Halfway Bitten

by Terry Maggert

  Once again, like a drug, his presence lifted me into a kind of cheer that was almost instantaneous. I wondered about that, but found myself returning his smile.

  “Hey,” I said. “I guess I needed to talk to you.” Looking around, I took in the scene for the third time. It was still pretty. The mountains don’t change much.

  “What about?” He was reasonably open, his gaze even and neutral.

  “Well, it’s sort of a long story. Walk with me to my Gran’s?” I asked.

  “Why?” he asked, then raised a hand in apology. “Sorry. I mean, why your Gran?”

  “I thought we might have tea, and I can ask you a few questions about what you’ve seen out here while running. You have been shifting, right?” I looked at him for confirmation. The musk of his other shape still clung to him; if he lied, I would know it.

  He awarded me the barest of shrugs. “It’s a nice place. Yeah, mostly I’m running free out here.” He cut his eyes at the breadth of the forest. “What do you want to know?”

  I started walking toward town in hopes he would follow. He did. We fell into a sort of amble down the path, each step easy as the gentle slope took us lower on the winding hillside. There were more birds protesting our movement than I could imagine. The usual suspects were crying at us: jays, blackbirds, and their rowdy friends, but even a dove flapped its wings indignantly at us as we passed by, the chittering call of its distress adding to the general mayhem. It seemed that the scent of a shifter was unwelcome in this neck of the woods.

  “I met a vampire,” I began.

  That put a hitch in his giddyup. He faltered, then caught himself after turning to me in surprise. “You mean another one?”

  “Other than Wulfric? Yeah. This one’s a pureblood. He scared a girl in town and I had to hang around to have a chat with him.” I could feel the slow burn of exhaustion cresting on me like a wave. I yawned, thought about my bed, and went on, “Says he’s in town because he lost his hunting rights, and that he’s the last of his clan. Ever heard of something like that?” I carefully avoided asking Alex if he’d seen the vampire during his travels. I’d let Gran do the serious questioning.

  Alex thought about it. I could tell he’d covered some serious ground, because sifting his memories of the woods took a few seconds. “I’ve seen signs, but nothing in person. I know there are undead here.” He frowned, a delicate pull at the fine skin of his brow. “They aren’t hunting, if that’s what you’re wondering. I would smell it,” Alex said, confirming my suspicions about some of his abilities as a shifter.

  “Don’t you smell the undead, too?” I asked. If Alex had such a good sniffer, I didn’t know how he could avoid smelling something that hadn’t drawn a true breath for four centuries.

  “They’re more of a hole in things than a scent. Wherever they go, there’s a—it’s like things are cleansed by cold, and there’s this low level of mustiness. They are more nothing than something, unless it’s a ghoul. I can smell them a mile away,” he said, grinning. Ghouls smelled like a dumpster fire behind a seafood restaurant. They were gross.

  “I offed a ghoul last year. I seriously considered letting it eat me just so I wouldn’t have to smell the damned thing. It had some words left, too. Kept growling about me paying for my pizza and not leaving a tip. Somewhere east of here is a pizza shop missing a really pissed off delivery driver,” I said, but my smile wilted. The guy had been human, once. And now he was a place of ashes in the moss behind my house. I hoped his spirit was at rest.

  “Why do you want me to answer the same stuff at your Gran’s? Is she a witch, too?” Alex wasn’t dumb, just forlorn and adorable.

  “Yes, and she’s better at detecting lies,” I said simply. “It kept me honest through high school.” I smiled to take some sting from the planned interrogation.

  “What do you think I might lie about?” His eyes were calculating, but he still managed to seem a little bit sleepy.

  “Whether or not you know a four-hundred-year-old vampire who came to town for some terrible reason. Oh, and who killed Edward, and the girl one town over. Also, I’d kind of like to know what Anna’s long game is with Amelia. I want my boyfriend to be happy, and with your sister dangling her daughter like bait it’s hard for him to find peace.” Color flushed my cheeks at that admission. Okay, I got mad again. Sorry, it’s that Anna is so smug all the time.

