T*Witches 3: Seeing Is Deceiving

by H. B. Gilmour

  She recognized Cam immediately. Her hand flew to her mouth; her eyes popped. But before she could scream — or slam the door — Cam assured her, “I’m not here to hurt you, Lizzie. I’m here to help.”

  Lizzie let her guard down for a moment. “What are you doing here? What do you want?” she whispered nervously.

  “Is there somewhere we could talk?” Cam scanned the dimly lit room behind the girl.

  Over her shoulder, Lizzie called to the woman who’d answered the door, “Rose? I’m sitting outside for a minute. I’ll be right in.”

  The answer came back, “Keep the door open. So I can see you.”

  “Is that your foster mom?” Cam asked as Lizzie guardedly sat down next to her.

  The nervous girl’s jaw tightened. “No. She’s my court-appointed watchdog — wait, how do you even know I have a foster mother? Who are you?”

  Cam took a deep breath. “My bad. Rewind: I’m Cam. Barnes.”

  “Barnes? You mean … you’re related to —”

  Cam shrugged. “Six-degree world, huh? He’s my dad.”

  Lizzie paled. “So obviously you told him about… that day at the mall.”

  “I didn’t, actually,” Cam said, and saw Lizzie relax. “It wasn’t my place to — but things have changed. I really need you to tell me the whole story.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Maybe if you knew why —” Before the girl could protest, Cam told Lizzie about Ms. Webb showing up as her substitute. And about Beth, who trusted the shifty woman and was working for Helping Hands. Beth, whose grades were plummeting, who was involved with a guy up to no good. Cam talked about her fear that Beth might soon be lured into stealing, as Lizzie had.

  Lizzie’s question took Cam by surprise. “Your friend Beth? Is she … a foster child?”

  “No! She lives with her bio-folks, the whole nuclear family thing. Why do you ask?”

  “Forget it.” Lizzie shrugged and started to stand up. “So if you can ID Webb, why do you need me?”

  Because I can’t tell anyone what I know, Cam thought. Because if I did, everyone would find out I’m a witch. Who can do things … well, like this:

  She and Alex had composed an incantation the night before. Which Cam would use only if she had to. Before Lizzie could turn away, Cam trained her magnetic eyes on the frightened girl and chanted,

  “Your burden is too heavy, your shoulders slim and frail,

  It’s your secrets that enslave you, your shame that makes you fail.

  Free yourself, Lizzie Andrews, from the chains that bind you.

  Trust in me and tell me all; freedom and peace will find you….”

  Cam bit her lip at that last line, hoping … hoping …

  Lizzie’s eyes glazed over. And she told her story.

  Many hours later, sitting next to Cam at Dave’s office, she repeated it. Trusting father and daughter, Lizzie confessed that she’d been lured into the shoplifting ring through the ruse of Helping Hands. That she’d been warned — if she ever told the truth, Webb would get her booted right out of her foster home. “They prey on kids who come from broken homes,” Lizzie tearfully told them.

  Cam’s heart broke for this girl as Dave gently asked the big question: “Do you know where the money’s really going?”

  “Not to help kids. I didn’t know that then, but now I do — it’s going right into the pockets of Cecilia Webb and her little ring of slimy thieves.”

  By the time Lizzie had finished, she’d given details not only about the robbery she’d been caught at, but the ones before, those she’d gotten away with.

  Cam’s emotions matched Lizzie’s. Relief and anxiety washed over her — mixed with a dash of guilt. So far, David Barnes hadn’t asked his daughter how she’d come to talk to Lizzie Andrews, how she’d brought his client to his office and convinced her to open up. Cam didn’t have any truthful answers to give him. She hoped he’d just go with it, trust her. Cam needed to tell Dave one more thing. She hoped he wouldn’t ask how she knew. “Dad, tell the police to check Webb’s cell phone calls. I think there’s someone in prison she’s been calling.”

  An hour later, Dave had contacted the police and a warrant had been issued for the arrest of Cecilia Webb — who Lizzie told him also went by the name of Belinda Rogers. Cam flashed on the receipt in the car: So that’s what BR stood for. Lizzie explained that the woman made frequent trips to Boston to pick up the fake jewelry they used to make the switches.

