Witches of East End (14 page)

chapter twenty-six

The Worm Turns

A
week after Freya was encouraged to take an unwanted leave of absence, Ingrid was contemplating quitting her job altogether. And without it, what would she have? For Ingrid, if work was unbearable there was no reason to live. She never had much of a home life in the first place and she missed her sister’s sparkling company. Before Freya met Bran, Ingrid could count on her sister for movie nights, the occasional dinner or two. But ever since the engagement Freya was hardly home, even with Bran away in the city or on trips so much. Ingrid wondered about that; she thought Freya would miss him more, but she had the same red cheeks, dreamy expression, and late nights whether he was in town or not. Maybe they were having a lot of . . . what did they call it? Phone sex? Ingrid shuddered. Lately Freya had seemed out of sorts and agitated, however, so maybe the separation was beginning to take a toll.

As for where Joanna had gone, Ingrid could not even hazard a guess. Her mother was somewhere her cell phone service did not reach apparently, since calls to Joanna went straight to voice mail. Ingrid could always use the underlayer to probe for her location, or maybe send Oscar to look for her, but Ingrid had a feeling her mother wanted her privacy.

Ingrid never felt lonely, not when she had so many books to read and such good friends at the library, a job that she had looked forward to every morning for the past seven years. She knew that her mother believed that she was wasting her time, her skills, her intellect, her everything, working in some pokey small-town library, and that Freya thought it was all so incredibly boring. But to Ingrid, her library was her home; yet for the last several weeks she had been going to work with a heavy heart, and she wondered if maybe her mother and sister were right. If maybe it was time to quit. Practicing magic again had returned excitement and purpose to her life, but she did not have to do it in the library. She could set up her own clinic, a proper one, with an office, a schedule, and a receptionist. There were so many things she could do with her magic other than cure nightmares and help women conceive.

On a lighter note, since the Fourth of July, however, Ingrid had noticed there was less of that gray darkness in people’s spirits. Maybe it was dissipating from the town; even that weird toxic sludge in the middle of the ocean had stopped moving, and the latest reports said it looked as if it were finally shrinking. Although the latest news reports said that a similar mass recently reappeared near the Alaskan coastline.

She parked her bike and chained it to her usual post. Hudson’s bike was already in its place. The door was open, the lights were on, and everything was bright and orderly. “Good morning,” she said, trying for cheerfulness as she walked to her desk.

“Morning.” Hudson yawned.

“Hi, Ingrid.” Tabitha smiled. She was only in her second month and enjoying every minute of it, even the wretched morning sickness and the inability to eat anything but tea and crackers and still look puffy.

There was nothing from Caitlin but stony silence. Ingrid ignored it, as she didn’t much care what the latest drama was in that particular romance novel. For the past week Ingrid had had to endure Caitlin’s prattle about how she and Matt were going away for a romantic weekend later that month, to a bed-and-breakfast in Martha’s Vineyard. Caitlin had regaled Hudson and Tabitha with the details of her trousseau—lingerie, champagne, the works. Hudson had fun modeling the nipple covers, while Tabitha gave too-earnest pointers on the advantages of lubricant and other erotic accoutrements including a much-too-detailed description of various handcuffs, metal rings, and electronic devices. It was right about then that Ingrid had begun to question her commitment to the job. Either she would have to fire Caitlin or quit herself. But she could not take one more day of the entire office sending the girl off to romance nirvana with condom banners flying.

When Caitlin left the room, Ingrid texted Hudson.

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He swiveled around, a wicked grin on his face. He motioned to Tabitha to shut the door. “You haven’t heard?” he whispered.

“Haven’t heard what?” Ingrid asked.

“Romance weekend on Martha’s Vineyard is off!”

“Pardon?”

“You left too early yesterday.”

“Obviously.”

Tabitha looked over her shoulder and filled her in. “Matt came by yesterday afternoon as usual. I saw them fighting outside. Then he drove off without her. I asked her what happened and she said it was over. He’d canceled the whole weekend because he had to work on that missing girl case, you know, Molly Lancaster. He said it wasn’t working, anyway. He wasn’t feeling it. He was sorry.”

