Witches of East End (22 page)

chapter forty-five

Trickster’s Queen

F
reya ran her hand over what appeared at first to be a dense cage of vines, but as the darkness slowly gave way to starlight she saw that she was standing in the midst of a vast labyrinth, hollowed from the roots of a tree that seemed larger than the sky itself. The massive roots stretched as far as she could see, in all directions. Above her was a blanket of stars. The small blue lights did not flicker; their light was strong and constant.

Freya glanced at the unfamiliar stars. She was not in Midgard anymore, or even the world of the glom, of that she was sure. She was somewhere else, somewhere beyond the universe itself.

She found a dark line that cut across the sky like a blackened version of the Milky Way, and knew it had to be the trunk of the tree. As she made her way toward the center, the knotted field of roots would open up and allow her to surge ahead—only to lead her to a dead end, where she had to push her way through to the other side. The wood was hard and tore at her skin; her arms were caked with dirt as she hacked her way forward.

In the distance she heard a faint voice casting a spell, and a passage opened in front of her. Free for a moment from the thicket, she ran forward through the darkness. A booming voice emanated from the end of the passage.

“Freya, my love, come to join me?” Bran emerged from the darkness, his eyes shining with malice. The glow of kindness around him, Freya now saw, was part of the glamour he had cast. His awkwardness and nerves were a sign of how difficult it had been for him to keep the spell intact.

“Not at all,” Freya said, holding her wand aloft. The ivory bone shone in the light.

“Your magic is wasted on me.” He sneered. The man she knew as Bran Gardiner was gone. Every time she looked at him she understood something new. Madame Grobadan was the giantess Angrboda, Loki’s eternal mistress. No wonder she did not care for Freya.

“Not at all; I think you have been away for so long you have forgotten who
I
am,” Freya said, drawing herself to her full height. As her lover he was subservient to her forever; that was the power she held over men, the way she had been made from the beginning. “Give me the ring, Bran,” she said quietly. “You cannot deny me.”

Bran stood in front of her in his true form as Loki, his features oddly elongated, almost grotesque. He moved toward the shadow to conceal himself as he spoke. “You may take the ring but there is no point in having a life with your dear Balder if the world in which you live is poisoned. Let me keep it and I will be able to staunch the bleeding.” He looked at Freya, but her gaze was unyielding.

“Give me the ring.” It was a command from a goddess.

Bran could not resist. Freya felt a warm, putrid air embrace her, and when it dissipated Odin’s ring lay in the palm of her hand. She saw that it was not made of gold at all; its surface was dull white and porous, a bone ring carved from the last shreds of the bridge. A final token of a power older than the gods themselves, it had been lost by Odin during the last battle of Asgard. It did not belong in this world or any other. Its time was past. She held it between her fingers and began to crush the frail shape. Tiny splinters showered from her hand. The ring was so soft, as if carved from a feather, it could be ground into dust at the slightest touch.

“Do not harm it. Return it to me and I shall give you what you desire,” Loki whispered. “If those who placed me in the abyss find me here, I’ll not be sent back this time, I will simply be wiped from existence. And I hope you would have some bit of love left for me still.”

His every word is a lie, she thought: he will do nothing to help you. Freya looked at him once more, but she saw nothing of the Bran she knew. She held the tiny ring between her fingers and slowly ground it into dust. “I’ll not be a fool for you any longer, Loki.”

“Idiot!” he screamed, diving forward to catch what ashes he could as they drifted to the ground. Loki gathered himself from the wet earth and faced her. “Then you shall spend the rest of your existence in a dying world.”

“No, Loki, I will not. You will exit as you entered Midgard, through the hole you made in the trunk, and your leaving will close it behind you. The Tree of Life will be whole once more.” This was Ingrid’s idea, and she hoped her sister was right—that once he crossed
Yggdrasil
once more, the wound would close and the toxin would disappear.

Loki hesitated.

“It’s your only way out of here now that the ring is gone,” Freya said. “Without the ring, it is the only path that remains open to you. You have only one place to go. I don’t think you want to wait around to see what will happen once Balder gets ahold of you.” The God of Light and Fury would be a fearsome enemy now that he was restored to his full strength and no longer bound by the limits of the curse.