  Trompe l’oeil — a “trick of the eye,” as Dave had explained the store’s name. How appropriate, Cam thought.

  Cam gave herself major props. All by herself, she’d found a way to free poor Lizzie and bring that shady woman down.

  Too much time would pass before she found out how premature her back-patting was.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SWITCHING SISTERS

  All Cam’s friends, including Beth, knew about the afternoon’s “switch-a-ruse.” Alex was going to try and pass as her twin in social studies class. The Six Pack didn’t know why. They didn’t ask. But Brianna, Beth, Kristen, Sukari, and Amanda wouldn’t have been fooled anyway — not by a baseball cap and wearing Cam’s makeup and Gap clothes, which felt stiff and starchy to Alex.

  Ms. Webb was Alex’s target. She needed to get close enough, for long enough, to break into the woman’s head. It had been three days since the disaster at the dance, and Cam had said Webb seemed different that Monday, shaken up. Was the woman shaky enough to be thinking out loud?

  Alex was in luck. Only not exactly the kind she was hoping for.

  If Webb realized it was not Cam, but Alex, sitting in the third row, her hair hidden beneath a Boston Red Sox cap, she gave no indication of it. Her teaching style, as Cam had warned, was brusque, intimidating if you weren’t used to it, and unforgiving. Not that Alex had trouble with the work. Cam had coached her, and she was a quick study.

  As it turned out, breaking into Webb’s head wasn’t all that hard. But it also wasn’t all that informative. For most of the period, her mind really was on the lesson. Snooze-inducing as it was.

  When Webb’s wily thoughts turned to the class, she practically sniveled, Look at them with their fruit-fly attention spans. Of Scott Marino, she thought, Am I glad that little blindness act was temporary! The last thing I need is attention focused on me. Then she focused on Brianna. Spoiled little brat. Yet she knows her stuff, I have to give her that.

  Webb’s steely gaze shifted to Beth Fish: There’s my star pupil! At the big event, that’s when we turn her into a real fund-raiser!

  The event? What? Where? When? Alex wasn’t sure what that meant. Only that something big was going down.

  Then Webb turned to Alex. Little Miss Barnes, she mistakenly thought, acting like she’s got something on me. If she did, she’d have sprung it already. They can’t prove a thing. The nerve of those delinquent twins messing up the Jewelry Corner heist. The only thing going down around here are Miss Barnes’s grades.

  So when the eraser leaped out of Webb’s hand, leaving a trail of dust all over her shiny black blouse, when the book flew off Brianna’s desk and swiped the substitute, bruising her arm, and when she tripped over Scott Marino’s backpack, which suddenly tumbled into the aisle, could Alex be blamed? Nuh-uh!

  At the bell, Alex sprang out of her seat. She was halfway to the door when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Brianna. Too loudly, little miss wordplay teased, “Where are you going, Cami-mole?”

  Alex shrugged. “Home.”

  Bree lowered her voice. “We’re all going to PITS. Might as well go all the way, Cam-for-a-day.”

  Alex removed her cap and pulled the Camscrunchie out of her hair. “I don’t think so.”

  “Yet, I do,” Bree cajoled. “Unless Cam’s coming back. From wherever she really is….”

  Bree was digging for dish. Alex decided to not give it to her.

  * * *

  An hour later, the Six Pack settled into their booth at Pi
e In The Sky — or PITS — with their usual two-pizza, six-drink order on the table in front of them. The disaster at the dance seemed forgotten, the mood was upbeat, and the chatter, to Alex, inane. Topics: boys, soccer, grades, soccer … blah, blah, blah. Alex tuned out, hoping Cam would show — she was anxious to find out what happened with Lizzie.

  “We’ve raised a thousand dollars so far, and that’s in only two weeks.” That got Alex’s attention. Beth was talking, waving her hands excitedly. “Two pretty intense weeks!”

  “You personally?” Bree asked, carefully carving off the crust from her slice of pizza.

  Beth giggled. “Well, not to toot my own horn, but Shane and I designed these awesome flyers, we mailed bunches out, stuck others on car windshields. And I talked to store owners, got donations, you know.”

  “You toot, girl!” Amanda said. “That’s so awesome, but —” She stopped, unsure of how to phrase what she wanted to say next.

