“Deb?”
“Yes, Deb. Do not make me repeat myself. She’s rather clear about her intentions, and would prefer that you moved to a place she calls Timbuktu. I do not know where that is, but I assume it’s rather far away.”
“Just to be clear, we’re talking about the lady who fills in at the dry cleaner? The one with the crazy eyebrows and the pet rabbits? That Deb?” I asked, trying to envision Wulfric being harassed by a woman who was in her early sixties, bred rabbits for fun, and wore an endless variety of knitted vests that she made in her spare time. I like rabbits, and ironic vests are okay at the holidays, I guess, but still--Deb?
“I can sense your disbelief,” he said, wounded. “It may interest you to know she is either selecting me for breeding, or for something far worse. She may, in fact, be a cannibal.” He folded his arms and stood, smug with his facts.
I laughed, but then thought about my jokes regarding Tammy being a man-eater. “Would you care to back up this nefarious claim?”
“I will,” he intoned with grave dignity. “She told me she wanted to put me on a spoon, if she could find one big enough. I can only assume that means I am being targeted for sexual advances or prepared for consumption in some nightmarish ritual in her den, where she keeps the rabbits.”
“She keeps the rabbits in her den? How do you”--
“She told me, in one of her rather long-winded discourses about the merits of raising what she calls my floof babies in the confines of her home. Please understand, it’s quite normal to keep livestock inside, but when she described the tiny vests she makes for them”--
“She makes vests? For the rabbits?” I asked with a whoop, then winced as I corrected myself. “Actually, that sounds kind of adorable.”
“Well, it may be so, but I think she intends to eat me or ravage me, possibly both in quick succession. You would do well to respect her prowess. She asked me what kind of steaks I like and seemed rather familiar with my preference for mead over beer,” he bragged, lifting one brow in triumph at his obvious desirability.
“If you think I’m going to give in and let you have all this,” I waved dramatically, hitting some of the cowlicks that sprang forth from my head every time I so much as glanced at a bed, “Then you are sorely mistaken. Deb. Huh.” I snorted with disgust, trying to decide if I was pleased or offended that she had taken such an interest in the love of my life. “In the face of your irresistibility, I must insist that you wear the shorts I bought.”
He began to protest, but I plucked the shorts from his hand and dangled them in front of me. They were a noxious floral pattern of blue, yellow, and pink, just short enough to be awkward on a man of his height. “Shh. No. You will wear them, and you will like it. Further, you will--hey, why are you going swimming? And with a knife?”
He grew serious, and the humor left our room. “Because old things can be dangerous, and there’s only one way to get to a shipwreck.”
The chill unease returned, as we both turned our faces toward the lake.
And what lay beneath.
Chapter Five
Surfacing
“Have you ever seen one on your lands? An elemental?” I asked over the sandaled clatter of Wulfric’s feet. We walked, hand in hand toward the lake, and since I was walking with Wulfric, it was as close to running as I would get without fleeing a bear. Or bears. The sun was warm on our faces, and I saw him watching me from the periphery of his vision. I loved the way he looked at me, even when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.
“Two, I think, of rather different flavors. One was long ago, a peaceful sort, though somewhat destructive,” he answered.
“What kind?”
“Stone. Squat fellow, gray and heavy. His feet tended to make trenches, and he couldn’t avoid crushing the undergrowth wherever he went. You might call him a--what are those things with the blades? Bulldozer? He could clear a path with ease. Bockern--that was his name-- spent days wandering about, smashing and bellowing cheerfully to the animals, who quite liked him. The birds followed him as he churned the earth because he exposed all manner of insects and roots, and the deer stayed close because no wolf would dare venture close to him. An exciting week, before he headed north to the shores of a lake, where others of his kind met to hold a social event,” Wulfric explained as we waited to cross the street towards the park. Cars were slowing down to gawk at the ship, and our town began to take on a more frenetic atmosphere. I didn’t trust the atmosphere around me.
