"Let's drink to the family! And welcome, Matthew Noble!" said Norman.

More champagne bottles were popped, froth pouring over glasses.

"None for me, thanks," Matt said, looking strained and confused. "My head hurts. I'm sorry. I don't feel well. I think I need to get going. It's been wonderful meeting you all." He stood up, looking dizzy, and Ingrid helped him to the door. She knew it was only the power of her harmony spell that was keeping him from saying what he wanted to say, and that he was most likely feeling ill because he was fighting it so hard. She felt terrible about using her magic on him and wished there had been some other way to keep the evening peaceful.

Across from them, Freya and Killian were having their own little aside, talking sotto voce. "I have to admit," said Freya, "I was about to practice some very unsavory magic to get to the truth. I went to Jean-Baptiste and got a recipe and incantation from him to retrieve your memory. Not exactly our kind of magic. I'm glad I didn't have to do it."

Killian glared at her with disbelief. "Promise me you will never, ever do that again! You should never, ever resort to something like that, not on my behalf or anyone else's." He touched her neck. "What were you thinking? There's no way to escape justice, not among our kind. That kind of magic can backfire on us, badly."

Norman, adept at catching snippets of conversation from teaching hundreds of students at a time in large auditoriums, had not missed out on the latter exchange. "Freya, what exactly do you mean by the unsavory kind of magic?"

Joanna, fawning over Freddie, froze. "Freya!" she exclaimed.

Ingrid came back after bidding a quick and distracted goodbye to Matt so she could catch the rest of the conversation. She had second thoughts about having enchanted him and wished she could take it back, but for now she was glad no one had noticed his discomfort. "Black magic! Are you insane?" she chided Freya.

"Oh, no!" said Sven. "Someone's in troubs!"

The pixies laughed.

"This is not a laughing matter, guys!" said Ingrid.

Freya fluffed her hair, then tugged at the bustier of her dress. "Well, I didn't do it, did I now? Jean-Baptiste did warn me, but he's my godfather, and he gave me the recipe."

"Jean-Baptiste has a weakness for pretty girls. He'll give you whatever you want as long as you prod him a little. Of course he gave you the recipe, Freya!" said Joanna.

"But, but - " Freya protested. Killian caressed her bare shoulders, and she kissed his hand.

Ingrid crossed her arms, then felt a furry coziness at her foot and looked down to find a round little pig nuzzling her. "Gullin-bursti!" she exclaimed, calling Freddie's familiar by his ancient name. "Am I happy to see you! Yes, yes! It's been too, too long!" She tickled him under the chin, and he squealed happily.

Meanwhile, Norman and Joanna were questioning their children on everything that had happened with the pixies and with Freddie's return. The girls were relieved that everything was out in the open so that the family could strategize. They needed to know who had ordered the pixies to steal Freddie's trident, because whoever did so was the real culprit of the Bofrir's destruction, and now the most powerful god in all the nine worlds. Who ever it was had already abused his or her power by making Freddie appear responsible. Once they knew the identity of the true criminal, they could go to the White Council and exonerate Freddie and Killian for good. Of course, it would mean Loki would be exonerated as well, but no one cared about that for now.

Every time Freya sensed Freddie was about to veer the topic over to Hilly, she shot him a cold, quieting glance before he could get the girl's name out. Bringing a meaningless person into the picture would only overcomplicate an already complicated situation, Freya believed. She pulled her brother aside and asked him to cut it out about Hilly; as things stood, Joanna was already upset with both of them - but mostly Freya - about Freddie having hidden out at the Ucky Star for so long without her knowledge. How would Mother feel if she learned her son had been casually dating and getting his kicks that whole time? "Just wait a while, Freddie. Don't rush it. Please! I know how you feel. You're in love and want to tell everyone, but let's just keep it between us for now until the time is right, okay?" Freddie grudgingly conceded she was right.

