Winds of Salem (30 page)

While Freya was always on her mind, there was nothing Ingrid could do to help her sister at the moment. It was Maggie’s thirteenth birthday and she and Matt made plans to take the precocious child to the city to see
Somnambulists
that afternoon. The play wasn’t theater exactly but more like an experience—the set occupied five floors of a building overlooking the Hudson, and the action took place simultaneously on all five floors while the audience walked through it to piece together the narrative. The
Times
had called it “a stormy, vertiginous amalgam of Shakespeare’s
The Tempest
and Hitchcock’s
Spellbound
.” Ingrid was touched that she was now included in Maggie’s birthday festivities.

Matt had already arrived to pick her up and was waiting for her in the foyer. Ingrid slipped on her black pumps and walked down the stairs just as the doorbell rang again.

“I’ll get it,” he said, unlatching the lock. “Oh, hey, man.” He opened the door but leaned against the doorframe, barring the way inside.

Troy Overbrook stood at the entrance, a worried look on his face. “Can I come in?” he asked.

“We’re running late. Ingrid and I were just about to leave,” Matt said flatly. “We’re not going to make the train…”

“Ingrid?” Troy asked. “I’m sorry—but it’s important.”

“Matt, could you—” Ingrid asked, motioning for him to move away. Matt reluctantly moved to the side so that Troy could come inside.

“Can I talk to you… in private?” asked Troy, appealing to Ingrid.

“Whatever you say to her, you can say to me,” said Matt. He affected a possessive stance and for a moment Ingrid was worried that he would slap her on the behind again, although to be honest she had rather enjoyed that.

Ingrid nodded. “It’s okay.”

“It’s about your family,” Troy said.

“What do you know about Ingrid’s family?” Matt interrupted.

“Matt, see, Troy’s one of us—”

“One of you!” Matt said, his tone mocking. “He doesn’t look like a witch to me,” he mumbled.

Troy crossed his arms, which made his muscles appear more pronounced, biceps and pecs bulging beneath the snug navy sweater. “Well, I personally prefer the term warlock,” Troy said.

Matt snorted.

“What’s going on, Troy?” she asked.

“You know Val?”

“Yeah—he’s one of the pixies,” Ingrid said, turning to Matt so he could keep up. Matt nodded wearily. He knew all about the pixies and had booked and released them for many a minor crime. Like the Beauchamps, Matt was grudgingly fond of the little guys.

“Well, Val came over to my place this morning and he told me they’d found it, Freddie’s trident, they found it somewhere on the yellow brick road but they couldn’t bring it back, so Freddie went after it, with only Nyph with him…”

“So we’ve got to go and rescue Freddie?”

“No. Freya.”

“Freya?” Ingrid asked.

“The passages are open again. Val thinks the trident fixed it maybe—there was some huge explosion at the end of the world, which means Freddie must have gotten it back somehow. Freddie’s the only one who can wield its power.”

Ingrid sat down to absorb the news. “Where’s Freddie now?”

“He’s down in the abyss somewhere. Val said they were all going after him, make sure he’s all right. Sounded like the rest of them felt pretty guilty that they didn’t go with him, but with the passages open, he should be okay. He should be able to make his way back here.”

She nodded.

“Look, we don’t have much time—we don’t know how long they’ll remain open—but we have to go.”

“Go?” Matt asked. “Go where?”

“Back in time… to save Freya, of course, and bring her back here,” said Troy as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“You’re leaving?” Matt said, turning to Ingrid.

Ingrid stood up and tightened the belt on her trench coat. “I have to go. This can’t wait. The passages might close again, and then we could lose Freya—forever,” she said, thinking of what her mother had finally confessed to her.

“You’re going with him?” Matt lifted his chin at Troy.

Troy tried to make himself as small as possible. He slumped his shoulders and fiddled with his hands.

Ingrid pulled Matt aside. “I told you, Troy and I are just friends,” she whispered emphatically. She couldn’t believe they were quarreling right in front of Troy. She was mortified, but she did realize she was putting Matt in an awful position. She hated doing this to him, today of all days.

Matt’s shoulders slumped.

Troy looked at Matt, then Ingrid. “I’ll wait outside. Let me know what you decide, Erda.”

They watched Troy exit the room, and they both waited until they heard the front door close behind him.

“What did he call you?” asked Matt.

“Erda… it’s my real name,” she said.

“And you never told me?”

“I didn’t think it was important.”

“It is to me,” said Matt, looking hurt. “I want to know everything about you, Ingrid.”

“You will,” she said. “I promise. But right now I have to help my sister, Matt. I want to see her again. I don’t want her to die.” Her voice cracked. “You have to understand. This isn’t about Troy. It’s about getting Freya back.”

“Of course—I know. I just—it’s not about Maggie’s birthday. It’s that—I want to help you. I want to go with you, through these passages, or whatever. And I know you won’t let me. I’ve let you into my life, but you won’t let me into yours.”

They stared silently at each other. Ingrid realized what he was saying was true. She had shut him out of that side of her life.

