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darkness, squinting up at the tree, which was still yards away.
    “It’s mugwort or marjoram,” Cam was jabbering, “the herbs we used. And look at this — I’ve still got Ileana’s crystal.”
    “I don’t think she’s there,” Alex said. “Our … you know, Miranda. I’m not getting anything but regular cold-night park smells and noises.”
    Cam focused her laser-sharp vision on the ancient twisted tree, peering into its familiar crevices and towering branches. “There’s no one there, but the sun’s not up yet, either.”
    “I told you, she’s a no-show, by choice or by Thantos’s trickery,” Alex whispered. “Or maybe it’s all one huge scam — and the joke’s on us.”
    Cam didn’t answer. She was staring now at a thinribbon of light glowing behind the hill. The dawning sun, breathtaking and pink, framed the twisted silhouette of the tree where they were to meet their mother.
    “Look.” Cam squeezed her sister’s hand.
    “I know. And there’s the moon.” They looked behind them. The pale moon was fading in a slowly lightening sky.
    “Pine needles,” Alex murmured. “And lavender. Can you smell that?” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Pine and lavender and … rosemary.”
    Cam’s shoulders hunched involuntarily inside her pink parka. Her grip on Alex’s hand tightened. She was afraid to turn around, to look back at the tree … at the person she now knew was standing there.
    But who? Had Thantos lured them into a trap? Or was it finally really her? Cam’s heart thudded.
    She didn’t want to admit it — especially not now — that it was easier for her to face the possibility of deadly danger than the likelihood that their mother had come to meet them.
    Still, neither of them turned to see who was there.
    It was a moment frozen in time. When it passed, their lives would never be the same again.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    MIRANDA
    “Artemis? Apolla?”
    The voice was soft, whispery, the same voice they’d heard the first time their necklaces bonded, the voice they’d heard on the phone. But so near, so fragile, light enough to ride the early morning breeze, to caress their cheeks, to brush their lips.
    Tears burst from Alex’s silver-gray eyes. Cam was hyperventilating. In slo-mo and in sync, they turned around.
    Alex had pictured a sidelined super-woman, a fierce witch of wondrous powers.
    Cam had visualized Miranda as gentle, calm, and loving, nervous about meeting them.
    The stranger who stood before them was all and none of that.
    She was a replica of them, as if a computer had projected what they’d look like in twenty-five years. But it was more than the metallic gray eyes, irises outlined in black; more than the full lips, prominent cheekbones, and chestnut hair. Her emotions too, seemed to mirror theirs, everything they were feeling — anticipation, anxiety, even terror — her face reflected back.
    That was the moment Cam and Alex knew it was actually happening. She was real and she was here. And no matter what they were about to find out, they had at least … at last … seen their mother. And it was going to be okay.
    If this had been a movie, Alex found herself thinking, this would have been the moment they ran toward one another, embraced tightly, cried profusely, forgave and forgot, then walked off into the sunset, arms around one another’s shoulders.
    But this was real life, and it was dawn, and their new beginning was unscripted.
    Tentatively, they stepped toward each other.
    Miranda’s expression changed. Cam now saw a mixture of awe and relief on the face that belonged to astranger, yet looked so much like her own, Awe and relief and a joy so profound it frightened both of them.
    “Artemis?” the woman called out tentatively.
    Cam shook her head. “I’m Camr — I’m Apolla,” she said.
    “I’m Artemis.” The trapped words now escaped Alex’s dry mouth.
    “Oh.” Miranda’s eyes glimmered as they searched Alex’s face. “I thought, maybe,