Halfway Dead (Halfway Witchy Book 1)

by Terry Maggert

  “Do you smell that?” he asked.

  “I don’t smell anything. Not even me, which is probably a good thing. What is it?” I asked, watching him sniff the air like a ferret. Okay, a really tall ferret, but still, there was something comical about a tall guy poking his snoot up into the wind like he was tracking down a bakery.

  “It’s woodsmoke,” he said, softly.

  I focused on the squat shape that was cleverly disguised across the meadow, and pointed. “How much you wanna bet it’s coming from there?”

  Jim peered from under a hand that shaded his eyes, and gave a single nod. “Your nose might be out of commission, but your eyes are fantastic. That’s a cabin. Sort of.”

  We both stood for a long minute, examining the low structure that seemed to sprout from the ground. Grass covered the roof, and there were trees curated around it as camouflage. It was incredibly well hidden.

  “Stars and Sun, who could live out here?” I wondered aloud.

  “I do,” said a male voice from behind us, and we whirled to land, fists raised and in a state of utter shock. The man was less than ten feet from us, leaning insouciantly against a tree with a half-grin on his face that told me exactly what he thought of our survival skills. He was young, taller than Dietrich, and had long blonde hair in a complex braid that ran nearly to his waist. His eyes were midnight black, and he had the broad cheekbones of a Scandinavian, but the coloring of a Mohawk warrior. He was shirtless, wore doeskin pants with no shoes, and carried no weapons, save a small bone knife that hung from a leather thong at his waist. Around his neck hung a strand of water grasses, and at the middle, an enormous bear claw danced on his chest muscles as he moved.

  Jim moved like quicksilver and his pistol was in hand, held calmly before him. “Just in case. You understand, friend.” His voice was calm, even though I could hear my own heart thudding in my ears like a triphammer. A bead of sweat pooled on the end of my nose, but I calmed when I took my charm bracelet between two fingers and felt the growing power of a fire spell resting at the back of my tongue. Whoever this ghost of a man might be, he was not going to find me an easy mark, no matter how quietly he could walk in the forest.

  There was a shadow, then a cold breeze, and Jim looked to see his hand now empty, the man once again leaning in a careless, infuriating manner against the exact same tree. I hadn’t even seen him move. He dropped Jim’s pistol into the leaf litter with a smirk.

  “You understand, friend.” The stranger left no doubt that we were most certainly not friends, at least not yet. His black eyes turned to me, taking me in with that sort of concentration that would make most people feel like a butterfly on a pin. I stared back, level and calm. At least on the outside. “As I mentioned, the cabin is mine, and if you’re this far into the woods, Carlie, then there can only be one reason.”

  I closed my mouth to keep from looking foolish. I mean, more foolish. “Okayyy . . . I’ll bite. How do you know me?”

  He laughed with complete abandon, and I brought my hand up instinctively, ready to cut loose a bolt of pure light, when I saw his mouth, and the tidy white fangs that peeked from beneath his upper lip.

  He was no man. He was a vampire.

  Chapter Thirteen: Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner

  I froze in something like a standoff, not because of fear, but because I knew that any offensive spell capable of harming a vampire would also turn Jim Dietrich into a tall, toasty piece of cop jerky. With one hand extended before me, I gathered my will and said, “Please explain yourself before one of us gets hurt.” I finished this bit of bravura without my voice cracking at all. I’d count that as a win.

  “Wulfric. That’s a start, isn’t it, Carlie?” He grinned at me impudently, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted to kick him or kiss him. All vampires are capable of great charm, but usually they’re just so repulsive that, unless they’ve cast a glamour, it’s sort of like being complemented by the world’s ugliest bat-lizard-toad-thing. With fangs.

  “It is,” I allowed, but I kept my hand up.

  Jim apparently knew when he was outclassed, so he stayed silent, but I could see his eyes assessing angles of escape in case things got desperate. “Wulfric? Not exactly a Mohawk nation name, is it?” I asked, one brow lifted to try and keep things light and reasonably friendly, given the circumstances.

