To give Miranda privacy, Ileana turned away.
In that moment, she was swept by a wave of fear. Something rustled in the bramble beyond the flowers. Something untamed — hyenas, coyotes, wild dogs — gurgled soft, snickering sounds. She whirled toward Miranda, to see if she’d heard anything. But the grieving woman was lost in her own world.
With a shush, the noise in the bushes faded. The only sounds Ileana heard were Miranda’s wrenching sobs — and her own heart, breaking for the woman. Quietly, Ileana walked over and stroked Miranda’s thick, silky hair.
“I used to wish you were my mother,” she murmured, lowering herself to the wet ground, to sit next to Miranda as her weeping subsided.
“I know,” Miranda whispered.
“I never knew much about her,” the young witch continued, “only that her name was Beatrice, and she had blond hair —”
“And sparkling brown eyes, and cheeks always rosy with brewing mischief. She was quick-witted, your mother, and regal in her bearing if not her heritage.” Miranda turned from the grave and peered at Ileana through tear-swollen eyes.
“You knew her?” Ileana pulled back, surprised. Why hadn’t she known that?
“And of course, your father, too,” Miranda affirmed.
Ileana’s face turned cold. “Father? Don’t speak of it! If it’s Lord Thantos you mean, I still don’t believe it — and if it is true, I can’t bear it.”
Miranda shook her head. “I understand, but you … you don’t know him —”
“And whose fault is that?!” Ileana leaped up, her face contorted in anger. “Perhaps it’s you who don’t know him. He killed your husband! He’s an uncaring, greedy monster, a murderous predator, scornful of anyone who gets in his way.”
With effort, Miranda rose and grasped Ileana’s shoulders. “I could never believe that Thantos was a murderer. What possible reason would he have to cut down his own brother? They were bound not only by blood but by family loyalty. They ran a business together, one that has, as Aron intended, benefited millions of people.”
Ileana glowered. “Thantos wanted Aron dead and pushed Fredo to do it.”
Miranda shook her head wearily. “No, child. Poor Fredo was never … right, never bright as the others. He’s always been dull and easily influenced.”
Ileana whirled. Again, she heard it. Something in the bramble, this time a creature that huffed and grumbled rather than laughed.
She caught an overbearing sweet, oily scent — more like a noxious cosmetic than an herb. Once more there was a rustling in the bushes, though there was no breeze. She looked up at the trees to see if any were swaying. They were still. She cocked her ear. If only her senses were keen again. If only she could hear and see and smell as she had before the trial, before discovering that Thantos DuBaer had fathered her. Then, if someone — even a spirit — were nearby, she would know.
“He was born afflicted, the child of Leila’s old age,” Miranda was saying. “All Aron and Thantos ever did was to try and help him.”
Gently, Miranda turned Ileana’s chin, forcing the edgy young witch to look at her. “You hate Thantos for one reason only — though you don’t know why he behaved as he did.”
Ileana couldn’t stop the torrent of angry tears. “He threw me away! His own daughter. Never to recognize me, never to nurture, to teach …” The words never to love would not come out. “What kind of monster does that?”
Now Miranda stroked Ileana’s hair, which was as tangled as threads of Florentine gold. “What kind of monster? The kind that had been hurt so deeply that he couldn’t even look into the tiny, angry red face of his newborn child. Remember, dear child, he had just lost Beatrice —”
“Yes! Because of me,” Ileana ranted. “Is that what you’re saying? That she died giving birth to me, so he hated me, wanted to bury me with my mother?” She had said what she hadn’t even known she’d been thinking.
“Never!” Miranda gasped.
“No excuse!” Ileana spun away from her. “She wasn’t the first to die in childbirth. Other fathers cherish their babies, the one living reminder —”
“Exactly. You were all that Thantos, bent and broken, could not be reminded of. Dear Ileana, has no one ever told you the full story?”
Ileana clenched her teeth. “Story, or fantasy? Made up by him to deceive you.”
“No, he did not make it up,” Miranda said evenly. “Remember, I was there. I was Aron’s beloved, his brother’s bride. I bore witness to it all.”
