Halfway Bitten (13 page)

By a few things, I meant some specific plants. Actually, I needed switches cut from three different trees. The remaining spell ingredients were already in my house, courtesy of eBay.

“Over here. The willow,” I said, selecting a robust example that drooped toward a wet finger of lake water jutting into the meadow behind my house.

“The whole thing? It’s a rather large tree.” Wulfric shaded his eyes, sizing the tree up with professional intensity.

“No, tough guy. Just a switch. Preferably one from a lower branch, moist and springy. Here, this’ll do nicely,” I said, seizing a long, thin limb in my hand and snipping it with my silver shears. “Hold, please. Our next victim is a crabapple that lurks at the edge of the park.”

“A fruit tree? Does that have meaning?” Wulfric asked, slowing his step to match my more limited stride. His dark eyes roved over the township, which was abuzz with the action of morning.

“Mmm-hmm. The willow is a seeker, and the crabapple is thorny. It will bind my spell to the targets, but not in a manner that would alarm them. The entire purpose of this is to tag them, not ring a bell in the face that tells them their cover is blown,” I explained. We walked across the street to a boisterous crabapple that would be heavy with hard little fruit come September. I snipped a fine y-shaped sample and repeated my directions to Wulfric, then we made off back toward my house. The slim sticks looked like straw in his hands, but he smiled patiently knowing that all would be revealed in my cellar.

“What is the last component? Will it foment light?”

I stopped. “How did you know that?” I asked, the surprise on my face giving way to a grin. Wulfric was no fool. He saw angles from hints.

“It seems obvious. You’ll need to charge the glyph, correct? Since you explained the other qualities of these two lethal weapons I carry”—he whipped them through the air like rapiers—“I can surmise the third element.”

“Easy, Zorro. But, yes, I’m going to use a fire maple for the third. It’s the potential of the tree, not the immediate quality. In the fall, the colors will be more brilliant than anything, save a sumac, but the wood takes better to our family magic,” I explained.

“Who is Zorro? It sounds rather ominous.” Wulfric narrowed his eyes with suspicion. He didn’t appreciate my cultural references, but I guess anything after Beowulf would be new to him.

“A swordsman of legend. Quite the dresser. Good with the ladies, too,” I said as we neared my house.

“Ah. Then I approve the use of that name for me.” His grave reply made me snort. He really could be dignified when he was wearing pants.

“I’m glad. There’s the tree. We cut one more, and then breakfast. I want to be fully prepared for this magic because, if I’m right, there will be a shockwave through our lands that brands every undead in the area. If I’m wrong . . .” I shuddered lightly, despite being in the brilliant sun.

“You may have callers at your door?” Wulfric concluded amiably.

“Exactly.” I sounded wary, even to my own ears.

“I should let it be known, dear. I don’t wish to be interrupted when we are at our rest.” A sly sideways grin told me his intentions had nothing to do with resting, but I immediately knew that he would defend me with fang and fist if needed.

“Good enough for me. Let’s go make some magic.” At his raised brow, I added, “With a spell. The other kind can wait until later.”

Wulfric was good as his word. He sat quietly on a rough wooden chair that had been in my cellar long enough that it was brittle with age; it creaked ominously as he lowered himself into it with a suspicious glare. Gus awarded Wulfric a piercing gaze as part of his duties as my familiar, then began to lick one paw casually.

My cellar is rather dark, but in a friendly way. There are ancient hemlock shelves where generations of people have stored pickles, and jam, and anything else the well-tilled backyard garden might yield. The floor is field slate with a center area of hard-packed dirt, and the walls climb upward in uneven stacks of stone with resolute bands of mortar between. The beams are dark with age, hand hewn, and solid looking. A long bench served as my mixing station; above it huddled jars of plants, with labels written in my own small script. I looked at the array approvingly, placed the fresh switches on the table, and began to focus my mind for the task at hand.

To his credit, Wulfric may have been a statue. I spared him no glances as I felt my power begin to grow. Each charm on my wrist began to assume that liquid tingle that can only come from a clear mind and busy hands. I’d need a brazier, a small ring of stones, and cotton cloth in which to place a small amount of aromatic lavender. I began to explain myself to Wulfric so that he would understand what was happening. My mental state was so relaxed, I didn’t fear speaking aloud. I could feel the magic blooming within me, and I knew this spell would be powerful.

“I’m creating what amounts to a waking dream,” I began, as I crushed the lavender and wrapped it in the soft cloth. “I can reach across the veil, but the beings I’m going to mark are neither here nor there. They are between places, and for that I need things that are dead. And alive.”

I put each stone in a careful ring around the rough stone brazier. Here, I let my intent overwhelm the natural tendency of disorder. With the power humming in my heart, each rock was placed
just so
by the strength of my will. In moments, I had a circle of such perfection that I doubted an engineer could do better. My lips curled in pleasure. The simplest things are often hardest, but the circle lay waiting for me as I lowered the brazier into the true center. There was a dull flash as the circle accepted my addition, then the circle closed with a low hum. The air began to charge with the scents of an oncoming storm, and I sat down in a pose of complete relaxation, ready to assume command of the power around me.

“The living will of these trees will form a purpose. That purpose, with the lavender, will seek and pierce the veil between worlds.” I leaned the switches together like old friends. “And now, I send this power seeking.” I closed my eyes to feel the magic, shaping it with my will until I could see the spell as a luminous hound, relentless and quick. I let the spell run wild with a command.

Lowering my voice to a rough command, I growled, “Saorsa! Alt sgrìobhaidh!”

Three things happened instantly. The switches stretched skyward, flaring into golden light before vanishing with a white flash, the tinkling of distant bells faded into nothingness, and Wulfric gave a yelp like a scalded dog.

