T*Witches: The Power of Two (11 page)

"You were thinking about... your mom just now, weren't you? Cam asked breathlessly.

Tears flashed in Alex's eyes. She wiped them angrily on the sleeve of her black dress. "That falls under the heading 'So Not Your Business,'" she shot back.

Behind the bitter words, Cam sensed a painful sadness. "I'm so very sorry about your mom," she said.

"Why? She's not your mom," Alex snapped, doing what had become automatic for her lately—turning fear, sorrow, and now grief, into anger.

How would you know? Cam wanted to blurt. But obviously, Alex was hurting. And Cam's head ached. The vision, or whatever it had been, had left her eyes burning. "Right." She backed off. "So, anyway, what was she like? Only if you want to talk about it, that is," she amended. "She was pretty, wasn't she?"

"She was pretty tough," Alex answered, checking out the photos pinned to Cam's walls. "Strong, funny, generous. She's the best. I mean, she was..."Alex trailed off. She didn't want to talk about her mom—especially not to Cam. Suddenly her attention was drawn to one of Cam's pictures, and she blurted, "Hey, it's that girl from the news." It was a dumb thing to say, but it beat bawling again. "It's her and Marleigh Cooper—and you."

Cam glanced at the photo Alex was studying. "The one you're pointing to, that's Tonya Gladstone. How'd you know?" she asked. "Oh, I guess you saw her on TV."

"We do have TV, even in the wilds of Montana," Alex shot back. "And tabloids
and
the internet. And some of us can even read them."

Cam winced. The girl, her own sister maybe, her twin, was such an irri-tator-tot, annoyingly moody. Her sarcasm was grating. Then Cam felt a stab of guilt—Alex's mother had just died, the girl was in a strange place, not even knowing how she got here. Alex was entitled to act any way she wanted.

But still, Cam didn't want to have to watch every word she said. After all, it wasn't as if her own past few hours had been trauma-free. She'd just found out she was adopted! Yet somehow she managed to keep it together.

Cam's phone rang.

"We even have smart phones," Alex added, disdainfully watching Cam answer it. "But only for the overprivileged, tech-toy trendoids."

Her fingers wrapped around the phone, Cam hesitated. "I don't have to answer it," she felt compelled to say.

"Why? Because the alien from outer Montana just landed? Oh, please. Be my guest."

"Thanks for your permission," Cam grumbled.

It was Beth. "Cami. It's awful. You won't believe what happened—"

Right back atcha, She thought. "I'll your 'believe it or not,' and raise you the fact that my life has been one big lie." Cam muttered it, half-hoping Alex was listening. Listening? The girl could hear thoughts, she reminded herself.

"Seriously. They found a body," Beth blurted. "A blond girl, about Marleigh's age—"

A shiver rippled through Cam. She glanced up to see Alex staring at her. "Where?" Alex mouthed.

"Where did they find her? I mean, the body?" Cam asked Beth.

"In Boston. Near one of the colleges, I heard. Do you think it's true? They're not saying, but... oh please, Cam, get one of your feelings now—and tell me it's not Marleigh."

"Tell her it's not and just hang up," Alex ordered, turning back to the photo of Cam, Marleigh, and Tonya.

"I'll call you back," Cam said, clicking off the phone, furious. Who was this girl to start bossing her around?

She glared at Alex's back for a second, then focused her angry gaze on the Marleigh and Tonya pic. With a stunning hiss, the metal tacks holding the photograph began to fume, glow, and melt.

Alex jumped back just as the charred picture slid off the wall. Startled and impressed, she broke into a grin. "How do you
do
that?"

"I didn't. I mean, if I did, I don't know," Cam admitted, shaking. Torn between shock and delight, she felt almost giddy. "Alex, you've been in my face since you got here. Why?"

"Your
face?" Suddenly, Alex was laughing. "Which appears to be my face, too," she said.

Which, a second later, cracked Cam up. Snorting and choking, she rushed to the bathroom to get a tissue. "Is this the weirdest thing that ever happened to you?" she called to Alex. "Please say yes."

It felt so good to laugh. It felt silly and careless and unavoidable. "Why, you really think we look alike?" Alex asked mischievously.

Cam couldn't answer. Dissolved in squalls of laughter, she could barely speak. She was still convulsed when the door burst open and her parents barged into her room.

"Are you all right?" Dave demanded anxiously. "Camryn, what happened to you? What did you do to your hair?"

He was looking at Alex.

A peal of hysterical laughter drew his attention to the bathroom. "I'm over here," Cam cackled, waving from the doorway.

Dave gasped. The look on his face set Alex off again. Her shoulders shook as she tried desperately not to break up.

Emily's scream helped. It snapped Alex right out of her giggles.

"What is going on here?" the frightened woman demanded in a voice high-pitched with alarm.

Cam walked over to Alex, took her hand, and raised it triumphantly. "This is my sister," she said. "My twin sister. Obviously."

