T*Witches: Destiny's Twins (12 page)

“Speaking of handsome rogues —” Clearly Ileana had intercepted Cam’s thoughts. “I have elsewhere to be myself —”

“Date with Brice?” Cam asked.

“He’s sulking with neglect,” Ileana confirmed. With a wink and a wave, she hurried off.

Alex had pulled on her boots and had just finished lacing them, when a familiar icy breeze blew her hood back and sent her sister’s gold robe billowing. The dock seemed to shudder suddenly.

“Still at it, I see.” Amaryllis was back — toting three bulging shopping bags. She was her old self again, the spell having been magickally reversed at month’s end. “Sorry.” She shrugged at their stunned expressions. “I couldn’t take any more.”

“What couldn’t you take?” Alex scrambled to her feet.

“Besides Beth’s best sweater,” Cam said, noting the familiar creamy cashmere the imp was wearing.

“You like?” Amaryllis did a modeling turn. “It’s just a souvenir. Your pal’s got so many. And she totally forced it on me when I did my I’m-Alex-with-nothing-to-wear shtick,”
the uninitiated witch bragged. “By the way, you —” she pointed at Alex. “You didn’t show up for school on Friday. I couldn’t be bothered running back and forth between classrooms all day. Anyhoo, I’m way spree-ed out. We did the mall, shopped till Beth dropped, pigged out at her pajama part-tay. Time so flew. And your forty-eight hours are almost up. In fact, you’re on your way to Auntie Em’s birthday bash right now — in costume, of course. Your bud insisted on getting in the Halloween mood.”

Amaryllis studied their gold and silver getups. “I had you in black with blood-red capes. Oh, well, Beth won’t notice the difference. I left her in a fog. Talk about surprise. Imagine how surprised she’ll be when she arrives at your doorstep without you.” The brazen imposter looked at her wristwatch — and Cam recognized the red Swatch Beth had gotten for her eleventh birthday. “Which she is about to do this very minute,” Amaryllis informed them.

Alex sighed. “Okay. Let’s do it. You grab the herbs. I’ll do the Traveler —”

“Yesss!” Cam enthused. “Click your Doc Martens three times, T’Witch sistah, and recite after me: There’s no place like home!”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A NIGHT TO REMEMBER

“Surprise!!”

Against all odds, it was.

Whatever they thought they “knew” about Emily’s plans? Scratch that. No way were they prepared for the real thing. The gala maxed out on bombshells, shocks, hoots of joy, gasps of wide-eyed amazement — accompanied, later, by buckets of grateful tears.

The Traveler’s spell had done its thing. One minute the twins were on the dock at Coventry, the next they were in front of Cam’s house in Marble Bay. And Beth was between them, her sinewy arms linked in theirs.

From inside, sounds flew out at them, a glut of
psyched giggles and whispers. Sights circled their brains, a manic slide show of lights and faces. Before they could process any of it, the front door flew open and a party-sized pack of revelers chorused, “Surprise!”

Camera flashes momentarily blinded Alex, but Cam recognized a field of friends, as lit up as the jack-o’-lanterns that decoratively lined the walkway.

Shouts of “Happy Birthday!” and “Did you know? Were you surprised?” were answered by,“They must have, they’re in costume!” “No way, look at their faces, they were stealthed, man, we did it!”

The shout-outs were punctuated with grateful laughter and relief: It was time to get the party started. Cam and Alex were whisked into the house and straight into a free-for-all hug-o-rama — glowing faces morphed into embraces, squeals, stoked smiles, and yelps of joy. Everyone talked at once, loudly, to be heard over the raucous music that kicked in on cue:

“
They say it’s your birthday!”

The Beatles. The “Birthday” song.

“It’s my birthday, too, yeah!”

Which could have been written for twins.

The girls’ minds were still half on Coventry and the amazing events of the last two days. But the party’s energy was irresistible.

Snap: Alex got her first big mind-blow of the night. The party she’d been dreading? A new day had dawned, and with it an unexpected attitude adjustment: She was suddenly psyched. Totally there. All over it — mind, body, and soul.

It was as they’d known it would be, a Halloween-themed sweet sixteen. Everyone was in costume. Cam and Alex, draped in their Coventry robes, were technically not. But no one realized it.

And who was there? Hello, who wasn’t? No matter how artful the face paint, how creative the getup, how killer the mask, no camo could conceal this crew. Cam didn’t need her see-through lenses to know who was who. These were the friends, the family, the neighbors, even her soccer coach, the loved ones who’d mattered — way back when, in spite of it all, and for always.

Alex needed no mind-reading skills. The vibe popping off the crowd was electric — and their excitement and happiness and loving thoughts were for her, too. Every bit as much as they delighted in surprising and celebrating Camryn, these people, strangers to her only a summer ago, were including her equally and fully in their good wishes. Alex couldn’t deny it, not after trying and failing to fend off the umpteenth rib-crushing hug.

The Six Pack had swooped down and surrounded the twins. And what a sight they were! Beth, whose frizzy
hair was tucked under a lustrous blond wig, they realized now, was part of a trio of costumed heroines. Tall and rangy, she was Cameron Diaz to Kristen’s dark-haired, chic Lucy Liu, and Amanda’s over-the-top Drew Barrymore.

