Halfway Bitten

by Terry Maggert

  “You mean go to the circus?” I felt dense. Of course we would go to the circus. It was logical, kind of creepy, and nearby. It was also the only unturned stone I had left.

  “Yes. Tonight. And that means I shall need clothing that is conducive to people thinking I am just a regular dude, I believe you might say.” Wulfric grinned and tried to give me a high five.

  I stared at him before bursting out into laughter. “Honey. Seriously.” I looked at the nearly six and a half feet of Viking languishing on my couch, his face a mask of confusion. “You are never going to be a regular dude, although I have to give you bonus points for using the current terminology.”

  “Can I spend those points on something? Like currency?” He managed a decent leer, but it was a bit toothy, given the recessed points of his teeth. They made him look more wolfish than creepy. I found myself approving.

  “Later. Save your booty points, we’ve got some magic to attend to of the witchy kind. I’m not strolling into that circus with you at my hip—not without a masking agent of some kind,” I explained.

  “To mask what?” He rubbed at the bridge of his nose with one knuckle, thinking.

  “Your vampire half. If I’m right, you won’t be the only unusual being in attendance. And that means we can’t be discovered if we want to leave those grounds alive. I don’t know how many of them are magical in nature, but Gran told me I shouldn’t go to battle without knowing the odds. Sound about right?” I asked.

  “Quite. I like her strategy. It is sound.” He shrugged, then took my hand. “What shall we do?”

  “Well, the first thing we have to do is get you naked,” I drawled.

  His eyes flared from within as the possibilities caromed through his mind. “And where will this state of undress take place?”

  I grinned with a hint of malice. “In the cellar. Looks like the spiders are about to get an eyeful of naked Viking.”

  He sighed and began trudging to the cellar stairs. “I hope there is food at this circus.”

  With a pat on his bum, I assured him that there were all manner of fried things to be had, which deteriorated into a complicated discussion about the merits of funnel cakes versus donuts. In moments, we were settled, and I began to quiet my mind in preparation of casting a spell that would hide his light under a bushel, so to speak.

  Standing before me, Wulfric was impossible to ignore, and he’d be doubly so in a crowd of tourists. Any spell I cast would have to serve two purposes: his magical nature must be cloaked, and his anachronistic side, too. He was a man out of time, but my magic could protect him from the judgment of prying eyes. I began to select the components and settled in to work.

  It is easier to hide something than change it, so I went to my grimoire and found the simple, powerful combination we needed to achieve this change in his perceived exterior. I poured consecrated rainwater into my scrying bowl, then followed it with oil of protection. The decoction smelled faintly of roses, and a smile spread across my face as the power began to grow within me. I could sense Wulfric watching me. It was electric to be noticed in such a way while I worked at something I loved so truthfully.

  “We can begin.” I lit a white candle in a black onyx holder, then placed it before his feet. He stood, legs slightly apart and hands hanging loosely at his sides. His chest was an expanse of smooth skin, and I envisioned the spell wrapping about him like the embrace of a mother. The smoke tailed upward in a rigid column, thin and gray. When it reached his eyes, I turned inward and drew hard upon my power.

  “Atharraich bian!” I commanded. He was a big man, and called upon the spell to change and protect the entirety of his skin, making him invisible to searching magic. The candle smoke spiraled around him like a living wisp, spinning ever tighter, until it blended into a mute glow. With a muffled pop, the smoke vanished inward toward Wulfric’s skin.

  “It’s done.” I sagged slightly, but in truth I felt energized, just as every good spell left me. After a series of restorative breaths, I asked Wulfric how he felt.

  He looked at his hands in amazement. “I feel quite good. Almost as if half of me is no longer bound by the earth.” His head shook in wonder as a smile broke across his features. “It is most remarkable. I think you’ve made me into something new, Carlie.” He stepped to me and planted a kiss on my lips with a fervor that suggested I keep learning new spells. The payoff was excellent.

  “We have some time until the show tonight, and I want a bath. You can tell me about what to look for among the attendees,” I said.

  “What could I add that you may not?” He seemed genuinely surprised, despite my mile-wide independent streak.

