Killian and Matt shook hands, then decided to turn it into a hug, patting each other on the back. “Good to see you, man!” Killian said, then narrowed his eyes. “Actually, should I call you detective?”
Matt laughed, brushing off the question with a hand. “Not tonight. I’m off duty.”
Killian smiled warmly.
Ingrid stepped forward. “Dad, this is my friend Matt Noble.”
“Ah, much better,” Norman said, reaching out a hand, while Matt glanced questioningly at Ingrid, who shrugged. Norman cuffed him on the shoulder. “Ignore that. It’s just …”
“Dad!” cautioned Ingrid.
“Never mind, nice to meet you, Matt! I’m Norman.”
Matt laughed good-naturedly. “Likewise, Norman.”
Freya was tottering down the steps in a tight red dress and high heels. Her hair was piled up onto her head, cascading down in a fountain of strawberry curls, her lips painted a bright red. She looked as if she’d never touched a pan. “Dinner’s on. Who’s carving the turkey?”
chapter forty-two
Prodigal Son
The sun had begun to set. The lights were turned off in all the rooms, the fire roaring and all the candles lit, lending an intimate old-world atmosphere to the house. The effusive praise for Freya’s cooking flowed, as did the champagne and wine. It seemed as if Harold’s visit was already a distant memory.
Ingrid had decided after all to place her parents at the opposite ends of the table. She sat Freya and Killian together on one side, and she and Matt faced them. Every time Matt slipped a hand on her thigh or knee, her face burned, and she was grateful for the dim lighting. Still, she quite liked the sensation. She had managed to clasp his hand once under the table while talking at the same time. It was probably the champagne.
At Norman’s prompting (So how did you two meet?), Matt was regaling everyone with the tale of his bumbling courtship of the pretty librarian. Everyone laughed. Ingrid didn’t want to cut in and break it to Matt that she hadn’t actually realized how much she liked him until after he had started dating Caitlin. How fickle she had been! But those were the days when she believed in fending off heartbreak. Eventually she couldn’t help but tell a bit of her side of the story.
“I kept making him read these god-awful-long books. You know, from that local author? The one who writes those eight-hundred-page-long ones—I mean, he writes well and should be read, but if only he weren’t so hypergraphic, his books might circulate better. And those readings he does with a gun are a bit much.”
“Oh, you’re talking about J. J. Ramsey Baker,” Freya threw in. “I fear that poor man might drink himself to death rather than shoot himself. He’s a regular at the bar, a bit of a sad sack, always going on about some old friend from college who’s shredded every single one of his books in the New York Times.”
Matt cleared his throat. “I have to say, The Cobbler’s Daughter’s Elephants, Baker’s last, did have its moments. There were pages of pure brilliance, so honest, but that one-hundred-page section on the protagonist’s”—he cleared his throat—“hair was a bit much.”
Everyone laughed. Then a slight gap in the conversation followed, and Freya leaned over and started making out with Killian, while the rest of the family tried to ignore them.
The door to the back terrace slid open suddenly, and everyone jumped save for Matt, who had instantly stood from his seat with a finger to his lips. He gestured for them to remain silent and seated. The floor creaked in the living room.
There was definitely someone in the house. Matt bent down, pulling up the cuff of his pants, where he kept a gun in a holster around his calf. Everyone at the table stared questioningly at Ingrid, who gave them a look and a shrug, as if to say, Let’s indulge him. If someone had broken in, any one of them sitting at the table could cast a binding spell and instantaneously straitjacket the intruder.
Matt held his back to the wall, the gun cocked up vertically. He was right by the archway separating the two rooms. He swung around it, and everyone rose from the table as the sounds of a scuffle ensued. They all rushed into the living room, where Matt already had the intruder prone on the floor, pinned down with a knee. The intruder was male, a tall, lanky fellow, dressed entirely in black, his head covered with a ski mask. The detective yanked one of his arms around to his back and held a gun to his side. With his face pressed to floor, the intruder let out a muffled, “Don’t shoot!”
