Halfway Hunted - Halfway Witchy Read online

  I proceeded with the most deferential approximation of manners I could muster; it seemed apropos to the moment. “Would you like to join me for something warm? Perhaps coffee? Tea? I work at the diner just in town.” I nodded toward Halfway proper with my chin, which was reddening nicely in the cold.

  “Are you married?” he asked, the familiarity in his voice fading away.

  “No, sir, but I am, um, betrothed. Engaged to be married, that is, but I’d like to buy you something warm nonetheless. I can assure you, my intentions are honorable, and the tea will be nice and hot.” I smiled at him in a winning fashion, but it probably looked like I was having some kind of seizure. I was cold, and getting colder by the moment. My cheeks were already stiff.

  He shook himself slightly after a long pause. “It is rather brisk at that. A cup of tea.” He chewed on the word, then smiled. “Yes, that’d be lovely.” A shadow flickered in his eyes and he stopped. “At the risk of you answering me, I must ask. What year is it?”

  I waved an indecisive hand and began to answer, but he held up a large palm to quell me. “My apologies, but before you do as I’ve asked, may we take a walk? There’s something I need to see.” His voice was growing in certainty.

  “Do you want me to take you to the graveyard?” I asked.

  He twitched as if scalded. “How did you know that was what I would ask of you?” His tone grew suspicious, but I patted the air with both hands in an attempt to waylay any disagreement. I knew that my question might seem invasive, but the reason for his concern was obvious to anyone who took in his clothes, his speech, and realized that this man out of time would want to know what happened to the people he knew and loved. Were they dead? If so, when, and were they here in Halfway? He was so clearly misplaced in time, even his mustache was anachronistic and charming. There was nothing modern about the man.

  “Look around you, Exit.” I used his name because I wanted him to feel comfortable, and he needed to see me as an adult. “This is not your time, is it? It seems to me that there might be people you loved who are gone now.”

  His eyes lost their wary crinkles at the corners, and he nodded once. “That is fair.” He shivered. “I’m freezing. I wasn’t, but now I am. January, if I hit my mark.”

  “It is that. Middle of January, too, so we’re just getting to the serious cold.” We had another month of brutal cold and then the long slide toward spring. In a sense, winter was just getting started.

  “I—I would ask you again what year it is, since I know that dancing around the truth will only make it that much harder to accept. I am many things, but impractical is not among my more robust traits.” His voice was flat with acceptance of the oncoming reality he’d awoken to. It could be nothing else, the man had been asleep or ensorcelled. I was betting on both.

  Without hesitation, I said, “It’s 2016.”

  He sat like marble for a span of two minutes, his breathing slow and even. I wondered if he’d gone into shock, but then he spoke. The words were rueful and tired; his eyes had a flat glaze to them that was colored with a penetrating sadness. “That is unexpected,” he began, then broke off, shaking his head. “So many years, gone. I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “You could start with that cup of tea, if you’d like. I think you’ll find me to be fully prepared to listen to anything and everything you might say, and even better? I’ll believe you, Exit.” I took one of his big, scarred hands. He was frigid. When he looked at me, I saw an echo of the boy he must have been long ago. There was wonder, and despair, and loss for things that he’d never really known. It was heavy in his eyes.

  “Carlie, it’s cold,” he said simply.

  I stood, pulling him upright. The sun dropped lower, and the temperature with it as the Adirondacks began to settle in for another cold night. I hooked his arm and turned him toward my home. If nothing else, he was going to be safe from the weather. I had a feeling we’d spend much of it talking, and nothing bad ever began with a good cup of tea.

  With a gentle tug, I set in motion through the snow. “I’m cold too, Exit. To the diner, then, and let me help you.”

  “How?” His question bordered on plaintive as some form of magic faded from him. I knew the look; I’d seen it before in people emerging from powerful enchantments.

  “We’ll start with tea, and later a warm fire. From there, the rest is up to you.”

