She knew he was cute, but had she ever noticed just how cute?
He strengthened his hold on her. “What do you say we skip dessert—”
Just then, the waiter chimed in. “I would wait to make that decision until the time comes if I were you. We have a pretty tempting dessert menu. I would personally recommend the peach and basil crumble and the wild blueberry crème brûlée, but if you are chocolate lovers, the mousse is incredible.”
Molly had no idea what this guy was talking about. And, judging from Marshall’s rapt expression, he wasn’t paying any attention to the dessert options either.
She took a long cool drink. “I’m not hungry all of a sudden. Do you think we should just skip lunch entirely?” She was churning with desire. How had this happened so fast? One minute she was annoyed with him, and the next, she wanted nothing more than to hook up. How had it never happened before during all those hours working side by side at the shop? Had her infatuation with Tris blinded her to this awesome guy who was right under her nose?
“What are you suggesting?” he asked, a sexy resonance to his sweetness that she had never noticed before.
“It’s like what you said that time I was looking for my ring in the shop. Sometimes you’re so used to seeing something—or someone—all the time that it’s hard to actually notice what’s awesome about him.”
At her mention of the ring, she reached for it instinctively, and again he seized the moment to take her hand.
“I never thought I’d hear you say anything like that.” He was practically trembling. “I’ve—I’ve been infatuated with you, Molly. And not just because you are the most bewitchingly beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Your potential is enormous. Together, we could be fantastic.”
Although she wasn’t sure what he meant, she was swept away by the grandeur of his language and the racing of her own pulse. Nothing mattered in this magical moment except for the here and now, in Montauk, with him. Not the looming trial in New York. Not the White Council. Not Daddy freaking out. Not her treacherous sister. And certainly not Trystan Gardiner.
Somehow they managed to finish their lunch and stave off the waiter’s enthusiasm for dessert and coffee. Marshall signed the bill to his room number, and they set out arm in arm, hip to hip.
The minute they were outside the restaurant, he pulled her in for a deep kiss.
“What do you say we share a room tonight?” she sighed, whispering in his ear.
“I want that more than anything, believe me. I’ve waited so long.”
37
LEARNING TO FLY
Mardi and Trent burst into Ingrid’s house to find Ingrid, Freya, and Jean-Baptiste in a cluster around the coffee table. For once, there was no food or drink in sight. All three looked tired and defeated. The kids’ toys lay scattered on the floor, but the kids themselves were nowhere to be seen. Midnight meowed aimlessly through a picture window onto the empty front yard, a living barometer of the family stress.
Briefly, Mardi wondered where Killer was and how Killer and Midnight were getting along. But this was no time to ask about cats.
Barely registering the presence of Trent, Ingrid looked up at Mardi. She didn’t even say hello. “Your father called about an hour ago. It seems there’s fresh evidence against you. Apparently there are several witnesses willing to testify to the fact that you and Molly threatened that young couple who died. You told them you were going to mess with their minds. You actually came out and bragged to them that you were witches!”
“No, we didn’t! Even if we did, we weren’t ourselves. Listen, we know what happened now. But we need your help to make it right.”
Jean-Baptiste let out a tired sigh. “I’m afraid it’s too late, Mardi. We did our best. But evil has been unleashed and you are blamed. Now your fate—our fate—is at the mercy of the mortal realm.”
“Yeah,” said Freya bitterly. “And we know how well that turned out for us last time.” She drew a deadly finger across her throat.
“Well, I don’t know about you guys,” Mardi persisted, “but I’m not giving up.”
“And I’m right behind her,” said Trent.
“Trystan!” Ingrid said. “What a surprise. Mardi, what’s going on?”
“Look, there’s no time to go into details right now. You were right about Trystan—I mean Trent. But um, we need your brooms. Immediately.”
Ingrid went crimson. “If you think, young lady, that after all the trouble you’ve caused, I’m going to open up my broom closet just because you’ve asked—”
“Ingrid, please!” Jean-Baptiste interjected as Freya took Ingrid’s arm.