“I thought you were off duty, Matt,” remarked Killian.
“I did, too,” he said grimly. Then to the intruder he said, “Get up!” The good detective got the man to his feet, nudging him with the gun, holding on to his wrists with his other hand. “Ingrid, can you please pull the mask off?”
“Sure,” said Ingrid, clicking over in her heels. She was quite proud of Matt for handling it all so expediently without even using the gun. She grabbed the top of the ski mask and pulled.
Everyone gawked at the beautiful face, the head of mussed blond hair like spun gold glinting in the firelight.
“Fryr?” said Joanna, rushing to him.
“Fryr!” cried Ingrid, jumping for joy, clapping her hands.
“Bless the gods!” bellowed Norman.
“Um, we call him Freddie now,” said Freya with a big smile. “Welcome home, twin! Surprise!”
Joanna, beside herself, sat on the couch next to her son, weeping, laughing, grabbing his face in her hands, kissing his head, touching him over and over, trying to assure herself he was really there right beside her. Her boy. His absence had been a knife in the heart, and now he was here, and the stabbing feeling was gone. She wouldn’t let him go ever. Norman flanked him on his other side, a hand on his knee, while Ingrid was saying, “I can’t believe it! Fryr—Freddie—you’re back!”
Freya watched all of this, Killian with his arms around her waist as she leaned against his chest. She was inordinately relieved. The family was complete, and she no longer had to carry the burdensome secret of her brother’s return. Everyone she loved was here. It was just as she’d planned, except for Matt Noble’s heroics, of course. But everything would be all right now. Surely, Dad would be able to help somehow. And once Ingrid and Joanna put their minds to something, they didn’t let go until the job was done.
She had also decided she was ready to perform the spell on Killian to find out the truth of what happened that day. So what if it was dangerous? She didn’t care. She only needed one more ingredient, which would call for Joanna’s help—a drop of the black sap from a tree in the glom. She would find a way of talking Joanna into getting it for her, even if she had to lie. Killian had to be innocent.
Plus even if Freddie was still guilty, hadn’t he been punished enough? Surely they could go to the Council and make an appeal for him. The family would discuss it all in private once Matt left, but she wouldn’t tell anyone about the magic she was planning.
Freddie threw Killian mistrustful sideways glances, as if he thought Freya’s fiancé might pounce on him any second. Matt, for his part, looked as if he was itching to arrest someone. A door creaked open upstairs, and Ingrid cried, “Oh, no, Oscar got out!”
Matt turned to her. “Who’s Oscar?”
Ingrid shook her head. “Oh, no one, just a pet,” she said anxiously, moving toward the stairway to the second floor to waylay the familiars. But a disordered thudding of feet was descending the stairs, and all the pixies had begun to bustle past her into the room.
In the black leather mask, Kelda lunged to the front, pointing a finger.
“My mask!” cried Freya. “I’ve been looking for that!”
“It’s him! It’s him!” Kelda shouted. “We heard his voice!”
“You aren’t supposed to be here!” Ingrid scolded, standing between the pixies and Matt, her arms stretched out, as if she could hide them from him.
Joanna stood up, shouting. “What are these things doing in my house! Pixies! They drown little children and eat them!” she cried. “Get them out of here
. Immediately!”
Norman stood up and grasped Joanna by the shoulders and was whispering in her ear. “Calm down, darling. That’s just a myth, something told in Asgard to keep the little gods from straying to the other worlds.” He didn’t want the mortal in the room to hear.
“It’s him!” the pixies yelled in unison.
Ingrid turned to the pixies. They were dirty, their faces blackened from a day outdoors. “What are you talking about?” Ingrid asked, flustered.
“He’s the one! He’s the one!” they said, pointing toward the fireplace and couch, where Freddie and Killian were standing. It was impossible to tell exactly whom they were pointing at.
chapter forty-three
It’s a Family Affair
Who? What?” Ingrid asked.
