Serpent's Kiss: A Witches of East End Novel

by de la Cruz, Melissa

  The pixies laughed.

  “This is not a laughing matter, guys!” said Ingrid.

  Freya fluffed her hair, then tugged at the bustier of her dress. “Well, I didn’t do it, did I now? Jean-Baptiste did warn me, but he’s my godfather, and he gave me the recipe.”

  “Jean-Baptiste has a weakness for pretty girls. He’ll give you whatever you want as long as you prod him a little. Of course he gave you the recipe, Freya!” said Joanna.

  “But, but—” Freya protested. Killian caressed her bare shoulders, and she kissed his hand.

  Ingrid crossed her arms, then felt a furry coziness at her foot and looked down to find a round little pig nuzzling her. “Gullin-bursti!” she exclaimed, calling Freddie’s familiar by his ancient name. “Am I happy to see you! Yes, yes! It’s been too, too long!” She tickled him under the chin, and he squealed happily.

  Meanwhile, Norman and Joanna were questioning their children on everything that had happened with the pixies and with Freddie’s return. The girls were relieved that everything was out in the open so that the family could strategize. They needed to know who had ordered the pixies to steal Freddie’s trident, because whoever did so was the real culprit of the Bofrir’s destruction, and now the most powerful god in all the nine worlds. Who ever it was had already abused his or her power by making Freddie appear responsible. Once they knew the identity of the true criminal, they could go to the White Council and exonerate Freddie and Killian for good. Of course, it would mean Loki would be exonerated as well, but no one cared about that for now.

  Every time Freya sensed Freddie was about to veer the topic over to Hilly, she shot him a cold, quieting glance before he could get the girl’s name out. Bringing a meaningless person into the picture would only overcomplicate an already complicated situation, Freya believed. She pulled her brother aside and asked him to cut it out about Hilly; as things stood, Joanna was already upset with both of them—but mostly Freya—about Freddie having hidden out at the Ucky Star for so long without her knowledge. How would Mother feel if she learned her son had been casually dating and getting his kicks that whole time? “Just wait a while, Freddie. Don’t rush it. Please! I know how you feel. You’re in love and want to tell everyone, but let’s just keep it between us for now until the time is right, okay?” Freddie grudgingly conceded she was right.

  Joanna requested that the first order of business was moving the pixies out of the house, as the attic was no place for anyone let alone a bunch of excitable pixies. She seemed to have warmed to them and had stopped mentioning cannibalistic tendencies, but she was firm about not letting them stay. The pixies had caused too much trouble in the house to be able to remain; they had scared off Gracella for one. The misplaced objects were the spirit’s doing, but it was clear that the pie eating and the missing food from the pantry and refrigerator were certainly the pixies’ fault, and she wasn’t going to stand for it.

  The motel was suggested as an obvious choice for a good hideout, Freddie having gone unnoticed there for such a long time. Ingrid agreed that bringing the pixies to the motel was a good idea. She would have to keep them safe from Matt, especially if it turned out that the pixies had actually been involved in the burglaries. It wasn’t their fault they didn’t understand the rules of right and wrong in Midgard.

  “Still, if I find out you guys have been stealing when I told you to stop! …” she said, scanning their faces wrathfully.

  “Frogs, we know,” Sven said in a bored voice.

  “When will you stop berating us, Erda? We really mean no harm,” said Kelda.

  Freya took her turn. “You guys need to get cracking on remembering who ordered you to steal Freddie’s trident!”

  “Oh, sure! We’ll get right on it, after we relocate!” The pixies grumbled loudly about how unhappy they were about having to move from the attic.

  “They say death, divorce, and moving are the three most traumatic events anyone can experience,” Sven said with a sly look.

  There was no getting anywhere with the pixies, and Joanna was losing her patience. She rapped her wand on the table, sending a shower of sparks. “Do as you are told or I’ll send the whole lot of you to my sister Helda! Norman is going to drop you off at that motel on his way back to the university and that’s final!”

  For once, no one argued or questioned her judgment.

  chapter forty-four

  Would I Lie to You?