  “I’m only one set of eyes. I’d ask Gran along, but I have the feeling that our presence will cause a ripple among the villains. You’re hard to miss, even under my protective magic, and I’m certain they’ll know me. I can only see so much at once.” I spread my hands to indicate my unhappiness at that reality.

  “That seems sound.” He blew air from his cheeks while rocking on his heels. It was such a modern gesture. I laughed, then took his arm as we began to ascend the ancient stairs to the main floor. “Still, it is a great deal of time until we engage these potentially lethal beings.” Now it was his turn to leer.

  “You’re right. Bath first, and then we’ll think of something,” I said, but his lips found mine and ended further discussion.

  We broke apart reluctantly, standing on the polished floor of my hallway. His voice was low and rich with promise. “I am a master planner. I already have.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Tale of Two Tents

  Walking in town as the sun set, I had one of those déjà vu moments, made better by the addition of Wulfric. His fingers were twined in mine as I smiled and said hello to nearly half of the people we walked among; being a small town girl had its benefits. With Wulfric at my side, enclosed in the faces of my town, I felt a kind of security that made me smile. During my life, I’ve never really felt alone because Halfway is my cradle and keeper. That’s why I have repetitive moments, because things in a small town might not be identical from day to day, but they are, in fact, similar. There’s a lot to be said for knowing where you’re from, and streaming to the circus with my neighbors I knew that I might be going toward danger, but, in that moment, there was safety at hand. We were salmon hailing from the same stream, but I was the only one who knew of the bears and eagles lurking outside our perception, waiting to pick us off one at a time.

  We saw various friends and neighbors among the throng, and then Tammy Cincotti shouted to me with a gregarious wave that sent her boobs lurching in magnificent defiance of simple physics. Her hair was piled high and trussed for action, her blouse cut low for presumably the same reason, and she wore heels that stated in no uncertain terms that the man standing next to her was about to experience the Full Cincotti. Tammy’s sexual appetite is, as I’ve mentioned, something like that of a bear who’s just emerged from hibernation. Instead of berries, though, her preference is men. All kinds of men. The dapper fellow standing next her had a shy smile, a sleeve of tats, and a beard that smelled of cloves and orange. He was the rare hipster-lumberjack hybrid, and he was damned good looking too, but I suspected Tammy had her pick of men. It stood to reason she’d find a guy who exuded quiet, sexy calm in the face of her onslaught. We said our hellos—his name was Geoff, he was shy, and he lived in Malone—before Tammy sized Wulfric up, ran her tongue over one lip, and gave me a bawdy wink before pulling her prize off to the stands for some pre-game canoodling. If the circus was their shot, then the night at Tammy’s would be Geoff’s chaser. I hoped he was ready, and sent him a silent attaboy for good measure.

  The look she gave Wulfric made him blush like a choirboy in August—a feat I’d thought impossible—and we walked quietly for a moment before he said, “She is quite a presence, is she not?”

  I gigglesnorted at his understated assessment of her entire shtick before we arrived near the front of a melee building outside t
he tent. I schooled my features and got back to business. I had things to look for, despite the delicious nature of Wulfric’s expression.

  “Gran will be here, too. She’s meeting us at the gates,” I murmured, looking around for her tall figure.

  When I saw her, she smiled and the three of us pretended to chat, all the while letting our eyes drift about for fear of missing a critical detail. Once seated in the cavernous main tent, I let the buzz of the room wash over me, picking single threads from the sonic narrative with both my hearing and magical senses; in truth, there was little difference for me at this point. My body hummed, both from my proximity to Wulfric, and from using my power to observe and categorize so many sounds. It was a bit dizzying, and I was glad to be seated as the vertigo of witchcraft pulsed in an out of my mind like a distant radio.

  Wulfric sat, stoically curious, but Gran’s head was turned slightly as her eyes adjusted to the haze of klieg lights that hung from dark cables in the gloom above. “I’d pay attention to everything but the ringmaster, Carlie.”