Val pushed forward. “He’s the one we s-s-s-stole the trident from. When we heard him, we s-s-suddenly remembered that part. He isn’t the one who banished us. We were wrong about that. We were confused. Another guy made us st-st-st …”
“Steal?” asked Ingrid.
Val nodded his head. “Yes. Steal the trident.”
Sven gave a cough, putting an arm around Val, and added, “Erda, as soon as we heard the guy, we knew it was him. The one we’d seen while we were Dumpster diving. We stole the trident from him. But he’s not the one who kicked us out of our home.”
“What are they talking about, Ingrid?” Matt asked. “Who’s Erda? Is this the band of homeless kids who assaulted you? I thought you told me you put them on a bus!”
“Homeless kids?” Freya asked, cocking an eyebrow. “They’re not kids. They’re pixies.”
Ingrid turned nervously. “I’ll explain later, okay?” she said to Matt, whispering an incantation under her breath to strengthen the harmony spell.
“Okay.” Matt scratched his chin with a thumb.
Ingrid addressed the pixies. “First of all, can you please show me exactly who you mean?”
Nyph, whose hair was pulled into a large knob on her head, emphasizing her ears, strode over to Freddie and tugged his sweater. “This one. We stole the trident from this one. Someone made us do it. But we didn’t know why. We were threatened … I think I don’t remember.” She looked up at Freddie. “I’m sorry, we have nothing against you, someone made us do it.”
“Finally!” he said, smiling because what the pixies were saying proved that he had been framed. Someone had made them steal his trident, and that someone was in the room right now.
Nyph was still hanging on to his sweater, gazing up at him with an enamored smile, as Freddie whirled around, pointing at Killian.
Freya and Killian took a step backward.
“Is this the guy who made you steal my trident?” Freddie boomed, pointing at Killian.
“What trident?” asked Matt, but no one paid him any mind.
The pixies stared at Killian and vigorously shook their heads no, then all began talking at once. “We’ve never s-s-seen that guy before,” Val said.
“Who’s he?” Sven asked suspiciously.
“I’m Killian,” he said with a grin, obviously finding the pixies amusing.
“Killian’s not the one who made us do it,” Nyph confirmed. “It was a bigger man.” She gestured with her hands, indicating someone broader and taller, and the other pixies agreed.
Freya was thrilled. Killian and her twin were innocent. She hugged her man. “I knew it!” She turned to her twin. “See, Freddie!” she said. “You’re wrong! I told you!”
Freddie looked confused. “Are you sure?” he asked the pixies. “You’re sure this isn’t him?”
The shook their heads.
“Nope, not him, not him.”
Freddie rubbed his eyes. He walked over to Killian and gripped his shoulder. “Sorry, man. My bad. I’ve been in Limbo a long time.”
“It’s all right,” Killian said. “Don’t even think about it.”
Don’t even think about it? Freya fumed. She was of a mind to give her brother a tongue-lashing after everything he had put her through. But she took Killian’s lead. There was no anger in him, and she had to respect that. Besides, even if the pixies swore that Killian hadn’t ordered them to steal the trident, that still didn’t explain why he bore the mark. Until they found out who was behind this plot, none of them was safe.
Ingrid interrogated the pixies further about what the man in question looked like, but all they could tell her was that it was too difficult to describe him. It made their heads hurt. They promised her that when they saw him, they would know immediately as they had with Freddie. They would come to her with the information as they had now.
“You did well,” Ingrid said, and she patted Kelda on the head.
Ingrid knew that sitting at the table was best for all and was eager to corral everyone over to it, including the pixies, who were so small they could squeeze in, when Joanna proposed bringing out dessert. Ingrid realized that the ritual she had performed while setting the table had turned it into a safe zone, so it was the best way to have Matt accept the pixies’ presence without question for now. As long as everyone in the house remained seated around it, there was harmony, but as soon as anyone left it, chaos would ensue. She let Freya in on the secret, and the sisters quickly cleared the table and brought out the dessert plates, pies, ice cream, and whipped cream so that everyone could sit back down.
