Halfway Drowned (Halfway Witchy Book 4) Page 19

  “I’ll do my best. You’ll speak to Alex if he gets here before I wake up?” I felt like Alex and Anna were the keys to a lock I hadn’t seen yet. Based on Gran’s smile, I was right.

  “I will. Even Anna is your friend, Carlie, though an ocean of mistrust churns between you. This might help you calm those waters, if only to show her what lengths you’ll go to for Wulfric. Now, to bed. You’ll sleep downstairs, in the guest room. I’ve already hung a blackout curtain, so you’ll not be disturbed.” She plucked at my elbow to lift me, then put a hand in my back. I moved like a sleepwalker, though my mind was spinning with fear.

  “Blackout curtain?” It seemed awfully prescient of her.

  “I’m your Grandmother and your teacher, Carlie. You have no secrets from me, and the only thing I waited for was your own conclusion. To bed now. You’ll wake hungry, sore, and confused. I will be the first thing you see, so focus on me, and not the instincts that are growing within you. Do that, and you’ll preserve yourself for another day. I promise.”

  I sensed the bed and then her hands as she fussed with the covers. I felt a spark of hunger, and then, I felt nothing.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Hunger Pangs

  “Sweetie? It’s time.” Gran stood in the doorway holding a teacup, her smile warm and familiar.

  I tried to sit up, but someone was jamming a knife in my stomach. I looked down, expecting to see a blade buried in me, but there was only a sheet, damp with perspiration.

  “Hurts,” I grunted. That was an understatement. I felt like I was coming apart at the seams. Aside from the dry mouth, swollen tongue, raw throat, and fire in my guts, I felt rather refreshed and ready to tackle the day. Or night. I couldn’t tell, because it was dark in the room, and yet-- I twitched as Gran’s smile deepened at my sudden realization. “I can see in the dark without a spell.”

  “Not all parts of your struggle are bad, dear. Some elements can be used as tools, at least in the short term.” She approached me to sit on the edge of the bed, balancing the tea while lifting me gently with a hand between my shoulders. Either her hand was hot, or I was cold. Perhaps both, given the secret war my body was fighting. “Drink all of this. You’ll need it for tonight. And beyond,” she said cryptically.

  “Thanks.” I tilted the cup to my nose. There was no scent whatsoever, and it was cool, not hot. “What--never mind. It’s a masking brew?” I began to gulp the tasteless liquid, grateful for the silky texture. It coated my stomach with a numbing touch that crept across my abdomen like a welcome eclipse. In seconds, the tea was gone, and my bizarre pain was at bay, though I knew it was just outside the door, waiting to come back inside.

  Gran exhaled, resolute and beautiful. “Wash up. Meet me at the ash tree.” She stood and made her quiet way to the door, leaving it ajar behind her.

  On legs like a newborn colt, I followed a few minutes later, still damp from my ersatz attempt at bathing. Like so many nights before, Gran was waiting for me under the light of the moon. Her feet were bare, her hair unbound. In the silver glow, she looked young, even pulsing with a vibrant purpose that told me I was in the presence of greatness. Scents of dew and night things assailed my nose, and the air was cool on my tongue. Whatever she was going to show me would be the most important lesson of my life. My body stood at the ready, attuned to her power and open to suggestion. I thanked Gran’s powerful brew again, then stepped next to her, my own bare feet streaking the grass with darker imprints.

  Under a split limb of the ancient ash tree, Gran had placed her grimoire on an upright log, its bark stripped by years in the wind and sun. The enormous book sagged open with relief, its thick vellum aglow in the moonwash. The gentle light tickled Gran’s writing to life, the edges of spells forming and reforming like restless serpents. It was mesmerizing to see her magic evolve as I grew near, and I knew that each word of her spell was steeped in goodness. I’d seen her grimoire a hundred times, but never the moving words--never a sign of rejection from the very magic that was the heart of our familial line.

