“My mother’s gift as a witch was bringing souls back from the dead. That’s why I called on her to help me save the little drowned boy during the storm on the Fourth of July.”
“You mean, the kid on the boat with you?”
“Yes, he was technically dead when we pulled him out of the water. But we were able to intervene. It’s very, very rare to be able to pull off a resurrection. Even for us with our direct connection. We were incredibly fortunate that our spells were heard.” Ingrid paused to gather her thoughts. “I don’t mean to be preachy, Mardi, but the situation you and Molly have gotten us in with the Council puts all this in danger. If we couldn’t practice magic anymore, we would have had absolutely no chance of saving that boy.”
“I get it, okay!” Mardi recoiled defensively.
“I think maybe you finally do get it,” Ingrid said softly. “Anyway, my mother’s sister, Helda, lords over the Underworld. And my mother knows every twist and turn of the path a soul takes to get there. She knows all the rules. And one of those rules, Mardi, is ‘a soul for a soul.’ The little boy we rescued the other day from drowning, his soul was still in the mortal world, his name was not yet written in the Book of the Dead, so we were able to snatch him back without sacrificing anyone . . . But, when Freya was hung in Salem, she was lost. My mother and father decided to drown themselves in the deep water you see through these very windows, to exchange themselves for their daughter so that she could come home.”
“But wait, why did your dad have to go too?”
“He didn’t. He chose to.”
“Why?”
“Because my mother is his eternal mate. They had just reconciled after a centuries-long separation. They were madly in love again. He was going to die with her. No one ever found their bodies, of course. But they share a headstone in the town cemetery.”
Gently, Mardi patted her shoulder. “Is it hard for you with Matt? Because he’s, like, your soul mate, only he’s not going to be around forever? He’s a really great guy. And a great dad. I can see why you chose him. But, well, it must be really sad sometimes to think about all the time you’re going to have to spend apart.”
Ingrid nodded. “I think about it constantly but I try not to ruin the time we have together by mourning his death. Live in the present, Mardi.”
Speaking of, the door to the deck clamored open and Matt and the kids spilled into the room laughing and shedding sand everywhere as they dove into the muffins.
Mardi’s window of opportunity to tell Ingrid about the weird texts had closed. But she had learned something. She’d learned just how important it was, for the whole ecosystem of her people, that she and Molly get out of the mess they were in. If only they knew what exactly they had done so that they could actually defend themselves.
Seeing as she hadn’t had a chance to talk to Ingrid about those weird texts, Mardi decided to go and lose herself in heavy lifting on the docks, to tackle a big shipment of equipment coming in for the new restaurant. Then, after work she would go to the North Inn to talk to Freya and see if she could get somewhere.
“I’m heading out! I’ll see you guys later!”
The little family managed to return her good-bye through mouthfuls of breakfast. Ingrid gave her a wink.
She hopped into her convertible and put the key in the ignition. Before she could turn it, though, her phone vibrated inside her favorite vintage bag. The bag’s brown suede fringe trembled against her bare arm. She instantly knew what this was. She wished she didn’t feel compelled to pull out her phone and look at the screen, but she had no choice.
Meet me tonight at ten in the dunes by the bridge on Gardiners Island. Or else.
22
A SKY FULL OF STARS
Although she was infatuated with Tris, Molly felt a little tug at her heart as she left Marshall behind after a charm-filled afternoon with him at the Cheesemonger. Cheeseboy was growing on her like a fine mold.
Today she had been complaining that she was addicted to the New England clam chowder he wouldn’t stop making. (Her doubts about the people of North Hampton being ready to embrace a chowder other than their signature Manhattan had been way off—they were lining up for the stuff.) She told him how fattening it was and teased him about being a soup dealer who ought to be arrested for peddling the stuff to poor teenage girls with no willpower.
“You have more willpower than I’ve ever seen!” he’d said, interrupting her.
“What do you mean? I just told you I can’t stop eating your creamy, starchy, potato-filled soup. Not to mention your brownies.”
“I mean that you have willpower because you take what you need. You don’t look like a girl who starves herself to be beautiful. You look like a girl who gets what she wants, which makes you beautiful.”
“If you say so.” She shrugged. But she was secretly pleased. Marshall might not have a chance against Tris, but he sure knew how to appreciate her like she deserved to be appreciated.
So it was with a twinge of something like regret that she said, “Later, Cheesepal,” as she rode off to do a quick change for her evening among the dunes with Tris. He had told her to meet him that evening on the other side of the bridge, and to dress for a night under the stars.
All day, she had been thinking through her outfit. She had settled on a light gray cashmere hoodie over a whisper-soft black tank top, cropped white jeans, and flat snakeskin sandals. Underneath it all, a creamy lace ensemble.
Once she was ready, she went downstairs to ask Ingrid and Matt if she could borrow their car. She didn’t feel like biking all the way to Fair Haven in the dark and then pedaling home at sunrise. She was starting to get circles under her eyes from her late nights with Tris, and it was impossible to find decent concealer in this lame excuse for a town.
“You look nice,” Ingrid said as Molly appeared. “I’m sure you’re on your way out, but would you like a glass of wine with us first? We’re celebrating getting the kids down.”
