T*Witches: The Power of Two (9 page)

Alex was numb.

Lucinda ran around the front of Evan's truck to open the door for her. Evan sprinted over to help her down.

It was weird to be wearing a dress, she thought, taking Evan's hand and getting out of the pickup.

The ground beneath her new shoes was dry. It felt solid as stone. She didn't see how they were going to dig through it. Then she looked up and saw that they already had.

There, in the rock-hard, red earth, a neat hole yawned. Next to it was her mother.

The plain wood coffin Alex had ordered looked every bit as cheap as it was, she thought. But its cargo was precious. Priceless.

"See," Luce whispered, squeezing Alex's other hand encouragingly. "There are a lot of folks here."

There were, Alex saw, as she moved toward the gravesite. Many more than she'd expected. People who'd worked with her mom at the laundry and the diner had shown up. Even though, Alex guessed, they'd be losing a half-day's pay for taking the time off.

Mrs. Bass, the librarian, was there. And Mrs. Medgers, her English teacher. And Andy Yatz and a couple of other kids from school, which sort of surprised her.

Even Hardy Beeson had made it to the funeral. Ugh. She'd counted on having some time before the king of the tin slumlords found out that her mom was... gone.

No such luck.

There were even strangers there. Well, people Alex didn't recognize, anyway. And one stranger whom she did. The white-haired doctor with the staticky arm was there. He looked out of place in his black velvet vest and weird sandals. Still, it was nice of him to come.

The service was brief. After the shabby, raw-pine coffin was lowered, Alex tossed the rose Evan had given her into the grave. Then she quickly turned away. The cemetery men were waiting with their shovels. She didn't want to see them begin their work.

As she stood off under a shady tree, people kept coming up to her. She nodded at most of them. Andy Yatz gave her a bouquet of scruffy flowers he'd probably snagged from someone's garden. Still, she appreciated it. It gave her something to do with her hands.

"We'll all miss her," Mrs. Bass said, reaching out to stroke Alex's hair.

Alex ducked. She couldn't help it, and was grateful that Mrs. Bass didn't seem to take it personally.

"I'll stop by later with dinner. You've got to eat," the librarian said.

Alex said, "Thank you." Thank you was what she kept on saying. It was all she could think of. She mumbled, "Thank you," and shook hands, and kept nodding as if she actually knew what people were saying to her, as if she really cared.

"Well, we'll be talkin' soon," Hardy Beeson promised. "You know your mama, rest her soul, she owed me a pretty penny."

Finally, after everyone had filed past and wished her well and said what a good person Sara had been, Alex noticed the doctor in his odd black outfit, still standing at the grave.

She wished he'd go away. She'd wanted to say a private good-bye to her mom after the cemetery crew finished.

She could hear Lucinda and Evan. They were waiting near the pickup, talking with some of the kids from Crow Creek Regional.

Alex was torn between walking the yard or so to the graveside, where the man in the black velvet was standing, or just racing back to Ev's truck and leaving the cemetery fast.

She could always come back later, she decided. She could come back tonight. Alone.

Actually, you can't,
the doctor said.
It wouldn't be safe. Not alone.

But how could she have heard him? He wasn't anywhere near her.

Come over here. We need to talk.

Alex had been numb all day. Cold as stone, hard as the cemetery earth. Now feeling rushed through her, loud and lonely, like wind roaring through a cave. She began to shake.

Suddenly, she was standing beside him. How had she gotten to the graveside?

You'll be all right,
he said, touching her shoulders. And, miraculously, she was.

Her trembling subsided. The howling grew still. The frozen block of ice that, just days ago, had been her heart, began to thaw. She could feel herself warming, relaxing. "You're the one from the hospital, right? The doctor I bumped into coming out of the ward?"

"I just wanted to thank Sara," the old man said.

"Thank her?" Alex asked.

