T*Witches: Don’t Think Twice Read online

  “Her voice,” Alex echoed, frowning. “It was … uh … how else can I put this? Whiny.”

  “Alex!” Cam whirled on her sister so quickly, she almost lost her footing. “You’re a piece of work. Dissing your own mother before you’ve even met her.”

  They’d never seen a photo of Miranda, but who else could the woman in Cam’s vision have been — the one who’d uttered the desperate pleas Alex had heard?

  Uncomfortably, Alex shifted her backpack from one shoulder to the other. “I know I’ve heard that voice before — it just sounded different. Anyway, we’re not in danger.”

  Alex was right. Karsh would probably tell them to pay attention to their instincts, not to be afraid, and to let their hearts and hunches guide their actions. As for Ileana? Did they really want to chance annoying the mercurial witch by requesting her presence in Marble Bay for “no reason”? Ileana’s temper was a match for Lord Thantos’s, Cam found herself thinking.

  “At some point, we have to rely on ourselves,” Alex said with resolve. “We can’t always be calling them. Besides, we’re getting more powerful all the time. There are some things we can do on our own.”

  They’d reached the house. “Well, at least we can be sure of one thing,” Cam noted, wiping her boots on the mat. “Wherever Miranda is, it’s snowy.” Her hand froze on the doorknob. “Als, you don’t think …”

  “She’s nearby? Down, girl. It’s winter. Half the country is blanketed in snow. She could be anywhere in the northern hemisphere. But what about that palm tree — the one we picked out in the photo of Thantos? He was supposed to be at that clinic, right?”

  “Could be artificial,” Cam guessed. “Like in some hotel lobbies.”

  “The place is supposedly for celebs.” Alex agreed, “It’s probably totally plushed out.”

  “We’re home!” Cam called as they went inside.

  Silence greeted them.

  A note left on the kitchen table explained, Had to pick up a bolt of fabric for the Dennison job. Dad and I will be home around 6 with takeout. There were individual memos scrawled on the bottom:

  Cam: the dentist called to confirm your appointment.

  Alex: the offer still stands to buy you a new winter jacket.

  Dylan: No junk food! Call if you need anything.

  Love, Mom.

  Love, Mom. As she bounded up the steps to log on to her e-mail, Cam thought of Emily writing that note, all conscientious and concerned; Emily, the sophisticated interior designer, who had decorated the hallway with her kids’ framed kindergarten drawings; who made a fool of herself cheering for Cam at every soccer game all season long; who had accepted Alex into their family even though her daughter’s identical twin was a daily reminder that Cam had another mother somewhere.

  For some stupid reason, Cam began to well up with tears.

  If Alex noticed, she didn’t say anything. She did beat Cam to the computer, though, and booted it up.

  Cam had mail, so did Alex. Only not the mail they were hoping for.

  Deflated, Alex swung around to face her sister, confirming, “Still no message from Starstuck. They’re ignoring us.”

  “Rude much?” Cam snuffled back her tears, pretending it was the weather that had made her eyes water and her nose red.

  “That’s why they call ’em rag-mags,” Alex groused. “Maybe if we called back and said we were two-headed aliens who’d met Elvis in a galaxy far, far away … or that we’ve got a dog that can tell the future —”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Cam said, her swollen eyes twinkling with sudden, mischievous inspiration. “Where’d we write down Starstruck’s phone number?”

  Alex was on it. “A little T’Witch trickery?”

  Cam ran her fingers through her long thick hair, pulling it off her face, securing it in a scrunchie-held ponytail. “Starstuck wouldn’t bother calling or writing back to Cam Barnes or Alex Fielding. So … who would they have to talk to?”

  Instantly, Alex got it. The only debate was which T’Witch would actually make the call. Alex was faster — using her telekinetic power to draw the phone to her.

  “Show-off.” Cam folded her arms. “Put it on speaker.”

  Bypassing the voice-mail-o-rama, Alex hit “O” and waited until the operator said, “How may I direct your call?”

  “I demand to speak to your photo editor immediately,” Alex snapped.

  “Who shall I say is calling?” the operator asked, bored.

  “Tell him Alexandra DuBaer is on the phone, calling on behalf of Lord Thantos DuBaer.”