Ingrid shook Freya off. “You and your sister have put our whole community at risk! Everything we’ve worked for! We are refugees here! We should be sticking together, taking care of each other. And you’ve broken that covenant!”
“I know.” Mardi wasn’t backing down, but she was crying tears of regret—and tears of determination. “And I’m going to do something about it. If you really care, Ingrid, then listen.”
“You should hear her out,” said Jean-Baptiste.
“Come on, Ingrid,” Freya pleaded. “Give them a chance.”
Ingrid raised an eyebrow. “Fine. I’m listening.”
Mardi stumbled over herself to get her story out, with Trent interjecting here and there to clarify where he could.
They explained that the ring that Molly and Mardi had been wearing on their right hands was a legendary ring. A cursed object of intense desire that possessed such power that, in the wrong hands, it could unleash terrible violence and cause great suffering.
Everyone wanted it.
And no one should have it.
They told them about Alberich transforming himself. In his New York incarnation as Bret Farley, he had murdered Parker Fales and Samantha Hill to test the power of the ring he had borrowed from the unsuspecting twins and to frame them so that they would literally be sent to Hell. He had used his newfound strength to cloud their memories, but had not been able to resist the temptation of torturing them by leaving them with certain vivid mental scraps from his triumphant night. That was why they had retained such striking images and impressions of the bronze spider, the black pool, the blaring Wagner.
He wanted to lord his power over the beautiful twins who were the talk of all New York. To take his revenge on the daughters of the Rhinemaidens who had taunted him centuries ago, and on all their kind, mortal and immortal.
Here in North Hampton, Alberich had taken on two alternating shapes. He was Tris Gardiner, and he was Marshall Brighton. The seducer and the sweetheart. He had managed to steal the ring from Molly yet again, which explained the series of accidents and near accidents plaguing the town. Alberich was playing puppeteer. And women were his primary victims. He hated women. Ever since his rejection by the Rhinemaidens, he had dreamed of growing powerful enough to subjugate and humiliate them for all time. That was why, now that he had the ring again, so many women were being threatened and hurt.
The ring had the power to unleash vast evil. For years Molly and Mardi had unconsciously kept this evil at bay. But in Alberich’s hands, its gold was beginning to burn with a bright malice. While he was experimenting with it and learning to control it, Alberich had kept the ring buried in the greenhouse at Fair Haven, where Trent, who knew the ancient legend, had found it.
That morning, Trent had given Mardi the ring, but Mardi, desperate to earn her sister’s trust, had passed the ring back to Molly. And Molly had immediately run off with it. By now, she could be anywhere on the East End. She was with Marshall, but she had no idea he was really Alberich. If Marshall got ahold of the ring again, there was no telling what he would do to Molly this time. They had to save Molly. And they had to get the ring away from Alberich before he not only ruined the twins’ lives but found all sorts of hideous outlets for his raging misogyny. If he real
ized his dream, powerful women were going to burn as witches again.
“And the only way to find them fast enough,” said Mardi breathlessly, “is on your and Freya’s brooms. We know you have them, Ingrid. Hiding in the attic. Jo showed them to us the other day.”
Ingrid couldn’t suppress a slight smile.
“Freya, Ingrid,” Jean-Baptiste began with gentle authority, “I think you should give these two a chance. They’ve shown great ingenuity and a true desire to plumb their memories for the truth. If we don’t empower them now, we give in to the forces that are out to destroy our way of life.”
Freya didn’t hesitate. “You’re welcome to my broom!”
Mardi flew to embrace her and was consumed for a moment in Freya’s sweet musky scent. “Thank you, Freya.”
“All right.” Ingrid was starting to give. “But we have to cast a very powerful concealment spell. The last thing we need is for the White Council to get wind of UFO sightings on the East End that look suspiciously like witches on broomsticks. We won’t be able to give you full visibility, you know. It’s going to be tricky.” She was suddenly struck by a fresh doubt. “You have flown before?”
Neither Mardi nor Trent answered.
“Mardi?” Ingrid wasn’t going to let this slide.
