Triple Moon Page 4

  “Nice to meet you. That was an impressive rescue just now. You’re a good swimmer.”

  “I spend a lot of time in the pool back home.” Mardi was still wearing her leopard bra and short shorts, which were soaked now. The black dye from the leopard spots was running, streaking her six-pack. This was one of the problems she ran into, wearing clothes of dubious origin.

  As if reading Mardi’s thoughts, Freya said, “Let’s get you guys into some dry clothes. You’re shivering, and it looks like Henry’s diaper has absorbed half of the water in Gardiner Bay. It’s sagging down to his knees. Poor kid.”

  Inside the house, Mardi toweled Henry off, put him in a dry diaper, then asked if Freya would keep an eye on the kids while she ran upstairs to change.

  “Wait a second, are you the only one here? Did they all leave you with Jo and Henry to go to the party on Gardiners Island? That is so uncool. I was stopping by so that we could all head out together.”

  “No big deal. I didn’t want to go anyway. Preppy is not my scene.”

  Freya let out a silvery laugh.

  “Honey, preppy is only the surface of it. You have no idea. I cannot tell you how much fun I’ve had through the years at Fair Haven. The Gardiner men are something else. Killian and Bran are out of town right now. You might say they’re both on hiatus from me. But there’s some fresh Gardiner blood in town. Now, get yourself dressed to go out.”

  “But what about Ingrid’s kids?”

  Freya was tapping out a number on her phone. “I’ve got that covered. Ingrid’s housekeeper lives down the street, and she loves Henry and Jo. I don’t understand why Ingrid didn’t call her to come in the first place.”

  “I think,” said Mardi, “that Dad told her to give me and Molly some responsibility. He has this idea that he’s going to make good little witches out of us here.”

  “As if Troy was ever a good boy himself!” Freya gave an ironic smile. “Give me a break.”

  “I don’t want Graciella to put me to bed!” Jo shrieked. “I want Mardi to stay! I want more rainbow stories! Auntie Freya, don’t go!”

  “Don’t be like that, Jo,” said Freya firmly. “There’s nothing less attractive than a little self-witch. Mardi is going to be here all summer. You’ll get plenty of stories. Now, let’s take her to the attic and show her our dress-up clothes, shall we? Let’s get her ready for the ball.”

  As they walked up to the attic, with Henry and Midnight crawling up the stairs at their heels, Freya explained that when her mother and father “died,” her mother left Ingrid the house because it was obvious that Ingrid was going to have a family. Freya liked children fine, but not half as much as she loved her freedom. Since Matt was moving in with Ingrid, Freya bought his bachelor pad from him. It was a little ways out of town on an isolated strip of beach, a sleek all-glass house that was a peaceful refuge from her busy social job at the North Inn bar. It was perfect for her, except for one thing: there wasn’t enough storage space to accommodate the overflow from her epoch-spanning wardrobe. She had filled every closet. And all the shelves and surfaces were piled with her clothes. It was enough to make minimalist Matt wince whenever he paid a visit to his old home. All this to say that she still used the attic at the Beauchamp homestead as a backup closet, and she was sure they would find something here that Mardi would approve of.

  As they opened the house’s uppermost door, Mardi gasped. Freya wasn’t kidding about quantity. This was a treasure chest of the sexiest fashions from the past hundred years or so, with a focus on the 1920s, ’60s, and ’70s, and a few throwbacks to much earlier times when undergarments could be spectacular. There were dozens of tiny beaded flapper dresses, suede fringe skirts and tops, rhinestone encrusted micro-minis, corsets and garters, all hanging on bars that went around the four walls of the large room. The space was illuminated by skylights through which the moon poured its glow, so that the pearls, beads, rhinestones, and sequins glimmered like stars. There were rows and rows of shoes, mostly heels, arranged around the room by color. It was as if the attic were encircled by some exotic, multistriped snake.

  “What’s your pleasure?” asked Freya.

  For the first time in her life, Mardi had no idea what she wanted to wear. Her mother had disappeared when they were young, and her sister had a totally different aesthetic, so she’d never had anyone to help her pick out clothes. She had always relied on her innate sense of eclectic thrift-shop style. But this was too much for her to process.

