Halfway Drowned (Halfway Witchy Book 4) Read online

  He regarded her silently before shifting in his chair, but eventually the truth won out. It always does. “The boat didn’t sink. It was scuttled.”

  “By whom?” I asked. Even the bravest war party might not attack a dragonship filled with alien warriors shouting in a foreign tongue. I thought of the scene, and revised my opinion of anyone who fought the Vikings at all. They’d be a terrifying force, unknown and lethal in their appearance and actions

  He looked at the ring. “By my sister.”

  “How do you know?” I asked, as delicately as possible. He was in front of me, but not present. Sifting memories made him distant and a bit vague. This wasn’t the man I loved, and his pain was hurting me.

  He turned his gaze on me, eyes snapping back to the present with a slow blink. “Because only her bones awaited me down there. No other skeletons, or armor, nothing save for one thing. I saw the reason she scuttled the ship, and I think I know why only she remains beneath the water. She did it because she was the only person left.”

  “Wulfric,” Gran began, turning her mug slowly between flattened palms. “How many people are usually on a ship of that size?”

  “Up to one hundred.” His answer was flat with hidden anger.

  “If your sister was the only person left, what happened to the crew?” I wondered.

  He spread his hands on the table, looking at the scarred knuckles and long fingers like they were guilty of some unknown betrayal. “There was something else on the ship as well. In the hold.” He inhaled, thinking of a description for something that had shaken him. “What should have been filled with cargo was completely empty, save for the remains of a barrel. It had been bound with iron straps, a dozen or more. They were parted like summer grass, the staves of the barrel blown outward hard enough to embed massive slivers in the surrounding timbers.”

  I understood we were no longer dealing with a human, and a chill descended on my neck. “What was your sister’s name?”

  “Hallerna. She was a true Norsewoman in every way save one--she openly claimed me. I held her the day she was born and watched her grow into a tall, good humored woman. She was filled with light, so different from the dour men of my family, who found it impossible to deny her anything.” He chuckled, a laugh of warm regret. “When my uncles would become cross, she grabbed their noses and told them they were acting like dogs, and that men were not supposed to be so silly. She was our healer, or one of them, rather. That may explain why she was here, but it offers no cause as to why she was left alone to die on that ship, fighting some unseen monster.”

  “I’m sorry,” I offered. It seemed pale against his loss, but he smiled at me.

  “What are you going to do?” Gran asked, watching the muscles in his jaw. There was a hidden tension as his anger built like a submerged volcano.

  He exhaled, letting some of the anger drip away. Wulfric wasn’t one to let rage color his vision, being a man of kindness and logic now that the vampire’s touch was a distant memory. In his mind, raw, unabated anger did nothing to solve problems, and often only made them worse. It was one of the reasons I loved him.

  “I need your help before I can do anything. I have two problems now--what was in that barrel, and is it still alive? When I consider the presence of police and other authorities, it becomes a more complicated task made worse by the sheer volume of unknown elements. My instincts tell me that something on that ship killed five score of seasoned warriors and left my sister with no option other than sinking the ship to stop it.” He curled his hands into fists, but was otherwise calm. He was thinking it through and out loud, so that Gran and I could take part in the process.

  “A point, Wulfric? Where are the bones?” Gran asked, spreading her hands and shrugging. It made her seem young.

  A hundred dead warriors would leave a lot of evidence behind, a fact that occurred to me even as she was asking. Where was their armor? Weapons? What about their personal effects? The ship had been hidden until recently, and salvage or grave robbing seemed rather unlikely.

  “I considered the same thing. There are possibilities beyond our current evidence, but the most glaring issue is the condition of the ship itself.” He rolled his shoulders in a Viking shrug, making his chair creak. “I saw no evidence of a fight. No broken walls, cleaved wood, or burning. I find it difficult to believe that one, ahh, thing, can best the entire crew of a dragonship and leave no evidence behind. It’s too much violence in a small space.”

  Silence fell on the table as we all chased different thoughts. Gran spoke first, slowly, with the weight of consideration.

