Halfway Dead (15 page)

The silence hung between us for some time, before Jim cleared his throat and said, “Could you repeat that?”

I sat quite stunned, my mind whirling with possibilities. “Yes, please do. Seriously?”

Wulfric raised a hand helplessly as a sly grin spread across his handsome face. Damn, but he was good looking. I found myself wondering if I could date someone without a pulse. Or a soul. And fangs? Maybe, I’d have to look again, but even then, I wasn’t sure that fangs were really a deal breaker. I mean, I
am
a witch.

“I see you’ve been taken in by the myth that Vikings were mindless killers. Nothing could be further from the truth,” Wulfric said, with some asperity. “True, we raided, but we were traders first, and settlers second, although our subject lands would naturally call us invaders. I am here because of my uncle, who came here because of the spring.”

I held up both hands in a universal gesture that said
hold up, big guy
. “How exactly did the Spaniards go haring off after the Fountain of Youth in Florida, then?”

“And five centuries later, too,” Jim added.

“Well, as I mentioned, we were traders, which means my people were possessed of a healthy sense of paranoia married to the love of a bargain. So, my uncle commissioned a series of maps showing the location of the spring in various lands, some places only theorized to contain it at the time,” Wulfric said, his voice fat with pride at the cagey move.

“And in the meantime, your countrymen sailed back across the Atlantic to find this spring on the word of two rather convincing Indian brides? And more importantly, they found it?” I asked. Given the level of superstition in the world of a 1000 years ago, it seemed plausible, if not sensible.

“They did. Or I should say,
we
did.” Wulfric’s eyes darkened at the memory of an ocean that was as distant to him as Mars, it seemed. For the third or fourth time, I looked at the maps on the walls. He caught my glance and said, “Which brings me to the stopping point of my story, unless you’d care to continue on without my assistance?”

I cut a sidelong glance at Jim, realizing we both recognized the tone of a salesman just then. “I know you want something, but for the sake of the stars, I can’t imagine why we would negotiate with you for something that seems to be well within our reach. Especially given the fact that we are under your hospitality,” I added pointedly. I don’t like being handled, even if it
is
by a lethal half-vampire who chooses to live like a hermit.

“I don’t
choose
to be here,” Wulfric said softly. My head snapped up to fix him with a gaze, and he elaborated in an even tone before I could accuse him of violating my thoughts. “I could no more read your thoughts than you mine, Carly. I can, however, read your expression.”

Mollified, I felt the tension drain from me as my fight reflex stood down. Jim relaxed as well, creaking in his chair with a miniscule lean that spoke volumes about his willingness to fight a seemingly unwinnable brawl.

“I apologize for implying you were reading my mind, Wulfric, but this entire situation is a bit opaque for my tastes, and we need to get on the trail at some point.” I inclined my head in apology, and he smiled at me with the kind of smugness that must be incredibly endearing to someone, just not me.

Or at least not then.

Wulfric rolled his shoulders in an effort to release some sort of hidden stress, then placed his mug down and stood. He’d clearly reached a decision, and there was no stopping whatever he had in mind. In three direct steps, he placed himself in front of the largest, most modern map that was displayed on the cabin’s walls. He extended a long finger to the center of the map and said, without irony, “You are here.”

Knowing he’d never been to a shopping mall, I assumed he was being helpful, so I merely nodded. “Okay.”

Jim said nothing.

Wulfric traced his finger in a roughly oval shape that narrowed to a vee in the south. It was a fairly large area, all remote, and slanting away from places that I knew to be populated by humans rather than wildlife. It was, in short, the last core of the Adirondacks, and it was governed by a man who was more than 1000 years old, who needed my help.

Jim asked softly,“Why are you trapped here?” He’d deduced the issue at hand, and waited patiently for Wulfric to reveal the truth of the matter.

“I believe that Carlie will know why,” Wulfric said, morosely. He waved at the map, inviting me to examine it more closely.

I stood and approached, noting that Wulfric had the smell of flowers about him, which meant that my nose was finally healing. It was a pleasant way to regain my senses, and I leaned in to look at the paper with some interest before it became instantly clear. “Water,” I said, pointing to the creek we’d waded through to get here. A second creek of larger size bordered the land to the west, and they met at the top and bottom of Wulfric’s lands. He was hemmed by running water. “You can’t cross the creeks.”

