Crystal Caves by Kristine Grayson Read Free Book Online Page B

was longer than she would have expected.
    Me, I expected to stay resolved for the rest of my life. Brit would probably have said (nicely, because Brit’s usually nice) that my expectations of myself are always unrealistic.
    Megan would’ve added that I let my sisters define me, even when they’re not here. And then I have to remind myself that I’m not going to think about Megan ever again.
    Dinner’s at eight, which, E says, is the title of some old song. Occasionally Fabe sings part of it, because he thinks waiting until eight is really stupid, particularly when Mother and Owen fail to show up.
    Rumors of their appearance at dinner tonight started at 5 p.m., but we’re never confident they’ll arrive until they actually take their places at the head and foot of the table. (Sometimes they even argue about who’s at the head and who’s at the foot.)
    I’ve cadged a seat in the formal dining room that lets me stare out the windows, even when the sun is setting. It makes the buildings gold for a few minutes before the city goes dark—or dark-ish, because the artificial lights keep it constantly lighter than any other place I’ve ever lived. (Make that Mount Olympus.)
    Tonight, the artificial lights are up already. Because we’re in a penthouse, we can keep the windows uncovered if we want to. One clue that Mother and Owen will actually show is that the staff is using the remotes to darken the windows so no one—no bird, no helicopter, no drone, no person with binoculars in another penthouse across the way—can look in.
    Danny says that’s to prevent paparazzi (a word I learned week one) from photographing us, but E says it’s really to prevent some sniper from taking out Owen. I think both of them are fanciful. I grew up with really famous people, and no one tried to kill them.
    Okay, not entirely true. If you look closely at my family’s history, you’ll see that they’re constantly trying to kill each other. But the key phrase is “each other.” I have a lot of family: more, Brit says, than the population of that Midwestern town where she lives.
    Of course, we’ll get a bad apple or two. (And my sisters would’ve giggled at that, since the Trojan War started when another of our sisters, Eris, tossed a golden apple on a family dinner table and said it was for the fairest. They don’t call Eris the Goddess of Discord for nothing. Megan’s been worried that we’d end up as nasty as Eris is. The Fates had to deal with her long before we became Interim Fates. But that’s another story.)
    When the housekeeper expects Mother to show for dinner, she makes us dress up. Or at least not wear blue jeans. Since the jeans I’ve been wearing today have a fried-onion-and-potato stain, I don’t mind changing.
    I put on an unapproved forest green skirt with an ivory top, and some gold bangles that Athena gave me before I left. I’m not going to tell anyone that I’ve checked out mentally, but I am going to rebel just a little.
    And, if I’m being really honest with myself, I’m also testing Mother. I want to see if she notices that I’m wearing my favorite colors, not hers.
    When I get to the table, E’s sitting in his usual spot. Normally, he has a thick textbook or some kind of dedicated ereader, but tonight, he has nothing. His mouth is in a tense line, his thin face looks worried.
    Danny, Fabe, and Gordon haven’t shown up yet. I sit in my usual spot and look first at the head of the table, then at the foot.
    “You think they’ll show?” Even though I’ve decided to become my own person, I don’t want Mother to hear me gossiping about her.
    “They’re already here,” E says. “Dinner might be delayed.”
    I frown, about to ask him why, when Mother’s voice carries across the large room.
    “ There you are,” she says. I turn toward her, expecting her to be looking at the three younger boys, but she’s staring at me as if I’ve been missing instead of watching television in my room for the