Crystal Caves by Kristine Grayson Page B

You might think you’re ancient and wise because your father gave you a job that no child should have, but you’re not. You’re just a spoiled brat who has no idea how to behave in the real world.”
    I open my mouth, but the words don’t come. I don’t think of myself as ancient or wise and maybe I was a spoiled brat when I had magic, but I don’t feel like one now, and this certainly isn’t the real world.
    I’m so shocked at all she’s said that I don’t know where to start.
    “This isn’t the real world,” I hear myself say.
    “Oh, yes, it is. It’s where everyone but your privileged family lives.” Mother’s too-smooth cheeks are growing red. She’s as angry as I am. “I know how to negotiate this world. You don’t.”
    “And you won’t teach me,” I say. “I talk to Tiff and Brit every weekend, and they say their moms are teaching them about this world. You barely talk to me.”
    “I have people who can teach you. And you’re going to school,” Mother says.
    “That’s not the same!” I shout this last part. They can probably hear me in the dining room, but I don’t care. “You’re supposed to be happy that I’m here. Tiff’s mom is ecstatic and—”
    “Serena was always a bit of a bore about her daughter,” Mother says, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Serena always felt she gave her daughter up under false pretenses.”
    I feel like Mother punched me in the stomach. I can’t catch my breath and I’m a bit nauseous. “But you don’t?”
    “Oh, honey.” Mother uses that condescending tone she usually reserves for the staff—oh, excuse me , I mean her people . “I never intended to have a child in the first place.”
    “And somehow you ended up with five of them,” I say.
    “Oh.” She waves her hands. The bangles jingle. “I planned Ethan. I loved his father. And I love Owen too. We didn’t really plan on Gordon, but we weren’t going to argue with the pregnancy, considering how wonderfully well the others turned out.”
    Really? Because they’re total jerks, I almost say, but don’t. (I have no idea how I don’t, but I don’t.)
    That gut-punch feeling is growing stronger. I almost double over, but I can’t. I’m not going to let her see how I feel.
    “You just didn’t intend to have me,” I say.
    “I thought I’ve been clear about that. Your father was a mistake, darling. He was charming and he probably magicked me, I mean, I generally don’t go for short men—”
    “No,” I snap, “you just go for powerful ones, and there’s no one more powerful than my father.”
    She stops and looks at me, really looks at me, like she’s never really seen me before. “You do know that all this magic talk is nonsense, right? Because magic doesn’t exist.”
    “Then explain all the things you saw when you visited Mount Olympus,” I say.
    “You’d be surprised at what technology can do,” she says. “Holograms, virtual reality, even the judicious use of video can make anyone believe anything. Particularly if there’s alcohol involved.”
    I’m shaking. The pressure on my chest is so intense, I can barely take a breath. I’m too young to have a heart attack, right? Because the symptoms seem the same.
    “That’s what you tell yourself?” I ask, happy that my voice isn’t shaking as badly as the rest of me. “That Daddy plied you with drink and you ended up pregnant?”
    “To my shame, yes,” Mother says.
    “And I’m just an example of your shame.” My voice is getting even stronger.
    She shrugs one shoulder and inclines her head slightly, as if she expects me to understand. “When you get older, you’ll realize that most women—forgive me, most people —don’t want to revisit their one-night-stands.”
    “Even if there’s a child involved,” I say.
    “Even if,” she says. “Usually, in the real world, one person ends up with custody of the child.”
    “The mother.” I’ve seen the movies. I know. “The father doesn’t usually get