T*Witches: Double Jeopardy (3 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

A PREMONITION

Spindly and tall, his muscles taut, Karsh clasped both hands tightly around the broom handle. He swung it like a golf pro, confident, steady, accurate.
Swoosh!
Cobwebs disintegrated. Dust balls scattered like mice fleeing a cat. And wasn’t he, he thought happily as he took another swipe across the wooden floor, quite the cat. What did the kids say? The hep cat, the cool cat? What might young Camryn and Alex say? Something like that. He grinned.

The recent trial, at which he’d represented the people of Coventry Island, had rejuvenated him. For the first time in a long time, Karsh felt truly invigorated, back to health, in top form. He scanned the sitting room of his
cozy Coventry Island cottage, anxious to give it a thorough cleaning. He flexed a bicep. Like the broom he gripped securely, there was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Unexpectedly, Karsh caught a glimpse of himself in the now-gleaming polished wood floor. He laughed. His reflection mocked his feelings of vitality. He looked like a wrinkled old man, with nappy white hair, skin so crinkly and papery thin as to nearly be translucent, ancient eyes hooded and dimmed by age. Well, what was that other expression? Can’t judge a book by its cover?

His blue eyes danced as he crossed the room to his wall of bookcases, crammed with dozens of volumes. The cracked spines had names such as
The Universal Craft Guide, Herbs of Coventry Island, Forgiveness or Vengeance: Righting Ancient Wrongs, Spells to Conjure With….

The handsome leather-bound books might deceive the unschooled, but any wise witch would realize the pages held incantations, tenets of herbal science, laws of tracking, of transmutating — all practices of the craft. Some books had been hollowed out so sacred amulets could be stored safely inside them.

For instance, the one titled
Sticks and Stones
was really a velvet-lined box filled with unpolished gems, mineral-laden amulets, and ancient crystals. Few would know that among the geological trinkets were five sacred
stones, gathered from five hallowed sites: ancient Egypt, Mesopotamia, Machu Picchu, the caves of Coventry Island, and Salem, Massachusetts.

There were other kinds of volumes as well, books that told of ancient curses, of how to do harm. Karsh had often thought of disposing of those permanently. But he could not. Yet.

There were photos interspersed with the books. Snapshots of his family, now all long gone, and portraits of friends — mostly of the fledglings he’d taught through the years. He picked up one of Ileana, his most volatile charge, and shook his head sadly. What she must be going through now!

He gently removed the photo from its glassed-in frame. Hidden behind it was a picture Karsh could neither bring himself to toss out nor look at. He picked it up and stared at it. Taken long ago, it was a snapshot of a young warlock standing tall, smiling broadly, his chest puffed out. The young Karsh’s arm was casually flung around the shoulder of another man, this one also young, a bit shorter and broader, and also grinning.

Nathaniel DuBaer. His long-dead best friend. They’d been so full of hope in those days, firmly believing that the best of life was there for the taking. That they were invincible. But fate had other plans.

Glass shattered, splintering all over his freshly
swept floor. Karsh would realize later that the framed photograph had slipped out of his hands and crashed to the floor. As he’d been staring at it, a familiar sensation swept over him. No matter how many times it happened, he still feared it: the icy chill that swirled about him, the constriction of his throat, the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. As always, Karsh’s ears rang loudly, obliterating any other sound. His eyes stung, his vision blurred, then sharpened.

And Karsh saw:

A forest, deep with trees, yet swampy, indicating water nearby — a pond, a lake, a bay, perhaps. Yes. A handsome cove, edged in tall reeds and cattails and a narrow, rocky beach. But in the woods, through an aisle of towering evergreens, a mystic circle walled with rocks made his blood run cold. In horror, he watched, repulsed yet hypnotized, as a gaunt form in a funereal cape turned to him, eyes wide with shock. Gasping, grabbing his temples, the stunned figure staggered backward, then crumpled in the dirt.

Karsh’s own hands flew to his head to stop the spreading and deepening pain. He heard screams again, far away but familiar. And then everything faded.