“Oh, dear!” Ingrid said.

“I know!”

“Poor Caitlin,” Ingrid said, feeling a little sorry for the girl. Just a little. She knew it was difficult when someone you liked stopped liking you.

“Anyway, Caitlin thinks he’s a liar. That there’s someone else. You remember how the night of the concert was supposed to be his lucky night? Well, that’s when he told her he wanted to wait until it was special. That’s when he asked her to go to the Vineyard with him, but now that’s off, too,” Tabitha said.

“So . . . they haven’t . . . ?” Ingrid craned forward.

“No!” Hudson interjected, looking disappointed. “Looks like the only one getting lucky in this office is me, since Tab is afraid of ‘hurting the baby.’ But now my Scott is withholding since I told him I didn’t think he could quite pull off the male Capri pant.”

“If you ask me, they were an odd match, anyway,” Tabitha said, rubbing her belly, which was showing the tiniest little bump.

“Shhh—she’s back!” Hudson warned. Ingrid pretended to be busy with a drawing and the other two went back to their computers.

S
uddenly the day seemed so much brighter. The women who came to visit Ingrid at lunch were treated to a host of charms and spells that not only took care of their aches and pains but were sprinkled with a lightness, a joy, a little something extra that had been missing from her magic before. Her money-bag charms smelled like honeysuckle, her spells seemed to emit a golden sparkle, and even her knots were beautiful and perfect, each a work of art.

“Well, if you aren’t little Mary Sunshine,” Hudson teased. “This morning you looked like you were ready to drink hemlock.”

“Shush,” Ingrid said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She tried to maintain a straight face as she returned to her desk. Her computer screen signaled the arrival of an instant message.

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Ingrid hesitated before typing in an answer. After thinking about it for a few minutes, she wrote,
yes
.

chapter twenty-seven

Heart Sick

N
orth Hampton was still reeling from the news of Molly Lancaster’s disappearance when the mayor’s office announced that he had failed to show up to work that Monday and could not be located. He had left his home in the middle of the night with no word to his wife or his staff. After the disaster of the oceanic earthquake and Molly’s mysterious absence, an ill feeling began to grow around town; some began to whisper that North Hampton was cursed, that it was no longer the bucolic little town it once had been.

At home, watching the whole sad story play out in the news, Freya turned off the television and sat pensively for a few minutes. She had to pick up Tyler from preschool soon. She put on her coat and looked for her keys. First Molly Lancaster, now Mayor Hutchinson. What was going on? Things like this never happened in North Hampton before, unless you counted what happened to the Thatchers. Freya tried to recall the last time she had seen the mayor; he used to stop by the bar every once in a while but hadn’t come by in a few weeks, most likely due to that fidelity knot that tied him to his home—not that Todd was the type to flirt with any of the girls at the North Inn. He was too concerned about his career to do something that stupid.

Freya was tired of moping about the house, and the news of the mayor’s disappearance depressed her. She had forgotten how boring life could be without the bar to attend to, without something to do, people to see, drinks to make. At least Ingrid seemed to have cheered up from whatever was making her grumpy for the past few weeks, which was good since Oscar could be irritable whenever his mistress was feeling out of sorts, and Freya didn’t much like getting nipped by his sharp beak just because Ingrid had forgotten to buy his stash of Cheetos. The griffin liked them so much his beak was bound to turn orange one day.

The house was emptier than usual, as Joanna had yet to return from her trip. Her mother had left in something of a rush right after the holiday weekend. Ingrid had seen her off but explained that Joanna had not told her where she was going, only that they were allowed their wands again; although Freya had not found much use for hers. It was nice to have it back, however; she had forgotten how smooth it felt, how much more powerful she was with it in hand.

She drove to the school, and walked to the small cottage that housed the pre-K class. Tyler was playing with blocks and looked up balefully when he saw her. “Where’s Lala?” he demanded, arms crossed.

“Come on, Ty, you know she’s not back yet.” The little boy felt Joanna’s absence keenly. Yesterday he had thrown his arms around in a massive tantrum when she picked him up.

