T*Witches: Destiny's Twins

by Randi Reisfeld

  A smattering of applause was cut short by Rhianna. “Did you know the answer?” she asked Cam.

  “No, guess not,” Cam admitted miserably.

  Rhianna shook her head. “Lady Iolande, I believe you have the next question.”

  “Describe a spell, or variation of a spell, best used to heal,” the dignified old witch proposed, “and give an example of its use. Artemis, proceed.”

  “The Truth spell!” Alex answered quickly, hoping to avoid a repeat of Cam’s hostile takeover.

  And then she was stuck for an example!

  The Truth spell?! Why had she picked that one? How could the Truth spell heal? When had they used it last, used it or some variation —

  Amaryllis! Without naming the devious little imp as the one in need of healing, Alex described the spell and how it had forced a “rebellious young witch” to reveal her true self.

  “In just what way was that healing?” Lady Fan inquired.

  After a moment’s thought — during which, thankfully, Cam didn’t jump in — Alex described how sick, how stressed, how terrified she’d been, for nearly fourteen years, not knowing who or what she was, only knowing that she was different. This secret had made her as sullen and snappish as the witch in her example, she said. Until she shared it with someone — who just happened to be her sister. Telling the truth, realizing and acknowledging that they were witches and not alone, had removed major angst from their lives. It had really helped heal them. “You’re only as sick as your secrets,” she concluded, quoting Karsh.

  A sympathetic murmur rolled through the auditorium. When Alex looked up, Lady Iolande was nodding with understanding, as were several others in the stands.

  “And don’t forget — the truth will set you free!” Suddenly Cam was back in the game, grabbing her share of the limelight.

  But Alex was feeling generous. Truth be told — no pun intended — it was the first time she’d thought of the Truth spell as something that could be healing. The realization pleased her.

  “Apolla, can you give us another example?” Iolande turned to Cam.

  “The If-you’ve-got-a-lemon-make-lemonade spell!” Cam said eagerly. Laughter rang through the arena. “Also known as the Transposition or Reverse spell,” she quickly amended. She described the necessary ingredients and recited the spell she’d used in the lunchroom at school, the one that had saved Nadine from Skeevy Stevie and, later, turned the bully into his victim’s loving protector.

  “Ha!” Alex broke in indignantly. “I did that last part!” She turned to Lady Iolande. “The part about getting them to fall in love —”

  “Ah, love.” Lord Grivveniss sighed and smiled. “Truly, what is more healing than love?”

  The questions continued, and each and every answer pointed to the same thing: that healing was the witches’ art. And that love and forgiveness were the most important tools for healing.

  Before the Q&A gave way to demonstrations of magick, Cam and Alex had taken the lesson to heart.

  By the fourth question — identify the botanical and common names, scents, and uses of five healing herbs — they’d stopped interrupting each other. By the sixth — which sacred stones did witches use during the plague and for what purposes? — they’d stopped their goading and gloating. By the tenth — create a variation on the Truth, Travel, or Transformation spell that can stop anger — each of them had genuinely begun to hope that the other would succeed.

  Love and forgiveness were in the air. So much so that Lady Rhianna, who could read even their most locked-down thoughts, had to warn them twice to stop helping each other.

  Minding their own business was especially hard when each of them was asked to demonstrate powers that came easily to the other. Alex was called upon to use her eyes to see what normal eyes could not, to penetrate solid objects by staring through them, to glare hard enough to cause fire. The first two tests so exhausted her that by the third she was grateful to raise even a wisp of smoke.

  She didn’t exactly shine. Not any more than Cam did at identifying sounds too distant to be heard, raising and moving objects by focusing intently on them, and recognizing subtle scents.

  Worn out and a little discouraged, they were surprised and revived by energetic applause and shouts of support and congratulations from the gathered crowd, who obviously thought more of their efforts than they themselves did.

  Rhianna cut short their moment in the sun.

  “Your next and most important task of the day,” she announced, as everyone grew suddenly and solemnly still, “is to think of a person who, in your mind, deserves no forgiveness. While there are many through the ages who have perpetrated monstrous crimes, you are to think of those nearer to you. You are each to chose only one.”

