T*Witches: The Power of Two (4 page)

"Welcome to Big lie... I mean Big Sky."

That was the way Alex sometimes greeted tourists. In her cheesy fringed vest, she worked the ticket booth at the east entrance to the theme park.

She checked the time. A half hour more and she'd be off duty. Then, she'd meet up with Evan and Lucinda, and they'd hang out and mock the crowd while scarfing junk food. The kind with names as bogus as Big Sky itself. Rank-tasting stuff like "pioneer burgers," "bunkhouse chili," "rodeo franks," and Alex's personal favorite, "buffalo chips."

"Can I get four all-day passes, please?"
Alex glanced up to see a man with unruly dark hair, a walrus mustache, and a bushy canopy of eyebrows overhanging small, twinkling blue eyes. The guy had a natural grin that made him seem easygoing and made her want to smile.

He nudged two fifty-dollar bills in the slot toward her. "That's good for every attraction and ride, right?"
She nodded, then couldn't help adding, "As many as you can live through, sir. It's part of our Frequent Survivor Package."

Luckily, he smiled at her—then tilted his head and shot her a curious look. She was used to that, since most of her customers were easily thrown by her hair-du-jour. But mustache man seemed neither shocked nor disapproving. It was almost as if he recognized her and was about to say, "Do I know you?"

To which Alex would have responded, "No way." This guy, in his happy tourist Hawaiian shirt that showed his sunburn line at the sleeve, was so not from around here. Then again, who was?

It was summer, Big Sky's big season. Vacationers swarmed the grounds; bought T-shirts, bolo ties, and souvenir vests; took pictures outside the "genuine" wild West saloon or behind papier-mâché bars in the "authentic" sheriff's office, or waving from the top of the Ol' Wagon Wheel—which was Big Sky-ese for broken-down old Ferris wheel.

Making fun of tourists was easy, a cheap thrill that—okay, yeah, yeah, Alex got it—had more than a hint of envy to it. But it was like, summer vacation, whoo-hoo. Watching smiley-faced families—mom, dad, junior, and sis—romping through overpriced, phony-baloney "attractions," run by the pathetic, underpaid "townie" staff. Spew much? Alex could.

For her, "summer" and "vacation" didn't belong in the same sentence. Summer? She could work longer hours. Vacation? Alex's mom never got a day off. Sara'd be losing money this week because she had to go to the clinic.

A shadow fell over Alex's heart as she thought about the cough her mother'd had for weeks now. Maybe months. Alex didn't know how long it had been. Unsurprisingly, Sara had been secretive about it—as she was about anything that might cause her daughter to worry. She was always trying to protect her, shield her from... from reality, Alex guessed.

Reality: They were alone, broke, and paddling like crazy just to stay afloat. Reality: For the bonus round—Sara was sick and they couldn't afford a decent doctor, so she'd waited weeks for today's clinic appointment. "Only two weeks," her mom would say—like that was nothing.

Sara could put a positive spin on anything. Like when people called Alex "different" instead of "cute," or said she looked "interesting" instead of "pretty," her mom would beam—like it was the hugest compliment—and proudly announce, "That's Alexandra, that's my girl."

Again, Alex checked the time. Fifteen more minutes. She wished she could call her mom right now, find out what they'd said at the clinic. No one was at her booth this second. If she'd had a working cell phone, powered by a major company, she could make the call. If she'd had a smart phone, she could simply text.

Right, like that would ever happen. It was so not a mystery why seeing kids parade around the park, giggling into iPhones and Blackberrys, totally annoyed Alex. They could have entire text conversations with their buds, who were like ten feet away.

Idiots.

Alex couldn't find out if her own mom was okay until she got off work, broke out of her cage, and either miraculously was near enough to a cell tower that her dinky provider used – or try and find a working pay phone.

She took a deep breath. Chill, she told herself. You're out of here soon.

