Halfway Drowned (Halfway Witchy Book 4) Page 4

  We advanced toward the bobbing prow, sun spangling off the water in a dizzying array of color and light. The day was warming quickly, and I found myself wiping my forehead despite a light breeze.

  “Circle slowly, please?” Eli asked, leaning over the side and placing the camera lens almost into the water. He turned a knob, and the device emitted a low hum. I noticed a battery pack, connected to the camera, sitting next to Eli on the carpeted deck. It was squat, black, and bare, save for three lights, one of which emitted a dim green glow. Good to go, I assumed, and Eli did too, putting his face to the camera’s sight with an excited gasp.

  “What is it?” I asked, my witchmark tingling with danger. I smoothed more hair over it to cover the ridge of skin sprouting varicolored hairs.

  “It’s--this can’t be possible.” Eli pulled back, wiping a hand over his face to clear an imaginary filter. He quickly returned to his fevered glare, eyes nearly touching the camera. “To the left, please. This is--it’s going to change everything. We’ve been looking for so long, always thinking it could be possible, but never dreaming it was real,” he gasped, words running away with the thoughts boiling forth from his quick mind. “It’s here, and we’ve got it. Slowly, sir, please, to the right now? Cross back and forth; this is just an initial look. I’ll need to get down there as soon as possible.”

  Eli jerked his head up, eyes glazed with sights of something far away, visions of another time and place that had only been a possibility. Until now. When he shook his head, I saw his eyes were bright with tears.

  “What is it, man?” Wulfric’s question was gentle despite his intense curiosity.

  Eli pulled the camera into the boat, placing it softly in his lap as if he held a relic. “I’m thirty-four years old, and ever since I was a little boy, I knew--in my heart, mind you, I knew--that our world was much smaller than the textbooks said.” He shook his head, smiling, a suffusion of joy lighting his intelligent face. “I always thought the Vikings had come to the new world, and now, I know. It’s here, undisturbed, complete. Perfect, you understand? They left something for us that will prove I’m right beyond the shadow of a doubt.”

  “What did they leave, Eli?” I asked. His face was transformed by the light of discovery. It was beautiful to see.

  He looked at me and through me. “Bones. They’re waiting for us down there.”

  With a shaking hand, he pointed into the dark water, and for the second time that morning, I sensed the cool touch of the unknown.

  Chapter Six

  Busybodies

  Nothing puts a damper on summertime like a bunch of officials from government agencies telling people they can’t use the lake, but that’s what happened.

  At least for a day. Then the good people of Halfway got involved, and by that I mean Gran sat Eli down at the diner and proceeded to scare him witless with stories of frustrated crowds robbing archaeological sites because they couldn’t go swimming. She’s good that way. Less than ten minutes after their impromptu breakfast meeting, she had Eli convinced that it was his idea to reopen the other parts of the lake and only keep a small bay closed off in order to let him work.

  At least another dozen people arrived with trucks, tools, diving tanks, and expressions of grim glee as they began to suit up and submerge in a storm of bubbles, cordoning off the wreck in a methodical process that Eli explained to be rather common, save for the shallow nature of the water. I learned this while he swigged chocolate milk at the counter, chatting with me as I worked my shift. He didn’t mind raising his voice to be heard over the low roar of the diner in full swing.

  “Usually we end up in a lot more water, Great Lakes wrecks and things of that nature. I’ve directed a few projects in the Hudson, one just outside the harbor of New York. Anywhere there’s water in the Northeast,” he said, downing the end of his third glass. He really liked chocolate milk, a fact that rounded the edges of his frenetic intelligence just enough to make him seem approachable. He was a bit too smart for the world around him, and yet, I’d watched him almost stab himself with his fork because he wasn’t paying attention while he ate, busily sketching something with his free hand and shoveling home fries into his mouth with piston-like efficiency.

  “Just the Northeast?” I wondered if there were more people like him, combing the water for reasons I didn’t quite understand. He seemed a bit too intense to be just another driven academic. I’d seen them on occasion, and his equipment was too expensive, for one thing. Nothing about Eli or his gear spoke of a shoestring budget and endless complaints about funding. His entire team seemed to be rather practiced at the entire routine, a fact that rang distant bells in my mind.

