Halfway Bitten (6 page)

There’s a knack to waiting. It’s simple biology that humans detest waiting, except for the British, for whom standing in line is a kind of national pastime. Excuse me, they enjoy
queueing up
, as our cousins over the pond are fond of saying. Regardless of my nationality, I have a particular tactic that stems from my training as a witch. I looked around at the general layout of the cabins and selected my hiding place, marked it in my mind, and did the only logical thing.

I went to get snacks.

The convenience mart is one block up across the street, so I sauntered my way in a pace that was guaranteed to let me be consumed by the rush of tourists on their way north or south in the main pathway that ran along the lake. I selected from the critical food groups, those being jerky, salty chips, and chocolate, then added bottled water and a giant energy drink. I can cast a spell of wakefulness on myself, but doing so will degrade my power base. I didn’t want to waste the magic on something that an energy drink could achieve, albeit with a lot more twitching. Girding my loins for battle yet again, I slid discreetly behind the cabins to a row of spruce just as the sun was beginning to set in a wash of gray and rust. There were feathered clouds to the east and I smelled the hints of a fireplace from nearby; all of the cabins had them and people tended to feel that unless they had a fire going, they weren’t really roughing it. Never mind that it was seventy degrees outside or there was a restaurant less than a stone’s throw from their door; these were city folks on an adventure, and I wouldn’t disabuse them of their illusions. I know the power of perception, and I respect it.

I let the night close around me, finished my second candy bar (no judging, now) and crossed my legs, palms up, in preparation for spellcasting. The magic I was going to assemble would create a permeable barrier between me and the night, and I began to quiet my mind in gentle steps that drew me softly from the bustle of the day.

Eyes closed, I reached out with my mind and let my power come to rest lightly on my tongue. After a whisper, I began to weave a dark fabric of sullen lines that connected, ducked under each other, and knotted at the end of each waving row. It was a garment of silence that settled around me without impact or light. I felt the surface of the earth beneath me, and keyed to the gentle waves of energy that spoke of life and death and the things that hovered between. The rocking motion began to still, and in a moment I knew that I was invisible to the world. With a soundless flutter, my creation of woven energy stilled the waters of my mind, and I faded from view. A ghost, but one with a bite.

I was undetectable, but I could see. My eyes snapped open and I began to watch with an intensity that only witches and predators can muster. The moon rose, stars began to flicker, and during the small hours, the world descended into the moments of my kind. The witching hour. It’s neither late nor early, but on the cusp of a time when animal or human brains cannot ascertain what they should be doing, so they become inert. Weak. Vulnerable. I knew that was when he would appear, and I was right. Predators share methods if not reasons, so it was easy for me to track the shadow that moved without sound across the chilled grass of the manicured lawn before me.

It looked like a man. I took in certain peculiar traits from his silhouette alone; there was a roll to his gait, he had had powerful, columnar legs, and he wasn’t tall. A broad chest and burly shoulders molded him as a person of immense strength. The moon cast shadows on the planes of his face, and his eyes lurked as mere glimmers in shadowed nooks beneath a strong brow. His silence was total; his motion, predatory. I knew then he was no man, but I reached that critical decision to let my spell speak first in order to subdue him. If I could.

I waved a negligent hand at him and let my spell smash into his feet, flipping him up and over in a wrenching arc. Before he could move, I stood, holding one hand outward, charms tinkling together in the light of the moon. “If you wish to live, you will stay still.” My voice was cold. My anger was not.

To my utter surprise, he obeyed, even going so far as raising one shoulder in a tiny shrug, which was a feat given his bulging muscles. I could see that he was deeply tanned, and his teeth leapt out at me like mirthful beacons. He was smiling.

“I choose to obey.” His voice was light, nearly mocking, and completely without accent, save a sing-song quality to his speech that told me he knew other languages. They were old tongues, if I made my mark.

“That’s good. Stay seated, but get comfortable. If you even twitch, I’ll set you ablaze. If you make a move, there won’t be anything left to burn. Got it?” I asked.

He folded his legs neatly as an answer, and waited. After I cocked my head to examine him thoroughly, I asked him, “Who are you?”

The shark tooth necklace was tight around his neck. It moved up and down slightly with his breathing. In the dim light, I could see it well enough to know this was certainly the man Amy described to me earlier.

“You could not pronounce my name,” he said, brimming with confidence. Names are powerful things. His sidestep of my acquiring some power over him was deft, but not unnoticed. I took his glib assumption of my inability to speak complex words as a sign of overconfidence. Fine by me, I decided. If he chose to regard me as weak, I’d exploit that supposition at every turn. Witches are sneaky that way; we use every little advantage and then some.

“What shall I call you, then?” I persisted.

“Philip. That will do. And you are?” He raised his brows at me over a smile. He was rather cocksure for a man staring at a ring of charms loaded with enough magic to burn down the forest.

I waited to respond, just to let it be known I was in charge. Interrogation is in the details. “Why did you scare the girl today, Philip?” I was going to ask one question at a time, just to judge his answers.

He flicked long fingers dismissively. “Boredom.”

When it became obvious he wasn’t going to say anything else, I shook my head in a rueful twist, my lips pulled sardonically to the side. His eyes narrowed as he began to process what I was doing.

