Halfway Hunted - Halfway Witchy

by Terry Maggert

  “You had other concerns, love.” We held each other in the quiet, and Gus jumped down to the sleeping babe, taking a position near her feet. His eyes were wide and alert. “Thanks, Gus.”

  He acknowledged me with a twitch of his whiskers, but his eyes never left the door. Emilia had more than one fan, it seemed. “I need to call Gran before we go to sleep.”

  “Sleep? Are you daft? With Anna and Alex off on some wild romp?” His voice was incredulous, even panicked.

  “There is nothing to be done until sunrise, and I need to make some arrangements. Do you trust me? With your family?” I looked up at his face, a map of graven uncertainty. There were circles under his eyes that had not been there before, and a delicate patina of sweat appeared on his brow.

  “You know I do, but should we not be out there now?” Creeping exhaustion began to color his words, a sure sign that his new, mortal form was not used to mundane concerns like rest and food.

  I took his hands, or part of them, anyway. “I know what to do, love. Trust me, only this once, and I’ll show you what a witch can do for the people she has sworn to protect.”

  He considered that, then his shoulders sagged as he relented. “I do, Carlie, and I will. Forgive me, I am unused to being a slave to my own needs. I feel weak.” He sneezed explosively, forcing me to give him space.

  “You’re not weak. You’re a father, and my lover, and you care about your family. Let me call Gran, and we’ll eat. Then, we’re going to take a shower and sleep next to this baby. I swear to you, when we wake up, we’ll have a plan, and I will protect your family as if they were my own flesh and blood. Do you believe me?” I implored him to say yes.

  “I do.”

  “Good. Now, downstairs to eat. Gus will watch her, and then we can relieve Gus later. I need to ask Gran about some mirrors.” We moved as one to the stairs and began to descend.

  “Mirrors? Whatever for?” His confusion was only outdone by his alacrity at moving toward the kitchen. He might be human, but he ate like a Viking.

  “Plimsoll had several mirrors he’d twisted into demon portals, and I’m almost sure they’re missing, or, at the very least, left behind in that cabin. That means someone knew he was going to be discovered, and I’m pretty sure I know who and why they were taken. Ever heard of a thing called a safari?”

  “No, what is it?” His voice sounded curious instead of harried. That was progress, despite the growing rasp in his tone.

  “It’s a hunt in Africa, but in our case we’re more concerned with who was hunting, rather than what. For that, I’m going to need some assistance, but we can’t do anything until we eat. I think, love, that it’s time you understand the wonders of grilled cheese sandwiches.” I took down a skillet from the rack and opened the fridge.

  Wulfric smiled, his first of the evening. “I do not know what this grilled cheese is, but I will take four.”

  With a laugh, I began buttering bread. It was good to be human.

  Chapter Thirty-One: All Too Human

  Wulfric didn’t eat four sandwiches, but he did eat three. I was flipping the last grilled cheese when he sneezed again and sagged back in his chair like a beaten fighter.

  “Carlie, I feel strange.”

  He’d acquired a wheeze in the past hour. I turned to see him slumping in his chair, cheeks afire with fever. His eyes were glassy, and I could tell before I reached him that his skin would be clammy. He was sick, and I wanted to kick myself for not anticipating this. You couldn’t live as an immortal for a thousand years, turn human, and expect to remain immune to things like the flu.

  “Time for rest. Can you drink?” I asked him.

  He nodded, weakly, but his eyes brightened as I poured a massive glass of apple juice. I added honey and herbs, stirred it with a clanging whirl, and told him to sip. He did.

  “Are you dizzy?”

  “No, just weak, and hot and cold at once. I think I was sick as a child, but that was long ago. Is this a pox?” He continued to drink after his question, and my spine tingled at the possibility that Wulfric had something more serious than a simple cold.

