Halfway Drowned (Halfway Witchy Book 4)

by Terry Maggert

  “Look at these,” he said, holding a broad palm open to catch the moonlight. Something glimmered in his hand like translucent silver coins.

  “What are they?” I held one, turning it to and fro in the light. It was flexible and clear, about the size of a silver dollar.

  “Scales,” Wulfric said, and my eyes cut hard to the dark water mere feet away.

  “Wulfric, let’s go home.” We began to retreat from the water, our eyes never fully leaving the blackness of a lake that seemed a lot less benign than it had moments before. I wondered what I was going to do for Mrs. Perlmutter and her cats.

  And Halfway, if my instincts were right, because something about those scales sat wrong in my mind.

  Chapter Eleven

  It wasn’t me, honest

  “Are these blueberries organic?” The question wasn’t really a question, it was more like an accusation. The lady doing the talking had one manicured nail pointed at her waffles like a weapon, poised to deliver justice if I answered in a way that displeased her.

  The diner was humming, I was fairly rested, and Wulfric’s touch still lingered on my skin after four glorious hours of sleep and three cups of coffee. All of these facts contributed to my response, which might have been rather unpleasant had my body not been fully caffeinated with a side order of Viking.

  “Not just organic, but grown less than two miles away,” I said, refilling my mug with a fresh dollop of steaming hot caffeine. I’d stepped out from the kitchen and been assaulted by the tourist, whose face brightened at my news. Maybe she was having a bad day and the waffles were just going to work on her. Based on the smile that made her look ten years younger, I think they were helping.

  “They’re wonderful. Thank you.” She was around forty, pretty, and tired, like many parents visiting Halfway. Or parents in general, especially before they have had a chance to tank up on coffee and breakfast. What can I say, I understand hangry, and part of my mission in life is helping people overcome it. Well, that and killing gross things that have no business in my town, but only one of my jobs is a paying gig.

  “More syrup? Local, and just perfect this year. We tap every sugar maple in the county,” I told her, holding the pitcher of deep amber liquid up for her to inspect. Her smile grew even brighter, and in it I could see the kid she had been, years before. It was a great smile.

  “Please. My husband is trying to wrangle our daughters, so I may as well enjoy it. Long night, not a wink of sleep,” she said around an unapologetic mouthful of waffle.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. I’d been out last night, and town had been silent.

  “Me? I’m fine.” She wiped her lips with the napkin, frowning slightly. “My daughters can be a touch dramatic. They’re eleven and thirteen,” she explained, and I laughed. I wondered how she was so calm, but then I realized she was eating an excellent breakfast by herself. Who wouldn’t be relaxed?

  “Ahh, thirteen. When everything is a disaster, and no one understands.” I was filling my water cup with ice to take back into the kitchen. It’s hot by the grill, and I drink like a fish. She nodded in sympathy toward my cup.

  “I see you’ve met my daughters.” We both laughed, and I realized I’d never really gone through that phase of life, having older parents, but I could understand it. “They were convinced something prowled outside our cabin, which necessitated my husband going outside to check. He found nothing, of course, but he’s a light sleeper, so once he was up, he was up. The girls were just scared enough that he sat up with them while they speculated on what was going to come through the window and eat them, because that’s what happens in the Adirondacks, right?”

  More often than you know, I thought, my smile slipping a bit. “Where are you staying?”

  She tilted her head to the left, hands wrapped around her coffee mug. “Creekside cabins. We’ve been there before, beautiful place. You know it?”

  “I sure do.” It was less than a hundred yards from where I’d been last night. Her kids hadn’t seen me or Wulfric, and we hadn’t seen a bear. My throat tightened with suppressed fear. “Time to get cooking. Tell the girls that bears are always snooping around for food or trash, nothing to worry about unless you’re a giant blueberry.”

  “I will. Thanks.” She saluted me with her mug as I slid through the doors to the kitchen. I had the tickle of danger in my witchmark, and decided it was time to go see Brendan at the library. I slipped my fingers into a side pocket, pinching the smooth scale Wulfric found at Mrs. Perlmutter’s dock.

  If a witch can’t do it, go to the library. That’s my motto, and I intended to keep the tradition alive as soon as possible, although I can’t say I was looking forward to what I might learn.

  Chapter Twelve

  Fish, Not Fowl

  “So hey, you wouldn’t believe what I found on the”-- said a voice directly behind me, sending me into a frantic twitch that could have gotten someone hurt.

  I jumped straight in the air, whirling and pointing my finger like a gun at Eli, who stood looking at me with a curious expression.

  “Did I scare you or something? People say I do that a lot, mostly because of my refusal to acknowledge personal space as well as a mild disdain for”--

  “Eli,” I began, forcing my heart to slow down. He stopped talking and looked at me through his glasses, his intensity giving him the expression of a highly intelligent fish that didn’t stop talking. Or need to breathe between questions. Eli wasn’t just high energy, he was relentless.

  “Um, yes?” He asked, warily. I schooled my face into something less ferocious, looking up into the sun where he towered over me outside the diner. He was tall and skinny, but not menacing, unless you’re one of those people who finds incessant questions to be a threat. I do, but usually only before I have my coffee. I drew in a breath to calm myself and tried a little smile.

