“Mario, Luis. Don’t worry,” Trent continued. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. My guess is that it has nothing to do with you at all.”
“You think it’s random? Like the messed-up traffic lights?” asked Mardi.
Trent released her hand and squinted into the horizon, as though the sunset might hold some explanation. “It’s random . . . and it’s also not at all random,” he said. He was silent for a while.
Mardi sensed his profound confusion—and she also saw the fierce intelligence with which he was fighting that confusion. In that moment, she felt she embodied the very same struggle that he was caught in.
“There is something evil in the air,” he said, looking her straight in the eye.
She met his blue gaze. “You mean like black magic?”
“I think you know what I mean.”
“You’re just like me, aren’t you, Trent?” Made of myth and magic.
Slowly, he nodded.
“Trent,” she turned his face gently toward hers, “let’s go get a drink at Freya’s bar and talk this over.” Now that they had told each other who they really were, she wanted to talk to him about what had happened back in the city and explain how she was trapped in it. Maybe he would be able to help her figure out how it was all connected? Maybe the same evil force that had murdered those kids in New York was now tracking Molly and Mardi down here on the East End? There were so many questions.
And Trent was the only soul she wanted to open up to right now.
But before she could speak any of these thoughts, he was turning away from her. “Guys,” he said to Mario and Luis, “don’t worry about cleaning up the restaurant yet. It might be dangerous down there. Just leave it for now, okay?”
The brothers nodded.
“Mardi, I’ve gotta go.” He took her hands in his and scrutinized them for a few seconds, then looked up and met her dark eyes. “There’s something I have to do.”
“What is it?” She was stunned. Hadn’t they just made a deep connection? Where the Hell was he going?
But he wouldn’t say.
• • •
Instead of going to the North Inn to talk to Freya, Mardi sped aimlessly in and around town, killing time until her rendezvous with her stalker. She was trying to temper her anger at Trent’s bizarre brush-off. She wasn’t the only one who pulled back every time something was about to happen. They were acting like repellent magnets. The closer they almost got, the harder they pushed each other away.
The streets were empty, probably because of the traffic light scare. North Hampton felt even more dead than usual. She wanted out of here so badly, she could scream. She knew Freya and Ingrid kept brooms hidden in the house. Maybe it was time to fly this coop.
But she couldn’t fly now. She was trapped by this stupid feeling of responsibility creeping in on her from all sides. It was so unfair. How did a teenage prankster like her end up at the heart of some big, life-threatening power struggle that she wanted nothing to do with? Why couldn’t she have the fun of being a witch without the heaviness of being a goddess? Why was she wasting a gorgeous hot summer night going to meet some psycho in the deserted sand dunes?
She supposed it would be worth it if the psycho could at least tell her what she and Molly had done to deserve all this. But still it was a good thing she was alone in the Ferrari, because the angry magic sparking from her every pore would have hexed any mortal within spitting distance.
At a few minutes before ten, Mardi set off across the Gardiners Island Bridge. She hadn’t been there since the party on the night of her arrival. Unlike that evening in late June, Fair Haven was not ablaze now with festive torchlight and gleaming chandeliers. The house glimmered so faintly that it might be an illusion. The wind in her hair became icy, and she had to suppress the urge to turn back. What if the stalker was violent? After all, he or she had threatened to hurt Molly. Not that Mardi couldn’t handle anything that came her way. But still . . . She steeled herself and pressed harder on the gas. The urge to know what was going on was a lot more powerful than any fear.
Just off the bridge, she pulled over on the side of the road, got out of the car, and waited at the edge of the dunes. She noticed that there was another car parked in the distance and wondered who else might be there.
After a few minutes, she called out a soft “hello.”
No response.
She decided to start looking around, to show whoever was messing with her that she was not afraid.
As she began to wander into the dunes, she smelled smoke. Her animal instincts came alive. She looked up to see gray wisps floating skyward about a hundred yards away. She went straight toward the smoke only to find herself blocked by a large mass of sand. She could hear rustling and the popping of dry wood in flames. Whoever had summoned her had built a fire under the stars.
Mardi did not try to tread lightly. In fact, she stomped, making sure to show that she wasn’t the one sneaking around here. She had nothing to hide.
She followed the smoky odor and the faint sounds until she found herself up against a large dune. The fire had to be on the other side, along with her stalker. Humming to keep her spirits up, she went around the mass of sand. At first, she was hardly aware of the tune she was channeling. But after a few bars, she realized it was “Wannabe,” the Spice Girls song she and Molly used to play at full volume in order to torture Dad and tease him about his series of one-night stands with the ’90s ingénues. It was one of the few truly joyful memories that she and Molly shared. She wondered why it had popped into her head at this bizarre moment.
As she came around the dune, she caught her breath. There was a fire here, all right. A bonfire surrounded by fancy oriental rugs and huge silk pillows, blankets, champagne bottles, the remains of a caviar feast now covered in sand. It looked like the aftermath of some exotic orgy. And right in the heart of it sat her sister, looking a little disheveled and totally shocked.
“What are you doing here?” Molly jumped up and tried to smooth out her clothes.