  Chapter Four: Like a Bear, But Human

  Exit Wainwright sat across from me in a booth at the diner, and I knew instantly that he was a man who’d been jarred from his own era. How or why he achieved this state of moderate disconnection from his own life was unknown, because for five minutes he sat and marveled at the bustle of the diner. I brought our tea to stave off any unwelcome questions before we had a chance to chat; this act of moderate rebellion was a sure sign to my regulars that I wasn’t to be disturbed. As it was midafternoon, the diner was mostly empty, so our interruptions would be minimal at most.

  Exit wrapped his hands around the mug and inhaled with genuine appreciation. His smile was an unalloyed joy that I knew well indeed. Tea could do that to the most stoic of humans.

  “Your first cup in a while?” I asked, still treading lightly. He was adjusting to the atmosphere around us, but there was an element of flight still just under the surface of his expression. Over that, he displayed the natural confidence of a leader who’s just been asked to captain a ship that is lost or sinking. I liked him.

  “A century, as it turns out. No wonder it’s so good.” His mouth twisted somewhere between rueful and pleasure. I let him sip in companionable silence until he felt up to the task of chatting. With a long look around, he considered his next words. “So, this is the future,” he said drily. At my noncommittal nod, he smiled. “Do people live on Mars? Under the sea? What about death rays? Has anyone gotten around to making those yet?” He paused for a moment, then added, “Probably not, given that you’re here, and the town is here, and there don’t appear to be any vistas of scorched land.”

  “Ahh, a realist.” I laughed at his astute take on human nature. To a man from a century earlier, the possibilities of mankind surviving may have seemed slim to none.

  “I saw the films from Europe. It’s still there?” he asked, genuine hope coloring his tone. If he’d been asleep since 1916, his last view of the Continent would have been at the peak of World War I. I couldn’t imagine what it seemed like to someone who lived through it; a century later the images seemed like something from a horror film. In fact, it had been a horror film lasting five years and ending empires and generations alike.

  “It is. Full of Europeans, too, although they like to snipe at each other now and then.” I fiddled with my cup, unsure what to ask next that didn’t seem rude. He had just woken up. I know that asking me questions before I’m fully awake is a borderline guarantee of mild violence. I like to ease into my day. “Exit, I have so many questions, but one thing I have to know first. Where were you?”

  “For the past century?”

  “Yes. I can’t think of a single place in town that’s been undisturbed for a hundred years.” I’d searched my mind for such a quiet nook and come up empty. He didn’t reek of the earth, and other than being slightly mussed from sleep, he was clean and tidy. A bit shopworn, to be certain, but that could be expected for a man who slipped through the past hundred years in a state of hibernation. If that’s what it was. “Do you remember anything?”

  A slow shake of his head told me no. “I see fragments of shadow, but nothing more. Of course, I’ve only been, ah, back for a short time.” He smiled in appreciation of his wakeful state. “As to where I was, that’s something I can say with certainty, primarily due to my life’s work.” He looked at his hands, which told the story of hard labor.

  “What did you do?” I asked gently. I didn’t want a man in his state to feel interrogated, despite that being my goal.

  “I was, or am, a mining engineer working directly under special order of the go
vernor. I came to the mountains because of a man named Bartolomeo Fumafreddo.”

  “Quite a name.” It was a far cry from any I’d heard in our town’s history.

  “He lived up to it. He was an inventor, and a bit of a wanderer. Self-educated and curious, too. His travels brought him to the Adirondacks with some sort of get-rich-quick scheme in mind. It worked, but not in the manner he anticipated.” Exit smiled grimly, and I was reminded of people getting what they wished for. It never really seemed to end well. “Have you heard of Tahawus?” He pronounced the word tuh-hawz, and I recognized it at once.

  “The old mine? Sure. Hikers go there to visit. I went as a kid for a school field trip, but I haven’t ever been back. Don’t tell me that’s where you’ve been?” I searched his face for denial, because the idea of someone trapped in a mine shaft for a century gave me a serious case of the willies.