  “Why are so many people here for an empty boat from the distant past?” Gran said to no one in particular.

  “And how did they arrive so fast? It seemed like they were waiting nearby, but that can’t be possible. Lord Reeshard was an accident, not planned in any way. He came through Halfway by chance, and now he’s gone. That storm was a once in a lifetime event; there’s no way anyone could have anticipated something lifting the ship to shallow water, where it could be found.” For an instant, I regretted killing Richie. It would have been helpful to question him, although his attitude left a lot to be desired.

  “Then we return to the beginning, with few answers and many more questions,” Gran huffed with mild impatience. “I’d suggest a location spell cast on part of that barrel you saw, Wulfric, but the iron may confuse any results.” Iron was notoriously unfriendly to certain immortal creatures, and we weren’t even sure what had been in the barrel. I felt as if the spheres and stars are conspiring against us, masking the true purpose of that ship.”

  “Clarity,” I said.

  Gran gave me a sharp look while Wulfric tilted his head. He resembled Gus at his most judgmental, but from a greater height. “Go on, dear,” she urged.

  “We have a boat, and a lot of activity. We know of Wulfric’s sister, and a possible beast, freed long ago and doing great harm. These may all be real, or none of them may be real, except the boat. When I was a new witch, you told me that above all else, I must pursue clarity of purpose. To do otherwise would invite mistakes, and we can’t afford them. Not now. Not ever.” I sighed, lifting my shoulders to let some of the tension go free. “Without a clear mind, we can’t find the truth, and if I know anything at all, there’s danger out in that water, Gran. I can feel it.”

  “I agree. There’s a cloud around my mind, which is keeping something from me. I should understand more of this--event, but I do not.” Now Wulfric shrugged his huge shoulders, and it looked a lot more impressive when he did it. “I’ve lost a great deal of who I was, and not just the vampire that used to live within me.”

  “Ordinarily, I’d say we have tea and consider the matter further, but the sun is up, and you need to rest. Go home and let your minds clear. I’ll be here, and when the time is right, all will be revealed,” Gran said, moving to shoo us from her table.

  “What will you do?” I asked. I didn’t like the bland tone she was using. It made me think she was up to something. Naturally, she was.

  “I’m going to take a walk down to the lake, and spread out a blanket. Then, I’m going to cast a spell or three and see if any inhuman echoes linger. Dark magic is rather persistent, and I may be able to find something of note that hasn’t been pushed aside by time or that ridiculous storm.” Gran shuddered with distaste. Even she hadn’t liked Richie, and she was a saint compared to me.

  “Stay away from Domari. I don’t like her,” I admonished.

  Gran smiled sweetly, tugging at a lock of her white hair. “I’m just an old woman, Carlie. What kind of trouble could I possibly get into?”

  Before I could point a finger of warning at her, Wulfric nudged me outside into the unwarranted sunshine. Town was abuzz with activity and noise, so I shot Gran a stinkeye and let my boyfriend push me towards home, where Gus and bed were waiting.

  With a cheery wave, she closed
the door. I wondered what kind of trouble she had planned, but it could wait until later, when the moon was high and I was well rested. I quickened my step, holding Wulfric’s hand as thoughts of Hallerna began to sadden me. I’d never met her, but I missed her just the same.

  Wulfric took my hand, kissing it as we walked. “She is at peace.”

  I twitched at his insight, then leaned against him as we walked. Sometimes, being understood was nearly as good as being loved.

  Chapter Ten

  Shorelines and Felines

  I can count on certain things in my life. Gus being hungry, Gran being my rock, and Wulfric eating everything in the house are just a few.

  Add something else to that list. If I’m tired, you can bet my phone will ring, people will stop by, and I’ll get multiple deliveries from Tammy, all in the span of a few hours because sleep is for the weak. We McEwan women are far from weak, but we do get hangry, and the day passed in a blur as Wulfric fed me snacks while I fended off an array of busy work that kept me from being in bed with my giant, toasty boyfriend.

  By the time the moon was rising in her silver glory, I was wiped out to the point that my legs were twitching as I slid beneath the cool sheets for what I told myself would be the best sleep of my entire life. I was wrong.

