Witches of East End (17 page)

chapter thirty-three

Safe House

I
thought Mom had all the tunnels destroyed,” Ingrid said. They were standing in front of the door to Freya’s closet. They had driven back home instead of driving to the city, at Freya’s behest. “There’s really one still here?”

Freya put her hands on her hips and smirked. “She kept the wands, Ingrid. Don’t you think she might have kept a few other things?” She threw open the doors, tapped her wand, and a light emanated from the end, guiding the way. “Anyway, it’s so ridiculous. Why would I have to live in some dingy walk-up in New York when we had this all along?”

Every witch abode automatically sprouted magical pathways, which the witches could use to travel long distances that would otherwise be tiresome by broom. But when the house in North Hampton was built, the Council had ordered them destroyed as part of the restriction. Freya always suspected that Joanna had kept one as a safety precaution and, a few decades ago, discovered she had been correct in her assumption. She led the way inside, past the racks of coats and furs and the sign she’d made that read, “Looking for Narnia? You’re in the wrong universe,” until they found themselves in Freya’s old apartment in the city.

Since it was connected to North Hampton, like the town it existed just slightly outside of time; so that while in the physical world it was only several hundred square feet, it was also a huge mansion with a fireplace, a beautiful kitchen, and plush English country furniture. “Nice, right?” Freya smiled. “You can’t get this on the market these days for what I paid.”

“So while we were living in drudgery and couldn’t even use magic to clean the dishes, you were living
here
all these years? No wonder you never came home.”

“Hey, I found the tunnel that led to this safe house. Mother must have kept it around in case we ever needed to get out of North Hampton. Useful, right?” Freya smiled. “God, I’ve missed this place. I used one of her old spells to redecorate. I figured the restriction only applied to new magic.”

“All right, then. How do we go about finding a vampire in this city?” Ingrid asked, nodding approvingly at the plush surroundings. “It’s not like they’re listed in the phone book.”

“Actually, they are,” Freya said, firing up her computer and taking a seat at her desk. “The Fallen kind of run New York. Let’s see what we can find.” She typed Mimi’s name into a search engine.

Since Mimi Force was the beautiful and fashionable daughter of one of the wealthiest men in the city, if not the world, there were many entries concerning her frenetic social life, including numerous mentions in the tabloids and gossip columns. There were articles documenting her beauty routine, her eating habits, what nightclubs she currently frequented. However, the Internet did not reveal any private details. Like many of the rich and famous who lived within a cocoon of privacy rare to ordinary folk, the Force holdings and estates were mostly hidden through a network of trusts and attorneys.

“If you want to know what she wore last week to some party, I can tell you, but I don’t think we’ll find an address,” Freya said, tapping the keyboard in frustration.

Ingrid perched on the armrest of Freya’s chair and peered at the screen. “Well, then, if we’re not going to find her that way, then the best bet is to try and ambush her at one of these parties.”

“You’re a genius; I know that’s why we’re related.” Freya smiled, pulling up a site that listed the social events scheduled for that week. “Here we go. The Blood Bank Committee has some kind of party tomorrow night, which is technically tonight since it’s already tomorrow. All the Blue Bloods are sure to be there, Mimi included. It’s their little pet charity to keep the blood supply clean.” She yawned. Ingrid had fetched her at the bar around midnight and it was already the wee hours of the morning. “Let’s get some sleep so we’ll be ready for the ambush. If Azrael did take Molly, she’s not going to give her up easily.”

F
reya slept fitfully
, tossing and turning in her bed. She could hear Ingrid snoring from the guest room, but it wasn’t the reason for her insomnia. She couldn’t stop thinking about Ingrid’s strange dream about Killian—her sister would not divulge any more details, but she got the gist of it, and it bothered her. Why would Ingrid dream that Killian wanted to kill her? Killian liked Ingrid, as far as Freya could tell; she couldn’t see how he could wish her harm . . . except . . . but that had happened so long ago now, he couldn’t possibly still hold it against her?