It was nearly midnight when Dave ran out of questions. "Okay, let's review. He began to summarize in his lawyerly way. "You kids met in Montana, at the park—"

"Hey,
now
I remember you," Alex put in. "I was in the ticket booth. I sold you four all-days. And you looked at me kind of strange, like you knew me."

"Small wonder," Dave muttered.

"You saw her and you didn't say anything to me?" Emily accused. She looked like she'd been hit by a truck—a truck hauling strawberries. Her pale skin was mottled with crimson blotches, and her eyes and nose were red-rimmed from crying.

"It didn't seem important at the time."

He turned back to Alex. "You just lost your mom. Your dad died some years ago. You're in high school, and there's nothing and no one in Montana you care about."

"Correction," Cam interrupted. "There are her friends, Lucinda and Evan."

"No adults," Dave amended. "A strange man who knew your mom brought you here. But you've got no money and no return ticket. And you had no idea you had a sister."

"A twin," Cam said.

"Possible twin," Emily corrected.

"Until you met Cam at Big Sky. Is that about it?"

Except for when we saved that family, Alex could've said, but did not. Instead she nodded. She looked very tired, Emily thought. With those pale cheekbones andwonderful gray eyes just like Cam's and that wild, blue-streaked hair, she reminded Emily of a young wolf, one of the grieving cubs she'd seen on the nature special about Yellowstone Park. That forlorn cub, too, had lost its mother.

The girl was exhausted, Emily realized. And so was Camryn. And so, to tell the truth, was she. "Dave," she said quietly. "She's willing to take a DNA test, to find out if they're... related. Why don't we all get some sleep? You can phone Biogentech first thing tomorrow morning and make an appointment. And then we'll know whether they're really..."She forced herself to say it. "Twins."

Coventry Island was one of a dozen low-lying, heavily wooded islands off Lake Superior's Wisconsin shore. Chill gales blew off the water, cooling the densely forested land even in summer.

At first, Karsh thought that was why he was shivering—the sea breeze on his papery skin and, of course, exhaustion.

What had he been thinking, transporting himself and the grieving Artemis across a continent? He ached all over now.

Someone was following him. Karsh quieted his busy mind to better hear the footsteps, to catch the scent of his pursuer.

He was tempted to transform himself into a hawk again, or a deer, some fleet-footed or high-flying woodland creature. But he was too tired.

The effort of shape-shifting, of enchanting himself to carry the girl two thousand miles, had worn him down. His sinewy arms, which only hours ago had been enormous wings, still stung with windburn. His face felt raw. And his back, the back that had cradled the sleeping child, would it ever be free of pain again?

Enough. The icy vibration along his spine should have warned him immediately. Now he heard the muted sound of pine needles being crushed, the crunching cadence of someone walking behind him.

Karsh reached casually into his leather pouch and searched among his herb vials for the large crystal rock. Finding the sparkling stone with his fingers, he clutched it in his palm, made a fist, and murmured the incantation.

Then, tired as he'd felt a moment before, he released the crystal, whirled around, and grabbed the terrified warlock by the throat.

A child, a skinny boy of seventeen or eighteen, wriggled in his grasp.

"Lord Thantos would like to know where his nieces are," the frightened youth stammered.

"What are you, a sensitive? A fledgling? An adept? Surely, not a tracker. I see by your hobnailed boots you're a follower of that demented wizard."

In Karsh's grasp, the boy was turning colors, his pale face passing from mottled red and blue to ashy gray. And already Karsh's arm had begun to tremble. He could not hold the lackey much longer.

"Oh, for pity's sake, drop the idiot!" Ileana's voice exploded behind him. "And by the way, old trickster, I'd like an answer to his question."

"How could you? Without consulting me?" Tramping through the pine forest with Karsh at her sandaled heels, Ileana was hurt and furious.

He had never seen the self-absorbed young witch so shaken.

He'd have liked to tell her how urgent it was to get the girl out of Montana. How near Thantos had been to both of Aron's daughters at the theme park. How arrogant the burly wizard had grown—surfacing without a disguise, showing his true, black-bearded face in public.

But, Karsh dared not mention his encounter with the mighty warlock. Not now, while Ileana ranted at him. Not even to explain how he'd stepped between the monster and his prey, broken Thantos's hold on Apolla, and almost turned the renegade tracker into a clam.

Ah, but then he'd have to confess that the moment he'd begun the clam spell, he'd felt the fire on his forehead and heard Thantos murmuring the incantation that would have burned him, the venerable Karsh, to ashes.

So, they'd had to call it a draw. The brazen bully, saying that he meant just to see the girls together, to measure their strength, which he appraised as excellent—had fled the park. And Karsh had stayed, disguised as a hot dog vendor, to help the twins if they needed his services. Which, quite amazingly, they had not!

He'd taught them well, in their dream states, to accept their legacy and invoke the secrets of their craft.

He'd trained Apolla how to hone her sight, to see not just far but deep; to dazzle, stun, and burn if need be—as her namesake, the sun prince Apollo, would.

To Artemis, he'd revealed how to listen, like the huntress she'd been named for, to sounds others would never know.