  “It isn’t, and this is the part where I tell you it’s a long story, and offer you a meal and shelter for the night.” Wulfric smiled winningly at us both. He was confident, I’ll give him that.

  I snorted just as Jim coughed in surprise. “In the cabin? With you? What are you, bonkers?”

  Wulfric lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe, but that’s due to sheer boredom. I cannot offer hospitality to you and violate those laws. They’re sacrosanct, just like my home.”

  “That’s not much of an assurance,” I replied curtly. I didn’t like our odds, but I really didn’t like the idea of going down without a fight.

  “Well, the concept of hospitality is paramount to me. Your Grandmother certainly had no trouble joining me for a meal and a talk.” Wulfric smiled at the shock on my face.

  I could feel my cheeks flushing with disbelief. “You know Gran? I don’t buy it. She would have told me!” I hissed. The vampire was well past insult; now he was lying to my face, and I was presented with the option of taking offense and attacking him without warning. There was just one problem: I wasn’t sure I could win, even though I had my suspicions that he was no pureblood. Call it a hunch, but Wulfric standing in the afternoon sun made me think he was a hybrid. Where he’d come from, I couldn’t imagine. Hybrids are incredibly rare, and they tend not to live as long as actual pure vampires. Their human traits eventually get them killed; it’s a weakness that doesn’t afflict the night stalkers like pureblooded vamps or ghouls.

  “Not Tessa, your Gran. I said your grandmother. Quite a difference,” Wulfric replied amiably.

  “I only have one Gran, and how do you know her—never mind. I really don’t believe you know.” I flicked the charm holding a fire spell between my fingertips, and heard it chime like a faerie bell.

  “Here,” Wulfric said, producing a small locket. It was gold, with pewter chasing, and it wasn’t on a chain. It was cool from his pocket, leaving me with an uncomfortable bit of proof that he really wasn’t alive. Correction, not fully alive. “Open it.”

  I picked the small lid open and turned it to Jim, who watched this exchange with great interest. Inside was a photograph, very old, and the face looking out was mine. I looked up from the image with tears shining in my eyes, uncertain what to do next.

  Wulfric tapped the locket with one long finger and said, “Meet your great-great grandmother, Olivia.”

  Jim reached out with a delicacy that contradicted his looks, and took the locket from my shaking fingers. “Hmph. That’s you, Carlie. That is . . . all you. The eyes, the nose, even her hair. Amazing.” He handed the locket back to me and patted my hand lightly to assure me that it was indeed real.

  There was an uncomfortable pause while I did the math, then reached my inevitable conclusion. Whoever Wulfric might be, he’d known my family, and that meant it was likely that he meant me no harm. That did not mean that Jim was safe, so I brandished my bracelet at the vampire and fixed him with the most lethal gaze I knew—the look I give someone who sends back one of my waffles.

  “We will accept your hospitality, Wulfric, on the condition that it extends, in full, to Jim Dietrich, who stands here before you. Should you breach this agreement, know that I and my family will consider any relationship between us null and void, and you will be subject to the fullest application of our magic.” I spoke with rigid formality, then bowed slightly to indicate I was done.

  Wulfric schooled his face into a mask of sobriety, then responded in a grave tone. “I offer you, Carlie McEwan and Jim Dietrich, the full nature of my hospitality in perpetuity should you need it, as well as my protection while your persons are on my lands.” He too
bowed, and we all shook hands before regarding each other with slightly less wariness.

  “What now?” Jim asked, breaking the standoff with an easy grin. He seemed to be rather good under pressure. I made a note of that for later, in case it was needed.

  Wulfric pointed to the distant cabin. “We eat. We drink. And I’ll tell you why you should accept my help on your errand. Because if you don’t, then I fear that you’ll not leave these woods alive, but you may leave them at that.” As he spoke, the sun dipped below the horizon with a bluish finality, and stars began to flirt overhead.

  I shuddered, remembering the chill of the wight and her youthful looks. “Agreed. Lead on, then, and thanks. I was actually dreading noodles again.”

  “Noodles? What are those?” Wulfric asked over his shoulder.

  “You’ll see.” I smirked, and we began to trot downhill, shadows turning the world to black around us.