“Bockern? Really?” I asked.
“That’s the nearest approximation to his true name, or at least what a human tongue can manage.”
“He went on vacation? To a lake?” I added, feeling rather dumb. It sounded much nicer than what I envisioned Richie doing, at least when he wasn’t wearing stupid socks and trying to smush people with trees and hailstones.
“Quite a gathering, according to his tale. His people ring the water’s edge and wait for a storm. The waves crash into their stony bodies and set up a sort of resonance, to which they sing and commune, building bonds and friendship until the next event. To me, it sounded rather musical, even holy,” he added, smiling into the sun as our feet touched the grass of the park. We began to veer to the left, leaving the milling crowd behind for the relative quiet of a small copse of trees.
I tugged at his hand, forcing him to look at me, then put my hand on my hip in a pose he knew rather well.
It meant trouble.
“Who put you up to it?” I asked, without preamble.
“Up to what?” He looked around bewildered.
“Look, big guy, I know your English is good, but the modern version can be tricky. Are you telling me that a bunch of elementals went to the lake and had a rock concert?”
“A rock concert? I said nothing of the sort. I told you of a gathering of stone elementals who communed through music. If anyone should be suspicious, it is me. You were the one telling a fantastic lie about insects who could play instruments and make girls scream and cry, a feat I still maintain as being sheer fantasy.” He finished with a disdainful sniff, like a French waiter dealing with people who had no reservation.
“That was The Beatles, not beetles, and it’s all true. My mom loved them; she still does,” I explained.
He peered down at me with suspicion. “I still think you’re making it up. How a beetle could fly from Britannia is beyond me, let alone hold an instrument. And to think, I trusted you to inform me of cultural events,” he said, taking my hand again as his eyes went back to the ship. “I think I will slip into the water a bit further from prying eyes.”
“If you find trouble, break the surface. I’ll help.” I had an array of spells loaded and ready to launch. If anyone tried to harm him, they would receive an unpleasant surprise. “Can you hold your breath that long?” I looked at the distance to the ship from where we stood under the quiet copse of trees. It was every bit of a hundred yards. Or more.
His answer was a nod and a kiss. “I won’t be gone long. These are my people, my ships. I’ll survey and come to you. We can discuss what I find--and what’s missing.”
“Missing?” I looked at the bow. It seemed mostly intact, though I was no expert.
“The ship should be laden with gear. If it isn’t here, then that means the crew did not return, and they were out there, in the forest. Or beyond.” He looked back at what had been his lands, a touch wistfully. “I’d like to know where my people finished their days.”
He kissed me again, and I turned away as he slipped under the water without a ripple. I began strolling toward the roped off section of the beach in order to blend in, keeping a weather eye on the area where he swam, unseen. The seconds trickled by like a slow train as tension built at the base of my skull. Where was he? The water remained calm despite the general activity around the bay.
I was answered when the bow of the ship dipped, then
returned to its former height above the water. I saw the dragon move side to side, but in small increments, as if Wulfric was trying to wedge himself under the craft or lift it out of the water on his back. Neither would have surprised me, given his stubborn nature.
Around me, no one seemed to notice the movement, so I stood in the loose crowd, nodding to friends and keeping my outward expression one of bland interest.
That ended when Wulfric burst from the lake in a magnificent spray of water some thirty feet from shore, well within the cordoned area. He smiled at me and began walking out of the lake like Poseidon made flesh.
“You can’t be in there!” came a shout from one of the wonks in uniform. It was the woman who had arrived first, her uniform dark green with a muted yellow badge. Tall and athletic, her pale blonde hair was cut short, framing a wide face and light blue eyes that crowned her with a hard, lean beauty. She stalked to the water’s edge and waited for Wulfric to disgorge himself from the lake, hand twitching on the butt of her gun. I didn’t like the way she watched him, and it had nothing to do with his general magnificence. This was a dangerous woman. I stepped forward through the crowd, now abuzz with his appearance, and held out my arms.
