T*Witches: Double Jeopardy

by Reisfeld, Randi

  She thought about Sara’s funeral — and remembered what Karsh had said about her mother. She’d thought he meant Sara, but later realized that it had been Miranda he was speaking of. “I knew her. She was quite a babe. Stellar eyes she had, like your own.”

  Alex had written “scripts” in her head. She’d choreographed and even imagined the music for the scene about to be played out. Sample dialogue [Comedy]: Alex: “What took ya’ so long, Moms?” Miranda: “Ooops, never checked the clock.” Or [Drama]: Alex: “How could you abandon us?” Miranda: “I had no choice. I was kidnapped.” Or [Musical]: Alex: “You say you’re my real mom? Prove it.” Which was when Miranda would sing a blues number about leaving, never to be seen again.

  In some peculiar way, Alex liked this last scenario best. Because it would vindicate her allegiance to Sara — to date, her best and only mom.

  Cam now led the way, bouncing her bike off a curb and steering through the ornate entrance arch to Mariner’s Park. They hesitated before hopping off their bikes to begin walking toward the hill.

  It was when they began to hike up the familiar narrow path that they instinctively reached out to each other and clasped hands. And traded telepathic “what-if’s.”

  What if she doesn’t like us? Cam wondered.

  What if we don’t like her? Alex proposed.

  What if she does some weird spell on us and spirits us away? Cam fretted.

  What if she only likes one of us? Alex mused.

  What if there’s no connection at all? Cam speculated.

  “Hello,” Alex challenged out loud, “what if she doesn’t even show? If this is all a Thantos move to lure us here, away from home, so he or some of his shady associates can snare us?”

  “No,” Cam said passionately. “I believe him, Als. She’ll be there.”

  “Is that your mojo, your heart’s desire, or your deepest fear talking?” her sister challenged.

  “Is that your paranoia or your pessimism asking?” Cam shot back.

  It was still dark, windy, and cold in the park. Cam hitched up the collar of her pink ski parka.

  Alex buttoned the camouflage jacket she’d worn over her sweatshirt. “Remember the last time we wore these?” she asked as they neared the huge, gnarled tree.

  “Fiasco,” Cam remembered. “It was the night we did the Transporter and wound up in different places —”

  “And Ileana forbade us to ever use the spell again.”

  “Hey, I’ve still got some stuff in my pocket.” Cam held out her palm but Alex ignored it. She was straining through the darkness, squinting up at the tree, which was still yards away.

  “It’s mugwort or marjoram,” Cam was jabbering, “the herbs we used. And look at this — I’ve still got Ileana’s crystal.”

  “I don’t think she’s there,” Alex said. “Our … you know, Miranda. I’m not getting anything but regular cold-night park smells and noises.”

  Cam focused her laser-sharp vision on the ancient twisted tree, peering into its familiar crevices and towering branches. “There’s no one there, but the sun’s not up yet, either.”

  “I told you, she’s a no-show, by choice or by Thantos’s trickery,” Alex whispered. “Or maybe it’s all one huge scam — and the joke’s on us.”

  Cam didn’t answer. She was staring now at a thin ribbon of light glowing behind the hill. The dawning sun, breathtaking and pink, framed the twisted silhouette of the tree where they were to meet their mother.

  “Look.” Cam squeezed her sister’s hand.

  “I know. And there’s the moon.” They looked behind them. The pale moon was fading in a slowly lightening sky.

  “Pine needles,” Alex murmured. “And lavender. Can you smell that?” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Pine and lavender and … rosemary.”

  Cam’s shoulders hunched involuntarily inside her pink parka. Her grip on Alex’s hand tightened. She was afraid to turn around, to look back at the tree … at the person she now knew was standing there.

  But who? Had Thantos lured them into a trap? Or was it finally really her? Cam’s heart thudded.

  She didn’t want to admit it — especially not now — that it was easier for her to face the possibility of deadly danger than the likelihood that their mother had come to meet them.

  Still, neither of them turned to see who was there.

  It was a moment frozen in time. When it passed, their lives would never be the same again.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MIRANDA

  “Artemis? Apolla?”

