“Poor Caitlin,” Ingrid said, feeling a little sorry for the girl. Just a little. She knew it was difficult when someone you liked stopped liking you.
“Anyway, Caitlin thinks he’s a liar. That there’s someone else. You remember how the night of the concert was supposed to be his lucky night? Well, that’s when he told her he wanted to wait until it was special. That’s when he asked her to go to the Vineyard with him, but now that’s off, too,” Tabitha said.
“So . . . they haven’t . . . ?” Ingrid craned forward.
“No!” Hudson interjected, looking disappointed. “Looks like the only one getting lucky in this office is me, since Tab is afraid of ‘hurting the baby.’ But now my Scott is withholding since I told him I didn’t think he could quite pull off the male Capri pant.”
“If you ask me, they were an odd match, anyway,” Tabitha said, rubbing her belly, which was showing the tiniest little bump.
“Shhh—she’s back!” Hudson warned. Ingrid pretended to be busy with a drawing and the other two went back to their computers.
Suddenly the day seemed so much brighter. The women who came to visit Ingrid at lunch were treated to a host of charms and spells that not only took care of their aches and pains but were sprinkled with a lightness, a joy, a little something extra that had been missing from her magic before. Her money-bag charms smelled like honeysuckle, her spells seemed to emit a golden sparkle, and even her knots were beautiful and perfect, each a work of art.
“Well, if you aren’t little Mary Sunshine,” Hudson teased. “This morning you looked like you were ready to drink hemlock.”
“Shush,” Ingrid said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She tried to maintain a straight face as she returned to her desk. Her computer screen signaled the arrival of an instant message.
<<i think i know what these blueprints are showing & what the keys mean>>
<<?>>
<<but first i need u to do something for me>>
<<?>>
<<can you get to fair haven? inside the house?>>
Ingrid hesitated before typing in an answer. After thinking about it for a few minutes, she wrote, yes.
chapter twenty-seven
Heart Sick
North Hampton was still reeling from the news of Molly Lancaster’s disappearance when the mayor’s office announced that he had failed to show up to work that Monday and could not be located. He had left his home in the middle of the night with no word to his wife or his staff. After the disaster of the oceanic earthquake and Molly’s mysterious absence, an ill feeling began to grow around town; some began to whisper that North Hampton was cursed, that it was no longer the bucolic little town it once had been.
At home, watching the whole sad story play out in the news, Freya turned off the television and sat pensively for a few minutes. She had to pick up Tyler from preschool soon. She put on her coat and looked for her keys. First Molly Lancaster, now Mayor Hutchinson. What was going on? Things like this never happened in North Hampton before, unless you counted what happened to the Thatchers. Freya tried to recall the last time she had seen the mayor; he used to stop by the bar every once in a while but hadn’t come by in a few weeks, most likely due to that fidelity knot that tied him to his home—not that Todd was the type to flirt with any of the girls at the North Inn. He was too concerned about his career to do something that stupid.
Freya was tired of moping about the house, and the news of the mayor’s disappearance depressed her. She had forgotten how boring life could be without the bar to attend to, without something to do, people to see, drinks to make. At least Ingrid seemed to have cheered up from whatever was making her grumpy for the past few weeks, which was good since Oscar could be irritable whenever his mistress was feeling out of sorts, and Freya didn’t much like getting nipped by his sharp beak just because Ingrid had forgotten to buy his stash of Cheetos. The griffin liked them so much his beak was bound to turn orange one day.
The house was emptier than usual, as Joanna had yet to return from her trip. Her mother had left in something of a rush right after the holiday weekend. Ingrid had seen her off but explained that Joanna had not told her where she was going, only that they were allowed their wands again; although Freya had not found much use for hers. It was nice to have it back, however; she had forgotten how smooth it felt, how much more powerful she was with it in hand.
She drove to the school, and walked to the small cottage that housed the pre-K class. Tyler was playing with blocks and looked up balefully when he saw her. “Where’s Lala?” he demanded, arms crossed.
“Come on, Ty, you know she’s not back yet.” The little boy felt Joanna’s absence keenly. Yesterday he had thrown his arms around in a massive tantrum when she picked him up.
“Don’t wanna go with you. Want Lala!”
“Oh, sweetie, come on,” she said, trying not to lose her patience with the child. She was bored and frustrated as well, but she did not want to take it out on him. They walked to the gate and she put Tyler in his car seat, clicking the straps tightly around his chest.
“What can you do?” he asked suspiciously.
“What do you mean?”
“Lala can make my airplanes fly. For real,” he said in an accusatory tone.
Freya knew Joanna was showing off her magic to the little boy, but it was still shocking to hear it mentioned so casually. Her mother didn’t seem to follow any boundaries when it came to indulging him. Freya remembered her childhood well, and it did not include a plethora of baked goods and innumerable talking stuffed animals. Mostly she remembered her mother grousing about how difficult it was to raise children.
She looked around to make sure no one was looking their way. “Well, I can do this,” she said, turning into a black cat. Then, in a blink, she was Freya again.
Tyler giggled, then he coughed. There was a dime-size dollop of phlegm in his hand, and Freya noticed the green tinge. When they arrived home, she asked Gracella if she noticed Tyler was coughing again. The housekeeper nodded. “The doctors are giving him another round of antibiotics. They said it should clear up in a week or two.”
“He does seem all right, there’s just that odd cough . . . , ” Freya said, feeling the first whisper of fear. Joanna wasn’t the only one in the household who loved the boy. “He’ll be all right,” she told Gracella, and she wondered whom she was trying to convince more, the boy’s mother or herself.
Bran called later that evening. He apologized for being hard to get ahold of; he was traveling all over the place and time zone changes made communication difficult. “How’s my girl?”
“Missing you,” she said, feeling a tightness constrict in her chest. “When are you coming home?” When will you return to me?
“Soon, I promise.” Where was he now? What town? What country? She couldn’t keep track anymore. He was simply just “away.” There was a long silence at the end of the line and Freya began to worry. “Bran, are you there?”
“Yes, sorry, I had to return a text. Madame wants to know if you have any thoughts about the wedding plans she sent over the other week,” Bran said.
Freya had barely given the event a second thought, and it surprised her to realize it was happening; she had almost forgotten. Of course they would have the proper ceremony, a white dress, five hundred guests, an orchestra, the works. “Tell her she can do whatever she wants. The flowers, the food, the guests. As long as they invite my family and Sal and Kristy, of course. Whatever she wants.”
“You don’t care?” he asked. “That’s a new one. For a bride, I mean.”
She was going to be a bride. The word struck like a knife in her chest and twisted brutally. For a moment she could not speak.
“Hey, sweetheart, what’s wrong? Are you crying?”
“No . . .” She shook her head even though he could not see. “No. It’s nothing.”
“Tell me . . . you can tell me anything, you know.”