Still, something gnawed at her. Maybe it was the word “deserve.” Had Alex “deserved” to grow up in poverty. Had Aron “deserved” to die the day his daughters were born, Miranda to go mad with grief?
You don’t get what you deserve, not always. “You get what you get,” Cam’s friend Sukari said. Now Cam knew what she meant.
If only she could “will” a vision to come to her. Be proactive instead of reactive. Do something instead of just waiting … for the ferry … for Alex … for a clue to what was coming next. When she was younger, her intuition, her premonitions had been simpler. A car speeding around a corner? Get Beth out of the way. A deserted road, an old garage? That’s where the kidnap victim was being held.
But here, on Coventry? Her premonitions were of wounded, bellowing animals, terrified and faraway, needing her. And the fabulous floating-eyes vision. Another creature. But she didn’t know where or what it was or how she could help it.
Cam’s jitters were even worse this morning. Alex had bounced, gone off to explore. Which left Cam and her annoyingly unfocused irritation alone. Like an itch she couldn’t pinpoint, Cam didn’t know where to scratch.
A chick chat would be so welcome right now.
Only … phone? No service.
IM-ability? Neither laptop, nor Palm, nor text-messaging PDA in sight.
And hours to go before the Bumpster pulled his boat into Coventry harbor. Do something, her nerves urged. Keep moving! Time will go faster, the nagging thingie, the eerie feeling that trouble is on the way again, might fade. Cam looked around. Alex had cleaned the mess made by Tsuris and Vey. But surely there was more to do.
With edgy energy to burn, she started in the kitchen. But while she switched the bowls with the goblets, stacked the ceramic mortar and pestles like so much Tupperware, alphabetized the herbs and spices, she still could not dodge the icky foreboding. The dread.
Cam willed herself to think about her peeps. “Just talk, Cam, I’ll listen,” is what Beth would say, big round brown eyes full of real empathy.
“A problem shared is a problem halved,” Amanda would coo. “You’re only as sick as your secrets.”
“Oh, just deal, Barnes!” Brianna would interrupt snippily with an impatient wave of her hand.
Bree won.
Deal. Okay, Cam would deal. She’d figure out what was tugging at her, rooting her here — just when it was time to go back.
Shane? No. Not Shane. Maybe Shane.
Okay, she was conflicted. For a moment, she’d agreed with Alex’s decree of “can’t be trusted.” Then she’d seen him again. And melted. “Get real!” she told herself, moving into the sitting room and shifting the velvet hassock from the foot of the easy chair to just in front of the fireplace. The boy was all Etch-a-Sketch-y: Draw whatever picture, tell whatever story he wanted, and if it didn’t work, shake up the game and try again. He told her what was convenient, not what was true. Yesterday, out back by the hammock, she’d asked him where exactly he lived. Where had his non-girlfriend Sersee found him a place?
He’d dodged her question, gone cliché. “Nothing to write home about. It’s small, damp, claustrophobic. Not a lot of light.”
Cam flashed on a vampire’s lair. He laughed, reading her mind. “Home sweet home isn’t quite so voodooish as that.”
“Besides,” he veered toward a three-cliché pileup, “it’s just a place to hang my cape. It’s not really … home.”
Some people had two homes, she thought.
Shane had read her mind. His hands gently framing her face, his intense eyes riveting her, he argued, “No. Only one real one. Yours is here, Apolla. Maybe not today or next week or even next year, but one day, you’ll know … here.” He placed her hand over his heart. “Which is the only place that counts.”
He’d left her that afternoon with a soft sweet kiss and a promise to see her again. So did Sersee have real reason to be jealous? Or was the jealousy hers? Of Sersee. Is that why she sorta wanted to stay?
She’d begun to rearrange the photos on the mantel when her sense of dread spiraled upward. She stopped, holding a picture in midair. Someone was approaching, and it was neither Alex nor Ileana. A male.
Shane again? No. Not his gait. Then Thantos? Tsuris? Vey? In readiness, Cam focused her fiery eyes set to fry an unwelcome intruder.
Unwelcome?
