Atropos glares at Mom. “You are raising the daughter of a man some consider to be a god. You keep her in medieval conditions.”
“What?” Mom asks.
“Making her sleep in a closet,” Clotho says.
“Forcing her to lift and lower boxes for hours,” Lachesis says.
“What?” Mom asks.
Megan shushes her.
I squeeze Mom’s hand, hoping she’ll be quiet. She can make the Fates even angrier and then things’ll get really bad.
Not that they’re good.
“And letting an ignorant woman display her as if she’s a trophy for a bigoted man,” Atropos says.
“Huh?” Rob mutters.
“Doctor Faustus,” Megan whispers. “They’re not fond of Marlowe.”
“Who is?” Rob whispers back.
“Brittany deserves better,” Clotho says.
“She has been ill-treated by both parents,” Lachesis says.
Mom makes a soft sound of dismay.
“She shall return, with her powers intact, to Mount Olympus,” Atropos says.
“And she shall be a full adult,” Clotho says.
“Beholden to no one,” Lachesis says.
Atropos raises her chin, and intones, “Our decision shall stand—”
“No!” I step forward. Megan grabs my arm. Mom hasn’t let go of my hand. “Mom hasn’t treated me badly. You’re being unfair.”
All three Fates swivel their heads so fast that their wigs go askew in the exact same direction.
“How dare you question us,” Clotho says.
“I dare because I know how the advocacy system works.” I’m standing as close as I can. I’m shaking, but I’m not scared. I hate how they’re treating Mom.
She loves me. She does her best. And she’s done nothing wrong.
“I know that I have the right to present evidence on my own behalf,” I say. “You haven’t spoken to me.”
“We spoke to you,” Lachesis says.
“This very afternoon,” Atropos says.
“Before Daddy declared himself an advocate,” I say.
Megan lets out a small breath. Mom reaches for me with her other hand, but I shake her off, disentangling our fingers entirely.
“I love living with Mom,” I say. “I have a good life there. You don’t understand it, any more than you understand cell phones.”
“We knew what they were when you said telephone,” Clotho says.
“No, you didn’t,” I say. “You don’t know the difference between a landline and a cell.”
“It is irrelevant,” Lachesis says.
“Brittany,” Rob says quietly, “you’re not helping.”
“Shut up, hottie,” I say.
“Brit,” Mom says, and I can hear the disapproval in her tone. “Be nice.”
“No!” I turn toward her. “There’s a time for nice, and then there’s a time to stand up for yourself.”
“Do it nicely, honey,” Mom says.
All three Fates are looking at her like she’s lost her mind.
“For me,” Mom says.
Daddy rolls his eyes. “I remember you now. Miss Goody Two-shoes. Boy, were you work to get into bed. But once—”
“ENOUGH!” All three Fates shout.
Daddy takes a step backward. He puts up his hands as if the words were flying knives or something.
I step into the spot he vacated. “Knowing the difference between a landline and a cell is not irrelevant. None of it is. You don’t understand modern life. I’m in a play, which you do understand, even though you pretend not to. I know, because you lectured Mrs. Schmidt on Helen of Troy, didn’t you?”
The Fates stare at me.
“Didn’t you?” I say.
“Well,” Atropos says, “if she’s going to depict Helen of Troy, she should do so properly.”
“We can’t abide errors,” Clotho says.
“Then stop abiding this one.” I’m shaking, I’m so mad. “Daddy’s lying to you. He always lies, and you know it. I’m in a closet, yes, because Mom and Karl are building me a brand new bedroom. I opted for the closet because I wanted to be alone. Otherwise, I could have bunked with my sisters Lise and Anna.”
“Is this so?” Lachesis asks Mom.
Mom looks at me. She knows that Lise and Anna didn’t want to room with me either, because of the pets and because I was crying all the time. I wish I had telepathy or magic right now, because I’d let her know not to say anything about that.
“Yes,” Mom says, still looking at me. “Yes, that’s so.”