The unnerved warlock gripped the bookcase to steady himself and took a tentative step forward. Shards of glass crunched under his slippers. His head pounded.

Visions such as these, as he’d taught Camryn, signaled a premonition, a psychic preview of an event that would occur at a later time. Sometimes it felt frightening and dangerous, predicting something bad; often it was hard to figure out exactly what it meant.

But Karsh knew precisely what this vision had forecast. Angrily, he slammed his fist on the bookcase. He had much to do now, and he had to act quickly.

Leaving the broken glass where it lay, he yanked the
Sticks and Stones
book from its perch and flung it open. Eyes closed, he sifted through the stones, recognizing the ones he sought by touch.

The sacred five would tell him what he needed to know immediately — where Ileana was. She’d fled Coventry Island, wanting time and space to cope with the trial’s revelations. And Karsh had promised not to seek her out.

His premonition forced him to break that promise.

He cleared the top of his ancient desk and placed four of the stones in an exact pattern, laying the tiger-eye in the center. He lit a candle and, with intensity, performed the Calling.

Light radiated from deep within each stone. Each beam strengthened the glowing color of the next. Together they formed a powerful rainbow. If the ritual were done correctly, with a pure heart, he would find her in
the tigereye. Be able to summon her in a flash, when and if he had to.

Karsh stared into the golden gleam of the center stone — and saw Ileana.

She was alone on a beach, staring out at the sea. Instantly, he knew where his dejected charge had gone. He exhaled fully and allowed relief to sweep through him.

Which might have been why he didn’t hear them, or pick up the scent of cheap cologne and oily hair tonic, and didn’t intuit the danger; maybe that was why he found himself ambushed.

Two intruders violently kicked in his front door and came at him with fists raised.

He knew his attackers. Tsuris and Vey, the vicious sons of Fredo DuBaer, had recently arrived on the island to attend their father’s trial. Now, fueled by misguided allegiance to the parent they rarely saw, the mindless bullies wanted revenge.

“Where is she, old man?” Tsuris, the taller of the deluded duo, demanded as he took a menacing step toward Karsh.

“Where is Ileana, the traitor who put our father in jail? She’s not at home,” snarled the clumpy, red-faced Vey. “We already searched her place. You know where she is. Give it up!”

Karsh tried to reason with them. “Your anger is misdirected. Ileana did nothing more than open the door, allowing the truth to finally come out.”

“Truth? You old faker! You can’t fool us,” Tsuris growled. “It’s a scheme to smear our good name, cheat us out of what’s owed to us.”

So that was it? These insolent fools, raised in California by a greedy mother who’d divorced Fredo years ago, felt threatened. They didn’t care about their father, only that their share of the inheritance of DuBaer Industries might be affected.

Karsh shook his head. Selfish and stupid begat selfish and stupid. There was no reasoning with either.

“Tell us where she is right now, or you’ll regret it … if you live to!” Vey leaned in threateningly.

Ordinarily, Karsh could have dispensed with these roughnecks. With a flick of his hand, he could have turned Vey into the lumpy toad he resembled and Tsuris, whose bleached hair stood on end, into a prickly cactus. But strong and healthy as Karsh had felt moments ago, age had slowed him and the premonition had broken his concentration. Just enough for the dunderheaded duo to act.

With a brutal shove, Tsuris knocked Karsh down. The surprised tracker landed hard on his back on the
cold stone floor. Waving the cane the old warlock had used during his illness, Vey ordered him to stay down.

The ruffians raged through the cottage, flinging open doors, wrecking what they could — out of sheer spite — knocking over furniture, tearing down drying herbs, breaking crockery and glassware in their way.

The pain in Karsh’s head was intense. Just before everything went black, he heard the sickening clatter of his sacred stones tumbling from the table and skidding across the slate floor.

CHAPTER SIX

A RESTLESS NIGHT

PITS was crowded, noisy, and warm with the scrumptious, oven-fresh scent of pizza. Five of the “Six Pack,” Cam’s crew, plus Alex, were cozily packed into the big booth up front — where everyone who came or went could pause to chat, wave, or check them out admiringly.