  “It knows you’re here, and it understands why.” Gran flipped a page with the utmost delicacy, opening an expanse on unwritten vellum. “Our magic has a conscience, Carlie. It’s the reason you feel unwell, not just the vampirism blooming within you.”

  “I wondered why I feel no regret.” A good witch should pay a price for using offensive magic, and I’d been far too cavalier with spells that harmed indiscriminately.

  “You will,” Gran said.

  She pulled her legs up to hover over the ground, waving an elegant hand that I should do the same. Her power was as irresistible as gravity and capable of inverting the laws of physics. I shuddered, in awe and more than a little fear at the sight of her placidly drifting in place, legs crossed without a care in the world.

  I lifted my feet and turned in the air so that our knees were angled, her Grimoire lifting to greet us four feet above the ground. “Gran. I’m scared.”

  “You should be. I know I am,” was her answer. Oddly, it made me feel better to know this woman of endless magic could feel fear as well.

  She pointed to the blank page and began to draw in the air above it. On the vellum appeared letters and symbols of the old tongue. I’d seen it exactly twice--the first being the day Gran imbued my own grimoire with our family aura, thus bonding it to me forever.

  “You won’t put a spell to paper for this problem, child. This can only be solved by things that are beyond the written word.” Her fingers snapped like a firecracker, and the writings vanished with a swirl of tiny red motes.

  “I understand.” And I did. This was magic to correct evil; thus it could not be allowed to pollute our family history.

  Gran adopted her most intimate of teaching voices, bobbing lightly in the air as she got to the point. “Spells that are outside the physical realm of witchcraft can only come from the metaphysical, rather than pure discovery. The good witch understands research, prayer, even pain, but never forget that the root of such things is discipline. It’s discipline that separates us from warlocks, whose hunger corrupts their bodies with each successive spell. You have a window, albeit small, to step outside yourself and use something new. I’m suggesting that your studies take you into a synthesis of witchcraft and sorcery, two arts that are similar but distinct. Whatever may come, the cure for your sin lies not in Halfway, but in something that is not of our place. It may be a small thing, or even quite grand, but it doesn’t belong here. Only something of this vein can be turned to serve two masters at once.”

  “Two masters?” I knew my hunger was one, but the other escaped me.

  “Wulfric. Whatever has taken him wants something from you, and this is the opportunity you need. Whether your heart can lead you to the answer is beyond even me, but I suspect it’s something you’ve already seen.”

  I let her words settle over me, reaching a decision. A roll of the dice, you might say, but one in which my entire world rested on the numbers that came up. With a silent nod, I unfolded my legs to touch the damp earth. “You’ll wait here?” I had an errand to run.

  “I will. Until an hour before dawn. Then, your fate is beyond the moon. Even she won’t be able to save you, and neither can I.” Gran closed her eyes, tipping her face upward to let the silver light bathe her face in the glow of distant years. With practiced motions, she began preparing for a spell of discovery, but when I leaned in to look at the target, her only reaction was a tiny shake of her head.

  I respected her too much to press, so I stood, waiting. When she waved me away with a gentle hand, I put will into motion.

  I ran.

  The world slipped past, a smear of silver and blue tinged with liminal fire from my vampire’s sight. It was beautiful, but in the way of dangerous things. I ran on, lungs barely working as the rocks and creek came into view. Then, the dock was there, and in seconds I stood in Mrs. Perlmutter’s backyard, th
e creek burbling past like a polite conversation.

  “Okay time to think, Carlie.” Hand on hips, I surveyed the scene. I thought of a water creature skulking about in the dark, and found myself squatting on a low, flat rock that was longer than me by half. Okay, that’s not exactly huge but it’s too big to move, it’s stable, and it worked as a possible place from which to watch the house where Mrs. Perlmutter’s cats had gone missing.

  “Think. Think.” I began drawing lazy circles with my hand, the rock scoring my skin lightly with each turn of the wrist.

  Then I touched something smooth. “Gotcha.”

  I lifted the scale up, letting the moonlight filter through like an answered prayer. “Hello, beautiful.”