Wulfric didn’t respond, save to nod, glumly. Jim raised one shoulder in a mild inquiry, reminding me that not everyone understood the vagaries of undead travel abilities.

“Vampires cannot cross running water unless they’re—I guess you would call it insulated, sort of—but it takes a rather complex method to do so. They’re fairly territorial, and they don’t play well with others. It’s one of the reasons that vampires and werewolves are responsible for some of the worst battles that have erupted in the world of the supernatural.” I looked with sympathy to Wulfric.

“A thousand years, Carlie, and I’m not even a full-blood,” Wulfric said, gently.

“That is one heluva sentence.” Jim’s voice was empathy itself.

I closed my eyes and assembled a list of questions that I would need answered, then turned to Wulfric and pierced him with my most intimidating gaze. “Do you mind if we sit down again?”

“Certainly.” He moved silently to his chair, sat down, and folded his hands with the air of a bishop waiting to hear bad news.

When we were all reseated, I began without fanfare. “What do you want?” I thought I knew. He wanted freedom; the ability to move outside his glorious, lush trap in these mountains. He wanted the gift of stalking and preying upon innocents to feed the vampire half of his nature, and I already knew that there was nothing under the heavens that could make me help him.

Wulfric tensed, then said, “I want to see my daughter.”

For the fifth or sixth time in one day, Jim coughed discreetly while I sat in mute shock. It was quite an act we were putting together; we’d have to consider going on the road. With as much of a shrug as I could muster, I gave the floor to Jim, whose civilian sensibilities would no doubt produce
several
questions about this latest mushroom cloud.

“Daughter?” Jim asked, and there was a story in that question. Short, punchy, and loaded with meaning, sort of like a coffee date with someone you might want to fall in love with. He waved a hand helplessly, then elaborated. “You mentioned that your mother was a Huron, and your father was Norse. Somewhere in there, you became a . . . ahh, vampire.” He tripped over the word, then soldiered on, saying, “And yet you have a child. Pretend I know less than zero about vampires, which is giving me too much credit. How, exactly, did you manage to start a family? Please tell me you found a reed basket in the river or something I can cling to.”

Wulfric smiled with a hidden laugh. “My daughter’s name is not Moses, although I do love that story. So vibrant—so much derring-do in that tale, don’t you think?” He sighed with appreciation. To a man of his era, Moses might be another heroic saga, and nothing more. “I am aware of many things within the broader context of the world, despite being limited in my home range. Through contact with outsiders, I’ve come to understand things like divorce and longing for one’s love. In my case, it’s a child, and I brought her into the world the same way you would. I met someone, began a family in an atmosphere of hope and love, and watched as it fell part in a torrent of mistrust.” He swallowed awkwardly, a painful gesture to watch in someone I knew to be ten centuries old. It seemed beneath him to have such pedestrian fears; I think I expected all vampires to be inured from mundane things like messy breakups and family brawls.

“How did you meet Anna?” I asked, watching him intently.

A slow smile burst across his morose features as he wagged a finger of admonition at me. “Your grandmother was a brilliant woman who brooked no fools. I see her bloodline is truly alive and well.”

“Anna? The girl in the diner?” Jim looked interested. He’d seen her, and recognized something more than a quirky girl with unusual beauty.

“You noticed her too, friend?” Wulfric smiled in an ancient conspiratorial manner that all men seemed to be born with. He sighed, a long gust of frustration and loss. “Well, that makes two of us. Aye, she was as luminous as the sun itself when we met, and losing her and my daughter . . . it is simply too much. Do you understand why I wish to be free?” His plea rang with an unalloyed need that was painful to hear. It was intimacy of a kind that I found bittersweet, and I sagged in my chair under the weight of his unmatched want.

Something bothered me about the existence of Anna’s daughter, and it would do no good to avoid the mechanism of the story unfolding before us. I stood and addressed one of the maps, pointing once again to the innocuous ribbon of blue that represented Wulfric’s prison.

“Your daughter? How does she exist if you can’t cross running water? Did Anna discover you here, or was it something else?” I asked. The math wasn’t adding up for me, and I needed to build some kind of trust with Wulfric if he was to be an ally.

