Halfway Dead (Halfway Witchy Book 1)

by Terry Maggert

  It was a demon. Sinister and misshapen, it churned the earth as it hurtled toward me, illuminated by my casting. The spell struck shoulder high on the pulpy looking gray mass of the creature, its maw opened wide to reveal a serious case of gingivitis. Broken tusks littered the upper and lower jaws in a grotesque parody of human teeth. The tongue was unrolled and spraying saliva as it ran. The demon was bear-sized, hairless, and lumpy, with all four limbs ending in wicked-looking claws of dark blue ivory.

  So, yeah. It was disgusting.

  I had no problem loading a second spell while the first was still dissipating on the demon’s skin, but took note that, even though there was now a large hole in the beast’s meaty shoulder, it hadn’t slowed down enough that I could say if I’d killed it. I raised my hands and shouted above the growing crash of the demon’s feet, when Wulfric appeared like a mirage, one muscular arm holding a dried tree limb before him like a lance. He didn’t make a sound as he drove the wood deep into the demon’s ribs, slamming his own shoulder behind the makeshift weapon to drive the sun-bleached point well past whatever bones might be under the slick gray skin.

  The demon unleashed a howl of such fury that sleeping birds scattered in a flurry of wings. I flinched from the sheer humanity of the scream, but steadied myself and let the second spell fly. At a range of ten feet, I couldn’t miss. The bolt hit true, and the demon rose up, front arms spread wide like a benediction as its back legs began to collapse. Wulfric’s strike had done some serious damage, and the black ichor demons use for blood was spraying like party favors into the night air. With a final herculean effort, the vile beast rolled in midair, shrieking for vengeance and mustering one last hateful swipe with its front claws.

  It caught Jim Dietrich in the bicep, raking a single blue talon downward with a wet tear until the claw snagged in the bones of his wrist. He went down under the heaped flesh of the demon, just as Wulfric leapt up onto the exposed back of the hellbeast, another bleached peace of pine in his hands. He drove the stake downward in a powerful thrust, pinning the sagging head to the earth like he was anchoring a tent. At that instant, my third spell, a minor ball of fae fire, erupted from my charm and vanished down the open gullet of the demon. A muffled thump and a long, repulsive belch emitted from the demon as it shuddered and died.

  Even dead, the thing couldn’t stop being gross. It really was an art form to be so universally nasty. I interrupted my condemnation of demonic bodily functions at the sight of Dietrich’s arm flopped out over the moist earth.

  “Jim!” I shouted, leaping over the extended forelegs of the demon to reach our fallen friend.

  The answering groan was weak, but present. I found his hand even as Wulfric put his shoulder into the beastly corpse and shoved it off of him in a liquid tumble. The creature sagged into a new resting position and quivered to a stop. Ichor gleamed black in the starlight, waves of steam wicking away into the night. I felt my gorge rise at the wrongness of the demon, and drew several short breaths through my mouth to calm my roiling stomach. Up close, the demon smelled like a wet hamper full of gym socks, and I pinched my nose indelicately with one hand.

  “Yeah, me too,” Wulfric said, his face in a sour grimace. “Jim, are you well enough to sit?”

  “Maybe.” Jim coughed. “Maybe not.” He grunted with every tiny motion, and Wulfric was examining the wicked gash in his arm with clinical interest.

  “Please tell me that demon venom isn’t fatal,” I wheedled to no one in particular. I know very little of the biology of demons, but based on their aroma alone, I was betting it wasn’t harmless to humans.

  “No, it isn’t.” Wulfric eyed Jim’s arm, then looked into the drawn features of his patient.

  For a man who was bleeding and partially squashed, he seemed remarkably calm.

  “But he isn’t going to use that arm for some time.” In a businesslike manner, Wulfric quickly cleaned the wound and wrapped it, then fashioned a sling out of a coil of rope he produced from his pack.

  Jim looked at his arm with mild surprise. “That’s my shooting hand.”

  “No it isn’t,” Wulfric corrected. “Both hands are calloused. You use either with some degree of skill.” He narrowed his eyes, then asked, “Why would you lie about such a skill?”

