Wulfric regarded me through eyes that were mere slits. He thought for a long stretch of quiet before saying, “Tell me more about the girl. The one who was killed.”
I exhaled, flopping back into my mattress with frustration. “Small. Young, like I said, and absolutely covered with bite marks. Many of them were so well healed that the wounds looked like shadows on her skin. She was pale, really pale.” I thought about her features, so doll-like and fine. “She was pretty. And now she’s dead.”
“What did she look like?” Wulfric asked. I could tell he was working something out.
“Dark hair, almost black. Her skin was milky white, but that could just be from her captivity. She was small, like me, but not so. She wasn’t athletic at all, you know? Just petite.” I struggled to find further details about the girl’s delicacy. “She had the most beautiful eyes. Like caramel, with flecks of gold.”
Wulfric considered all of the details, then asked, “Was she a lady?” He put an emphasis on lady.
“You mean, like a noble?” I looked at him with new respect. I hadn’t considered anything about her rank and station, but I’m an American. Wulfric was not.
“Yes, of a gentle birth. Did her hands look like she’d ever done work? Were her feet soft, or had she gone shoeless for long periods? Did her teeth look well cared for?” Wulfric listed points while caressing my neck with lazy strokes of his thumb. Concentration was difficult.
“I, ah. Well, I don’t know. She’s a girl, not a peasant from the old country. I mean, she was found here, not in the distant past or in some European holdout to a distant time,” I said, knowing that I should have looked at her more closely. The sadness of that chill room had been a bit much, and I was happy to leave it behind.
Wulfric took a deep breath, then relaxed. “I think I need to see her. Do you know what’s happened to the body?”
His question startled me. “No. Umm, you know, I have no idea. Some guy named Daniel Gillen found her, and Brendan took us to go see the body. So, no. I’m not sure.”
“Doesn’t that strike you as unusual?” Wulfric asked.
A pang of fear spiked into my stomach, and I felt my face begin to flush with worry. Why had I forgotten to ask about the girl and what would become of her? It wasn’t like me at all to discard the dead without proper regard.
“It is. I don’t know, it’s like there’s some kind of a fog around my memory of the murder. I mean, it couldn’t be anything except murder, you know? Even if she’d been abused for years and her body just gave out, it was still cold-blooded killing.” I felt the heat of renewed anger and tried to pull details from a memory that was hazed with something familiar. I gasped, startling Wulfric.
“What is it?” His eyes were wide with alarm. I felt his body tense like a cat, and I put a hand on his chest to calm him. His reactions were superhuman; I was lucky he hadn’t vaulted to the ceiling.
“There’s something in my head.” I closed my eyes and tried to relax, but my heart was banging against my ribs like a bill collector at the door. There was something in me. It was nebulous, shifty, and distant. I felt—no, I reached inward with my witchmark to probe delicately at the diaphanous thing that danced at the periphery of my senses. Wulfric lay still, his breathing even. I could feel his eyes on me as I dove toward my own soul, seeking something that had been hidden until Wulfric’s question parted the curtain to give me a hint at the secret beyond.
I’m pushing too hard. Need to relax. “It’s just under the surface, I have to let it come to me. It’s slippery, like a bubble. I don’t want to crush it,” I grouched.
Wulfric nodded in understanding. “So tell me of other things.” He smiled and my cheeks flushed.
“Okay. Well, there was a murder, and I thought it was Anna, but then I thought it was her brother, and—”
His bark of laughter cut me off. “Alex? A killer?”
I delivered three full seconds of horizontal stinkeye before responding. “As I was about to mention before the peanut gallery interrupted me—”
“What is a peanut gallery? Is it some kind of sailing vessel?” Wulfric interrupted.
Again. I bit back a tart rejoinder, reminding myself that he had been marooned in the forest for the better part of a millennium.
“No, it’s an expression used to keep mouthy boyfriends quiet when their smarter, more-intuitive lover is trying to explain something to them,” I replied with arch dignity.
He waved, a curiously graceful gesture from his prone position. It made the muscles of his arm ripple deliciously, and I looked away, wondering if this was what men tolerated around a beautiful woman every day. I’m pretty sure my thoughts were some sort of Human Resources violation. If I worked in an office, which I don’t, so I placed a hand on his chest to savor the thrum of his energy. It was primal and thrilling, making me lick my lips unwillingly.
“As I was saying, dear heart, I didn’t even know Alex existed. I thought he was some sort of evil overlord or something, but once I met him, we talked. I can say with complete honesty that I like him much more than Anna,” I told him in the understatement of the century.
He snorted, then smiled with a wily leer. “Go on.” His hands began to wander again, and the room heated up. I knew I’d better wrap this whole chit-chat thing up quickly before things got interesting.
“As I was saying, you letch—why are you looking at me like that?” I stopped mid-sentence at his intense stare.
“Could you be under a geas? Or some sort of spell?”
I thought it over. That was actually possible, if not likely, but the chances that someone could cast magic around two witches without either of them sensing it? No way. Not Gran, and I didn’t feel anything off in my castings. I’d been taught that magical compulsion on a witch leads to their power being knocked askew. I’d used several spells since seeing the body of that lonely girl, and I didn’t feel any different.
But I wouldn’t know if something was missing, either. That worried me.
I groaned and began to rise from the bed, barely holding my desire to kick my tiny feet in anger. Wulfric grasped at me, but I slid out into the unkind air of my bedroom. “It’s your fault. You gave me an idea, big guy, and now I have to see it through.”
“I did no such thing. I would not willingly inspire you to decamp from this, this . . . nest, of our passion.” Wulfric was indignant, but grinning slightly.
I paused in pulling on clothes to wave a finger at him. “See, that kind of old-fashioned speech might work with the Bronte sisters, but you can save the poetry.” I leaned forward to kiss him. “You’ve already got me. Save your energy for other worthy pursuits, milord.” I bobbed an awkward curtsy and turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” Wulfric asked in a remarkably capable whine.
“To my cellar. I need to perfect a spell, and it’s going to take a while,” I said, even as my mind began to shift into Super Witchy Mode.
“May I observe?”
I stopped. I’d never let anyone other than Gran see me in my cellar. It was sacred to me. I leaned in the doorway, thinking. The man before me was no ordinary soul, and I’d let him into my home by choice. I shared a bed, and secrets, and fears with him.
The decision was made. “You may, but quietly. I don’t know what will happen with magic of this type while you’re in the room,” I announced.
His brows quirked as he stood, pulling pants on before I could rescind my offer.
“Why? Is the spell based in sunlight?” His question made sense. There wasn’t much that could hurt a hybrid vampire, but sunshine was certainly on that list.
“Sort of. I’m going to craft a spell that will tag every undead in the area with a glyph that only I can see. The risk is minimal, but it might, ah, tingle a bit.” I hedged my bets on the description. My doctor told me a shot in the bum would tingle, and she turned out to be a bit optimistic in her assessment of what constituted a tingle, versus white hot pain. “We’ll need to go out and get some things,
but it shouldn’t take long.”
He nodded decisively. “I accept. I’ll behave, even if your spell is a bit more aggressive than you anticipate.”
I pointed downstairs. “To the kitchen first for coffee. Then, magic.”
Even witches need caffeine. It’s science.
Chapter Twenty-One: Witch Switch
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.”
Chapter Twenty-Two: Tag—You’re Dead
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 pul
sing 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.
Chapter Twenty-Three: Tableside Service
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.
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