A Book of Spirits and Thieves (Spirits and Thieves #1)(36)

Her mother sighed with frustration. “I think you enjoy baiting me. You’re as argumentative as your father.”

Crys couldn’t keep her secret in another moment. If she did, she was going to explode, and that wouldn’t be pretty. She shoved her glasses higher on her nose. “I spoke to him yesterday.”

The room seemed to grow ten degrees colder in seconds as Julia turned from the window to face Crys. “You what?”

Crys hated the lump that had knotted itself up in her throat. She wanted to be strong while she confronted her mother about this. “Why didn’t you tell me he was still in Toronto?”

“Unbelievable.” She rubbed her forehead as if a migraine had just landed. “You were listening to me and Jackie the other night?”

“Nefarious methods, Mom. Sometimes they’re necessary.”

“Fine. Yes, your father is in Toronto, but he may as well be a million miles away. He doesn’t want to see you or Becca—”

“But I did see him. He met me at the art gallery yesterday.”

Her mother gaped at her, her face going nearly as pale as Becca’s. “I don’t know what to say to that. I have no words.”

“I have words. Plenty of them.” Anger burned now, bright as a small sun trapped inside her chest. “You gave him the ultimatum. You’re the one who made him choose between us and his society.”

“Yes. I did,” she said, raising her chin. “And he chose wrong.”

“But why did he have to choose? Couldn’t he—?”

“No, he couldn’t have both.” She cut Crys off, her tone harsh. “You have no idea what you’re butting your nose into, young lady. No idea at all.”

“Really? Don’t I?” Crys pointed at Becca. “I was there when this happened. You weren’t. I have a pretty good idea that there’s something insane going on that you know about, and you’re not telling me a goddamned thing!”

“Language,” her mother growled. But if she wanted Crys to be a prim and proper lady who never swore, she was living in the wrong century. “So, what lies did your father fill your head with, Crystal? Did he try to turn you against me?”

“No. But maybe now that I’ve heard his side of things, I’m wondering if I wouldn’t be better off living with him.”

She blanched. “Over my dead body. If you knew the truth about him . . . about us . . .”

“News flash, Mother. The truth is exactly what I’m trying to learn.” Crys laughed, a dry, brittle sound that held no humor. “What would you care if I left? You barely ever look at me. You haven’t even noticed I changed my hair again.”

“Of course I noticed.” Her mother shook her head. “You can be so dense sometimes. So goddamned dense.”

“Language,” Crys replied mockingly, but her mother’s words had hit her like a punch to the gut. “You know what? It’s fine. I don’t need you to tell me anything. I can figure all this out without your help, thanks. Maybe from . . . oh, I don’t know. The great leader of Dad’s mysterious group? Markus King himself?”

This time it was Julia who flinched. Her eyes widened. “No, Crystal. No way. I forbid you from ever seeing that man.”

“Oh, okay, if you forbid it.” Crys shrugged, forcing a smile. “Clearly, I trust what you say since you’ve been so forthcoming with me. Cross my heart, I will never, ever try to do whatever I can to get the answers you’re not willing to give me.”

Julia Hatcher’s face had gone from pale white to bright pink in moments. Her hands were actually shaking. “You’re impossible to reason with.”

Crys pointed at herself. “I’m the impossible one?”

“Leave this alone, Crystal. I’m warning you.”

“Or what?”

“I . . . I need to get some air.” Julia moved toward the door and, without another look at Crys, left the room.

Crys stared, mute with rage, wanting to run after her and keep arguing, to get her to break. To get her to talk and share what she knew.

To force her mother to trust her with the truth.

But no. It was the same as it always was with her.

She slumped down into the chair her mother had abandoned and stared at Becca’s face, which was nearly as white as the crisp hospital sheets surrounding her. Her heart monitor let out a soft, continuous beep. When Crys reached over to take her hand, her sister was cool to the touch.

Crys’s eyes burned, but she refused to cry. She refused to feel hopeless and helpless and totally alone.

“Please come back, Becca,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I’ve been so lousy to you lately. I didn’t mean it, really. It wasn’t you; it was me. I know that sounds like something people say when they’re lazy and making excuses, but it’s the truth.” She inhaled shakily. “I always thought I’d hate Dad forever and that if I ever saw him again, I’d spit in his face. But it wasn’t like that. He didn’t want to leave us. Mom made him. He says he’s doing something good for the world with this society of his. So what does that mean? Is this Markus guy some saint who helps people in need? Could he help you, too?”

Becca’s chest hitched a little, and a soft gasp left her lighter-than-usual lips. Crys’s heart skipped a beat, hoping this would be the dramatically wonderful moment she’d been dreaming of, when Becca would open her eyes.