“You saw the room they’re building,” I say. “Ingrid told me that they showed it to you. Why were you ignoring it?”
“It is not completed yet,” Atropos says. “You need it now. They should finish it.”
“This is exactly what I mean,” I say. “The Johnson Family has no magic. Building things takes time.”
“How much time?” Clotho asks.
“Well,” Mom starts.
“Months,” I say over her. I don’t care if I’m wrong. The Fates don’t get to make a decision because Daddy bamboozled them.
“That’s unacceptable,” Daddy says.
The Fates don’t even look at him. They’re still staring at me.
“And my job,” I say. “I’m the one who wanted a job, and frankly, in the Greater World, I’m not qualified for anything else. I only had to lift boxes today. I’m supposed to learn how to work with customers and run the cash register and do stuff that isn’t manual labor, but you’re making sure I can’t. And those are valuable skills.”
“If you’re mortal,” Lachesis says.
“You said I still have my magic,” I say.
“Before your father declared his advocacy, yes, we did,” Atropos says.
“But now we have ruled that you may have your magic back immediately,” Clotho says.
“You want that, right?” Lachesis says, raising her hands. She’s going to give me my magic back at this very moment.
“No,” I say. “I don’t want it.”
The room is suddenly so quiet that I can hear Daddy breathing. He sounds like a bull about to charge.
“Of course you want it,” he says after a moment. “She has no idea what she’s saying. She needs her magic. She is the daughter of a god, after all, and—”
“I’m the daughter of a has-been god,” I say as I turn to him. “You’re not a god any more. You’re a myth.”
“I am not,” he says.
“I can show you book after book after book,” I say, “in dozens of languages, all calling you a myth.”
“I’m real,” Daddy says.
“Maybe,” I say, “but no one worships you anymore.”
“Harsh,” Atropos says to Lachesis.
“Indeed,” Clotho says to Atropos.
“In most realms you are forgotten,” Lachesis says to Daddy.
“We al
l are,” Atropos says.
“It is a sad commentary on modern life,” Clotho says.
“Or maybe, that’s just the way the world works,” I say. “Out with the old—”
Megan touches my arm. “Probably not a good idea to finish that,” she says so softly that I can barely hear her.
My cheeks flush.
Lachesis frowns at me. “You do not want your magic.”
“Not until I deserve it,” I say. “I need to be wise enough to use it properly. You know that.”
Mom’s eyes are filled with tears. Daddy’s face is red. Rob has moved to the very back of the room, but Megan stays at my side.
“How do we know that you will be well treated?” Atropos asks me.
I think for a minute. They can’t see past the paint and the falling down house and the boxes in the store. How can they know?
Then a realization hits me. “You guys believe in love, right?”
“We are the guardians of true love,” Clotho says.
“You should know that. Did you and your sisters forget that when you wore our shoes?” Lachesis asks.
“No,” I say. “That’s why Daddy objected to you. Because of true love, right?”
“Right.” Atropos’s head is tilted slightly. “Why do you ask?”
“Because if you believe in true love, then you believe in familial love too, right?” I ask, hoping that is right, because we never discussed familial love, and my family—my Ancient Greek family—isn’t the best at the familial stuff.
“But of course we believe in familial love,” Clotho says.
“We spend all day every day with each other,” Lachesis says.
“We are sisters, just like you and yours,” Atropos says.
“I have a lot of sisters,” I say. “And I have one I’ve just gotten to know.”
I turn, hoping this will work.
“Rob,” I say, my gaze meeting his. “Can you do a see-spell for me? Can you show them Hilde?”
“She shouldn’t come here,” Mom says, sounding panicked.
“She won’t,” I say, putting my hand on her arm. “She won’t even know she’s being discussed.”
“Just give me some room,” Rob says.
He steps onto the bare spot in front of the rug. Me, Mom, and Megan, we step back. Daddy, of course, won’t budge.
His nostrils have flared, and it looks like tiny wisps of white smoke are actually coming out of his ears.
Brittany Bends Page 14