Loki didn’t respond for a while. He simply stood still, his mind whirling, and then he smiled. “You are more like me than you think, dear Freya.” With that he spun around and faced the great trunk of the tree. He uttered garbled words in a language Freya did not catch.

The stars above dimmed as the paths through the great thicket of roots seemed to shift and change in the darkness, revealing a scarred black tear in the face of the tree. The opening looked more like a wound, a mighty rip, and a powerful force emanated from it, blowing a noxious hurricane wind from the shaft. Loki put one hand on the torn bark, for a moment he paused as if to turn and bid farewell, but he did not. Instead he bit his lip and cast himself into the void. The black fury billowed once more from the hole, as if consuming the dark god of mischief only increased its power.

Freya was thrown to the ground as the earth heaved. The heavens went dark and the blackness spread all around her. “Loki!” she called. There was no answer. She closed her eyes and rode out the storm as the fury enveloped her like a tornado, swirling in all directions. Finally the hurricane stopped, and when she opened her eyes the tree was whole once more.

She picked herself up and dusted off her knees. “Ingrid! Are you and Tyler okay?”

“We’re here!”

Freya ran toward the sound of their voices.

Ingrid was out of breath. “I found him on the path. But he hadn’t gone beyond the first gate yet. Hurry, it’s almost daylight. The Covenant!”

“What about Lionel?” Freya asked.

“I couldn’t find him. But if Loki is gone from here then Lionel should be on his way to Helda as he used to be. And without the corruption in his soul.”

“Are we going home now?” Tyler asked.

“Yes. Hold my hand and don’t let go.”

The little boy looked frightened, and Freya remembered that he did not like to be touched; but after an internal struggle he took Freya’s hand and, in the other, held Ingrid’s.

They walked like that, with the child between them, until they were back in the house.

chapter forty-six

The Judgment of
the Council

J
oanna saw them emerge from the front door of Fair Haven. She ran to Tyler, enveloping him in a bear hug. “You did it,” she said to her girls in awe. She had forgotten how strong they were, had forgotten in the years of living quietly that her children were formidable and ferocious. “You did it.”

“Yes,” Freya said, walking over to Killian and taking his hand. His leg was still wrapped in the tourniquet she had made. “But who knows where Loki will end up next.”

“It’s all right, he won’t be free for very long,” a new voice said.

Ingrid looked up. “Dad?”

A man stood quietly in the shadows. He was tall, gray-haired, and handsome, but his face was weary and his beard a tad unkempt. He was wearing a worn cardigan and gray slacks, the academic’s uniform. Freya hugged herself tightly but in the end she ran to him as Ingrid had done.

“My girls.” It was all Norman Beauchamp could say at the moment as he embraced them and even Joanna had to blink back tears.

“
Skadi
, you’re crying,” Norman teased.

“Oh,
Nordj
, stop.” She sighed.

The god of the seas released his daughters and looked at them seriously. “Your mother told me you had gone after Loki on your own. I was worried, but you have both accomplished more than I hoped. Midgard is whole once again.”

“Where did you go, Dad? Did you really get an audience with the White Council?”

“Yes. I went to the oracle and spoke to Odin himself. Once I deciphered the code on those plans Erda sent me and saw that the roots of the tree were in Fair Haven, and when I saw those reports of oceanic disturbance, I began to think that perhaps the toxin of
Ragnarok
had been found in our world, which could only mean one thing. Loki had escaped from his chains and had come to unleash his vengeance upon us.”

“Great minds think alike,” Freya said, nudging Ingrid.

Norman sighed. “I bring other news as well. The Council has been aware of your flagrant and repeated violations of the magical restriction that has been in place since the Salem trials.”

“Oh, great.”

“What are they going to do?” Ingrid asked fearfully.

“It’s very simple, really,” Norman said. “To live in this world, you must continue to abide by its rules and the laws of its citizens, just as we have always done. If no charges are brought against you, the restriction will be lifted and you may continue to practice magic as long as you do not draw any more attention to your supernatural abilities. This will apply to all of our kind who are still on this side of the Bofrir bridge.”