  “Did you hear that?” Wulfric whispered, uncoiling from the bed like a lion roused from its doze. He stalked to the edge of the stairs, listening. I let my witch senses push outward, but heard nothing. I shrugged from a prone position as he stood, muscles rigid in preparation to move.

  “I think you have a delivery,” he said, pointing downstairs to the foyer.

  “Wha--oh, stars above. Seriously?” I kicked the sheets off in a microtantrum, standing up with enough force to make Gus glare at me from his position at the foot of the bed. I huffed, stuck out my tongue at Gus, and walked to the stairs, anger fizzing in my blood with each step. I just wanted to sleep, and maybe drool a little bit on Wulfric’s chest, and then have him bring me food because he got up early and ate all the bacon.

  Sometimes, I sound like a brat even to myself.

  “Might as well go see. Sorry, Luna,” I said to the moon as I went down to retrieve the envelope Wulfric had heard as it slid across the floor. He has freakish hearing, and that’s with my hair covering his face and ears. I tend to sleep on him rather than next to him, because I like the temperature to be cold enough that I can use blankets, but not so hot that I have to stick one leg out from underneath the covers. I have rather particular requirements for slumber, unlike Wulfric, who could fall asleep during a forest fire. Or a hurricane. Or both at once.

  I picked up the white envelope, measuring the thick paper. It was white, glued with something clean and sharp smelling, like pine, and had a sense of urgency about it. Unlike many of my other spell requests, something told me this one was different.

  Unfolding the paper, I saw the writing and realized that it was a serious breach of protocol. Spell requests are supposed to be anonymous, but this one was so obvious that the writer may as well have signed her name.

  “Hmph.” I read quickly as Wulfric came down to loom behind me. “Don’t block the moonlight, you big goober.”

  “Hmph? I take it this is a bad thing?” He asked. He knows all of my verbalizations, be they good or bad. It’s an important skill for someone whose girlfriend is a witch. Or just a woman, now that I think about it.

  I let my eyes run over the harried words once again before turning towards the lake. The house seemed to cool in the wake of the request.

  Jinx and Sammie have never missed a meal in seventeen years. Please help me find them. They’re my best friends.

  In the envelope rested two clumps of cat hair, silky and smooth. It was tan and black, like a Siamese, which made sense because that’s what Jinx and Sammie were. Old, slow, cross-eyed Siamese cats who lived with a distant neighbor up the street. Mrs. Perlmutter was a short, thick, grandiose woman who installed not one, but three, cat doors in her home for Jinx and Sammie, and more or less didn’t travel a hundred yards without them. They were sweet, silly cats who spent the bulk of their time in her bay window or on the dock behind her house, which was on the left side of a creek that flowed in the lake.

  “Okay, that’s weird,” I said, folding the letter.

  “What’s wrong?” Wulfric asked. He averted his eyes from the paper out of respect for the person who’d written to me. He was thoughtful like that.

  I threw my hands up in mild frustration. “Well, you’ll know soon enough. There are two missing cats, and they belong to my neighbor. She--well, she’s scared, and wants to find them. They’re seventeen years old, and kind of frail. I understand why she’s worried, but this is a bit unusual, even for”--

  “Could we walk around and track the beasts?”

  “I’m sorry, what? The beasts? Honey, these are eight pound cats,” I said, patting his chest. He was a true Viking at heart.

  “Do they have paws?” He looked down at me, smirking.

  “Yes, but--wait. You’re going to track two ancient kitties like some wayward bears?” I laughed, shocked that he reverted to his ranger ways with the flick of a switch. I’d done wonders to domesticate him to this point, if his default was to go haring off into the night in search of cats who had wandered away from a dock.

  He looked at the cellar door with meaning. “Perhaps you would like to go down there for a few hours, cast a complicated spell, and spend some time with the spiders who are even now plotting your demise?” He wrinkled his brow at me. It was rather smug of him, and he knew it. The spider population was a bit too cozy for my taste, despite our mutual agreement to ignore each other when I was spellcasting.

