Serpent's Kiss: A Witches of East End Novel (2 page)

BOOK: Serpent's Kiss: A Witches of East End Novel
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The Beauchamps thought Fryr was lost to them forever, but to Freya’s surprise, her twin suddenly reappeared to her in the alley behind the North Inn Bar one evening. He had escaped from Limbo, and revealed that he had been framed for the destruction of the Bofrir, and he knew the identity of the real culprit.

No, it wasn’t Loki, who Freya had known as Bran Gardiner. According to Fryr, or Freddie, as he now wanted to be called, it was Balder who had set him up to take the fall. Balder, or Killian Gardiner, who Freya loved, who was responsible for its destruction.

Now Freddie was out for revenge, and he wanted Freya to help him win it.

chapter one
Back in Baby’s Arms
 

Patsy Cline’s mournful contralto warbled a love song on the jukebox at the North Inn. It was a departure from the usual rock ’n’ roll fare that prompted summertime patrons to leap from their seats to raise pointer-and-pinkie devil signs in the air, music befitting the early October mood—intimate, cozy, sweetness with a tinge of nostalgia. Indian summer was over. When the light tinted golden before sunset, a nip crept into the air, laced with an autumn tang. The Atlantic, visible from the windows of the North Inn, was rough now, huge breakers crashing on the shore. There were no more bikini-clad bodies frolicking on the beach or fireworks erupting in the sky. The high-season crowds had dispersed, leaving the secluded seaside town to the locals, the beaches deserted and the popular meeting spot almost empty.

A lone couple slow danced in the middle of the floor, while a few regulars wandered in after a day’s work, scattered in small clusters. The resident bartender, Freya Beauchamp, was taking advantage of the slower pace and had taken a break from slinging drinks for the time being. The pretty redhead was sitting with her elbows on the bar, her face in her palms, eyes aglitter as she watched Killian Gardiner sing along from behind the counter. His low, deep voice, like a caress in the middle of the night, made for a fitting duet. “
I’m back where I belong, back in baby’s arms
.”

Freya loved this about Killian: he continued to court her unrelentingly. Unapologetically. Even if they were engaged and soon to be married, the game of seduction never ended with him. There was never any fear that they would turn into two bored people flicking through television channels, desperate for entertainment, frustrated with a life spent on a couch, their red-hot romance just a faded memory. It was a good thing, too, because Freya thrived on drama, the perpetual titillation of flirtation, the constant chase, the rush from unexpected tender moments like this sultry serenade.

She swooned, watching Killian’s hair fall over his dark lashes as he grabbed the cocktail shaker to mix the usual for a customer who had straggled in. He poured the vodka with a flourish, added a dash of vermouth over ice in the silver container.

Freddie couldn’t be more wrong about him
, she thought. When her twin brother, Freddie, had returned from Limbo a month ago, he was burning with wild accusations, all of them directed at her beloved. Freddie believed Killian had stolen his trident, used it to destroy the bridge, and planted it at the scene so that the gods would blame the golden-haired son of the sea for the bridge’s destruction.

Her twin was hell-bent on revenge, but he reluctantly agreed to give Freya a chance to suss out the situation on her own if she promised to help him find the truth and dig up what she could on her boyfriend. Freya had relented with a heavy heart. She could hardly believe that Killian was capable of such treachery. He knew how close she was to her twin brother, so how could he have done something so grave and cruel and—unforgivable? And if so, how could she not see it? Could her feelings, along with the earth-shattering, mind-boggling sex they had, have marred her judgment? No. Freddie had to be wrong about this. He’d been in Limbo too long; he wasn’t thinking straight. She
trusted
Killian. They had been separated for so long, but now that they had found each other again, it felt
right
. Perfect, really. Back in baby’s arms, just like the song.

Killian caught her staring at him and smiled, his blue-green eyes flashing.

Freya smiled back, looking deep into his eyes, but all the while she was searching for a hint that might give him away. What secrets was he keeping? With her witch sight, she looked for something hidden deep within the recesses of Killian’s soul, but all she saw was his simple, pure love reflected straight back at her.

The Patsy Cline song ended. Killian flipped the cocktail shaker up in the air and caught it deftly behind his back, all without breaking eye contact. He slung the shaker onto the counter, winking at Freya, and—just then—for perhaps a fraction of a second, a millisecond maybe, Freya swore she saw something she hadn’t seen before or ever wanted to: the tiniest malevolent flicker. It was already gone before she could pinpoint it, although it was enough to give her a shiver.

“Cold, babe?” Killian asked, reaching over the bar to warm her hands in his.

Freya shrugged. “I’m great.” But she was asking herself how much she actually knew Killian. They had been apart for centuries. Something could have changed him in the interim. Yet the warmth of his hands seemed to assure her that none of it was true. His fingers slipped away from hers, to pour the mix from the shaker into a martini glass for the regular at the end of the bar.

Since the Restriction had been lifted, Freya, along with the rest of the Beauchamp family, was now allowed to use her powers, so these days the bar was truly enchanted. At the North Inn, prep work consisted of dozens of knives hanging in the air, chopping mint, slicing lemons, limes, and oranges, peeling twirls of rind. The love potions were back, and drinks sometimes mixed themselves, but her magic also extended into other areas, like fixing a bad haircut or giving a dowdy customer a glamorous makeover on the spot. The patrons told themselves it was sleight of hand or smoke and mirrors, or that maybe they’d just had one too many.

