Triple Moon

  Molly watched in admiration as a shivering Freya ordered a member of the coast guard to hand over the keys to his boat. Although he had been ready to spring into action, he simply stepped aside and allowed the three drenched women and their gangly sidekick to commandeer his motorboat.

  “Look, I have to go,” she said to Marshall. “Stay here. Please.”

  Marshall shook his head. “I won’t leave you!” he said bravely.

  But Molly couldn’t risk his life as well, and she mouthed a spell to send him to safety.

  He ran back to shore, and she joined Freya and Ingrid on the boat.

  All three of them honed their perceptions on Mardi’s aura. They sensed distress, but they also sensed a strong life force. Without bothering to turn the key, they revved their boat’s engine. They didn’t steer or even seem to get their bearings as they maneuvered at supernatural speed, unperturbed by the giant swells and echoing cries for help all around. In a flash, they were at the side of a large sailboat floundering between the bridge and the firework barge. Its name, Dragon, was written in red script across the hull.

  Molly had a flash of recognition. Wasn’t that the name of the Gardiner brother’s boat? Had Tris mentioned it? Had she heard it somewhere else? Why would Mardi be on the Gardiners’ boat? But this line of suspicious questioning was quickly subsumed by the urgency of finding Mardi.

  A huge wave washed over their commandeered boat. The witches withstood it like pillars of stone. They scanned the black storm for Mardi’s even blacker hair and dark eyes.

  Freya stood, spread her arms, flew onto the Dragon, and disappeared belowdecks, only to resurface a moment later and cry out, “No one’s left on the boat.” She leapt back among them. “She’s either on a lifeboat or she’s swimming for shore.”

  The raging sea was dotted with orange lifeboats, tossing every which way. Coast guard boats were trying to tow them, while stopping constantly to pull people from the water. It would be a miracle if no one drowned on what had been, less than an hour ago, the most promising night of the summer to date.

  Molly secretly began to bargain with fate to get her sister back. She swore under her breath to appreciate Mardi more, to share her best clothes after they had passed their prime instead of consigning them. She also promised to work closely with Mardi to solve the mystery that was plaguing them. If only she could have her sister stay in this world now, they could prove their innocence together. No power could deny them that. “Please!” she cried. “Please!”

  In silent accord, like hunting dogs on a scent, Molly, Ingrid, and Freya began to sense Mardi’s energy in the water nearby. They scanned the foam swirling around the Dragon as they slowly moved their little boat in the direction of her aura. Their impression grew progressively stronger as they headed toward the bridge. She had to be swimming, or drifting on a lifeboat, in the direction of Gardiners Island, where Fair Haven was now lit up from every window to provide a beacon of light in the tempest.

  As they were searching the foaming water, Freya screamed, “A boy! Floating over there in a life jacket!” The boat veered in the direction of the bright yellow splash of color. Sure enough, there was a small boy, floating limp and lifeless, his hair splayed around him as if it were turning to weeds.

  Molly burst into tears as Freya pulled the drowned child on board. The boy looked about six. Jo’s age.

  Ingrid raised her arms to the angry sky. “Mother! If you can hear us, you have to help us now. He’s only been gone a few minutes. His soul is still lingering in this world. Mother, please! Send him back!”

  From nowhere, Freya produced a lantern that she shone onto the boy’s chalk-white face. They all held their breath. Nothing. No sign of life returning. If anything, his jaw appeared to clamp into an even tighter mask of death.

  Molly knew enough about resurrection to know it was a dangerous proposition. You could only bring people back if they hadn’t crossed to the other side yet.

  Muttering spells in unison, Ingrid and Freya acted as one. Molly watched with astonishment. She and Mardi had never worked their magic together except to play tricks on people. She stared at the child’s pale, lifeless face. So this was what death looked like. This was what had happened to Parker and Sam. It was horrible.

  Ingrid and Freya’s voices grew louder against the howling wind. But despite their spells, the boy remained limp in their arms. His face in the lantern light turned to marble. His childish lips went pure white.

