Serpent's Kiss: A Witches of East End Novel

by de la Cruz, Melissa

  “Yes,” said Anne. “I lied to you before. I’m sorry. The guard, he has ears everywhere even though he feigns to sleep. Only interested in money, that one. He’s bleeding my husband—every little kiss costs more.” Her frail body shook. Joanna pressed a cool wet cloth to her forehead.

  The information came slowly, Joanna and Norman filling Freya and Killian in with their own knowledge. Anne—Verðandi—was one of the Norns who tended to Yggdrasil. She was also a goddess of destiny as it is twined into the unfurling of time. Anne was the goddess of the present, her sisters the goddesses of the past and future, forming the triumvirate that controlled the fates of gods and men. Just as Joanna had guessed, Anne had placed the message on her own grave in such a way that Joanna might come to the conclusion she was a Norn.

  Anne was indeed her fylgja, but she explained why she had been resistant to leaving the past with Killian and Freya. She had fallen in love with a mortal, she told them. “Me, I can always return to life, even if they hang me, but once John is dead, I will never see him again,” she said. She licked her chafed lips. Despite her misery in Fairstone, she had wanted to spend every last moment of that wretched, ignorant time with John Barklay. Taking her away would endanger him. When she returned, he could be dead.

  She had wanted Joanna to come to her directly; she had made contact with her and trusted her. She didn’t know who else she could trust. Joanna was tied to her by an invisible thread, a thin tendril that tugged at Anne through time or when any of the Beauchamps or their loved ones were in danger. She would always recognize Joanna, and Joanna alone, because she was Anne’s spiritual ward, assigned to her since the beginning of time.

  Anne told Joanna why she had reached out to her. Something had happened. She wasn’t meant to be hanged; she and John were supposed to live their lives together. She had seen it. But something had changed; evil had come to Fairstone, had begun the finger-pointing, stirring up trouble, singling out and persecuting witches.

  “It all started when a new family purchased the Isle of Wight and settled there. They are new to the community and have caused us much grief.”

  “Who?”

  “Lion Gardiner and his wife,” Anne said. “We know him as …”

  “Loki, of course.” Freya sighed. She would have recognized him anywhere she knew now. They called him Lion Gardiner but she knew him under different names: Branford Gardiner, Bran, Loki. “We can never seem to escape him—not in this life or any other.”

  chapter fifty-eight

  White Wedding

  Captain Atkins and Freddie, the treasure in a cylinder slung over his back, silently glided up in the elevator to the forty-second floor and entered Her Majesty’s Shipping Co. This time they did not have to speak with the receptionist, who immediately called Mr. Liman as they walked past the clear-glass pod and headed toward his office. Freddie heard the young man announce, “They’re on their way, Mr. Liman.”

  Liman rose from his swivel chair behind the ship-size desk, rubbing his hands. “Hello!” Luckily, the blinds were down, the light soft and welcoming this time. “Freddie, I’d say you look like the cat who has dragged in the mouse and is about to deposit it at my feet.”

  “Looks like I’ve fulfilled my contract, Mr. Liman,” Freddie proudly replied.

  “Indeed you have,” added Captain Atkins, standing behind Freddie, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “Excellent!” said Mr. Liman, coming around the desk, appearing antsy to get his hands on the treasure that Freddie was slinging off his back. Mr. Liman took the cylinder from him and brought it over to his desk, punched in the combination to unlock it, humming to himself, then slid the slim, brilliant gold case out. “Excellent,” he repeated, inspecting it, then running a hand along its smooth surface. “I’ll open it later.” He lifted his eyebrows and smiled at Freddie.

  Freddie beamed. “So when can I see Hilly? I wish to propose to her formally, even though I don’t have a ring yet—” Freddie cut himself short because Mr. Liman had begun to titter, but soon these soft, quiet paroxysms turned into bellowing, maniacal laughter that shook the walls of the skyscraper as if a supersonic jet were passing overhead.

  Freddie’s face twitched. “What’s so funny?”