  One what? Alex silently asked her sister. One person who’s so bad that they don’t deserve kindness, compassion, justice, or love?

  Cam shrugged. Pretty hypocritical, if you ask me. Who would you choose?

  Right off the bat? No contest. Uncle T, Alex quickly decided. You?

  Cam hesitated, then sighed. Shane, I guess.

  “They will do,” Rhianna announced decisively, before either of them had said anything aloud.

  Cam’s cheeks burned as she remembered that there were few secret thoughts here in Witch Central. She glanced up at the couple who looked like Shane’s parents. The seat between them was still vacant.

  “Your final task of the day is to be of service to them,” Rhianna said.

  “You’re kidding,” Alex blurted.

  Their Initiation Master closed her eyes as if she were hoping when she opened them again the DuBaer fledglings would be gone.

  The crowd began to exit. Lady Rhianna took Ileana and Miranda aside. Cam and Alex stood in the center of the grand arena, not sure what was expected of them. Were they to stay or go? Find a way to be of service to their enemies here and now or take the task with them as homework?

  All at once, Alex felt dizzy. Her heart and head began to pound; she couldn’t keep her eyes open. By now, she recognized the warning signs. She was about to have a vision, she realized, reaching out to steady herself.

  Cam, Alex called, not sure if she’d thought it or said it aloud, only that her voice echoed distantly. Her hand touched her sister’s shoulder, which felt electrically charged yet stiff and cold at the same time. Cam, too, Alex realized, was in vision mode.

  Suddenly, in the painful, pulsing darkness, Alex saw a swirling cascade of books. The final one, bound in leather so old it was dried and flaking, was called Forgiveness or Vengeance.

  It was not a real book, she understood, as the cover fell open. It was a hollowed-out box meant to look like a book. Tucked carefully inside it was a sheaf of pages filled with the shaky scrawl of someone very sick or very old.

  Karsh!

  All at once Alex knew that her adored old friend Lord Karsh Antayus had written and then hidden away the manuscript. She and Cam had read it! It was his final legacy to them.

  The unbound pages flew out of their hiding place. They circled Alex’s aching head as if they were caught in a tornado. A single page sailed down slowly, landing before her eyes. The sentence that came into focus was:

  In every generation, an Antayus will cause the death of a DuBaer son …

  The Antayus curse!

  Alex’s eyes flew open.

  Thantos! He was the son who had taken control of the DuBaer family. He was the one in harm’s way.

  Aron, her father and Cam’s, had died at the hands of his own brother, not by a descendant of Abigail Antayus. The curse had not killed their father, Fredo had.

  And Fredo? He was pathetic and powerless now. He’d been kept in the Peninsula and would be returned there tonight.

  Only Thantos, so like his ancestor the treacherous Jacob, was likely to fall victim to the curse, to be stricken down by someone of the Antayus bloodline.

  “Shane!” Cam called out. She was holding her head, trying to keep her eyes open, coming back t
o consciousness. “He’s an Antayus. He and his father were both wearing the same kind of vests Karsh always wore.”

  “Shane A. Wright!” Alex remembered Amaryllis calling him that. “That’s what it stands for — A for Antayus?”

  Cam nodded and winced with pain. “That’s what Amaryllis and Sersee were hinting about. His family must be direct descendants of Abigail Antayus. That’s why Shane kept trying to win Thantos’s trust. To get next to him. To carry out the curse. Als, Shane’s going to try to kill Thantos.”

  “If he hasn’t already.” Alex exclaimed. “He’s probably at Crailmore right now —”

  “That’s why neither one of them showed for the Initiation,” Cam realized.

  “And why Shane stopped by this morning. He tried to cast a spell on you, to keep you away from Crailmore —” Alex remembered the way the sinister boy had looked at her, too. Realizing that she’d broken into his thoughts, he’d smirked and silently asked, Does it matter so much to you? He’s done you nothing but harm.

  Of course! It was Thantos he’d meant.

  Alex grabbed Cam’s hand and started out of the dome. They had to get to Crailmore now.

  “No. Wait.” Cam wouldn’t budge.

  Alex panicked. Had Shane succeeded? Was her sister under his spell, fearful and forbidden to go near the fortress?