  Gran’s admonishment was well taken. I knew that his showmanship served as a cover from something darker, and if we intended to discover what he was doing, clues would be in our periphery. An indirect look was best, so I trained my eyes on the gaps where other performers would enter.

  And then the lights went down, and tinny music began to blare just as my witchmark flared into a suspicious heat.

  “Eyes forward, dear,” Gran ordered, her lips so close to my ear that I could feel them tickle the fine hair of my neck.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome once again to a show of such mystery that reason alone cannot explain what you are about to see.” The ringmaster’s voice was clear and modulated, like a finely-tuned instrument. He stood razor thin, tall, and groomed to perfection in a different suit than what he’d worn during our first visit. This evening’s attire was a suit of midnight black, the jacket scrolled with a backing pattern of lurid burgundy that pulsed within the confines of the fabric. Cut away from his narrow waist, it revealed a starched shirt of rigid cotton, overlaid by lace shot through with lines of silver; at a glance, I knew the silver was real, as were his collar tips, which caught the roaming spotlights in occasional brilliant flashes. His moustache was curled upward in a permanent smirk, and the part of his hair was so straight you could build the pyramids at Giza with it as your guide. Tonight, he wore low-heeled boots under his slender trousers and, instead of gold suspenders, a belt of buffed leather encircled his waist—the buckle was a single hammered disc of pewter with gold chasing. Every nuance of his being was practiced and slick, and I felt Gran and Wulfric stiffen simultaneously when the ringmaster’s black eyes passed over us as he swept the crowd with an imperious smile.

  He was almost certainly inhuman, but as to his nature, I couldn’t tell from this distance without pushing hard at him with my power. I opted to sit tight, watching the room and letting my senses be filled by the cacophony of lights and sounds as the show began.

  Five spotlights burst into being with a staggered series of pops. The ringmaster pointed a long, accusatory finger at each space, now filled with gymnasts dressed as vagabonds. Their artful rags tailed away from them as they began an intricate series of tumbles, flitting from one spotlight to the next as they replaced each other in a dizzying display of skill and bravado. The dance—and you couldn’t call it anything else, they were so perfectly attuned to one another—reached a frantic pace until each tumbler began to transit the lights, leaping atop each other to form a human totem. First there were two, then a third, presumably a woman, hurtled from the cupped hands of a hidden assistant to whirl through the light and plop on the shoulders of the totem. Reaching upward, she caught the fourth, an even smaller woman, who then locked arms with her receiver as they spread out, feet on the shoulders of the second man in the totem. Extending their arms fully, they formed a frame of sorts, their feet solidly buttressed against the burly muscles of their base, and the fifth tumbler dropped from upward in the dark after achieving an inhuman elevation with a single leap. The fifth and final member of the human tower landed with a delicate bend of the knees, then straightened with agonizing slowness. The display of power and agility brought the crowd to their feet, a susurrus of amazement breaking into a roar of approval as the tower dissolved when each member disembarked with nimble tumbles to land like oversized cats.

  “This is only the beginning,” shouted the ringmaster, his teeth a predatory gleam in the spilled light from above.

  He was speaking the truth. Wulfric, Gran, and I watched with fevered intent as the complexity of the show reached toward an invisible crescendo somewhere in the near future. At one point, there were more than three dozen performers in varying states of activity, a frenzy of color and motion that set my head to aching as I tried in vain to keep up with the shifting parameters of their routines. While each separate element went through their wild gyrations, I nudged Wulfric as something occurred to me.

  Among all the motion, there was not one performer without full makeup, and there were no animals.

  Wulfric’s eyes locked onto a pair of clowns dressed as jesters. Their juggling concluded, and they began to slip out through the dimness as the spotlights pulled tighter in the middle where sword swallowers plied their trade. He kissed my cheek, nodded to Gran, and told me he was going to follow the departing performers to see where they went. It was a good idea, and his vampire side would let him maneuver silently, despite his great height. With my magic in place, there was little chance of his discovery. I squeezed his hand and watched him leap from the bleachers to vanish behind us into the night.

  “And now, we see what they do when eyes are not watching them,” Gran said. Her mouth twisted in a thoughtful quirk.