Try unbelievable. This could so not be happening — not again! Her two worlds collided, so did her emotions. Relief that he seemed okay crashed head-on into terror. He was there at her front door this time.
“Jason?” she asked haltingly.
Several days of stubble covered his chin; his cheeks were gaunt, concave almost, his shirt was ripped and filthy. Still, a wistful smile played on his lips. His eyes, dark, intense, were not similar to the eyes she’d seen in her dream and in her premonition. They were identical.
“I need you to come with me.” That was all he said. No explanation, no greeting. Not like Jason at all.
Struggling to keep it together, Cam stammered, “You … you … shouldn’t be here. I sent you back … the ferry …” She tried to pinpoint what was wrong — besides everything.
When Jason was bugged, he squirmed, shoving his hands in his pockets. When he was nervous, he covered it up with a joke. He was totally serious now.
In a smooth, soothing, almost trancelike voice, he said again, “You need to come with me, honey.”
Honey? Where’d Cheese-boy come from?
“Jason,” Cam started again, hoping she sounded calm and rational, “I can’t come with you until I know why you’re here. Why you didn’t go back.”
Robotically, he responded, “I’m here to help you.”
“But, remember, I told you.” Cam’s voice rose, approaching alarm. “I didn’t need any —” She paused and took a deep breath. “Come in,” she managed. “We need to talk.”
Instead, Jason moved closer and put his arm around her shoulder. “Come with me. We can talk on the way, my little witch.”
Goose bumps raised on her arms. Who was this imposter? If not a clone, maybe a warlock morphed into Jason? She scanned his face carefully. The little vein pulsing in his forehead? Yes. Lucky b-ball charm around his neck? Check. Although he’d obviously lost weight, it was Jason all right. Only not.
If she didn’t go with him, she’d never know what was going on.
If she did, he could be leading her — well, who knew where?
She sent a telepathic shout-out to Alex, then closed the door behind her and followed him into the woods. “Jase,” she tried again as they walked deeper into the forest, “why didn’t you leave? Or tell me you were still here? Where’ve you been for the past two days?”
“Right under your nose, honey-bunny.”
Honey-bunny … My little witch? Cam zoomed from panicked to seriously ticked off. She grabbed his elbow hard, and even though he was a head taller, swung him around. “What’s going down? Who are you? Where are you taking me?”
His mouth opened as if to form the answer.
But Cam didn’t hear him. Her head buzzed, her eyes blurred. A vision flashed before her. He was taking her to LunaSoleil.
Alarmed, she whizzed another telepathic SOS to her twin. And sent two more — to Miranda and Ileana. She needed help. Now would be a good time.
When they got to Aron and Miranda’s house, Jason led her straight around the back and brushed away the camo pile of twigs, leaves, and dirt covering the cellar door. As he guided her down the dark stairs, he clasped his hands around her waist protectively so she wouldn’t slip. Or run away.
At the bottom, Jason steered her in a U-turn behind the steps. It was the only part of the basement she hadn’t thought to examine. Big mistake. She’d have scoped out the trapdoor. The squeaking floorboards would have spoken volumes to Alex.
Realization hit hard. Sersee was behind all this.
Half credit. The leader of the sorceress sorority was actually under all this.
In the caves.
The trapdoor led down a set of slippery stone steps, which ended at the foot of a winding, sloping tunnel. “Go,” Jason said tonelessly, his hands on her shoulders now, urging her forward. He seemed to not hear her questions, her protests. The farther in and down they went, the darker, danker, creepier it got. Not unlike Shane’s description of where he lived.
Finally, some distance away, a dim light appeared. It wasn’t sunlight. As she got closer, Cam saw hanging lanterns, sconces, and candles.
The caves of Coventry Island, Cam remembered Shane’s history lesson. Once a haven for persecuted witches, more recently training grounds for Thantos’s apprentices. As she’d heard last night, a place where spirits, outcasts, maniacs dwelled still. Where her grandfather had been killed.
“Like grandfather, like granddaughter.” Sersee appeared, clothed in black from hood to cloak to boots. “Apolla. Welcome to our … let’s see, what would a mainlander say? Oh, that’s right. Our crib. Welcome to our crib. Do make yourself comfortable. You’ll be staying for some time. In fact, does forever work for you?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE DESTINY
Ileana awoke with a start from a terrifying dream.