“Babe, you did it!” I cheered, moving past the woman as if she wasn’t there. “You swam the entire lake!”
“I did?” He looked back at the lake, mind churning. “Of course I did, yes. A most invigorating achievement for the morning,” he said. Wulfric was sharp. He intuited my meaning and went with it.
“I don’t care what he just did. If he doesn’t clear the water, he’s going to jail.” She fixed us with a cold stare, her hand still on the gun, but forgotten. The crowd began to step back, sensing trouble.
“On what authority?” The crowd parted as Gran stepped through, eyes flashing as she walked briskly to us. She was calm and dressed much better than I. She’d also fixed her hair, the show off.
The officer leveled a sneer at her and spat a single word, “Mine.”
Gran made a show of looking for a name on her uniform, then asked politely, “And you are?”
The crowd began to return. Many knew Gran well. A few knew her even better, having seen her magic firsthand. There were many familiar faces who she’d helped through the years. It was, for the officer, a truly hostile crowd.
“I’m the person telling you to step back if you know what’s good for you, Gammy.” The officer’s voice was frigid. That worried me, because she didn’t seem upset. Just cruel.
Gran stepped closer, a pleasant smile on her face. “I think we may have gotten off to a poor start. What’s your name, officer?” Behind me, I sensed Wulfric’s muscles bunch as he got ready for some kind of intense violence. I’d seen him move before, and that knowledge let me keep my breathing even despite the mounting tension around us.
After a moment of consideration, the officer answered, albeit in a clipped tone that was just short of an insult. “Domari will do, and no, I don’t want to bond with you or have a tender moment. Step back. I won’t repeat myself.” Her eyes flashed again as I let three charms jingle into my palm, filled with kinetic magic. The moment stretched, plump with growing danger.
Footsteps and grunts made me turn to see a man plunging through the crowd, carrying two bags and wobbling with each step. He was painfully thin, with dark skin, black hair, and thick framed glasses with lenses like aquarium lids.
“Hey! So, like, I thought I could start by”--the man began, stopping to adjust his glasses, which were askew from running. He was a low-level mess, shirt splotched with sweat and breathing hard. “What’s going on?” He looked around at us with confusion so thick it was comical.
He was a nerd. A tall, skinny, bespectacled nerd of the first order. No less than six pens crowded the front pocket of a golf shirt that had the initials OCA embroidered over a logo I’d never seen before. He panted with effort, a swollen laptop bag and field case draped over one of his skinny brown arms. “Can I set these down? Heavy. Long run from the car. Dr. Eli Delacourt. I know I sound Canadian but I’m not. I’m just gonna put this stuff down so I can get to the craft and start my initial survey. Is anyone else like, really thirsty? Is it me? I think I might be getting sick.”
He put a long, brown hand over his forehead, leaving it for an instant, then shaking his head dramatically. “Nope. Not dying. Just hot. Well, technically dying, what with cellular degradation and all. Does anyone have a generator? Are you all on the team?”
We stood staring. He was a tornado of questions, rarely stopping to breathe and always in motion, moving things from one bag to the other as he knelt, looking at the bow of the ship with an expression of wonder.
“Who are you?” asked Officer Domari. Her tone had gone from frosty aggression to bewilderment.
“I told you, I’m Eli,” he said without looking up. He was assembling some sort of camera, though its purpose was unclear. I’d never seen one like it before, but then again, I don’t take pictures unless it’s of my lunch. Or a cat. Okay, a puppy, too, and don’t get me started on baby goats. Even Wulfric thinks they’re cute, although he admits to owning a hat made from whole goat at one point in his life. Vikings, right?
“Yes, but what are you doing?” Domari asked again, the steel returning to her voice.
Eli stopped his arcane assembly and looked up in surprise. “I’m here for the ship.”
“This area is off limits by order of the state,” Domari began, in that practiced, bored tone that officials use to imply there’s no use arguing with them.