  The next voice they heard was gruff, irritable, but clearly trying to control its edginess. “Edwards. Photo Department. Who did you say this is?”

  “Alexandra DuBaer, Lord Thantos’s niece.” Alex wavered only a tiny bit. “Are you the photo editor?”

  “No, I’m Madonna,” the man grumbled. “What can I do for you?”

  “Lord Thantos”— Alex cleared her throat —“demands to know the name of the photographer who took his picture and to speak directly with him. Or her,” she quickly added.

  “Yeah, sure.” Edwards gave a nasty snicker. “Look, whoever you are, I don’t know what your game is, but no can do — even if I wanted to. Your photographer’s not in —”

  “When will he be back?” Alex was determined not to be brushed off.

  “Never,” Edwards cracked. “Does never work for you?”

  Cam leaned into the speaker phone. “I don’t think you want to incur Lord Thantos’s wrath …”

  Alex nudged her out of the way. “We need to talk to the photographer. Our uncle … he … uh … wants to —” Alex shrugged at Cam.

  “Buy the picture!” Cam blurted.

  The photo editor laughed. “Yeah, right. To frame it?”

  “I don’t see the humor in this, Mr. Edwards,” Alex said bossily. “He wants to make sure it never gets published again. My uncle is a very private man.”

  “And rich,” Cam added. “Money is not an object.”

  “Look, whoever you are,” he said pointedly, “if you were really related to that egomaniacal money machine, you would know this. I can’t sell you the picture.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t?” Cam asked dramatically. “Lord Thantos won’t be happy —”

  “He won’t, won’t he? Trust me on this, he’s already made his displeasure known,” Edwards said bitterly, and hung up.

  Alex heard footsteps crunching in the snow outside.

  “Dylan,” Cam confirmed, without looking out the window. “Bum-osity. He’s going to do twenty questions on the rumor that I got sick in class.” As her brother slammed the front door and started up the stairs, she grabbed a book from her backpack, planted herself on the window seat, and pretended to be engrossed in her math book.

  Alex propped her chemistry text on her pillow and belly-flopped onto her bed. Within a mo, she really was reading it. Already the first few questions on the test began to make sense.

  “Chill,” Cam advised her. “You had to come to my rescue. Olson will totally give you a makeup test.”

  “Let’s pretend this is ‘adult swim,’” Alex responded sourly. “How about a solid hour where you don’t dive into my head? Anyway, I have no excuse for the first half of the test, which I was totally there for. It’s not like I’m partying on the other coast, like your buds Bree and Kris.”

  Dylan sauntered into the room and their conversation, effortlessly. “Speaking of Kristen, what’s up with her?” he asked. “Did she spend the weekend getting a personality transplant?”

  Cam looked over at him. Alex rolled onto her back, clasping her hands behind her head.

  “The sudden interest in my friends is inspired by …?” Cam inquired.

  Dylan dropped his messenger bag on the floor and made for Alex’s guitar, formerly his, which was propped against the wall near her bed. “’Cause that girl has been acting too flaky lately.”

  “At the bowling alley, you mean?” Alex asked casually.
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  Dylan settled himself on the floor, bending over the instrument intently, strumming it to see if it was in tune. “After that. On Sunday.”

  “Sunday?” Cam and Alex said simultaneously.

  “You couldn’t have seen Kristen on Sunday,” Alex added.

  Dylan’s head jerked up. “Do you guys practice that? Saying stuff at the same time? Man!”

  Cam swung off the window seat and settled herself in front of him. “Kristen’s away with Bree. They’re not supposed to be home until tomorrow.”

  “Well, they are. At least Kris is.” Dylan’s blue eyes stared directly into Cam’s clear grays. “And little miss Minivan Gogh acted like she didn’t know me.”

  “What happened, exactly?” Alex was sitting up now.

  Dylan played a few chords. “When we finished boarding, Robbie’s dad picked us up. He had some stuff to do in the city. We had a half hour to kill. Robs is making this mobile of the solar system for science, so we went into some arts and crafts place. Kristen, or her nervous clone, was at the checkout. I go, ‘Hi,’ she freaks. Dropped her stuff and bolted. Like I was Lord Voldemort. Weird, huh?”