She and Matt smiled at one another over the wide rims of their Burgundy glasses.
“Hey, guys, can I borrow the car tonight?” she asked.
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Matt said, furrowing his brow.
What? Was he actually getting precious about the family Subaru wagon all of a sudden?
Molly was tempted to hex him so that he would pour his wine into his ear and get over himself, but she felt Ingrid’s eyes on her and reined herself in.
“May I ask why it might not be a good idea, Matt?”
“You haven’t heard?”
Molly shook her pretty head.
“There’s been a rash of traffic light outages today all over town. It looks like vandalism, but it’s pretty strange because the power goes in and out randomly in isolated sets of lights, without warning, for only a few minutes at a time. It’s like someone who has no real plan of action is playing with the power grid. There’ve been four car accidents so far, and strangely, all of them involve girls your age. No one has been seriously hurt, although one teenage girl is in the hospital for some broken ribs . . . I’m not so sure it’s safe to drive until we know what’s going on.”
“Don’t you think it’s just a coincidence? I mean, there’s no way whoever is doing this can see who is driving the cars, is there?” Although Ingrid directed her questions at Matt, she gave Molly a significant look.
“Well, the outages certainly aren’t systematic, if that’s what you mean. Something is short-circuiting in the grid. Or else someone is messing around with our power—and putting innocent people in danger. But you’re right that they couldn’t target specific cars, though.”
Molly’s head started to spin as she sank into a chair with her wine. Innocent people . . . random accidents . . . The parallel hit her hard.
Or was she reading too much into things? Seeing symbolism where there was none? Was she fallin
g victim to Daddy’s and Ingrid’s paranoia?
Through the static of her thoughts, she heard Matt and Ingrid tell her to go ahead and take the car, but to be really careful. They even made a lame joke about her being in the “unlucky demographic.”
“Thanks,” she said, jumping up before they could change their minds. “Don’t wait up for me!”
She grabbed the keys from a hook by the front door and raced off, trying not to freak out about the connections between random traffic accidents and random subway deaths. Or about her growing suspicion that her missing ring might have something to do with both of them. Whatever. She had a date.
As she neared the end of the bridge, she saw Tris outlined in her high beams, glowing like a bronze Adonis. He was wearing jeans and a soft brown sweatshirt. But nothing could take away from the overall impression of elegance that he radiated, an elegance which Molly felt was uniquely worthy of her own.
He raised his hand, and she slowed down to kiss him through her open window. She slid into the passenger seat and let him take the wheel. For the short ride to Fair Haven’s sandy parking areas, his strong, graceful movements transformed the lowly maroon station wagon into a timelessly cool vehicle.
Once they had parked in the garage of one of the estate’s outbuildings, he told her to close her eyes. He then blindfolded her with a silk scarf and led her through the dunes for what felt like ten minutes. As he brought her to a stop, the insides of her eyelids were suffused with orange light and her body was filled with warmth. She had to be standing in front of a fire.
Gently, he untied her blindfold to reveal a bonfire encircled in beautiful carpets like a Bedouin encampment. There were cashmere blankets and piles of Moroccan pillows in all sizes. High wooden posts bearing large osprey nests gave the scene the aura of a sacred temple guarded by rare and magical birds. The stars twinkled above.
A golden bowl heaped with caviar caught the firelight. Two bottles of champagne were nestled in an antique silver ice bucket, radiant in the starlight and the glow of the flames.
“Wow,” she said. “And I’m not easily impressed.”
“I knew you wouldn’t be,” he whispered, threading his strong arms around her and pulling her toward him, his blue eyes glinting orange, gold, and hypnotic. “That’s why I tried so hard.”
They fell into each other, rolling among the blankets and pillows in the gorgeous shadows created by the flames. Every once in a while, they would come up for air. He would feed her some Beluga from a pearl spoon and they would swig champagne straight from the bottle. She could feel herself giving in to him. There was something deep and eternal about their connection. But he also gave her the thrill of the unknown.
As she was unbuckling his belt, slowly, savoring the moment, he suddenly leapt to his feet in a single athletic bound, with all the speed and grace of a startled deer.
“Molly, I’m so sorry. I’ll be right back.”
She couldn’t help but be a little taken aback by his sudden exit. What was that all about? Things were just getting fun. She tucked her knees into her chest, stared into the bonfire, sipped some champagne, and listened to the sound of the sea lapping the beach, feeling a little frustrated.
She began to wonder where he was. How long could it possibly take a guy to pee? Molly looked at her watch. It was close to ten o’clock. She took another drink, spaced out into the starry sky, and tried not to check the time again. When she finally gave in and looked at the face of her Rolex again, she saw that almost ten more minutes had elapsed.
Where was he? Had he ditched her? She felt her eyes begin to shoot angry sparks. Her ancestral rage rose up with the swiftness and fury of a tidal wave. She toyed with the idea of collapsing the osprey nest platforms into the bonfire. But it didn’t seem right to make a bunch of endangered birds suffer for his rudeness.
He was always doing this—disappearing for no reason. What was up with that?