“I could ask you the same question.” Mardi tried to keep her voice steady. “Did you ask me to come? Is this your idea of a sick joke?”
“Of course not. Why would I invite you to Fair Haven? This is my territory.”
Instinctively, Mardi believed her. Molly had not summoned her here. She could always tell when her twin was lying. But what did she mean that Fair Haven was hers?
Molly looked into the night, beyond Mardi, as though she was waiting for someone else to appear.
“So, who were you here with?” asked Mardi. “Who built you this fire?”
“How do you know I didn’t build it?”
“Come on, Molly. Campfires are so not in your skill set. Just tell me, who’s the lucky guy?” Mardi gestured to the dregs of the Dom Pérignon.
“Flattery will get you nowhere. And it is totally none of your business who I happen to be seeing.”
Mardi couldn’t take the suspense any longer. It couldn’t be Trent, it just couldn’t . . . He wouldn’t do this to her. But she had to clear this up. “His last name doesn’t happen to be Gardiner, does it?”
“I told you, it’s none of your business.”
If only Molly would come out and say yes or no, Mardi would be able to tell where the truth lay. And Molly knew this, which was why she was torturing her with evasion.
“Fair enough,” said Mardi. After all, she hadn’t told Molly much about Trent. Not that there was anything to tell.
“But I will say that the lucky guy, as you call him, might actually be something of a disappointment.” Molly dug her perfectly pedicured toes into the sand.
“I can relate to that.” Mardi sighed, thinking back to Trent’s abrupt and chilly departure from the docks earlier this evening. “Guys aren’t necessarily worth it.”
Nodding her head in agreement, Molly ask
ed, “So how did you end up here tonight, anyway?”
“I was exploring, okay?”
“No, that’s not true. A minute ago, you said that someone asked you to come.”
“Okay, you’ve got me. Believe me, I want to tell you who it is. But I can’t.”
“Wait, but if you know who told you to come here, then why did you just ask if it was me? You’re not making any sense, Mardi.”
Molly sounded more worried than angry. Perhaps she too was beginning to sense that something was really amiss tonight.
“Can we call it a premonition and leave it at that, for now?”
As Molly squinted at her, Mardi wondered nervously if her sister was going to buy this incoherent explanation. She was also trying to figure out how to convince her to get the Hell out of here, because she was beginning to suspect that this whole setup was some kind of trap.
“Whatever you want to call it.” Molly shrugged, obviously not up for a fight. “By the way, were you really humming the Spice Girls just now when you found me? Or did I imagine that?”
“I think I was. Maybe it was my way of reaching out to you. I mean, it’s kind of our song.”
“Wait a second.” Molly laughed. “You’re even wearing the Scary Spice green tube top. This is cosmic.” She started to hum the tune herself.
“Molly,” Mardi interrupted her, “let’s get out of here.”
As Mardi spoke, the massive bonfire doubled in size, its flames appearing to lick the stars. Both girls jumped away from the scorching heat and ran as the carpets and blankets all caught fire and the air filled with smoke.
Together, the twins raced through the dunes toward the entrance to the bridge where Mardi had left the Ferrari. They arrived panting at the car to find a message scrawled bright red across the windshield: Bitches burn in Hell.
“Do you think this means us?” asked Molly.
They could hear the fire crackling and raging. The moon and stars were hidden by a thick curtain of black smoke.
“Wait a second. Do you remember? ‘You bitches are gonna burn in Hell’?”
“You know about that night . . . ” Molly’s voice trailed off into the fiery night.
Mardi looked at her twin. “Molly,” she said, “where is our ring?”
24
WAKE ME UP WHEN IT’S ALL OVER
The next morning, Molly awoke in a funk. Her eyes were puffier than ever from too much alcohol and not enough sleep. She was down to her last stick of concealer with the awesome brush applicator, and it was only the first day of August. She was going to have to stretch the concealer through Labor Day, when she would finally return to civilization, a prospect she would have greeted with pure joy and utter relief if it weren’t for the fact that she was a suspect in an ongoing police investigation.
Although it was hard to believe that anything terrible would actually happen to her and Mardi, it was no longer an impossible scenario. Especially not after last night’s conflagration and freaky misogynist message. The thought that Daddy might be right about the trouble they were in was now gnawing at her insides. Why had Tris deserted her last night, leaving her to the mercy of some psycho spirit? Where had the ring gone, and why did it seem to matter so much? She hated the feeling, which she had all the time lately, that there was a lot going on that she didn’t understand. Molly was so not used to being in the dark.
Downstairs, Ingrid’s happy little family was cooing over their homemade granola. It was more cheer than Molly could take right now. She felt like making a twister out of the stuff and causing it to spiral out to sea while the children cried inconsolably. Seeing Mardi slumped over her coffee cup desperately trying to ignore the self-congratulatory granola fest, Molly understood that at least her sister felt the same way she did.
Get us out of here. Now. We don’t want your life. We like takeout! And we miss our dad.
“Who would like to try some of our granola?” Ingrid practically sang. “We made it with organic oats and locally foraged honey.”
“Tell them about the raisins, Mommy!” cried Jo.
“Raisins!” Henry echoed from his grubby high chair. Molly shuddered, remembering what had happened to her shirt earlier in the summer.
