When I finally get home, Betty takes me into her arms and whispers, “I knew no good would come of this.”
“He died, Gram,” I murmur into her shoulder. She smells of wood smoke and fur and spaghetti sauce.
“I didn’t think he had it in him,” she admits crossly.
That hits me wrong and she knows it, because she hugs me tighter.
“At least your mom can finally rest easy.” She pets my back a couple times like she’s a football coach or something, awkward and aggressive, and then tells me to go take a shower; she’s going to make some cinnamon toast. But when I go upstairs, I fall into bed and sleep kidnaps me before I can even take off my shoes.
The next day, I take Nick’s MINI into town, thinking about how Vander betrayed us. Astley doesn’t know why or how Vander was not actually pledged to him but to another king. He had an agenda, and Astley needs to figure it out. I need to find Nick, and we both need to keep the town safe. There’s so much to do. It overwhelms me.
Parking on Main Street, I get out and sniff the air for pixies. It seems clear. There are cars parallel parked up the sides of the road, smooshed near to the concrete sidewalks that border the brick buildings, all of which are three stories tall, except the bank, which tops out with a whopping fourth story. According to Betty, the entire downtown, which is basically two streets a quarter mile each, burned down right before World War II. Some crazy firefighter was bored and set the fires. They rebuilt and it’s nice and everything, but it lacks that old-time colonial era feeling that most New England towns have.
I step onto the concrete sidewalk, which has patches of ice and a thin layer of snow on it. The town snow-removal crew is having a hard time keeping up with all the precipitation. A man outside the health food store sighs as he shovels. The metal of the shovel scrapes against the concrete, making a horrible noise.
“Hello!” he says.
I smile at him and his rosy cheeks. He reminds me of Santa. “Hi. You need help?”
“I got it. Thanks.”
I pass Finn’s, the Irish pub that all Betty’s EMT friends adore, and rush up the steps to the Maine Grind, which is in another brick building that used to be the Masonic Hall. The Masons are some kind of secret society that goes back for centuries, but they’ve lost membership, probably because only men can join. They sold the hall and meet in the basement of the YMCA now. The Maine Grind is cute and as close to trendy as anything can get in Bedford, Maine. There are big tables made of solid wood with legs painted orange and purple. There are comfy couches everywhere. The music is usually contemporary folk, but not in a bad way. They even have chai. In Bedford this is huge.
I order a chai and head to the big brown leather couch that Devyn and Issie are already hunkered into. It sort of swallows you when you sit. Is sips hot chocolate. Devyn gulps water-I have no idea why. It’s the perfect day for warm drinks full of calories and sugar, but Devyn is on this “my body is a temple” kick all of a sudden and eats only whole foods and no refined sugars.
“Cassidy’s in the bathroom itching,” Issie says as I adjust myself on the couch. “Her sweater is driving her crazy. People were staring ’cause she couldn’t stop scratching. It was sort of sad. I always thought being fae was cool, but if all synthetic clothing makes you itch, it sort of negates the whole awesome factor. Oh my gosh, I’m babbling. I’m so glad you’re back.”
“It’s too bad she couldn’t just run around naked,” Devyn says. He takes a swig of water.
Issie elbows him hard in the stomach and he makes an oomph noise. A little bit of water spurts out of his mouth.
“I meant too bad for her, since clothes drive her crazy.” He rubs at his side and grabs a napkin to wipe at his jeans where the water fell.
“You meant too bad for the male populace’s viewing pleasure,” Issie insists. Her voice gets half huffy and half teasing, and it’s hard to tell if she’s being funny or serious. She crosses her legs. She’s wearing bright yellow tights under a jean miniskirt and hot pink boots to match. Only Issie could get away with that. She regains her composure and puts up her hands in surrender. “Sorry! Sorry. Total insecure moment. I am unworthy.”
Devyn just smiles and pulls his laptop out of its bag. “So, Iceland. Is there anything you’d like to go over? Any subtle clues? Any idea why the pixie set you up?”
“And are you emotionally okay? About the king sacrificing himself like that? It was so unexpected,” Issie says, reaching out to pat my arm.
“Did you guys know Betty doesn’t want us to look for Nick?” I blurt, not answering any of their questions.
They exchange a look and Devyn nods. “We knew. She’s pretty adamant that none of us try again. She believes Nick is gone for good, Zara.”
“He’s not.”
Issie grabs my hand in hers and squeezes. “We know. Don’t worry. We haven’t given up on him either.”
For a second tears collect at the edges of my eyes. It takes all my will not to cry, but I don’t. I won’t.
“He’s not gone,” I whisper.
“Don’t worry. We aren’t giving up,” Devyn says, booting up his laptop and looking embarrassed about all the emotion.
Issie admires her boots, stretching one leg out in front of her. “How many times do you think we’ll have to tell Zara we won’t give up?” she teases.
“According to my calculations, five hundred and thirty-eight,” Devyn answers. He eyes me. “And how are you feeling, Zara? Has the morphing into a new species bothered you, emotionally or physically? Do you have any side effects?”
I swear he actually opens up a document that has “Pixie Change Side Effects” as the subject line.
“No,” I sputter.
“Any self-loathing? My parents said that would be normal, and you could go see them for a counseling session, if you’d like,” he says, taps a line into his document, then adds, “For free, obviously.”
“No, I’m good,” I lie. “Same old Zara.”
They both look at each other like they know I’m lying. Dev closes the document and opens another. “So, I’ve been researching Valhalla, obviously.”
He then proceeds to give us the lowdown:
1. Valhalla is from the Old Norse Valhöll , for “hall of the slain.”
2. Valhalla is in Asgard, which is where the gods like Odin and Thor lived in ancient myth.
3. Nobody seems to agree about where Asgard is. Some scholars say near Troy, others in Asia, others in Iceland.
“So what we have basically is a fat lot of nothing,” Issie announces, then cringes. “Sorry, Zara. I know you want this to be easy. We all want it to be easy.”
I swallow some chai and put the yellow mug back on the coffee table, next to a copy of Utne Reader. Issie starts pulling on her tights, which have started to resemble elephant skin around her ankle.
“It’s okay,” I say, despite the growing feeling of desperation inside me. My fingers reach for my anklet, just to touch it a little bit and think of Nick.
Devyn raises an eyebrow but doesn’t look at me as I sigh. Instead he stays focused on his laptop screen. “I’ve got absolutely nothing on the name Astley gave me for his mother. I’ve run it through everything-DMV, all the search engines…”
“What we need is a psychic witch moment where we create a witch finder, the way Willow and Tara did in Buffy , or a transporter homing beacon type thing, like they have in Star Trek -” Issie stops herself because she must be noticing that we are all staring pretty blankly at her. “Does anyone know what I’m talking about?”