  “That’s a lot of info. I can tell you what I know, but Anna is going to be a problem,” he admitted.

  “Why?” Problem was such a vague, ugly term. It could mean almost anything; none of which was good, unless it was referring to having three waffles and two hands, but that’s why we stack them. See? I solve problems.

  “She’s just . . . Anna. She never tells anyone stuff. She likes being on her own, and even though she calls us a pack, it’s more like her doing whatever she wants, and me sort of tagging along. Always been like that,” he said, and there was a wealth of frustration in his muted tone.

  “Fair enough. What do you want, Alex?” I asked.

  The silence was almost total. I could hear him breathing next to me as our shoes thumped along on the dry path. After a period of several minutes, I prompted him with the same question again.

  “I don’t know,” he said, his voice lost in wonder. “No one ever cared enough to ask.”

  The bitterness of that statement was crushing. I thought about the casual way I assume my family or friends will be around, asking me or telling me about what is happening in my life. I cooled at the possibility of being alone and realized some of what Alex must feel. For about the millionth time, I missed Wulfric, felt a pang for Gus, and wondered if I should call my folks in New Mexico. The total time of this emotional feelcoaster was less than a second. Then I thought of Gran, brightened, and took Alex’s hand in mine.

  “You might not even know what you know, but I would like you to talk to Gran. Someone died, Alex. We can’t have that on our lands, and it’s just wrong. You understand?” I shook his arm lightly via our linked hands, noticing that his fingers made mine feel like tinned sausages. I can’t stand a man with better hands than mine, and don’t get me started on his eyelashes. They curved to the sky and each silky lash made me twitch a little with jealousy.

  He grinned, and this time it was free of any tension. “Okay, Carlie. Let’s go meet your Gran, and we can talk. But I have to tell you, I don’t like tea.”

  I nodded gravely. Who knew what to expect from the palate of a shifter. His sister ate like a human garbage disposal. I guess someone in the family deserved a discerning set of taste buds, so I smiled, pointed toward Gran’s, and wondered why there were so many unknown things happening in my town.

  I sensed I would not wonder for long.

  Chapter Fifteen: A Dish of Cream

  Alex regarded Gran’s house with the wariness of . . . well, a cat. I could tell his reaction was due to the truth that other people’s homes are exotic. The house itself might be plain to a fault, but the scents and setting and aura of every home is different. That’s why vampires have such trouble getting in to attack a victim when they’re at home—the energy that accrues over time is a kind of force field that renders the powers of the undead inert. For every casserole your mom burned, or stain on the carpet, or picture on the wall, there is a psychic imprint that makes your house into a fortress of positive energy. I personally find the whole concept a bit touchy-feely, but then again, I’m a girl raised in the mountains. I like things that make sense. Just because I happen to be a witch doesn’t mean I don’t understand that which I can’t see. I know the unseen world just fine; I simply prefer my magic a bit more robust. The tenuous nature of threshold power can’t be measured, so for me it’s a wild card. In my line of work, a bad hand can get you killed. I like aces, and my charm bracelet and spells are chock full of them.

  While I cast my aspersions on nebulous magic, Gran busied herself with introductions and bustled us to the kitchen table, where the interrogation would take place. There
was no glaring lightbulb at the end of a grimy cord; her wagon wheel chandelier had the quiet dignity of something that had survived the 1970s without being altered due to changing tastes. As Gran poured tea for all of us, Alex hesitated, looking to me sheepishly.

  “What can I get you?” I asked with a smile in my voice. My simple inquiry nearly made him flinch, and I resolved that if nothing else, Alex would feel welcome here.

  “May I have cream? In my tea?” He asked, a small smile on his features.

  Gran pointed to a sturdy red cream pitcher that had drops of condensation on the outside. “I figured you might like that. Heavy cream from the local dairy, Alex. Shall I pour for you?”

  At his nod of assent, Gran dribbled the decadent liquid into the steaming cup, sending blossoms of color whirling about like a tiny tempest. The aroma was so lush I felt my mouth water. That was one happy cow.