Stubbornly skeptical, Ileana shook her head. But she remained silent as Miranda led her to a bench near the imposing crypt of Ephram DuBaer, the first of the illustrious family to come to the New World, to the Plymouth Colony, where his skills as a botanist and healer brought him wealth and renown.
The carved bench on which they sat felt cold to Ileana, as cold and unwelcoming as her so-called father. But Miranda took her hand and stroked it gently as she passed along all that she knew.
Soon after Aron and Miranda were betrothed, the twins’ mother said, Thantos fell in love, too.
Her name was Beatrice, Ileana’s mother, Beatrice Hazlett. She was beautiful, bright, and strong-willed, which Miranda and Aron had agreed was just the sort of mate the self-centered, stubborn Thantos needed.
All the family were thrilled for him — except for Leila, his mother. Perhaps she saw too much of herself in Beatrice, viewed the headstrong young beauty as a threat to her own dominating nature. But Leila claimed that it was because Beatrice was lowborn, of an undistinguished lineage.
The Hazletts, Leila was convinced, were poets and dreamers and had produced no great witches or warlocks. Miranda shook her head in wonder. “This despite the fact that they were distant relatives of the Antayus clan, our dear Karsh’s people.”
Aron had argued with his mother; Miranda had, too — as much as she dared. “Leila was a formidable creature,” Miranda said.
Ileana nodded knowingly. Though she had met Leila only as a spirit, “formidable,” even “fearsome,” did not begin to describe her grandmother’s aura.
Leila vowed she would never accept Beatrice as a daughter. She pressured Thantos not to marry her, did everything she could think of to discredit Ileana’s mother and stop the nuptials. Miranda recalled how Leila had constantly harped on Beatrice’s background, how she’d reminded Thantos that he was acting in haste and that his judgment was flawed because he was on the rebound, not in his true mind.
Marrying anyone at that vulnerable time, let alone a Hazlett, would only be done out of spite, Leila had believed, and could only end in disaster.
Only one of Leila’s sons was as obstinate and assertive as she — and that was Thantos. Of course, he went against his mother’s will. And of course, Leila refused to attend the wedding. She warned Thantos that should he and Beatrice become parents, she would never set eyes upon their child. The powerful and mighty Leila DuBaer would have nothing to do with the baby.
Ileana gasped. Leila’s spirit had begged her forgiveness. Now she knew why.
Thantos insisted they be married at once, Miranda’s tale continued, a year before Aron and she were to wed. When Beatrice died in childbirth, Leila rushed to “comfort” her eldest. But she also assured Thantos that Ileana’s mother’s death was the result of his pigheadedness and of Beatrice’s ancestral weakness.
In his bereaved state, Thantos chose to believe her.
He also believed that Leila was demanding he make a choice — Miranda thought that in her cunning way, Leila was — a choice between his mother and his daughter, an infant whose blood might carry Beatrice’s defiance. If Leila would have nothing to do with Ileana, neither then would Thantos.
“So he asked Karsh, one of the great warlocks of his day and your grandfather Nathaniel’s best friend, to look after you. And to hide his pain,” Miranda supposed, “Thantos buried himself in work.”
He did whatever he could to forget his marriage and his child — and lived to show his mother that he
was just as capable of bringing glory to the DuBaers as Aron, who he’d always thought she loved better.
“The truth is, Ileana, he could not bear to see you. You reminded him of … everything he wanted to forget.”
It was too much, too much to take in all at once. When Miranda said nothing more, Ileana filled the uncomfortable silence. “Then my mother’s grave isn’t here among the DuBaers, is it?”
Miranda shook her head. “It’s on the other side of the island, in a far fairer and gentler place. The cemetery, in fact, where Karsh’s ancestors rest. I will take you there one day.”
Ileana suddenly remembered something. “You said that Thantos was on the rebound? From whom?”
Miranda shrugged. “His one true love, he once said. We never found out. But this you must know, Ileana. I believe Thantos was mistaken, misguided in his treatment of you, yet he is a decent man.”
“He’s scum,” Ileana quarreled.