  Mr. Liman picked up the contract, which still lay on the gleaming surface of his desk, and strode over to Freddie. “My dear boy, you are marrying my daughter as the contract states, but you must have not bothered to read the fine print. It isn’t Hilly you are to wed but rather one of my adopted daughters, Gert … the eldest. You’ll never be quite good enough for Hilly, Freddie.” Liman handed the contract to Freddie, whose knees had buckled at the news. He felt as if he had been socked in the chest by a large, blunt object. “Not back then, and not now.”

  Freddie quickly skimmed over the contract and found the paragraph that undid him:

  Following the execution of the duties described hereto in the Contract, Retriever will deliver unopened Gold Case containing Treasure to President and thereby will be obligated under the Contract, within a period of no longer than thirty (30) days, to (i) propose to, (ii) exchange vows with, and (iii) wed Gert Liman. Under no condition will Retriever evade above-mentioned obligations (i), (ii), and (iii), get cold feet, not show up at the altar for, or refuse to say ‘I do,’ or thereafter divorce Gerðr, or annul the marriage to Gert, or attempt to wed Hillary Liman instead of Gert, or conduct adulterous relations, whether emotional or sexual, in whatever form, at whatever point, with Hillary. If Retriever does not comply with the conditions set forth hereto, thereby breaching the terms of the Contract, Retriever will be subject to a fine described under Paragraph V and required to return to Limbo for a period no shorter than five thousand (5,000) years per Paragraph VI.

  Freddie looked to the bottom of the page and saw the signature he had scratched with the ostrich feather pen earlier, using his blood as ink, only the color had changed to a darker one, resembling dead rose petals. “Who are you?”

  Harold patted Freddie’s shoulder as if this could calm him down. “There, there,” he said. Freddie shrugged the captain’s hand off.

  “So you have forgotten me,” said Mr. Liman, as if he were speaking to a child. “I’m just a humble god. It’s not like the mighty Fryr ever paid attention to details. But times have changed, haven’t they? Although in this, I think, your fate will always remain the same. Always in love with my girl, but I fear it will be unrequited for perpetuity. This is what happens when Joanna goes and communicates with the dead. Helda extracts a price and you have paid it. If you had only read the contract. You were too eager, dear boy, and you signed it with your blood.” He tsk-tsked.

  Freddie swung around to Captain Atkins and glared at him, feeling entirely betrayed. Harold made a sad, cringing face and shrugged. “My hands were tied. I had no choice. I’m so sorry, Freddie.”

  If anything, Freddie found the captain even more despicable than Mr. Liman. At least Liman had been a bastard from the beginning.

  chapter fifty-nine

  Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered

  Yep, same thing over at Mayor Frond’s place. No damage. Over,” came the voice from the walkie-talkie as Matt strode toward Ingrid.

  Teeth clattering, Ingrid extended her wrists together (one hand holding up her wand), the pixies crowded behind her.

  “What are you doing?” Matt asked.

  “Well, I was sending these kids home,” she said, still holding up her wrists.

  More noise sputtered from the walkie-talkie, and Matt switched it off. He gestured to her hands. “I mean, holding out your wrists?”

  “Aren’t you going to arrest me?” she asked as he leaned into the gaping doorway.

  He shook his head. “Why? Did you do something wrong?”

  “Isn’t that why you’re here? To take them away?” she said as she cautiously let her arms fall to her sides.

  He answered her question with one of his own. “What’s all that noise?” he asked. “It sounds like birds
ong.”

  A warm breeze wafted up from the door, but Ingrid was still cold. The pixies continued to huddle around her anxiously.

  Matt walked past them toward the open trapdoor. He kneeled down, held both sides of the door, and peered inside. He had such strong arms, Ingrid noted. “What is it?” he asked, looking back at Ingrid. “It’s amazing.”

  “It’s where these homeless kids … these pixies live. It’s a portal to their world,” she said, knowing there was nothing to do now but tell the truth. He could either believe her, or he could continue to live under the delusion that magic did not exist. She studied his face, saw him grimace and then relax.

