Winds of Salem (22 page)

He gazed out at the hills covered in frost, the weathered barns. The view gave hints of seascape, his beloved ocean. He lowered his Ray-Ban Clubmasters from the crown of his head over his eyes. He felt the pull of the water, but it was weakening, fading like a slowing pulse. His wife was now fast asleep, her head on his chest, and he dared not move an inch, even as his muscles cramped. Instead he sat awake, listening to the rhythmic thrum of the train. Small moments like this made him happy—he was here with Jo.

He thought of Freya trapped in Salem Village and recalled those horrific days. Before the witch hunts he and Joanna had lived happily as
Waelcyrgean
among mortals. They observed the rules of the White Council, interfering as little as possible in human affairs, keeping their powers secret and contained. He worked as a fisherman, Joanna as a midwife. Eventually, his girls got carried away, Ingrid with her healing ways, Freya with her potions.

When the witch hunts reached a fever pitch, and the ring of accusing girls ran out of names to name in their own village, they called out new ones, ones they had heard their parents speak of bitterly as they gossiped. Soon the marshal came and took Ingrid and Freya away. There was nothing Norman could do to stop any of it, no matter how much Joanna pleaded with him. The White Council forbade any interference. Ingrid and Freya would eventually be returned to them—they were immortal, after all. If they would let things be, Joanna would give birth to them again.

Freya and Ingrid Beauchamp were brought to stand trial in the ad hoc court of oyer and terminer in Salem Village, where they were charged with witchcraft. He and Joanna had watched their daughters hang at Gallows Hill. Joanna could not forgive him for being unwilling to save them, for following the rules of the Council, and had cast him out of her life. His wife had finally forgiven him and had taken him back. Now they were reliving the pain of Salem all over again, but this time, he would not fail her. He would show her just how much he had always loved her. He would be the one to do as the Oracle instructed. He would get it right. He wouldn’t screw it up this time. He owed it to Joanna after everything that had happened between them.

The train stopped, and his wife shifted. Norman placed a hand on her head protectively, running a palm down the length
of her hair, as he watched passengers disembark. He observed a few bundled-up New Yorkers looking for a quiet, romantic winter weekend in the Hamptons. The train doors closed. He turned to the window and watched another beachside town roll away beneath the blue sky.

“Dad?” came a voice.

Norman looked up. His gorgeous golden son stood over him, flaxen hair tousled, a knapsack slung over a shoulder. “Freddie! What are you doing here? What a great surprise!” he whispered. “Your mother’s asleep. I can’t move.”

Joanna’s head lolled. “No, I’m not,” she said. She lifted her head, yawning, turning toward the aisle as she pulled her hair off her face. “My baby!”

“Mother!” he said.

Joanna stared at her son with a sleepy smile. “Now this is a happy surprise!” She and Norman laughed as they rose from their seats. Joanna embraced her son. Norman came into the aisle, grabbing the strap of Freddie’s knapsack. “Come sit with us! Let me help you with your bag.” He lifted it, placing it in the overhead carriage, and hugged his boy.

“Can I be in the middle?” Freddie asked.

“Where else?” Joanna sat down, moving over to the window, patting the spot next to her. Freddie scooted in beside her. “Oh, my sweet, it’s so good to see you!” She kissed and hugged him some more, making a fuss. For once Freddie didn’t seem to mind. “What are you doing here? Where’s Gert?”

Norman knew Joanna had come to really like Gert, and they had believed the two of them were happily ensconced in New Haven. But now Freddie was staring into his lap. Puzzled, Norman asked, “What’s the matter?”

Freddie tilted his head, glancing at his father.

“You can tell us,” said Joanna.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “It’s just… it’s not easy.” He sighed. “Gert left.” He put his hands over his face.

“What?” said Joanna, suddenly livid. “Why?”

“She needed to study, she said.”

“Well, students do need to concentrate…” Norman said, but his wife shut him up with a look.