  And my witchmark.

  “Of course, there are some limitations on my range due to the constraints of travel and site degradation,” he began, looking plaintively into his empty glass. I exited the kitchen to pull another dose of chocolate milk for him from the bubbler. We keep our milk in a state of constant frothy chill, a fact Eli appreciated with gusto as I placed the foamy glass before him.

  “Cheers,” I told him, as he started in. He was a bottomless pit, like Wulfric, but about a hundred pounds lighter. I wondered if his legs were hollow. “Degradation? What’s that mean?” I had an idea, but wanted clarification. I appreciate expertise.

  “Like what you saw yesterday. People go through the exact same process every time. First, there’s fright. Then curiosity. Then, some bold soul will walk up--or swim up, in this case, pull out a camera, and start taking pictures, but that’s not good enough is it?”

  “Let me guess. They just have to take a souvenir?” I asked him, but I knew the answer. People were predictable, unlike cats.

  “You’ve heard this story before, eh?” He smiled, pouring more ketchup onto his plate for the remaining home fries, who were about to end their heroic stand against his appetite. “Right, well, that’s how it goes. Every time. Someone will take a nip here, a piece there, and before you know it, people are backing up a truck to disassemble an entire archaeological find and spirit it away to basements and eBay, or worse.” He frowned at a memory. Clearly, he’d seen it happen before.

  “What’s worse than being sold online?”

  “Private collectors. They take things away from the world for their own enjoyment, and we never see them again. It’s—well, it’s a lot more common than you might think, but that’s where my team comes in. We arrive on site as quickly as possible, assess, catalog, and sample everything before the general public can get word to collectors and thieves. It’s a never ending battle, but, we’re winning. Mostly,” he finished. There was pride in his voice, not unwarranted given the scope of his job.

  That didn’t answer my question, so I decided to use a direct approach. Leaning over the counter, I took his plate, the smear of ketchup closer to a crime scene than a lunch plate.

  “You’ve been looking for Vikings all your career?” I asked, my tone casual.

  His nod was comical. “Like I said, it’s been my dream. Since I was a kid, and now? Here I am, tracking them down, one find at a time.”

  “Hmm.” I tapped the counter in front of him for emphasis. “Are you on a timetable?”

  He stopped his endless movement, focusing on me with a look that verged into suspicion. It didn’t fit his face. “Why do you ask that?”

  “Don’t be coy, Eli. Look over there,” I said, pointing with my chin. “Does that look like a casual historical dig?” Across the street, the beach swarmed with researchers, graduate students, and Domari’s people. It was an anthill of activity.

  “Well, no. But I told you, time is of the essence.” He pursed his lips and gave them a final wipe with the napkin he’d been punishing. “I need to get back.”

  “Hmm.” I tilted my head at him, but said nothing else. After a moment, he nodded and walked out, a twenty dollar bill on the counter to facilitate his escape.

  I
handed the money to Pat, who passed by in a frenzy.

  She quipped, “He’ll be back, honey,” before pocketing the ticket and money without a backward glance. I knew she was right.

  I texted Wulfric. Moonlight swim tonight?

  After a moment, he managed to text me back; phones aren’t made for people with hands his size. Looking down, I smiled. “I think you need a little more help, Eli.” My phone pinged again, impatient. I looked down to read Wulfric’s reply.

  Thought you’d never ask.

  Chapter Seven

  Let Them Eat Cake

  Wulfric came home smelling of sawdust and sweat after a day in his shop. When he kissed me, there were nubbins of glue on his hands, the broad palms speckled with residue from a day at work on canoes. Or a single canoe, most likely. He’s a perfectionist and not in any hurry, since he considers money to be a lot like cable television. It’s a charming luxury he doesn’t need.