“I would trust him with Apolla’s and Artemis’s lives,” Miranda insisted.
Ileana whirled on her, infuriated, affronted. “You mean Camryn’s and Alexandra’s lives? What would you know of them? Your wisdom, like your power, is truly diminished. A real mother would have known they were alive. You weren’t here….” She caught herself and, instantly, she was ashamed.
Miranda felt sick, weak, stabbed, but she couldn’t let Ileana see it. That would have hurt the wounded young witch even more. She simply said, “I got a message from … from Camryn and Alexandra. They needed help —”
“What? What’s wrong?” Ileana began to tremble. The twins had needed her, and she hadn’t even heard them. But Miranda, who she’d just accused of being an unfit mother, had? That was how badly broken she was, Ileana realized with dread.
“Their brother —”
“Dylan?”
“Yes,” Miranda said. “He’s disappeared, and they fear the worst.”
“Has Karsh gone to them?”
Miranda looked surprised. “No. I didn’t get the impression he was overly concerned. Anyway, I didn’t contact him. This is a chance for their uncle to prove his goodness. My girls needed help. I sent Thantos to them.”
Furious, frightened, Ileana turned so abruptly, she felt light-headed. “We’ve got to go.”
Miranda was puzzled. “Now? Why?”
Ileana grasped her arm. “I have an appointment and I’m not leaving you here. End of story.” With that, she rushed her aunt out of the herb garden and hurried her down the steep path.
Perhaps if Miranda had not been so surprised and Ileana not so panicked, one of them might have heard the commotion they’d left behind. Two creatures, struggling to break free of the clinging brambles and sticky vines encasing them, tumbled out of the bushes, with thorns poking out of their flesh and clothing at every angle.
“Tsuris, you let her escape!” the short, fat cactus whined.
“Me? I told you it was bad luck to hide in a cemetery!” the taller, spiny critter shrieked.
“At least we found her!”
“Past tense, Vey, you slacker! Let’s go. Sooner or later, she’s bound to go back to the old man’s shack.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SALEM WOODS
“I don’t get it,” Jason said again. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you all the way into town?”
“No,” Cam answered, staring out the window, searching the roadside. “I’m trying to toughen Alex up for soccer this year.”
“And you’re going to start her off with a fifteen-mile hike? Condolences,” the tall, dark, and studly boy called back to Alex, who was scanning the other side of the highway. “You have my sympathy. Personally, I think your sister’s crazy.”
“Runs in the family,” Alex answered.
“Alex!” Cam snapped. “That is so unfunny!”
Alex shrugged, a little startled herself at what she’d blurted — even if it was true. A sudden chill drove Miranda from her mind. “I think we’re there.”
“Me, too,” Cam said, twisting the patchwork quilt in her lap and sounding a lot less superior than she had a second before.
“This is it?” Jason slowed reluctantly and pulled over to the side of the road. “It’s going to be dark out soon. Why would you want to do this now?”
They’d run into the concerned hottie about a minute after their psycho uncle split — saying he’d done for them what he could and had to get back to their mother now. Miranda needed him, Thantos had suddenly decided. She shouldn’t be left alone.
“I mean, come on —” Jason surveyed the thickly forested area around them and shook his head. “With Dylan missing and all …”
“That’s just why we’re doing this,” Alex announced. Cam spun around to glare at her. “You know,” she said pointedly to her distrustful twin, “to work off some nervous energy.”
Nervous energy became icy trembling as they trudged through the swampy woods. Cam wrapped Miranda’s shawl around her neck like a scarf. Alex hiked up the collar of her camouflage jacket. Neither of them spoke for a while.
Eyes wide, senses honed, they moved slowly in what they hoped was the direction of the bay, looking for the sandy landscape Cam had described — and that they’d both seen through Thantos’s crystal.
Alex’s nostrils were filling with the scent of salt and brine. And something else, too. A jumble of odors that had nothing to do with this time and place. A fragrance at once stale and seductive that reminded her of the spirit she and Cam had once conjured, the awesome specter of Leila DuBaer, their grandmother.