  To our utter shock, Alex spoke first. His mannerisms were young, but he was technically an adult. I adjusted my opinion of him on the fly and listened. “I wasn’t entirely honest with you, back there on the trail, Carlie.” At my expression of surprise, he added, “I’ve seen evidence from lots of vampires. I meant to . . . to find out where they were coming from, but Anna’s been so angry.”

  That made two of us. I snorted, saw Gran frown, and pasted a smile on my face. “Why is she angry?”

  “She thinks that her daughter isn’t going to be like us.” Short and sweet.

  Gran leaned toward Alex and asked, “What are you like, Alex? You mean your supernatural nature?”

  He nodded, sipping his tea. “She thinks that Amelia is different, and it’s making her nervous. We—when we were growing up, there were ways for us to get by. We’ve been on our own for a long time.” I knew that tone. This was a young man with no memory of a home to recall, and it showed on the planes of his face.

  “Was your mother a shifter, or your father?” Gran asked, gently.

  “My father. My mother was something different. My father told me that she came to him looking for something, and after we were born, she left. Then one day he left too, and Anna and I had to decide if we wanted to live or die.” He gifted us a brittle smile. “Obviously, we chose to live.”

  Gran sat back as a silence stretched into awkwardness. Then, she leaned toward Alex and picked up his hand, her touch light as a breath. To my shock, she sniffed him like a chef investigating an ongoing pan of sauce. Alex drew back his hand in alarm, but Gran let go without incident, and we both sat watching her dredge through memories she’d collected during decades of advanced witchcraft.

  “Tell me,” Gran said after a long moment, “have you ever been told of your mother’s true nature?”

  Alex’s eyes went round, and something hungry and hopeful glittered in them. This was clearly something he wanted to know, and it was close at hand. “No.” His whisper was almost inaudible. I felt his burning need and looked expectantly at Gran.

  “Carlie, have you not mentioned that your relationship with Anna is . . . shall we say, strained?” Her prim analysis was far more mannerly than any term I would have selected, but I nodded while repressing an unladylike snort.

  “That’s one way of putting it.” If her brother hadn’t been present, I would have run out of curses to describe my feelings for Anna. I tidied my thoughts and clarified with a simple, “Yes. It is.”

  She drummed her fingers on the solid kitchen table, examining me with a scholarly flair. With a glance toward Alex, she asked, “When you’re around Alex, do you feel somewhat invigorated? Perhaps even the smallest bit intrigued by his obvious charms? You really are a lovely young man.” This last was delivered in conspiratorial aside. Alex blushed, but smiled after I leveled a cool gaze at him and opened my senses to their fullest potential.

  There. It was a vibration, distant and sweet. Almost, but not quite a song. An undercurrent of delicious intrigue filtered through my mind until I had to restrain myself from looking to see if he had scales, so powerful was the notion that he was a siren on the rocks, calling to doomed sailors under a spell.

  I twitched my head, clearing the effect in an instant as my witchmark reasserted its dominion over the sensory intake of my body. “You mother was,” I started to say, then stopped after consideration. “No. Let me correct myself.” Gran smiled, and I knew I was on the right path.

  Alex merely looked bewildered.

  “Your mother was a halfblood, but she was no vampire. Correct so far, Gran?”

  “Indeed.” Gran’s smile was bright. She loved watching my skills expand like a fractal.

  I began again, this time in a more patient tone, given the nature of the proclamation. “Alex, the reason I, ah, disagree with your sister is because you are one quarter incubus. Your mother was half succubus, probably quite powerful, and much like magnets, similar polarities of power drawn from the Everafter will cause a natural repulsion between certain beings.”

  “I’m what?” Alex asked. I’d lost him with the magnet analogy. Or maybe at the very start.

  “Your mother was not human, nor was your father, dear,” Gran began to explain, taking the mantel of teacher from me as I sighed in relief. “You are actually a child of three worlds. Perhaps that’s why you’ve never really felt like you belong anywhere. Do you feel adrift, son?”