"Doesn't matter." He brushed away her question with a wave of his gloved hand. "Alexandra... that's what she called you, isn't it? Alexandra, I have something for you. Something from your mother. She gave it to you many years ago. It's time you had it back."

Alex ran a hand through her unruly blue-streaked auburn hair. "You knew my mom?" she asked, her melting heart aching at the thought of Sara young, Sara alive.

"I did. A more beautiful creature there never was. A proper babe. With eyes like..."the doctor seemed to be looking for a word to describe her mom's eyes. A delighted smile burst across his crinkly old face. "Well, with creepy-peepers like yours," he announced.

"Mom, a babe? Creepy-peepers?" Alex almost laughed. "Her eyes were brown," she pointed out.

"Gifted eyes, dark-rimmed and gray," the old doctor reminisced.

"When did you know her?" she asked doubtfully.

"Know her?" He snapped out of his reverie. "Oh, Sara, you mean. We met fourteen years ago."

Was I born then, she wanted to ask. Did you know me, too? But he went on, "She was so strong, Sara. And she had the knack, the know-how. I thought she'd be perfect."

Sighing sadly, he reached into his vest pocket and took out a small silk-covered box. He stared at it lovingly, caressed it briefly with his palm, then pressed it into Alex's hands.

The silk case felt warm. "Should I open it now?" she asked. Her throat had thickened, her eyes stung with tears.

"Whenever," the old man said, giggling suddenly. "Whoops, here comes your posse. I'm out of here. Catchya later, Als."

Cam didn't remember bolting from the den, just the thwack of her flip-flops as she'd bounded up the stairs. Now, seconds after asking her parents a question she'd never even considered before their vacation, she was facedown on her bed, trying to calm her trembling body.

Their shocked silence told her everything. A line from a song went through her head, "Ain't it funny how you're walkin' through life, and it turns on a dime..."

Turning on a dime. What a dumb expression.

Downstairs, she could hear her parents. Not what they were saying , but the weepy sound of her mother's sobs crashing against the deep, distressed timbre of her dad's responses. Emily and Dave Barnes rarely argued, at least not in front of their kids. And Cam—who'd just found out she was not their kid—did not want to hear it. She jumped off the bed, plunked down hard on the swivel chair at her desk, and grabbed her ear-buds. With a practiced motion, she flipped on her iPod, and turned the volume up to eardrum-shattering.

It was no match for the wild cacophony playing inside her head. She grabbed for her phone. Alex! I've got to call Alex! What... no!! I mean Beth. I have to tell her...

Her dad gently removed the ear-buds.

"Yes. The answer to your question is yes."

Cam, on her stomach, refused to turn over and face them.

She focused on the wall in front of her. Her bulletin board. Photos of her friends smiled back at her. Beth, Kris, Bree—the four of them eating ice cream, making funny faces at the camera. The picture of her on the soccer field with Marleigh Cooper and Tonya. Dylan strumming his guitar, trying to be cool, but not carrying it off. Scott Marino, her eighth-grade crush. What had she ever seen in him?

"Cami, please. Turn around. We need to talk."

"I have nothing to say to you," Cam responded, her voice flat. "Please leave. I have stuff to do."

"But we have something to tell you." Her dad's voice was soft, assured.

Cam crossed her arms. She resolved not to turn around. Because if she did, if she looked at her dad, she'd lose it. "I don't want to hear it. Your silence spoke volumes."

Now Dave's hand was on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Cami, I want you to turn around and face us. Maybe we were wrong not to tell you before..."

"Wrong?
Maybe?!
" In a flash, Cam whirled around. "You lied to me! My whole life! How could you do that?!"
Her mom burst into tears. "It's not like that. We never meant to lie to you."

A huge lump formed in Cam's throat. Still she managed. "Omission," she said, her voice breaking. "That's the word, isn't it? Lying by omission. Not saying something—not telling what you know—just because no one ever asked you. It's still a lie."

"You're our baby..."Emily sobbed.

"I don't even know who you are." Cams lip trembled. And then her tears came.

