Just then, the woman stopped walking and looked straight at Cam.
“Don’t,” Cam began weakly, but as the sun charm began to heat in her hand, her voice became sure and strong. “Spirits who protect and love the innocent and helpless,” she chanted, holding the frightened woman’s gaze. “Save from harm all those you judge kind of heart and selfless.”
A mask seemed to fall over the woman’s taut face. As if in a trance, she slipped her hand out of the man’s and stepped back onto the curb.
Cam set her sight on the man, but his cap shaded his eyes. She could not make contact with him. “Stop,” she wanted to shout. Instead, it was the woman’s voice that cried out, “Stop. Elias, wait. Come back. Come here!”
He was in too much of a hurry, too frightened. Cam’s scream seemed to blend with the wailing of the woman and her wakened baby. That was all she remembered. That, and wishing Emily were there, to hold and comfort her.
She was wakened by the polar opposite of nurturing warmth.
“I can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I? This is what I get for trusting you!” Ileana!
Cam had never been so relieved to hear that icy voice, to see the haughty expression, the jutting cheekbones and windblown golden hair, to see the dangerously flashing gray eyes of Ileana staring at her.
“What are you doing here?” It was a rhetorical question, asked as Ileana opened her cape and signaled for the trembling, blubbering Cam to wrap herself inside it. She pretended not to hear the fledgling’s tale of a man being run down by two terrifying boys, how she’d seen it coming and had not been able to save him. How she could only help the woman with the baby —
“Do you think this is all I have to do?” the imperious witch interrupted. “Keep bailing you out of trouble? I’m in the middle of what may be the most important trial in the history of Coventry Island and you force me to choose between you and seeing justice done!”
Cam tried to explain, but Ileana wanted the answer to only one question: “Where’s your sister?”
CHAPTER TEN
ALEX’S EXCELLENT ADVENTURE
Exactly as it had happened before, a sharp breeze set the candle flames flickering, then swirled around Alex, enclosing her in a funnel of whirling wind. When she opened her eyes, it took her a moment to realize that she was inside an office, surrounded by cubicles, computers, file cabinets. Photos and wacky headlines shared a huge bulletin board with schedules and dates.
Excellent! The Transporter had worked! She was inside Starstruck’s headquarters. Even better, she was exactly where she’d wanted to be: in the photo department, which was very quiet. On California time, it was too early for anyone to have arrived at work.
“Dude!” Alex spun around to slap palms with Cam. “We’re in — we did it!” She was about to say, “You the girl,” only Cam wasn’t there. Alex called out, “Camryn! I’m in here, in the photo department! This rocks!”
No answer. She shrugged. Okay, Cam must’ve landed in another part of the building. Sending a telepathic message, Alex figured her sister would find her — meanwhile, there was no time to waste. Edwards wasn’t in yet, but the picture they’d come for probably was.
Where to begin? The photo honcho’s office would be a good place to start. But where was that? Main dude? Biggest office.
The nameplate read ALVIN D. EDWARDS, DIRECTOR OF PHOTOGRAPHY. Alex opened the door. Ole Alvin commanded a spacious suite. But it reeked!
The ventilation hadn’t kicked on yet and the windows in Edwards’s messy workplace were sealed and strictly for the view. The office was seriously cluttered. Filing cabinets banked two walls. On his humongous desk, practically hiding the computer and the multiline phone, were piles of files, photo loops, notes, random supplies, and, big surprise, crumpled coffee cups and cellophane wrappings, complete with morsels of muffins, doughnuts, and cream-filled mystery cakes that even Dylan, the ultimate junk foodie, would reject.
Alex started with the cabinets. Luckily, Edwards alphabetized. She worked her way from A for Aliens to Z for Zilch. Which is what she came up with: There were no files for Thantos or DuBaer anywhere.
She attacked the litter on Edwards’s desk, stopping every once in a while to listen for Cam or zap her another message. No go.
An hour later, Alex had rifled through hundreds of prints and slides but had not found the one she was looking for.
Nor had Cam arrived.