  “No way!” Cam insisted. “Hang on to your moon charm. The Traveler’s spell will get us there faster.”

  It was always colder on the barren north end of the island. Trees grew twisted by relentless winds. Waves battered the high cliff walls, churning up sprays of icy water.

  A numbing chill hit Alex and Cam as they emerged from the spell to see Crailmore before them, standing tall and foreboding on the barren cliffs.

  One of the tall iron gates guarding the mansion had been left open. It swung and creaked violently in the wind. Shivering, they raced through it, still clutching their amulets.

  Their mother had left Crailmore only weeks before, yet the bountiful herb garden she’d created was destroyed. Whether by human or natural forces, it was hard to tell. The once-lush plot looked like an abandoned battlefield. Row upon row of plants lay slashed, shredded, tattered, as if a giant sword had cut them down. There were fresh footprints in the mud between the lines of demolished herbs that led to the entrance of the house. The massive front door was open. The mucky tracks went through it and down the long entry hall. At the end of the hall, in front of the paneled doors of the library, the tracks ended — and a pair of mud-caked boots had been left.

  There was no doubt about it, the boots were Shane’s. The same ones he’d worn that morning, with his Antayus vest. Had he taken them off to sneak up on Thantos? Had he succeeded in surprising and possibly overtaking their wary uncle? Cautiously, Alex pushed the doors open.

  The library was a shambles. There were books everywhere — books and pieces of books, torn pages, ripped covers, books sliced in two. Some of the shelves had fallen, some were broken, resting at odd angles in the bookcases. Thantos’s desk was overturned. And the portrait of Jacob DuBaer had been slashed.

  Alex and Cam hurried through the room into the back passage that circled the first floor. They stopped at the stone stairway behind the kitchen. “Upstairs?” Alex asked.

  “They could be below,” Cam said, “in the caves.”

  The clang of steel on stone guided them. Following the sound, they raced toward the back of the house to the huge, stone-walled, old kitchen. A scorched stench hit them before they ran through the door. The odor of smoldering wood. And burnt hair, Alex’s keen sense of smell told her, an instant before they entered.

  Flaming logs from the immense fireplace had been flung everywhere. Having missed their intended target, Cam guessed, they’d left sooty scars across the floor and walls.

  By the looks of it, Shane and Thantos had been at it for hours.

  Deep gashes splintered the furniture, as if a giant cleaver had chopped at the chairs and work surfaces. The long wooden table, half a foot thick, that ran nearly the length of the room, was a collapsed wreck.

  Behind it stood Shane Antayus Wright. His back was toward them as he bent forward, trying to catch his breath. The hilt of an enormous sword was wedged under his arm like a crutch. His black vest was torn just over his heart. Blood stained the knee of one trouser leg. The ends of his blond mane were scorched and blackened; sweat drenched what was left of his long hair. Coils of it stuck to his brow. The smell of smoke drifted off him. When he lifted his head, they saw that his face was smudged with ash.

  Shane squinted. His deep blue eyes strained to focus — on Thantos DuBaer.

  The great bull of a man was on his back. His head rested on the fireplace hearth. His chest heaved as he gulped for air. There was a bloody slash along his cheek. He tested the cut gingerly with a gloved hand.

  Shane’s hands were raw and bare as he struggled to lift the sword. Once it was in his grasp, he started toward Thantos. The once-mighty tracker lay on the floor, unarmed, but still sneering confidently.

  “Go on, grin,” Shane gasped. “It will be your last. This is the sacred sword that has slain generations of DuBaers.”

  He heaved the weapon above his head and brought it down with all his might. But Thantos rolled, scrabbled, and skittered out of the way. The sword clanged as it hit the stone floor.

  Thantos tumbled back to the fireplace. With his protectively gloved hands, he plucked a burning log from the hearth and hurled it at the boy.

  Cam and Alex had been standing in the doorway, riveted, immobilized by shock. Too busy trying to kill each other, neither warlock had noticed them. But as the blazing log flew toward Shane, Cam sprang into action.

  She focused her fiery eyes on the flaming missile — incinerating it before it reached its target. The burning wood became crumbling charcoal. Inches from Shane’s head, the charcoal turned to harmless ash and drifted to the ground.