“Charlie’s Angels!” Cam got it.

“Camryn’s Angels,” Beth gleefully corrected her.

“Cam and
Alex’s
Angels,” the ever-equal-op Amanda jumped in.

“What are
you?
” Alex quizzed Sukari. The plump, brainy, and usually reserved Suke was poured into a designer-worthy, gold-and-cocoa formfitting dress.

Grinning at their cluelessness, Sukari produced, from behind her back, a telling accessory: an imitation Academy Award. “Don’t you know?” She paused. “I’m Halle! Halle Birth-berry!”

Alex cracked up and Cam threw her arms around the science-terrific Bond girl.

“Let me guess. You came as … twins!” An irrepressible grin took the edge off Brianna Waxman’s attempt at cynical. The pint-sized diva was swaddled in shiny black spandex, from the cat’s ears jutting from her highlighted hair to the towering stiletto heels of her thigh-high boots. “How Mary Kate and Ashley.”

“Bree opted for a come-as-you-are costume. Right?” Kristen prompted her best bud.

“She thinks she’s a pussycat?” Alex was flabbergasted at how far off base Bree’s vision of herself was.

“Of course not,” the spandexed girl said. “I’m … catty.”

“Catty. Get it?” Amanda asked — unnecessarily, since everyone had broken up at Bree’s answer.

“Actually, Daddy got me an exact dupe of Michelle Pfeiffer’s
Batman
getup,” Bree insisted, twirling her tail. “She and I are so the same size. And you’re supposed to be?”

“Witches,” Cam answered.

“Twin witches,” Alex amended.

With a glance at her sister, Cam said, “We’re T’Witches.”

“Ooooh, that’s so cute,” Amanda cooed.

“But what? You ran out of money for the accessories?” Bree challenged. “Where are the brooms and pointy hats?”

Exchanging smiles, Cam and Alex shrugged. It was Dylan who unwittingly bailed them by breaking into the Six Pack circle and crowing, “That’s old school. They’re new-jack witches!”

“And look at you!” Cam whirled, pointing. Her little bro was all tricked out, not as the extreme sk8er boi they might have expected, but as a decidedly retro folkie. His
hair was long and straggly, a stick-on, soul-patch goatee was on his chin and, tellingly, an acoustic guitar with a tie-dyed strap was draped over his shoulder. Dylan Barnes had gone Dylan, Bob.

Amid the hubbub and delighted squeals of confusion, Cam felt a warm hand on her shoulders. It instantly calmed and centered her. She knew at once who had touched her; the surprise was that her heart leaped.

“Hi, birthday babe,” he was saying as she turned slowly, raising her chin to meet the warm, dark eyes of Jason Weissman. Tall and muscular, he’d come dressed as Jason Kidd, basketball star supreme — the tank top doing nice justice to his pecs, Cam noted.

“You … you … you’re here,” she stammered, then caught herself. Why wouldn’t he be? In whatever way she wanted — friend, or boyfriend — Jason would always be here. Years ago, he’d decided to be her rock. And in some way, up front or indirectly, she’d accepted.

“Happy birthday, sweet sixteen,” was all he said, before letting his arm slide to the small of her back, gently guiding her forward, where another batch of well-wishers waited to embrace her. There were more of Cam’s school friends, soccer teammates, girls she’d befriended from rival teams. Soon, she and Alex were swallowed up in more hugs and kisses and “happy birthdays.”

Alex was jazzed, witnessing the scene between her sister and Jason — Cam’s “soul mate,” was what she was thinking. She barely noticed when the boy who might be her own made his way through the sea of people to wash up at her elbow. It wasn’t until he squeezed it that Alex jumped, startled. Okay, the costume — a French beret and silly painted-on mustache — was pure cheese-ola. Or maybe
fromage
was a better word. But Cade wasn’t. Cheesy that is — not when he pulled off the mustache, gently pressed his lips to hers, and whispered, “
Bon anniversaire.
Happy birthday,
ma petite choucroute
.”

Over her weak “thank you,” he teased, “Alex, you’re blushing,” and let his fingertip trace her cheek. Alex grinned.

But something was missing.

Cam sensed it first and scanned the crush for her mom. Emily and Dave were not immediately among the throng of well-wishers. So where were the masterminds of this mega event? It took a moment, but she found them, pressed against the back wall of the front hall, holding hands, basking in the glow of a party about to go very, very right.

They were wearing matching black T-shirts on each of which was the legend
EM.

Em and Em?

Eminem!

Cam got it!

When her eyes met theirs, the adoptive couple who were her parents in every way but biological, Cam saw the joy and love and felt a kind of click, an allegiance renewed.

The past one year-plus — ever since she and Alex had discovered each other — had strained the fabric of the Barneses’ carefully woven family bonds. But it had not ripped them apart. As much as any witch or warlock on Coventry, this extraordinary couple had her back. Hers and Alex’s.

All this Cam got in an instant. No words needed. Which was a good thing. Because she could not have trusted herself to speak. The lump in her throat would have made it impossible.