  I looked at his skin, but it was clear. “I think it’s just a bad cold, or maybe the flu. You aren’t going anywhere for a while, love. Upstairs with you. I’m calling in reinforcements. He lumbered upstairs and collapsed on the bed. It took five minutes to disrobe him; a record for us, but he was less than helpful as the fever began to give him body-wracking chills that made me wish, if only once, that I could take his sickness away with a wave of my hand. I piled the quilts on for the second time since his arrival, picked up my phone, and looked down at Emilia, who still slept in that angelic state of deep rest that only children and pets can achieve.

  I dialed Gran first. “Wulfric is sick, Anna and Alex have been triggered with a warlock spell and are running loose in the wild, and they might be killed at any time for their pelts. I will not allow that to happen.”

  “I thought there was residual magic in the air when I entered that cabin.” She hmphed to show her irritation. “That’s a rather succinct telling. What do you need?” I could hear a pencil scratching. She was making a list.

  “Can you still get in where that scumbag Jonny was staying?” I was running hot like Wulfric, but my mood was purely based in anger.

  “I can. I assume you want the mirrors?” Her pencil scratched again before I even confirmed. They must have been the only objects left behind. “Who will care for Wulfric and Emilia?”

  “I’ve got that covered. I need you to get Brendan out of bed and take him someplace very specific. He’s strong enough to carry the mirrors, but I can’t risk you going too far off the path just north of town,” I explained.

  She stopped writing. “What do you have in mind, Carlie? Plimsoll is dead. All that we have are four large, warped mirrors. There’s no magical aspect to them anymore.”

  “Agree, Gran. But I’ve got an idea, and it depends on being in the right place at exactly the right time.” I sketched out what I needed and when, finalizing the plan with a detailed position for everyone involved. Gran chuckled wickedly. “I’ve never been more proud to call you my flesh and blood, dear. We’ll be there. Now, who do you plan on calling to care for Wulfric and the babe?”

  My heart surged with pride at her compliment, but I pushed it down to stay focused. I couldn’t afford to preen when there was so much at stake. “Oh, I’m doing what any reasonable woman would do. I’m calling in the big guns.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two: The Sheriff Wore Heels

  Tammy Cincotti arrived at my house just before four in the morning, wearing camouflage hunting gear, full makeup, and with her hair looking nothing short of fabulous. Her nails were crimson because they would always match her lipstick, and the hunting pants tapered to just above boots that had three inch heels and hot pink laces. She had a twelve gauge shotgun slung casually over her shoulder, and a monstrous black handgun in a shoulder holster that was losing a fighting battle against her enormous breasts. I’d never in all my life seen a woman who was so feminine and lethal all at once. I hugged her, welcomed the cloud of perfume she brought in from the cold, and began an unbroken stream of thanks, only to have her wave me off with a brilliant smile. How she was awake at this hour, I couldn’t grasp.

  “Care for tea? Coffee? Something else before I show you to the sick ward?” I asked, pulling her into the living room and on to the kitchen.

  She disgorged a small thermos from under her jacket. “Brought my own for now, but I know the way around your kitchen. Does your honey need anything special, or just the usual fluids and rest?” She had a maternal streak a mile wide, despite her pageant queen persona. It was just one of the reasons I loved and trusted her with my family.

  “I’ve got broth, water, juice, and hot and cold tea, among other things. He’s had all of the medication I can give him under existing law, and Emilia, if she wakes up, has a bottle of milk in the fridge. She can have cookies or fruit, or even oatmeal if she asks for it. The
re are blueberries thawed out in the fridge; she likes those best with brown sugar in the oats.”

  She nodded sagely at my thoroughness. “Okay, take me to them.”

  At the entrance to the bedroom, Tammy stopped. She’d never seen Wulfric looking anything except inscrutable and barely domesticated, but the man huddled under the blankets on my bed was, to put it mildly, a pitiful wreck.

  “Babe, Tammy is here. She’ll sit with you and Emilia until it’s finished.” I leaned down to him, touching his forehead. It was grotesquely hot and dry. A surge of alarm went through me until Tammy grabbed my arm.