  Stunned, both Thantos and Shane now turned to see the twins.

  “Are you mad?!” their uncle bellowed. “This loathsome warlock is your enemy as well as mine!”

  The moment the tracker’s attention was off him, Shane swooped down and retrieved the sword. His eyes held Cam’s for only a moment. “He’s lying. I have no quarrel with you. Stand back —” he urged, turning to face his outraged enemy again.

  “Stop him,” Thantos ordered, his back against the fireplace bricks. “If he succeeds, your legacy, all that I’ve built and safeguarded for you, will be gone — Crailmore, the family fortune, the respect of all —”

  Cam could hardly look at Shane. His wounds made her ache as if they were her own. She turned away quickly. “Respect?” she said to her uncle. “You’re feared, not respected.”

  He waved his arm, dismissing what she’d said. “Fear brings respect. Haven’t you learned that yet? People cower before you, beg to do your will. Fear, rage, resentment, envy — when your enemy is filled with these bitter emotions, he becomes weak! Weak as your pathetic friend here. I pass along to you the honor of destroying him.”

  Shane’s cold blue eyes never left Thantos’s face, but what he said was meant for Cam and Alex. “You can’t destroy me. You can’t stop me. Death is his fate; killing him is my destiny.” He swung the heavy sword over his head again. “This meeting was scheduled four hundred years ago!”

  “This meeting is canceled,” Alex announced. She glared at the sword, willing it to fly from Shane’s hands. But the moment it began to wobble in his grasp, he tightened his grip on it and turned on her.

  The sword was shaking too wildly to be directed at anything or anyone. But Shane’s eyes were steady, dark, and focused on Alex. He was trying to cast a spell on her, Cam realized. His lips moved slightly, stealthily, as he began the incantation.

  “Watch out!” she warned, stepping in front of her sister.

  A cyclone of snow suddenly enveloped her. Had it swirled around Alex, as it was meant to do, the icy funnel would have acted as a thick white veil, br
eaking her eye contact with the sword.

  But heat was Cam’s specialty. She beamed her powerful eyes in Shane’s direction, hoping she remembered precisely where his hands gripped the vibrating sword.

  The whirlwind of snow melted. Cam’s aim had been true. The hilt of Shane’s sword had turned white hot. With a howl of pain, the wounded warlock released it.

  At the same moment, Alex’s telekinetic effort succeeded. Instead of falling to the floor, Shane’s sword somersaulted through the air, landing on the broken table.

  Not on, exactly. In was more like it.

  The sword plunged into the thick tabletop — where, wedged deeply in the wood, it vibrated uselessly.

  “Excellent!” their uncle exclaimed from the debris-strewn floor. Without getting up, he applauded them slowly and steadily. “I didn’t think you had it in you to be so brilliantly ruthless!”

  Opening and closing his hands, testing them to see if they were all right, Shane looked at Cam again, his eyes wide with shock. “I thought you loved me,” he said. “I read it in your eyes, your heart, your thoughts —”

  “She does,” Thantos taunted, rising menacingly to his feet. “But they’re fresh from the first day of their Initiation. They’ve been brainwashed by the Council. Now they love everyone, don’t you?” he asked his nieces mockingly.

  “We’re pledged to help you, not to love you,” Alex said, not up for her uncle’s games. “I’d say keeping you from being killed qualifies. As far as I’m concerned, mission accomplished.”

  “And you?” Shane asked Cam, moving swiftly to the table where his sword was stuck. “Are you pledged to help him, too?”

  “No,” Cam shot back, “I’m supposed to help you —”

  “Which she’s already done!” Alex told him. “She just kept you from making the mistake of your life —”

  “Destroying the head of the DuBaer dynasty is no mistake!” Shane ranted, trying to loosen the sword. “It’s my duty, my responsibility —”

  Thantos’s face lit up with cruel inspiration. “If your duty is to destroy the head of my family, you have made a mistake,” he told Shane with malicious glee. “I’m not the one you want. It’s them — my clever little nieces will soon rule the DuBaer dynasty. They, not I, are the rightful targets of your vengeance!”