  Kristen had no problem saying it for her. “Maybe if you put some of that selfless time back into homework …”

  “Sore-topic alert,” Sukari cautioned. “But on the real, Fish, you tanked on the science test. And that’s your best subject.”

  “Maybe what’s real for me right now” — Beth should have sounded defensive, but there was sadness in her voice — “is helping the helpless, not being selfish.”

  Kristen’s dark eyes flashed. “Oh, like because I care about my grades that makes me selfish?”

  Amanda broke in, “Of course she doesn’t think that! She’s just following a kind of path right now, but she’ll get her balance back.”

  Beth looked hurt, so Amanda added, “Anyway, I want to hear more about what you’re doing for the kids — are you sending them books and toys and stuff?”

  “We’re sending them money to buy books. And clothes. The money we’ve raised is really going to help.” And we’ll more than double that after the event!

  “What ev —?” The words popped from Alex’s mouth before she realized Beth hadn’t said that out loud. Luckily, Kristen and Bree were on to a sidebar convo and no one had heard Alex.

  So she continued to plug into Beth’s brain. If I could only tell them about the rave! The Rave to Save, such a cool name that Ms. Webb made up. We’re going to raise a ton more money!

  The rave? Was that the event Webb had been thinking about? Alex drummed her fingers on the table. A rave — well, where she came from, anyway — was dangerous. Dark, loud, crowded, and sometimes a place where illegal, bad things went on. But maybe it was different here, on planet Cutesy-ville. But if Webb were involved …

  I just wish I knew when the rave was, in case I have to buy something. Shane said he’d call as soon as he knows. I’m not sure what to wear. Usually, I’d ask Cam — like that’s about to happen!

  Alex jumped up and tapped Beth’s arm. “I need to talk to you — in private?”

  Beth was puzzled. But Alex heard her thinking, Hmmm … maybe Alex is interested in Helping Hands. She’s not her sister. So Alex knew that Beth was truly blindsided when, in the ladies’ room, she blurted, “It’s about Shane. What do you even know about him?”

  Beth’s shoulders slumped. “Shane? What do you care? You sound more like your sister every day.”

  “Is that a bad thing, Beth?”

  “These days, it isn’t great.”

  Alex persisted, “Do you know how old he is? Where he lives? Where he goes to school? What his agenda is?”

  Defensive, Beth said, “I know what I need to know. And right now, I know I need to get back to the table.”

  She turned away and walked out the door. But not before Alex heard one final thought. It surprised and saddened her. What is up with Cam and Alex? Why can’t they see? Shane and Helping Hands are the only good things in my life. My parents don’t stop fighting. My mom cries all the time. My dad won’t talk, he doesn’t want to tell me, I think he’s moving out. I can’t… I don’t… I won’t… think about it.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  A BIRD IN HAND

  A small, gabled, wood-framed cottage sat on a tiny plot of land at the end of a block. Except for the fresh coat of white paint it got every so often, it was preserved pretty much intact from the time it was built, many centuries ago. The house was like many others in town. It stood out in no way. Which was one reason Lord Thantos had wanted it, the minute he’d seen it. And what Thantos wanted, he got.

  The interior was again ordinary, except for one unusual feature. Inside a hall closet, a trapdoor opened to a secret staircase.

  The wooden steps, worn with age, led down to a small room. The only light came from two tiny, basementlike windows. A musty, mildewed scent permeated the damp stone room, as if it hadn’t been inhabited in many years. Long ago, it had served a righteous purpose. It had sheltered some who were accused of witchcraft and would have been put to death if discovered. But that was then.

  To Karsh, it was a dungeon. Would it be his last resting place?

  Rest? He almost laughed. At least his captors had unbound him. Rope and chains were no longer needed — he was too weak to flee. Thantos was allowing just enough food to keep him alive. Use of magick might temporarily ease the hunger pains. Like all of their kind, Karsh was human, and eventually, he would succumb to starvation.

  Until then, he had his pain to remind him he was very much alive! The arthritis that caused his ankles to ache every time he stood, or worse, tried to walk. Spasms of shooting pain attacked his back, and it was getting harder to keep his hands from trembling. He needed his tonics, his homemade potions and elixirs to keep his symptoms under control and his suffering at bay.