  “I’m having total sensory overload,” she said with unaccustomed shyness. “You’re gonna have to pick something out for me.”

  “Are you serious?” Freya clapped with glee.

  Mardi nodded her coal-dark head.

  “Awesome! Jo, help me out here. This is going to be so much fun.”

  “Nothing pretty, though,” Mardi hastened to specify. “I don’t do pretty.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ve got it covered.”

  In no time, Mardi was outfitted in a pair of denim hot pants with a silky Bengal tiger appliqué across the butt, tall patent boots, a cutoff Lou Reed T-shirt, a lightweight black pigskin vest from back in Freya’s New York City days, and an arm’s length of black rubber bangles.

  Graciella arrived and swept the kids under her wing. Freya declared that the Ferrari was a way cooler ride than her Mini, and the witches screeched off into the night.

  6

  I KNEW YOU WERE TROUBLE, PART ONE

  Molly sat cross-legged on one of the deep-red velvet poufs strewn throughout the immense candlelit ballroom of Fair Haven in order to receive the weary bodies of its dancing guests. There was an ethereal band playing salsas, tangos, and merengues. She and Tris had been twirling across the floor for seven numbers, and she had sent him to get her another drink as she sank into the plush cushion and let the breeze from the open windows waft over her. The scent of lilacs from the lavish bushes just outside filled her senses. She was deeply content. For about five minutes.

  Where the Hell was he? Okay, so he had made a cute comment about needing some extra time to track down another bottle of vintage champagne. But there was no excuse to leave her alone for this long. It was his house, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t he have unfettered access to the best of the booze and a direct line to the staff? If he wasn’t back soon, she was going to leave the room, and he would have to search for her if he wanted to see her again this evening. No one kept Molly Overbrook waiting.

  She looked around her at the swirling couples and began to feel a familiar itch to perform one of her signature party tricks, like slipping potions into drinks to remove all inhibitions or breaking spaghetti straps with the force of her gaze so that cocktail dresses fell to the floor. She especially liked to undo the work of Botox over the course of a few minutes so that dozens of women, unbeknownst to themselves, would erupt in wrinkles, creases, and worry lines. Each one of them would start smugly thinking how all of her “friends” had suddenly aged, and each would feel great about herself, until she got home, looked in the mirror, and screamed. By the morning after the party, the spell would have worn off, the offending wrinkles would be frozen again, and the whole thing would feel like a distant nightmare. But it sure was fun while it lasted.

  Molly, of course, would never need Botox. She and Mardi would remain fresh-faced ever after. Daddy was forever just shy of fifty. And Ingrid would always present between twenty-seven and thirty-two. Molly wondered, though, about the half-mortal kids. Would they go one way or the other? It was a complicated question, and Molly was not one to enjoy thinking too hard, especially when she was alone. Where was that Tris Gardiner? If there was one thing she hated, it was being taken for granted.

  A waiter kneeled in front of her pouf, proffering a silver tray with a full caviar service, a generous mound of shining black beluga surrounded by blinis, sour cream, minced red onions, and finely diced hard-boiled eggs. He handed Molly a china plate,
and she went about delicately assembling two perfect blinis, trying to stave off the sting of rejection.

  As the rich salty burst of flavor swirled through her mouth, a fresh vision from the past rose up inside her, vivid and urgent. There had been an obscene amount of caviar that crazy night in New York at Bret Farley’s. The luxurious taste, along with the plush feel of velvet on her skin, sparked her senses, giving rise to whole new layer of memory. As the music and dancers blurred around her, she began to recall more of the buried details of that fateful party. That cool April night, the first buds out on the trees lining Park Avenue, came flooding back to her.

  • • •

  Both Molly and Mardi suspected that Bret was one of them. A warlock. There was something supernatural about his charm. But he hadn’t given them any clear indication, and so they all three danced around the possibility.