"Change of plans." Lucinda's apple-pie face suddenly filled the ticket window. It was a face that not even fifty skinny braids, two of them dyed orange, could make seem anything but innocent. "Evan says to meet him at the Wagon Wheel. Henry got sick so they sent Ev over there. We're gonna go up for free."

Alex scrunched her nose. "Up where? On the wheel? We want to do this, exactly, why?" Evan was a flake, for sure, but the Ol' Wagon Wheel, Big Sky's totally hurting, state-of-the-last-century ride? They never did that.

"It's free, that's why," Lucinda repeated. "Come on, Als. Just one ride. It'll be a blast."

One ride. A blast.

It only blasted Alex's whole universe to pieces.

Evan saw it first. Clarification: saw
her
first. On the Ol' Wagon Wheel. But in typical Evan-speak, he did the lame-joke thing.

"Hey, Alex," he called, leaning over the side of their creaky, swinging basket. "There's a girl two carts down who stole something from you."

Alex did a fast calculation and came up blank. Her money was in her jeans pocket. Her backpack was stashed in the gear house at the bottom of the Ferris wheel. She folded her arms across her chest, waiting for the punch line. "Okay, Ev, I'll play. What'd she steal? My Stratocaster, SUV, or cell phone?"

Evan pointed down. "Your face."

Alex rolled her eyes. "Don't quit your day job, Evan. Comedy Central is not scanning the globe for you," she said, rubbing a sudden rash of goose bumps on her arm.

Lucinda flipped around to check. "Get outta here! Alex," she shrieked. "He's right. She looks just like you—"

"Only cleaner," Evan said.

"Could you be any less funny?" Alex challenged. But her stomach lurched nervously, or maybe it was just the cart swinging in a gust of wind. "Nobody looks like me," she declared, going along with the joke. Although—between the goose bumps and fluttery stomach—she was acting way cooler than she felt. Finally, she peered over the side of the cart to check it out.

A pair of tourist girls were two cars below them. One was string-bean skinny with a mop of frizzy hair. The other, about Alex's size, was wearing a baseball cap and a Gap-khaki's ad-itude. As if the girl felt someone staring at her, she turned abruptly and looked up at Alex. Their eyes locked. Their remarkable silver-gray eyes, stormy irises outlined in inky black. Wolf-gray, witch eyes.

Alex felt the unexpected sting of hot tears. Dizzy suddenly, vision blurred, eyes burning, she gripped the seat railing to stop herself from pitching forward.

And then she heard a yelp of distress, a gasp—as if the tourist in the baseball cap had seen her and cried, "No!" A single word, called out in surprise, wounding as a blow. Alex heard it clearly, yet knew the girl hadn't said it aloud.

And there were the goose bumps again. And a raw emptiness in the pit of her stomach—as if she'd suddenly recognized, identified, a feeling she'd had all her life. Now it had a name. Loneliness.

Quickly, Alex turned away from the stranger and struggled to calm her pounding heart.

What was happening to her? The Ol' Wagon Wheel was just a lame ride, one of the oldest in the park, tamer than the Bullwhip or the Six Shooter. So why was she chilled, clammy, shaking? Why was she scared?

And why had a tourist's gaze left her light-headed, blinking black spots as if a flashbulb had gone off in her face?

"Is she your spitting image, or what?" Lucinda prompted.

"Oh, yeah, she's wearing my favorite color, puke pink," Alex heard herself say, sarcastically. "And I'd never leave home without my smart phone, right, Luce? We're a perfect match."

"You
are
," Evan insisted—no longer joking.

"Not," Alex protested.

"Get out," Luce protested. "How can you say that?"

"Look at her hair," Alex grumbled. "Under that cutesy little cap, it's all wavy with, like, reddish highlights."

"Exactly like," Lucinda smirked triumphantly, "what's under the blue dye job I personally gave you?"

"Did you see her? Did you see?" Beth tugged on Cam's arm. "How bizarre is that?"

