“We were just watching you on television!” Ingrid said, unlocking the door to the back office.
Corky Hutchinson gave her a wry smile. “I’m on a break. I don’t have to be back at the station until the four o’clock news this afternoon.” The mayor’s wife was a glamour girl, and her features were heavily made up and exaggerated for the camera. She looked out of place in the drab surroundings.
“Are you here for a consultation?” Ingrid asked. “I’m sorry but I have to ask you to return tomorrow, as I only do those between noon and one.”
“I know, your girl told me.” Corky sniffed. “But I’m hoping you could make an exception.”
Ingrid frowned. She knew this was going to happen eventually. There would always be people like Corky Hutchinson who thought they were too good to wait in line. She also didn’t like how Corky called Tabitha her “girl”; Tab wasn’t a secretary. But Ingrid knew that women like Corky Hutchinson, with their BlackBerrys and their overstuffed schedules, did not like taking “no” for an answer. “Just this once, I suppose. Come on in,” Ingrid said. “So do they know what that thing is yet?”
“They’re still not sure. It’s been sent to a couple of labs. There was a similar case out in the Pacific a few months ago, near the Sydney harbor. And the same thing happened in Greenland, apparently. The same symptoms: dead fish, some kind of poison in the water—decimated most of the local whale population. Underwater volcanic activity, but they weren’t sure.”
“Curious,” Ingrid said. She dimly recalled reading about it as well but had not paid much attention. “Anyway, I know you didn’t come in here to talk about that. How can I help you?” She knew a little about Corky. She and the mayor made quite the power couple. Their wedding had been the social event of the year, and when he was elected there was a five-page spread in a glossy magazine about their romance.
Corky hesitated then blurted, “I think Todd’s cheating on me.”
Ingrid wasn’t surprised. The sisters sometimes gossiped about the secrets they discovered about the people they knew, and Freya had told her that the mayor had been a lot more intimate with his computer than his wife lately. It didn’t make Ingrid feel any better to know salacious facts about her enemy, and in the past few weeks she had thought of Todd Hutchinson as nothing less than her greatest nemesis. The proposal to sell the library property to raise public funds would be voted on by the city council by the end of the summer. It was on the table, and as far as Blake Aland was concerned, it was already a done deal. He had come by with his assistants the other day, measuring exactly where the wrecking ball would hit.
Ingrid tried to appear neutral. No matter who Corky Hutchinson’s husband was, the woman was entitled to the same service from Ingrid as anyone else. “Why would you think that?” she asked.
“All the usual stuff. He works late. He comes home and smells like perfume. He doesn’t answer his cell phone when I call, and when I ask him about it he has all these excuses. He changed the passwords on all his e-mail accounts. His voice mail, too. I checked,” she said bitterly. “I was on camera all weekend because of this disaster and didn’t hear from him once.”
“What would you like me to do about it?” Ingrid asked.
“I don’t care about the affairs. I don’t want to confront him. I don’t really want to get into it. I just want—I just want him back. I want him home with me. I know I’ve been working a lot, not just this week, but all year. But still, I don’t deserve this. I love my husband. And I think he still loves me. I brought this.” She thrust a paper bag in Ingrid’s direction. “I heard you have to bring . . . hair . . . for the . . . whatever you do. The knots.” The mayor’s wife exhaled. “I mean, it’s probably just some kind of voodoo and I should really just deal with it myself but, whatever.”
Ingrid accepted the bag. For a moment she wanted to tell her to go away, that she couldn’t do anything to help her. She found it odd that a woman like Corky Hutchinson—glamorous, confident, aggressive—would decide to solve her husband’s infidelity by consulting a witch. Corky wasn’t the type. She was the type to throw her knowledge of her husband’s infidelity right in his face and have a screaming match. Followed by passionate makeup sex if they were lucky. Freya would know more about that.