  I sighed. He had me, and now, instead of sleeping, I was going to traipse around town looking for missing cats. Still, I knew how I’d feel if Gus was gone, even for a second, so I spread my hands in submission. “You’re right. After you, woodsman.”

  “We don’t need anything except clothes. And shoes, for you. I cannot abide you complaining about how the dew feels weird between your toes,” he said, heading upstairs to get dressed.

  “Says the guy who won’t wear a damp swimsuit. Some Viking you are.”

  “I explained my position, and I stand by it. Besides, your toes are so short, there’s no space between them.” He dodged my kick and finished pulling on a shirt, and after a firm kiss, we were outside in the cool midnight with me pointing toward Mrs. Perlmutter’s house.

  “Onward, to success, if you please. Our mattress is calling to us even as we stand here.” I was griping, but it really was a magnificent night. The moon was drifting high, light draining across the landscape in a brittle silver wash as the night birds and frogs pepped their chorus all around us. We walked hand in hand, and for a few minutes, we were all alone and possibly the only people awake in Halfway. It was a cozy moment, broken only by the short bark of a dog somewhere to our right, then the creak of a wooden door as someone went inside an unseen porch on the block behind us.

  “The cats eat on her dock, you say?” Wulfric asked as we went between a pair of houses to reach the path that ran along the creek. There were few lights on at all, but the moon lit our path like a searchlight.

  “Third one, on the end. See it?” I pointed as we began to creep in unison, our gestures becoming comical as we imitated each other. He moved silently despite being twice my size, a fact that I found troubling if he ever decided to start scaring me for fun. “How is it that you’re basically invisible, skulking about? And weirdly quiet, too.”

  “We are not skulking. We are stalking, which is quite different. Perhaps if I were a petty vagrant, I would behave as you suggest, but my skills in the forest are honed from years of honorable duty, not sneaking about to draw questionable symbols on Tammy Cincotti’s car with that silly green paint.”

  “Hey!” I hissed, “How did you know about that?”
I’m not proud of last Halloween . . . at all. Someone--I admit nothing--had a couple glasses of wine and drew the more interesting parts of male anatomy on Tammy’s windshield. How Wulfric knew about the alleged crime was beyond me, but I resolved not to assume that, just because he was snoring, he was asleep. The big faker. Still, skulking about is fun, and I made a note to do it more often, though preferably not under duress or while hunting missing pets.

  Wulfric stepped onto the dock behind a small, neat cottage with dark shutters and a wraparound porch. His reply was a low rumble tinged with laughter. “You had green paint on your hands. And arms. And face. I watched you in the shower, laughing and singing some filthy song as you scrubbed the evidence from your tiny, guilty body.”

  “You perv.” It was the best I could do when faced with his mountain of evidence.

  “Yes, I am. I enjoyed watching you cavort about with glee over your sneak attack. I apologize for nothing.” I could sense him smiling in the dark; then he looked back to the house. The flash of his teeth vanished, replaced by angled shadows under the light of the moon. No lights shone, despite Mrs. Perlmutter having been out and about less than a half hour earlier. For an older woman, she could move quickly, because I saw no evidence that she was anywhere other than tucked into her own bed.

  “Right here,” Wulfric said, pointing to a hand painted ceramic pet dish. It was full of food, which struck a pang of sadness in me at her fear and loss. Whatever cavalier attitude I may have had about her letter, it vanished at the sight of that lonely bowl, full of supper for cats who had not come home. “I’m going to look around.”

  He leapt to the ground without a noise and began moving in a slow, roving pattern across the grass of Mrs. Perlmutter’s yard. He was a blur made of shadow, and I had to turn my head so that I could see him better in the periphery of my vision. When he got to the rocks of the creek bed, he stopped, bent down, then began moving again, but slower. He froze twice, reaching down to the water, then began an exaggerated, slow walk back to me, his eyes never leaving the ground. For some reason, I thought I could hear his heartbeat, but I could definitely hear his slow, moderated breathing. Maybe my senses were attuned perfectly under the silver light, even if stalking about in silence wasn’t my forte.