Winds of Salem (27 page)

Her stomach lurched. Joanna wasn’t the one about to be tested, but it felt as if she might as well be as she strolled past the goddess Nike into the Carlyle School, holding Tyler’s hand. The little boy wore a crisp pale blue shirt and red paisley tie, his big curls slightly wet and brushed flat, appearing pasted to his large forehead. They took the flight of stairs to Principal Woodruff’s office. He had sent Joanna a personal e-mail, saying he would accompany her to the office of the admissions director, a Mrs. Henderson, for Tyler’s interview and test. He was looking forward to seeing her and Tyler.

“Where are we going?” asked Tyler.

“It’s going to be fine, sweetie,” said Joanna, her voice almost shrill, as they ascended the black marble steps. She squeezed his hand to reassure him.

“Ouch, you’re hurting me! Your hand is clammy, and my shoes are too tight!” Tyler pulled his hand away and stomped on the step with the polished black leather shoes in question. He leaned against the banister and refused to take another step.

Joanna attempted to pull herself together. She should have asked Norman to do this. It was too nerve-racking, but she had wanted to do it because she needed to ensure it went smoothly. “You came here with your mother and father, remember? Didn’t you see Principal Woodruff? Mr. Charlie? He told me you were a very intelligent little boy. You made an excellent impression on him.”

“Oh!” Tyler looked down and ran the side of his shoe along the step. “I can walk up the stairs myself. I’m a big boy.”

“Yes, you are, Tyler. You do that. That’s very good.” She loved Tyler, but he was making her jitters worse.

“Well, Hello!” said Principal Woodruff, rising to greet Joanna and Tyler as they entered his office. “You are looking extremely dapper, young man!”

Tyler looked down at his shiny shoes and shrugged.

“Say hello to Principal Woodruff.” Joanna patted his head, and he immediately pushed her hand away. Since when had Tyler begun behaving this way? Joanna forced a smile. “Tyler?”

Tyler glanced up. “Hi,” he said to the principal, then quickly looked away to gaze out the window at the front yard.

“It’s very cold today,” said Mr. Woodruff. “I understand. We’re all a bit cranky when it gets like this.”

“I do apologize, Principal Woodruff,” said Joanna in a rush. “I think his shoes are bothering him. You know how fast they grow at this age. It’s hard to keep up, really!” She reached out to shake his hand.

“Call me Charlie. Please don’t apologize.” He smiled amicably, but he seemed a little frayed around the edges, as if he were trudging through these formalities. “Let’s go,” he said. He accompanied them to the admissions director’s office, where he
introduced them to Mrs. Henderson, wished them good luck, and said good-bye.

Joanna felt that sudden dropping sensation in her stomach again.

She and Tyler sat facing the gleaming desk, where manila folders, a glass paperweight with a tarantula trapped inside it, a pen carrier, and photos were neatly arranged. Mrs. Henderson appeared to be a fastidious woman. She was British, attractive, with fine, light blond hair up in a French twist and big turquoise blues with a left lazy eye that roamed to the inner corner. When the eye righted itself, Mrs. Henderson smiled with her bright scarlet lips.

Joanna could only see the backs of the photo frames on the desk. Perhaps, she mused, if she could see these photographs—Mrs. Henderson’s family or dog or cat—she might feel less intimidated by this gatekeeper to her top-choice school. Dorothy De Forrest’s questions rang in her head.
Who is your patron? Who do you have on the inside?
She glanced at the large black-and-white print on the wall, a pretty freckle-faced Amelia Earhart in an aviator’s cap and goggles, and quickly recited an incantation in her head to little effect.

Tyler studied the room and, with watchful eyes, stared at Mrs. Henderson as she went on about the scholarships the school offered.

