"To our health," Becky mumbled. She was probably embarrassed to have revealed so much to Freya earlier.
"Bottoms up," Ross called to Becky from across the bar. He took a huge pull from his glass; and for a moment his face turned gray and it looked as if he were going to be sick, or throw up. Freya felt a fluttering of nerves - what if she had forgotten to mix it just right? What if she had poisoned him somehow - what if she had forgotten the correct amount to put in the elixir? She rushed to his side, hoping there was still time to serve him an antidote, when the color returned to his cheeks and he took a deep breath. "What's in that?" he asked Freya.
"Why? Is there something wrong with it?" she asked, trying not to feel too alarmed.
"There's nothing wrong with it! It's awesome!" he declared, and downed the whole thing in one huge gulp. When he was done, his eyes seemed to light up, and he looked across the bar at his wife with a face full of wonder, falling in love with her all over again. Becky returned the smile tentatively, and in a few minutes the two of them were giggling, then howling with laughter, while Natasha looked confused and surly. Then Ross excused himself from his date, walked over to his wife, and gave her a back-dipping "Times Square - World War Two has ended" victory kiss. Natasha stomped off in a huff.
Freya sighed in relief. A few minutes later, she was smiling like a Cheshire cat. Her potion had worked. She still knew exactly how to make them. In an instant, the music on the jukebox suddenly pumped to life: Axl Rose screeching a love song: "Sweet Child o' Mine." She's got a smile that it seems to me, Reminds me of childhood memories . . . The music began to fill up the night, lecherous and passionate, making girls grab their boys' hands to lead them to the ad hoc dance floor in front of the jukebox. Dan and Amanda began to dirty-dance, and even the reverend and his wife took a spin. In the corner, the Baumans were making out so heavily - was that Ross's hand up Becky's shirt? - they should really think of leaving; it was getting a tad too heated. Even the mayor sat at the counter with a dreamy look on his face.
Freya drummed her fingers on the counter, swaying to the music. Sal had been right. It had felt like winter in there for a moment. But the frost had melted now. Of course, she still felt terrible about what happened with Killian. But a little magic went a long way.
Chapter five
Sister Talk
You didn't!" Ingrid said, looking up from her bowl of cereal and quickly putting the letter she had been reading back into her pocket.
"I did!" Freya said gleefully, too gleefully, Ingrid thought, feeling a twinge of jealousy at her sister's exuberance as she picked off a few grapes from the bowl to feed her pet griffin, a part-eagle, part-lion hybrid, the one magical concession from their past that the Council had allowed, only because there was no way to separate a witch from her familiar without destroying either one. Truly Oscar was getting too big for the nonentity spell she'd placed on him centuries ago; he was almost the size of a Labrador, but he had the soul of a pu**ycat.
"And nothing happened?" Ingrid asked doubtfully. "Oh, Siegfried, I hear you, too. But you don't like grapes," she reminded the black cat.
"Not a thing!" Freya crowed, rooting around the cupboard for flour. She had just returned from her graveyard shift at the bar. It had been a long, busy night, one of their best in recent memory. "I feel like pancakes, do you want some?"
"I guess. So what are you going to do?"
"What do you think? I'm going to do it again! It felt good, Ingrid. I felt . . . like I was me again . . . you know?" She began cracking eggs in the bowl, looking around and admiring the newly clean kitchen. Things were so much nicer in the house now that the Alvarezes were taking care of it. Joanna had really taken to the little boy, too. It was cute. They all found him adorable. Tyler was an interesting kid, wise beyond his years. He could beat any of them at chess and could already add and subtract large numbers in his head. One day he had told them with a solemn face that it took fifty-seven steps to get to the beach from their house. Most of his diet consisted of dessert, which made him perfect for Joanna, who had yet to discover a cake she did not like. Ingrid brought him chess books from the library and Freya chased him around the garden. The house was happier with the Alvarez family inside it.
She noticed Ingrid surreptitiously reading her letter again. Her sister had begun receiving letters over the summer. They always arrived in a plain white envelope with no return address. Whoever sent them, Ingrid did not say, and Freya did not ask. Since moving back home, the sisters kept an easy peace. Freya did not ask Ingrid why she had spent her last several years as a humble library clerk, and Ingrid did not ask why Freya had dropped out of NYU and sold her bar in New York. If they felt like telling each other, they would. They shared confidences like clothes, but respected each other's privacy.
It was funny how at home they fell back on their old habits, taking their usual places at the familial tree. Ingrid worked days, Freya took the late shifts, and they usually met for breakfast, at the beginning of Ingrid's day and the end of Freya's.
After a few seconds she flipped the pancakes. She didn't need magic to know they would taste fantastic: light and buttery with a nutty sweetness. She stacked two plates and brought them to the table. She drizzled her pancakes with maple syrup, while Ingrid ate hers with fruit.
"Did Mother tell you about the dead birds on our beach the other day?" Ingrid asked.
Freya nodded, forking her pancake. "Yeah. What's the big deal?"
"She's not sure. She thinks it's an omen."
"Uh-huh. Remember when she thought my old English teacher was a warlock who was out to get us after he accused me of plagiarism in eighth grade?"
Ingrid snickered. "Poor Mr. Sweeney, it's a good thing she's not allowed to or Mom would've hexed him!" she said, enjoying the sisterly solidarity. One of the greatest pleasures of their lives was talking about their formidable mother. That subject could never be exhausted.
"What Mom needs is a date," Freya said, feeding Siegfried from her plate. "She's got to get over Dad at some point." They hadn't seen their father since the restriction had been handed down, which was one of those subjects they never talked about. Bringing up their father only made their mother angry all over again. It was a shame what had happened between their parents, but there was nothing they could do about it. Dad was gone, Mom didn't want to talk about it, end of story. Freya tried not to hold it against her mother, or her father, since he dropped out of their lives and never even tried to contact them afterward.