“Oh, the raisins! We dried them ourselves in the sun, from grapes grown at Duck Walk Vineyards down the road. Can I give you girls some? With yogurt or with milk?”
“Midnight likes hers with milk!” Jo squealed, pointing to the cat who was lapping at a bowl on the floor.
“I’m not hungry,” the twins groaned in unison.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you two leave the house without breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.”
“You’re not our mother, Ingrid!” Molly snapped, immediately regretting her words when she saw Ingrid’s face fall. She attempted some damage control. “It’s just that we aren’t used to having a mother. Daddy somehow gets cereal and milk into the house, and we manage just fine on our own. We’re not really used to this whole domestic thing.”
“What you call ‘this whole domestic thing’ is what we call life,” said Matt, putting his arm around his wife.
“That’s great for you,” said Molly. “But I’m really not hungry.”
“Just a tiny bit, please?” begged little Jo. “We made it for you guys.”
Wow. Who knew cooking and guilt were so intricately bound together? Molly supposed this was one of the things a mother would have taught her.
Jo leaned into her and whispered, “I did a doubling spell on the brown sugar while Mommy wasn’t looking. It’s so much sweeter than she thinks it is. Shhh.”
“Okay.” Molly gave up. “I’ll try some. With milk.”
“Me too,” said Mardi. “With yogurt, please.”
Begrudgingly, Molly admitted to herself that this granola was even better than the stuff she always ordered at Balthazar back in the city. Much to the general delight of the family, she and Mardi each had two helpings, heaping with fresh-picked berries, before getting ready to face the day.
As Molly left the house to head to work, Mardi followed her outside toward her bike.
“Um, Molly,” she said tentatively.
Before her sister spoke, Molly knew what it was about. “Look, Mardi, I should have told you the ring was gone, okay? I thought I could find it myself before you noticed.”
“What the Hell? Why didn’t you tell me right away? Where did you have it last?”
“I’m not exactly sure.” Technically, this was true. “Look, I’ve had enough drama for now after last night. Can I just please go have a normal day at work, and we’ll talk about this later?”
“Molly, it’s our mother’s ring. It’s all we have of her. And it turns out it may have some kind of power that we don’t even understand. I think that guy in the pool wanted our ring. Remember?”
Molly’s mind started to reel. The creepy dude. The ring. The story from that opera Marshall was telling her. Somehow it all clicked. She had to go talk to Marshall. Even if he had no clue what was going on in her life, he might unwittingly hold a key.
“We’ll get it back, okay? I have to go.”
“We really need to talk about this, Molly!” Mardi’s voice carried after her as she pedaled off toward town.
• • •
At the Cheesemonger, everything about Marshall seemed particularly sweet today. In contrast to Tris, he was open and funny. He had no idea about the White Council and the murders and threats of the Underworld. He was simply happy to run his mother’s little store in this mellow town, where the biggest thing going was outdoor opera, and the biggest risk you could take was making New England clam chowder instead of Manhattan. He was so cute and didn’t seem to notice a lot of girls patronized the shop just so they could flirt with him.
In the lull after the lunch rush, she sat down on a stool quite close to w
here he was chopping celery and decided to open up a little about some of what was weighing on her, without, of course, venturing into forbidden territory. She was craving sympathy, and Cheeseboy was pretty much a font of the stuff. And she also wanted to know more about the legend of the ring.
“Cheeseboy,” she began, “I’ve had this weird thing happen. Remember the gold ring I had, the one that I started wearing on the chain around my neck?”
“Sort of,” he said. He sounded attentive, but he couldn’t look at her because he had to keep his eyes on his chopping knife.
“I lost it.”
“Do you ever take it off to do prep work? I don’t think I’ve seen it lying around, and I’m pretty observant about that kind of thing in the shop. I’ll keep an eye out, though. I’m sure you’ll find it. Stuff like that is usually under your nose. You’re so used to seeing it all the time that sometimes it’s hard to actually notice.” He sounded considerate and concerned, not belittling her anxiety, but also not stressed out, because his general vibe was one of mellow optimism. She appreciated him so much right now.
Suddenly, he started to sing a rousing tune that sounded like an air from the Wagner opera she wanted to ask him about. It was as though he anticipated her every need. Cheerfully, he was hitting his cleaver into the chopping block in time to the music so that the pieces of diced celery hopped and skipped onto the counter.
“That’s from the Ring opera, right?” She smiled.
“Yes, it’s ‘The March of the Valkyries.’ Your ring dilemma has inspired me. As you’ve probably noticed by now, I take all my musical cues from life.”
“So, I’ve been wondering something.” She grabbed a celery stalk and pensively bit into it. “On July Fourth, before the thunder and lightning started, you were telling me the plot of the opera. About the ring. It started out with these three enormous mermaids swimming around in a plastic pool.”
“Rhinemaidens,” he corrected her with an impish wink. “They are Rhinemaidens. And they were being chased by Alberich. He wants their love, but since they won’t give it to him, he steals their magical gold. Whoever makes a ring from their gold has ultimate power. So, the ring is pretty much the most desirable object in the world.”