  My feet barely hit the ground as I ran. It was time to ask for one more prayer.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Witching hour

  I stood before Gran with the scale held in triumph as she looked on me with approval. I’d been fast, efficient, and silent--all qualities that the moment called for. I’d delivered, and judging by the cloud of magical energy around her, she’d been busy as well.

  “Three hours ‘til dawn. You’re going to have to push, but not before I show you something,” Gran took my hand, guiding me to the distant corner of her yard where blackberry brambles ran riot along a wooden fence, their shadowy fingers stretching out hungrily.

  “Blackberries?” I asked dumbly. They were important to us McEwan women, just not now.

  “Pot Roast,” Gran said, a smile in her voice. “Look just there.”

  “Oh! The groundhog?” I half-laughed at the silliness of it all, but we stood before a burrow, heaped with soft dirt. Inside, a pudgy groundhog Gran had named Pot Roast was sleeping, no doubt, dreaming whatever it is that little beasties dream. We watched him and his family come and go each year, emerging in a fugue state from their hibernation after long winters underground.

  She looked at the sky, which was still mercifully dark save the moon and stars. “The lesson will be brief. Why does Pot Roast emerge from his burrow each spring?”

  I thought briefly, my mind fuzzed from exertion and internal conflict. The gnawing in my stomach gave me the answer. “Hunger?”

  “Exactly.” She took the scale from me, holding it delicately. There was a distinct air of disapproval in her next question. “An ancient thing, to be sure. Why do you think it has risen, here, in our lake? How can an immortal creature find the need to hunt? Why would it need to kill?”

  I looked at the dark burrow and thought of how the groundhog looked when he would first emerge, coat askew and roughened from months underground. He looked hungry, but at first he looked—sick-- dying, even, until the diet of sweet grasses began returning him to his former glory.

  “Because it’s dying.” A chill swept through me at the thought of what such a creature would do.

  “What would a dying creature need, then?” Gran’s question hung between us, waiting to strike with the truth.

  “Life everlasting.” The answer fell on my heart with a thud.

  “It was never about Wulfric, dear. It’s always been about you and what is inside your soul, twisting you into something that is not my granddaughter,” Gran said, her hand on my cheek. There were tears in her eyes, and that scared me more than becoming an undead thing.

  “What do I do next?” I felt numb. I was adrift and going farther from the shore of my purpose with each passing second.

  “Take the scale. Discover the beast. A message awaits you at your home--I have seen it and many other things. We will end this before dawn, but I can only help you so much. I will gladly die for you child, but not if it means leaving Halfway to the predations of a creature who can only be paid in blood.” Gran turned me toward my house, her face inscrutable. I didn’t know if she spoke of the monster in the lake, or me. “Go now. Your friends are waiting, and they will help, too. I’ll be close to hand when you need me most.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Fish Tale

  “Oh, hey,” I said to Alex, who was running alongside me with effortless, loping steps. He was human, as was Anna, who waved at me from my other side. To my credit, I hadn’t screamed when they materialized out of the darkness to take up stations on my right and left as I ran home.

  “Hey.” He was chatty, as usual.

  “Found something. Stop on your porch. You’re gonna want to see this,” Anna said, brandishing a small canvas bag.

  In seconds, we stood on the familiar planks of my porch, listening to their mellow creaks of protest as all three of us came to an abrupt stop. I hate running, I really do, but I hate the effects of running even more; things like sweating, gasping, being sore, getting in shape, or receiving approving nods from other weirdos who actually enjoy jogging.

  I felt none of those effects, and that gave me pause. Even Alex was lightly winded, doubtless from whatever exertions he’d been through earlier. Gran told them to scour the area, and I have no doubt they’d covered miles since the sun went down. Cats are fast, but big cats are even faster. When Alex and Anna were shifted, they moved like liquid night. I motioned that they should come inside, taking them to my kitchen and pouring ice water for all three of us. I wasn’t thirsty, but I didn’t want to be a bad host.