  “Are they all magical?” I asked, my voice low but insistent. I knew that humans were capable of remarkable things, but what we watched seemed beyond the talents of mere mortals.

  Gran nodded. “If not, then they are certainly augmented in some way.” She pursed her lips as two clowns tossed a third through a whirling set of three rings. The flying clown’s body slithered through the air, touching nothing as he landed on his feet with a delicate twist. She was right. They might not be magical, but they’d certainly been touched by the Everafter. The show evolved like a school of fish avoiding a predator, never remaining still or solid. It was dizzying, hypnotic, and verged into the realm of magic, defying the audience to keep apace. I found my vision begin to falter when Gran leaned in and spoke in a low, firm voice.

  “It’s time to use your spell. Take my hand.” Her fingers twined mine in a confident grip, even as the audience began to roar with approval at the show’s building crescendo.

  “Won’t they feel it?” I asked, knowing that magical beings affected by my brand might sense me, should I push too hard. My power was nuanced, but then Gran smiled.

  “The lights will dim for the finale. Bond with me and we’ll search together. I’ll moderate your power, and my eyes will be closed as I reach into the Everafter. You must use all your senses when the lights dim. We’ll have mere seconds to see if and what is present with your brand.” She took a breath and dimpled another grin at me, giving me a glimpse of the girl she had been long ago. I returned her smile in kind, thinking of how much I loved her. After my nod of assent, she added, “I know your sight is swift and true. You’re my blood, Carlie.” The last was a benediction, and I felt my chest flush with pride.

  Then the ringmaster raised a long hand to the heavens, and the lights went out.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: A Game of Tag

  With Gran’s presence woven through my magic, it was little effort to open the door and let my spell burst into silent radiance throughout the tent. Unseen by the crowd, I became a nucleus. I was a focus, a gem, an origin, and I was all of those things at once in a split second of divine energy that lashed out to detect the beings hidden among the good families packed into the stands around the ring.

  In the s
wirl of gloom, my eyes flickered like a guttering candle to settle on a—no, on two glowing shapes that floated like disembodied sigils among the crowd. A flash of motion near the main entrance drew my eye to a third glyph that pulsed in cool blue and green. In a second, the bearer of my spell vanished into the night, but the original two remained where I had first seen them.

  “Two, Gran.” I was up and moving before the ringmaster could say another word, but I felt his eyes on me as I leapt from the edge of our bleacher to land with a muffled grunt. His gaze turned unerringly toward me even as his voice continued on in a silken shout, unbroken and slick. “Too bad, creep,” I muttered over my shoulder as I moved into a low, dodging sprint, although everything I do is low. Okay, since I was at a half crouch, I was more or less at the level of a kid, but with my adrenaline pumping I covered the semi-circle in seconds, despite my short legs.

  I could feel the vampires as I crept behind their section of bleachers, and, to my shock, they just sat there. I stopped directly left of their row some twenty feet away, level with the pair whose eyes were diverted from noticing me. For now. I’m not used to magical beings behaving as if they aren’t in the grip of a paranoid dream, so curiosity began to tickle my senses at their lack of activity. With charms at the ready and a spell on my tongue like a vicious rumor, I crouched, unseen in the darkness between sections of bleacher, but they were too busy watching the ringmaster. That was interesting in and of itself. Vampires are often so old that their primary enemy is boredom. To pay attention to humans was somehow beneath them, but they watched the show with rapt attention. If there was any lingering doubt as to the nature of this circus, it sublimated there and then.

  I squinted to see them with any clarity, and the first glimpse was revealing. There was one male, one female, and they had once been young, but their vampirism was well advanced to my trained eye. Dressed like tourists, the girl was a blonde, with alabaster skin and fine hair that curled about her like a living halo. Her lips were a small red bow under a thin nose. She might have been Russian when alive, and even with the angular effects of being undead, she was beautiful in the manner of a serpent. I watched as she smoothed her hair with long, pale fingers. In another life, she might’ve been a scribe or a musician, but now I knew all of that malignant beauty was designed for seduction and death.