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  “Freya and I could ask Joanna about the possibility of getting a message to them in the Underworld. A message from the two of you. I know it’s not what you really want. But would that help?”

  “You would do that for us?” Mardi asked.

  “On one condition,” Ingrid said. “Because getting a missive through the passages is not something we can just do on a whim overnight. If you are serious about this, you girls have to promise to come back to the East End next summer.” She smiled, her bright blue eyes alive with mischief. “Think about it. The kids would be over the moon.”

  Molly and Mardi looked from Ingrid to Freya and back again. Then they all burst out in laughter.

  Faintly at first, then progressively louder, a childish cackling mingled with their laughter. They followed the sound to find Henry hiding in a box of lingerie. He had managed to encase his chubby little body in at least seven layers of Freya’s clothing, blouses, skirts, dresses, hot pants. It seemed an impossible feat.

  “Hey.” Matt’s voice came from the foot of the stairs. “Sounds like you’re having a ball up there, but can you bring it with you? I’m starving.”

  • • •

  After dinner, Mardi and Trent took a long walk across Gardiners Island Bridge to Fair Haven. They were quiet as they strolled arm in arm over the glittering bay, but both were stirred inside by a thousand racing currents. Was this really good-bye?

  They barely spoke. Without discussing it, as if by silent agreement, they reached the end of the bridge, crossed the vast lawns of Fair Haven, and found themselves at the greenhouse. They opened its old-fashioned glass door and fell into each other’s arms on the wrought-iron bench where they had first gotten acquainted, what seemed like an eternity ago. The hothouse atmosphere was heavily fragrant.

  Mardi focused her dark gaze on Trent, committing his features to memory. It seemed impossible to say good-bye to this face. She would carry it off in her mind’s eye and gaze at it forever. It was a crazy feeling. White hot. Had she found her eternal soul mate?

  Reading her mind, he whispered, “Mardi, do you feel like hanging out together for a few more centuries?” His smile was radiant and kind. “I promise to age gracefully. You can trust me.”

  “When you put it like that, the nine months until next summer don’t sound so endless.”

  “Yeah, but just in case you ever even think about trying to forget me, I got you a present that will totally keep my memory alive.”

  “Where is it?”

  He kissed her full on the lips, murmuring, “It’s hiding in plain sight.”

  She looked around the greenhouse for a clue. Freya’s herbs were lush and overflowing. The giant ferns glowed in the moonlight. The plant life seemed riper and more beautiful than ever. But she couldn’t spot anything specifically different. And within a few seconds, she found her eyes magnetically drawn back to his.

  “I used to be scared of your eyes,” she said, “of getting lost in them, of drowning.”

  “I used to be scared of yours too. I guess it’s a healthy fear. You know, the fear of eternity.”

  “Have you shaken it?” She ran her tongue over his lips.

  “Have you?”

  She pressed herself into the muscles of his chest, willing her body to soften into clay in order to take an impression of him that would last until they met again.

  “So, next summer?” His breath was hot in her ear. “You up for another spell in thrilling North Hampton?” He ran his fingers along the snaking curves of her rainbow tattoo.

  “Maybe,” she teased him. “I mean, this hasn’t been nearly as dead a summer as Molly and I thought. But I guess what happens next summer kinda depends.”

  “On?”

  “My present.” She beamed gentle mockery at him.

  “So that’s how it is!” He laughed. Releasing her from his ropy arms, he stood. “This gift of mine is so much cooler than anything your sister will ever own.”

  “I like the way you talk. Don’t stop.”

  He wandered over to the Venus flytrap. She noticed now that there was more than one. A second plant was flowering behind the original.

  He reached beneath the leaves and pulled the plant up from the ground.

  Mardi expected to see hanging roots and clumps of dirt. But instead he was holding a sleek black pot, from which the plant grew.

  “You’re kidding!” She had never been more purely delighted.

  “I could tell you coveted one of these from the second you laid on eyes on mine. I can read you, Mardi Overbrook. I know what you want to eat and drink. I know what makes you feel good. I was put in this universe to please you, Goddess of Rage.”