“Not now, Norm,” Joanna warned. She patted Freddie’s shoulder and frowned at her husband.

Norman hugged his son. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get through this, kiddo.”

Freddie’s hands dropped into his lap. He sniffled. “But I guess the good news is the pixies picked up the scent again. They’re on their way to the trident. Or so they say. Who knows with them.” He looked at his father, then mother, then back and forth, studying them. “What’s wrong with you? You both look awful… I mean… really tired…”

“We’re okay, Freddie.” Norm peered at Jo, giving her a look. They simultaneously shook their heads, exchanging a tacit agreement not to share what they had learned on their trip to the city. They mustn’t tell him what the Oracle said would save Freya. Freddie already had plenty on his plate. And they had also decided to keep the Oracle’s suggestion secret from Ingrid, lest she fret more than she was prone to.

Freddie yawned loudly. “I’m exhausted!” His head fell onto Joanna’s shoulder.

Norm squeezed his knee. “You just rest, son. You probably need it.”

“I do,” said Freddie, closing his eyes.

All three sat silently for a while, and soon Freddie was fast asleep, lulled by the hypnotic sound of the train, comforted by the safe feeling of sitting between his parents. Norman and Joanna smiled at each other, watching over their boy sleeping peacefully between them.

“We did good, didn’t we?” Norman whispered.

“Yes, we did,” returned Joanna.

Still, the danger Freya was in and the knowledge imparted by the Oracle weighed on them. There was no ignoring it. Norman recalled what Jo had said at the meeting. Her words had haunted him: “I wouldn’t wish eternity in the underworld to anyone, least of all to our Freya. I would rather die myself.”

So would he.

chapter twenty-eight

The Manny Diaries

Light poured through the gauzy curtains billowing over the open sliding glass doors inside the little beachfront shack. Freddie felt the sun against his face and the cool, soft morning breeze floating in from the ocean. At first he thought he was home, back at Mother’s, as it had been a few weeks since he had returned to North Hampton. Then he remembered where he had spent the night. He grinned, keeping his eyes shut. Soon the sounds of the ocean lulled him back to sleep, the sheet only half covering him, exposing his tawny back and legs.

The little weathered hut was all the way at the end of town, way past the Beauchamp house and Gardiners Island, on a small ragged stretch overgrown with sea grass, the sand more pebbly and putty colored than fine and golden.

A sudden thump beside him woke him merely seconds after he had turned his head.

“Crap!” exclaimed a voice, followed by more bed thumping.

He reached out his arm and felt the empty spot. He opened his eyes and rolled onto his side, stretching.

Kristy smiled at him.

“Why are you cursing so early in the morning, babe?” He sat up to watch her, rubbing his eyes, blinking at the light. The bartender from the North Inn was still naked, riffling through a
dresser drawer. The tan lines from her bikini emphasized her round bottom, a tattoo of a passionflower above it, slightly off to the side near her hip. She yanked on her underwear, then snapped on her bra.

“Hi, babe,” she said. She twisted her silky brown hair and tied it into a topknot. The light played in her hazel eyes as she batted her thick lashes. Like Freya, and now Freddie, Kristy was a bartender at the North Inn. With Freya gone, Sal had needed an extra hand, and Freddie had stepped in to fill it. His first day at work was also the first day he had started pursuing the hot single mom.

After all, Gert had left him, then rebuffed his many attempts to work it out. After two weeks of frantic calls, e-mails, and texts, Gert still refused to answer, and Freddie began to feel like a stalker. She had even sent him a text that read <>. Rover? They were rover? Then he realized she meant “you and I are over.” He had refused to believe it and had texted a <3 back.

Radio silence from Gert again.

<> he punched in his phone after three days of self-control, deciding it would be his very last text to her. He couldn’t quite believe how immature they were being. He was “rover” it as well.