  The voice was soft, whispery, the same voice they’d heard the first time their necklaces bonded, the voice they’d heard on the phone. But so near, so fragile, light enough to ride the early morning breeze, to caress their cheeks, to brush their lips.

  Tears burst from Alex’s silver-gray eyes. Cam was hyperventilating. In slo-mo and in sync, they turned around.

  Alex had pictured a sidelined super-woman, a fierce witch of wondrous powers.

  Cam had visualized Miranda as gentle, calm, and loving, nervous about meeting them.

  The stranger who stood before them was all and none of that.

  She was a replica of them, as if a computer had projected what they’d look like in twenty-five years. But it was more than the metallic gray eyes, irises outlined in black; more than the full lips, prominent cheekbones, and chestnut hair. Her emotions too, seemed to mirror theirs, everything they were feeling — anticipation, anxiety, even terror — her face reflected back.

  That was the moment Cam and Alex knew it was actually happening. She was real and she was here. And no matter what they were about to find out, they had at least … at last … seen their mother. And it was going to be okay.

  If this had been a movie, Alex found herself thinking, this would have been the moment they ran toward one another, embraced tightly, cried profusely, forgave and forgot, then walked off into the sunset, arms around one another’s shoulders.

  But this was real life, and it was dawn, and their new beginning was unscripted.

  Tentatively, they stepped toward each other.

  Miranda’s expression changed. Cam now saw a mixture of awe and relief on the face that belonged to a stranger, yet looked so much like her own, Awe and relief and a joy so profound it frightened both of them.

  “Artemis?” the woman called out tentatively.

  Cam shook her head. “I’m Camr — I’m Apolla,” she said.

  “I’m Artemis.” The trapped words now escaped Alex’s dry mouth.

  “Oh.” Miranda’s eyes glimmered as they searched Alex’s face. “I thought, maybe, because you were crying, I thought you were …” She smiled now, at a memory etched in her brain. “When you were newborns, Artemis clutched her tiny fists and turned red with rage, but never cried. Apolla was placid and calm. I imagined she would become the more emotional one —”

  “I never cry.” For some dumb reason, Alex needed to be sure this woman — Miranda — knew that about her.

  “But she still goes red with rage,” Cam offered. “And I’m still the calm one.”

  Right, Alex silently contradicted, that’s why you’re shaking and sweating.

  Miranda cocked her head; a faint smile played on her lips.

  “You heard that?” Cam asked slowly, awestruck.

  “It’s one of the very few gifts I have left,” she explained quietly, “And even that one is … undependable.”

  Alex heard her swallow, heard every beat of this woman’s heart pounding, in a rhythm that matched her own.

  “Does that mean you —” Alex started

  “Have no powers? I mean, you used to, right?” Cam stammered, “That’s what they told us.”

  “They used to tell me that twins finished each other’s sentences. I didn’t think I’d ever see that for myself.” The yearning, in her eyes, and in her voice, was palpable.

  It seemed to let loose a string of soul-baring questions, hopes, fears, accusations. Words tumbled in free fa
ll, long-harbored feelings so raw, finally expressed. Because all three spoke at the same time, their words intertwined, one overlaying the next, the beginning of one person’s sentences ending with the question mark of another’s.

  A tape of the confused conversion would have sounded like this —

  “I can’t believe it’s really you!” “Why didn’t you come looking for us?”“I thought I’d never see you again.” “How could you leave us?” “Didn’t you want us?” “How could you not know we were alive?” “Have you been happy?” “Has someone been taking care of you, loving you?” “I never stopped thinking of you, I never thought this moment would really come — I never thought I’d find you …” “I’ve been waiting all my life …”

  Miranda got in the last words, and they hung in the air. “I thought I’d killed you.” She began to weep, her frail body convulsed in wracking sobs. She made no motion to cover up her agony. Tears rushed down her face in torrents.

  Alex and Cam made for her, but stopped suddenly only inches away, afraid to touch her.