Mardi looked pleadingly at Jean-Baptiste.
He nodded with encouragement.
“Only a few times in the Caribbean with Dad,” she admitted. “He taught Molly and me during our spring breaks, in empty skies. Kind of like driving in a parking lot, I guess. He told us that if he ever caught us flying in a populated area, we’d be grounded until the end of time . . . But I do know how to steer and stuff. And I’m super coordinated.” Mardi realized she wasn’t painting the ultimate picture of responsibility, all raccoon-eyed in yesterday’s rumpled clothes. But she’d come too far to give up now.
“What about you, Trystan?” Ingrid asked.
Trent squirmed. “Ingrid, please call me Trent.”
“Maybe I should call you by your real name, Tyr, the god of war? I can’t help but think you are a little bit to blame for what has happened to these girls this summer.”
He nodded. “But this time I’m on your side, Ingrid. It’s why I came back to North Hampton. To help stop the spread of violence that Alberich and his ring have started. I’ve been practicing my tolerance for adversity and uncertainty. This is my calling. At the same time”—here he looked straight at Mardi—“I’m falling in love for the first time.”
Mardi could only blush deeply to the roots of her dark hair.
“All right, I’ll get the brooms,” Ingrid said. “On one condition. Freya flies with Mardi. There’s no way I’m calling Troy to tell him one daughter has been kidnapped and the other has wiped out against a telephone pole. Let’s go, Freya.”
Freya and Ingrid ran upstairs, with Midnight at their heels, to get their brooms from the hidden closet behind Freya’s amazing array of clothes and shoes.
Jean-Baptiste closed his eyes and began to murmur a series of ancient protective spells. Mardi reached over to take Trent’s hands.
“Hey, Tyr,” she whispered.
“Hey, Magdi.”
God of war. Goddess of rage. They belonged together.
When Jean-Baptiste opened an enquiring eye on them, they both giggled. “It always stuns me,” he said, straightening the silver gray pocket square in his plaid jacket, “how quickly you young people can lose your gravitas even in the most dire situations.”
“Sorry!” they said sheepishly.
“Oh, my goodness, don’t be sorry. It’s a gift you have, a wonderful gift. If we all felt the weight of the world in every single moment, we would be in a very sorry state. Please, keep laughing.”
Ingrid and Freya, still shadowed by Midnight, appeared at the bottom of the stairs, broomsticks in hand. Mardi was struck by how ordinary looking the broomsticks were. Simple wood and straw. And yet they were the means by which she was about to save her sister, and hopefully save her family, such as it was, while at the same time squelching a force of evil that threatened the women of both the human and the witching worlds. These brooms looked like such a low-tech solution to a massive problem that for a moment she doubted everything.
• • •
Soon she was outside, high in the afternoon sky, the land and water rolling out below in a glorious patchwork. For a few moments, she could still make out Ingrid’s watchful figure, the little black cat perched on her shoulder, taking it all in.
The Earth was beautiful from above. She was sitting behind Freya. Beside her, Trent looped and circled. She had never felt closer to people she loved. Except one of them was missing and in grave danger. Molly Moll, where are you?
As the magical rescue team broke through the misty barrier enshrouding North Haven, a protective layer created centuries ago by Joanna Beauchamp and maintained now by her dutiful daughters, the East End opened up before them, a narrow strip of bright greenery and golden sand jutting out into the bright sea.
Mardi felt something move in the suede bag she wore over her shoulder. She reached to adjust it and touched the top of a soft, familiar head poking playfully out from under the flap. But it wasn’t her cat. She looked down to meet Fury’s sorrowful gaze. Molly’s familiar wanted his mistress back. “I know how you feel. We’ll get her back, buddy—don’t worry. I’m glad you came along for the ride.”
38
I SHALL BE RELEASED
Molly’s room at the Crow’s Nest was the ultimate in beach chic, with white clapboard walls, blond floors, driftwood mirrors, a blue-and-white batik bedspread, and soft sheer curtains billowing with a late-afternoon breeze. It was like making out inside the pages of the Calypso Home catalog.