  “Please, Mother,” Freya whispered.

  Then, from out from the heart of the storm shot a bolt of lightning. It hit their boat, electrifying it in a bright and terrifying flash. Molly screamed, but Ingrid and Freya continued their chanting unbroken, staring at the boy, allowing themselves to smile as a dusky color returned to his cheeks and he began to cough up seawater, gasping his way back into the life he would never know he had lost.

  Molly was awestruck. So this was what witchcraft was all about.

  As Molly, Ingrid, and Freya all leaned in to comfort the confused and terrified little boy, they were stunned by the sound of Mardi’s voice.

  “Finally! I thought you’d never get here,” she said as she hoisted herself onto the boat.

  Molly wrapped her sister in a tight embrace. “Mardi! We’ve been so scared. I’ve been so scared. What happened to you?”

  Mardi looked over at the Dragon. “I’m not totally sure,” she said. The fact that they could hear her clearly, even though she was speaking in a normal voice, made them suddenly aware that the storm was dying down as quickly as it had appeared. Within moments, the sky was clear and the tempest was fading to a dream. The Dragon bobbed peacefully on a glossy sea.

  “We thought we were going to capsize.” Mardi seemed to be straining to remember. “Trent put me on a lifeboat. I thought he was going to jump into the lifeboat with me, but once he saw that I was safe, he disappeared.”

  Molly wanted to ask who Trent was, but she didn’t want to interrupt the flow of Mardi’s story. She told herself he must be the captain the Gardiners had hired for their boat. There really wasn’t any other possibility, was there?

  “I figured,” Mardi continued, her eyes glittering with the intensity of what she had just lived, “that he had gone to rescue people in the water. There was no way I was going to sit there like some pathetic girl when I can swim as fast as he can. So I went after him, and I found him helping with the coast guard, dragging people to their boats. We worked side by side for a while. Then we were separated by an enormous wave. I’ve been treading water, looking for him, for a while now. I’m exhausted. If you all hadn’t come . . .” Her voice cracked, and she lost her veneer of toughness. “Thank you,” she said. The three women embraced her.

  Everything was going to be fine. The stars were not only visible again but twinkling happily. The whole upheaval had lasted barely an hour.

  “I hope Trent is okay,” Mardi said to no one in particular. “He’s so strong, though. I’m sure he made it home.”

  And where was home? Molly burned to ask, but for once she held back so as not to start a stupid fight. She might never be this happy to see her sister again. It was a moment to savor.

  Molly took Mardi’s hands in hers and said nothing. She could not help but notice that her sister’s fingers and neck were bare. The ring they had shared since before they could remember, their only heirloom from their vanished mother, their magical ring, was truly gone. Worse, Molly knew she was the one who had lost it.

  19

  SHELTER FROM THE STORM

  Miraculously, no one had drowned in the freak storm on the Fourth of July, and there had been no severe damage to the docks or beaches, no flooding or erosion. It was as though the sudden gale had been a threat, a warning, or a test. But in the days that followed, as calm was restored to the town of North Hampton, a characteristic forgetfulness set in among its inhabitants. Since it left no visible
traces and had not touched any other part of East End except for the little town, the storm quickly faded from conversation and from conscious memory.

  Despite the general amnesia, there were a few in North Hampton for whom the events of July Fourth remained starkly clear and menacing.

  Freya and Ingrid had summoned Mardi and Molly to another memory session with Jean-Baptiste in Freya’s living room to talk about the storm and its possible connection to what was happening back in New York, to try to stimulate their memories again. The session was to take place at eleven P.M., which was around the same time that Mardi and Molly became vague about the sequence of events at Bret’s party. Jean-Baptiste felt that holding their session at the corresponding time of night might be a way to harness some power of suggestion. Only the twins were late.

  Ingrid, Freya, and Jean-Baptiste had gone ahead to the lobster dinner Freya had cooked to raise everyone’s spirits. But at the last minute, Mardi and Molly had to babysit the kids until Matt, who was working late on a case, could get back from the precinct.