She wasn’t sure helping her was the right thing to do, especially since Corky Hutchinson had used the v word—voodoo—which meant she thought very little of Ingrid’s talents. But she also knew that a go-getter like Corky would not leave Ingrid’s office until she got what she came for. What could it hurt? Maybe if the mayor’s home life was happy he would stop trying to sell the library from under her. Ingrid opened the bag and went to work, creating a little knot from Todd’s hair, weaving it together with a thread from his wife’s blouse that Ingrid had surreptitiously taken when she’d shaken her hand. She put the knot in a tiny velvet pouch and handed the little talisman to the mayor’s wife. “Put this under your mattress. It will keep him from straying, and you will have him all to yourself from now on. It will keep him home, like you want. But you’ve got to put in the time as well. If you’re not at home enough, the power of the knot will fade.”
Corky nodded. “How much?” she asked as she opened her pocketbook.
“I only ask for a donation to the library fund,” Ingrid said. “Whatever you think you can spare, we would very much appreciate.”
“Is that all?” Corky laughed as she wrote the check. “You don’t really know much about people, do you?”
Ingrid felt an instant dislike for the arrogant news anchor. She probably should not have helped her with the knot. Well, it would keep the mayor from straying but it wouldn’t keep him there for long if his wife did not do anything to help him stay. She thought of that lavish six-page spread on Todd and Corky Hutchinson’s fabulous new life in the local glossy. They had been bursting with happiness and love. People who were so shiny that Ingrid could not help but feel just a tiny bit jealous, the way the magazine wanted you to feel—that there were people in your midst who were living more glamorous and important lives than you could ever imagine. How funny that the truth was never quite that perfect. You never knew about people, she mused. Marriage was like the surface of an ocean, seemingly placid and serene above; yet if you weren’t careful, seething and raging with underground earthquakes below.
chapter fourteen
Friends with Benefits
This being North Hampton, the only appropriate response to a disaster was through prodigious fund-raising. “Fishing for a Cause,” as it was nicknamed, brought the community out in force. The party was held on the grounds in front of city hall, with Todd Hutchinson shaking hands and promising vigorous lobbying for federal and state funding to get the waters clean again. Yet there was still no official explanation as to what the mysterious oceanic substance was made of. None of the scientists could figure it out.
The Gardiners were the primary sponsors of the event. Bran was supposed to make an opening speech, but his flight was delayed, so Killian had played host instead.
“Thank you all for coming here today,” he said, waving to the assembled crowd. The younger Gardiner looked handsome and earnest under the spotlights. He cleared his throat. “North Hampton is a very special place, and we want to keep it that way. It means a lot to my family. I know we haven’t been back here in a long time, but even if I’ve been here only briefly, I consider this place my home.” He was very articulate and moving as he continued to speak about his family’s close historical connection to the area and how much they were putting into the rehabilitation of the coastal waters and helping those whose livelihoods depended on it.
Freya attended the event with her mother and sister. A disaster of this magnitude forced Ingrid out of her antisocial stance, and Joanna had pledged to help in any way she could. Freya knew her mother was itching to use her talents to restore the delicate ecological balance in the area, but the restriction kept her from doing so. She was impressed with Killian’s words, although she tried
not to be. “What a pompous idiot,” she whispered to her sister.
Ingrid looked taken aback at her vehemence. “Jeez . . . I thought he gave a nice speech. What do you have against the guy? Every time his name comes up you look like this.” She made a sour face, imitating Freya’s grimace.
“Nothing,” Freya muttered. “Forget I said anything.” She didn’t really want to talk about Killian. Instead she took a lap around the room and chatted with the mayor, who looked a bit worse for wear, with dark circles under his eyes. “This thing keeping you up nights?” she asked him.
“Yeah. I’m having a hard time sleeping for some reason. My doctor prescribed some sleeping pills, but they don’t kick in.”