Killian went downstairs to fill the ice buckets and while he was gone Freya convinced herself she was becoming paranoid—that she hadn’t seen a thing. His eyes had merely caught the light from the setting sun. That was all it was.

Someone put a quarter in the jukebox and the atmosphere shifted as the room filled with the sound of Kings of Leon’s jangly guitars. It had been like that all evening ever since Sal had added oldies to the queue—a Roy Orbison ballad followed by Feist, Aretha Franklin before Metallica, the Sex Pistols segueing into the Jackson 5. The music moved back and forth through the history of the charts, much like this odd little pocket of Long Island that existed outside of time itself. As the couple on the dance floor began to shimmy, Freya spied fortysomething Betty Lazar enter the bar.

She looked downright haggard, the poor thing. Freya hadn’t seen Betty around town in a while. As the paralegal trundled over, a series of images flashed in Freya’s mind: the grueling day, the pesky attorneys, the microwavable dinner, the three cats. No sooner had Betty taken a seat than an oversize martini glass, filled with a pool of electric blue topped with the tiniest bit of ocean froth, appeared before her in a swirl of mist.

Someone yelled, “A pop-up drink, a pop-up drink!” and the dozen or so customers clapped and cheered.

Dazzled, Betty took a sip and let out a sigh. “Wow, Freya, how did you know that was exactly what I wanted? I haven’t been here in eons. Talk about
service
! What’s happened to this place?”

“Just a few improvements,” Freya smiled, thinking a nice lady like Betty shouldn’t waste her nights alone with television procedurals.

They closed up shop early. It was a Tuesday night and the last customer rolled out at ten. The temperature had plummeted by the evening, and the footbridge to Gardiners Island rattled, swaying precariously as the waves broke against it. Freya held Killian’s hand as they wended their way across in the dark, with only the faint glow of Fair Haven and the lighthouse in the distance.

“Nice night,” she said, squeezing his fingers. She loved fall. It was her favorite season: the golden leaves, the crisp air, the smell of pumpkins—earthy and full, signifying a good harvest.

“Mmm,” Killian agreed, leaning down to give her a kiss.

She kissed him back, pulling him closer so that they were soon locked in a tight embrace. His kisses were strong and forceful, the way she liked it, and they pressed against each other, the heat rising between them. They could never wait to get their hands on each other, and Killian lifted her from the narrow walkway so she could wrap her legs around his hips. He pressed forward and Freya felt herself pushed a little too far against the parapet and she lost her balance, slipping out of his grasp. She fell backward over the railing, strawberry-blond curls and scarf whipping out on the wind. For a few terrifying seconds, she believed she would plummet into the inky waters until Killian managed to grab hold of her knees. But instead of pulling her back up, she heard him laugh.

“Killian! Stop it!” she cried. But he made no move to help as she continued to dangle over the edge.

“I’m serious! Pull me up!” she said. “It’s not funny!” She felt as if she couldn’t breathe and her heart thudded wildly in her chest.

It was over in a flash as Killian pulled her up and righted her, letting her body slide down the length of his until she was back on solid footing.

She stared at him, frightened to find his face a mask, his eyes muted and dull.
What the hell just happened? What was that all about?

“Hey, c’mon. I was just teasing,” Killian said, looking concerned as Freya moved away and huddled by herself, hiding her face behind her hair.

“I’m sorry,” he said, coming over to lean over her shoulder so that he buried his head in the crook of her neck, and she could feel his warm breath on her skin again, making it tingle. “It was a bad joke. I didn’t realize you were really scared. Usually you like that sort of stuff.”

His voice was so gentle, and she knew he was still Killian, her sweet, her beloved. He would never hurt her,
never
. She knew the truth of that deep in her bones. And he was right: she was an adrenaline junkie; she liked dangerous games. “I’m sorry, too,” she said as she turned to face him, running a hand over his stubble, his soft lips. “I don’t know why I freaked out.”

Back aboard the
Dragon
, they tumbled into bed and Freya looked down at him through half-lidded eyes. Killian was gritting his teeth, eyes drowsy and glazed by the pleasurable sensation of their lovemaking. His strong hands guided her by the waist, his thumbs pushed on her hips as she rocked on top of him and the cabin heaved in a rhythm.

Afterward, Killian gave her a sleepy kiss, but Freya lay awake for a long time, as the strange, uncomfortable feeling began to grow. She couldn’t lie to herself. She had seen what she had seen, at the bar and on the bridge.

She had looked into Killian’s blank eyes and she had seen her own death in them.

chapter two
Stranger in the Night
 

Ingrid Beauchamp walked down an aisle of the North Hampton Public Library, humming as she shelved a handful of books on the way to the children’s reading area. Her blond bun was neatly brushed back from her face, and she was wearing a smart tailored blue suit and pretty new spectator pumps. She was taking a break from restoring an Edwardian blueprint that had been found inside an old roll-top secretary desk in a ramshackle manor on the edge of town that was going up for auction.

School had let out about an hour ago, and kids had begun to file in, the teens to check out the latest “trauma porn” (as Hudson called the newest crop of “dark” books for the age group), or study in the carrels, the younger ones huddling up for Tabitha’s reading hour. Tabitha had a mellifluous voice, and perhaps she had missed her calling as an actress, Ingrid mused. She kept those kids on tenterhooks. Ingrid wanted to make sure it was comfy in there for Tab. Not quite five months into her pregnancy, the girl already looked as if she were about to pop.

BOOK: Serpent's Kiss: A Witches of East End Novel
6.95Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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