Something was rustling through her garden, tramping down her herbs. It was a child. No, it was half a child, a little girl missing half her face and body as if a sword had sliced her in two …
One of the twins, Ileana thought. Was it Cam? Or Alex?
Eyes stubbornly shut, the wakeful witch shuddered and shifted, trying to get comfortable in Karsh’s bed, which felt even narrower than usual this morning.
This half-being, one of two identical parts, was walking behind a dark, dangerous animal. Though she was following the creature, Ileana knew that the girl was destined to lead …
There would be no more sleep, she realized miserably, tossing in the cramped, lumpy bed. She was awake. As the last wisps of the dream floated out of reach, Ileana cautiously and reluctantly opened her eyes.
That explained it. Some of it. She had fallen asleep in Karsh’s decrepit old easy chair. She had never even gone to bed. Stretching stiffly — every bone in her beautiful body aching — she eased herself back to consciousness.
She had fallen asleep reading after returning from dinner at Crailmore — a family dinner with relatives who made the Manson family look like the Brady Bunch. Dysfunctional? More like Diss-functional. Insults and attitudes for the first course, attempted assault for dessert.
Ileana stood up and stubbed her bare toes on what felt like a brick but was only a book. A “book-alike” really, she thought, hopping on one foot so that she could massage the mashed toes of the other. Although its title read Forgiveness or Vengeance, it was little more than a leather-bound binder that held Karsh’s urgent letter to her.
Now she remembered. She had come home last night furious, her head abuzz with questions, the taste of bile bitter in her throat. How dare he? she’d thought. How dare that hulking egomaniac control freak, the disgusting DNA donor who was her father in genetics only, have defended Tsuris and Vey? How dare he compare those deadly dolts to gentle, good, and giving Karsh? And Thantos’s version of the DuBaer family history? Lies, lies, lies.
Ileana gasped, remembering … remembering what she had read last night! She swept up Karsh’s book and hobbled with it out to his garden. Already, the little plot was ravaged by weeds, its thirsty plants wilting, heads bowed like herbs in mourning.
Later, she’d work in the garden, Ileana promised herself. Now she wanted to review the stunning revelation of last night’s reading. She turned quickly to the passage she’d read before the family fiasco. It had ended with Karsh’s painful confession:
I wanted to protect him; instead I killed him.
As had been foretold, the curse claimed a new victim.
Because of an Antayus, the bravest and brightest DuBaer was murdered. Exactly as Abigail’s son had decreed.
Ileana skimmed the page and found the remarkable passage she’d read last night:
Again, he read my thoughts, your grandfather, Nathaniel. No, you may not stay with me, dear friend. You must go on living. Do not grieve, Karsh, he silently ordered. But carry out our plan. So that the Antayus curse may die with me. Change the order of succession. Tell my sons that none of them will rule, none lead. I am the last patriarch. But they will provide leaders — their wives and daughters.
From this day forward, only women will decide the fate of the DuBaer dynasty. Remarkable women, dedicated to good, to compassion and justice, schooled in the ways of our craft, Karsh had written, and free, dear child, of the Antayus taint.
Ileana looked up. So many things fell into place: Thantos’s unbridled greed, his determination to head the family and control the wealth, had been more important than his dying father’s wish. Of course he wanted Miranda and Ileana out of the way, and the twins, with their extraordinary powers. He would force them to accept and serve his authority. Or see them dead.
Thantos balked at his father’s demand, denied that Nathaniel would have suggested such a thing, and spent most of his early years trying to cast doubt on the truth of my word. One of the ways he did this was to claim that his father’s death had not been accidental and to spread it about that I had deliberately murdered Nathaniel.
But Leila and Rhianna knew better. They had heard us speaking of our plan to put an end to the curse, knew that it was Nathaniel’s desire, his desperate will, that Leila lead the family at his death. It was she who defended me against the vicious accusations of her own son. Your grandmother, along with tender Rhianna, tried to comfort me — even as she herself suffered the loss of her beloved husband.