  “Huh,” Matt said. “What’s it called?”

  “Álfheim, the pixies are álfar … elves,” she said.

  “Well, then we should get them home, shouldn’t we?” he asked.

  “You’re not here to take them away?”

  “Why would I?”

  “But I thought …”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t want to believe what was right in front of me. I knew there was something different about you … and I’m sorry for being such a pigheaded idiot.” He sighed. “It’s been hard for me accept that you’re really a witch. It goes against everything that I know is true. But I know a higher truth now. I don’t understand everything, but I believe you and I believe in you. I believe that you are magic.”

  “You’re not an idiot,” Ingrid said, a smile beginning to grow on her face. She watched as he got to his feet—a single jump out of the pushup without falling in. She had no idea he was this athletic.

  “I am … I would be … if I let you go,” he said, looking deep into her eyes. “Do you forgive me?”

  “Always,” Ingrid said, her eyes shining.

  “So, you’re a witch, huh?” he asked.

  She nodded. “That’s one word for it. My real name is Erda, and I’m from somewhere else, too. But unlike the pixies, I can’t go home.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to. You have to stay right here, with me,” Matt said. He moved to kiss her but was interrupted by a sudden loud racket as Sven cleared his throat, Irdick blew his nose, Val stomped his feet, and Kelda and Nylph clapped their hands and giggled. “Aw!” said Kelda. “They’re in love!”

  “What about them?” Ingrid asked, laughing.

  He turned to the rowdy bunch. “They better get going before the police and fire department arrive. I wanted to make sure I got here first to warn you. This place is going to be crawling with all sorts of law enforcement in any minute.”

  “We’re not in troubs?” asked Irdick.

  “Don’t push it!” Kelda warned.

  Matt ignored them for now. “There’s something else you need to know. Maggie is my daughter—the number you saw on the paper,” Matt said, his words rushed. “That room I wouldn’t let you see at my place: it’s hers.”

  Ingrid nodded.

  “I mean, I got my high school girlfriend pregnant, and she kept the baby. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way, really. I’ve never been embarrassed about her. It was just that I was worried what you might think or that you might not want to go out with me if you knew I had a kid. It was stupid of me. I know. I have custody every other week, and I’m out of town a lot so I can visit her.”

  “I want to meet her.” Ingrid smiled, taking his hand. “I hope she’ll like me.”

  Matt grinned.

  “What about the burglaries? Did they catch anyone?” Ingrid asked.

  He scratched his head. “The thing is, everything has been mysteriously returned,” he said. “People keep calling the station to say their jewels have been found, or this or that is back on the wall or on its pedestal. I heard just now that the mayor’s extensive art collection is back in place.”

  “Our present to you!” said Kelda, elbowing Ingrid.

  “We gave everything back! We were just borrowing it to decorate the attic,” Irdick explained.

  Nyph leaned against Ingrid on her other side. “I hope you’re not too mad.”

  Ingrid put her hands on her waist and looked at the pixies sternly. She had always suspected they had not given up their ways. “I’m very disappointed in you guys,” she said. “But I’m glad you returned everything.”

  Sirens sounded in the distance. The police were on their way.

  “We should get them moving,” Matt said.

  “Right,” Ingrid nodded, a wave of sadness consuming her. Troublemakers or not, she’d grown very fond of the pixies.

  One by one, she hugged them good-bye, disinclined to let any of them go.

  “Do we have to?” Kelda asked plaintively.

  “We want to stay,” Nylph said.

  “Well …” Ingrid looked at them. She realized there was no reason to send them home just yet, after all, they could help clear Freddie’s name with the Valkyries, and Killian as well. Besides, the pixies had yet to reveal who had made them steal Freddie’s trident in the first place, who was it that was behind the original crime all along.

  “Hooray!” Sven said. “We can stay!”

  “Stay or go—you’ve got to do something,” Matt warned, looking out the window. A convoy was on its way to the motel: two fire engines, a half a dozen police cars, and an ambulance arrived in the parking lot. They would be in the room in a moment.