“Did you feel anything?” I asked in panic. If he sensed
any
aspect of my magic, I’d just given away any advantage or element of surprise. I’d also probably pissed off a few vampires, which wasn’t the best move I could make.

“No, I just . . . you were a bit abrupt.” He smiled before adding, “and loud.”

I let the fog of magic clear from my mind before turning to him. My smile died. “Um. Babe, mind coming over here by the window?”

The single window in my cellar is a hazy panel mounted high up on the south wall; it’s festooned with spider webs and the dust of ages. In other words, I’m never going to touch it and it will remain dirty until my house falls in over my head. Despite this grimy, spidery condition, there was enough light coming in that I could see Wulfric’s face as he stood with a puzzled look, looking over me in the semi-darkness.

“What is it?” Wulfric asked, slow and suspicious. He knew me too well.

I looked him over like a friend who’d just gotten a horrible haircut, then took the plunge. “You got a, ah, symbol glowing on your cheek.” He did, but only the faintest outline. There was a blurred glyph pulsing on the side of his jaw, and I knew that my spell worked. As a half-breed, Wulfric was more human than vampire, in that he was actually alive. That meant I could identify every undead being in Halfway with a simple glance.

I didn’t know if it was good or bad news. At the time of my casting, I’d been filled with the radiance of certainty, but now I wasn’t sure. Sometimes, getting what you want is the worst thing possible, but I hitched up my big girl pants and gave my boyfriend a confident kiss. I wasn’t going to waste a day off huddled in my cellar like a frightened rabbit. I knew I was a good witch with powerful allies and, to top it off, I was hungry.

“Let’s go for waffles. My treat,” I told Wulfric as we ascended the dusty wooden stairs.

His voice carried over my ears, even though he stood behind me in the stairwell. “Fine, but I will add my own syrup. You are a bit thrifty with it, in my opinion.”

I resisted sticking my tongue out because I’m an adult. Also, he wouldn’t have seen it so I settled for a mumbled
whatever
as I pushed the door open to my kitchen.

Like I said, I’m an adult. And I do adulty things.

Wulfric eyed my waffles with speculation. We were busy eating our orders at a picnic table across from the diner, under the spreading branches of a slender maple whose branches were positioned just right. From our wedge of cool shade, the lake was a mirror broken into countless dancing pieces, each playing games with a single ray of the sun. It was perfect, if you didn’t consider that after we had our al fresco breakfast, we were going to see a corpse.

“Tell me again why the Carlie is named after you. There are three waffles. That seems like a reasonable amount for a person of your . . . appetites,” Wulfric said, reigning in his desire to make a short joke. He averted his eyes and stuck half of an entire waffle into his mouth, grinning. He really was a Viking at heart. The stuffed cheeks gave him plausible deniability about answering any stinging retorts I might direct at him, so, for the moment, he was also a smart Viking.

My phone belled and I read the incoming text. “It’s Brendan. He’ll pick us up at my house for the drive. Says we’re going to the medical facility in Saranac Lake.”

“Why there?” Wulfric asked. Saranac was well outside his normal range, and I wondered if he could handle crossing that much running water. I could see the same concern in his face.

“That’s the nearest morgue. But . . . you’d better stay here. It’s too risky,” I concluded.

He nodded, not in the mood to fight over what could be dangerous in more than one way. Not only would his vampiric nature rebel against so much flowing water, but explaining a large, exotic man with no recorded birth could get dicey if we were questioned.

“I would ask you something about this examination,” Wulfric said, grimly. Violence danced under his words.

“Name it.” I took his hand. His fingers were long, and they curled around my entire palm with ease.

He closed his eyes in thought. When he opened them, they were dark and serious. “Take an image of her face for me. And, perhaps, any wounds you might see.”

I nodded, slowly. The question of
why
hung between us.

“I wish to put a face to this, this . . . affront. And if the wounds are visible, I can tell you what caused them. I’ve had a thousand years among the predators of this place, and there is no claw or fang unknown to me.” A sigh that was heavy with unwanted experience passed through his lips, and I leaned in to kiss him.

“I won’t be gone long. You can have a staring contest with Gus, or you can sleep. Your choice,” I told him as we rose from the table.

He responded with a derisive snort. “That cat never blinks. I can feel him passing judgement on me at every turn, like a fishwife who has pretty daughters.”

I laughed at his frustration. Gus
was
judging him, just as he did the same to every human who came within range of the golden feline eyes. “Don’t fret, love. It means he tolerates you, and that’s far better than the other option.”

“Which is?” Wulfric asked as we crossed the street in front of my house.

“He can, ah, cough a hairball at will. He’s done so before and, given the chance, he can make your life rather gross,” I said, thinking of a date two years earlier that had ended
badly
thanks to Gus’ displeasure. And I wondered why I’d been single.

Wulfric stopped on my sidewalk, turning to me in complete disgust. “That—beast—willfully soils one’s belongings with his foul leavings?”

“Well . . . yes,” I replied mildly. “Don’t act surprised, he’s a cat. It’s what they do.

Wulfric shook his head in amazement. “And you wonder why I prefer my goats.”

I took him by the elbow, propelling him to the door as Brendan’s car rolled to a stop a few feet away. “My ride’s here. Play nice with the kitty. I’ll be home before dark, or you can call me if you’d like.”

“I may do just that.” With great dignity, he opened the front door where Gus was waiting. With a shrug, he stepped through to begin his afternoon with my familiar.

“Leaving Wulfric with Gus?” Brendan asked, his green eyes gleaming with mischief. He knew both of them, and delighted at the possibility of awkward interspecies tests of will. At my nod, he put the car in gear and said, “My money’s on Gus.”