  Seeing their bewildered faces, Miranda forced herself to stop crying. She lifted her chin, almost defiantly. That was when a small window to her soul cracked open — and her daughters could see the tiniest spark of who she had been, and might one day be again — proud and fierce, childlike in some ways, maternal and nurturing in others.

  Calmly, Miranda looked from Alex to Cam. And said, so matter-of-factly that their jaws dropped, “I’d like to hug you now.”

  The twins lost it. Laughing at the wildly impulsive request, or command, for it sounded like both, crying because they could finally give into their lost-child-found dreams, they fell into Miranda’s outstretched arms, and pressed themselves to her.

  As Alex inhaled the mingled scents of rosemary and lavender, the sweet sting of pine, the fear that she could never accept anyone but Sara as her mother, faded; didn’t matter. Fierce love and loyalty for one did nothing to diminish the intensity of her feelings for the other.

  Holding Miranda tightly, Cam knew what Alex was feeling.

  She wished she could feel it, too.

  She’d been born to this woman, had lived inside her, their hearts had once beat in the same body. But now, Cam’s heart had a mind of its own. It belonged to Emily. And while she and Alex clung to Miranda, Cam knew she could not, would never, betray the woman who loved and reared her.

  If Miranda knew how torn Camryn felt, she didn’t let on. Nor did Cam break their embrace.

  Refusing to let go of one another, exhausted and exhilarated, they sat on the dewy ground with Miranda between them. Alex’s head rested on the quilt that lay across her shoulders; Cam let her hand slip into Miranda’s.

  They attempted only a few questions, offered only what answers they could manage right now. There’d be time, the rest of their lives, they hoped, to ask and answer and maybe even understand, all the others.

  Cam and Alex came away knowing that Miranda’s meltdown the day of their birth, the day Aron was murdered, had left her so broken, so helpless, that she had accepted Fredo DuBaer’s terrible lie — that her infant twins were also dead. Thantos had never contradicted his brother. Only recently had he given Miranda the miraculous “news” — her daughters were alive, found and together.

  Miranda assumed Thantos had not known that before.

  “How could you believe him?” Alex challenged. “He had you locked away, like a prisoner.”

  “No,” Miranda protested. “He took care of me. The place, Rolling Hills … being there probably saved my life.”

  Alex rejected the notion, and said so; Cam wavered, unsure of what to believe.

  They were too terrified to ask what she’d meant before when she said, “I thought I’d killed you.” And when Miranda didn’t open that door again, Cam and Alex were content to leave it shut.

  Miranda was relieved that her daughters had been cared for, loved, cherished. Not only by the protectors Karsh had found for them, but by Karsh himself. She was, however, surprised to learn that Ileana was their guardian. “Thantos’s daughter, Ileana?” she’d asked.

  Which first shocked and horrified the twins. Knowing how the haughty young witch hated the black-bearded tracker, their hearts ached for Ileana.

  “When Thantos found out you were alive,” Miranda continued, “he told me he watched you for a while —”

  More like stalked, Cam thought, then quickly squashed the words, hoping Miranda hadn’t overheard.

  Alex lifted her head from Miranda’s shoulder. “What else did he tell you?” she asked warily.

  “That you had accepted your destiny —”

  “Our destiny?” Alex asked.

  “To be witches, you mean?” Cam said.

  Miranda’s eyes swept their faces, wondering, asking, but not in a language Alex could make sense of. “Yes, to be witches,” she finally said. “That and more. I understand that your skills at the craft are exceptional.”

  “Did Thantos tell you that, too?” Alex wanted to know.

  “He confirmed it. Your friend Brianna told me, though not in those words.” She turned to Cam. “She said Apolla — she called you Camryn, of course — had ‘mojo.’”

  “And what’d she say about me, that I was just plain weird?” Alex asked.

  “She said you gave her the creeps,” Miranda announced proudly.

  Cam ducked her head fast, so that her twin couldn’t see her face, but Alex heard her sister’s stifled laughter. Ignoring her, she asked Miranda, “So what now? I mean … this is so … so —”

  “Weird,” Cam chimed in, “but, you know, amazing.” Suddenly, she wanted this to be over. “Do you have to go back to Rolling Hills?” she blurted.