Freya exchanged a smile with Ingrid and Joanna. They could practice magic again! Before they could celebrate, Norman raised a hand. “But if you are arrested, tried, and proven guilty in a court of law, you will be found in breach of the restriction and you will both be sent to the Kingdom of the Dead for ten thousand years in service to Helda.”

“So if nothing happens, we’re free. We can be witches again, all of us.” Freya smiled, thinking of everything that had been denied them for hundreds of years. She would have to get her broom out of storage and find a decent cauldron that could stand up to the potions she was eager to create.

Her father nodded. “Yes.”

Ingrid shook her head. “But if they bring charges against us and we’re convicted, we go to Helda as slaves.”

“Correct.”

“But what about Loki? He’s still out there.”

“The Valkyrie will find him.”

Freya thought of the woman who had visited the bar looking for Killian right after the holiday, and realized she was from the same tribe as the woman whom she had seen in New York talking to Bran. She remembered how nervous Bran had been that evening, how eager to get away from the Valkyrie. She did not feel as bad now that she knew Loki had been able to fool the fierce warrior maidens as well.

Killian squeezed her hand, but she wasn’t thinking of him or their love right then. Nothing was decided yet. Their fate, once again, was in the hands of the human realm.

chapter forty-seven

Law and Order

T
he annual library fund-raiser was held at the back garden of the main building, in front of the view that had almost doomed the library’s existence. However, there was no more threat of that happening, as the new mayor was more interested in preserving North Hampton as it was than creating new development. Blake Aland was now building his new condominiums on the far side of town.

Ingrid walked through the party, smiling at her guests, feeling pleased and happy. The exhibit had been praised by art and architectural historians as a significant survey of architectural work. Every major house and project was represented, in prints that were elegantly framed and set on the walls. Freya had talked her into wearing a bright-colored dress with a low neckline, and she wore her hair down for once. She felt light-headed without her strict bun and was surprised to find how long her hair had gotten.

She waved to her sister across the room. Freya was in a liplock with Killian; the two of them were planning a wedding sometime next summer. They should really get a room. Libraries were not hotels.

Her parents were standing politely next to each other by the punch bowl. At least they were being civil. Ingrid wondered how old she would be before she stopped wishing they would get back together.

Her friends were all there: Hudson was roaming the party offering champagne, while Tabitha manned the dessert table with a beaming smile.

“Ingrid?” Matt Noble looked crisp and handsome in a khaki-colored suit, much sharper than his usual rumpled wear. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

She did not blush and took his hand instead. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Likewise.”

“I just wanted to say—”

“Don’t, please,” he said. “You don’t have to keep thanking me every time you see me. I didn’t do anything really.”

Hardly. A few weeks ago the murders had been solved. First, Maura Thatcher had fully recovered and retracted her statement. She had no idea why she had said Joanna Beauchamp had attacked them. Killian had turned in the bloody cap worn by Bill Thatcher, as well as a bloody pile of clothing that he had found in the basement near the incinerator in Fair Haven. The jacket and pants were unmistakably Bran’s, and they were splattered by blood that matched Bill’s and Maura’s.

Molly Lancaster had been sexually assaulted and beaten, just as Derek had confessed. However, intrepid detectives discovered that cell phone records showed that the last number Molly dialed was to an account owned by Todd Hutchinson. And when the DNA tests came back, it was his DNA that was found on her body, not Derek’s. The poor boy had broken down and provided a false confession as part of his attorney’s plan to pin the blame on Freya.

It all came out then: Molly Lancaster and Todd Hutchinson were having an affair. When Freya had seen the mayor masturbating to online porn, he was actually watching Molly on the screen. After sexually harassing her all summer, he had carried on a sexually abusive relationship with the young intern. Files retrieved from his computer confirmed it, as well as e-mails from Molly that said she had broken up with him right before the July Fourth holiday. Her diary, which she kept in a secret code online, documented the entire sordid affair. She had written that she was going to the North Inn that evening to meet someone new, someone her own age.

Her phone showed a series of texts from the mayor demanding her whereabouts and ordering her to wait for him on the beach. When he got there, he killed her out of jealousy, as he had seen her kissing someone else.