  Exit ran a hand through his hair, thinking. “I know that’s where I was, and I know that’s where I woke up. I don’t know if I was always there, but it seems likely.” He shrugged, his face darkening with anger. I wasn’t surprised; I’d sat on a disabled aircraft for two hours and thought I was going to chew my way out of the cabin. I couldn’t imagine what he was dealing with. “I remember feeling strange, as if I were walking along the bottom of the sea. Everything was slowed, and a terrible weakness filled my limbs until I thought I should scream with rage at the sensation, but I was trapped in my own mind.”

  “Where did this happen?”

  He considered my question for a long moment, sifting memories until he could pull something useful from the detritus of a century-long sleep. “A placer mine that had been hewn by hand. It was small; not unlike a coffin now that I think of it. There was a bell-shaped chamber, totally natural, at the end of it. I grew weak and was made to lie down on a canvas that we used to haul out odd samples or spare lanterns.” He shook his head in displeasure. “I remember someone pulling that canvas over me like a burial shroud, and the remaining light from my lantern went out. It was . . . very dark.”

  I reached out to him across the table, overwhelmed with the sense of loneliness and despair he must have felt in that moment of dying light. “You can just sit here for a bit if you want. We don’t have to talk.”

  “You’re very kind, Carlie, but no. I’ve been inert for too long. I don’t know what life there is left for me, but I won’t waste it in a moribund examination of my own weakness.” His jaw was set like a man who had just told his horse to charge.

  “Weakness?” I nearly squeaked with shock. “What are you talking about? You were asleep, I guess, for a century. You’re awake, doing fairly well given the circumstances, and sipping tea with me.” I gave him a winning smile, which he returned at my brazen confidence. “I have a question, but I don’t want to offend your expertise as a miner.”

  “Go on, please.”

  “Could you have been overcome with gas? A pocket of gas, or something toxic?” I was a witch who dealt in the supernatural, but clutching at straws seemed to be all I could do in the moment.

  “That is, of course, possible. But I assure you, I would not be here had I been taken by gas. It is almost always fatal, and we do not understand the mechanism by which men are taken. There have been instances in which men have died in agony without any signs of gas being present. Sometimes, the men lived on for years, only to fall ill to consumption or a wasting sickness.” His eyes were distant as he recollected the loss of men who had been gone since the years before modernity became the norm. I felt myself being pulled into the depths and time, and shook myself slightly. It was a distant path, and I needed to be present for Exit.

  He cocked his head and looked at me with renewed interest, then changed tack. “Do you, ah, work outside the home?” Curiosity lit his eyes from within.

  “Obviously, here. But I have another occupation. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s my true calling; my heart, if you will.” I sized him up. He’d been asleep, and a man of science in his time. So, without testing the waters, I jumped.

  “I’m a witch.”

  The words hung between us until his lips quirked, lifting his mustache in a small but cheerful gesture. “A real witch? Not a charlatan, a parlor woman?”

  “Yes, as is my Gran. And her Grandmother before her, and a few more women in my family. One or two uncles as well, although they were well before my time. But to return to your question, yes. I’m real, and my magic?” I tapped my charm bracelet against the table and flicked one finger toward him. A line of tiny white blossoms appeared, spread, and faded into gold motes before vanishing. “I assure you, my family power is quite real.”

  He sat transfixed by the lingering lights as they faded into nothing. A smile of unbridled glee creased his face, and he barely stifled a whooping laugh with great shakes of his broad shoulders. When he regained some semblance of composure, he pointed a finger at me with accusatory delight. “And to think that I believed there was nothing new to be found in this world unless one dug for it.” It was good to see him enjoying something other than the tea, and his smile lingered for some time. “Is all magic so beautiful?”

  I grimaced, knowing the truth. “Obviously not, or you wouldn’t have been put into a state of hibernation, or whatever exactly happened to you. It’s clear to me that your, ah, condition was induced through something that is purely magical. You look fine, and you’re healthy, with no apparent effects. That speaks of magic—powerful spellcasting, in fact—that wasn’t necessarily destructive, but not beneficial, either. There aren’t many people who can cast spells of that strength, and certainly not on our lands without permission. This is the first time in my life that I wish my Gran was older.”