  “He’s sick, not dying. If he worsens, I’ll have them both in my truck and on the way to the doctor before the baby wakes up. Trust me, hon. I’ve got this.” She turned that megawatt smile onto me and I felt my fears allayed by her boundless confidence. I believed her, and moreover, I knew she was as good as her word.

  “Thanks. I owe you, bigtime.” I hugged her before she could sit down, her guns clattering slightly as she got situated, before pulling out a paperback from her jacket. “Are you reading smut?” I tried to see the cover. If there was a bare chested pirate on the cover, I knew I was right.

  She looked down at the book with mock indignation. “I’ll have you know this is historical fiction. My life is smut, and it’s far hotter than anything some writer could cobble together.” She concluded by waving me away with her lacquered red talons, and I knew that whatever might happen when the sun came up, this part of my family was in the best possible hands.

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Best Served Cold

  I had several moving parts in my plan to squash the repulsive Jonny and Dilly. If nothing else, I’d be doing the world a favor by getting rid of a pair of criminals with names like some second-rate comedy team from yesteryear. I let the frigid air burn my lungs during the walk to Gran’s; there’s something clarifying about winter that lets me see my goal with the kind of focus I usually only get from a whole pot of coffee. I had the added bonus of feeling this way without the twitchy side effects, so despite the possibility of being shot by some maniac, I thought the plan started off rather well.

  I took stock of the things I would need and if they were ready to go.

  One Carlie, good and mad. Check.

  Charms, loaded with magic and unpleasant juju. Check check.

  A sense of righteous indignation at being away from my boyfriend, who was shivering his way through a fever. Check, game, match, whatever. My emotional chili was cooking, and I felt the hot rush of anger coloring my cheeks despite the temperature being near zero. Somebody was going to get roasted, and it wasn’t going to be anyone I loved. With each passing thump of my tiny boots, I let the ball of anger take shape, reaching through me with tendrils of heat and purpose. I’d never felt this kind of lust to deliver justice; up until now, killing something evil had always been an unpleasant necessity, sort of like going to get your driver’s license renewed or having dinner with a relative who chews with their mouth open. This feeling was . . . different. A bit electric.

  I rather liked it.

  The snow tapered into tiny crystals as I reached Gran’s, but she was way ahead of me. The truck sat idling in her driveway, plumes of exhaust whipping away into the dark beyond a streetlight that threw her yard into harsh relief. Exit leaned against the truck, bundled up in his modern gear and spinning his rock pick lazily around one thumb. It glinted on each rotation like a distant star, and all I could see of his face was a half-smile that looked feral and unfriendly.

  “I take it we’re ready because you read my mind or something?” My words came out bitter, but it might have simply been the cold.

  “Don’t be cheeky. I had a phone call from Tammy, who informed me that you’d just walked out the door with murder in your eyes. Naturally, I calculated your rate of travel and, well, here we are.” Then her expression changed, and I knew my attitude needed to improve. “However, if you’re convinced that you can defeat multiple enemies without any assistance, please feel free to exclude Exit and myself from this morning’s work.”

  Ouch. Point taken. “Sorry, Gran. I’m a bit nasty; don’t like seeing Wulfric sick.”

  She accepted my apology as her face softened. “Men do not good patients make, and that Viking is a lot of man. He’ll be there when you return, dear. His body is reacting to human things now, like the common cold. I know you’re worried, but I need you here. Exit needs you here. And Wulfric, too, because if your concentration wavers for a second, that hunter and his toady will surely put a hole in one of us before we can round them up for their final goodbyes.” She spoke in a matter-of-fact way, and I knew that of all the people on earth, Jonny and Pembrose were the last two I would want to be.

  I reached out to sample my power; it was near to hand and bright, just as it should be. “I’m here, Gran. Sorry, it was a lapse. I’m ready.”