  Still, his mind was as sharp as ever. Karsh knew well where he was, but steadfastly refused to form the name of the place in his brain. Ileana could contact him telepathically. If his only victory was to keep her from falling into this trap, it would be worth his death.

  He leveled a glance at his kidnappers. Fredo, drooling as his head slumped on his bony shoulder, asleep in the chair. Thantos stood by the window, expectantly. It was taking longer than it should have, the merciless brute was thinking. The mercurial witch had shown tremendous strength of will. But time was not on her side. It wouldn’t be long. Ileana would not let the suffering continue.

  “You of all people” — unexpectedly, Karsh reminded Thantos that he could still tap into unuttered thoughts — “should not underestimate Ileana.”

  Thantos whirled and trained heavy-lidded eyes on his captive. “What I don’t underestimate — though I will never understand it — is her devotion to you. She will come. Bank on it. In fact, I’d say your life depends on it.”

  “Ileana,” Karsh rasped, “will do what she must to protect your brother’s daughters. She is too smart to fall for your ploy. She won’t come, Thantos.”

  “Too smart, is she? Her head may tell her one thing, but she will follow her heart. Straight here.”

  “Never,” Karsh repeated.

  Thantos shrugged. “Then I guess we’ll have to up the ante.” He pulled out a vial from his vest pocket and waved it in front of Karsh’s watery eyes. “I had this made specially for you. I’ll tell you what’s in it. A lively mix of the rootstock and leaves of monkshood, a pinch of sage leaves, and parsley seeds. When blended in just the right way, they form the basis for a certain elixir — just the kind, I believe, that you use to free yourself from constant, debilitating pain. Want to see?”

  Karsh tried but couldn’t keep himself from hungering after it. Just a few drops, if he could only sip a few drops, he could get some of his strength back, strength he desperately needed. Ileana wasn’t ready. And the girls were mere fledglings. He’d never failed a fledgling before.

  “There’s a first time for everything, my old friend. Failure, too.” Meanly, Thantos turned the tube upside down, watching in mock horror as the green-gold liquid pooled on the stone floor. “Ooops, I spilled it… again.”

  The flapping of bird wings startled him. Karsh had dozed but
was now suddenly wide awake. He knew what that sound meant. No, his heart cried! Against all of his prayers, Ileana had come.

  Ileana had never left Salem. She’d meant to, especially after Apolla and Arte — that is, Camryn and Alexandra — pedaled away on bicycles they one day would no longer need. After their initiation, when they were sixteen, they would have many more efficient and interesting ways to travel.

  Ileana didn’t know exactly what had made her stay rooted to the spot. She was compelled to follow her instincts. They were all she had right now.

  Correction: as she fumbled in her pocket, she felt the twins’ necklaces. Alexandra had been well intentioned — such a pure girl! — but Ileana doubted they could really help her. Free Ileana from self-doubt. She laughed. One day, she would teach the twins to compose real incantations. Yet somehow, she did feel surer of herself. Stronger.

  She’d walked east from Salem Common to the water, and she sat by a pier on Derby Wharf. Groups of tourists passed, on their way to the famous historic sites.

  She hadn’t meant to tune into the tour guide’s spiel: “During the witchcraft trials in 1692, the accusations of a group of children and women caused nineteen people to be hanged. Come see a reenactment as the innocent victims come alive and plead to a deaf justice system caught up in the hysteria of the time.”

  Ileana wasn’t interested in their revisionist history. She might not have known her own personal history — she’d been orphaned as an infant and Karsh had raised her — but she knew enough about this place.

  Karsh used to tell her. Of the dark time when anyone who was even thought to be different in some way was persecuted. His own grandmother —

  A brilliant and beautiful woman, too smart for her time. A doctor she’d be now, Karsh told Ileana, but back then —! She was put to death for healing others.

  Ileana could hear his raspy voice in her head.

  Wait! That was his raspy voice! Ileana jerked up. She scanned the block of houses to her left. She felt nothing. She trained her sparkling eyes on the block to her right and honed in on the house on the end, an old gabled cottage, which boasted nothing modern except paint.