  In the back office at the library, Hudson and Ingrid were on coffee break while a very pregnant Tabitha and the new intern, Jeannine Mays, a creative-writing graduate student who attended classes in the evenings at a nearby university and resembled a younger version of Tabitha with her long hair, ankle-length skirts, and sweet, laid-back manner, manned the library. They liked Jeannine even if she was forever pressing her latest manuscript on them to read.

  Ingrid and Hudson were catching up. He had been away with his guy, visiting Scott’s parents in Miami for Thanksgiving, where they had spent a week. This was it—the ultimate ultimatum. Scott had told Hudson that it was only fair that they spend Christmas with Hudson’s family. Hudson better start moving on it, and if he didn’t, Scott was moving out. Scott had told him it was time to come out of the closet, even if it was large and a walk-in, had a minibar and a television.

  “So are you going to do it?” Ingrid asked.

  Hudson gave her a slow smile, and Ingrid noted his lovely teeth, so pearly, like Matt’s. “I don’t have a choice, do I? But Scott’s right. I have to grow up sometime. If you can tell your boyfriend you’re a virgin, I can tell my mom and dad I’m gay. You’ve given me courage, old girl.”

  Ingrid smiled. “Well, I’m glad I could help.” She sighed.

  “What happened?” Hudson asked.

  She shook her head.

  “You can tell me,” he said, cocking his head at her.

  That was all the prompting she needed from her friend. She told him pretty much everything about the past week, leaving out the more inexplicable parts. It boiled down to this: she hadn’t heard from Matt since Thanksgiving, after which, the very next morning, two officers had shown up at Joanna’s, taking Freddie, her brother who had returned after a long voyage abroad, down to the station for questioning in the burglaries. She left out the part about the officers arriving with a warrant to search the premises since they’d heard her mother was harboring illegal immigrants in her attic. They had turned the house upside down but found no hidden loot or “illegals.”

  At the station, they had fingerprinted Freddie but saw no priors in the system. Then a fancy New York City attorney had shown up on Freddie’s behalf, saying, “You’re done with my client.” The officers had instantly released him, but not without warning her brother that he remained a primary suspect in the burglaries and they would be keeping an eye on him. Freddie said he had no clue who had sent the lawyer, although Ingrid had sensed her brother was hiding something. But that was not the point. Freddie had reported to Ingrid that the whole time Matt had remained at his desk, watching all of this unfurl as if he were surreptitiously orchestrating it.

  “You know what I think, Ingrid?”

  She shook her head.

  “You need to call him and ask him what’s up. Do it right now or else it will drive you crazy.”

  “But—”

  “But what? Because you’re the girl, you’re not supposed to call him? Please! I thought you knew better than that. Put him on the spot. It’s unacceptable that he didn’t even call to thank you for inviting him over. That’s just rude. Not to mention sending the police to your home!” Hudson ran a tongue over his teeth. “I was all for this relationship, but now I’m not so sure …” He grabbed their empty coffee mugs and pastry wrappings and walked to the door, turning back to her. “Call him, Ingrid! Do it now!”

  “Bossy!” she said, then gritted her teeth. But she knew he was right.

  After procrastinating with some work, Ingrid returned to her desk and glared at the phone as if it we
re a ticking bomb. She reached for it but quickly pulled her hand back to primp her hair. Finally she went for it, sitting down, clasping the phone between her shoulder and cheek, and punching in Matt’s cell.

  He picked up on the second ring. Silence. Ingrid waited. Nothing.

  “Matt?”

  He coughed. “Yeah, Ingrid,” he said brusquely. “What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to call and see … how you were,” she said lamely. “I haven’t seen you since Thanksgiving.”

  There was another long pause and finally Matt spoke. “You lied to me,” he said quietly. “You said you put those kids on a bus.”

  “I know … I’m sorry … But there’s so much you need to understand about my family,” she said. “First of all, they’re not kids, Matt … They’re pixies. They’re magical creatures from another world …”

  Another long pause. “Ingrid, there’s no such thing. The next thing you’ll say is that you’re a witch.”