  She opened her door and eased into the truck. It was deliciously, sinfully toasty inside. As we pulled away, I saw a genuine smile on her face, but there was worry, too. “Good. Then let us go before the sunrise; with the snow moving off to east, it might be rather grand. I wouldn’t want to miss it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Morning Breath

  4:36 a.m. is one of those moments that can be incredibly early or late, depending on your context. For me, it was just another hour I would be awake, alert, and getting ready to greet the first customers at the diner—if I wasn’t standing outside Gran’s truck looking at the gentle, shadowed depression that marked a trail into the woods. The snow was well past, leaving a sky of such alarming clarity that the stars were more silent witnesses than distant points of light. I welcomed their presence since it was the night of the new moon, and I felt the absence of Luna’s welcome gleam as an acute itch that I couldn’t pinpoint. Exit stood next to me, shifting from foot to foot with the nervous motion of a horse who senses danger at hand.

  “No need for worry yet, friend.” I patted his shoulder, eliciting a wry grin.

  “I don’t know what to do.” He was verging into plaintive with his confusion. I turned to him just as Gran pulled away, leaving us in the silent expanse of a world that had at least two unsavory surprises lying in wait. Jonny and Pembrose were out there, stalking Alex and Anna like beasts. The fact that they were currently in the form of great cats was immaterial; they were part of my extended family, human, and on my lands. As such, my protection was absolute.

  If I could enforce it.

  “What do you mean?” I looked up into his eyes, crinkled against the cold into glistening crescents of light.

  He sighed, a vast jet of steam that looked like the exhaust of an angry bull. “I can’t bring her back, no matter how much blood I spill.”

  “This isn’t the time to get soft, Exit. Don’t you want to see their blood?” The words spilled out of me without a thought. I felt hot. No, hotter, and there was no end in sight to what was sweeping my mind and body.

  He gave me a long, searching look before replying. “Forgive me if I offend you, Carlie, but aren’t you a white witch? Don’t your kind seek to do minimal harm?”

  His words hung much longer than the steam of his breath. I felt something coil inside me, a sick longing that crawled up my spine to push against the back of my tongue like an insult spoken at the worst possible moment.

  Who was this woman in my skin? A shudder swept down my body, and the briefest moment of false hope. I thought I was getting sick. Perhaps it was the same fever that had Wulfric in bed, but I discarded the idea as quickly as it arrived. This was shame, not sickness, although both could have the same physical effects given a long enough gestation within the soul of a witch who was slipping from her path.

  It was the blood. It had to be, and it was gone forever, spilled outside my body, and the ugly truth was that even if I could coax every dewy drop back into my veins, I wouldn’t. Not for him, and not for myself. I wanted him more than anything I’d ever known, more even than my own connection to a family magic that stre
tched back into the depths of time where myth and reality are obscured by the fog of legend.

  I squared myself and bowed slightly to Exit. He was a man out of time, and it seemed that my apology should be the same. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. I’m not used to this new—the emotions and magic are creating a resonance in me, and it seems to scream for the rough stuff. I’m in control now, but in the event things go against us, you need to get clear, do you understand? Turn and run, and do not look back. All right?”

  “I accept your . . . why should I run?” He was bewildered, and more than a little nervous, despite his proficiency with the rock pick. Magic had that effect on people.

  I looked back into the woods. It was quiet for now, but not for long. I would change that, and Exit needed to understand just to what lengths I would go to protect everyone else. “I’m only going to be in control for so long, and even that’s tenuous. At some point, revenge will have to take a backseat to saving yourself.” I took the first step toward my chosen battlefield, praying that Anna and Alex would hear us soon. I made as much noise as possible, while punishing the snow beneath my boots, with Exit behind me in my wake.

  “Who will save you from the danger, Carlie?” I knew he meant the darkness, not the hunters.

  Without breaking stride, I told him what I have believed since I was a little girl. “No one. I’ll save myself.” And in the distance, a limb snapped to dump snow in a shushing patter.

  We had help, and it was close to hand. Exit heard the sounds of a creature approaching, and he turned to and fro to focus on the source of the deep, resonant breathing.