Freya had not been able to read the mayor’s desires; they had been blocked by Ingrid’s fidelity knot: the sisters’ magic had canceled each other’s out. A week later he ran away and went into hiding. He told his wife to meet him at the motel. When Corky arrived she found him hanging from the ceiling, with a note confessing to the whole sordid mess. When she cut him down, she fashioned a knot around his neck similar to the one she had received from the witch. No one knows why Corky Hutchinson wanted to pin her husband’s death on Ingrid, but her lawyer was pleading insanity due to shock and sorrow.

Molly’s murder and the mayor’s suicide had nothing to do with magic. Or a vampire. Or a zombie. If Azrael had taken a human hostage, it was not one from North Hampton, and out of their jurisdiction. But Ingrid was sad about Emily and Lionel. Lionel’s body turned up in a meadow and they had buried him with a small ceremony at the local cemetery. Emily was moving out of town, after the death of her animals and her partner; North Hampton was not the same for her. Ingrid would miss her, but there was nothing she could do now. She tried to find comfort in the fact that Lionel was now resting in peace, embarking on a new journey of his own and not damned for eternity.

Only after everything was over did Ingrid find out that far from leaving them to their fate, it was Matt who had pressed the police to look for more evidence and drop the interrogation. He had been working all along to help them. Now he was standing before her holding a glass of wine and smiling.

“Matt!” Caitlin came between them. She looked ravishing in a red dress and high heels. “There you are. I want to . . .”

Ingrid felt her heart beat a little faster, but she kept the smile on her face. So they had gotten back together after all. Perhaps Romance Weekend on Martha’s Vineyard would happen again soon. She excused herself and walked away.

A few minutes later Matt appeared by her side again. “Hey.”

“Oh, hey.”

“Listen . . . Caitlin and I—”

“You don’t have to say anything, really. I’m happy that you and Caitlin got back together.”

“Really? Because I kind of wish you weren’t,” he said with a frown.

“Excuse me?”

“If you’d let me finish a sentence once in a while,” he said, gazing into her eyes, “you’d know.”

“Know what?”

“Caitlin and I aren’t together. She wants to, but . . .” Matt shrugged.

Ingrid could feel a ray of hope begin to bloom in her heart. “But?”

“But I don’t,” Matt said, putting down his drink and shoving his hands into his coat pockets like a little boy. “Look, you remember that time . . . when I asked you . . . if you could help me ask someone out?”

Of course she did.

“I don’t know what came over me, but you looked so angry and put out that I just said the first name that came to mind. And then you didn’t seem bothered that I was dating Caitlin, but . . .”

“But?”

“I should have just been honest from the beginning. About who I really wanted to go out with. It’s just . . . you never seemed to like me. For a while there I thought I really annoyed you.”

Ingrid was embarrassed at her actions. She had been mean to Matt, and for no reason other than she liked him; and because she had never felt this way about someone, it unnerved her.

“But then, Hudson said . . .”

“What did Hudson say?” Ingrid asked eagerly.

“He said you were really happy to hear that Caitlin and I broke up, so I thought that I might have reason to, you know, hope again.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We’re awful, aren’t we?” Matt put his hand below her chin and Ingrid could feel her entire body tremble from his touch. He had helped her. He had pressed the police to find something—had argued for concrete evidence. He believed her, he believed in her. “I mean . . . I’ve liked you a long time, Ingrid. I’ve read all those awful books you keep making me read. Don’t you think that maybe . . .”

Then it was Ingrid’s turn, and she put her hand on his face. And in the middle of the party, in front of everyone at the gala, she kissed him.

Matt grinned.

Ingrid blushed. “I don’t know what came over me,” she said.

He grabbed her hand and held it. “I don’t know what you are, Ingrid Beauchamp, if you’re a witch or not, but I’m hoping that you’ll go out with me sometime.”

Then he kissed her, and in the middle of their kisses, she murmured, “Yes.”

Ingrid did not know what the future would bring. She had never been in love before, and with a human no less. But for once she did not want to find out. She would just let it happen, as Freya liked to say, and enjoy the ride.