Do not fear and do not falter, my fierce goddess. Do not let hatred weaken you. It is not seemly or serious. It is a joke one plays on oneself. For to hate, Ileana, is to drink poison and expect someone else to die. Cleanse your spirit, dear child of my heart, practice your craft, ask for help when you need it, and teach your fledglings by word and deed the power of good witches. There is so much yet to tell.
Karsh must have grown tired here. His hand faltered. His handwriting grew harder to read. And finally, the journal ended unfinished with the words, It is up to you now, Ileana — to guide your charges to their destiny.
So many things were left unexplained.
What destiny did he mean?
What did Karsh want the twins to do? Head the DuBaer clan? Thantos, wild with power and greed, would never allow it. And strong as they were, they were no match for him.
So perhaps he meant they should avenge his death by finishing off Tsuris and Vey, the only DuBaer males of their generation?
Or … did he mean for them to save their murderous cousins from death? Would that reverse the curse and thereby end it?
Alexandra and Camryn, Ileana knew well, could do neither. The twins could not kill, but just the same, they would not save the pair who’d killed their beloved Karsh. He would be in many ways the most important man in their lives. He’d made them whole by bringing them together. He’d sacrificed himself so they might live.
Leave it to Karsh, Ileana thought, fighting back tears. Leave it to the old trickster to bequeath her a monstrous riddle to unravel and to trust absolutely that she was capable of solving it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
BETRAYED
Alex was on a quest. Guided by the message in her dream, warmed by Miranda’s quilt, she roamed the island waiting for the jigsaw puzzle pieces to come together. Then she’d know what she had to do and when she’d have to do it.
She wandered randomly — Alex in Wonderland, she thought — absorbing the vivid colors and vibrant fragrances of the woods. Passing through a barrier of thick vines and bramble, she found herself at the water’s edge. Today, the great lake mirrored the calm sky, sparkling with morning sunshine.
Coventry was not so far from the mainland, even if it seemed to exist in its own universe, floating without anchor. Alex knelt to examine the shells and pebbles deliver
ed to shore by gentle waves. When a shimmering pink stone washed up, she examined it closely, turning it between her forefinger and thumb. It seemed to heat up in her hand. Or maybe she was flushed with feelings. It was a crystal of rose quartz. Karsh had given her one just like it.
Tenderly brushing sand from the multifaceted stone, she tucked it into her pocket and climbed aimlessly up a tall dune hairy with sea grass. At the top of the sandy hill, hidden by the grass, was a large boulder. Alex climbed it and looked down at the island. From this peak she could see practically everything, from the gleaming glass of the Unity Dome all the way to the cliffs of Crailmore.
She scrambled down the far side of the boulder and followed a rough, forested path to the village. There, she was struck again by the brilliant hues of houses, shops, and flowers cascading from baskets hung on every spiraled street lamp. The cobblestone avenues and sunny square, now at midmorning, began to fill with people in colorful capes, robes, or casual mainland clothing. They frequented spice, mineral, and herb shops, candle-making galleries and pottery barns, and breakfasted at the outdoor cafés around the village square. Every time Alex turned a corner, she felt as if she’d turned a page in a fairy tale picture book.
By the time she reached the far side of town, she knew without consciously thinking about it where her search would lead.
She arrived at LunaSoleil just before noon. The leaves and twigs hiding the cellar door had been brushed aside. Had she and Cam left it like that? There were two sets of footprints on the dusty steps leading down to the basement. Without Cam’s super-vision, Alex couldn’t tell if they were new or left over from her first visit. She stood completely still and listened hard.
Silence.
Reassured, Alex took the stairs two at a time and made for the loft. Understanding will come to you, Artemis, she’d been promised. Would she find it here in Aron and Miranda’s peaceful space?
Everything she’d heard at dinner, about a curse, about family secrets, had rocked her. As if something had gently turned her head, her gaze fell on the cedar chest. Were there missing puzzle pieces inside? Would unlocking the old trunk also unlock old secrets?
T*Witches: Kindred Spirits Page 11