  “Before we go on chatting, may I ask you a tiny little favor?” I asked, sweetly.

  I could see the warning bells go off in his mind due to my cloying, reasonable tone. Good. I needed to get his attention without accidentally releasing a spell that would roast him because he pounced on me like some kind of cat toy. His answer was much more deliberate. It accentuated the scholar in his personality, a nice change from the frenetic genius who didn’t understand people like to hear the word hello before being grilled like a crime suspect.

  “Um, sure?” His smile was hesitant, and oddly charming.

  “I just got done cooking, and I’m a bit tired. I also like my personal space. In the future, could you assume both of these laws are always in place, and sort of ease into our conversations?” I smiled to take the sting away.

  He laughed and ran a hand over his head in meditation, then nodded gravely. “I--sorry. Sure. I forget the rest of the world doesn’t move at the speed of my thoughts. Sorry, Carlie.”

  “No problem. Now, what did you find?” I was genuinely curious.

  His eyes lit from within again as excitement percolated back into his voice. “In a word? A story.” For Eli, it was a remarkable bit of restraint, and I found myself leaning forward, silently urging him to elaborate. When he picked up on my expression, he grinned anew. “Right, so-- I don’t suppose you know much about the history of Viking marine archaeology?”

  “That would be a no. I leave shipwrecks to the experts. My skills are best served elsewhere, especially because I tend to avoid diving in gloomy water filled with eels and the ghosts of ancient sailors.”

  “What’s wrong with eels?” Eli tilted his head at me in confusion.

  I held up a finger and began informing him of the various shortcomings of eels as a whole. “While delicious when barbecued, eels are squiggly, slimy, sneaky, and hard to see. They also attack and kill people on a regular basis. They’re quite ferocious, despite not having opposable thumbs.” I added a professorial nod upon completing my report on the skinny beas
ties and their reign of terror under the waves.

  “No they don’t,” Eli said.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Kill people. Eels. It’s not their thing. You may be confusing moray eels, which I’ll admit can be testy at times, with most other eel species, who are rather pleasant creatures. While your assessment of their anatomy is essentially correct, as they are somewhat slimy and free of thumbs, they simply aren’t the cold-blooded killers you seem to imagine.” He regarded me with those lively eyes again, asking, “Were you, um, attacked by an eel at some point?”

  “You could say that. One of them got in my swimsuit when I was eleven. I’m fortunate to have survived.” I grimaced at the memory of running screaming across the hot beach sand, shouting to my parents that I’d been fatally bitten by a sea monster. “It was more than ten years ago, and in retrospect I may have slightly overreacted.”

  “And you assume--based on this near fatal attack--that eels are everywhere, waiting to eat your toes or something?” Eli settled back on his heels, hands folded like a small town judge.

  “Well, yes. And I note that you didn’t deny their general squickiness.” I cocked my hip and lifted a brow in what I hoped was a look of complete condemnation for all things eel.

  “I can assure you there are no eels waiting to eat you, at least not in this lake. Didn’t you grow up here?” he asked, mildly amused.

  “Just because I have not seen one of the hideous beasts doesn’t mean that they don’t exist in the lower depths. I swim every year, but I have refused to go to the bottom of the lake. For one thing, I sort of float. Also, there hasn’t been a reason for me to go into the deep water.” I looked toward the ship, poking ominously out of the clear water. “At least not until now, but you’re here.”

  “I am, and in between dodging carnivorous eels, I found something that could end my career.” He sobered, his voice dropping slightly as if people could hear us. We were being ignored, except for the odd hello from people who knew me. Watching his face fall was like a small, sad movie playing out right before me. It didn’t fit his nature.

  “What is it, Eli?” I put a hand on his arm, because he needed a human touch to pull him from where his mind was going. “Why would your career end over something you found? Isn’t that your job? To find things?”

  He gave a rueful shrug. “Scientists are a stodgy lot, we don’t like evidence outside our general sphere of acceptance. Sometimes the best discoveries are only appreciated long after the finder is dead.” Sighing, he closed his eyes for a long moment. I could feel him thinking something through, a process I knew only too well any time I was faced with a problem that needed witchcraft. I suspected his issue was scholarly, while mine usually had fangs. And claws. Sometimes, my problems had both and the stench of the grave, unlike passionate scientists, who usually smell like they need a hot shower, sleep and less coffee.

  “Try me. I’m on my way to the library, but I have time for a fellow problem solver.”

  After a searching look, he made an internal decision that clearly included telling me the truth. “I sent a small drone down to photograph the ship at night. It uses infrared at times and floodlights at others. I know everything about Gertie because I built her, and she’s the only one in existence. Gertie has a panoramic lens, and she live streams directly to my uplink. I’m not just an archeologist, I’m an engineer. I send her down at night because the technology is worth millions to the wrong people, and I’m in no mood to have it stolen from underneath me before I can perfect it. Gertie is a lot like the wrecks I study-- she’s meant to be shared with the world. It’s--well, you understand that we keep everything under lock and key because of looting, right?”