  It was close to midnight when they began their drive out to the isolated stretch of beach where Freya’s unexpectedly sleek house nestled in the dunes. As Mardi sped along the empty roads, past dark farms and shadowy dwellings, she knew Molly was probably freaking out. Molly was clenching her teeth, but she wasn’t screaming, as she usually did, about how she didn’t want to be decapitated in her prime. Ever since the rescue at sea, the sisters had been holding back from lashing out at each other. In fact, they were being almost pleasant.

  Whereas normally they would have spent the entire drive bickering and insulting each other, with Molly yelling that Mardi should have her license revoked and her ridiculous car impounded, while Mardi called Molly a lame princess, they were now chatting amiably, even giggling together about the makeshift dinner they had just pulled off for Henry and Jo.

  They’d never made pasta before. They hardly even knew how to boil water. And yet somehow they had managed linguine with pesto sauce this evening.

  Jo had explained to them that you salted the water and didn’t put the pasta in until it was boiling. She showed them the big pot, the colander, and the pesto sauce in the freezer that her mom made every year with basil from their garden. Mardi had left a plastic lid on the first batch in an attempt to defrost it in the microwave. That hadn’t gone so well, much to the kids’ delight. But she’d nailed the second batch, and everyone had been cheerful. The linguine had even come out al dente.

  After dinner, as instructed, they had put on an episode of Little House on the Prairie for the kids. Mardi was immediately sucked into some drama involving stolen candy at Mr. Oleson’s General Store. She would have been embarrassed in front of Molly if she hadn’t seen that Molly was also glued to the screen. It had taken them a while to notice that Henry had wandered off.

  They found him sitting on the kitchen island. He had built a pyramid out of steak knives. Before they could stop him, he slammed a rolling pin into the heart of his creation and sent the blades flying all around his little body. Molly screamed, but he remained unscathed, and unperturbed, as the blades stuck into the wooden countertop, surrounding him in a jagged circle.

  Mardi and Molly laughed about it now, as they drove through the warm night, top down, their long dark hair flying. “Either that kid is a budding warlock or he’s a total klutz,” Mardi said.

  “What do you mean, he’s a klutz? He never gets a scratch.”

  “I mean that maybe he’s such a spaz that Ingrid has covered his little diapered ass with the most powerful protection spell out there. Hasn’t that occurred to you?” Mardi asked.

  “I guess that’s the kind of thing mothers do?”

  “I guess. . . . Not that we would know.”

  They drove on in companionable silence. Mardi even slowed down a little.

  It had been several days now since the storm, and Mardi caught herself wondering how long this cease-fire with Molly could possibly hold out. She was stealing a glance at her gorgeous sister as she pulled into Freya’s driveway when her phone beeped from beside the gearbox.

  It must be Trent again. They had been texting one another, trying to set another date to go out in the boat and make up for their disastrous attempt to see the fireworks together. As Mardi had guessed, Trent, sensing that Mardi was safe, had made it to shore that awful night, after making several rescues.

  Even though they had barely touched, the two of them had an understanding now. She slid her tongue stud back and forth over the roof of her mouth in anticipation.

  But the text wasn’t from Trent. It was from a blocked number. She lifted her glowing phone to her face as she killed the motor.

  I know what you and your sister did. You’re not fooling anyone.

  Mardi’s first impulse was to share this freaky message with her sister. How bizarre that it was coming through at the very moment they had arrived to begin their memory session in order to recover more details of the night of the murders. She began, “Molly, you’re never going to believe this—”

  But as she was handing over the phone, she was stopped by a continuation of the message, scrolling before her in real time.

  If you share this message with anyone, especially her, something terrible will happen to your twin. I’m warning you.

  Mardi snatched the phone back and held it close. Molly, her curiosity piqued, lunged for it.

  “Come on, show me! What is it?” Molly’s tone was playful at first, but once she saw that Mardi wasn’t joking and really wasn’t going to show her the phone, Molly’s whole face darkened.