  Dietrich regarded us both with a grimace. “I didn’t want to brag.”

  I threw my hands up halfway, then laughed. “Why would we care? You can still shoot, right?”

  Wulfric inched closer to Jim, then pulled him to his feet. “Let’s get away from this corpse, and you can explain why your nature precludes you from acts of misplaced pride.”

  We moved camp. It took the better part of an hour, but we all agreed that staying close to a mound of decaying demon could be bad luck. I—and my nose—agreed. With a fire burning brightly at the new campsite, I looked at Jim, who was pale and a bit worn, but alert. Before I could open my mouth, he stilled me with a single flattening gesture of his good arm.

  “You don’t have to ask, Carlie. Let me explain,” Jim said. “I’m a practical man, who has recently discovered that the world is much more interesting than I previously imagined. I’d be a fool to brag about my career in the service or as an investigator, so I clammed up for a moment. There’s nothing complex about my unwillingness to crow about myself, I simply prefer to look at the evidence before me. Those facts indicate that you are considerably more powerful than you know, and Wulfric is fast and strong, and more than a little taken with you.”

  “Hey, I—” I started, then looked at Wulfric.

  At that moment, he didn’t look immortal. He looked like a young man who’d been caught staring at a pretty girl. I rather liked being the object of his affection, because the interest seemed genuine. Lust bores me after a while, because it’s hot but shallow, like a puddle in August. I hadn’t dated enough, because my needs were for a deeper, cool connection that could be explored over time. What can I say? I’m the analytical romantic type . . . sort of, unless you count food. The man that cooks for me will win my heart, and I found my thoughts wandering to Wulfric’s culinary skills. Did vampires like waffles? I could live with the whole undead thing, but not making, or at the very least loving, waffles was a deal breaker.

  I turned to Wulfric and threw down the metaphoric gauntlet. “What are you going to do about it?”

  He thought about demurring in the face of my direct question, but then composed himself with old world dignity and said, “When the time is appropriate, I will let you know.” His eyes flashed as he turned to Jim. “Are you happy, meddler?”

  Jim grunted and settled onto his pack with a smile. “Yes. Yes, I am.” And with that, he turned his face away and fell instantly asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-One: Spring Has Sprung

  I slept well, taking first watch and watching Wulfric and Jim snore with equal aplomb. Men of any size or shape seem to possess the ability to enter a near coma in seconds. I treated the experience like a safari where I would watch exotic beasts snort and mumble their way through an evening’s rest, occasionally scratching themselves idly as they grunted and changed positions. The remainder of the night passed in unremarkable slumber, and I awoke to the scents of campfire and coffee.

  “Morning, gents.” I stretched luxuriously, which is to say that I lifted myself on my toes twice before patting my hair experimentally. I wasn’t surprised to feel the springy resistance of a numerous cowlicks. I’d slept in one position, apparently, leaving me with a decidedly windblown look, despite having been prone on the ground for six hours. When I caught Wulfric’s smirk, I narrowed my eyes and said, “Not a word, big guy. Not. One. Word.”

  He covered his mouth and bowed with considerable grace as Jim let a chortle escape. Since Dietrich was handing me a cup of coffee, I let the infraction go unpunished. I took a sip of the steaming brew, then looked up into the brightening sky and saw Bindie hovering inches above my head. She unleashed a burst of machine-gun fire fae, and then flittered away at speeds I’d not thought po
ssible.

  “What was that about?” I asked, blowing across the cup. It was hot, but not so hot that I wouldn’t drink it. I’m not crazy.

  Wulfric’s face grew solemn. “The spring is near.”

  I looked around, nonplussed. It had been such a glorious morning. “How far away?” I asked. There was no sense in ignoring the reality of our task, even if it did ruin breakfast.

  “Less than an hour. Directly around that blowdown, you see the rocks?” Wulfric asked, pointing to a place that was so close it gave me pause.

  I felt nothing. I expected some kind of warning, given the purported evil we were approaching.