Joanna requested that the first order of business was moving the pixies out of the house, as the attic was no place for anyone let alone a bunch of excitable pixies. She seemed to have warmed to them and had stopped mentioning cannibalistic tendencies, but she was firm about not letting them stay. The pixies had caused too much trouble in the house to be able to remain; they had scared off Gracella for one. The misplaced objects were the spirit's doing, but it was clear that the pie eating and the missing food from the pantry and refrigerator were certainly the pixies' fault, and she wasn't going to stand for it.

The motel was suggested as an obvious choice for a good hideout, Freddie having gone unnoticed there for such a long time. Ingrid agreed that bringing the pixies to the motel was a good idea. She would have to keep them safe from Matt, especially if it turned out that the pixies had actually been involved in the burglaries. It wasn't their fault they didn't understand the rules of right and wrong in Midgard.

"Still, if I find out you guys have been stealing when I told you to stop! ..." she said, scanning their faces wrathfully.

"Frogs, we know," Sven said in a bored voice.

"When will you stop berating us, Erda? We really mean no harm," said Kelda.

Freya took her turn. "You guys need to get cracking on remembering who ordered you to steal Freddie's trident!"

"Oh, sure! We'll get right on it, after we relocate!" The pixies grumbled loudly about how unhappy they were about having to move from the attic.

"They say death, divorce, and moving are the three most traumatic events anyone can experience," Sven said with a sly look.

There was no getting anywhere with the pixies, and Joanna was losing her patience. She rapped her wand on the table, sending a shower of sparks. "Do as you are told or I'll send the whole lot of you to my sister Helda! Norman is going to drop you off at that motel on his way back to the university and that's final!"

For once, no one argued or questioned her judgment.

Chapter forty-four

Would I Lie to You?

In the back office at the library, Hudson and Ingrid were on coffee break while a very pregnant Tabitha and the new intern, Jeannine Mays, a creative-writing graduate student who attended classes in the evenings at a nearby university and resembled a younger version of Tabitha with her long hair, ankle-length skirts, and sweet, laid-back manner, manned the library. They liked Jeannine even if she was forever pressing her latest manuscript on them to read.

Ingrid and Hudson were catching up. He had been away with his guy, visiting Scott's parents in Miami for Thanksgiving, where they had spent a week. This was it - the ultimate ultimatum. Scott had told Hudson that it was only fair that they spend Christmas with Hudson's family. Hudson better start moving on it, and if he didn't, Scott was moving out. Scott had told him it was time to come out of the closet, even if it was large and a walk-in, had a minibar and a television.

"So are you going to do it?" Ingrid asked.

Hudson gave her a slow smile, and Ingrid noted his lovely teeth, so pearly, like Matt's. "I don't have a choice, do I? But Scott's right. I have to grow up sometime. If you can tell your boyfriend you're a virgin, I can tell my mom and dad I'm gay. You've given me courage, old girl."

Ingrid smiled. "Well, I'm glad I could help." She sighed.

"What happened?" Hudson asked.

She shook her head.

"You can tell me," he said, cocking his head at her.

That was all the prompting she needed from her friend. She told him pretty much everything about the past week, leaving out the more inexplicable parts. It boiled down to this: she hadn't heard from Matt since Thanksgiving, after which, the very next morning, two officers had shown up at Joanna's, taking Freddie, her brother who had returned after a long voyage abroad, down to the station for questioning in the burglaries. She left out the part about the officers arriving with a warrant to search the premises since they'd heard her mother was harboring illegal immigrants in her attic. They had turned the house upside down but found no hidden loot or "illegals."

At the station, they had fingerprinted Freddie but saw no priors in the system. Then a fancy New York City attorney had shown up on Freddie's behalf, saying, "You're done with my client." The officers had instantly released him, but not without warning her brother that he remained a primary suspect in the burglaries and they would be keeping an eye on him. Freddie said he had no clue who had sent the lawyer, although Ingrid had sensed her brother was hiding something. But that was not the point. Freddie had reported to Ingrid that the whole time Matt had remained at his desk, watching all of this unfurl as if he were surreptitiously orchestrating it.

"You know what I think, Ingrid?"