  The twins had never been attracted to the same guy before, and Molly couldn’t imagine that Mardi would be interested in someone as mainstream rich as Bret. But he seemed to know how to engage Mardi, and Molly didn’t like this fact one bit.

  That mysterious night, searching to ground herself with a familiar sensation, she had felt her right hand for her ring. It wasn’t there. Had she passed it to Mardi without noticing? This had happened before, of course, since the ring slid so automatically between them. But she was positive she had been the one wearing it when they left for Bret’s party, and she had no recollection of coming close to Mardi since they arrived. Certainly not close enough to slip a ring on her finger. Weird. She must have drunk that first champagne too fast.

  She tried to steal a look at Mardi’s hand through the doorway, but Bret and Mardi were now talking to a couple of juniors from Headingley. Parker and Sam, she thought their names were. They were a freshly minted couple, hanging all over each other. Their conjoined bodies blocked Molly’s view of her sister.

  After this, her mental image of the party grew fuzzy again. Her vision began to ebb. The last things she felt with any clarity were her frustration at not being able to check Mardi’s hand to make sure she had the ring, and her insane jealousy of Bret’s attention to her twin.

  Later, of course, Parker and Sam would end up dead, crushed by a subway train in the early hours of Sunday morning, and Molly and Mardi, infamous for their pranks at school, would be prime suspects. But Molly knew she and her twin had nothing against either Parker or Sam, and she had no memory of the accident. Her sole lingering sensation was one of strange powerlessness.

  • • •

  Emerging from her vision in the middle of the ball at Fair Haven, Molly looked down at her empty plate. In the throes of her involuntary memory, she had eaten all of her beluga. All around her, the Fair Haven ballroom came back into focus. The candles, the velvet, the dancers, the sparkling drinks, the scent of lilacs through the open windows. It was all perfection. Except for one thing. Tris Gardiner was still not back at her side. Annoying!

  Like her sister, Molly had a quick temper. She looked around the ballroom for a suitable object on which to take out her rage. She envisioned shattering the lead plate windows that had been the most expensive aspect of the renovation, according to Tris. Or she could send one of the brand-new Swarovski crystal chandeliers crashing down amid the dancers. Or she could pierce the giant silver punch bowl on the buffet table with a hundred tiny holes, turning it into a strainer so that the bloodred liquid would flood out all over the freshly finished ebony floors. Perhaps she could set that sweet-smelling lilac bush outside aflame. That would be kinda fun.

  But then another idea occurred to her, an idea so good it simply took over and became stronger than she was. Before she could stop herself, everyone dancing at the party—and there were at least a dozen of them—grabbed their stomachs and started to heave violently, turning the dance floor into a slick of vomit. The band clanged to a stop amid mass screaming. “It’s the oysters!” “It’s the scallops!” “It’s the shrimp!” “Somebody call an ambulance!”

  Molly surveyed the ensuing chaos with the calm of one who had given expression to a violent impulse and no longer felt any pressure building inside. Her pent-up anger released, the world felt light again. Nothing could touch her. Certainly not some vain, ridiculous boy.

  Breezily, Molly rose from her velvet cushion and sauntered among the black-clad staff rushing to the scene with mops, buckets, and towels. The guests, bewildered, were looking down at their ruined dresses and shoes. Molly chuckled to herself. It wasn’t everyone who could cause sudden stomach flu.

  “What do you think you’re doing, young lady?” Ingrid was blocking Molly’s path, shaking her head so hard the blond strands were falling from her bun, giving her an ironic beauty in the midst of her anger.

  “What are you talking about?” Molly twirled her thick gold chain and batted her dark eyes in a parody of innocence.

  “I may be many things, Molly, but I’m not stupid. I know that was you,” Ingrid whispered furiously, taking Molly by the arm and leading her firmly into the garden, out of earshot of the traumatized party guests.

  Quelle buzzkill.

  Molly realized there was no point in trying to lie to Ingrid. So she took a different tack: “Okay, look, I’m sorry. I can’t always control myself. I was dealing with some negative feelings just now. Some really tough stuff with Daddy that I have to work through. Sometimes the magic just flows, you know.”

