Winds of Salem (21 page)

chapter twenty-six

The Hammer Strikes

Hudson held up a tiny pink one-piece with a tulle tutu to show Ingrid. There was a decal of a piglet doing a pirouette in toe shoes on the chest.

“What do you think?” The light flashed against the lens of his tortoiseshell glasses.

“Um, Tabitha is having a baby boy?” she said.

They had snuck out on their lunch break at the library to shop for Tabitha’s baby shower at the nearby boutique Tater Tots.

“So?” Hudson looked at it sadly and put it away. “You’re right. Why isn’t she having a girl?
This is so cute.
”

Hudson was impeccably dressed as usual; only he could make a thick down jacket look slim and elegant, but something was different. A few months ago, he had finally come out to his mother, and while things had been frosty for a while, the grand Mrs. Rafferty had finally come around to the reality of the situation and had even agreed to meet his boyfriend. It turned out that as long as any discussion of politics was assiduously avoided, Hudson’s mother and Scott got along swimmingly—to such a degree that Hudson felt a bit left out at times. He occasionally brought up politics just to put a little wedge between them.

Ingrid grabbed the tutu. “Let’s get it! Why not? I mean
babies are babies. Can’t you just dress them up however you want? They’re kind of like dolls, right?”

“Um, not really. Put it back, Ingrid,” Hudson instructed, being the voice of reason now. “If he wants to wear pink tutus that should be his decision when he’s ready to make it.”

She exhaled a sigh, putting the tutu back on the rack, then continued to flip through the pint-size clothes.

“I don’t know,” Hudson said wistfully, “doesn’t this make you feel like…”

She turned to him with a look of horror. “Like what? Like having a baby?”

“Yeah…”

She shrugged. She hadn’t ever really thought about it.

“Yeah, me neither!” He went back to searching through the rack, his fingers moving fast and adeptly. “Just testing you.” He held up what looked like miniature lederhosen but were made of soft green terry cloth. “You’ve got to admit these are extraordinarily cute, and it’s just fun shopping for baby clothes.”

She eyed him suspiciously but let it go. “I need to talk to you about something,” she said.

Hudson made a tsk-tsk sound. “I knew something was up and you were keeping me in the dark. You’ve been distracted today—and not a good distracted. I know that look. What’s up?”

“I ran into them at that new café, Matt, Maggie, and, um, Maggie’s mom, Mariza. His ex-girlfriend? They looked so perfect together, and perfectly happy. Mariza’s a knockout. She’s built like an Italian screen goddess and—”

“I know where this is going—stop right there!” warned Hudson, holding up a hand. “First of all, the
M
names? Totally dorky! And second of all, Matt chose you, not Sophia Loren. He could have married her by now if he wanted to make it work.
He didn’t.
The reason they appear intimate is that not only do they
have a history, but they also have a child together, so they’re friends—
friends
being the operative word here.”

“Friends.”

“You have to be if you’re going to be good parents, and from what you’ve told me, the kid is awesome, right? Well, that takes a lot of maturity on her parents’ part.”

“I suppose.”

“You have nothing to worry about.”

“Okay,” she agreed morosely. Though Hudson’s advice was always sound, she still had her doubts.

By the time they made it to the cashier, their arms were full. They couldn’t help but get the tutu and also the terry lederhosen, a hooded hippo robe, and a trendy stuffed toy that was supposed to put babies in a good mood—and various other items that seemed absolutely necessary.

Outside, a chilly breeze blew against their cheeks, and there was a dusting of new snow on the sidewalks. She and Hudson strolled along the sunny side of the street. He proposed a round of cocktails after the frenzied bout of shopping, which had left him thirsty. Ingrid reminded him they had jobs to get back to and weren’t rich housewives. Besides, they had a baby shower to plan.

“Speaking of hausfraus and marriage and babies,” said Hudson as he walked jauntily along, “I forgot to tell you: Scott and I are thinking about tying the knot!”

Ingrid stopped mid-sidewalk. “Now you tell me? As if I’m the one withholding all the information!”

“Well, we’re just considering it. Now that it’s legal in New York and all. We thought we’d do a weekend in New York City at Hotel Gansevoort in the Meatpacking District—after City
Hall, of course. Although I’ve heard that doing it in Brooklyn is better, less busy than in downtown Manhattan. So—”

“No!” said Ingrid irately.

“Excuse me!” said a tall man standing behind Ingrid, whom neither she nor Hudson appeared to hear.

Hudson glared incredulously at his friend. “What do you mean,
no
?”

They had created a jam on the narrow sidewalk, and the young man in front of them cleared his throat to get their attention. “Excuse me!” he repeated. Politely. He was attempting to get past them on the skinny sidewalk with all of their Tater Tot shopping bags. But Ingrid and Hudson did not budge.