  Mardi recognized a tantrum brewing and tried to stave it off. “Look, I’m sorry, Moll,” she said. “It was a mistake. It was nothing.”

  “If it’s nothing, why won’t you show me?”

  “Look, I can’t, okay? You have to trust me.”

  “Trust you?” Molly hissed. “How do you expect me to trust you if you’re keeping secrets all the time?”

  Mardi found herself in the absurd position of having to protect her raging sister from an unknown enemy. She was sorely tempted to hurl the phone at her. But Mardi held strong, jumped out of the Ferrari, and made for Freya’s front door, with Molly screaming up the walkway behind her.

  “You know I saved your life in the storm! You are so ungrateful!”

  “Look I can’t show you what’s on my phone ’cause I’m only trying to protect you!” Mardi screamed.

  That gave Molly pause. “From what?”

  “I can’t say, okay?”

  “No, not okay!”

  “Be careful,” Mardi taunted. “If you keep gritting your teeth like that you’re going to have to start wearing a mouth guard. Not a good look.”

  “I should have let you drown!”

  The door to the house swung open, releasing a delicious odor of lobster broth. Freya, Ingrid, and Jean-Baptiste looked out in alarm at the battling twins.

  “Girls,” said Jean-Baptiste, “I’m afraid you are not displaying the spirit of harmony required for our important task tonight.”

  Mardi and Molly glared at each other, then said in unison, “It’s her fault.”

  “Let’s leave notions of fault behind,” he urged, ushering them inside. “It’s time for you to come together, Mooi and Magdi. We all know the storm on July Fourth was no accident.”

  Mardi was startled into a feeling of gravity by the sound of her given name, Magdi. She snuck a glance at Molly and saw that she too was suddenly struck by a sense of urgency at hearing herself called by her ancient appellation, Mooi. They were made from their father’s spirit; when they were born, Thor had given up some of his powers and instilled them in his daughters.

  Quietly now, the twins followed the god of memory into Freya’s living room and took their places on the Le Corbusier sofa looking through the giant window out onto the moonlit sea, while he sat i
n the Eames chair facing them.

  “Before we begin,” said Mardi, “can you tell us, Jean-Baptiste, if you think the storm was a warning from the White Council?”

  “I am convinced it was not,” he answered.

  All four women stared at him in surprise.

  “The White Council does not need to act in such underhanded ways. They are a legitimate body, not a terrorist group. That storm was an act of rogue black magic. The same black magic, I fear, that the White Council fears you girls are releasing into the world.”

  “Wait!” Mardi jumped up from her seat. “You’re saying that, according to the White Council, we made the storm? That’s insanity. We had nothing to do with it.”

  “You did not intend for the storm to happen. Nor did you know of it beforehand. But”—he sighed—“I’m afraid that does not mean you had nothing to do with it.”

  “Girls.” Freya spoke soothingly as Molly sank back into the sofa. “I think we can all agree that the only way to figure out what is really going on here is for you to clear up your amnesia. The answers lie on that night back in April.”

  Freya and Ingrid looked on as Jean-Baptiste quietly spoke. “Please, let’s begin. Can you tell me anything you recall about the victims on the night of the party? How they looked? What they wore? What they did?”

  The twins squinted inside, homing in on a visual of Sam and Parker.

  Sam was überthin in that rich New York way, with bony wrists and a silken curtain of white-blond hair swinging breezily across her pointy, lightly freckled face. She had such a conservative, preppy style that pretty much anything she wore in warm weather could be mistaken for a tennis dress of some kind, and anything she sported in cold weather looked like Vermont après-ski. With some prompting from Jean-Baptiste, Mardi and Molly could recall that on the night of Bret’s party, Sam had been wearing a navy-and-white sleeveless jersey dress with navy flats and a rather sweet cropped cream-colored Burberry jacket with a plaid lining and had been carrying a truly unfortunate floral Lilly Pulitzer tote.