Halfway Bitten (15 page)

Afternoons aren’t sad or boring when you’re snuggling in between creatures of two species who are both vying for your attention. Make that two and a half species, since Wulfric wasn’t completely human or vampire. We were sprawled on my couch, discussing the morgue and what he’d seen during his most recent loop through the woods. Unlike me, he actually
did
smell the piece of sawdust, causing Gus to reward him with a look of pure disgust. Gus might be a cat, but he was remarkably fussy in the way an Italian grandmother might protect a white couch. Overcome by the unsavory presence of human blood, Gus leapt from the couch and strolled out to eyeball his food dish, which was perilously close to being half full. Naturally, that meant he thought starvation was imminent, so I began to mentally prepare myself for a plaintive yowl from the kitchen.

“I am thinking that we have an uncomfortable solution facing us.” Wulfric trailed a lazy finger over my calf muscle, leaving it for a whirling moment on the bend of my knee. Don’t knock it ‘til you try it. It was hard to listen, but his face was a study in thoughtful consideration.

“Mmm-hmmh,” I answered, in my most scholarly fashion. His touch really did release the philosopher in my soul. Animalistic tendencies seemed to follow right behind that higher plane of civility, but for now I was paying reasonably close attention to his ruminations.

“You found sawdust, and there is a missing body. There are clowns inundating your town, a ringmaster from a circus that reeks of magical influence, and lone wolves coming out of the deepest wood to threaten innocent children. Is that an accurate summation of the current status?” he asked, his voice deep and careful.

“You forgot the horrible murder of Edward,” I added bitterly.

“Of course, I meant no discourtesy to his memory.” He inclined his head in a formal gesture and went on. Manners were important to people from Wulfric’s time. And my Gran, come to think of it, but for Vikings, manners, or a lack thereof, could get you killed. “In essence, your town is in a rising storm of magical trouble. Blood has been spilled. I see only one solution to further the gain of information that can prevent more violence, and I’m not sure that you will like it.”

“Whaaaat?” I said, drawing out the word slowly as I cut my eyes at him with growing suspicion. I don’t like surprises, unless it’s my birthday. Or a holiday. Or some kind of food. All right, any kind of food, but no butter beans. They taste like sand and smell like feet. Other than that, food is good.

“Carlie? Are you here?” Wulfric asked.

I’d been overcome with thoughts of pie. “I am now. Sorry. Go on,” I said, somewhat sheepishly.

“I think we must go out tonight. And I think we must go to wherever the clowns are to be found.” He looked at me from under his lashes, watching for a reaction.

“You mean go to the circus?” I felt dense. Of course we would go to the circus. It was logical, kind of creepy, and nearby. It was also the only unturned stone I had left.

“Yes. Tonight. And that means I shall need clothing that is conducive to people thinking I am just a regular dude, I believe you might say.” Wulfric grinned and tried to give me a high five.

I stared at him before bursting out into laughter. “Honey. Seriously.” I looked at the nearly six and a half feet of Viking languishing on my couch, his face a mask of confusion. “You are never going to be a regular dude, although I have to give you bonus points for using the current terminology.”

“Can I spend those points on something? Like currency?” He managed a decent leer, but it was a bit toothy, given the recessed points of his teeth. They made him look more wolfish than creepy. I found myself approving.

“Later. Save your booty points, we’ve got some magic to attend to of the witchy kind. I’m not strolling into that circus with you at my hip—not without a masking agent of some kind,” I explained.

“To mask what?” He rubbed at the bridge of his nose with one knuckle, thinking.

“Your vampire half. If I’m right, you won’t be the only unusual being in attendance. And that means we can’t be discovered if we want to leave those grounds alive. I don’t know how many of them are magical in nature, but Gran told me I shouldn’t go to battle without knowing the odds. Sound about right?” I asked.

“Quite. I like her strategy. It is sound.” He shrugged, then took my hand. “What shall we do?”

“Well, the first thing we have to do is get you naked,” I drawled.

His eyes flared from within as the possibilities caromed through his mind. “And where will this state of undress take place?”