  She took her exotic plant from him and began to caress it with her gaze.

  “You’re giving me a carnivorous plant to remember you by? What kind of symbolism is that?” She laughed.

  “Our kind.”

  She really loved this this guy.

  “Bye, Trent.” She kissed him one last time, pulled away, took her flytrap under her arm, and raced off into the night before he could see her cry.

  He knew not to come after her. “Good-bye, Mardi.”

  She could feel his deep blue gaze licking at her back like an undying flame. Through her tears, she smiled. Trent Gardiner wasn’t going anywhere. He was the appointed guardian of Fair Haven. He’d be waiting here, beautiful as ever, when she pulled into town next June. Ever after, he’d be waiting.

  • • •

  The next morning, Molly climbed into the Ferrari beside Mardi. Matt had devised an elaborate system for strapping her three large Louis Vuitton suitcases onto the back of the car. Killer and Fury curled up together on a small dog bed at her feet. The Venus flytrap nestled beside them.

  Everyone crowded around to say good-bye.

  “Hey,” Molly said as Mardi shifted the car into gear, “you found a keeper. We’re coming back next summer, right?”

  Mardi nodded. Her rainbow tattoo shone bright in the morning sun, and a green light twinkled from between her slightly parted lips. She was silent for a long time as they sped through the farms on the outskirts of town toward the foggy field of forgetfulness that they would need to pass through to get back to their real lives.

  Finally, Mardi spoke. “You know, Trent took the ring to Fair Haven for us. He went through the passage in the ballroom, and he buried it in the gloaming. I didn’t want us to know where exactly it lies. This way, we can never be blackmailed. We’re safe now, Molly. The curse can’t ever touch us again.”

  Molly felt a profound relief spread through her body. But a question lingered. Their mother, the Rhinemaiden. Where was she now? Why had she left them only to miraculously protect them from afar? Molly had always assumed she and Mardi were abandoned. But now it was clear that their mother was watching and protecting them in mysterious ways. Molly furrowed her brow as she burrowed her bare, beautifully manicured feet in between Killer and Fury in their soft bed.

  Once the Ferrari had crossed the misty borderline encircling the secretly magical town of North Hampton and the twins were heading west on the Montauk Highway, following signs to New York City, Mardi spotted another Ferrari. A black one. Brand-spanking-new.

  Molly watched as her sister shifted gleefully into fifth gear, gunning it, leaving the douchemobile in the dust.

  “Nice work,” she told Mardi. “Let’s crank some tunes.”

  “Now you’re talking. What do you feel like?” Molly asked, realizing she truly no longer felt competitive. The ring’s curse of discord was finally lifted.

  Molly and Mardi were twin sisters. Identical. Together they could meet anything in their way.

  Mardi smiled, her identical dimple deepening in her cheek. “You decide. Anything but opera.”

  9780399173554TX

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

 
When Witches of East End went off the air in 2014, the story ended on a cliffhanger. I asked Fox 21, who produced and owns the show, if they would be willing to let me tie up the story lines so that fans would receive some closure. To my delight, they said yes. (Thank you, Fox 21!!) I was told to keep a few of the story lines unresolved, just in case the show ever gets picked up again. (Hope never dies!)

  I hope you enjoy the story, WitchEEs!!

  xoxo

  Turn the page for exclusive bonus content—the short story finale to the Witches of East End TV series!

  When Freya Beauchamp woke up that morning, she realized something was wrong the minute she opened her eyes. For one, she wasn’t in her own bed. Granted, that had happened from time to time, but her days of falling into a stranger’s arms at the end of the night were long behind her. Except the man lying next to her wasn’t a stranger. It was Killian Gardiner, the love of her life, her eternal soul mate, the man she had loved and lost through time immortal. She took a moment to admire his broad, strong back, his thick dark hair, his long, muscled arms curled around the blankets.

  Killian stirred, sensing she was awake. “Hey, babe,” he murmured, reaching for her and pulling her into his arms. He tucked her head against his chin.