  “Sure. People will steal anything if it’s worth enough money.” I’d learned that the hard way. Native relics from the park were always ending up on Ebay. It was grotesque, but it was reality.

  “Officer Domari hasn’t see this yet, and neither has anyone else. In fact, what I found is reason enough to shut the site down and evacuate this town, as far as I’m concerned.”

  A chill crept up my neck before flaring into heat at my witchmark. Something was terribly wrong.

  At my silence, he went on. “I’m going to show you three pictures. Wait until you see all of them before you tell me what you see, okay?”

  He silently held out his phone, shielding the screen with a hand. The picture had an unearthly quality, colorized by some program but still clearly taken underwater in the erratic beams of a three-quarter moon.

  It was Wulfric, lifting part of a skeleton from the lake bottom. Little clouds of silt obscured his hand, but even in the weird, grainy photo, I could see the glint of his sister’s ring.

  I said nothing. I didn’t move, nor did I breathe. Someone honked their horn, and I flinched, but even that was a distant muffle when compared to the roaring in my ears. Eli swiped his phone, and the next picture clicked into sight. It was from a different angle, but still the ship, and Wulfric, and the dark water all around. Bubbles began to stream out of Wulfric’s nose in a silver curtain, and his body turned at an angle that implied movement. He needed to breathe, and was beginning his ascent back to me. Away from the dead ship and the bones of his sister.

  “Pay special attention to this one,” Eli said. He flicked the screen carefully, repositioning his hand to block more sun. I looked up at him, but his expression was unreadable.

  Wulfric was kicking hard toward the surface, his feet braced against the sodden timbers of the hull. Bubbles exploded outward from him as he began to rise, their riotous globes reflecting whatever spectrum of light Gertie was using to take the picture.

  Behind him, in the dark, hovered a pair of eyes. They glowed like coins, and every witchy instinct in my body told me they were anything but human. My blood ran cold at the implication--something had been mere feet away from a thousand year old vampire, who was reformed but still highly attuned to the world around him.

  Wulfric suspected nothing. The beast hovered in the dark, an arm’s length away, and all Wulfric had done was go to the surface with a ring that would confirm the death of a sister he hadn’t seen in a millennia.

  I licked my lips, thinking. It was best to hedge my bets, so I formed my question with care. “Who is it?”

  Eli slipped his phone into a pocket before answering. “I think we both know that’s the wrong question, Carlie McEwan.”

  The way he said my last name told me a great deal about Dr. Eli Delacourt and how seriously I’d underestimated him. A smile ghosted at his lips, and we reached the point where someone had to show their cards. I decided it wouldn’t be me.

  Eli obliged after a short pause. “A crying lady.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “One of our officers found an older lady, sobbing, walking down the street at midnight. He asked her a few questions, and she wasn’t in a condition to deny him. Funny how missing a pet can make you reveal local secrets,” Eli said. He wasn’t being smug, just practical.

  “Who found Mrs. Perlmutter?” The gloves were off, sort of.

  “Officer Domari. She’s quite vigorous in her pursuit of protecting this wreck. Claims to suffer from insomnia, but that’s a lie. She just wants an eye on the wreck at all times and isn’t the trusting type.” He adjusted the collar on his gold shirt. It was a gesture to buy time, nothing more. “You can imagine my curiosity after I saw this. I went in the water myself a few hours later, alone. I was armed, but too curious to care about my own safety. It may interest you that I didn’t find a sea monster or signs of plundering. I found--well, I saw more than one thing that elevated my curiosity well beyond what this wreck deserves. Don’t get me wrong, it’s an amazing find, and one that will rewrite history as we know it, but I don’t think this ship’s secrets will ever be public. What do you think?”

  I wanted to spit nails, I was so angry. I don’t like being exposed, and I really
hated the idea of Wulfric being discovered. For the past year he’d been hiding in plain sight, but his story would fall apart like tissue in a storm if government busybodies started poking at his history. I couldn’t allow that to happen, but I was perfectly capable of heading off Eli Delacourt at the proverbial pass, despite his huge intellect and curiosity. We McEwan women are quite adroit when it comes to diverting attention.

  “I offer an exchange. Answer for answer, as long as it doesn’t threaten my family,” I told him evenly. It was the best offer he was ever going to get.

  “What are the other options?” His gaze was calculating, a departure from the person I’d seen him to be.

  I laughed, wiggling my fingers in distaste. “This is a road you don’t want to go down, Eli. I’m a friend, but if you push me in the wrong direction, that won’t be the case. You’ll regret the decision. I promise you.”

  He rubbed a hand over his scalp, then adjusted his glasses. Sweat pooled above his lip, and it might even have been from the heat. “Fair enough. This might surprise you, but I have a lot of questions. I mean, who is that guy, really? What’s going on? What was in the water behind him, and, um, if he’s such a badass that he just dives into a moonlit lake without a care in the world, then why didn’t he stab the thing?”

  “The thing?”

  “Yeah, the thing. Look, this isn’t the time to be coy. I think we both know that whoever or whatever was behind Wulfric, it wasn’t some tourist who decided to go skinny dipping. Right?” He put hands on hips, scolding me with a gesture. He was right.