  “Missed you too. Dinner first?” I asked, wondering if there was anything other than Gus that he hadn’t eaten on his lunch hour. Wulfric still ate like a farmhand, despite being a thousand years old. His metabolism was a thing of beauty, like the rest of him.

  “I cooked during lunch. Something in the refrigerator for you, love.” He began to disrobe in the kitchen, an event that caused me conflict every time. Wulfric wasn’t big on clothes. Or rules. Come to think of it, he didn’t like modernity, but he tolerated it because of me. When he got down to his jeans, I held up a hand.

  “If you cause a flurry of sawdust in my kitchen, I will kick you. Upstairs, to the shower, while I look at this so-called meal you’ve prepared.” I kissed him again only to be rewarded with an elevated glower as he sulked his way upstairs, but not before pulling his belt off with a defiant flourish.

  “Hmph.” I gave him a stinkeye at one third full power, then opened the refrigerator to discover a wild strawberry salad with feta cheese. “Ooo. Well done, dear.” He’d even held off on dressing the enormous bowl of greens and goodies, knowing that a wilted salad is reason enough for me to throw a minor tantrum. I simply can’t abide mushy veggies. It makes me sad, just like a lack of cake. Or cookies. You get the picture.

  Mrowt ? Gus inquired at my feet. He gazed up at me hopefully, knowing that it had been more than three hours since anyone had stoked the engine of my twenty-five pound Maine Coon. “Right. Albacore in water, nothing but the best for you,” I conceded, opening a can for his dinner. He stretched with feline elegance, then his tail betrayed irritation at being made to wait. “Here you are, my liege.”

  He took an experimental sniff, deemed the plate acceptable, and looked up at me in a distinct dismissal. Cats, I thought. They’re frenemies with tails. Gus offered no comment, thus proving my hypothesis as he got down to the work of eating.

  A moment later, I followed suit, eating from the enormous bowl with what I know to be ladylike grace. I was in the middle of my fourth bite, marveling at the plump wild berries when Wulfric came downstairs.

  “Hullo,” I mumbled, trying not to let any food escape my face. He wore a towel and a frown, a mixed message in my eyes. I speared an exceptionally large strawberry, thought about offering it to him, and then popped it in my mouth. It tasted of sunshine and Halfway, a flavor like no other. “What’s wrong? You don’t look enthralled to be in the presence of your gorgeous, brilliant girlfriend. She finds that disappointing, by the way.” I ate another berry with a defiant bite, then waited for him to answer me.

  “She will continue to be vexed, as I have serious business to attend to this night. In addition, your, ah, boyfriend requires your assistance by the lake, preferably after the moon has risen,” he ventured.

  I quirked a brow. “Oh? Do tell. What kind of skullduggery will we be engaging in?”

  He opened the fridge and began rummaging like a wild beast. On the civilization scale, Wulfric failed miserably when he was hungry, so I let him graze unmolested as I observed with a mix of appreciation and shock. He ate a pear in three bites, then half a block of sharp cheese, followed by an entire bag of roasted almonds. Now that he was warmed up, he drank the rest of the milk, rolled up sliced turkey, dunked it in mustard, and ate that while scratching his stomach absently as he composed the remainder of his menu.

  Ten minutes later, he turned to me with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, love. I was a bit too hungry to be reasonable.”

  I blew him a kiss, then chased the last berry around in my bowl, finally resorting to pinning it with my thumb. “So, tell me. Are you going back under the water?”

  “I am. I need a better look, but free of anyone watching me. I may have to surface once or twice in order to get a thorough look, but every bone in my body tells me I must.” He sounded resigned to some kind of trouble. I understood, because I felt the same way, even if I couldn’t explain why.

  “Do you want me to be in the water, or on the beach? I assume that Domari and her people will be thick as thieves. Their tech is pretty good, so they might be watching with night vision glasses. Two more vans arrived, according to Gran. I’m thinking that means no less than twenty people from some comically shadowy organization. All for a boat.” I shook my head in disgust. Halfway was a magnet for trouble, or perhaps I was. I’d go with the former, for now.