  Scale of 1-10.What are the chances he’s mistaken? Alex sent her question silently to Cam.

  Slim to none. He’s known Kris — her whole family — for years.

  Alex shrugged. “Maybe she got uninvited to Bree’s party at the last minute.”

  Cam shook her head. “Doesn’t account for her buggin’ when Dylan spotted her. And why skip school? Extremely un-Kristen.”

  “Yo, Als,” Dylan said, on to the next topic. “Wanna jam?”

  “Sorry, dude, can’t. I’ve got to …”

  She was about to say “study,” when Cam cut in. “Go ahead.” Telepathically, she added, We’ll break it down later. There’s nothing we can do right now, anyway.

  Alex closed her chem text and started out after Dylan. But not before she telegraphed Cam: You’re not getting rid of me so you can summon Karsh and Ileana, are you? I remind you, Camryn, they would not be pleased at the phone call we just made. Cool as it was!

  Cam rolled her eyes. Simplify: I’m just getting rid of you.

  Cam waited until she heard two guitars and voices twanging next door. Then she grabbed her cell phone and dashed downstairs — hoping Alex would be too all about the music to listen in.

  “Hello?” The voice on the other end was familiar.

  Cam’s breath caught in her throat. Why would she be nervous? “Is … uh … Kristen home? It’s Camryn.”

  Samantha Hsu, Kris’s older sister, paused. The question seemed to take her by surprise. “Try her cell phone,” she advised.

  Before Cam could continue, Samantha said, “Sorry, I have to go,” and hung up.

  Kristen answered right away. Thanks to caller ID, she knew who was calling — and didn’t sound completely surprised to hear from Cam. “Cami, hey, what’s up?”

  “You tell me,” Cam said. “Kris … where are you?”

  “I can’t really talk now,” Kristen said, almost apologetically.

  “You were in Boston on Sunday. You saw Dylan and bugged.” Cam came clean. “So I know you’re not in Los Angeles with Brianna. So why’d you blow off school today? What’s going on?”

  There was a long pause on the other end. “I’m sorry, Cam,” Kris said. “I … I can’t talk about it.”

  “Why not?” Cam looked up and saw Alex coming down the stairs.

  “Emily just pulled into the driveway,” her twin told her.

  Cam turned as the front door opened. It was her mom, with a bolt of fabric under her arm, two shopping bags in one hand, and the mail in the other. Emily’s face lit up automatically the moment she saw her daughter.

  “I have a good reason,” Kris was saying. “Camryn, listen, please don’t call back.”

  “Kris, wait,” Cam said, but her friend had hung up. Cam clicked off her cell phone and went to help Emily with her packages.

  She sensed Alex watching them from the stairs, then heard her flame-haired sister’s melancholy thoughts. It was the first time Alex had looked at them and realized how much Emily and Cam’s relationship mirrored hers with Sara. Cam glanced up gratefully at her twin.

  “Oh, this one’s for you, both of you.” Emily turned over a manila envelope. “No stamps. Someone must have shoved it into the mailbox.” She smiled at Alex and handed the creased envelope to Cam, who was standing nearer. “Look at the address. Isn’t that creative? The letters are all different styles and sizes.”

  Cam set down the bolt of fabric and hurried to her sister. The moment Emily left the hallway they tore open the envelope.

  Inside was a sheet of paper with only eight words on it, some done in calligraphy, others printed in red in different urgent type styles:

  If she doesn’t get help she could die!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  UNDER THE DOME: JUSTICE

  The trial of Fredo DuBaer had begun.

  Before each voting Council member was a computer on which he or she would register a secret verdict. The laptops, as Ileana had protested to Lady Rhianna, had all been donated by Lord Thantos. Ileana found herself frowning at them, as if they were the monstrous tracker himself.

  “The computers,” she whispered to Karsh. “What if Thantos has meddled with them? He’s supposed to be a computer genius.”

  Karsh shook his head. “He’s a genius at business. It was Aron who was brilliant at technology —”

  From her perch at the People’s bench, Ileana glanced over at the surviving DuBaer brothers. What a bizarre pair they made — Fredo, short, slight, reedlike, his thinning dark hair slicked back with grease, a wispy goatee straggling from his pointy chin; Thantos, a looming, fearsome presence in a dark cape and hobnail boots, his beard thick and black as a moonless night.