He nodded in understanding, and did not hesitate with his answer. “Three years gone, do you recall the winter?”

“Do I.” I shivered in recollection. It had been brutal even by Adirondack standards. There was near record cold, and a long, harsh February kept everyone inside for most days. Some mornings at the diner, I found myself wondering if anyone would bother coming out at all. “Worst one in my memory, although my Gran said that she remembers two others that were as bad. 1977 I think? And—”

“Before that, 1936, and 1904. 1881 was a good year for me; it was unrelentingly frigid, a winter worthy of my homeland,” Wulfric said with rueful admiration.

“The creeks froze solid,” I said as Jim opened his mouth to echo my conclusion. “You were free. For a while. But why come back here? You’re not a spirit, so you’re free to move about without a tie to the Ever After.” Ghosts, some undead, and all woodland fae, however, were bound to their home ranges, some to a single object like a tree or castle. Wulfric was half-human. There was no reason to come back to this cabin in a sea of trees.

“It is my duty.” Wulfric’s reply was terse.

“What duty could be more powerful than the need of your daughter?” I asked, dubious.

Wulfric stood abruptly, and the mood in the room froze despite the cheery fire. He whirled on me, and his eyes glowed amber before cooling to their previously inscrutable depths.

“Your family knows duty, Carlie, as do I. Do you think I
want
to be the Jarl of this, this . . . sliver of nothing? I
don’t
. I want to be anywhere but here. My mind is on the verge of combustion after a millennia as the unwanted steward of these lands. I
must
be free, and there is only one way for that to happen.” Wulfric’s hand smacked down on the nearest table, rattling a bowl and cup like wooden chimes. “You need me, and I need you. I cannot put this more plainly.”

“I didn’t say I was unwilling to help.” My voice was low, but even, despite the rage cooking in Wulfric’s eyes.

Jim leaned to one side, placing his chin in one hand. He seemed calm to the point of drowsiness, and I made a note that he would probably be damned good in a fight, or throwing elbows at a yard sale. The guy just doesn’t seem to get rattled. Come to think of it, neither do I. There’s a certain level of Zen required with even the most basic spells. A half-vamp in a hissy fit was frightening, but not worth wetting my pants over. I saved that kind of reaction for bears.

Or even
a
bear. A plurality of bears might make me walk on water. I broke off thoughts of lumbering, furry death machines, and eyed the Vamp-Viking who was currently letting his rage come down a notch to a low simmer.

“Now that you’re done scaring the mice, how about we discuss details?” I asked, with all of the confidence I had, which was actually quite a bit, thank you very much.

Wulfric narrowed his eyes at me, then looked sheepish while setting the cup and bowl upright on the table. He cleared his throat and said, “You were saying, Carlie?”

“I’ll help you. I just need you to answer some questions. Honestly.” I folded my arms to wait.

Jim, once again, said nothing. He was really good at that.

Wulfric reclaimed his chair with a creaking of wooden slats. He waved at me magnanimously, which was a little bit of a jerk move, but I let it slide.

“I’m thinking that there are three basic things we should know before we enter any type of deal with you, okay?” I lifted one brow at Wulfric, who grunted, confirming that he was at least half human male in one simple act. “You understand that my family’s legacy demands we don’t allow humans to be violated by any creatures of the Ever After. That includes half-bloods, no matter how honorable. You obviously know my grandmother, and I know you’re getting—” I almost said cabin fever, then thought better of it, and pointed around at our setting in a general way. “Well, you’re going nuts being bound to this wedge of land. Fair enough. Before I even entertain the notion of striking a bargain with you, what is my guarantee that you won’t kill innocent people?”

It was a cringe worthy pause that followed, but Wulfric finally broke the silence between us with one word. “Emilia.”

“Your daughter?” Jim asked in a grumble. He really did use words effectively.

Wulfric didn’t speak, he nodded slowly, with the kind of gravity that a prisoner might use when answering a question at his parole hearing.

I smirked. “You must think me dumber than I look. You can’t offer the life of a child as your word bond.”