Joanna could feel vast rings of sweat forming at the armpits of her silk blouse. She kept her arms pinned to her sides and collected herself, a witch without magic. To her dismay, Tyler appeared to be moping. She noticed the bright yellow room adjacent to the office, which could be spied via a connecting glass window. Inside, she saw a play area with colorful toys, desks, and
chairs. This was most likely where the kindergarten consultant would administer her test.

“Yes, that’s where Tyler will go and
play
in a little while,” the admissions director said, and nodded. She turned to the boy. “First off, why don’t you go ahead and take off your shoes, Tyler. And while we are at it, you are welcome to loosen that nice tie of yours. I want you to be as comfortable as possible.”

Tyler shook his head no, then looked down. Joanna immediately leaned over to help him, and his little hands fluttered at hers as if she were an irritating fly. He was being so very uncooperative today of all days. Usually, he was such a good kid. What had gotten into him? “I don’t understand. He’s never like this,” said Joanna.

“It’s okay, I want Tyler do it by himself,” Mrs. Henderson said. “Tyler, please remove your shoes.” Her voice remained polite but firm.

Joanna realized the testing had begun, even if the director hadn’t taken him into the adjoining room. She watched Tyler’s lack of response, panic rising.

Tyler slumped in his chair and wouldn’t budge.

“Tyler, is there something troubling you?” asked Mrs. Henderson.

He looked up at her and stared. This was going to be a defining moment, Joanna knew. Her pulse rang in her ears and her stomach flip-flopped once again. She begged Tyler in her head to be a good little boy. He pouted.

“Tyler?” urged the admissions director.

He glared up at her. “Leave me alone!” he shot, his black lashes blinking out a tear that rolled down his cheek. He glared at the admissions director. “Leave me alone! I don’t want to be here!”

Joanna was silent as she drove Tyler back to his home. She combed through what had happened at the school from beginning to end, trying to pinpoint where she had gone wrong. Perhaps her nerves had rubbed off on the sensitive child. They had completely flubbed the interview, and while she had been successful at finally coercing Tyler to go “play with the nice lady,” the rest of the meeting was just as awkward as the beginning. If she could just get Tyler into a decent kindergarten, then she would be a good mother, not one whose children were being threatened all over the nine worlds of the universe.

Mrs. Henderson had remained unflustered, responding graciously to Tyler’s awful little temper tantrum. “We all have our off days,” she had said cheerfully. “Don’t worry about it. He’s six years old, after all!”

But Joanna knew she had flubbed it. There wasn’t going to be a second chance at Carlyle. She glanced at Tyler in the passenger seat.

“Did you have fun with the nice lady?” she asked. “What did she want you to do?”

Tyler shrugged. “Nothing.”

She sighed.

He turned to look out the window and ran his pudgy little index finger over the glass.

She mussed his hair and watched the road. “It’s okay, Tyler. Everything’s going to be okay,” she promised.

When she pulled into the driveway, Norman was waiting outside for her, shoveling snow, waving and smiling. She was relieved to see him. He opened the driver’s-side door for her.

“How’d it go?” He saw her face. “That bad, huh?”

Joanna laughed—she had to. At least it was over. Perhaps
she had grown too serious about this whole kindergarten thing. You never got anywhere if you came off desperate. “I’d rather not talk about it, but needless to say I’m back to the drawing board.”

“Ouch!” Norman said, hugging her. “I have some news. I’m packing a bag upstairs. I heard from Arthur, and I’m on my way to meet him.”

She released herself from Norman’s grasp, feeling a thousand new worries as she remembered the conditions explained by the Oracle. That certainly put the private school admissions race into perspective.

“Wish me luck,” said Norman with a brave smile.

They had very little time left, and if Arthur, as the keeper of the passages, couldn’t provide a better solution than that of the Oracle… well, there was no reason for Joanna to think of that now.