  There was loud rap on the door. “Open up! Police!”

  The pixies cringed. Matt grimaced and removed his gun from its holster. He nodded to Ingrid. “Take them out the back window. I’ll take care of this.”

  She felt a flush of love for him then. She knew he would do anything for her and would protect not only herself but also her friends. “No, no need.” She removed her wand and waved it over the pixies, the broken door, and the bathroom.

  The door opened with a bang, but when the police entered, all they found was the happy couple standing by the window, surrounded by five hopping frogs.

  chapter sixty

  Let’s Do the Time Warp Again

  It was dark and cold outside. With Joanna’s careful magic attending to her ills, Anne had revived. She had bathed, and Joanna and Freya had given her fresh clothes. They sat in the living room now: Joanna, Norman, Freya, and Killian, Anne on the couch across from a blazing fire.

  She liked it here, in this period, Anne said, had never been here in the physical sense, but she had seen it through one of her sister’s eyes, and she looked forward to living in a much less oppressed time. But saying this made her think of John Barklay, which made her eyes grow brilliant in the firelight. She wiped at them. There was still so much she had to tell them before they could solve her own problems. The thing about time, she sought to explain, was that past, present, and future all coexisted.

  “Not as linear as our brains make it out to be. We seek continuity,” Norman interjected.

  “Yes.” Everything happened at once, and there were alternate realities and parallel universes, a million different possibilities as to the way one event could unfold, all happening simultaneously, but then only one coming into effect, a rather noumenal concept Freya had difficulty wrapping her head around.

  “My sisters and I, we see it all at once when we are together. Time is malleable and yet it flows, everything shifts and starts anew, sometimes completely differently, but it has always happened.” In other words, time was a kind of palimpsest, traces of the past peeking through the present, only to be written over in the future again.

  Anne had recognized Loki in Lion Gardiner, and once he knew that she knew, she was in danger because she knew his secret.

  “Loki can never be trapped anywhere; he was just biding his time. He can come and go as he pleases through the universe. He has done great mischief in the timeline. He was the one who started the witch-hunt fervor in America. It would never have happened without him. He fed the flames, stoked the fires, and saw to it that his enemies’ power would be hampered by the Restriction of Magical Powers. It was all part of his plan for revenge,” Anne told them.
“He knows that, as a Norn, I saw the other future, the way it should have gone. That is why he had me executed. He wanted to punish me by taking John away from me forever, and he kept me from making contact with you, Joanna. He knows your clan is powerful and he fears you.”

  Joanna reached for her fylgja’s hand. She understood now what had happened. After Anne had been hanged, she had been trapped in the glom, a desperate, wandering spirit, unable to enter the Kingdom of the Dead or return to Midgard.

  “Loki is not without help,” Anne told them. “Even if he is not in your present, he has others working for him.”

  It all made sense now, Joanna realized. All those times she was trying to unlock the mystery, there was always an obstacle that stopped her—someone who was there, just at the right time, to interrupt her and keep her from finding out what she needed to know.

  Joanna sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Harold!”

  “I remember now … We used to know him as Heimdallr,” Norman said. “But he is a weak one. He cannot have done this all himself. There must be someone else pulling his strings.”

  “There is,” Anne said. “Buðli. He threatened Heimdallr’s half-mortal family, his daughter and grandson, so that Heimdallr would do his bidding. Buðli is Loki’s puppet, but a puppeteer himself.”

  “Buðli, I remember now. He once had a beautiful daughter, did he not?” Joanna asked. She turned to Norman. “Do you remember what her name was again?”

  “Of course, who can forget Brünnhilde?” asked Norman.

  “Hilly!” Freya cried.

  “Who’s Hilly?” asked Joanna.

  Freya clapped a heel down as she stood next to Killian by the fireplace. “Um, that would be Freddie’s new girlfriend, the bait, which he fell for hook, line, and sinker. He’s gaga about the girl. He was supposed to do a tuna run but it turned out to be some kind of treasure hunt he said. He texted me earlier.”