Freya regarded him keenly. She could see the traces of the spell, recognized it as a working of Ingrid’s. It was an infidelity charm, which kept his sexual history obscured, as each sister’s magic canceled out the other’s. Freya hoped his wife knew what she was doing. Those fidelity knots of her sister’s were no joke.
Freya continued to flit about the party, concerned with avoiding Killian at all costs. She really did not have anything to say to him, and she didn’t want to make their relationship any more awkward than it had to be. She hadn’t bumped into him since that day at the bar when the news broke out about the explosion. So when she found him standing next to her in the buffet line, she smiled politely, picked up a fruit skewer, and put it on her plate. Unfortunately, Killian had other plans. It turned out he had a lot to say to her this time. “I saw you,” he whispered in her ear. He was so close his breath made the hair on her skin prickle a little. “The other night. In front of the fireplace.”
So she was right. He had seen her. Freya felt her cheeks get hot.
“You were amazing.”
“Stop it,” Freya hissed. “Stop it.”
“I know you were thinking of me. I could feel it. That’s what brought me downstairs,” he said. “Tell me, were you thinking of me when you—”
“Killian. Please. Not here.”
“Where, then?” he asked quickly.
“Nowhere.” She shook her head and looked around to make sure no one had noticed the two of them together, talking like this. Ingrid was looking mournfully across the room at that handsome detective, Matt Noble, the only one who had questioned Freya’s ability to work at the North Inn bar, citing her high school graduation not too long ago (the trick on her driver’s license had not worked on him for some reason). He was talking to one of the young librarians who worked with Ingrid, an arm around her shoulders. Meanwhile Joanna was eating profiteroles at a nearby table, her face a mask of bliss. “I told you, like I told you that night. I can’t see you again,” Freya whispered.
“But you want to,” Killian insisted.
“No. No, I don’t.”
Yes, they had made love the night of her engagement party . . . no, they had fucked. The minute he had locked the door behind him she had practically thrown herself at him, had ripped his clothes off to be able to touch his body. It had taken every ounce of her willpower not to scream the moment his hand slipped between her legs. When he’d pinned her against the sink and had his way, she was open and hungry and afterward . . . afterward . . . she had looked into his beautiful face and wanted to cry. In response, he had kissed her again, and they had made love for the second time, slowly this time, savoring every moment, which made it even hotter than the first. . . .
But that was enough. After that she had regained her senses. She had told him under no circumstances could they ever do that again, as she had made a terrible mistake. She had fled the party and had not looked back, not once.
Freya was aware she wasn’t perfect, and she never claimed to be. But she would never do anything to hurt someone she loved so dearly. It was a slip, an accident, bridal jitters, her own commitment issues. After all, it had been a very long time since she’d had a husband . . . but now she was set and determined. She loved Bran and one moment (or two, really, if one was counting) of weakness with Killian did not change that. It did not change anything.
“Killian, I should have called you to talk about it. I’m sorry I didn’t. I meant what I said to you that night, I don’t know what I was doing, I was out of my mind, it was a horrid lapse of judgment.”
He placed a strawberry on her plate, ripe and luscious. “Call it what you want . . . but you know where to find me.” He slipped a key into her pocket. “This will get you into the Dragon, it’s docked on the far side of Gardiners Island. Don’t worry, Bran never goes there. I’ll be waiting for you every night this week. If you don’t come see me by Sunday night, I won’t bother you anymore.”
Before she could reply he stepped away suddenly and disappeared into the crowd.
“Sorry! What did I miss?” Bran asked, finally appearing by her side, looking tired and drained from his travels. “Has the silent auction started?” he asked, picking up the fruit skewer from her plate and taking a bite. “I’m starved! Is there any food left?”