“Let’s get out of here,” Alex whispered to her sister.

Cam nodded but made no move to leave.

Neither of them was hungry. For the past fifteen minutes, they’d picked at their slices, nodded, and pretended to be part of the Friday evening fun and festivities. But their attention was elsewhere.

Cam couldn’t forget the ugly vision Thantos had painted for them or shake the awful feeling that it was a
peek into the future, not some random event their uncle had conjured.

Alex was equally preoccupied, but she was thinking of their mother and whether Thantos had told them the truth when he’d said Miranda wouldn’t call again or come to see them without his … permission.

Cam had been honestly pleased for her tall, curly-haired best friend Beth, who’d just gotten her driver’s permit. But after giving Beth a brief “Go, girl,” she’d quickly tuned out.

Alex had tried to listen as Kristen Hsu, tossing her cascading, stick-straight, pitch-black hair over her shoulders, delivered the latest word on Bree — who was still dealing with her anorexia at the same California clinic where their mom was supposed to be.

And it took all the energy they had to fake interest in the newest school tragedy being batted around by Sukari and Amanda.

“Someone said it was a skateboarding accident,” gullible Amanda was saying. “But then I heard she slipped on the stairs —”

“And landed on her eyeball? I think not,” Sukari noted dryly.

“They’re investigating her folks,” Kristen confidently chimed in. “They always go after the ’rents when child abuse is suspected.”

“Kenya is not exactly a child,” Beth pointed out. “She’s … Cami, isn’t she in Dylan’s class?”

Hearing her brother’s name jolted Cam. “What?” she asked, startled.

Something about a girl in his class
, Alex silently informed her.

“Kenya Carson,” Beth said. “Isn’t she in —”

“I’m sorry,” Cam said. “I’m just —” She looked at her sister for help.

“She’s … not feeling well,” Alex decided. “I told her we should’ve stayed home but —”

“Oh, no.” Kris shrank away from Cam. “That’s all I need. My sister just got over the flu —”

Cam looked around, dazed. She did feel sick. And she probably looked it, too.

“Come on, let’s go,” Alex urged her.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Cam told her buds, sliding out of the booth. “I probably just need a good night’s sleep. But Als is right. We should go home.”

“If it were daytime, I could drive you,” Beth said.

“Our bikes have lights. And there’s a moon out. No probs,” Alex assured her.

A good night’s sleep was not an option.

Cam wanted to look in on Dylan before they went to their room, but Alex didn’t.

“He’s cool. I checked him out before we left,” Alex said, walking past Dyl’s closed door. “Just before Uncle Devious popped up. Do you think he was telling the truth?”

Cam shuddered. “I hope not.”

“I wasn’t talking about his teen horror flick starring Dylan Barnes.” After cautiously opening the door to their room and finding it free of uninvited guests, Alex threw her hooded sweatshirt on her bed. “I meant Miranda. Do you think he’s the only one who can get her to come here? Because if that’s true, it really reeks. I mean, she’s our mom. You’d think she’d want to see us as badly as we want —”

“What was it he said?” Cam asked, pulling the scrunchie off her ponytail and shaking her hair free. “Accidents do happen.”

“He was just trying to scare us,” Alex decided as Cam headed for the bathroom that linked their room with Dylan’s.

“Trying?” Cam exclaimed. “I’d say he was totally successful.” She glanced at the door leading to her brother’s room — and felt a pull to just peek in….

“Have you ever thought about why he wants us?” Alex called, distracting her.

“Who, Thantos?” Cam’s worrywart impulse faded. “Duh! Have you ever thought about coloring your hair?”

By the time she came out in her pj’s, Alex — wearing a ripped and threadbare T-shirt that had belonged to her adoptive mom, Sara — was already in bed.

“No, I’m serious, Cami. Let’s face it,” Alex said as her identical twin climbed into her identical twin bed, “when it comes to the craft, we’re good, but we’re not that good. If he really wanted to, Big Unc could brutally blow us away. Why hasn’t he?”