  Freya sighed happily, wrapped in his warmth, pressing her body closer to his so that he moaned in her ear. “Minx,” he whispered. After centuries of searching for each other, it was wonderful to know they would never be apart ever again. Still, it was odd to wake up with Killian in her childhood bedroom. She didn’t remember coming back here the night before. And Killian was supposed to be away, taking yet another trip around the world on that boat of his. What was he doing back? When did he return exactly?

  Now Freya was certainly confused. Her memory was fuzzy, but she was sure that last night she had gone to sleep in her own bed, in her own house, alone. The Beauchamp homestead was Ingrid’s home now, with her family.

  And as much as Freya enjoyed lying in Killian’s arms, she was too agitated to remain there. She slid away from his embrace and tied a robe around her nightgown. Padding out to the hallway, she bumped into Ingrid, who jumped in fright at the sight of her.

  “Ingrid?” she asked. “Is that you?” She wondered why she was having trouble recognizing her sister, then realized that it was because the Ingrid she knew was a tall, Nordic blonde who usually wore her hair in a bun, and the woman in front of her had long, flowing chestnut locks, a more youthful glow in her cheeks, and less of Ingrid’s prim countenance.

  But it was Ingrid. Freya was sure it was her sister, she’d know her anywhere . . . so what was going on?

  “Follow me,” Ingrid whispered, taking Freya’s hand and leading her to a quiet corner where they could talk.

  “I don’t understand,” Freya insisted. “You’re you, but you’re not you.”

  “Believe me, I know,” said Ingrid. “I woke up this morning alone—and wanted to scream—where is Matt? Where are my children?” Ingrid had been happily married to the town police chief, Matt Noble, for several years now. They had two extremely adorable children.

  “They’re not here?” asked Freya.

  “No—as far as I can tell—they don’t even exist!” Ingrid pulled at her hair and worried her bottom lip. “I don’t know what’s happened. Is it a spell? We’re in some kind of spell, aren’t we? Have we been cursed? Oh, I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that insurance agent who came to visit the other day. He was so shady I’m sure he was a warlock!”

  Freya cast a glance at a mirror. It wasn’t only Ingrid who looked different—she did too. Better, she would say, raising an eyebrow. She had lush, dark hair instead of her strawberry waves. She decided she’d wear it that way from now on. “I don’t think it’s a spell,” said Freya. “I think . . . I think we woke up in an alternate universe.”

  “Not again!” said Ingrid, smacking her forehead. “The last time we did that we ended up trapped in Ancient Rome for years! The smell!”

  “So we need to figure out why we’re here and what’s going on.”

  “Well, here’s one,” Ingrid said, opening her robe.

  “Oh God,” Freya said, staring at Ingrid’s protruding belly.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You’re pregnant!”

  “Bingo.”

  “But if Matt isn’t in this universe . . . then who’s the . . . ?”

  This time they both jumped. Ingrid pulled her robe tightly over her stomach.

  “Hi, ladies,” Killian said, appearing suddenly in the hallway and giving Ingrid a curious smile. He was bare chested, his pajama bottoms hanging low on his hips. “I came out to find you. You know I don’t like to wake up alone, Freya.”

  “Hi, baby, why don’t you get back in bed, and I’ll be right with you.”

  “Don’t keep me waiting!” he said, sauntering back into the bedroom.

  When he was gone, Freya and Ingrid exchanged a glance. “Is it just me, or is there something different about him too?” Ingrid asked. She’d felt something spark between them when Killian had smiled at her. Something that made her terribly uncomfortable. Killian was Freya’s, and always had been. Ingrid had never been attracted to him in her life. Of course, one could not help but find him attractive, but that wasn’t the point.

  “I know, right?” said Freya. “I felt it too. I’m not sure what’s going on, but something tells me he’s not from our universe. He’s from here. But he’s . . . different for sure.” She looked at Ingrid’s belly. “So . . . any idea who the father is?”

  “This is going to sound so strange, but last night I had dreams of this weird blue guy. You know, like a Mandragora? A sex demon?” Ingrid shivered. “With all those tentacles? Eww.”

  “Blue baby?” Freya laughed. “No way. Mandragoras can’t reproduce.”

  “Really?”

  “Trust me on that one,” said Freya, whose turn it was to look uncomfortable.

  “There’s more,” Ingrid said. “I got up early this morning, thinking I had to give Henry his bottle, but instead, I found someone else in the kitchen.”

  “Who?”

  “Girls!” rang a familiar voice from the first floor.

  “Mom?” Freya asked, her eyes shining with sudden tears. In their universe, Joanna had died, giving up her life so Freya could have hers. But in this universe . . .

  They ran downstairs to find Joanna at the stove, making pancakes. She, too, looked different—younger and more vibrant—what was this universe, Freya thought, we’re all so much hotter—it almost made her want to stay. Joanna was wearing tight jeans and an airy bohemian-style blouse.

  “Mom!” Freya said, giving Joanna a huge hug.

  “Oh dear!” said Joanna, laughing as she spilled pancake mix all over the two of them.

  “It’s so good to see you. You look amazing,” said Freya, sticking her finger in the batter and taking a deep lick.

  Joanna wiped her hands on a towel and regarded her girls. “You too.”

  “Mom, there’s something you should know. We’re not who you think we are—I mean, we are—but we’re not—we’re not the Freya and Ingrid from this world—we’re from somewhere else.”

  To their surprise, Joanna took it in stride, perhaps because she was a witch and was used to paranormal shenanigans. In any event, the mystery was solved as their mother looked at them serenely. “I know. I brought you here.”

  • • •

  Joanna sat her daughters down at the table. “I’m afraid I haven’t called you here under the best circumstances. I used the Mirroring Spell to bring you both here, as it might be the only way to set things right.”

  “What’s happened?” Ingrid asked, alarmed.

  Joanna looked grave. “In this universe, we were banished from Asgard by my father, King Nicholas. He returned to this world for revenge, but we—the versions of yourselves who l
ive here—we were able to send him back. However, we were too late to save Wendy.”

  “Wendy? Who’s Wendy?” Freya asked.

  “My sister. Your aunt. In your universe, she never existed, but she does in this one. Nicholas sent her to the Underworld. She’s trapped there. We need to get her back before her soul is bound there forever.”

  Freya nodded. Sounded like the usual witchy dilemma. She was well acquainted with the Underworld and wasn’t looking forward to going back, but if Joanna said they had to, they had no choice. “Okay. When do we go?”

  “You stay here. Ingrid and I will go,” Joanna said, pouring each of them a steaming cup of coffee.

  “What! Why?” she asked, relieved to have gotten out of an annoying chore, but also hurt to think her mother didn’t need her.

  “Because there’s something you have to do while we’re gone.”

  Ingrid sighed. “What more could go wrong? I’m pregnant and have no idea who the father is, Wendy’s in Hell, and . . .”

  Joanna placed a plate of pancakes on the kitchen counter. “Dash is in jail. He’s been in there for weeks.”

  “Dash? Who’s Dash?” asked Freya, with a mouthful of pancakes.

  Her mother disapproved of her manners but didn’t mention it. “Right—you know him as Bran. He goes by his middle name here.”

  “Okay. Why is he in jail?” Ingrid asked.

  “They think he killed someone.”

  “Did he?” Freya yelped. She wouldn’t put it past Loki, the god of mischief, to do such a thing. But she and Killian had made peace with Bran in their universe. It was horrid to think he was up to his old tricks in this one.

  “I don’t know,” said Joanna. “But he’s not making sense. They’re going to move him to a psych ward if he doesn’t stop.”

  Ingrid frowned. “Why?”

  “Because he says he’s Killian.”

  “Wait—what?” Freya did a double take.

  “He seems to believe he’s his brother. And that the real Dash has stolen his identity—swapped souls into different bodies so to speak—quite a malicious use of the Mirroring Spell. So you need to visit him, see if he’s telling the truth,” said Joanna.