“Don’t wanna go with you. Want Lala!”

“Oh, sweetie, come on,” she said, trying not to lose her patience with the child. She was bored and frustrated as well, but she did not want to take it out on him. They walked to the gate and she put Tyler in his car seat, clicking the straps tightly around his chest.

“What can you do?” he asked suspiciously.

“What do you mean?”

“Lala can make my airplanes fly. For real,” he said in an accusatory tone.

Freya knew Joanna was showing off her magic to the little boy, but it was still shocking to hear it mentioned so casually. Her mother didn’t seem to follow any boundaries when it came to indulging him. Freya remembered her childhood well, and it did not include a plethora of baked goods and innumerable talking stuffed animals. Mostly she remembered her mother grousing about how difficult it was to raise children.

She looked around to make sure no one was looking their way. “Well, I can do this,” she said, turning into a black cat. Then, in a blink, she was Freya again.

Tyler giggled, then he coughed. There was a dime-size dollop of phlegm in his hand, and Freya noticed the green tinge. When they arrived home, she asked Gracella if she noticed Tyler was coughing again. The housekeeper nodded. “The doctors are giving him another round of antibiotics. They said it should clear up in a week or two.”

“He does seem all right, there’s just that odd cough . . . , ” Freya said, feeling the first whisper of fear. Joanna wasn’t the only one in the household who loved the boy. “He’ll be all right,” she told Gracella, and she wondered whom she was trying to convince more, the boy’s mother or herself.

B
ran called later that evening. He apologized for being hard to get ahold of; he was traveling all over the place and time zone changes made communication difficult. “How’s my girl?”

“Missing you,” she said, feeling a tightness constrict in her chest. “When are you coming home?”
When will you return to me?

“Soon, I promise.” Where was he now? What town? What country? She couldn’t keep track anymore. He was simply just “away.” There was a long silence at the end of the line and Freya began to worry. “Bran, are you there?”

“Yes, sorry, I had to return a text. Madame wants to know if you have any thoughts about the wedding plans she sent over the other week,” Bran said.

Freya had barely given the event a second thought, and it surprised her to realize it was happening; she had almost forgotten. Of course they would have the proper ceremony, a white dress, five hundred guests, an orchestra, the works. “Tell her she can do whatever she wants. The flowers, the food, the guests. As long as they invite my family and Sal and Kristy, of course. Whatever she wants.”

“You don’t care?” he asked. “That’s a new one. For a bride, I mean.”

She was going to be a bride. The word struck like a knife in her chest and twisted brutally. For a moment she could not speak.

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s wrong? Are you crying?”

“No . . .” She shook her head even though he could not see. “No. It’s nothing.”

“Tell me . . . you can tell me anything, you know.”

She shook her head and didn’t speak. Tears began quietly streaming down her face now.

“You know I love you, no matter what,” Bran said, his voice tight and nervous. “Whatever happens, I’ll always love you, Freya. Always.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I love you, too.”

She hung up the phone, her heart beating in her chest. Would Bran still love her, truly, if he knew what she was doing? What she had done? Would he love her the way she was? Could she ever be true to him? Monogamy was not in her nature, and she wondered why she had even agreed to this wedding, to this marriage.

The phone rang again and she picked it up, thinking it was Bran again to reassure her of his love.

“Freya.” Killian’s voice was husky and low. They had not spoken since their wild weekend together. “Did I do something wrong? You never return my calls. I miss you.” Hearing his voice was like a balm to her broken heart. Maybe she was meant to be with Killian, but she would never know unless she did something about it. The thing was, she missed him, too.

Freya wiped her tears. “All right. I’ll be right over.”

She was tired of feeling guilty. Bran was far away. She knew he had work to do but she couldn’t help holding it against him. Maybe things happened for a reason. Maybe they were already broken, even before Killian came onto the scene.

Because like everything that took place this summer with Bran and Killian, she felt as if she were part of a larger story, and the curious, reckless part of Freya—the one who drank too much and played with matches and broke a million hearts before breakfast—wanted to see how it would all play out in the end.