A hint of change came over Eli, revealing more of him than met the eye. Without a word, he held out his wallet, letting Domari take a long look at the exposed identification. “I am the state, although I’m actually a federal officer. I appreciate you being here and all, but unless I tell you to help me, I prefer to work alone.”
“What kind of officer?” Gran asked, pleasantly.
Eli turned to her and grinned. He saw the image Gran was projecting, not her true self. She was cagey that way.
“Office of Cultural Antiquities, ma’am,” Eli offered.
“I’ve never heard of that,” Domari interrupted, her eyes narrowing with even more suspicion. Her face must be exhausted at the end of the day, since she spent so much of it sneering. “Officer Mella, you ever heard of them?”
“Never. Sounds fake if you ask me.” Mella said in a Maine accent. He was a male version of Domari, but taller and more thickly built. He had harsh, handsome features under a blonde crewcut; an air of violent competence clung to him, though he was smiling just then.
“I’m not surprised, officer. I work under the secretary of the interior, and I’m tasked with issues like--well, like that,” he said, pointing to the ship. “One of my degrees is in marine archaeology, and I happened to be nearby. I generally work to the west, in the Great Lakes, but this is in my specialization, so here I am. I hope you won’t mind working with me?” He seemed genuinely hopeful that Domari might be able to bury the hatchet and tolerate a higher authority. I thought Eli was naïve, or just sly. I wasn’t sure which.
“I will. For now. We’re keeping people away out of safety concerns, among other reasons,” Domari said.
“Good idea. If that ship rolls over or settles, it’s going to be a problem. That’s why I need a boat ten minutes ago.” Eli looked hopefully around the shoreline. There was an array of craft, with people standing nearby, wondering if they could get back in the water. It was a brilliant day going to waste.
“I can help,” Wulfric said, earning him a look for everyone in the group.
I took his hand. “It’s too far to go get a canoe, babe, what about”--
“Who will loan me their boat this moment?” he bellowed, making us all jump. He could really crank up the volume when he needed.
When I opened my eyes, no less than three people were waving, either because they knew Wulfric, or b
ecause he’d scared them enough that they thought giving up their boat might save the village, so to speak. Like I’ve said, he’s quite a sight, and he was clad in nothing but shorts and a glare.
“And now, you are answered, Eli Delacourt.” Wulfric pointed to a nearby family, folks who were chattering away about getting breakfast before returning to take more pictures of the boat. In moments, the loan was complete, mainly because I sent them to the diner and told them breakfast was on me.
“Will you, um, be going in the boat with me?” Eli looked up at Wulfric, then at the boat.
“We will go together, and so will Carlie. I am quite strong. In case a kraken entangles you, I will be certain to cut you free,” Wulfric intoned.
Eli erupted with a nervous titter. “Ah, heh. Well, certainly. Can you circle the area three or four times at least? I need several passes with my gear.”
“What kind of gear?” Domari asked. Her lip twitched in repressed anger. She wasn’t done being upset by another authority. I’d seen her kind before and figured we would deal with some latent hostility later on.
“A form of sidescan radar, but portable and extremely defined. In essence, I’m going to do in minutes what would have taken weeks. The shallow water helps, too. Last time out I was in a thousand feet of water, over in the Finger Lakes. A missing locomotive that someone hooked with a tow line. The train was magnificent, no idea how it got in the middle of the lake, either. I was working on a hypothesis when the call came about this wonder,” he said, letting his eyes rest lovingly on the prow.
“Then let us get you to your position, Dr. Eli Delacourt. I am quite eager to see what your device can reveal,” Wulfric said.
Domari grunted, Gran winked, and we got on board as Wulfric pushed the borrowed eighteen foot boat out with a single heave of his massive arms. He leapt in without getting wet, despite having just come from a long swim. Wulfric used the electric trolling motor with a deft touch, his bare foot on the paddle control as he crabbed over to steer with the handle.
Halfway Drowned (Halfway Witchy Book 4) Page 3