  “But I am a witch,” she cried. “I’m not thirty-two years old, Matt. I’m so much older … You have no idea. And I can prove it! I put a spell on you so you wouldn’t be upset about what happened at dinner … Remember your headache?”

  “Enough of this nonsense,” he said. “Red wine always gives me headaches. Look, I’m sorry about your brother, but the fact of the matter is there’ve been a bunch of unsolved robberies in the area.”

  “Freddie? He would never! You had no right to bring him in.”

  “He was dressed as a cat burglar.”

  “But that’s just … a coincidence.”

  “In my line of work, there’s no such thing,” he said sternly.

  Which means, in his mind, there was no such thing as witches and warlocks and pixies, either, Ingrid realized, her heart sinking.

  “I trusted you. You said those kids were gone and they weren’t. Not only that but they were living in your house. In the attic as I remember.”

  Ingrid didn’t know how to answer to that. A droplet of sweat from her armpit slid along the inside of her arm inside her sleeve—so unpleasant, like a cold little worm. This was dreadful. Without thinking, she blurted out, “Well, you lied to me, too, Matt. I know you’re seeing someone else.”

  “Seeing someone? What are you talking about?”

  “Well, when we were at dinner, a little piece of paper fell out of that ‘work’ notebook of yours. It said ‘Maggie’ on it and had a phone number accompanying the name. Then at my house, you put your phone down for a second, and I noted that the last call had been to someone named Maggie. I might be … inexperienced … but I’m not naïve.” She had done some fibbing, but ultimately it was all truthful, at least the salient parts: she had seen the paper and the name in his phone after quickly scrolling through his list of outgoing calls. It had been his last call.

  “Jesus, Ingrid! You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

  “You have no idea what you are talking about, Matt!”

  They were both speechless for some time. She could hear him breathing. The connection between them was stretching taut, about to snap. “Fine!” he said.

  “Fine!” she snapped.

  “You know, I don’t think this is going to work out …”

  “I guess not,” said Ingrid. “Good-bye.”

  He didn’t have anything to say to that, so they both simultaneously hung up. Ingrid stared at the phone again. She was more angry than hurt. Actually, she was furious.

  Had she just broken up with him? Was that a breakup? She hadn’t broken up with anyone before, but it felt like a breakup. She had made a horrible mistake with Matt. Why had she let herself fall in love with him? What a fool she was! A mortal could never understand her, especially one who was so closed minded to the possibility that there was more to life, more to the universe than what was in front of his nose. How could she ever have fallen in love with someone so … literal, so practical, so … mundane. Someone who didn’t even believe in magic!

  Besides, who did he think he was? Sending the police to get Freddie, not to mention search their house! She needed to shelve some books.

  chapter forty-five

  A Mother’s Love

  Her lovely boy now occupied the empty bedroom in the house that had caused her so much grief as a daily reminder of his absence. She had kept the bedroom orderly and clean—she so wanted it to be pleasant for him—and brought him breakfast in bed every morning so she could watch him wake; it was like seeing the sun rise as he opened his eyes.

  Freddie had finally gotten out of that horrendous, torturous Limbo, that land of nothingness, and now he must live and enjoy the pleasures life offered, such as a mother’s love. Oh, how he had suffered, the poor child! It was tantamount to being in love, a similar feeling (although the love a mother felt for a child was even more fathomless; it was constant, unwavering). One could throw anything at her now, and it would barely made a dent. She’d forgotten completely about blowing off Harold at Thanksgiving. As for the little matter of the local police, she hadn’t been worried for a moment, knowing her boy was innocent and that there was nothing to be found in the attic. These were pesky problems that had been easily solved.

  So she did not understand why her girls were acting so histrionic now. The children were gathered in the living room and Ingrid and Freya were practically hysterical.

  Joanna sat next to Freddie on the couch, but he subtly inched away. Okay, maybe she was being too clingy? She needed to watch that.

  Ingrid stood by the fireplace while Freya faced the glass doors to the deck, staring out toward Gardiners Island, which was presently enshrouded in fog. “Mother, you are acting so … What’s the term, Ingrid?”