I grinned with a hint of malice. “In the cellar. Looks like the spiders are about to get an eyeful of naked Viking.”

He sighed and began trudging to the cellar stairs. “I hope there is food at this circus.”

With a pat on his bum, I assured him that there were all manner of fried things to be had, which deteriorated into a complicated discussion about the merits of funnel cakes versus donuts. In moments, we were settled, and I began to quiet my mind in preparation of casting a spell that would hide his light under a bushel, so to speak.

Standing before me, Wulfric was impossible to ignore, and he’d be doubly so in a crowd of tourists. Any spell I cast would have to serve two purposes: his magical nature must be cloaked, and his anachronistic side, too. He was a man out of time, but my magic could protect him from the judgment of prying eyes. I began to select the components and settled in to work.

It is easier to hide something than change it, so I went to my grimoire and found the simple, powerful combination we needed to achieve this change in his perceived exterior. I poured consecrated rainwater into my scrying bowl, then followed it with oil of protection. The decoction smelled faintly of roses, and a smile spread across my face as the power began to grow within me. I could sense Wulfric watching me. It was electric to be noticed in such a way while I worked at something I loved so truthfully.

“We can begin.” I lit a white candle in a black onyx holder, then placed it before his feet. He stood, legs slightly apart and hands hanging loosely at his sides. His chest was an expanse of smooth skin, and I envisioned the spell wrapping about him like the embrace of a mother. The smoke tailed upward in a rigid column, thin and gray. When it reached his eyes, I turned inward and drew hard upon my power.

“Atharraich bian!” I commanded. He was a big man, and called upon the spell to change and protect the entirety of his skin, making him invisible to searching magic. The candle smoke spiraled around him like a living wisp, spinning ever tighter, until it blended into a mute glow. With a muffled pop, the smoke vanished inward toward Wulfric’s skin.

“It’s done.” I sagged slightly, but in truth I felt energized, just as every good spell left me. After a series of restorative breaths, I asked Wulfric how he felt.

He looked at his hands in amazement. “I feel quite good. Almost as if half of me is no longer bound by the earth.” His head shook in wonder as a smile broke across his features. “It is most remarkable. I think you’ve made me into something new, Carlie.” He stepped to me and planted a kiss on my lips with a fervor that suggested I keep learning new spells. The payoff was excellent.

“We have some time until the show tonight, and I want a bath. You can tell me about what to look for among the attendees,” I said.

“What could I add that you may not?” He seemed genuinely surprised, despite my mile-wide independent streak.

“I’m only one set of eyes. I’d ask Gran along, but I have the feeling that our presence will cause a ripple among the villains. You’re hard to miss, even under my protective magic, and I’m certain they’ll know me. I can only see so much at once.” I spread my hands to indicate my unhappiness at that reality.

“That seems sound.” He blew air from his cheeks while rocking on his heels. It was such a modern gesture. I laughed, then took his arm as we began to ascend the ancient stairs to the main floor. “Still, it is a great deal of time until we engage these potentially lethal beings.” Now it was his turn to leer.

“You’re right. Bath first, and then we’ll think of something,” I said, but his lips found mine and ended further discussion.

We broke apart reluctantly, standing on the polished floor of my hallway. His voice was low and rich with promise. “I am a master planner. I already have.”

Walking in town as the sun set, I had one of those déjà vu moments, made better by the addition of Wulfric. His fingers were twined in mine as I smiled and said hello to nearly half of the people we walked among; being a small town girl had its benefits. With Wulfric at my side, enclosed in the faces of my town, I felt a kind of security that made me smile. During my life, I’ve never really felt alone because Halfway is my cradle and keeper. That’s why I have repetitive moments, because things in a small town might not be identical from day to day, but they are, in fact, similar. There’s a lot to be said for knowing where you’re from, and streaming to the circus with my neighbors I knew that I might be going toward danger, but, in that moment, there was safety at hand. We were salmon hailing from the same stream, but I was the only one who knew of the bears and eagles lurking outside our perception, waiting to pick us off one at a time.

We saw various friends and neighbors among the throng, and then Tammy Cincotti shouted to me with a gregarious wave that sent her boobs lurching in magnificent defiance of simple physics. Her hair was piled high and trussed for action, her blouse cut low for presumably the same reason, and she wore heels that stated in no uncertain terms that the man standing next to her was about to experience the Full Cincotti. Tammy’s sexual appetite is, as I’ve mentioned, something like that of a bear who’s just emerged from hibernation. Instead of berries, though, her preference is men. All kinds of men. The dapper fellow standing next her had a shy smile, a sleeve of tats, and a beard that smelled of cloves and orange. He was the rare hipster-lumberjack hybrid, and he was damned good looking too, but I suspected Tammy had her pick of men. It stood to reason she’d find a guy who exuded quiet, sexy calm in the face of her onslaught. We said our hellos—his name was Geoff, he was shy, and he lived in Malone—before Tammy sized Wulfric up, ran her tongue over one lip, and gave me a bawdy wink before pulling her prize off to the stands for some pre-game canoodling. If the circus was their shot, then the night at Tammy’s would be Geoff’s chaser. I hoped he was ready, and sent him a silent
attaboy
for good measure.

The look she gave Wulfric made him blush like a choirboy in August—a feat I’d thought impossible—and we walked quietly for a moment before he said, “She is quite a presence, is she not?”

I gigglesnorted at his understated assessment of her entire shtick before we arrived near the front of a melee building outside the tent. I schooled my features and got back to business. I had things to look for, despite the delicious nature of Wulfric’s expression.

“Gran will be here, too. She’s meeting us at the gates,” I murmured, looking around for her tall figure.

When I saw her, she smiled and the three of us pretended to chat, all the while letting our eyes drift about for fear of missing a critical detail. Once seated in the cavernous main tent, I let the buzz of the room wash over me, picking single threads from the sonic narrative with both my hearing and magical senses; in truth, there was little difference for me at this point. My body hummed, both from my proximity to Wulfric, and from using my power to observe and categorize so many sounds. It was a bit dizzying, and I was glad to be seated as the vertigo of witchcraft pulsed in an out of my mind like a distant radio.

Wulfric sat, stoically curious, but Gran’s head was turned slightly as her eyes adjusted to the haze of klieg lights that hung from dark cables in the gloom above. “I’d pay attention to everything
but
the ringmaster, Carlie.”

Gran’s admonishment was well taken. I knew that his showmanship served as a cover from something darker, and if we intended to discover what he was doing, clues would be in our periphery. An indirect look was best, so I trained my eyes on the gaps where other performers would enter.

And then the lights went down, and tinny music began to blare just as my witchmark flared into a suspicious heat.

“Eyes forward, dear,” Gran ordered, her lips so close to my ear that I could feel them tickle the fine hair of my neck.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome once again to a show of such mystery that reason alone cannot explain what you are about to see.” The ringmaster’s voice was clear and modulated, like a finely-tuned instrument. He stood razor thin, tall, and groomed to perfection in a different suit than what he’d worn during our first visit. This evening’s attire was a suit of midnight black, the jacket scrolled with a backing pattern of lurid burgundy that pulsed within the confines of the fabric. Cut away from his narrow waist, it revealed a starched shirt of rigid cotton, overlaid by lace shot through with lines of silver; at a glance, I knew the silver was real, as were his collar tips, which caught the roaming spotlights in occasional brilliant flashes. His moustache was curled upward in a permanent smirk, and the part of his hair was so straight you could build the pyramids at Giza with it as your guide. Tonight, he wore low-heeled boots under his slender trousers and, instead of gold suspenders, a belt of buffed leather encircled his waist—the buckle was a single hammered disc of pewter with gold chasing. Every nuance of his being was practiced and slick, and I felt Gran
and
Wulfric stiffen simultaneously when the ringmaster’s black eyes passed over us as he swept the crowd with an imperious smile.

He was almost certainly inhuman, but as to his nature, I couldn’t tell from this distance without pushing hard at him with my power. I opted to sit tight, watching the room and letting my senses be filled by the cacophony of lights and sounds as the show began.

Five spotlights burst into being with a staggered series of
pops
. The ringmaster pointed a long, accusatory finger at each space, now filled with gymnasts dressed as vagabonds. Their artful rags tailed away from them as they began an intricate series of tumbles, flitting from one spotlight to the next as they replaced each other in a dizzying display of skill and bravado. The dance—and you couldn’t call it anything else, they were so perfectly attuned to one another—reached a frantic pace until each tumbler began to transit the lights, leaping atop each other to form a human totem. First there were two, then a third, presumably a woman, hurtled from the cupped hands of a hidden assistant to whirl through the light and plop on the shoulders of the totem. Reaching upward, she caught the fourth, an even smaller woman, who then locked arms with her receiver as they spread out, feet on the shoulders of the second man in the totem. Extending their arms fully, they formed a frame of sorts, their feet solidly buttressed against the burly muscles of their base, and the fifth tumbler dropped from
upward
in the dark after achieving an inhuman elevation with a single leap. The fifth and final member of the human tower landed with a delicate bend of the knees, then straightened with agonizing slowness. The display of power and agility brought the crowd to their feet, a susurrus of amazement breaking into a roar of approval as the tower dissolved when each member disembarked with nimble tumbles to land like oversized cats.

“This is only the beginning,” shouted the ringmaster, his teeth a predatory gleam in the spilled light from above.

He was speaking the truth. Wulfric, Gran, and I watched with fevered intent as the complexity of the show reached toward an invisible crescendo somewhere in the near future. At one point, there were more than three dozen performers in varying states of activity, a frenzy of color and motion that set my head to aching as I tried in vain to keep up with the shifting parameters of their routines. While each separate element went through their wild gyrations, I nudged Wulfric as something occurred to me.

Among all the motion, there was not one performer without full makeup, and there were no animals.

Wulfric’s eyes locked onto a pair of clowns dressed as jesters. Their juggling concluded, and they began to slip out through the dimness as the spotlights pulled tighter in the middle where sword swallowers plied their trade. He kissed my cheek, nodded to Gran, and told me he was going to follow the departing performers to see where they went. It was a good idea, and his vampire side would let him maneuver silently, despite his great height. With my magic in place, there was little chance of his discovery. I squeezed his hand and watched him leap from the bleachers to vanish behind us into the night.

“And now, we see what they do when eyes are not watching them,” Gran said. Her mouth twisted in a thoughtful quirk.

“Are they
all
magical?” I asked, my voice low but insistent. I knew that humans were capable of remarkable things, but what we watched seemed beyond the talents of mere mortals.

Gran nodded. “If not, then they are certainly augmented in some way.” She pursed her lips as two clowns tossed a third through a whirling set of three rings. The flying clown’s body slithered through the air, touching nothing as he landed on his feet with a delicate twist. She was right. They might not be magical, but they’d certainly been touched by the Everafter. The show evolved like a school of fish avoiding a predator, never remaining still or solid. It was dizzying, hypnotic, and verged into the realm of magic, defying the audience to keep apace. I found my vision begin to falter when Gran leaned in and spoke in a low, firm voice.

“It’s time to use your spell. Take my hand.” Her fingers twined mine in a confident grip, even as the audience began to roar with approval at the show’s building crescendo.

“Won’t they feel it?” I asked, knowing that magical beings affected by my brand might sense me, should I push too hard. My power was nuanced, but then Gran smiled.

“The lights will dim for the finale. Bond with me and we’ll search together. I’ll moderate your power, and my eyes will be closed as I reach into the Everafter. You
must
use all your senses when the lights dim. We’ll have mere seconds to see if and what is present with your brand.” She took a breath and dimpled another grin at me, giving me a glimpse of the girl she had been long ago. I returned her smile in kind, thinking of how much I loved her. After my nod of assent, she added, “I know your sight is swift and true. You’re my blood, Carlie.” The last was a benediction, and I felt my chest flush with pride.

Then the ringmaster raised a long hand to the heavens, and the lights went out.