Dejectedly, Alex plopped into Edwards’s chair. The only place she hadn’t searched was the top drawer of his desk. It might contain a random picture or two. Wrong. It was Edwards’s junk drawer. Among pens, stickies, paper clips, and rubber bands were half-eaten candy bars, enough crumbs to host an ant convention, a shriveled, dripping peach, and a blackened dead banana. Someone get this guy a Dustbuster and a fumigator!
Wrinkling her nose, Alex pushed aside the leftovers and reached into the back of the drawer. She came up with a handful of laminated badges, press passes for employees. She flipped through them. Neither the people in the pictures nor the names rang a bell.
She was about to toss them back in the drawer when a familiar, sickening feeling washed over her like a tsunami. Her senses sharpened as she honed in on something far away. She heard: screeching tires, busted glass, horrified shrieks. “No! No! Elias!” And then, a baby crying.
Alex jumped up and looked out the window. Daylight was dawning, but the street below was peaceful, no cars, no screaming people. The crash hadn’t happened there. Well, where then? Could there be some connection between the ID badge in her hand and the terrible sounds of an accident? She sat back in Edwards’s chair and checked out the mug shot. A thick-necked man in a backwards baseball cap. The name tag said …
“Alexandra DuBaer, I presume.”
Alex froze — and looked straight up into the beady eyes of a man so mountainous he filled the door frame. She hadn’t heard him coming: The car crash had obscured all other sounds. This dude was mammoth. And snarling. She was so busted.
Lamely, she went for a quip. “And you would be … um … Madonna?”
Edwards was ferociously unamused. His eyes bored into her. “You’ve got some nerve,” he growled. “You little punk. Think you can just break in here and go through my stuff?”
Alex calculated the distance between herself and the doorway. Edwards was about to pop a vein. If he took three steps toward her, she’d be toast.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“Helping.” Pathetic much? It was all she could think of to buy time.
“Helping yourself straight into juvie — by the looks of you, exactly where your kind belongs!” he barked at her. “Breaking and entering, trespassing, stealing. I’d call security, but it’s going to be much more satisfying to haul you out myself.”
He came at her. So did an idea.
Alex pictured the rotten banana in the desk drawer. Could she act quickly enough to send the squishy, revolting thing, sliding across the floor? It wasn’t much, but …
“Whoa … Ow! What the …?!” The big man slid into a skid, then went down hard. But he wasn’t down to stay — and, unlike the bowling alley bozo, Edwards seemed intent on causing major bodily harm.
From his flat-out position on the floor, he glared at her. “You little freak! You’re gonna be sorry you ever set foot in this office.”
Time was so not on Alex’s side. Edwards would be up in a minute. Other people would be here soon —
She could run — but … nah.
She needed to know the photographer’s name.
Where was Cam? Her sister could stun people, fasten them to the floor with a stare, dazzle them into confessing what they didn’t want to. If there was ever a time Alex needed those skills, this was it.
But she was alone, helpless … except for her wits, her necklace … and the crystal and herb flakes Cam had given her!
Alex took them out of her pocket and tossed what was left of the mugwort at Edwards.
The ph
oto editor laughed. “That’s your weapon? Parsley?”
Clutching her half-moon necklace in one fist and the crystal in the other, Alex recited the Truth Inducer incantation:
“Free him,” she said, feeling her half-moon charm begin to warm. “Free Alvin Edwards … from doubt and shame.”
The laughter caught in his throat. He stared at her as though she were crazy.
“Let us win his trust … And lift his blame.”
“Girlie, Ms. DuBaer, or whatever your name is,” Edwards said with no trace of anger, “you’re barking up the wrong guy. That picture came in by e-mail from a freelancer.”
McCracken — the name on the ID badge. Alex remembered the one she’d been holding when she heard the phantom car crash.
“We published the picture,” the editor went on, “saved it in our cyber files. And it’s gone. Believe me, only a big-time computer hacker — a guy like your uncle — could have cracked our system and deleted it — but someone did. That picture you’re looking for is history.”