  “Blinded?”

  Freya turned to them. “Yes, and it’s like you’re drunk or something!”

  Joanna did have a permanent smile on her face lately, so one might mistake her for being soused or tipsy—and she herself had caught herself humming once or twice, no real song or tune, just humming. “Drunk?” she said. “No! I’m just happy!”

  Ingrid wiped a bit of lint off her skirt. “What Freya is trying to say, Mother, is that this trident business is very important. Whoever destroyed the bridge is extremely powerful and a threat to us, not to mention he or she could be lethal not only to Midgard but the nine worlds of the universe. It’s our job to make sure nothing happens. We know you’ve been ecstatic since Freddie came home, and we need you to stay on course right now.”

  Joanna rose and threw a log on the fire. She pointed a finger at it, and flames instantly leaped up. She rumpled her hair. The girls were right; there were problems ahead. But couldn’t she just enjoy having her son back for now? For just a moment? Besides, she did have something to say about this trident business, but she didn’t know if her girls wanted to hear it.

  “Freya, if you want my opinion, I’ll give it to you.”

  Freya and Ingrid turned to their mother and stared at her questioningly. Freddie rose and stepped back a bit.

  “I think Killian did it,” Joanna said plainly.

  “Excuse me?”

  Joanna ran a hand through her long hair. “Why do you think the pixies couldn’t remember him? He put up a wall that night. He seemed so—what?—nonchalant, flippant? He didn’t even flinch when the detective held a gun to Freddie’s head. I mean, we didn’t know that it was Freddie, but still! And you were going to practice black magic on his behalf. Whose influence is that? His!”

  “Bu—”

  “No. Let me finish. It’s all very subtle, Freya. Don’t you see? Killian is trying to turn you; meanwhile he’s the one who has the pixies under a spell. We’ve never seen him practice magic, because he doesn’t want to show us exactly how powerful he is. Which means he’s probably so powerful he doesn’t need to wave a wand; he just gives that hypnotic smile of his, and all his little soldiers line up and fight his battle for him.” Joanna placed her hands on her hips. “Also, there’s the matter of Killian bearing the mark of the trident. Ho
w do you explain that? Oh, don’t deny it. I heard you whispering at dinner. He’s guilty, Freya. The pixies will remember him in time.”

  Freya’s jaw had dropped as she stared at her mother, incensed. “Mother, I can’t even begin to address that …”

  Freddie put a hand to his forehead and was shaking his head.

  Ingrid held Freya by the shoulders now, steadying her. “Come on, Freya. Don’t get into it. Mother doesn’t know what she’s talking about. It’s not Killian.”

  Freya was huffing, and she let Ingrid guide her away. “Let’s get out of here, Ingrid. I need a drive.”

  “Me, too,” said Ingrid. And they moved toward the kitchen as Freddie glared at them pleadingly, but they both looked away from him.

  “If that’s how you girls want to play it, go ahead! Make camps. Go! But Freya, you know I’m right!” Joanna called to their backs. She headed to her study, where she slammed the door.

  chapter forty-six

  Sibling Rivalries

  Freya put the Mini in neutral, then turned the key in the ignition when someone began tapping at the passenger window. Ingrid pushed the window button, and Freddie’s head popped in.

  “Please take me with you!” he pleaded. “Mom’s wrong. Killian didn’t do it. He’s innocent. I know it now. I’m sorry. She’s acting crazy and driving me mad. Please take me!” He was hopping from foot to foot, shivering in just a T-shirt and jeans.

  Ingrid looked to Freya as if to take her cue.

  Freya shrugged. “Get in, but you have a lot of explaining to do! I’m not sure I trust you—whoever you are!”

  Ingrid opened her door and stepped out so Freddie could get in.

  “Jeez, thanks, girls. I love you! I love you!” He jumped up and down, barefoot, having rushed out of the house after them. He piled into the backseat, but he had to sit crouched sideways because of his height and long legs.

  “Maybe we should take Mom’s car,” Ingrid suggested.