“Leila plus,” Cam whispered, grabbing Alex’s hand. “Don’t you get the feeling we’re not alone here? And I don’t mean just rabbits, squirrel, deer, and Dylan, either.”
“Although he’s in the mix,” Alex confirmed. “I smell him, but faintly.”
“Faintly is so not Dyl’s odor.” Cam laughed tensely. “Not in that laundry hamper he calls home.”
“Uh, did you hear that?” Alex squeezed her sister’s fingers.
“Nuh — no,” Cam stammered. “But something … icky … just brushed against my shoulder, Als.”
“Like a cobweb?” Alex breathed in again. “Or a musty old robe or something?”
“Old? How ’bout Jurassic? Talk about cold feet,” Cam said, feeling brackish water squishing in her shoes.
“What’s that poem? ‘The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, but I have promises to keep —’ You know, by Robert Frost.”
“This can’t have been the woods he was talking about,” Cam ventured. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if he were here.”
“Who, Robert Frost? He’s dead.”
“Duh,” Cam said.
They slogged along, staring, sniffing, holding hands. “Bad thought,” Cam broke the silence. “What if this is a setup? What if Thantos led us here —”
“For what?”
Cam shrugged, then shrieked. “Something just … REACHED OUT AND TOUCHED ME!”
“Ah, the woods are full of telephone commercials,” Alex tried to joke, then said seriously, “I smelled it, Cam. It’s … a person. People. You know, like Leila. Old … people.”
“You mean dead people.” Cam cut to the chase.
“Well … yeah. Spirits, ghosts, whatever. I think we’re … like, someplace we’re not supposed to be.”
“Understatement alert,” Cam said. “But we can’t just evacuate the premises. Dylan’s here, too, right? You smelled him. I feel his presence.”
An unexpected gust of warm air ruffled Alex’s hair and wafted against Cam’s cheek. Go back, I pray you, a deep, wounded voice urged.
Alex ran her fingers over her head. The breeze had left her scalp tingling. “Did you hear that?” she whispered to Cam. “A woman’s voice. Young, sad …”
“No.” Cam was stroking her cheek, where a feeling of comforting warmth still lingered.
“Saddest voice I ever heard,” Alex murmured. “What is this place?”
“A graveyard,” Cam answered,
certain, but mystified about how she knew.
Alex nodded. “It’s a witches’ graveyard. A … some kind of burial ground.”
They were almost at the water’s edge. The sounds of the bay came to them, waves lapping against a shore, seabirds cawing. “Look! There’s the tree,” Cam said excitedly. “The one Dylan was leaning against —”
If you love him, go back, the voice warned again.
Alex spun around. “Where are you? Who are you?” she asked, peering into the graying light.
There was no one there, no answer.
And then they saw Dylan! He was collapsed on the ground at the foot of the big tree. His eyes were closed. In his hands he clutched the predator’s cap.
For the sake of him who loves you, go now, the heartbroken voice whispered. Do not lead him this way.
“Alex!” Cam’s shout brought her back to reality. Her sister was kneeling in the gritty mud beside Dylan, hugging him. “Hurry. He’s breathing! He’s okay, I think.”
“Dylan!” Alex shouted, elated, rushing to them. Up close she could see that mixed in the dirt and mud smeared across Dyl’s face was a dried reddish-brown crust of blood. “He’s cut. That creep must have hit him —”
Cam found a plastic container half buried in the sand. She rinsed and filled it with fresh seawater and hurried back to Dylan. As they washed his face, he stirred, came back to consciousness.
“I’m sorry,” was the first thing he said when he recognized them. “It was whack. I shouldn’t have gone alone —”
“Hey, no probs,” Alex assured him. “We found you. You’re okay. Or you will be as soon as we —”
“I’ll be okay, but his next victim won’t.” Dylan tried to get up but couldn’t manage it. “He’s going after someone else. I heard him when I was in the back of his van. I heard him setting up another ‘date.’ Same lies. Telling her he’s sixteen and into parasailing and white-water rafting and hot-dog skiing. For all I know, he’s got her already.”
The outburst exhausted him. He slumped back heavily against the tree.
T*Witches: Double Jeopardy Page 8