She felt Alex’s arm slip around her waist, providing the strength she needed to move away from the partyers to make her way to Dave and Emily. The embrace was a four-way, and it would have been a mutual sob-fest, had Dylan not broken in, loudly so everyone would follow. “Dudes, let’s move! Backyard, outside — or this party’s gonna start without us!”

Cam’s kid brother wasn’t kidding. At their first glimpse of the backyard, Cam’s left hand and Alex’s right clasped over their mouths in perfect sync. The entire
yard, from the weeping cherry tree that marked the far left corner of their property to the row of honeysuckle hedges that bordered the right, had been transformed into Party Central, circus style.

Ringmaster-mom Emily had used her skill as a decorator to full effect. She’d rented two huge party tents for her girls and had them customized.

Based on the twins’ necklaces, the entryway to one tent was decorated with radiant sunbursts — substituting soccer balls for the blazing yellow suns in the center. Stenciled in glitter above the entrance were the words
CAM’S SOCCER LEAGUE.

The tent next to it was sprinkled with silver stars and crescent moons and labeled
ALEX’S HARD ROCK CAFÉ.

At any other time, Alex would have gone queasy over the too-cute décor. But this moment, her stomach fluttered for another reason. It was Cade on one side, Dylan on the other, practically pushing her inside the moon tent. Alex understood a minute too late: There were more custom surprises waiting inside, and not very patiently, for her.

“What took you so long, girlfriend?! Thought I’d grow old waitin’!”

Not even oversized freckles and a horn-honking fake red nose could disguise the familiar, round, open face greeting Alex. “Get in here so I can give you a birthday
hug!” Lucinda Carmelson ordered. Her ear-to-ear grin was widened by an exaggerated, painted-on clown smile. Lucinda, the once and forever BFF, rushed Alex, grabbed her in a bear hug so tight, it nearly cut off her breathing.

“Yo, make room, I got dibs, too.” The voice, like the boy himself, was warm and sweet as chocolate.

“Evan Fretts!” Alex, released from Luce’s frenzied grip, was practically hyperventilating. Evan was here! If Lucinda owned best friend forever status, Evan was Alex’s Montana main man: the boy who, despite his own plentiful problems, had always watched out for her.

He’d never been to Marble Bay before. Yet here he was, so very Evan — solid, still, standing his ground with open arms, hale and hottie as ever. But where were his dreadlocks? Was it for the party that he’d gone all Captain Peroxide? “You like?” Evan asked, running his fingers through the new ‘do.

Alex tried to collect herself, but failed. “You guys! You flew here all the way from Crow Creek! How could you afford —” She knew the answer before finishing the sentence. They couldn’t afford it. Emily and Dave had flown them in. Her legal guardians had known what was important to Alex, and how to translate that into the kind of party the girl who hated parties would be all over.

Lucinda was squealing, having spied Cade a second before a stream of Dylan-led guests flooded Alex’s tent.
“Is this him? This must be him!” Snatching Alex’s arm, she demanded, “Tell all! Now!”

Alex laughed. A good thing, ’cause no way was she crying, not in front of the slackers, boardies, and surfers who were crowding in.

Luce. Alex couldn’t get over it. You could take the girl out of the wide-open spaces of Montana, but you could never take the wide open-heartedness, the smiling directness, out of the girl. And why would anyone want to? “Fill you in later,” Alex promised as Dylan got the music cranking.

Music had been the insta-bond between him and Alex, their native language. So trust Dyl to know what kind of mix to master for Alexandra Fielding’s sixteenth birthday. Nothing you could dance to, not a happy-go-hooky pop song in the bunch. Instead, it was a blend of alternative, brat rock, a pulse of punk, and okay, call it folk, the every-couplet-tells-a story kind of music. A sound track for Alex’s life, for her heart.

All props went to Emily for the chow-down. She wandered into Alex’s tent now and sidled up to her legal charge. She hadn’t, she reported, actually
cooked
anything — they both laughed at that admission — but applied her creative streak to what should be served. Three buffet stations had been set up, all with unfussy, untrendy,
finger food. Mini hot dogs, zucchini and mozzarella cheese sticks, corn on the cob, chicken wings, fries both curly and stringy, tacos, burritos …

Alex stopped surveying just then. At the end of the tables were … O.M.G.… framed family photos!
Her
family photos! Baby Alex and toddler Alex, down by Crow Creek, Sara hovering over her. And school pictures, too, one bad-hair class pic after another of a decidedly unsmiling little girl with huge gray eyes.

She caught sight of Luce, who winked, and Alex shook her head.
You shouldn’t have,
she thought. When Evan laughed, she could have sworn he’d heard her thoughts.

There was one photograph at the end of the table that had not been lugged from Montana. It was of an old white-haired gent, cradling two babies in his arms, babies who — if you looked very, very closely — were wearing hammered-gold necklaces, one a crescent moon shape, the other a sun.

Alex knew not to ask Emily where that pic had come from. The good woman who’d worked so hard and so successfully to give Alex a wonderful sweet sixteen would not have known the truth. Which had to be: The photo had appeared courtesy of Ileana.