  All at once, guiltily, she realized that she’d been worrying about Dylan, about her upset parents, and that she’d harbored a secret hope that Miranda might magically be able to help straighten things out. Protect Dyl, if necessary, from Thantos. The weight of that hope and the revelation that their birth mother could barely help herself seemed to have exhausted Cam. She felt tired. She wanted to go home.

  “Rolling Hills?” Miranda had been considering the question. “No,” she said finally. “I had thought —” She shook her head and smiled. This time the smile was heavy with sighs and sadness. “Ah, but now that I know …” Miranda cleared her throat and began again, sounding more upbeat. “Now that I’ve seen for myself that you’re safe … and well cared for, I’m going back to Coventry Island.”

  Alex asked, “Is Thantos coming to take you there? Because, you know, we can … you can come with us to Cam’s house and —”

  Cam paled. “— Which would be great, but this isn’t the best time,” she reminded Alex.

  Miranda shook her head. “No, it isn’t the best time. For any of us. Not yet.” I want to be part of your lives. But we … I,” she corrected herself. “I’m not ready. I would like to go home — home to Coventry Island — to build up my strength and renew my skills, to become the mother you —” Want, she almost said, but changed it to: “— deserve. And to give you … to give us time.”

  Without warning, Miranda laughed. “Of course, I’ve no way of arranging it. Your uncle brought me here — and I think he thought I would be staying. Once, I could have transported myself. No longer —”

  “We can help you,” Alex blurted all at once. “Can’t we, Cam? You still have the mugwort and quartz crystal —”

  “The Transporter?” Miranda said, as surprised that she remembered the name of the spell as she was that her children could perform it. “But have you been initiated yet?” their mother asked, confused. She reached down and picked up the quilt. “The Transporter is not fledgling-level magick —”

  “We’ve got mojo,” Cam said.

  “And good genes,” Alex added.

  Miranda smiled gratefully. “And this,” she said, handing them the faded patchwork coverlet. “Each of these panels I filled with herbs, to comfort and protect you. They’re old now, dry and must
y, but they may still carry their purpose and mine.”

  Alex gently took the quilt. Burying her face in its fragrant folds, she inhaled deeply.

  Working from memory, and somewhat hidden beneath the thick, low branches of the oak tree, Cam inscribed a circle in the earth around Miranda. After putting the quilt in the basket of her bicycle, Alex marked the compass points with stones instead of candles.

  Their mother stood within the boundary, watching them, delighted, impressed.

  Cam sprinkled the herbs she’d found in her pocket inside the circle, then she rubbed the crystal, while Alex began to recite the spell.

  “Wait,” Cam cried suddenly. “We will see you again, won’t we?”

  “Whenever you need or want me near. Count on it,” the gentle witch promised.

  Alex found her voice. “What should we … call you?”

  Not Mom, Cam thought. I can’t, I’m not ready.

  Alex dittoed the sentiment.

  “How about Miranda?” their mother asked. “Does that work for you? And I will try to remember you’re not Apolla and Artemis anymore, but Camryn and Alexandra.”

  “Miranda,” Alex tested it, in a tone half grudging, half shy. “I … We’re … I’m glad you came —”

  Miranda laughed at some private joke — and then, standing inside the circle Cam had set down, she shared it: “I’m sorry I was late,” she said.

  Alex laughed.

  “Good magick,” Cam prompted, elbowing her sister.

  “Like air and water flow … Transport Miranda,” Alex chanted.

  “Transport her body and spirit now,” Cam said.

  A breeze stirred the branches above them. Below, Cam noticed a jogger chasing his cap, a woman’s scarf fluttering wildly, the long hair of a golden retriever bristling in the wind.

  Alex felt the cold gust invade her clothing, heard the wind hiss and stir wet leaves in lifeless heaps, heard the clacking of dead branches, then a far-off rumble like a warning of thunder. She covered her ears as the squall picked up, circling her, whirling bits of paper and dead leaves and clods of earth. Cam shut her eyes against the stinging swirl.