Alarmed anger flared on Wulfric’s face in a one-two punch. “I didn’t offer you her
life
, Carlie, and for your information, it’s a wergild, not a promise. It is a much more specific thing, and it cannot be something as simple and grotesque as the life of a little girl. And you think
I’m
the danger?” His voice was rich with derision. “What kind of witch are you that you would consider human life to be token with which to negotiate?”

I patted the air in a conciliatory manner. He had a point—three, actually, since he had fangs, but I wasn’t giving in that easily. “My apology, that was . . . culturally insensitive of me. I should have known better. Let me rephrase the issue. If you help us, and I agree to assist you in gaining your freedom, what is my surety that you will not harm others? It’s that simple.”

The big half-breed looked at me with a desperate hunger for my approval. It was nearly childlike, and it occurred to me that Wulfric must have been changed into a half-blood when he was a young man. In fact, he’d changed at the same calendar age as he stood before me, which could not be more than twenty, despite his height. I tilted my head at him, listening and awarding him my fullest concentration.

“My daughter is my reason for pining to be free, nothing more. I can die. I’ve lived long enough, but now, there is something more for me, and I offer myself as wergild. You are a witch, Carlie. You can cast a geas upon me of my own free will that precludes me from harming any human. Ever.” Wulfric spread his long arms to show his intent, and it dawned on me that he was right. The geas would be simple, effective, and fatal should he attempt to abrogate his treaty with mankind.

I held up a hand. “I agree, but I need some additional facts.”

Wulfric fairly choked with joy, but he schooled his features into a semblance of dispassionate negotiation. I could have asked him for his toes just then, and he would bite them off without hesitation. I had the upper hand on a vampire, albeit a half-blood, and I was going to use it.

“One: why do we need you to guide us?” I asked in my blandest tone.

Jim perked up at that, causing me to wonder what his thoughts were. It was times like this I wish I had some psychic abilities instead of purely magical talent.

“You have a guidestone made by your Gran around your neck,” Wulfric stated flatly. “It is no longer working.”

I snapped my eyes downward to see the inert form of the moonstone hanging darkly at my neck. “What the . . . how did you know? Is this your doing?” My cheeks flushed red with anger, and I felt a dangerous tingle in the hairs of my witchmark. I sensed that this was no doing of Wulfric’s. This was black magic. There should have been a vicious reaction from the necklace’s undoing, but I’d felt nothing.

“It’s the spring. Or, I should say, it is the beast that guards the waters of the spring, and your hallowed circle of trees. There is a dead place around it, not in the forest or the land, but in the ability of magic to function properly. A null effect of unimaginable power that corrupts or negates all good things,” Wulfric said, and I listened intently.

This changed everything, and my mind began reeling with the complications. “If my Gran’s magic is undone by this creature, I have to be honest, Wulfric—it must be a purely physical fight. I can’t even
find
the spring without Gran’s necklace to lead me. Please tell me you know where it is?” I asked.

Jim put a hand on my arm, gently. “Carlie, do we even want to find this place, now?” His eyes were a gentle entreaty. He understood what was at risk.

“I do. I must.” I drew in a deep breath to clear my head. The smell of wood smoke and age filled my senses, and I found it homey. “If I can’t use magic, I’m reduced to a small but angry brawler. I’m not saying I won’t fight, but I’ll need help, and that means you two.” I looked at the men with a pang of regret. For the first time, I started to wonder if this excursion was survivable, let alone something we could win.

Wulfric stood and reached into a battered cupboard that rested on four squat, hand-turned legs. He withdrew a small glazed bowl covered intricately with blue and red knotwork. It was no more than three inches across, and he produced a matching pitcher, then placed the two ceramic items on the table with great delicacy.

“We can procure a guide, but we’ll need to do it now,” Wulfric said.

Jim leaned to examine the tiny crockery with great interest. His mobile face lifted in question as Wulfric lifted a section of floor to reveal a cold box underground. A pitcher of milk from who knew where was tipped delicately to fill the tiny items, followed by a generous dollop of honey. “For our guide,” Wulfric said cryptically, and I began to understand. He opened a window sideways, placing the vessels on an expanse of sun-bleached wood that sat cooling in the early evening air. “It won’t be long. We can continue our discussion. I find that the natural rhythm of conversation will bring her much more quickly.”