"Motel? What motel?" Freya asked suspiciously.

"You know - the one off the highway, that's sort of sinking."

Freya nodded; she knew it well but didn't tell that to Ingrid. She realized now that she'd seen Ingrid on the night she was describing. She'd thought Ingrid had been with Matt, but no - she'd been helping out these "refugees."

Ingrid told her about the latest on the burglaries (while surreptitiously keeping an eye to see how the pixies would react), how Matt knew about the pixies but thought they were just a band of homeless kids, and that she'd been forced to lie to him because he would never understand any of it. He, um, didn't believe in magic.

"He doesn't believe in magic?" Freya asked. "What does he think you are then - just a librarian?"

"He'll come around," Ingrid said. "That's not the problem right now."

Ingrid interrogated the pixies - as Freya watched, impressed by her sister's surprisingly adept police techniques - but they denied any involvement in the current string of robberies and told her they would be happy for her to search the place if she felt the need.

"Well, you could be hiding the loot elsewhere," Ingrid retorted. "For example, where did those come from?" She pointed to the clothes racks, then crossed her arms and tapped a foot.

"We found them here and mounted them. We thought they would provide better spatial economy than the boxes," said Nyph.

"Plausible with all the stuff Mother has kept here over the years," commented Freya.

"Can you please keep this a secret?" Ingrid implored her sister.

"Sure," said Freya.

"You know Mom's not fond of pixies - all those cautionary tales she told us as kids about pixies doing horrible things to children. I don't think these guys are that kind, though, even if they are a handful. But I don't think Mother will make the distinction."

"Horrible things to children!" repeated Irdick from the rocking chair, then grinned stupidly.

"Maybe they're just a little annoying?" said Freya.

Since the pixies came and went through the windows, the sisters agreed they should lock the attic door in case Joanna tried to come up. They would tell Mother they had misplaced the key if she asked. Ingrid would continue to bring the pixies food in the mornings and evenings, although the pixies claimed there were better eats to be found elsewhere, like behind the French restaurant where they'd been scavenging the Dumpsters. But that nice French waiter had noticed and was now feeding them, so Ingrid really didn't have to bother with dinner anymore. Freya promised Ingrid to look into an amnesia-lifting spell, or perhaps a potion was in order, some sort of antidote.

Ingrid saw that something was troubling Freya, and she had to ask. "You look worn out. What's up?" She placed a hand over her sister's forehead.

Freya wanted to blab all her secrets to Ingrid, let them pour out and sob like a little girl on her older sister's shoulder. She was worn out. It had been a relief to have finally told Killian that Freddie was back from Limbo, but now it looked as if Freddie was right, that it was Killian who had sent him there, and now she had to hide that, too.

She wished she could confess everything to Ingrid, whom she missed terribly and whose sage advice she craved. She wanted her ally back. But it was too dangerous. Ingrid would side with justice, no matter who was at risk. If Killian did it, he would have to pay the price and take the punishment.

So instead she said, "Just work," and shrugged it off with a glum smile.

Chapter twenty-eight

Season of the Witch

Joanna received an e-mail from Norman; the subject line read "Runes." When he was last at the house and they had gone into the study to discuss the status of their relationship, she had told Norman everything about the spirit and the message on the grave. She had used all the letters of the runes' names, believing that there might be an anagram hidden within them along with that number, perhaps a date, but the process had driven her mad, and she still hadn't decoded the message. If there were something she had overlooked, Norman would see it. Ingrid hadn't come up with any answers, either. Her oldest appeared altogether elsewhere these days, and mysterious packages kept arriving at the house that kept causing Ingrid to blush.

Joanna clicked on the e-mail, eager to get Norman's feedback, especially after the frightening utiseta experience on the burial site, when the wraith wrapped her fingers around her neck and implored Joanna to look for her. She still had no idea whether this spirit were a benign or malignant one. Maybe Ingrid was right. The message could be an evil one. The girl had threatened her, or so it had seemed, but it was possible that having only limited time to manifest in mid-world, the wraith had struck out, grabbed at Joanna wherever she could, to convey the urgency of her plea. Perhaps she had meant no harm. She read Norman's letter.