Lucinda put an arm around Alex's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Alex didn't know. One minute she'd been at her mom's grave talking to the strange old doctor, the next, she was sitting in the cab of Evan's pickup, wedged between her two best friends.

She looked over her shoulder at the cemetery. The old guy was gone.

"Were you saying good-bye to your mom alone?" Evan asked delicately.

"No, I was talking to—" But they must have seen him, she thought, stopping midsentence. The encounter had been strange, the guy kind of spacey, but she hadn't just imagined their conversation.

Alex looked down at her hands. They were clutching
something
. Cautiously, she opened her fingers and saw the faded pink silk case that proved he'd been real.

"I'm totally wiped," she told Evan and Luce, clamping her hands shut again. "I feel like... like I got sunstroke or something."

"Hey, what's that?" Nothing got past Lucinda. She'd caught sight of the box.

"I don't know. Something from my mom," Alex murmured.

"Like what? Let's see," Luce urged.

Cautiously, Alex opened the pale silk case. Supine on red satin, glinting in the sunlight pouring through the windshield, was a necklace, a thin gold chain that held a gleaming half-moon charm.

Alex felt weak at the sight of it. At the scent of it, too. Impossibly, the gift called to mind snow and pine musk, a stinging, woodsy aroma that was bracing, familiar, and disturbing.

"Wow, that is so cool," Lucinda said, carefully taking the necklace from Alex's shaking fingers. "Looks like real gold."

"What is it?" Evan asked.

"The man in the moon, I guess," Alex said. "A half-moon with, like, a face or something."

"Whatever happened to that skull necklace I gave you?" Evan wanted to know.

Lucinda rolled her eyes. "Was that back in third or fourth grade, I forget."

"I've still got it," Alex assured him distractedly. "Somewhere."

"Did your mom used to wear this?" Luce studied the half-moon, perplexed. "Could I have seen it on her?"

"No." Alex shook her head, then added, "But I know what you mean. I feel like like I've seen it, too. Somewhere."

"Here, turn around," Luce said. "I'll put it on you."

Alex turned to face Evan as Lucinda held up the necklace. "Whoa, it's way too small," Luce said. "This must be from when she was a baby."

Evan cleared his throat. "So, uh, what're you gonna do now, Als? I mean, you can't live out at the trailer all alone."

It was a good question, one she'd put off thinking about. Taking back the necklace, Alex shrugged. "I won't be able to, not for long anyway. Beeson's gonna hassle me for money and I just spent every cent we had on the funeral. Besides, the doctor at the hospital may have believed I was eighteen, but everyone in this town knows better."

"You can live with us," Lucinda volunteered.

"Sure, all your folks need is another mouth to feed." Forcing a smile, she squeezed Luce's hand. "With your sister's kids staying there, ten isn't enough, right?"

"They're crazy about you, Alex," Lucinda insisted. "I mean, if my pops had a job, they wouldn't wait a hot second to take you in."

"My mama's drinking again," Evan confessed. He said it like it was a big joke, but Alex smelled the burnt hurt rise off him. "Otherwise, I'd ask you to stay at our place. But she's too... you know how she gets... unpredictable."

She thanked them, gratefully, sincerely, and asked to be dropped off at home. She felt like being alone, she said.

Not alone. It wouldn't be safe,
the old doctor had warned before. Now, sitting up, wide awake, feeling Luce's arm around her, seeing Evan's big hand on the pickup's clutch, she heard him again:
Good idea. Hit that hovel, that old tin rattrap. I'll meet you there.

He came out of the trailer as Alex was waving good-bye. Evan's truck was halfway to the blacktop by then. She guessed she should have been freaked by his sudden appearance, but she wasn't. She was out of edgy energy, almost lulled by the woodland scent of him. "What were you doing in there, Doc?" she asked.

"Doc," he said, savoring the word. "I like that. Packing up your stuff," he answered. "You don't want to stay here anymore, do you?"