  “Why?” He looked abashed, then added, “A gentleman doesn’t ask a lady’s age, but in this particular instance. . .” He let his unasked question trail off delicately.

  “Gran was born after your nap began. There, is that delicate enough for you?” I smiled to take the sting away from my dodge. His grin told me it worked.

  At that moment, a visible shudder passed through Exit as he slumped against the table. In a sense, I’d been expecting such a reaction. Magic isn’t free of side effects, and neither is hibernation. Even bears, who are basically trucks with fur, have to recover from their long winter nap. Exit had been in a mine shaft for a century. His eyes were closed and moving busily under the lids.

  “Nausea?” I took his hand. He was frigid.

  “Yes. It’s most unpleasant. Like falling, but inside me.” His throat bobbed repeatedly as his body went to war against the vestiges of an unknown spell.

  “Can you walk?”

  He didn’t speak, but nodded weakly. “Take my hand and follow me. I have someone who can help . . . with everything.” He steadied himself with one broad palm on the table, then lurched into motion alongside me. He was lean but heavy, and I found myself bracing with each step, like being on a ship in rolling seas.

  “Where are we going?” His voice was weak but curious. That was good.

  “To Gran’s. Where I take all of the wayward travelers who drift into Halfway.” When he didn’t answer me, I decided to save my quips and concentrate on helping him walk. We stepped out onto the street with mincing steps, like a pair of drunks in the rain. I pulled out my phone and said, “Call Gran.”

  “Hello?” Her voice was tinny on the speaker.

  Exit opened his eyes in wonder, but I waved him off with a gesture. He’d have plenty of marvels to discover, but only after we got him free of the spell sickness.

  “I’m bringing another lost soul to you, but this one’s different. Be there in five minutes. Make tea.” I hung up at her noise of assent, while pulling Exit up from a stumble. “Not far now. Can you keep going?” I asked Exit.

  His skin was pale and icy. Beads of clammy sweat pooled on the hollows of his cheeks, and he looked much older than a few moments earlier.

  “For a place out of this cursed snow, yes.” His teeth were clenched with the e
ffort of walking, and each step came with a low grunt.

  “There’s no snow where we’re going. Only help.” I bulled ahead, one arm locked around his waist, and wondered, not for the first time, what kind of magician could make a man sleep through a century. Then the chill hit me, and I knew it had nothing to do with the snow all around our shuffling feet.

  Chapter Five: Not Dead, Just Napping

  Exit slept, without moving, for nearly thirteen hours. Gran and I took turns watching over him, during which time we observed him remaining still, save for the odd tremor and an occasional gusty breath that parted his lips like curtains in a breeze. We were both present when he woke, eyes fluttering to an awareness that was somewhere between amazement and gratitude.

  “Where am I?” His voice cracked with disuse, and for the first time I thought he sounded like a man who’d been asleep for a hundred years.

  “My house. You are quite safe, and free of any residual effects from that spell that held you in place for so long.” Gran’s words were brimming with authority, and Exit took note of it, easing back onto his pillow slightly.

  A look of concern washed over his face, but before he could speak Gran began to pull him upright, albeit gently. “The washroom is just here. I expect you’ll want to brush your teeth as well before we begin our ruthless interrogation.” At his look of surprise, she patted his arm. “I’m joking, of course. I wouldn’t do such a thing to a man in your particular position.” When his alarm subsided, we both acted as crutches to stabilize him as he made his way down the hall. He was wobbly and pale, but far better than he’d been when I dragged him into Gran’s foyer. His babbling and fevered chill had been serious enough that Gran began mixing a spell immediately. After dosing him with a decoction of willow, berry, and plain old life magic, she sat next to him and her power roamed free to sample the evanescing remains of whatever had put him into such a state to begin with.