"What?" Cam asked, trying to clear her head. Looking at the girl Beth was talking about had left her woozy. Her senses, at first blazingly sharp, had dulled painfully. It was as if she'd been staring directly into the sun. Her eyes were tearing. She could hardly see anything now—only shadows. "A couple of kids pointing at us?"
"No, that's not it," Beth asserted. "It's that other girl. The one not pointing."

What Cam had seen, before being temporarily blinded, was a fiery, gray-eyed girl with a shock of electric blue hair pinned at random angles to her skull. Something seemed familiar about her, Cam thought. And then, with a shudder, she thought, No!

Don't go there, she told herself. Pretend, just pretend you're sane.

"Cam, don't you see it?" Beth squealed. "She's identical to you!"

"So you're saying I came two thousand miles from home to, what, find my evil twin?" Not daring to look back up at the girl in the fake-suede, fringed vest, Cam forced herself to laugh. "That wouldn't even make a bad TV movie of the week. Way to dish the compliments, Beth."

Beth was stunned. "This is no joke, Camryn. This is the weirdest thing ever. How could you not see it? Did you suddenly go off? Like at the—"

"Soccer game? Could we please not revisit that scene?"

Reluctantly, Beth dropped it. Cam put on her sunglasses. And the two friends spent the next five minutes in an uneasy silence broken only by the rusty creaking of the Ol' Wagon Wheel.

They were grateful when the ride ended, but Cam's relief was short-lived. As she and Beth hopped out of the cart, she saw the kids who'd been pointing—and knew they were waiting for her.

The tall boy with his fuzzy dreadlocks and the chubby girl with her Pippi-Longstocking-goes-punk braids were totally obvious in their staring. Only the blue-haired one with the fierce eyes was ignoring them. Stooped down, she was busily rummaging through her backpack.

Cam felt queasy, off balance, not really up for a meet 'n' greet—not with her eyes still burning from their midair clash, and her heart racing so fast she wasn't sure she could speak. What were the odds, she wondered desperately, of pretending not to see them and just moving on?

A deliberate tap on her arm told her, slim to none. It was the boy. "Any chance you'd take off that hat?" he blurted. "And the shades?"

And let them see her bleary eyes? "Uh—" Cam grew panicky and shot Beth a let's-make-a-quick-exit look.

Beth stood rooted.

The girl of a thousand braids spoke up. "Don't mind him, okay? Sometimes he slips back into his native language: rude."

In spite of herself, Cam grinned.

The girl continued, "We couldn't help noticing that you look so much like our friend here." She pointed to Alex, who was still kneeling on the ground, her back to everyone. "We thought if you took your hat off, and the sunglasses, we could see your face better."

"No," Cam blurted. "I mean, I can't. They're prescription," she lied. "I can't see a thing without them."

Beth was all over it. "We noticed it, too," she squealed. Then to Cam's astonishment, her best bud actually tapped backpack girl on the shoulder and said, "Would you mind turning around?"

Slowly, Alex got to her feet and turned toward Cam. As they stood face-to-face, the gasps from their friends were so pronounced that people nearby turned to stare.

They were exactly the same height.

They had the same build.

Their lips were full. Their noses gently sloping but bobbed, blunt at the nostrils. Their cheekbones wide, chins strong, and slightly, rebelliously, thrust forward.

Their expressions—of shock, distress, pure panic—were mirror images.

Cam saw her own eyes reflected in her sunglasses, only it was the other girl's amazing eyes.

Alex heard a heart beating wildly, only it wasn't her own. It was the girl in the baseball cap's.

"I look nothing like her."

Cam's hand flew to her mouth, as the exact same words came blasting out of the stranger's lips.

It was too much, way too much to take in, to deal with, to believe. They couldn't possibly look so much alike, say the same thing at the same time, even sound alike...