"Dear Jo:

I would have written sooner but have taken on such a heavy load this semester I've barely had time to breathe until now. This is not to say that you haven't been on my mind every second.

First, I need to say I am deeply sorry to have made such a scene re this Harold gentleman. Of course, by now you have come to have your own life, and I understand that. We have been separated for several centuries (since 1692 to be exact), and I realize that life does go on.

However, I must make this clear: my feelings for you have not changed, nor ever will. The truth of the matter is I am still in love with you, darling, and I do harbor the hope that someday you might be willing to give our marriage another chance. I hope you won't fault a man for dreaming. It truly would be lovely to be a family once more, but foremost, I wish to capture your heart again. I am not sure how to go about that, and if anything, I have already fudged it by letting jealousy get the best of me: "the green ey'd monster, which doth mock the meat it feeds on." Yes, my feelings got out of hand. You are a free agent. I cannot dictate your heart, as much as I wish I could. My behavior was, to say the least, deplorable. I hope you'll forgive me."

Well, this was a slightly different approach from the one Norman had taken in her study, where he had continued to grill her about Harold. It had taken a while to calm him down. He had not made any declarations of love then but instead used the argument of doing what was best for the girls, as if Freya and Ingrid were still small, helpless children. She had thought it ridiculous of him and didn't understand why he was making such a fuss. It pleased Joanna that now Norman was not only being more honest with her but also with himself. His letter touched her.

She couldn't help but be flattered that this man who had known her for millennia was still in love with her. He was passionate, and she could forgive him for such a minor outburst of jealousy. Actually, she came to realize - a sudden epiphany sitting there at her desk - she had already forgiven him for everything: not having exercised his powers during the Salem trials in 1692, which would have been futile, anyway. If he had gone against the Council, they would have all been punished in the end. There had been no way of avoiding any of it. Not only that but also Ingrid and Freya had forgiven their father, so why shouldn't she? It made no sense to hold on to a useless grudge, which had the power of turning a good witch bad, white magic to black. Joanna was a well-intentioned witch, and she should have known better.

Last summer, Norman had gone to the Oracle to make sure that she and the girls wouldn't be punished for having breached the Restriction. He had gotten that seemingly ineradicable law lifted in the end, which was no small feat. His heart had always been in the right place, and now she saw that clearly. Even while they had been apart, she had felt his presence, a safety net she knew was always there to catch and cradle her and the girls if ever they fell. Norman had never left her, though she had been the one to oust him. She loved him for his loyalty, she loved him for all of it, and perhaps she, too, had never stopped loving him. She pushed her hair onto a shoulder. Gilly alighted on her desk.

"Aw," she said, feeding her some seeds. "You want us back together, too, don't you? I know what you're getting at, sneaky little raven. But Norman and I must take it slowly. I've grown used to being a single old hag. What to do?"

Gilly pecked mindlessly at the seeds in her palm.

"Yes, I'll think about it. You know I will." She continued to read his e-mail.

"Second, you have probably figured out the message by now. On the train ride home, I had quickly scribbled it down: hagalaz, ansuz, wunjo, algiz, manaz, A, laguz, then 157. Correct? Do you see it? And there is a separation between the first three runes and the second three, so that you have to go by the Norn spread reading. If so, this is a clever little spirit, Jo. Not only does she (yes, I believe it is a she) [Norman was right as usual, she thought] urge you to travel to her in the runes, she left you a clue as to who, or rather what, she is. Let me know whether you and Ingrid have figured it out yet. If not, I will tell you. I would hate to spoil the fun."

Joanna had spent enough time trying to figure out who this wraith was and she had gotten nowhere, so she immediately wrote Norman back.

"Dear Norman:

I am sorry to have been angry for so long. I have come to understand the decisions you've made and must confess I have been excessively harsh. Feelings, which aren't always rational, have their own life span and sometimes, for whatever reason, need to be lived out. It was a horrible day watching our daughters hanged at Gallows Hill in Salem. But I understand now that it wasn't apathy on your part. There was nothing you could do.