  “Actually, kid, there is really no excuse for making people vomit in unison. None whatsoever. I don’t care how miserable you are.”

  “Obviously, you have no sense of what it’s like to be raised by a single parent.”

  “In truth, dear, I do. But that’s another story. And it’s not what we’re talking about here. We’re talking about the fact that you need to learn how to control your magic. We can’t have vicious spells erupting from you girls every time you get bored at a party.”

  Eye roll.

  “I can imagine that Troy isn’t always the most present father, although I know he loves you very much. You girls are going through something difficult, with that investigation in New York and the Council on your backs. Which is why it is all the more important that you stop acting so frivolous right now and get a grip on your powers. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Sure.” Molly wanted out of this conversation pronto. She was no fan of lectures. “Fine, I promise, no more magic for the rest of the party.”

  “The rest of the party?” Ingrid flared. “As far as we’re concerned, this party’s over.”

  “But we’ve only been here for about an hour! Look, I swear, I’ll be good. You and Matt can’t be ready to leave already.”

  “Actually, Matt has a headache. He’ll be glad for an excuse to go.”

  “A headache. Really? God, it must suck to be mortal.”

  Ingrid simply glared at her, refusing to dignify her comment with a response.

  Molly started to squirm. “You’re really going to drag me home like some little kid?”

  “We’re going to treat you like a little kid until you stop acting like one.”

  7

  EVERYBODY EATS WHEN THEY COME TO MY HOUSE

  As a wildly impressed valet whisked the Ferrari off to the large clearing in the dunes that served as a parking lot for the Fair Haven party, Mardi looked up the torch-lit path toward the spectacular old mansion. Night had fallen, and the lush grounds were mostly in shadow so that the trees and bushes appeared as dark figures, like spirits hovering in the gloaming. Mardi got a strong vibe from this place, not spooky exactly, but charged. Gardiners Island was definitely a place that spanned two worlds.

  As she and Freya started up the path, all eyes on their stunning figures, Mardi was startled to see Molly, Matt, and Ingrid heading toward her with hanging heads.

  “Hey, guys!”

  They looked up, startled. “Freya! Mardi! What are you doing here?” Ing
rid was trying to look pleased by the surprise but was obviously confused. “Who’s watching the kids?”

  Matt’s expression of alarm perfectly mimicked his wife’s. It was as if they spoke as one, Mardi thought with a twitch of sadness that she quickly squelched. Ingrid had made her own bed by marrying a mortal man. Why did Mardi keep feeling sorry for her?

  “I called Graciella,” Freya explained. “I stopped by to see if we could head to the party together and found poor Mardi stuck at home. It didn’t seem fair.”

  “I guess you’re right,” said Ingrid. “We should have left both of them home.”

  Whoa, Mardi thought, noting that her sister had a “busted” look all over her face. What did she do? Mardi was dying to know. A pleasure in party tricks was something the sisters actually shared.

  “They obviously aren’t ready to handle adult situations yet,” Ingrid fumed.

  “Lighten up, Ingrid,” said Freya. “If you and Matt are tired and want to head out, I can chaperone both of them.”

  “No, we’ll take Molly,” Ingrid said decidedly. Then she remembered her manners. “Oh, Molly, this is my sister, Freya.”

  “Cool skirt,” said Freya, holding out her hand. She had finished her skinny jean and metallic bustier outfit with six-inch python heels and a python belt, and she looked even more stunning than she had back on the beach.

  “Thanks. Cool shoes!” said Molly, clasping Freya’s fingers as if they could somehow hold her back and save her from the ride of shame home in the family Subaru.

  “Time to go, Molly,” said Ingrid. “You girls can continue your lovefest some other time. I’m sure Freya’s closet is big is enough for all of you.”

  Molly cast Freya a thanks-for-trying look as she sulked off behind her captors.

  • • •

  Mardi couldn’t help but feel a tad gratified at her sister’s misfortune. There was some relief at having this beautiful summer evening all to herself. With her twin gone, Mardi didn’t have to compete all night. Now she could relax into her own skin and really check this crazy place out.