Cam shrugged, then clicked off the light on the table between them. “Gotta say, I just sort of bought Ileana’s explanation —”

Ileana, their high-strung but nevertheless extremely bright guardian, believed that Thantos wanted to “turn” the twins; to bring them, and the remarkable powers they were destined to possess, over to the dark side; to have them serve their uncle’s greed for wealth and power rather than the urgent needs of humanity.

Ileana also believed that failing to persuade them to work for him, Thantos would not hesitate to kill them.

For a while, neither of them spoke, but each knew the other was awake and afflicted with “monkey mind” — which, according to Cam’s friend Amanda, was a Zen expression for wildly obsessive thinking.

“Okay, a dollar fifty for your thoughts,” Alex finally broke the silence. “I mean, I’m kind of focusing on
when
, while you’re all about
what
, right?”

“I guess,” Cam confessed. “I mean,
when
we’ll get to meet our mom isn’t really up to us, is it? But I can’t help thinking about
what
she’s really like.”

“And your conclusion?” Alex prodded.

“Gentle,” Cam said. “You know, like, calm and kind and loving … And probably kind of nervous about meeting us. Like wanting to make a good impression. I mean, she’s a mom, right?”

“Dude, she’s also a witch,” Alex pointed out. “Think about it. She’s survived the murder of her husband, the loss of us — no big deal, right? — and fifteen years in captivity, like, practically in prison or whatever. Fifteen years locked away from her Coventry Island friends and family —”

“So what are you saying?” Cam asked defensively. “You think she’s going to be like some ex-con?”

“No, but I don’t see her as all sweet and soft and momlike,” her sister retorted. “I think she’s probably incredibly strong. More like some fierce goddess, you know, like this temporarily sidelined superwoman —”

“Alex! She cried on the phone. She cried when she heard our voices,” Cam said impatiently. “What are we, Kryptonite?”

“Good night,” Alex said.

“Yeah, really,” Cam grumbled.

Half an hour later, she added, “They both had gray eyes. Weird, huh?”

“Our parents,” Alex responded without skipping a beat. “Bree said Miranda had the same color eyes as ours, but big, bad Thantos claims we resemble our dad —”

“Bree said she was very beautiful,” Cam murmured.

“That nails it.” Alex laughed. “Obviously, Uncle T was right. We must look like our father.”

Cam giggled. Their dad, Aron, they’d discovered, had been the middle child of three — born between tall, hulking Thantos and small, skinny, goat-bearded Fredo. “Ugh,” Cam said, “I hope
he
didn’t look anything like his brothers.”

They were quiet for a time. When Alex next glanced at the digital clock between them, she saw that it was three
A.M.
“Which brings us back to
when
,” she said.

“Huh?” Cam had dozed off.

“Maybe we should play along. Pretend we’re, like, totally ready to intern at his company, go with him, — just as soon as he gets us together with Miranda. What do you think?”

Camryn shifted sleepily. “I think we’re doing it again,” she said, yawning. “Trying to figure out everything on our own when it’s clear we should be asking for Karsh’s and Ileana’s help.”

“Cami,” Alex confessed, “I’ve been trying to contact them all night. They’re not answering —” A moment later, she sat up abruptly. Hugging herself against a cold
breeze that had suddenly raised goose bumps on the nape of her neck, she called softly, “Cam?”

“I … I’m here,” her sister replied through chattering teeth. “And, er … I think he is, too. I just felt his presence.”

“Thantos. I know,” Alex whispered. “I … smelled him.”

“And what do I smell like?” The sheer window curtains rose and fluttered, as if driven by their uncle’s booming voice. “Snakes and snails and puppy-dog tails?”

“Cloves and wet earth and stinging ice,” Alex replied shakily.

“Excellent,” Thantos said. “Your senses are remarkably honed. However, I’m not here to judge your skills but rather to demonstrate mine. Go to the sacred tree in Mariner’s Park —”

“Our mother?” Alex asked, shivering again.

“When?” Cam demanded.

“Now,” their uncle said. “As on the day of your birth, between the rising sun and waning moon, she will welcome you.”