T*Witches: Building a Mystery by Randi Reisfeld, H.B. Gilmour Page A

where's your sister? Will you find her, please?" she asked her son, who was flushed with embarrassment at the way Alex was carrying on.
     
    He stepped out into the hallway and saw Cam charging down the stairs. "Where've you been?"
     
    "On the Web," she answered breathlessly. "Where's Alex? I've got something to tell her."
     
    "Not right now," Dylan cautioned. "She's in there, going a few rounds with Mom. It's not a pretty sight."
     
    "We're not supposed to go out with anyone unless the FBI—the Federal Barnes Investigation—checks them out first!" Alex hollered as Cam entered the kitchen. "You try to reason with her. She's your make-believe mom!"
     
    "Don't talk to my mother that way," Cam ordered.
     
    "Oh, now she's your mom." Dylan got into it. "I thought Alex's mom was supposed to be your mom—"
     
    Cam looked helplessly at Alex. Als, she said silently, she's not your mom.
     
    "You can say that again!" Alex shouted. "And she never will be!"
     

    Dave Barnes joined the fray. His dark curls were churned up, corkscrewing from his head, as they only did when he'd been anxiously running his hand through his hair. Whipping off his glasses, he demanded, "What's going on in here?"
     
    Emily began to answer, but Alex jumped in. "I met this really nice guy at school and Emily won't let me go out with him. I mean, not even in bright daylight."
     
    "Do we know him?" Dave put his arm around his wife. "Is he someone you've known for a while, Cam?"
     
    "He's a new guy," Dylan butted in. "He's rich and weird. Kind of a loner—"
     
    "I didn't ask you," his father said abruptly.
     
    "Whoa, excuse me. No normal kids allowed, right?"
     
    Cam and Alex looked at Dylan's over-the-top outfit, sagging baggies, hugely oversized parka, fat, unlaced high-tops, two earrings in one lobe, blue-streaked blond hair, moussed at weird angles. They burst out laughing.
     
    "Freaks." Steaming, Dylan left.
     
    "I guess I'm not surprised this happened today," Dave mused. He kissed the top of Emily's head, then beckoned to the girls. "Come into the den." He led them through the pantry out into the front hall and opened the door to his at-home office. "There's someone you should meet. It's on his advice that we decided to be extra cautious about who you see for a while."
     

    A thin man in a black homburg hat was sitting in the armchair next to Dave's desk. His back was to the door.
     
    "Lordship," Dave said. Slowly, the client turned. His hat brim was low over his forehead; still, there was something luminously pale about his face. He removed his hat with bony white hands.
     
    Cam sucked in her breath and clutched Alex's hand.
     
    His hair was ice-white, kinky, thinning. In places his pale pink scalp showed through, shiny as silk.
     
    "You... you're the bleacher-creature," Cam said.
     
    "Cam," Dave scolded.
     
    Alex breathed, "Doc."
     
    He smiled at her, nodded.
     
    "CYBI, he's the old policeman," Cam decided.
     
    "CYBI?" the old man looked at Dave.
     
    "Can You Believe It," Alex translated. Then agreed with Cam. "That witchy gray-eyed cop's partner, right?"
     
    "Don't call her witchy," the old man said in his peculiar raspy voice. He chuckled dryly. "She prefers 'Goddess.' As for me, I don't mind 'Doc.' Certainly I prefer it to 'bleacher-creature.'"
     
    "Doc? You're really real? I was beginning to think I dreamed you," Alex was amazed.
     
    "I did," Cam said. "I did dream him, lots of nights. Dad, what's he doing here? Do you know him?"
     
    Dave put an arm around Cam's shoulder an held her tight. "Baby, he's the man who arranged your adoption."
     
    Alex paled. Well, that explained why he'd dumped her here, she thought, withdrawing her hand from Cam's.
     
    "Then you must know my..." Cam was saying. "I mean, our real mom—"
     
    "All in good time." The fragile old man held up his hand to stave off Cam's question. "Call me what you will, but my actual name is Karsh," he confessed. "Have you been approached