“Philip, I understand that we don’t know one another. I can also grasp that you’re an archaic pig who thinks women can’t say big, scary, polysyllabic words like your name. Are you with me so far?” I asked, and his shoulders tightened at my flippant tone.

“Perhaps I did not wish for you to know my name.” His expression grew mulish, casting more shadows on his face in the rare light of the stars.

“That isn’t really relevant, Philip. You see, you’re on my family lands. You’re clearly inhuman, and you assaulted a child today,” I began, but he interrupted me heatedly.

“I did not assault the girl. I
spoke
to her and—
”

“No.” My voice cracked with certainty. “You taunted her; maybe got off on it a little. Then, you lay hands on her in a direct violation of the law, both human and witch. Your simple presence here is causing me some concern, which in turn causes my grandmother to be concerned. You see how this might raise my ire when you deliver virtual grunts for answers to my questions?”

He waited a moment before responding, “I will try to be more elaborate with my answers.”

“Good.” I smiled at him for a flash, then got back to business. “Let’s set the issue of your assault to one side for the moment. Why are you here?”

“Interesting question. No, I’m not dodging you, I’m complementing your observational skills. You didn’t ask me
what
I am, nor do you seem concerned. That tells me as much about you as you know about me. A sort of unspoken trade, don’t you think?” Philip grinned in the gloom, and I could see the points of his teeth. A vampire, and not young. I’d been right to hold him at arm’s length.

When I stayed silent, he went on. “These are your lands? By what right?”

I gave him a murderous glare, letting my charms clink together in an unspoken message. “What an unwise question, but I’ll answer it.” My voice was dripping frost, but a hot flush was creeping up my cheeks. “I do not claim ownership of these lands. My
family
claims stewardship, as well as protective status over the residents herein. That would include visitors, like Amy, the young woman you attacked.”

He looked at me, adjusting his opinion. My use of the term family was not accidental. “Before you attack me, allow me to ask . . . am I not a visitor?” He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.

“You are indeed. But, like a rabid animal, I have no problem removing you from this place. By force, if necessary. Now, enough dancing. I don’t want to waste time asking you a litany of questions; I’d rather you simply tell me who you are—in detail—and why you are here. We’ll address the issue of your behavior momentarily.”

Philip lifted his palms and grinned. “That’s not unfair.” He exhaled, looking up into the sky. “I’ve travelled some distance in order to lay claim to something which has been taken from me. It is—I cannot call it an object; it’s much more complicated than that. Do you understand the power structure of vampire clans?”

I nodded slowly. “Somewhat. Whose clan do you represent?”

“I am of House Tidewater, but I do not represent them. I am the last member, so in truth, I
am
Tidewater.” The vampire who called himself Philip looked upward again. “I expected the stars to be different, but they are the same cold, distant points.”

“Is this the part where you wax poetic about the mysteries of the universe, charm me with some legend about the stars being souls trapped in heaven, and we forget all about your assault on that girl?” I asked, a smile creeping into my voice. I enjoy folklore, especially when it’s being used as a distraction.

“I may look the part of a savage, but I respect nuclear fusion as a force of creation. No, I enjoy the poetry of lies that we use to describe that which is unknown, but I trust fact over myth,” Philip said with an impudent grin. It made him look young, and I could see an echo of the man who must have been before he was turned.

“A vampire
and
a skeptic? That’s rare earth, indeed. On a long shot, let me ask if you’re hungry?” I stared at his eyes to see if he reacted to the thought of feeding. If he was in command of his inner lust, then there was another reason for his attack. I intended to understand it before he was done talking.

“Yes.” One word, and his eyes cut away from me in a mix of shame and admission.

“But that isn’t why you attacked the girl, is it?” I said, more statement than question.

He measured me before answering. “True, but what leads you to that conclusion?”

I started ticking points off on my fingers. “She’s a kid. There’s no way she could fight you off should you choose to feed. It was daylight, and that generally meant you would have a suicidal need to hunt. You don’t. Shall I go on, or do you want to tell me the reason you chose a gangly teenager to scare, knowing that she would tell her parents and cause some moderate stir in our quiet little town?”

He laughed then, warmly, and when his eyes returned to me there was genuine respect in them. “You are quick, witch. And yes, you are correct. My, ah, interaction with the girl was designed to draw attention, not from the town, but from certain visitors in the town.”

“Other vampires?” I asked, immediately thinking of the danger to Halfway. I didn’t like the direction such thoughts took me. Wherever vamps ran unchecked, you ended up with large scale destruction, one murder at a time. Their presence was like a slow rising tide that never stopped until everyone was underwater. I knew first hand from my deceased friend, Jim, that vampires were still taking entire villages if given the chance. Jim Dietrich, now gone, told of an entire village in Afghanistan that had simply vanished. I explained that the people of that ill-fated town struck a deal with a vampire. The agreement collapsed, and nearly sixty families were consumed by something that probably hadn’t been human for centuries. I understand vampires and their territorial nature, along with the complicated social interactions they engage in with each other. It’s an arcane type of posturing that is more animal than human, and I’m blessed by the earth and stars that Wulfric is half human, and all good. His vampire half is kept in the background like a muted television, and the man I care for is nothing like any vampire I’ve ever met.

Philip nodded. “I can tell by your expression that you think me more animal than man.”