This can't be happening, Alex told herself. I'm just stressed about Mom—too little sleep, too many crazy dreams, too much work and worry. Taking a step back, she caught Tourista Number Two gaping at her. "Your friend is hallucinating." Lame, but it was the best Alex could do at the moment.

"Must be contagious, some airborne virus," Cam stammered defensively, "because your friends are just as delirious." It wasn't Beth who was seeing things, she thought, it was her—first the white-haired old man at the soccer match, and now a bad-tempered double in a theme park in the middle of nowhere.

Beth was astounded. Verbal attacks? Not Cam's style.

"We have to work here," Alex countered. "What's your excuse? Was it a choice between this and the nature walk?"

How'd she known that? Cam wondered.

Nature walk? Where'd that come from? Alex asked herself.

Evan and Lucinda were stunned. Okay, Alex had a bite to her, but only when provoked. And she knew better than to go at it with a paying customer. Alex needed this job.

Lucinda inserted herself between Cam and Alex, and extended her hand. "I'm Lucinda Carmelson, he's Evan Fretts, and this is Alexandra—Alex—Fielding. We live over in Crow Creek, and like Alex said, we work right here in the park. Alex's at the ticket booth," she couldn't help adding, as if that were something to be extra proud of.

To Cam's dread, Beth took a step forward and shook Lucinda's hand. "That's so cool. I'm Beth Fish, and this is Cam, Camryn Barnes. We're from—"

That was it. Cam had had enough weirdness for one week. She grabbed Beth's ropy arm and pulled her away, blurting, "We're from... not around here."

"Massachusetts," Beth said.

"Well, buh-
bye
," Cam called, racing off, dragging Beth with her. Despite her best friend's startled protests, she didn't slow down until she'd found the restroom, with its hokey COWGIRLS sign, and dashed behind it.

Beth was ballistic. "What's wrong with you? You totally blew off those kids. How could you act like that?"

"Like what?" Cam said, out of breath. Hands on her hips, she took a couple of deep sucks of air. "I'm... I'm just..."How could she explain it to Beth, who was clearly more excited than alarmed that a stranger had turned up looking eerily like Cam? How could she explain that she didn't want, couldn't take, any more spooky surprises? That seeing things others didn't see, hearing voices no one else could hear and, now, bumping into this distorted mirror image, was more than she could handle right now?

"No matter what," Beth lectured, "even if you're still bummed about the game, or freaked by the creepy vibes at Saddlebrook—"

"Beth, you have no idea what happened at the game," Cam began.

"Give me a break. This is me, Cami. And that girl with the blue-streaked hair is—"

"She's who? She's what? She's nobody!" Cam exploded.

"You!" Undeterred, Beth finished her sentence. "She's you."

Cam felt like a punctured balloon, leaking adrenaline. She had no strength left to battle her best friend. Instead, she found herself fighting back tears.

Instinctively, Beth put an arm around her. "I know this is weirding you out," she said softly. "Me, too. But don't you even want to find out who she is?"

Cam shrugged and busied herself digging for a tissue in her backpack. "No," she said, blowing her nose. "I don't want to know who or what she is. I don't want to have 'mojo.' Or be different from other kids—"

"You're not," Beth gently assured her. "I mean, in lots of ways you're not."

In front of her friends, Alex forced herself to laugh. "As advertised, that was such the blast! What can we do for an encore? I vote for the buffalo chips at Chuck Wagon Charlie's. Equally vomitacious."

Usually, Alex was expert at getting her buds to change the subject. Or to do anything she wanted. Now they circled her.

"How could you let her go like that?" Evan challenged. "She's on your turf, with your face, and you let her trash-talk us and walk away? You don't got game, Alex."
"Unlike you?" Alex glared at Evan, who, at that moment, stumbled on an empty soda can some tourist had tossed away. Only his pride was bruised, however, when both girls laughed at him.

"I'd work on that eye-foot coordination thing before you go disrespecting my game," Alex hooted, relieved to dodge the spotlight.

