“What’s happening?” I whisper to Astrid, and I’m suddenly scared, because it looks like something bad is happening and it’s because of me and I have no idea why.
Callie squeezes between the men and darts into the room. Astrid then asks Callie in a low voice to take me into the next room and lock the door behind us.
I don’t want to go, but Callie has a very tight grip for such a slender girl. Once she has done as her mother requested, she says, “Well. This is interesting.”
I let loose a nearly hysterical laugh at this. Interesting, indeed. “You think?” And then, staring at the door, “Do you know what’s going on?”
She shakes her head. “Whatever it is, it’s big,” says the master of the obvious. “Mom is pissed. So are the boys and Karl, who looks like he’s going to bite off his tongue from not saying what he wants to. Not to mention, Aunt Kate was practically frothing at the mouth on the way up.”
“They sent us away,” I stress, pointing at the door. “Like we are little kids who can’t handle whatever is going on!” Callie opens her mouth to say something, but I bulldoze right over her. “They’re talking about me out there. Me.”
The look she gives me could wither forests. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Do you know what it’s like to be constantly treated like some kind of fragile thing?” I point at her. “Hovered over, babysat, protected within an inch of my life at all times?”
“Nope,” she answers, popping the final consonant. “As a matter of fact, I don’t. But gosh, it sounds awful. People caring about your welfare, ensuring your safety? That blows, Chloe. Effing bastards. How dare they?” And it’s done flatly, with an eyebrow raised in scorn.
“You don’t understand,” I say, and it’s her turn to cut me off.
She’s pissed. “Maybe I don’t. But I do know that, right now, you’re in here because people want to keep you safe. Those people out there care enough about you that you ought to be thanking them, not bitching about how unfair it is. And pardon me, but I got the very distinct impression earlier that you don’t exactly have the coziest relationship with your parents. So I’m thinking you ought to be pleased you have my family out there standing up for whatever it is the Guard thinks you’ve done.”
She’s right, and yet, she’s not. “I can fight my own battles.”
“Everybody can,” she says, eyes narrowed. “Yet sometimes it’s okay to let others help. That’s what family does, Chloe.”
“They’re—” I pause.
“They’re, what? Not your family?” She’s right in my face. “Huh. Well, let’s see. You’re going to marry Jonah and no matter what anyone says, he’s as much Astrid’s son as I’m her daughter. Which makes her your future in-law, who, I ought to point out, has done nothing but think of your feelings and situation over the last few months while being deprived of time with her kid.”
I take a step closer. “I didn’t know about that until yesterday!”
“Then you’re clearly a selfish moron for not figuring it out sooner.”
I so want to rip that shiny shampoo commercial hair out by the roots.
She sighs through her nose. “Look, I don’t want to fight with you, Chloe. Believe it or not, I’m not against you. Like I said, I want us to . . . you know, make this work. And part of that is having me call you out on your bullshit, which is what I’d do for anybody in my life that I care about.”
My eyebrows shoot up in skeptical disbelief.
“Okay, so I’m not exactly on board yet with loving you or anything, but I’m here trying. You need to meet me half-way.” She is so like Cora. How are they not best buds already?
It’s my turn to sigh. It’s like pulling teeth, but I tell her, “Fine. So you have some good points.” A small smile graces her lips, so I add, “It’s not like I’m ungrateful. I just . . . I feel helpless. And I don’t like feeling like that, you know?”
“I do know,” she says quietly. “Believe me, better than you’d expect.” I give her a questioning look, and she continues, “Everybody important in my life, everyone who matters—they’re all Magicals. And I’m a non. I’m the black sheep of this family, Chloe. I’m the sore thumb, third wheel, square peg, whatever. And you know what? They’re still there for me. So . . . I get that.” She runs her fingers through her hair before shaking her head. “But I also get you’re a Creator who doesn’t need this kind of pity woe-is-me party. Jesus. Has it not even occurred to you to make yourself some kind of spyware right now? You’ve spent the better part of the last five minutes bitching when you could’ve been listening in.”