He'd whispered incantations, herbal potions, the healing uses of flowers, stones, and crystals. So much he'd poured into their young ears—and watched, in awe at the theme park, as they'd displayed their gifts, for the first time, as they were meant to be used—for the good of others.

It took all of Karsh's energy to keep calm in the face of Ileana's frenzy. To appear calm, at any rate, while hauling her bulky baggage through the woods. As usual, her suitcase was jammed with more gear than anyone else would need for a two-day trip.

"You were away," he pointed out, huffing and puffing to catch up with her, "vacationing at a spa."

"It was not a spa." Ileana stopped abruptly, stomped her foot, and smacked her thigh with the magazine she was carrying. The glossy publication cracked like a riding crop. "It was a spell-casting seminar."

"In California?" Noting her radiant tan and the sassy new outfit she wore under her flaring robe, Karsh raised his singed eyebrows—the mark his encounter with Thantos left him—skeptically.

"Los Angeles has some of the most adept spell-casters and hex-masters in the world," Ileana countered. "I met dozens of fabulous sensitives, fledglings, protectors, guardians, and trackers—"

She really was very young, Karsh thought, surprised as ever to feel a rush of affection for the vain little creature.

"Witches and warlocks from every walk of life," Ileana went on hotly. "You can't even imagine who was there."

"Not unless I use the telepathy I perfected before you were born," the tired tracker muttered. Louder, he asked, "Could it have been Brice Stanley? Prince of the Hollywood—" What did they call him, the stateside blogs and tabloids? The cookie? The sponge cake? The eye candy? Karsh recalled.

"Show-off." Ileana glared at him.

She was right, Karsh thought. Did he have to demonstrate his superior gifts when she was already so upset? A moment later, when he experienced the tingling in his hands and feet, and saw the webbing grow between his fingers, he realized how truly irked she was.

"Stop it this instant, Ileana!" he croaked, feeling his throat swell. "Turn me into a frog and I'll have you up on charges. Wrongful use of power, transformation of an elder—" He was shocked at her audacity, but proud, too. He hadn't realized how very powerful she was becoming.

"I learned it yesterday," Ileana boasted. "Just thought I'd give it a try."

Stepping out of the forest, Karsh saw more evidence of her growing talent. The herb garden was flourishing. The plants looked twice as tall as they had just days ago. He couldn't help being impressed. "I'm sorry you're displeased with my decision," he said gently. "You know I rarely interfere. But I believed Artemis to be in danger—"

"And you think she's safe now?" Ileana fumed. "If Thantos found one of them, there would be danger. If he captures them together, there's only doom."

"She had no one to turn to. Nowhere else to go—"

"Doom!" Ileana thundered. "For all concerned, may I remind you, I am their appointed guardian. Who do you think is going to take the fall if they're found? Me, you shape-shifting old trickster. Little
moi
."

"Just say it was my doing," Karsh blithely advised.

"Don't think I won't!" With that, her rage seemed to deflate. Her slender shoulders slumped. Her beautiful face turned grave. For a moment, she looked like what she was, Karsh thought tenderly. An inexperienced enchantress, still terrified of making a mistake.

"Exalted one," he said gently, "they've already met. I've seen them together. Their power is formidable. Twice as strong as either one's alone. They'll need it to ward off their enemies. To stay safe, they'll need to work together."

"Do they know about Lord Thantos?"

"Not yet—"

"Good," Ileana decided. "You'll say nothing to them. They're too young to know they're the targets of such fury."

"Yes, good witch."

"Goddess," Ileana snapped, taking her suitcase from Karsh. "I had no idea Brice Stanley was one of us," she said, sounding like a petulant child. "He looks so... human."

No sense in reminding her, Karsh thought, that the young movie star was human, that they were all human.

Ordinary human beings with extraordinary gifts and skills—such as levitation, shape-shifting, spell-casting, prophecy, mind reading, and the like. No matter what level they were at—sensitives, fledglings, adepts, protectors, guardians, and trackers—they were, in the end, just human beings with great gifts for healing and helping others.

Of course, in other times and places, they'd been called shamans, sibyls, seers and soothsayers, oracles, fortune-tellers, tricksters, even magicians. They'd existed in every culture through history.

In this day and age, they were called witches. Witches and warlocks.

Some, like Ileana, the wily Thantos, of course the twins, had inherited their abilities from their parents. Others had not been so lucky. They—himself among them, Karsh reflected, with a satisfied smile—had worked long and hard to achieve excellence.

Most people had the basics—keen senses, good hearts, teachable minds—but some had been born into families that recognized and nurtured their gifts; others, Samaritans, who longed to be of service, discovered their abilities themselves.

Sara had been one of the best, until the foul sickness took her. She'd given up so much—home, husband, and health—to protect the fledgling witch Artemis.

David Barnes was another.

But Ileana was in no mood for a lesson in witchology. Nor was he prepared to give one. His aching back needed intense therapy, as did both his arms. Unless he got to Coventry Clinic soon and saw a specialist, he'd be useless to them all—Artemis, Apolla, and Ileana.