Let's start fresh. We can begin to work toward being comfortable with each other again. I miss your friendship. It would be wonderful if you could come for Thanksgiving dinner next Thursday, and we can discuss all of this further in person.

Yes, I want to know what you discovered about the message. Please let me know ASAP! It is urgent. I made contact but am still at a loss, so any additional information would be helpful.

Jo"

She hit the Send button, then stared dazedly at the screen, hoping that Norman's reply would be instantaneous. It was early evening and classes were most likely out by now. Was he in his tiny monastic cell, an invisible line connecting them from laptop to laptop?

"Hello, Mother." Ingrid stood in the doorway of Joanna's study. "I heard you talking to yourself."

Joanna stared at her pretty daughter in the doorway, her blossomed flower, and laughed. "I was just having a chat with Gilly. Nothing to worry about. I haven't become a crazy witch yet."

"Any progress on the spirit?" Ingrid strode to the love seat against the wall and sat down, crossing her long, slim legs.

Joanna admired how her daughter could wear heels all day long and into the evening. She had a wonderful, understated European style, Ingrid. She recounted everything to her oldest, about how the spirit had told her to find her. She included that Norman had written, saying he had cracked some sort of code in the runes and that she was waiting for his reply, which she made quite obvious by glancing at her computer's screen every few seconds.

Ingrid was irritated with her mother for not having consulted her before performing the ritual as Joanna had promised she would. "You know how tricky and deceptive Helda is. There are all sorts of clauses and subclauses to her damned Covenant. That document is as labyrinthine as the nine circles beyond her gates, and she keeps that book locked away so no one can actually read it - classic obfuscation. I hate to say it, but your sister is a bitch!"

"Oh, my!" said Joanna. "Language, Ingrid."

Ingrid barely acknowledged the comment, only continued. "Well, the only way to find out how that Covenant works is through trial and error. Helda pulls it out only when it's convenient to her. How are we supposed to know every clause if we can't read the thing? And, of course, she has provided for every type of situation. I think there's actually a caveat for simply conversing with the dead, isn't there, Mother?"

"Yes, there is. Darling, there is a reason for all of Helda's laws. Everyone would be immortal if they weren't in place," said Joanna, distracted. She was looking at the screen of her laptop and clicking the mouse. She had just received a reply from Norman. She began to read it aloud, skipping over the sections addressing their relationship, which Ingrid certainly didn't need to be privy to:

As you know, for every rune there is a corresponding and equivalent phonetic value. This is an acrostic. Just use the corresponding letter for each rune and, with the Scrabble A, it will spell a word. But the algiz tile is off - instead of standing for a z or r sound, it stands for a, the initial of that rune's name. You got the 157. I think you will figure out what to do from there and have the proper materials to work with.

Joanna stared down at the runes spread that was still on her desk as Ingrid came to peer over her shoulder and call out their Norse names. Joanna scribbled them down on a pad as she went, along with their corresponding roman letters:

   hagalaz ------> h

   ansuz --------> a

   wunjo --------> w or v

   algiz ---------> z or r but a per Norman

   manaz -------> m

   A -------------> a

   laguz --------> l

"The 'Havamal' poem!" cried mother and daughter in unison.

"Stanza one fifty-seven!" said Joanna, rushing over to her bookshelf. "I was making the puzzle so complicated, looking for an anagram." Joanna scanned her shelves, then pulled out her leather-bound copy of The Poetic Edda, a collection of ancient Norse poems. Composed of 165 stanzas, "Havamal" was a gnomic poem attributed to Odin, written as if he were imparting its wisdom himself - the word havamal meaning "the high one's words." The poem was broken down into five sections: in the penultimate one, Runatal, Odin discovers the runes as he hangs wounded from a tree, while in the last section, Ljooatal, Odin enumerates a list of spells. It was in this last section of the poem that Joanna found stanza 157, and she held the book aloft, reading aloud to Ingrid: