Halfway Dead (8 page)

“For the last time, finish your thought, Jim. It’s a beautiful day, and I need to feed my cat,” I told him.

“You mean Gus? He’s a big one, isn’t he?” Jim said, smirking.

The spell shot from my fingers and hit him in the left leg, paralyzing his muscles as he slumped to the side, gasping. It
hurt
. I felt my witchmark tingle with the passing of magic, and I knelt beside him as if helping him up. “Like I said before, Jim . . . you don’t
know
me. Don’t look at this”—I waved at myself—“and think I’m some damsel you can mess with. Trust me, you do
not
want to be on my bad side.”

He rubbed his leg slowly, looking up at me from the ground. I waved to some passersby, laughing as if he’d tripped and I was helping him up. I turned back to him, hate radiating from my face. I didn’t like the sensation, and I was completely disgusted with myself for losing control. I’d revealed far too much to this stranger. His face was a mix of rueful respect and shock.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He shook his head slowly, clearing the cobwebs from my spell, but I could tell he was also just amazed. “They told me there were unusual aspects to this assignment. But, you know me.” He exhaled through his nose and struggled to his feet, groaning. “I’m an evidence guy.” He flicked his fingers at the woods, not mocking, but not exactly serious. “My employer told me that there was real risk, and I might not be able to understand it. I sure as hell didn’t think it’d come in your shape.”

I didn’t know whether to take a bow or slug him. I looked up at his face, which had a nice sheen of sweat from the pain. “Well, appearances can be deceiving. And here I thought you were smart.”

“I’m not stupid. This is—”

“Yes you are, Jim. You got cute and threatened my cat. I don’t love my cat.” My voice was cool and flat.

“You don’t? Coulda fooled me.” He held his leg, gingerly. I noticed the hair on his arm was still standing on end. I’d really blasted him.

“No. I need my cat. Who is your employer? Who would send you to harass me without knowing what you were getting into?” I asked him. I had a need to know.

He drew in a breath, then shook his head in defeat. I was still pointing one finger at the ground, and his eyes flicked over my hand like I was holding a weapon.

I was.

“Pickford Holdings signs my checks.” He watched me for a reaction, and he got one.

I may be seasoned in the ways of the arcane, but I don’t play cards.

He immediately asked, “Why is that name important to you?”

I toyed with the idea of lying, but discarded that for the simple fact that I was now between two different factions who wanted the same thing, and it was entirely possible one of them was willing to kill. Repeatedly. I sighed, looking around at another perfect Adirondack summer day that was being ruined by weirdos hunting trees.

“You were right,” I admitted.

“About what?” Jim looked surprised. In his line of work, I imagine honesty was rarer than dragon’s teeth.

“Someone did—well, they didn’t
get
to me, as you say, but I have been contacted by a member of your company.” I left that hanging to see what he would say. It seemed prudent to let him unspool his side of the story as he saw fit.

“Okay,” he said, raising both hands, “I’ll give you information first, just to establish my
bona fides
here. I don’t have a lot of time, and I’m not in the mood to get—whatever it is you did to me.” He was handling being spelled with remarkable aplomb. I admired that in anyone, even a possible threat. “I report directly to the CEO.”

I stood completely still for a moment, letting the words sink in. I had plans to go into the deep forest with Major Pickford, and now, it appeared that his story was coming apart at the seams. I felt a distinctly human chill travel my spine, and had flashes of my skull grinning up from a mossy hiding place, forgotten and lonely. “Who is that, may I ask?” I wanted details.

“Ava Pickford,” Jim answered without hesitation.

“How old is she? Does she have any family?” I braced myself, knowing what was coming.

“Family?” He looked confused, then brightened. “Let’s see, there’s a daughter, in France. I’ve never met her, but she’s our procurator for most of the European market. Well thought of. There’s a son, who is our legal advisor, but he operates from the San Francisco offices, and rarely visits. I think there are a gaggle of grandchildren, none of whom are more than ten or twelve—they send Christmas cards, but other than that, just various family friends or cousins who’ve been with the company for decades. It’s a fairly tight ship.”

A ghost passed through me, and I knew that with or without this unknown man, I was going to Thendara. I would have to consult with Gran first, but there were fingers reaching across time that required me. And my magic. The fact that a lost boy was waiting among a secret grove of lost trees was irrelevant.

“Jim, how about if we have a cup of coffee?” I asked, trying to smile.

He was a professional observer, and he accepted without hesitation.

I pointed back at the diner, and we began to walk, me stunned by the unknown before me, and Jim by my spell. “Meet me over there, if you would? I’m going to call a family member and let them know where I am. Think of it as an insurance policy of sorts.”

“Good idea. I’ll wait in front.” With that, he wandered off across the street at a modest pace, neither quick nor lazy, just purposeful.

I used my phone to find the number for Pickford Holdings, called their corporate headquarters, and spent the better part of a minute jumping through hoops until I was transferred to a woman who sounded so smoothly professional, that I knew she ran interference for Ava herself. In two sentences, I described Jim, his clothing, his voice, and asked if they wanted me to have him arrested for stalking.

The next click was Ava Pickford, who was laughing as she spoke. “You’re rather difficult to deal with, Miss McEwan.” She sounded remarkably vigorous for her age, and there was a mirth to her words that bespoke a sunny disposition.

“I’ve heard worse. Interesting situation here, Ava. Let me start by asking if Jim really works for you.”

“He does. He’s our head of security. I can tell by your tone that you have another question, so please, go ahead.” She was calm. My call hadn’t ruffled her in the slightest.

“Do you have a grandson named Major?” I asked.

“No. I’ve never heard that name before.” The vocal control cracked a bit, and I heard her drum fingers on a wooden desk. “Why?”

“I was approached by a man, late twenties, blonde. He said he was your grandson, and that you wanted me to find the last remaining American chestnut trees in the entire world. Sound like someone you might know?”

She swore creatively under her breath. “I don’t know that person, but dammit all if that isn’t partially true. We
are
looking for them. There’s no sense in lying at this point.” She sighed, a breezy, mournful noise that whooshed over the phone receiver. There was a
lot
of disgust in that simple noise. I had a great deal to think about, and it would begin with the answer to one question.

“Ava . . . Mrs. Pickford,” I added, because she seemed worthy of my respect given her calm presence on the line, “do you have any ideas about who this imposter might be?”

“None.” Her answer was instantaneous. “But I must be candid when I say that the list is long. Corporate rivalry is a blood sport.”

“Mmm-hmm,” I agreed with her, even with my limited knowledge of the business arena. I do know human nature, and for such an enormous windfall, anything was possible. Even murder, I knew. “How about a specific kind of business that might benefit from hijacking your project? Who would that be?”

She laughed, a short, bubbling sound that was remarkably young. “Honey, who
wouldn’t
make money? Think about the applications of this innocent little idea I’ve cooked up. First, the obvious choices—paper, wood, and industry associated with their production lines. Then you have Big Food and Big Pharma, not to mention land developers who would turn useless hillsides into farms. And”—she inhaled with distaste—“I would be remiss if I didn’t say that environmentalists would pour enormous money into pressuring the government into seizing the entire operation.”

“Why?” That seemed opaque even to me, and I’m naturally suspicious.

“Think about it, Carlie. A chance to seize control over a natural resource that was brought back from the dead. Millions of dollars in lawsuits to declare the former range of these trees national parks. Billions in land fees. Endless litigation, and ultimately, the removal of a lot of good people from their homes, all in the name of politics.” Her disgust was palpable.

“And I thought I was the suspicious one here. I could learn a few things from you, Mrs. Pickford.” My tone was openly admiring.

She laughed again. “You don’t build a company like this by being a trusting lamb.” There was metal underneath her laughter, and I found myself warming to this distant matriarch.

“Well, I’ll do everything I can here to see to it these trees don’t become sullied with money or politics. You have my word, ma’am.” I meant it.

“Thank you, Carlie. And above all else, remember—your life is worth more than a tree, no matter how rare,” she admonished.

“You sound like my Gran. And yes, I agree. I’ll be careful. Can I call you on this number with news?” I asked.

“Absolutely. Godspeed, Carlie.” I could hear the smile in her voice.

“Will do. To the woods, then.” I clicked off, and turned to grill Jim just a little bit more. He was waiting in front of the diner, canted slightly to the side from my spell, but not complaining. I figured he was tough. It’s nice to be proven right.

“Jim, you implied that time is an issue here. Why?” I asked.

He looked at the traffic, then started alongside me when I made my way into the crosswalk. “I’ve been with the company for a little over twelve years, and I think I know what to say and what to withhold. The simple truth is that we are under pressure from an unknown buyer, Ava is aging, and while capable, her children don’t share a passion for the company. There are thousands of employees to worry about, and Pickford Holdings does a lot more than make clever furniture. I worry about the entire thing falling apart, to be honest with you.”

I thought about that, and asked a follow-up. “What does Ava intend to do with the trees?” I left some detail out to see if he was truly dialed in on the situation.

He was. “Do you know, she lived in a car for a year? A winter, in a car? With siblings? Can you imagine?” he said, ignoring my question. His expression was reverent.

“You really respect her, don’t you?” It was obvious from his tone, but I wanted to hear his side of it. I thought I could learn about this distant woman of possibly noble intentions, if only I listened.

“I do. So to answer your question, she’s going to spend an astronomical amount of money to plant chestnuts across Appalachia, and well up into the Northeast. She’s going to put a plan in motion that will create an entire industry based on those trees, and she’s going to turn control of it over to the employees when she dies. Ava will, with this project, change the lives of untold people, and the effects will be known for centuries.”

I knew that Major Pickford was a liar. I knew that he was most likely a killer, and based on what I was hearing from an ex-cop who exuded competent honesty, it seemed that an old lady was trying to do the world a solid. And I could help.

All I needed to do was go into the woods, find a haunted grove, rescue a restless spirit, and face off with a guy who could kill people in most creative ways. I scratched my nose, thinking.

“That’s the truth, Carlie. I don’t know what else to say.” Jim took stock of the town around us, measuring what he could use if I said no. He seemed practical to a fault.

“Do you have a gun?” I asked.

He nodded, slowly. “I have two. Why?”

I tapped my fingers on my leg in a nervous dance. “I don’t use them, but—”

“Obviously,” he broke in, moderate disgust in his voice. “Just exactly what did you—”

“Jim, don’t ask me. I ask the questions for now, okay?” I told him, my voice crisp and inflexible. When he gave me a single, curt nod, I relented slightly, touching his sleeve to make myself seem more human, and less a tiny Valkyrie of doom. “Bring your weapons, some food and water. Like camping, any gear you might need for an overnight or three. A med pack if you have it. Hope for the best, but expect the worst. Meet me here tomorrow morning just after dawn. We go in right through there.” I pointed at the same path that Tyler Venture used on his ill-fated stroll in the park. “One final question. Can you keep your mouth shut?” It seemed that he could, given his line of work, but I wanted to hear it for myself.

“You mean, am I going to go file a police report saying that a tiny woman used magic on me and nearly caused me to soil myself? No. I don’t think I’ll do that.” He grinned.

“When you put it that way, okay. Good enough for me,” I said, and returned his grin. I liked him.

“I’ll be here,” he said, giving me a final look of appraisal. I could see him measuring me to see if I would pass muster on such an unknown excursion, but his discretion and need for success won out. People were depending on Ava Pickford, and in turn, him. That meant that I was actually responsible for something I didn’t entirely understand, but I’m a witch, and Erasmus was family, and that was that.