  “Look,” Alex said in his quiet way, opening the canvas bag to reveal an array of objects that made no sense when put together.

  Anna’s expression was grim, which set me back on my heels. She was never serious. “I know why that thing in the lake is pissed.”

  “What are those?” I asked, pointing to the bizarre collection. Some items were obvious--there were cat collars, dog collars, and even the shredded fin of an unlucky scuba diver, the lurid blue rubber torn in five lines. The cuts had to have been made by claw marks or talons, the cuts almost surgically clean.

  It was the last three things Alex placed on my table that made my mind rebel against their presence. They were wide, flat, gray. Dead things that had once been alive or a part of something alive. They looked like--

  “Yep. Mermaid tails.” Anna answered my question before it could form. She poked one with a finger, obvious revulsion on her face.

  “Where did you get them?” I asked, stunned as the pieces began to fit in my mind. I knew why the Vikings came overland, going from lake to lake even as their ranks were cut down by an unseen monster. They weren’t chasing something. They were being lured.

  “Officer Mella had them in a chest of some kind. It’s old, hand carved. There are runes on it, a knife inside. It’s iron, I think, and it looks like it’s been used for a long time. We slipped into his room at the hotel and tossed it while he was down at the beach talking to Domari. Carlie, I don’t think he’s an immortal. I think he’s taking over the family business, and that’s why he’s here. It’s like a vendetta for him, you know?” Anna said to me without snark or guile. She was worried, and that meant I was, too.

  “So he’s human, and so is Domari?” I knew they were different, but human. I hadn’t considered them as anything other than bullies with boats.

  Alex spoke first, his voice low and thoughtful. “They smell human to me, but they also sort of smell like Wulfric.”

  “What?” I froze in place, glass trembling in my hand.

  “I think they’re the same, or something. Like family.” He shrugged, followed by the same gesture from Anna.

  I thought of the bones, and of ships filled with Vikings so long ago, splitting the water of lakes and rivers that were so far away from home. Since the Norse were a tight community, it made sense that they would go into the unknown with people they trusted, and for them, there was nothing more important than family. I understood that.

  That meant that Mella and Domari weren’t just searching for ships. They were looking for tails to collect, and Wulfric was in the middle of it.

  So was I.

  Alex
and Anna whirled as the mail slot creaked, their reflexes too fast for the human eye to follow.

  But I could. I saw them dash to the door, tearing it open with enough force to shake the frame. As my eyes adjusted, I saw only darkness and an empty night beyond. Whatever had been at my door was faster than a shifter, and that gave us all collective pause, even as I bent to pick up the note that sat innocently in the open doorway.

  “Gone,” was all Alex said, sniffing the air with suspicion. “I don’t like it.” Anna’s answer was part grunt, part growl. Their senses were on high alert, and they were scared.

  “Time to bring this nonsense to an end, one way or another.” I opened the note and began to read, and the world began to spin.

  “”What is it, Carlie?” Alex fought not to whisper, looking at Anna with alarm in his eyes.

  I waved a hand, then pointed to the door. “Do you trust me?” Their answer would determine a path for all of us, and maybe even the people of Halfway. And beyond.

  “Of course,” Anna answered. It was a kindness she didn’t need to give, as Alex was about to speak. I stared at both of them to remember their faces in case things went badly. I thought that was likely, so I took my time, smiling at them in thanks for all they had done, despite Anna being a bit of a snot more than once or twice.

  “You need to go and get everyone away from the beach. Tell Tammy that what I need has to happen now--she’ll understand. Tell Domari and Mella I know everything, and tell them she’s coming. If they’re on the beach at dawn, they’ll die, and if they’re male, then their death will be worse than anything we’ve ever seen. Drive that point home, Alex. This one . . . she’s not like the others that Mella killed. This one is different.” Naked fear colored my words, and not just for what might happen to Wulfric.

  “Ok.” Alex pulled at Anna, who broke away to hug me. She smelled like food. I needed her to leave.