  Chapter Fourteen: The Fertile Crescent

  Wulfric’s cabin wasn’t just built to be unobtrusive, it was actually camouflaged with a clever series of trees set to grow in expanding rings. The outer ring was cluttered with birch, whose smaller leaves broke up the shape of the cabin, then larger hardwoods were staggered inward, creating a series of narrow angles from which one could actually see the timber sides. It was cool and dark beneath the canopy, and the faint hint of wood smoke lingered about as the daytime breezes gave way to the still of night. There was a large front door with an intricate carving above. It looked like the prow of a Viking ship turned on its side, the dragon’s head lolling downward like a lazy cat.

  Jim reached up to touch it involuntarily, and Wulfric smiled. “I carved that over the span of three years. It reminds me of the old lands.”

  We waited outside while Wulfric set tinder to a series of lamps, and in moments he hailed us inside. Jim and I stopped in our tracks, shocked into silence by the interior. It was enormous, like some sort of optical illusion rendered into a living space. There were two levels, the second down three steps and extending at least eighty feet back. Walls of split hardwood were lapped upward like the sides of a long boat; each plank had been lovingly fitted and hand scraped. There was a depth to the wood that could only have come from hand oiling, and there were occasional windows of seemingly random shapes. Here, an octagonal window framed in raw wood, then at some distance, a long single pane inlaid with what looked like lead strips. After a glance at each window, I realized that they were salvaged from somewhere, along with many other things that crowded Wulfric’s space. There were oil lamps every ten feet, and on some of the tables there were two. The entire space was cast with a buttery glow, but the array of items hung on the shiplap walls were beyond compare. This wasn’t a home, it was a museum.

  “How . . . how long have you been here?” Jim croaked. The same question rested light as a sparrow on my tongue, but I stayed silent, hoping for an answer.

  “Ahh, well, that’s the long part of the story, isn’t it?” Wulfric was busying himself with expensive-looking pink glasses, filling each with some sort of clear liquid. “Let’s drink first, then, we eat. Along the way, we can talk. Agreed?” He waved to a series of chairs that were arranged around a fireplace faced with gray creek stones. I welcomed the fire, as it was fairly cool in the doorway; the night was advancing quickly.

  We sat, still in that awkward phase of strangers, but warming to each other despite our clear differences. “What is this?” I asked, flicking a glance at my glass. The liquid was clear, and cool.

  Wulfric looked surprised. “It’s water.”

  “Oh. I sort of expected . . . I don’t know, something a touch more exotic.” I sounded disappointed to me. I couldn’t imagine what a jerk I must have sounded like to our host. “Sorry,” I added hurriedly. “This is a bit new.”

  Jim toasted us and drank, then nodded to me, indicating that yes, it was just water, and yes, I was kind of being ungrateful and bratty. I took a sip, and it was water, cold and sweet. I felt an unseen ghost of stress leave my fingertips, and leaned back the smallest bit. I let my eyes drift around the walls in open awe. The home was like nothing I’d ever seen before in my life.

  “How long have you been collecting these things, Wulfric?” I asked. My curiosity was intense. Every item in his home seemed to be utterly unique, from the carved masks to leather scrollwork, to what appeared to be a bone flute carved from the thigh of an enormous animal. The flute sparkled with garnets that had been attached somehow; the entire instrument gleamed with quiet dignity from the light of the nearest lamp.

  He looked at me, swirling his own mug, which was tapered to a conical point. It was burled wood rubbed with oil of some sort, and there was a handle made from what looked like a bronze horseshoe. It appeared heavy, but he waved it with ease to indicate the space around us. “Since the beginning,” he said, then took a drink before regarding me with a patient, moderate gaze.

  “I’d hoped for a touch more detail.” I could feel my eyes start to roll, but stopped them, mindful of our host’s talents at All Things Vampire. “You know, the beginning can be many things, what with the advance of scientific understanding and all.” I gave him a smarmy grin. I didn’t like passive aggressive vampires, it seemed.