Edwards lay back on the floor of his office. He put his arms under his head and stared up at the ceiling.
“I tried to find McCracken after you called,” he finally said. “He must have changed his screen name like he changed his address. The check we mailed him came back stamped ‘Moved. No Forwarding Address.’ And get this, it was his biggest score yet,” Edwards said admiringly. “Something must’ve spooked him.”
Or someone, Alex thought.
This whole trip had been a failure. Her heart sank. No photo, no photographer. And no idea where Cam was.
“She’s at home, where she belongs — as do you!” Ileana, boiling mad, sailed into the office, glaring at Alex.
Edwards’s eyes bugged at the sight of the exquisite velvet-draped witch. He lifted his head to watch her. Ileana sighed impatiently and waved her hand over his supine body. His head fell back with a thud, eyes rolling, unconscious. Daintily, she stepped over him. “Let’s go,” she grumbled at Alex. “Your timing stinks!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THIS JUST IN
Ileana hung around just long enough to tear into them.
“The Transporter is off-limits to you! None but the initiated may use it.” She stalked around the Barneses’ family room, cape flaring, stiletto heels clicking on the polished wood floor, while Cam nervously toyed with the spell book Ileana had left them. “Which you two” — whirling dramatically, she pointed at Cam and Alex — “are not. And will not be until your sixteenth birthdays — if you survive until then!”
Before they could protest, or remind her that it was she who’d given them the book, Ileana snatched it back, adding, “As your guardian, I forbid you to use that spell again. Do not think about trying to find that photographer. Or, for that matter, your mother.”
Cam, shaken from the hit-and-run, was curled up in a corner of the couch. Her cell phone rang, but she didn’t bother answering it. She only whimpered, “You don’t know what it’s like. Not knowing if one of your real parents is dead or alive. It can be —”
“Frustrating, maddening, all consuming?” Ileana’s searing eyes softened briefly with compassion. “I have some small experience in the area,” she assured them. “Now,” she continued, pausing to clear her throat, “if, against all odds and evidence, Miranda is alive — big if — I will be the one to find her. End of story.”
She turned away abruptly, as if to prove the conversation was over. But, Alex suspected, it was her thoughts Ileana wanted to hide from them.
She wasn’t fast enough.
What they just accomplished is amazing. Karsh was right.
Alex caught every glowing word.
Together, they’re powerful beyond imagination. But they need so much help. Without humility, education, discipline, and the wisdom of an ancient community to guide them, their talents can be corrupted; their gifts become their downfall. Bright as they are, Ileana told herself, they cannot win against Thantos! They may not even be capable of besting Fredo’s wild boys, who were probably sent by their miserable uncle to taunt the twins. The very idea that Thantos pretends to know where Miranda is, that he visits her, is probably a trap. He must be stopped. Now!
With a regal toss of her flaxen hair, Ileana announced, “I’m off.”
“Wait.” Alex sprang from the high-backed chair she’d been parked in. “You’re supposed to help us. I mean, if you don’t believe Miranda is alive, then tell us what the notes mean. Someone’s been sending us messages about Miranda. We think they’re from Thantos. Can you at least confirm or deny?”
Ileana heaved a dramatic sigh. “Fine. I’ll grant you one more minute of my valuable time. Make the most of it.”
Alex darted up to their room and was down a moment later with the two anonymous notes they’d received.
Ileana read them, turned them over, sniffed at the paper they’d come on. “You think this is Thantos’s work? You must be joking,” she said finally. “Not even the most primitive witch or warlock would communicate in this coarse fashion. This,” she said, tossing the pages back to Alex, “is a joke from one of your infantile friends.”
Cam was depressed. The feeling was new to her and unwelcome. They’d messed up the spell and, in addition to not being any closer to finding Miranda, it had cost an innocent man his life.
Now Ileana was gone and Cam’s brain was stuck on replay. Alex had ended up in the right place, but left without a single lead. Both the picture and the dude who took it were MIA. Ileana and probably Karsh were furious with them.
If only that was the worst of it. Not even.
That would come when Emily Barnes got home.