  Tears brimmed in Alex’s liquid brown eyes as his shoulders sagged in a wordless admission of Gran’s astute observation. “Adrift.” He let his chin drop in agreement, then muttered, “Yes. That’s how it’s been since we were little.” His voice ended in a rasp.

  I felt like hugging the guy. Whatever he was replaying in his mind was one long movie of troubles. I know the occasional touch of loneliness, but it’s an inconvenience at most. For Alex, I knew his life had been desolate, and seeing him rediscover those lost moments was hard to watch.

  He looked at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. “What am I? Who am I?” It was plaintive and bitter.

  “Your mother was half immortal, and a succubus. She thrived on the lust and dreams of others, although I cannot say if she was a killer. Most succubae are merely opportunistic; they’re more like dilettantes who move about, never staying in one place as they feed and flee, and carried by the tides of their own desires,” Gran said, her voice soft with sympathy.

  “You’re a person, Alex. You just have something beyond the norm, or even that unusual part of you that lets you run free at times,” I said, looking into his face to offer him an anchor during the storm of his own history. “Have you ever harmed anyone?”

  His eyes rounded in shock. “No. Why?”

  I shrugged. “Well, then your questions as to what and who you are have been answered. You appear to be Alex, who doesn’t hurt people, had a lonely childhood, and now finds himself at a crossroads of sorts. At least, that’s what I see when I look at you.”

  He drew several calming breaths, finally looking around the kitchen as his mind began to process his newfound knowledge. “It’s going to take a while to understand all of this.” He put his slender hands flat on the table, then squared his shoulders. The effect of readiness was undeniable. He addressed Gran. “You want to know what’s going on in your lands, correct?”

  Gran simply nodded. I stayed quiet.

  Alex smiled with a warmth that had been missing only moments earlier. “Before we go any further, tell me something—there aren’t any sharks around here, right?”

  I laughed out loud at his comical question. “No, not for millions of years, anyway. Why?”

  He held his hands up, grinning impudently. “Thought so. Just figured I’d ask. See, you were wondering if there were any vampires around, and I can tell you that there are. I run the woods a lot. Anna never really embraced her feline side. Not like me, I cover a ton of ground. And I haven’t just seen one or two vampires, I’ve seen a dozen. At least.”

  Silence fell between us. That was a considerable amount of vampires. Hell, that was a lot of vampires for Las Vegas, let alone Halfway.
Like I said, they rarely play well with others. Their territorial nature made this influx even weirder, since vamps tended to find some nice, quiet corner of the globe to exploit and settle down.

  “Umm. So, a dozen vampires. Here.” I looked to Gran, whose lips were pressed together in a flat line of concern. That alone was reason enough to worry me, if not for the astonishing amount of vampires suddenly running around our little corner of the mountains.

  “Yeah, that was unusual to me, too. I’ve seen a clan meet once, about three years ago. They were all relatively young; some of them were less than thirty years old, in fact. It was in New Jersey, and they nearly tore the town apart after one night of their little reunion. But here, I’ve seen almost no sign of them being, I don’t know—” Alex said, then faltered.

  “Acting like typical young vampires? Running around and eating people and posing in good lighting for selfies with their idiotic friends?” I asked. Younger vamps, unlike other undead, embraced social media. They were basically frustrated stage actors with a thirst for human blood and their parents’ approval. Blood, they could get. Acceptance was harder to come by, so they were always sort of hangry, like toddlers before snack time. Unlike kids, they had the ability to tear people apart if given the chance, and they were never apologetic or snuggly. So, yeah. Vampires were unwelcome, except for Wulfric, and even he was a half-blood of rare quality. I’d heard of less than five half-bloods who had integrated into society at all, and then only after some highly-unusual circumstances were at play. Guarding a toxic spring for a thousand years qualified as unusual and then some, so if anything, Wulfric was a good example of what could grow from the twist of separation. Exile made humans out of monsters, proving my theory that the need for socializing extended even into the ranks of the undead.