“I wish you could,” she whispered. “But…”

“I might not be magic, or a warlock, or whatever
he
is, but I am a trained officer of the law,” he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“But then who would take Maggie to the Four Seasons and the theater?” she said as she hugged him tightly.

chapter forty-two

Black Widow

In her sleep, Freya wiped the ant crawling across her cheek, its tickling of her face like the tendrils of the wind upon her hair. She felt Killian—or James, as she must call him here in this lifetime—stir beside her. They had left Salem the night before and had hidden in the woods when no one would offer them shelter for fear that they were carrying the pox. After what happened with Mercy, they could not bear to be together again. It was too dangerous, too risky. She was far from home, far from safety, and was lying on the forest floor next to a man who was her true love, but they were in danger. She snuggled closer to James as she dreamed of her home by the sea. In her dream, she saw her mother floating in the ocean. Joanna seemed to be sinking into the water—and Freya felt a twinge of fear. She grimaced and heard the sound of water breaking on the shore.

The waves crashing on the rocks.

No—a different noise…

Branches crackling underfoot…

Footsteps!

She opened her eyes to scream but it was too late.

They had been found!

She was yanked by her wrists to her feet, woke to an ambush. They were surrounded by men carrying guns, constables and
marshals sent by Thomas Putnam to retrieve his property. She was glad that this time she was fully clothed, although with the way the men were looking at her, she might as well have been naked.

“James!” she screamed, fighting against the men who held her too closely, the better to feel her body against theirs.

It took the whole group of them to subdue him; James put up an incredible fight, but like her, his magic was useless in this instance, and in the end there were too many of them and he was handcuffed and bruised, half of his face swollen from the fight. She would not cry, she would not show them how scared she was, how defeated. James glowered silently as a marshal read their arrest warrants.

“Freya Beauchamp, you are hereby accused of adultery and witchcraft, tormenting in spectral form Ann Putnam Senior, Ann Putnam Junior, and Mercy Lewis in the house of Thomas Putnam Junior, and also bewitching to death your husband Nathaniel Brooks. James Brewster, you are hereby accused of the theft of a horse, adultery, and the demise of Nathaniel Brooks by conspiracy with a witch.”

“Adultery!” Freya said. “How could we commit adultery when I never married him? And what is this you say? Nathaniel Brooks is dead?”

“You were married in proxy,” the marshal explained. “Shortly before Mr. Brooks was found in his deathbed.”

“So I am a widow.”

“A rich one,” James said grimly.

“Too bad you won’t live long enough to enjoy it,” said one of the constables, laughing.

“What happens when I die?” she asked. “Who gets the land?”

“Your former patron, of course,” the marshal said. Through Freya’s marriage, her husband’s death, and her subsequent arrest, Thomas Putnam would soon become the richest landowner in Salem Town.

chapter forty-three

Fork in the Road

“Leave me alone!” Someone was shaking Freddie when all he wanted was to sleep. His head pounded as if it had been struck on the side with a steel bat, and he heard a faint, annoying buzzing sound, like fluorescent lights. A glare pressed against his eyelids. He covered his head with his arms and tried to shut it all out. What had happened last night? Had he tied one on with Troy at the North Inn again? He rolled onto his side and curled into a ball. He would retrace his steps later when he could think.

“Rise and shine, sunshine god!” came a rumbling voice.

“Get up!” Hands pushed at him from all sides.

“What time is it?” He groggily opened his eyes and made out a blur of pixies around him. “What are you doing here? Go away!”

He turned back onto his side and glanced around. He was in bed in a hospital wing. The room appeared as still and colorless as a black-and-white photograph. It was certainly not the twenty-first century but another era entirely. What was going on? Where was he? This sure didn’t look like anywhere in North Hampton.

Begrudgingly, he pushed himself into an upright position. Rows of black metal-framed beds—each with two plump pillows, crisp white sheets that illustrated the term
hospital corners
, and a folded gray blanket—ran along the length of the room, separated by tall windows that flooded the room with a glaring white light.
Globe lights dangled from the high ceiling, serving no purpose whatsoever, filled with dead moths. The gray marble floors gleamed, reflecting the harsh light. Then there was that grating low hum in the background, coming from nowhere in particular.

“Whew!” said Idrick, twirling his gray felt hat. “We were worried there for a second. Do you need anything, Freddie?” His voice had an unpleasant echo.

Nyph came over and placed a hand on Freddie’s shoulder. Her hair looked electrified. She had black smudges all over her face, one white glove, which was blackened, and her green satin gown was tattered and torn, revealing her combat boots.

“What happened to you?” he asked before realizing he looked just as bad—his jeans dirty, his sweatshirt torn. He lifted a sleeve to his nose: it smelled of flowery fabric softener.

Everything came back to him in that instant. Going through the portal at Fair Haven down the yellow brick road to the bottom of the world. Meeting the serpent. Playing riddles. Getting his trident back. Killing the serpent. The explosion. “Where are we?”