When she wasn’t worrying about that she could not stop agonizing about the way she had ended it with him earlier. Was it really over between them? She could not imagine never seeing him again, even if it was probably for the best. Bran would be home soon; he promised that after his big summer project was wrapped up he would leave the traveling part of his work to others. She could not keep up the façade and the lying anymore. Being in love with two men at the same time was not what she had signed up for when she had launched this affair. She had to stop acting and start thinking; for too long she just rushed into things without worrying about the consequences. Like agreeing to marry Bran after only a month, or having sex with his brother after meeting him for the first time at a party. She had to get her life in order and commit to the direction she had chosen, which meant marrying Bran in September. Things were great until she met Killian. She was happy, she was in love, and then he came into the picture. But she had allowed him in, she reminded herself.

She finally drifted off to sleep just as morning broke, and when she woke up it was the afternoon. She could hear Ingrid puttering around in her dressing room, searching through the racks of clothing. “What time is it?” she asked her sister.

“Five o’clock. You slept the whole day. Come on, get up, the party starts at six. I want to be there early.”

Freya rubbed her eyes and moved slowly out of bed. She walked to the kitchen and helped herself to a cup of coffee from a pot Ingrid had made.

“Is there anything you own that isn’t see-through, thigh-high, or backless?” Ingrid asked, looking around vainly for something that she could wear. Many of Freya’s dresses boasted all three qualities. “You do realize you dress like a . . .”

“Hooker?” Freya offered cheerfully, sipping the coffee and instantly feeling awake. She joined Ingrid in the walk-in closet and began rifling through her things. “No, you won’t find something in there that doesn’t reveal some part of your body, and no, I never get any complaints about my wardrobe. Jeez, you’re worse than Mother,” Freya said, removing her bathrobe and slipping into a tiny black dress.

Ingrid gave a scandalized groan. “Don’t say ‘hooker’; it’s common.”

“Lady of the night, then?” Freya laughed, leaving her sister to fret about a dress alone. She sat at her vanity table and began to apply her makeup.

“How’s this?” Ingrid asked, coming out to show her what she had found. She was wearing a simple dark dress with long sleeves and a longer hemline. “I feel lucky I even found it. I didn’t think you owned anything that covered your arms.”

“You look like a nun,” Freya said as she brushed her cheeks with rouge. “I bought that for a costume party. This is New York, Ingrid, and the party is at the rooftop of the Standard Hotel. You can’t look like you’ve come straight from the sticks. Also, it’s August. You’re going to boil.”

“I just feel more comfortable in this.”

“Nun.”

Ingrid regarded Freya’s plunging neckline with a skeptical eye. “Are you sure you don’t have that dress on backward?”

“You’re funny. Let’s go,” she said, blotting her lipstick with a tissue. “Try not to embarrass me.”

chapter thirty-four

The Vampires
of Manhattan

T
he Standard Hotel was located in the far west side of town, by the Hudson River. Ingrid was never one for trendy events, and so the sight of hulking gorilla bouncers and a barracuda in a black cocktail dress wielding a clipboard at the entrance made her a bit nervous. “Do you think we’ll get in? We don’t exactly have invitations,” Ingrid whispered. “And that one looks like Fafnir in a skirt,” she said, meaning the legendary dragon that jealously guarded a treasure trove of gold.

“Relax, that’s only the doorgirl; they come with the territory. She doesn’t have any power over us,” Freya said. She walked confidently up to the velvet rope. “Freya and Ingrid Beauchamp, we’re here for the Blood Bank party. You don’t need to check the list.”

“See?” Freya said, as the velvet rope was unhitched and they made their way to the elevators that would take them to the rooftop. The party was already in full swing, and the indoor Jacuzzi was bubbling. Ingrid tried not to stare at the human girls in the tub, some of whom seemed to have lost their bikini tops; it was hard to tell with the bubbling water. This was quite a different scene from the usual staid North Hampton affair; the vampires were breathlessly chic in white linen, with bored, blank faces, and Ingrid did feel a bit out of place in her long-sleeved dress.

“Let’s get a drink,” Freya suggested, heading toward the long black bar and quickly procuring two full martini glasses.

Ingrid took a sip. “What’s with all the salty foam?” she asked, wiping her lips with a napkin.

“Just drink it,” Freya said, gazing at the crowd, keeping an eye out for the vampire princess. “Do you see her anywhere?”

Ingrid shook her head. “Tons of Blue Bloods and their familiars but no Azrael.”