He wasn’t the type to cheat—okay, okay—he did have a bit of a wandering eye, but he had tried, hadn’t he? He had tried to make the marriage work—but Gert had left him. What was he supposed to do? Be alone? He had been alone for five thousand years!

Kristy had a pretty face and was fond of showing off her cleavage squeezed inside a low-cut tank—which had immediately caught Freddie’s attention. She had resisted his charms at first, which only made Freddie want her more desperately. She
was thirty-six, she told him, while he was barely drinking age, let alone prepared to be with a woman who had two kids. “I’m, like, fifteen years older than you, Freddie.” He hadn’t the heart to tell her he was actually thousands of years older.

Plus, he was definitely not her type, she added emphatically.

“But I’m everyone’s type,” he had argued. He tried to settle for their playful, friendly banter as they slung drinks behind the bar. Most of the time she humored him. She was steadfast in her rejection, which made her even more appealing.

One evening in the basement ice room, he slipped his arms around her slim waist. She said, “Listen, you’re cute and all, Freddie, but I can’t. I have kids. Maxim and Hannah. I don’t do one-nighters, and we work together, love.” He let her go and apologized for being so forward.

Then they began making out. It was Valentine’s Day, after all.

“Love?” he teased when their lips parted.

So here he was, dating a single mom with two kids. He tried not to think of Gert and he liked Kristy. She was beautiful, cool, and no-nonsense. She had a heart-shaped face, bee-stung lips that felt plush and tasted sweet when he kissed her. Their lovemaking was good but hurried and frantic, which he supposed was to be expected when there were two kids lurking about.

He swung an arm out toward her, wiggling his fingers, beckoning for her to get back in bed.

She walked to the closet, then glimpsed over a shoulder, grinning. “I can’t! I’m running late.” She took a dress off its hanger and threw it on. It clung nicely to her frame, not too tightly, just right.

Freddie rubbed his eyes, sitting up. “What time is it?” He grabbed his phone by the bed to answer his own question just as Kristy’s cell gave a little catcall whistle. It was six A.M.

“Well, that’s a monkey wrench!” Kristy said, glancing at her cell’s screen.

“What do you mean, you’ve got to get out of here?”

She tilted her head, appearing distracted. “You know, my daytime job. The place I usually go most days. But listen, I need a favor.”

Freddie lifted his eyebrows and scooted over on the bed, glancing down at the empty spot. He wasn’t giving up.

Kristy ignored the signal. “The babysitter called in sick last night, and now their dad, who had promised to take them for the day, just texted that he can’t. I need you to take care of them. You know, just for the day. Max has Little League practice and Hannah ballet.” She threw his clothes at him and smiled sweetly. “Come on, babe? They’re good kids, right? And you have nothing to do all day until you have to work tonight.”

Freddie sighed. They were good kids.

She kissed him. “Thanks, love!”

He rose and began to dress.

“Don’t worry, it’s easy. I’ll write down instructions, and you can use my car. I’ll take the Vespa. You just have to drop them off and pick them up on time. Make sure they eat. Good food, not junk.” She stopped talking and smiled, then came over and leaned in to give him another appreciative kiss. “They really like you, Freddie. Oh, and Max is a vegetarian. But Hannah isn’t. Try to remember.”

“Okay,” said Freddie.

Just then, on cue, Kristy’s seven-year-old, Hannah, began wailing in the house.

“Quick!” said Kristy, motioning to the sliding glass doors. “Go! Come back and say you’re their babysitter for today. You are officially the new manny.”

“Manny?” Freddie echoed, grabbing his Chuck Taylors and
slipping out. Outside in the cold, he put on his shoes, shivering. The kids normally knew him as “Mommy’s friend.” He would pretend to leave when he came over, only to sneak back in through the sliding glass doors.

He heard Kristy’s little girl come into the bedroom. “Mommy, Mommy, Max hid Floppy. I can’t find him! He says Floppy is stinky and that I’m too old for him.”