  “The spring will not move if we enjoy our coffee,” Jim said as he unwrapped one of the largest candy bars I’d ever seen. “I need to discuss something with you both, regardless. Let’s take a moment.” Although his tone was light, his body language was tense.

  “Okay.” I sat expectantly.

  Wulfric said nothing, but gave Jim the entirety of his considerable attention.

  “We need a contingency plan in case things go awry,” Jim began, and I felt my face drain of color. This was a reality I’d not yet confronted, despite the serious nature of our journey. I know that death is possible; I just don’t consider myself a candidate. I’m optimistic that way. “Wulfric, do you have any experience with ship building?”

  “What?” The big vampire’s shock was as sudden as mine. “I mean, of course, but—do you plan on sailing to the spring?” He laughed, a short bark of nervous surprise.

  “No, but I have an idea that requires an experienced shipwright, and I’ve heard that your people might have some experience in that field.” He grinned easily, and I began to get a strange feeling that I was being cut out of the plans. Dietrich read my expression, because he turned to me and smiled at my open discomfiture. “Carlie, you are a critical cog in my plan, don’t worry.” He hunched over and began to draw in the dirt near the fire. “We’re going to a battle, and we must plan for success. Sadly, we must also plan for failure, and that’s where the two of you come in. Look here— ”

  Over the next ten minutes, Jim expounded on his thoughts, and I sat back, smiling, as Wulfric’s face broke into an expression of such unalloyed joy that I thought he might faint. Jim Dietrich was a detective, and a soldier, and apparently a solver of puzzles. I lifted my cup as we crushed out the fire, squaring my shoulders for the short trip to a place where evil awaited our arrival.

  I’d never felt better.

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Bad News Travels Fast

  The first sign of real danger came in the form of a Wisp. This one was green, and it hovered over Wulfric while performing dizzying acrobatics that imparted a sense of near hysteria. Along with this constant, wild motion came a stream of dialogue delivered in a nearly inaudible bass titter. He was a male, he was angry, and he was scared. That much I gleaned from the pitch and hiccupping pattern of speech from the little guy.

  “How much trouble?” I asked Wulfric, who turned from the Wisp, nodding as if to process the torrent of information he’d just been given. A frown was spreading over his features, and I didn’t like that one bit. Jim recognized a problem no matter what language it came in.

  “More than we have seen before now. The spring is just there, past that rise,” Wulfric said, kneeling. “Donneragh here tells me that there is something unnatural waiting. He’s afraid, and he says Bindie won’t leave her position for fear of being seen. He says many of his kin are hidden, and the woods are not safe for any living thing.” He turned up to the Wisp, who chirped once again, this time somewhat more calmly. “What? What do you mean?” Wulfric asked the Wisp, who apparently understood English, even if he couldn’t speak it. After a series of anguished tweeting noises and a final raspberry, the Wisp streaked away with an indignant squeak. “He is making little sense. He says there is a butterfly awaiting our arrival, and that we must not fall prey to its charms. I have no idea what that means.”

  “A butterfly?” Jim asked. His face screwed up in comical concentration. “Charms? Like yours, Carlie? A magical butterfly?”

  I sighed in disgust. Nothing about this walk in the woods was pleasant, and apparently the formerly innocuous butterfly now wanted to kill us as well. I decided that undead Viking bards could even ruin teddy bears if they set a mind to it. Note to self: keep undead bards away from waffles. If they ruin those, I’ll hunt anything that even has a Viking-sounding name to the ends of the earth, and the meeting will not be pleasant.

  Wulfric was lowering his pack to the ground and generally unloading everything he carried.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, curious as to this newfound desire to travel light. He was strong enough to carry an ox, and I couldn’t imagine he was tired.

  “Scouting. I’m going to be silent as possible, have a brief look, and report back. If the spring is as close as Donneragh says, then we must be silent from here on out,” Wulfric said, his voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper.

  “Wait,” I ordered. I snatched at a nearby alder and pinched a strip of moist bark from the young tree.

  Wulfric raised a brow, and Jim shrugged at my sudden tone of authority.