“Let’s go see,” Freya said. She kissed her beloved on the cheek, the key heavy and hot in her pocket, an iron poker.
chapter fifteen
A Certain Wild Magic
Her dress pinched at the waist and Joanna squirmed in her old-fashioned girdle. It was why she did not go to very many fancy parties these days, as she despised wearing tight clothing. Was it her imagination or was her dress so much smaller than she remembered? Her feet hurt, too; why did she let Freya talk her into wearing heels? It was a nice event, and good to see the community pulling together after a disaster. There was a lot of unease and uncertainty in the air. No one was quite sure how it would affect the local economy, but certainly not only the fishing industry but many of the local restaurants that specialized in seafood from the coastal waters were in danger. It was such a shame, and one that no one mentioned since it was much too painful, but the consequences were already being felt; instead of the usual northeastern summer spread, the dinner entrée was some sort of chicken à la boring.
Joanna bade her good-byes to her daughters: Freya was huddled somewhere with Bran, while Ingrid sat at a table with a few of her cohorts from the library. She left the party and began to walk home. The city square was a few blocks away from the beachfront, and her house was just a mile down the shore. It was a pleasant summer evening, and the grassy dunes made this stretch of beach seem more private than the rest of the shore. She could scarcely hear the last sounds of the party behind her as she stepped onto the warm sand. She removed her shoes and carried them by their straps, and stepped onto the warm crystals. The heat of the day was still radiating from the ground and it felt good on her feet, like the heated marble floors they had in high-end hotel room bathrooms.
The tall dunes formed a private corridor, a place where she could be alone with the roar of the ocean and the chirping of the gulls. It was quieter tonight than usual. The waves were calm and the gulls absent. Perhaps it was that gray mass out there in the ocean that had silenced the birds. She looked at the sea and it seemed darker than normal, as if whatever was happening out there had pulled all of the shimmer from the water. The ocean looked dead and empty, blacker than the sky above.
She wished she’d worn her trenchcoat, as the first cool breezes rolled off the water toward her. She could not make out the sounds of the party anymore, only the rushing, rolling waves. Joanna stopped to look at a circle of yellow police tape held aloft on metal posts just to her left. The tape was tattered and blowing in the wind; it had been there since January, when an early-morning jogger had found Bill and Maura on the ground. She wasn’t close to either of them, but like the couple had shared an affinity for this place. In the evenings she’d often catch the two of them walking in the high dunes, sometimes perched on the tallest bluff, staring out at the ocean or upward at the bright stars. Joanna made a wide arc around the police line, glancing only sideways at the ragged yellow tape.
The sand by the water’s edge was cold and wet, so Joanna decided to walk up
the sandy dune instead. She climbed up, feeling the thick grass and withered stems scrape at her legs, until she was on top of it. The wind was colder up here, but the view was better. She could see all the way across to Gardiners Island and Fair Haven, to the lighthouse that Bran had restored. Joanna decided to sit and rest for a minute, and idly grasped a stalk of the long, dead grass that covered the mound. She hated to see dead things, and the brittle gray stem began to loosen and expand in her grip, its ashen color changing from silver to a brilliant green as life poured back into the plant. Hold on, what was happening? She had not done anything to bring it back to life, she was quite sure. Joanna watched in fascination as the green spread like a wave across the dune, bringing all the plants to life. She threw the stalk away and gazed in wonderment at the thick green grass. It felt lush and soft to the touch, and had grown waist-high.
She almost laughed, but there was a sudden tickle at the back of her neck and she spun around. All around her the grass had multiplied and was winding upward around her on all sides. The verdant green now seemed a darker color, as if covered by a shadow. The stalks whipped violently around her. This was not cute anymore, nor part of her magic, if it had ever been. She turned to leave, but before she could act, Joanna felt a powerful tug and she was thrown to the ground. The stars faded as a wash of darkness flowed over her body and the grass wrapped and twisted around her throat and chest. The texture of the grass was no longer soft but coarse, its stems harder and denser. Joanna struggled, but as the grass wound tighter it formed a kind of natural straightjacket, binding her limbs and flattening her chest. She felt a mass push down on her as if to force the air from lungs. Joanna screamed and heard her voice echo against the lonely beach. The party was distant, its loud sounds inaudible.
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