It struck her that she didn't. She didn't even want to go inside. But where else could she go? "My mom told me about you," she said, sitting down on the trailer's sun-baked step.

"Really?" He seemed pleased. "What did she say?"

"Um, well," Alex began, "she said I should listen to you."

"Good. Go on," he encouraged her, grinning.

"Well, and that you looked odd and scary sometimes, but that you were good."

The old guy cleared his throat and rubbed his nappy white head. "Right she was. Been called worse." He sat down next to Alex on the metal step.

"You're not really a doctor, are you?" she asked, surprising herself.

"I'm actually very skilled at the healing arts," he protested. "Of course, you could be, too, with just a little practice." He gestured at the green thicket surrounding the trailer. "Get to know your herbs and flowers," he advised. "Study your crystals and stones. You've already got a flair for incantation."

He saw her puzzlement. "Incantation. It's a kind of a rhyming, spellbinding wish or hope."
A rhyme? A spellbinding wish or hope? Is that why she'd broken into rhyme along with Cam, that day at the Ol' Wagon Wheel? She was about to ask, but Doc was still talking.

"For instance." His eyes fastened on hers. Alex was surprised to feel a strange pull, almost a connection between his watery blue eyes and her own suddenly sleepy gray ones.

"If you believed in magic and wanted to enchant someone, cast a spell, make them eager to do your bidding," she heard Doc say, "you might recite this incantation. "'O sun'—for you, I think moon would work," he decided. "'O moon that brings us light and cheer, shine through me now to banish fear; free—' and here, you'd put in the person's name, like Alex," he explained. "'Free young Alex from doubt and blame, win her trust and lift her shame.'"

Alex felt almost lightheaded, as though a burden had been lifted from her, a massive stone rolled off her chest.

"Of course," the old doctor continued, "to properly use that spell, you'll want a sprig or two of burdock or chamomile or lemon balm—all easily found—or a bit of quartz crystal." He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a faceted pink stone. "Like this," Doc said, "to rub between your fingers."

Alex opened her hand and he placed the delicate, rosy object gently in the center of her palm. The stone felt cool at first, but as her fingers closed over it, she could feel it heat up. "'O moon that brings us light and cheer,'" she began to recite.

"Whoops, whoa, hold on there," Doc said, retrieving the crystal. "I said it works if you believe in magic. Then there's always this one: 'For good alone I ask of you, help this child speak fair and true, let her say or do or be a fearless friend who'll trust in me..."

Alex could barely open her eyes.

"Never mind," he laughed. "All in good time. Oh, but please call me Doc. I really like the sound of it. Now let's talk about you. You can't stay here."

"In the trailer? Why not?" Alex asked, even though staying was the last thing she wanted to do.

"No, in this place, this...
Montana,
the Doc continued. "There's been a sighting. What I mean to say, Artemis—er, Alexandra," he corrected himself, "is that it's not safe."

Alex remembered the mythology book. "Artemis, lady of the hunt, protector of children and wild things, the moon goddess."

"Ah," Doc crooned, "I nearly forgot, I brought you a new chain. A longer one."

He held out his gloved hand. In it, amidst a crumble of herbs and bright-colored stones, was a delicate gold chain, three times longer than the original had been. She took it and, like the crystal and the pale pink box, it seemed to grow warm in her palm. "What's the green stuff?" she asked, inhaling the fragrant flakes that clung to the shiny new necklace.

"Scutellaria lateriflora,"
he replied. "Commonly called 'skullcap.' Excellent for relaxing before an important occasion."

"Before?" It seemed to Alex that the most important occasion, the most significant event of her young life, her mother's funeral, had just ended.

She wanted to explain that to the old man, but a bone-weariness crept up on her. The very blood in her veins seemed to thicken and slow. "What am I going to do?" she asked, feeling sluggish and dreamy. "Where am I going to go?"

He took her hands and pulled her gently to her feet. "I know just the place," she heard him say.