  “On the beach,” he said, prying the lid off a jar of pickles. He crunched meditatively, then pointed to the lake. “I’m not worried about their brand of night vision. I have my own.” His smile brought back the echoes of his vampire heritage, but all I could think of was how he could avoid being seen.

  “You realize that their glasses might be attuned to your body heat?” Sleeping next to Wulfric was like having a quarter ton heater in bed. Of course, I put my freezing cold feet on him at every chance, despite his best efforts to avoid me. It’s one of the unwritten relationship rules I enforce, so he tolerates it. Barely.

  “I think I can still cool myself to the temperature of the lake. I’ve tried it before, and it seems to work,” he said with a touch of smugness. The implied threat of removing his warming presence in bed hung between us.

  With my fork, I pointed at him with as much menace as I could muster, knowing that I most likely had lettuce in my teeth. “Don’t. Think about it. You will stay toasty until I give you permission otherwise, no matter what I do with my feet.” I picked at a tooth while he sighed to the heavens.

  “Yes, of course. If we can return to the dangerous mission at hand, rather than your continued use of me as some kind of bed warmer?” He pleaded.

  “I’ll allow it.” I put the fork down and waved him over. He smelled clean and kind of like a deli. It wasn’t unpleasant.

  Arms around me, he looked down, smiling. “Thank you for that bit of dignity in my life. Now, to reality. Since I’ve come back from the vampire side, I have lost many of my talents. I kept the ability to detect danger at some range, and I’m feeling that now.”

  “Me too.” I touched my witchmark absently. “It’s a signature I’ve never felt.”

  “Exactly, and that means we shall proceed with care. I think that boat has secrets, and I aim to discover them tonight,” he rumbled, pulling me to him.

  “After the moon, then?” I looked up at him with my best Tammy Cincotti leer.

  Wulfric said nothing, lifting me and turning to the stairs. Our eyes met and a torrent of need passed between us before we could even kiss, remedied by his lips on mine in a hot rush. I put a hand on his jaw, feeling the muscles working in anticipation of--

  My doorbell rang, freezing us in the middle of a kiss that could melt pavement.

  “Um, what?” I asked the room, somewhat stupidly. Wulfric does that to me.

  I do the same thing to him, because he flushed with anger and confusion. “What?”

  We were quite eloquent while in the grip of passion. With a sigh of ripe disgust, he lowered me to the floor. “You must answer the door, if only
so I can strangle whoever is on the porch.” He was only half kidding.

  I let my charms fall into my palm, smoothing my hair with the other hand. With a heave, I opened my door, expecting the worst.

  “Hey. Mind if I come in?” Anna asked. Her eyes crinkled with delight as she quickly assessed our condition. My cheeks went hot at her smug grin as she stepped presumptively into my house after flicking her cigarette into my yard. With a dismissive wave I sent a quenching spell to soak the smoldering butt, much like she’d just done to my libido.

  “I--whatever.” I closed the door to find her already sitting in the living room on my couch. Everything Anna did made me crazy. She was small, like me, with dark eyes and hair and, oh, by the way, she’s a werepanther who moves like liquid sex. Men go wild for her, and the fact that she seduced Wulfric still boils my britches every time I see her give him a lingering glance.

  So, yeah. It was already a lousy little talk, or whatever she had in mind.

  “Did I interrupt something?” she asked, her voice bubbling with a lascivious undertone. It was like throwing gas on a fire, and my hands clenched into fists until I forced myself to take a deep breath and let it out through my nose. All the while, Wulfric regarded her like an unexploded bomb before stepping into the breach on my behalf. “Actually, yes. I was preparing to take Carlie upstairs, where our bed awaits. I have quite a list of achievements in mind for this evening’s sport, not limited to covering her with”--

  “Okay, whatever. I get it,” Anna spat, looking toward Gus, who seemed to be stalking her from the hallway. He didn’t like Anna, which made me love Gus even more. “I’m not here to watch you two play house. I have a reason.”

  I said nothing as Wulfric took my hand. It braced me enough to let calm infuse my mood. “What reason?” I asked. It was my house, and I asked the questions.