She had a fist planted on one hip and was scowling. “If you and Scott are going to get married, I want a
real
wedding! Think of the
Times
announcement at least!”

The young man had grown impatient. “
Excuse me!
” he boomed, his voice a deep, operatic bass, like rolling thunder.

Ingrid huffed and swung around to confront him. Hudson craned his neck to peer up at the man, who was easily six feet five inches, dressed in a smart pin-stripe suit under a lush black cashmere overcoat, the jacket hanging unbuttoned on his large frame. She stared into the square-jawed face: large pale green eyes beneath light copper lashes and brows, a strong nose. A bolt of lightning struck her, and she nearly dropped her shopping bags.

“Erda?” he asked.

“
Thor?
” she said, knitting her brow.

“What’s going on?” said Hudson. “And am I hearing things or did you just call him Thor?”

Ingrid stared at the towering redhead before her. Freya had told her a while back that when she’d been living on the Lower East Side in New York City and running the Holiday Lounge
on St. Mark’s, their old friend had set up shop nearly next door. Freya had made a few trips to spy on her competition, reporting to Ingrid that he had opened up a small, dusky, hole-in-the-wall after-hours club across the corner, the kind of place you might miss if you blinked. Known only to an elite set of mismatched night owls—the Fallen and the
Waelcyrgean
among them—with a new password circulated each week, the Red Door had a small stage featuring burlesque dancers, aerial artists, starry-eyed Hula-Hoop performers, and the occasional red-nosed clown. “Hottest thing in the city right now and I don’t mean the club,” Freya had said with a smirk. “You should see the ladies go wild for him!” To which Ingrid had replied, “I’d rather not!”

Thor, the god of thunder.

Her old flame.

He had carried a torch for Erda for centuries: she was different from all the goddesses who threw themselves at him, and the more she rejected him, the more he sought her out. But Erda knew Thor’s reputation for breaking many an immortal heart and had kept him at bay.

“My darling Erda,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it.

“It’s Ingrid now,” Ingrid said sharply.

“Will someone please explain to me what’s going on?” said Hudson. “Is someone going to introduce me to the Hunk—I mean the Hulk—or is it Thor? Or do I have to do it myself?”

Ingrid finally remembered to breathe. She turned to Hudson, flustered. “I’m sorry! This is—” She made a helpless gesture with her hands.

“Troy Overbrook,” the giant redhead said with an affable smile that made a dimple in his cheek. He held out a hand.

Hudson beamed as he shook it. It was obvious that he had already fallen under the handsome god’s spell. “Hudson Rafferty. Any friend of Ingrid’s is a friend of mine,” he said.

Troy tilted his head at her. “We have a lot of catching up to do,
Ingrid
!” He winked at the name. “You look amazing.”

Ingrid coughed. “Well, Hudson and I need to get back to work. We’re running late.”

“When can I see you again? I’m here in North Hampton for the winter. Coffee sometime?” Troy said, leaning seductively against the wall, playing shy for a moment as he looked down at his sneakers. “You know, it’s Valentine’s Day soon.”

“I’m at the local library,” she said flatly. “Come get some books.”

Hudson nudged her sharply in the ribs. “Don’t be silly, Ingrid. Give your old friend your phone number.”

Ingrid hesitated for a moment before riffling through her shoulder bag and fishing out a slightly shopworn business card to hand to Troy.

He slipped the card into his pocket and winked at her. “I’ll call you,” he promised before they parted ways.

Once he was out of earshot, Hudson spoke. “I can’t believe you were just going to walk away from
that
!”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Hudson!”

He glared at her. “Oh, really!”

Ingrid frowned. “Troy and I have a history.”

“
Pray tell!
”

“It’s a long and boring story. Besides, I have a boyfriend, remember?” They crossed the street toward the library. “
One cup of coffee
. Jesus!”

Hudson laughed. “I didn’t say, ‘Sleep with him!’ Although if you don’t, I will!”

chapter twenty-seven

The Family Three

“I’ll do it, ” Norman said simply, turning to his wife. They were on the train headed back to North Hampton. “I’ll do what the Oracle said would get Freya back.”

Startled, Joanna looked at her husband. She shook her head and frowned. “Absolutely not!” she said, letting her head fall on his shoulder. “There must be something else we can do.”

“There isn’t,” Norman said softly as he held her close. But he let the subject drop for the moment.

They had passed Patchogue, the midway point between New York City and Montauk, where Ingrid would pick them up. Norman’s car had broken down in the city. The trip had been more than the dinosaur Oldsmobile could handle.