  “Very well. Since the beginning of my people’s presence here, on this continent. That would be your Christian year of 985 A.D. if you wish me to be exact.” He smiled again, looking at the open doubt on Jim’s face. As for me, I knew better. Nothing about vampires surprised me, except when they showed up in the middle of the Adirondacks. In a cabin. With an obviously Viking name.

  My world is weird.

  Wulfric waited for us to interrupt, but there wasn’t much to say. I motioned for him to continue in what I hoped was the most deferential means possible. A thousand-year-old vampire in his own home gets first crack at the conversation. If the guy wanted to tell knock-knock jokes until sunup, I wasn’t going to interrupt. I pasted a pleasant smile on my face and waited, noting that Dietrich did the male equivalent of the same.

  Wulfric swirled his glass, inhaling something that smelled sweet and earthy. Catching my eye, he explained, “Mead. It’s a rare thread to connect me to my home, although anyone might argue that this is my home. Or, it has been for all these years.” The longing in his voice was bitter in my ears.

  “Why did you come here in 985, Wulfric?” Jim asked.

  “Because of a rumor.” He drank deeply of his carved cup, grimacing with emotion. “And damned if the rumor wasn’t true.” Lines etched his smooth brow, and his long fingers tapped on his leg in a tuneless rhythm as he gathered the narrative. It was clearly not something he shared often, if at all.

  “My uncle came to the Americas in the Christian year 966, and, unlike men who went before him, he returned safely, laden with goods and stories,” Wulfric said, warming to the tale. I heard Jim hiss inward at that. It seemed that history was full of surprises. So much for the whole Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria story. “Among the furs and wood, my uncle had a hide map, written in gall and iron ink. It had faded to blues, but was still readable, and the central drawing was a small circle surrounded by trees. It could have been anything, really, but my uncle was not a man to leave things to chance, and on his ship were two other items of plunder.”

  “Indians?” I asked. It seemed that a treasure map needed a translator. When Wulfric smiled, I knew I’d hit the mark.

  “Just so. Women, actually, who had married two of the men and were already with child before they’d begun their trip back across the rolling danger of the Atlantic. By the time the ship docked, there was a frenzy on board, for my uncle was good with languages, and he understood what the map meant.” Wulfric smiled sadly, thinking of an event that set so many lonely years into motion. I sensed that, given the chance, he would have wished that map at the bottom of the ocean, uncle or no onboard the ship.

  “Before you go further, a question?” Jim leaned forward, asking in a polite tone.

  Wulfric bade him ask wi
th a quirk of the brow.

  “Why can you stand in the sunlight?”

  Wulfric smiled at Jim while toasting the acuity of his question. “Well put, friend. And the answer is both simple and related to the place which you seek. I am not a pureblood. I am, in fact, half man, and for that reason, the sun is tolerable, although not recommended for days on end.”

  “Ahh,” Jim said, with a sagacity that he could not have felt. Until recently, he hadn’t even known witches were real, let alone vampires. Or half-vampire, half-Viking, with excellent log cabin building skills. All in all, I thought Jim handled the answer with remarkable aplomb.

  “My mother was Huron. My father was Norse. I am a child of two worlds, stuck in this wilderness, and apparently doomed to be an eternal hermit of some kind.” Wulfric ground out the last words with frustration, and for the first time I noticed that there were numerous maps pinned to the walls, or framed in a more permanent setting.

  Even at a casual glance, I knew every map was of this area, and I resolved to ask him the significance as soon as possible without breaking hospitality.

  “The map was taken to the longhouse and examined by our seers, who fussed and prodded at it until they finally gave up, asking the two Huron brides to translate. The initial rumors had been quelled while loot was distributed and sold, and the requisite days of feasting were observed to honor the prowess of them men who had left the known world and returned. They were practically gods to us, and their wives were as exotic as creatures from the lands of the Aesir. I remember listening to the men call for silence as my uncle held the map up for all to see. The hall was as crowded as I’d ever seen, and the hum of anticipation hung in the air like bees outside the door.

  “Then my uncle explained that the water in the circle of holy trees was a spring, flowing silently from a bottomless hole in the earth. It was clear, and cold, and guarded by creatures of such unholy power that to approach the water was certain death.”