  That was fine with me; sometimes a witch just needs to act. “Hold out your hands, palms up. Both of you.”

  They obeyed, looks of curious respect on their faces as I pushed my hands together tightly. My lips moved in silence as I reached for my power and seared the alder bark into a flare of colored light and ashes. I deposited the fine dust in their hands and indicated they should waft the fine plumes of smoke over their heads, like they were washing their faces.

  Wulfric caught on first, sniffing his own skin with one brow raised. “Deer. We smell like a deer. Or an elf, perhaps. Well done, my lady.” He grinned at Jim, who lifted his nose to sniff, delicate as a doe at the creek.

  “An old Indian trick. How did you do it with magic, Carlie?” Jim asked, his voice low and respectful.

  I shrugged. “My Gran knows this land, and I guess some of her magic just fits out here.” I turned to Wulfric, who hovered expectantly. “Go silent, big guy. They can still hear you, despite your light tread.”

  “I will,” he said, taking my hand lightly. “If I do not return before dusk, leave. Go as fast as you can, back to my cabin. Take what you can for weapons, and run. Do not stop until you reach town, but for no reason should you rest. Promise me, Carlie?” When I remained silent, he turned to Jim. “May I ask this of you? Get to safety, Jim. If I can be taken, then you must not join this fight. I implore you. Please.” Wulfric’s dark eyes bored into mine, and I felt a wave of dizziness at the thought of something stalking us that could kill the Viking who was also half vampire. That was a sobering thought indeed, but the feeling passed, and I nodded, if a little reluctantly.

  I guess I expected more of a scene, but he turned on his heel and vanished into the thick undergrowth without a sound. I stared for a moment after, then felt Jim’s hand on my arm. “Carlie, I have a confession.”

  I looked at him in alarm. What could he possibly need to confess at that moment? “Y-yes?” I stammered, unsure if things were about to get weird. Excuse me, weirder.

  He thumbed the safety off as he lifted his gun. “I have no intention of running.”

  I smiled, a wicked curl of my lips that felt good right down to my toes. Jingling my charms, I said, “That makes two of us.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three: The Drop-In

  I saw Wulfric before I heard him. He eeled through two saplings and sat down with an exhausted oof before either Jim or I could muster a sound.

  We both sat, staring at Wulfric with the kind of respect that I usually reserve for Kindergarten teachers or lion trainers. He regained his breath and adopted a placid expression that was at complete odds with our current situation.

  “Well?” Jim prompted.

  I echoed his sentiment with an impatient sigh. I was feeling a bit testy, given the current atmosphere in our little corner of the woods, a
nd Wulfric’s sudden moment of Zen was both boring and irritating.

  “Look here,” Wulfric said, and began arranging twigs and small stones into a sort of battlefield model.

  “Is this the part where you tell us there’s good news and bad news?” Jim asked.

  Wulfric’s face soured. “There is no good news. The spring is within a ring of nine enormous trees—I presume these are your American Chestnuts, because I’ve never seen anything like them in the past century. They’re in a tight semi-circle, and the area is well tended, free of cover, and backed up by a sheer cliff face that makes a rear assault impossible.”

  “Okay . . . why can’t I launch offensive magic from the nearest cover? You and Jim could sneak in on either side. Trust me, whoever this Haldor is, I can keep him busy.” I was confident that I could ruin that clown’s day if I got the chance. “I was not done describing the features of this place of evil, Carlie. There is a moat,” Wulfric said.

  “Excuse me? A moat? Who is this guy?” I was incredulous. This was beyond anything I’d expected, but at second thought, it figured. The immortal guardian of an evil fountain of death would take unusual precautions. Haldor was really living up to the standards of villains everywhere. Too bad I planned on ending his reign out here in the woods.

  “I told you. He is a bard, who is now creating undead souls through the tormenting waters of an evil source,” Wulfric replied equably, then smiled. “Did you expect less?”

  “Not really. How wide is the moat?” I asked, doing a little math in my head. I could maybe clear an eight-foot gap with a running start. Like I mentioned, I’m built for everything that doesn’t require height. A moat definitely required height.