She felt around in the soft, luxurious mass of fabrics for her sandals. Once she had slipped them on, she stood and brushed off the sand, making sure to get some in the caviar.
Then she heard footsteps approaching.
So he was coming back, after all. He’d better have a great excuse. It was going to take a lot for him to explain himself.
As she was composing her face into her signature unreadable and hard-to-get expression, she heard the footsteps grow fainter. Was he walking away from her now? Was he toying with her?
And then he started walking toward her again, running even. It was as if he had forgotten exactly where he had made their love nest and had circled around before finally spotting the smoke from the fire and orienting himself in the right direction. But this made no sense because he knew these dunes inside and out.
What was going on?
As Tris came around the side of the dune toward the bonfire, she thought she heard him humming a familiar tune. What was this song again?
She turned to confront him. She was going to let him have it. By the time she was through, he would be a puddle of tidewater, because nobody, no matter how rich or how beautiful he was, kept Molly Overbrook waiting this long.
Only it wasn’t him. The person who stepped into the firelight was not Tris Gardiner at all.
23
GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN
Mardi and Trent had been working side by side all day, unloading kitchen hardware and cases of wine, stocking the cellar of the restaurant, which the owner, Joshua Goose, had decided to call Goose’s Landing. Her body was electric with Trent’s presence. The space between them was charged with everything they dreamed of doing together.
When they finally kicked back for a beer after a job well done, with Luis and Mario, the brothers who were helping out with the construction, Molly sat next to Trent on the dock so that their knees touched and their bare shoulders rubbed. He was shirtless, and she was wearing a lime green halter-top that Molly liked to tease her was straight out of a ’90s Spice Girls video. Their dad had had a fling with Posh—or was it Scary?—in the ’90s, and they were never going to let him live it down.
The brush of Trent’s skin made Mardi tremble. She wanted him. And yet she was the one who kept making excuses to avoid intimacy. She could not overcome her defensive and off-putting nature. Precisely because she was so attracted to Trent, she always had a reason why they couldn’t be together. On July Fourth, she had finally been ready to let go, but the crazy storm had spectacularly ruined their moment. Since then, the time had never been right again for her to lose control.
She took a long, deep sip of beer and decided that she would finally make something happen this evening before she took off to her rendezvous in the dunes with her stalker. Maybe she would ask Trent to come to Freya’s bar with her. She pictured him pressing her into one of those wooden booths to the sound of blaring ’70s rock, and she glowed inside.
As though he could read her thoughts, he flashed her a big open grin. If they had been alone, she would have kissed him. But they never seemed to be alone at the right time.
“Another round of Brooklyn Lagers?” Trent asked.
But before anyone could answer, there was a violent crashing sound from inside the restaurant, the clang of smashing glass.
Trent, Mardi, Luis, and Mario leapt up and ran inside to find that several beams had collapsed in the cellar, breaking hundreds of bottles and flooding the basement in a bloodred river of wine.
“How the Hell did this happen?” Trent’s face went dark.
“Those beams were very secure,” said Luis, utterly baffled.
“The engineer signed off on them yesterday,” Mario backed his brother up. “We do good work! Someone else has been down here.”
“Is there someone who doesn’t want this place to open?” asked Mardi.
“Not that we know of,” said Trent. “Right, guys?” He focused his piercing blue eyes straight on the brot
hers.
Mario and Luis shook their heads. Then they looked at each other questioningly, their eyes full of discomfort.
Trent practically leapt at them. “What’s going on here? What are you not telling us? This is serious.”
“Whoa,” said Mardi, touching his hard, tensed arm. “Relax. Don’t be such a bully.” She had never seen him so revved up.
“Relax? Mardi, it’s dumb luck that one of us wasn’t down there just now when the ceiling caved. We could have been killed.” Then he turned again to Luis and Mario. “Sorry, guys. I’m not accusing you of anything. You do good work. But if you know of anything that could help us figure this out, you should say something.
“It’s weird, this collapse,” Mario said. “Like that accident yesterday in the farmhouse where we have been working out on Anemone Road.”
“What accident?” Trent couldn’t control the alarm in his voice.
“It makes us look bad, but really we’re very careful,” Luis jumped in. “It’s like someone is trying to make it look like we don’t do our job. But this accident at the farmhouse, it couldn’t have been our fault.”
“I can explain what happened,” Mario interjected, seeing that Trent was about to explode with impatience. “We redid the baby’s room in the attic. But we didn’t touch the structure. We built some shelves and painted and fixed some wiring. So it couldn’t have been our work that made the roof fall in yesterday.”
“Was the baby okay?” asked Mardi as Trent squeezed her hand.
“Yes, thank God, the baby wasn’t in there sleeping. The beam that fell from the ceiling split and drove a stake through her crib.” Mario gave Trent and Mardi a searching look as if to ask whether they really believed him. “We are very sorry, but it wasn’t our fault.”
“We trust you. But we need to find out what the Hell is going on,” said Trent with a quiet yet strong anger that sent a thrill through Mardi’s body. She was furious on these guys’ behalf too. As she squeezed his palm, she felt a searing heat pass between them.