Marshall was an amazing kisser, and his wiry arms were proving strong and almost comforting. She felt lulled by his touch and was drifting softly into a beautiful oblivion.
So when she finally realized that Marshall was whispering the word mine, over and over again between kisses, she had no idea how long this had been going on and no grasp at all on what it might mean, although she felt a wave of nausea from hearing the word.
“What’s mine?” she asked, trying to sound flirtatious.
“Why, Molly,” he said, his tone suddenly cold and imperious as he looked down at her, and she realized she was almost naked and felt vulnerable beneath his steady gaze. “You’re mine.”
“Oh . . . right,” she said, wondering why she suddenly felt scared instead of excited.
“But believe it or not, it’s not you or your delectable body I really want, although I will take them as my due, but the Rhinegold you wear around your neck. Because the Rhinegold will let me keep you forever. All of you.”
Molly pushed him off of her. “Rhinegold.” She groped after the memory of that word, mustering all her remaining strength to pierce the fog clouding her mind, and she forced herself to look at him, really look at him.
“Who are you?”
He smiled and for a moment she thought she saw Tris Gardiner’s handsome face. Then it changed again, and he was someone else entirely.
“No!” she screamed through a sharp pain in her throat. “Bret! You’re Bret!”
Marshall was no longer Marshall. He had grown smaller, and his arm muscles had thickened. His face had morphed into that of the boy from the black pool in Bret’s penthouse. Only the ice-blue eyes were unchanged. From his right hand he dangled the rose gold ring from her broken chain.
“I may not be a witch like you, but my sleight of hand is excellent.” He cackled. “I ripped it from your neck without you even noticing.”
She clawed at the empty space around her throat.
“Cheeseboy is in charge now. As I said, Molly, you’re mine now. Along with this ring. And everything it can bring to me.”
She tried to protest but discovered she co
uldn’t, and Marshall was the reason why. For the first time in her life, she was on the wrong side of a serious hex. It was a profound lesson in how the other half lived.
But her fighting instincts had not abandoned her. She would bide her time like a reptile in the shade and wait for her moment to strike. She lay back on the bed, pretending to give up, and raised her arms above her head in a seductive pose.
“That’s my girl. You looked just like this that night,” he said. “Want to see?”
She nodded, thinking it was what he wanted to hear. He pulled her up to the head of the bed and propped her up against a mass of large decorative pillows. She found that her limbs had stiffened and her hands no longer moved at all. Her entire body, except for her eyes and ears, was in the process of shutting down.
“Now you know how it feels to be powerless.” He laughed. “Get used to it, Goddess No More.”
Instantly, the room darkened as the television screen on the dresser lit up to show a close-up image of Molly’s own face. She appeared dazed, drugged even, her pupils dilated and her stare fixed. She looked almost exactly like she felt right now: terrified, yet somehow determined to pierce the veil of her enchantment. Next on the screen, there was an image of Mardi, similarly out of it, but biting her lip in an effort to remain connected to her inner strength. Seeing her sister so vulnerable yet so resolute, Molly wanted to reach out to her through time and space and tell her how sorry she was and how much she loved her.
But it was too late.
Mardi and Trent, she knew with sudden certainty, had been telling the truth that afternoon. She had been too angry to hear it. The curse of discord had been too strong.
Was there time left to fight it?
The screen went blurry, and when it focused again, it showed a shot of the two sisters side by side. They were sitting on a bench in the neon light of a subway platform, wearing their outfits from the night of Bret’s party. Molly instantly recognized the red dress and the nude snakeskin pumps she’d bought that same afternoon. Mardi was wearing a skintight silver jumpsuit that she had found at a consignment shop called A Star Is Worn, where stars sold their old clothing and the proceeds were donated to charity. The jumpsuit had belonged to Cher, God knew how many years ago. Molly had made cruel fun of it that night, but seeing it pop out now in this grainy screen image, in all its shiny boldness, she was flooded with a new appreciation for Mardi’s quirks. What if she never saw all those wacky vintage clothes again?