As if that would derail Lucinda. "What's going on with you, Alex?" she steamrolled on. "You've been a space-cadet for the last few weeks and now this UFO thing happens and you don't even want to investigate?"
"UFO? What's that, Lucinda-speak for Unidentified Ferris wheel Omens?"

"Unexplained Face rip-Off," Evan quipped.

Alex chuckled, hoping to mask the dread she was feeling. And the opposite, but intense sense of... well, something like peace. Completeness.

"Look, this is bogus." Alex tried to clear her head. "I've got more important things to deal with than some Kinko's copy from Massachusetts."

"What could be more important than finding out who she is?" Lucinda demanded.

"My mother," Alex snapped. "That's a ton more important. I'm going to call her right now."

Evan stepped in front of her and gently squeezed her shoulder. "You spoke to your mom less than an hour ago. I doubt anything's changed."

He was right, of course. The minute she'd gotten off work, Alex had mad-dashed to the pay phone. Her mom, at the Laundromat, had answered right away. Between coughs, Sara had told her, no, the results weren't in. "Relax, baby, I'll see you later. Go with your friends, you deserve a little fun."

Fun, right. She'd remember to add that to her "to-do" list.

Now Lucinda was in her face. "It's her eyes, Als. The girl's got the same creepy-peepers as you."

Alex refused to respond. But that didn't stop one-track Luce from hurtling on. "Don't you believe in fate? We've all got these doppelgänger things. It was fate that you just met yours—"

"Doppelgänger? Shopping at Words R Us again, Luce? Color me impressed."

That cracked Evan up, but didn't dent Lucinda's iron will. "Tease me all you want, Alexandra Nicole Fielding, but that won't change a thing. That girl is you."

"And that girl..."Out of the corner of her eye, Alex spotted a pale blond, sunglasses-wearing tourist. Hoping to reroute Luce, she flipped around to point her out. "Isn't that Marleigh Cooper? Maybe your favorite disappeared diva is hiding out in broad daylight? Come on, Luce, this is your kind of obsession. Where's that inquiring mind when we really need it?"

Swing and a miss. Lucinda and Evan whirled around, but the girl Alex had fingered was too short by half a foot to be mistaken for Marleigh.

"You're just trying to get my mind off your double." Lucinda caught on. "And it isn't gonna work."

As the trio trekked the park, Alex was able to tune her friends out. Only she couldn't find the off switch to the music playing over and over in her own head. The one that kept circling back to tourist girl.

They looked nothing alike, really. Okay, their features were similar. But New England Cam-chowder was a tidy little trendoid, complete with the latest smart phone, and probably designer duds. They couldn't have been more different where it counted. Plus what was up with those whammy eyes? Alex had wound up with flu symptoms just from glancing at the girl?

The girl. A little girl. Very little, very young...

Suddenly, Alex was overcome by a pull more powerful than her own brooding, more urgent than anything she'd ever felt before. It was as if, all at once, she knew exactly where she needed to be. And, without a "gotta go" or good-bye to her headstrong homeys, Alexandra Nicole Fielding raced toward it.

It was happening. Oh, no, not here. Not now. Not again.

Cam's eyesight got sharper as her hearing dulled.

She knew Beth was talking to her, but she couldn't make out the words.

What she saw, though she was too far away to see it so clearly, was the iron arc of the Ferris wheel outlined against the tangerine afternoon sky.

At the top of the ride, holding tight to the safety bar in front of them, were two people, a man and a woman. Between them, glowing like a separate sun, a gleaming, dazzling, radiant jewel, was a child. A girl. A little girl. Very little, very young.

"I'll be out in a minute, okay?" Beth repeated, disappearing through the door labeled COWGIRLS.

Cam nodded, or thought she did. Then, just as it had at the soccer game, a cold sweat soaked her, an icy breeze set her shivering, the thudding of her pulse was suddenly louder than the laughter and chatter of the crowd around her.