“There’s much to celebrate on this Thanksgiving Day,” Joanna announced at the head of the table.
Freddie sat beside his mother, a smile beaming on his lips. “So, guys,” he said, “there’s this incredible gi—”
Joanna quickly put a finger to his lips. “Hush, my darling son, I am making a speech—your welcoming speech, my love.” She smiled at him, then ran a hand through his hair.
“Oh,” said Freddie, his shoulders drooping. He was dying to tell everyone at the table all about Hilly.
Joanna rose from her seat and put her hands together as if in prayer. She was wondering how exactly to word what she needed to express without giving too much away to Matt. She couldn’t talk about what had happened at the Bofrir or about Freddie having returned from Limbo, which would make the young man think she was completely bonkers, especially since from what she could tell, he was one of those who didn’t believe in magic, which was going to be a problem since it did seem like he was going to be part of the family. She cleared her throat as everyone watched her, anticipating her speech. Norman lifted his chin to egg her on.
“My son has at last returned,” she said. “And we have solved … um … an issue that has long troubled the Beauchamp family. We are all together once again after a very, very looong time. I give thanks to all the gods.” Here she raised her hands to the skies, or rather the chandelier, then smiled at Norman, who grinned back, giving her a wink. She turned to Freddie, running the back of her hand along his cheek, gazing fondly upon him.
Freddie looked over at Norman. “As I was saying, there’s this really beautiful—”
“Hear, hear!” cried out Freya, clinking a dessert fork against her glass. “That was an excellent speech, Mother! Short and sweet.” Everyone clinked their glasses with her as she glared at Freddie, silently urging him to keep his trap shut about this Hilly girl. It really wasn’t the time and place for him to be going on about his latest coed conquest, and that would only open up a can of a thousand wriggling worms. They would have to explain Freddie’s holing up at the motel for the last month, the websites her twin had become addicted to, and so on and so forth, all in front of Matt. She narrowed her eyes at her brother, and once again he deflated.
“Let’s drink to the family! And welcome, Matthew Noble!” said Norman.
More champagne bottles were popped, froth pouring over glasses.
“None for me, thanks,” Matt said, looking strained and confused. “My head hurts. I’m sorry. I don’t feel well. I think I need to get going. It’s been wonderful meeting you all.” He stood up, looking dizzy, and Ingrid helped him to the door. She knew it
was only the power of her harmony spell that was keeping him from saying what he wanted to say, and that he was most likely feeling ill because he was fighting it so hard. She felt terrible about using her magic on him and wished there had been some other way to keep the evening peaceful.
Across from them, Freya and Killian were having their own little aside, talking sotto voce. “I have to admit,” said Freya, “I was about to practice some very unsavory magic to get to the truth. I went to Jean-Baptiste and got a recipe and incantation from him to retrieve your memory. Not exactly our kind of magic. I’m glad I didn’t have to do it.”
Killian glared at her with disbelief. “Promise me you will never, ever do that again! You should never, ever resort to something like that, not on my behalf or anyone else’s.” He touched her neck. “What were you thinking? There’s no way to escape justice, not among our kind. That kind of magic can backfire on us, badly.”
Norman, adept at catching snippets of conversation from teaching hundreds of students at a time in large auditoriums, had not missed out on the latter exchange. “Freya, what exactly do you mean by the unsavory kind of magic?”
Joanna, fawning over Freddie, froze. “Freya!” she exclaimed.
Ingrid came back after bidding a quick and distracted goodbye to Matt so she could catch the rest of the conversation. She had second thoughts about having enchanted him and wished she could take it back, but for now she was glad no one had noticed his discomfort. “Black magic! Are you insane?” she chided Freya.
“Oh, no!” said Sven. “Someone’s in troubs!”
The pixies laughed.
“This is not a laughing matter, guys!” said Ingrid.
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