“She’s got to be here somewhere,” Freya said. “She’s supposed to be
hosting
this party.” Although from living in the city she knew that just because boldfaced names were on the invitation it did not necessarily mean they would be expected to actually attend the party—it was one of those unwritten social agreements.

All around the rooftop, small groups were gathered on massive orange lilypads that were on the synthetic grass covering the floor. A few people were playing with telescopes that were installed by the edge. The view of the city was breathtaking, but Freya was more riveted by the sight of a familiar face that stopped her in her stilettos.

“Where are you going?” Ingrid asked.

“Back in a sec,” she told her sister, walking to the dark-haired man talking intently to a tall brunette at one of the cocktail tables. The woman had a cold, commanding beauty, and Freya thought she looked a bit familiar, but couldn’t place her.

“Bran?”

When he heard his name, he looked up, and his confusion soon melted into a smile. He was wearing a blue blazer with frayed seams and a faded gingham shirt. “Freya! What are you doing here?” He excused himself from his companion and stood up, taking Freya to the side.

“I could ask the same of you.” She did not want to feel jealous and yet jealousy was seeping in every part of her body. Who was that woman he was with? Why was Bran talking to her so intensely? They had looked as if they were arguing, and that woman had a possessive air around Bran that Freya did not like very much. “You’re in New York? I thought you were in Asia.”

“We just got back; one of the board members couldn’t make it so we decided to fly here and do the meeting at the Rockefeller Center offices. It’s great to see you,” he said, smiling. “What made you decide to come?”

“Ingrid had some business here, and I thought I’d tag along,” she said. It would be too much to explain, and she felt shy around him for once. After missing him for so long, it was strange to be in his presence again, as if he wasn’t quite real. She wanted to kiss him, or touch his cheek, but she could not. She could not bear him to know what she had been doing in his long absence. Sleeping with his brother, betraying every promise she had made to him from the beginning.

“We’re supposed to go back to Jakarta tomorrow for the presentation, but I’ll tell them they can go without me,” he said, as if he could read her mind.

“No, no . . . don’t do that. I’m only here for a night and I don’t want to keep you from your work.” She forced herself to stop acting aloof and kissed him soundly. He was sweating and nervous, dear sweet boy. “Go on, really. You’ll be back in town next week. I’ll see you then. I gotta go anyway.”

“Are you sure?” Bran looked confused and hurt. “Can you wait a moment? I have to speak to Julia about the project—she’s one of our analysts—but I want to spend more time with you.” The woman he was with looked at the two of them impatiently and began to walk toward them. He looked over his shoulder and raised a finger.

“Yes, don’t worry about me . . . I’ll see you when you get back, okay?” Freya said, relieved that there was nothing to be jealous about after all. Bran was just caught up in his work as usual. She gave him one last kiss and walked away to look for Ingrid.

She found her talking to a group of Blue Blood vampires. “Bran’s here,” she whispered. “But it’s okay, he’s with his charity muckamucks. I told him I’d see him back home.”

“You’re looking for my daughter? Excuse me interrupting.” The Blue Blood socialite who addressed them was regal and elegant, with a stately way of speaking. “I’m Trinity Burden Force.” She looked at the two of them keenly. “Freya and Ingrid Beauchamp. The witches of East End. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Mimi visited our town and met with my sister. We need to ask her something,” Freya said. “Do you know where we can find her?”

“You’ll have to travel to Cairo to do so. She left the city the other day with her human conduit. She said she had something to finish back in Egypt that was more important than graduating from high school. No, I don’t know when she’s coming back; my daughter operates on her own schedule without informing me of any changes.” Trinity smiled thinly. “As your own mother can attest, I am the last to know.”

“Great,” Freya said, when Trinity took her leave. “If Mimi took Molly, they’re halfway around the world by now, and she could have given her to Helda already in exchange for whoever she wanted out of there. How long do you think it will take us to get to Cairo?”

Ingrid shook her head. “We don’t have time for that right now. We’ll deal with that later. Right now we need to find Lionel. Emily just texted me. She thinks she might have spotted him out on the farm.”

“That’s a relief,” Freya said.

“No, you don’t understand—all the animals on their farm are dead, and she thinks Lionel might have killed them.”