Cam’s mild-mannered mom was a wreck. Coat askew, with hat hair, makeupless, she stomped toward the front door in high heels made for stylish strolling. “Wreck” morphed into “wrath” when she realized the twins were in the family room. Tossing down her fuzzy hat, blue eyes blazing, she laced into them.
“You’re here? You’re home? I called everywhere! No one knew where you were! I called your cell phone five minutes ago!”
Cam gulped. She wanted to say something, but her mom was just warming up. No way would she get a word in here.
“You cut school! One of you called and pretended to be me — how could you lie like that?” With each sentence, Emily’s voice seemed to go up an octave. Had Dylan gotten trapped into confessing? Cam wondered — but not for long. Emily promptly solved that mystery.
“The dentist called!” As if she’d just read Cam’s mind, Emily railed, “He wanted to see if you could come in during lunch today instead of after school. I called you. When I couldn’t get through, I tried the school office. Imagine my surprise — and embarrassment — to find out that I had called earlier this morning!” Cam’s stomach fell, landing with a splash in a puddle of guilt.
“Where were you? Your father and I were worried sick! Didn’t you even think about that?” Emily stopped pacing and stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at them.
We didn’t think we’d get caught, Alex was thinking.
Emily stared right at her. “Or didn’t it occur to you that you might get caught!”
Alex’s jaw dropped. Had the woman read her mind? Well, if Alex returned the favor, she’d probably catch Emily thinking: This kind of thing never happened before Alex got here!
She knew she was being paranoid. Emily was, just as ticked at Cam, maybe even more so since Princess Perfect never got in trouble, Alex thought sourly, until, oops, trouble came to her.
Quietly, Cam said, “Mom? Just one thing. It wasn’t Alex. It was me. If you have to blame one of us, blame me. And also … Mom? We won’t do it again.”
If Emily heard her, she didn’t show it. She’d spent hours panicked at the thought that something awful had happened to them. She was too worked up now to turn the switch to cool down. In fact, she was just warming up.
“If I find out you involved your brother in this …”
Alex fell back onto the oppos
ite end of the sofa where Cam had curled up again. Without glancing at each other, they suffered in polite silence through Emily’s tirade. It finally ended with, “I can’t wait to hear why you did this and, giving you the benefit of the doubt, I’m assuming there’s a very good reason.”
Of course there was. Just none Emily would believe. In fact, there was nothing they could say to Dave, either, when he arrived home a few minutes later. David Barnes, who knew Karsh, who knew the importance of protecting the girls — though not specifically why or from what — was as angry as Cam had ever seen him. Clearly, he was severely shaken by what might have happened to them, and of failing as a father and a guardian.
“But, Dad,” Cam began.
“We’re so sorry, uh …” Alex thoughtfully omitted “dude” from the end of the sentence.
Emily sighed deeply and glanced at her husband. His usually smiling, mustached face was stern and ashen.
Cam looked at Alex, who nodded knowingly.
They were so grounded.
Grounded at home. Detention at school. Alex’s life was nothing if not well balanced. Twin punishments for only one twin.
Of course, cutting was not exactly Alex’s first infraction at Marble Bay High. But it was Cam’s trouble debut, so she got off scot-free —
Unless you counted the Six Pack’s slam book of snooping. Beth, Kristen, Bree, Sukari, and Amanda were all over the leader of the pack to spill, dish, get down, and tell them where she and her twin had been. In the end they had to settle for Cam’s lame excuse: “Als and I just had stuff to do.”
Everyone swallowed it but Beth.
All morning long, Cam’s curly-haired bff pestered her. “What happened? Why didn’t you answer my calls, my IMs? Were you at the doctor? Did it have to do with your … you know … mini space-out the other day?”
Cam pressed assurances on Beth, but nothing worked. In third period Spanish, her rangy bud played the I-know-you-better-than-anyone, I-know-when-something’s-wrong card. And then, her voice laced with real fear, she asked softly, “You’re not, like, sick or anything, are you?”
T*Witches: Don’t Think Twice Page 6