She shook her head.

"You need to call him and ask him what's up. Do it right now or else it will drive you crazy."

"But - "

"But what? Because you're the girl, you're not supposed to call him? Please! I thought you knew better than that. Put him on the spot. It's unacceptable that he didn't even call to thank you for inviting him over. That's just rude. Not to mention sending the police to your home!" Hudson ran a tongue over his teeth. "I was all for this relationship, but now I'm not so sure ..." He grabbed their empty coffee mugs and pastry wrappings and walked to the door, turning back to her. "Call him, Ingrid! Do it now!"

"Bossy!" she said, then gritted her teeth. But she knew he was right.

After procrastinating with some work, Ingrid returned to her desk and glared at the phone as if it were a ticking bomb. She reached for it but quickly pulled her hand back to primp her hair. Finally she went for it, sitting down, clasping the phone between her shoulder and cheek, and punching in Matt's cell.

He picked up on the second ring. Silence. Ingrid waited. Nothing.

"Matt?"

He coughed. "Yeah, Ingrid," he said brusquely. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to call and see ... how you were," she said lamely. "I haven't seen you since Thanksgiving."

There was another long pause and finally Matt spoke. "You lied to me," he said quietly. "You said you put those kids on a bus."

"I know ... I'm sorry ... But there's so much you need to understand about my family," she said. "First of all, they're not kids, Matt ... They're pixies. They're magical creatures from another world ..."

Another long pause. "Ingrid, there's no such thing. The next thing you'll say is that you're a witch."

"But I am a witch," she cried. "I'm not thirty-two years old, Matt. I'm so much older ... You have no idea. And I can prove it! I put a spell on you so you wouldn't be upset about what happened at dinner ... Remember your headache?"

"Enough of this nonsense," he said. "Red wine always gives me headaches. Look, I'm sorry about your brother, but the fact of the matter is there've been a bunch of unsolved robberies in the area."

"Freddie? He would never! You had no right to bring him in."

"He was dressed as a cat burglar."

"But that's just ... a coincidence."

"In my line of work, there's no such thing," he said sternly.

Which means, in his mind, there was no such thing as witches and warlocks and pixies, either, Ingrid realized, her heart sinking.

"I trusted you. You said those kids were gone and they weren't. Not only that but they were living in your house. In the attic as I remember."

Ingrid didn't know how to answer to that. A droplet of sweat from her armpit slid along the inside of her arm inside her sleeve - so unpleasant, like a cold little worm. This was dreadful. Without thinking, she blurted out, "Well, you lied to me, too, Matt. I know you're seeing someone else."

"Seeing someone? What are you talking about?"

"Well, when we were at dinner, a little piece of paper fell out of that 'work' notebook of yours. It said 'Maggie' on it and had a phone number accompanying the name. Then at my house, you put your phone down for a second, and I noted that the last call had been to someone named Maggie. I might be ... inexperienced ... but I'm not naive." She had done some fibbing, but ultimately it was all truthful, at least the salient parts: she had seen the paper and the name in his phone after quickly scrolling through his list of outgoing calls. It had been his last call.

"Jesus, Ingrid! You have no idea what you're talking about!"

"You have no idea what you are talking about, Matt!"

They were both speechless for some time. She could hear him breathing. The connection between them was stretching taut, about to snap. "Fine!" he said.

"Fine!" she snapped.

"You know, I don't think this is going to work out ..."

"I guess not," said Ingrid. "Good-bye."

He didn't have anything to say to that, so they both simultaneously hung up. Ingrid stared at the phone again. She was more angry than hurt. Actually, she was furious.

Had she just broken up with him? Was that a breakup? She hadn't broken up with anyone before, but it felt like a breakup. She had made a horrible mistake with Matt. Why had she let herself fall in love with him? What a fool she was! A mortal could never understand her, especially one who was so closed minded to the possibility that there was more to life, more to the universe than what was in front of his nose. How could she ever have fallen in love with someone so ... literal, so practical, so ... mundane. Someone who didn't even believe in magic!