“He’ll think of something, I know he will,” Norman said. “Everything’s going to be okay,” he said, echoing the words she had just said to Tyler and with just as much conviction.

chapter thirty-seven

The Monster at the End of the World

Jörmungandr was the sea serpent whose head rested near the bottom of Midgard. He wrapped himself around mid-world, long enough to bite his own tail and form a circle. He did the latter while he slept, much like a child sucking on his thumb for comfort. His fangs dripped blood and black poison that killed in an instant. He was fond of ridiculous riddles.

And now he had Freddie’s trident.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Freddie said to Kelda. “How the hell did
he
get it?
Whatever.
Don’t explain. I’m exhausted. So what? What do we do now?”

She blinked at him as if he were slow. “Duh! It’s an emergency?” She looked at him sideways. “You’ve got to come down with us to get it back unless you’re, like, not in the mood to save the world.”

Just when Freddie had thought he was going to get a good twelve hours. He covered his face with his palms, took a deep breath, and flicked a hand at Kelda. “Can you just… um…” He gestured, making a circle with his index finger. “Turn around!”

Kelda grabbed her combat boots and faced a wall.

Freddie got out of bed and found a pair of pants neatly folded on a chair, which appeared to have been freshly laundered, thanks to their industrious housekeeper. “Save the world, but how? I’m tapped out. No magic. We all are. You guys might not have thought this through. How are we even going to get there?”

“Nyph and the guys are waiting for us on Gardiners Island.” Kelda stepped into her boots and kneeled to tie them. “Just get ready. You’ll see.”

“All right,” Freddie said, distracted. The clothes Gracella had washed smelled like flowery fabric softener, which somehow made him remember he needed to call Gert back although he didn’t know what he wanted to say to her. He had no clue what he was going to do with any of his women. Women! There were always so many of them around him. He slipped on the clean clothes and grabbed a hooded sweatshirt. It would be cold at the bottom of the world. He knew; he’d lived there before.

“You can turn now,” he told Kelda.

She swung around. Freddie jumped back, clutching his heart and gasping. Kelda had donned a large, terrifying mask of an ox’s head with two large horns. Though the mask was dirty and made of rubber, its verisimilitude was striking. She tilted the large ox head toward him.

Freddie studied her. “Where’d you get that?”

“Dumpster,” came her muffled voice. “Like it?”

He nodded. “Bring it. We’re going to need it.”

Freddie walked to the dresser and grabbed his cell phone. This was exactly what he needed. It made him feel like he was in Asgard again, when the world was young and he was ready for adventure. He decided he would ring Kristy on the way to Gardiners Island to let her know he had business out of town.

Ever since Freya and Ingrid had stepped through the hidden door in the ballroom almost a year ago now, Fair Haven had vanished beneath a tangle of green, even in the dead of winter. The trees and grass were overgrown. Ivy, kudzu, passionflower, and other vines swallowed the property—only the greenhouse on the southeast side of the house, which Killian had fixed up for Freya before he had disappeared, looked tidy. Vines as well as moss crept along the ground, down the dock, and onto the
Dragon
, Killian’s sixty-foot sport-fishing yacht, which was raised on blocks and covered in canvas for the winter, looking sadly funereal. The overall impression of Gardiners Island was that of a jungle engulfing the remains of an earlier civilization.

Kelda, still in the ox mask, led the way up the front steps. A path had been cut through the growth to the front door of the mansion, which the pixies had unlatched with a skeleton key. Inside, everything had remained intact, preserved by the blanket of foliage.

Freddie followed Kelda through an empty room with an enormous nineteenth-century painting entitled
Ragnarok: The Death of Balder
. An arrow pierced Balder’s heart as he lay on the ground, one arm outstretched, surrounded by Valkyries with pale skin, blond tresses, and eyes as cold as the steel of their helmets. He recognized Brünnhilde. Hilly. What a deceptive vixen she had been. There she was holding a spear.
Valkyries!
Feh.

They entered the ballroom where the pixies waited, sprawled on velvet divans and damask armchairs. The burgundy drapes had been drawn, the windows opened, and the moonlight cast a silver glow inside the room.