  In other circumstances, Karsh and Thantos might have been well matched against each other. They’d known each other all their lives, and both were men of intelligence who passionately believed in their arguments. But hapless Fredo had made such a tangled mess, it was doubtful that even a force like Thantos could persuade this Council of his brother’s innocence.

  Fredo, it turned out, had no alibis, no means of proving his innocence, and a pitiable parade of character witnesses. Ileana looked at the sad little group lined up behind the Accused’s table. Five in all. Three of them wore the striped jumpsuits of convicted felons. One, a trembling young witch, worked for 3B, one of Thantos’s computer brands. The last, a sad, shabby old warlock with gambling troubles, probably owed Thantos money. “Characters is right,” she muttered to Karsh.

  Ileana grew increasingly impatient as the circus parade of witnesses was called upon and led, one by one, through their predictable performances by Thantos.

  Although Fredo grinned stupidly, as if he believed the praise their rehearsed testimony heaped upon him, the evidence against him was overwhelming. Punishing this bungling monster was so not the justice Ileana craved.

  For her, this trial served only one satisfying purpose. It brought Thantos back to Coventry Island publicly, for the first time in years. He was the one who should have been tried and convicted! He had slain his brother Aron.

  Thantos had never been formally charged, of course. He’d moved to the mainland, thus making sure no one would ever know what happened in those fateful predawn hours of late October, a decade and a half ago.

  But he was here now. Finally! Could the Coventry Island Unity Council, the ruling body of the community, miss this golden opportunity to see Aron DuBaer’s real killer finally pay for his ghastly crime?

  Frowning defiantly, Ileana tugged at Karsh’s sleeve. “There is no justice in this Council room,” she whispered angrily.

  “Patience.” The old warlock gently removed Ileana’s hand. “We’ve made our case against Fredo and, if I do say so myself, my closing argument was —”

  “I don’t mean Fredo’s paltry offenses,” Ileana interrupted, “I mean Thantos’s. He is here, Karsh, on
Coventry. Standing before the Unity Council. What better time to charge him with Aron’s death?”

  Karsh wasn’t surprised at Ileana’s demand. Personally, he was never completely convinced of Thantos’s guilt. Many on the island, however, believed as Ileana did. This would not be a bad time to clear up the matter once and for all. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to agree wholeheartedly with Ileana because he knew the pain such a public forum might cause her.

  Thantos was wrapping his closing argument. Ileana seethed. She could barely stand to be in the same room with the murderous maniac, let alone forced to listen as he tried to convince the voting members of the Council that his brother was innocent — almost solely because he, the mighty Thantos DuBaer, said so!

  When Thantos took his seat, Lady Rhianna announced, “The Unity Council now calls for a time-out in the proceedings. During this time, the Exalted Elders will study the transcript of this trial and then render their votes. The Accused” — she nodded at Fredo — “and the People” — she smiled fondly at Karsh — “are asked to vacate the amphitheater during this time. I will summon you when the Council has come to a decision.”

  Without a backward glance, Ileana led Karsh out of the domed arena. They settled down on a bench under one of Coventry’s grand old evergreens. The day was unseasonably mild and many of the spectators who had been inside were strolling the grounds. They called out affectionate greetings to Karsh. Ileana nodded at them, but her fiery obsession had not abated.

  Karsh tried to calm her. “Are you so sure —” he began.

  “He killed Aron,” she insisted, facing her guardian. “Aron, your friend, the twins’ father, his own brother. Thantos murdered him in cold blood. Out of greed and jealousy. With Aron dead, Thantos became the sole owner of DuBaer Technologies.”

  “He is not the sole owner,” Karsh corrected her. “Fredo also has an interest.”

  “Fredo doesn’t count,” Ileana persisted. “He’s a tool of Thantos. Everyone knows that.”

  “They do with you shouting it like a banshee!” Karsh and Ileana looked up. A few feet above them, Lady Rhianna, plump yet graceful — and awe-inspiring with her magnificent wings unfurled — sailed toward the dome of the amphitheater. “I command you not to discuss this case outside of the courtroom,” she warned them.