Halfway Bitten (8 page)

Alex regarded Gran’s house with the wariness of . . . well, a cat. I could tell his reaction was due to the truth that other people’s homes are exotic. The house itself might be plain to a fault, but the scents and setting and aura of every home is different. That’s why vampires have such trouble getting in to attack a victim when they’re at home—the energy that accrues over time is a kind of force field that renders the powers of the undead inert. For every casserole your mom burned, or stain on the carpet, or picture on the wall, there is a psychic imprint that makes your house into a fortress of positive energy. I personally find the whole concept a bit touchy-feely, but then again, I’m a girl raised in the mountains. I like things that make sense. Just because I happen to be a witch doesn’t mean I don’t understand that which I can’t see. I know the unseen world just fine; I simply prefer my magic a bit more robust. The tenuous nature of threshold power can’t be measured, so for me it’s a wild card. In my line of work, a bad hand can get you killed. I like aces, and my charm bracelet and spells are chock full of them.

While I cast my aspersions on nebulous magic, Gran busied herself with introductions and bustled us to the kitchen table, where the interrogation would take place. There was no glaring lightbulb at the end of a grimy cord; her wagon wheel chandelier had the quiet dignity of something that had survived the 1970s without being altered due to changing tastes. As Gran poured tea for all of us, Alex hesitated, looking to me sheepishly.

“What can I get you?” I asked with a smile in my voice. My simple inquiry nearly made him flinch, and I resolved that if nothing else, Alex would feel welcome here.

“May I have cream? In my tea?” He asked, a small smile on his features.

Gran pointed to a sturdy red cream pitcher that had drops of condensation on the outside. “I figured you might like that. Heavy cream from the local dairy, Alex. Shall I pour for you?”

At his nod of assent, Gran dribbled the decadent liquid into the steaming cup, sending blossoms of color whirling about like a tiny tempest. The aroma was so lush I felt my mouth water. That was one
happy
cow.

To our utter shock, Alex spoke first. His mannerisms were young, but he was technically an adult. I adjusted my opinion of him on the fly and listened. “I wasn’t entirely honest with you, back there on the trail, Carlie.” At my expression of surprise, he added, “I’ve seen evidence from lots of vampires. I meant to . . . to find out where they were coming from, but Anna’s been so angry.”

That made two of us. I snorted, saw Gran frown, and pasted a smile on my face. “Why is she angry?”

“She thinks that her daughter isn’t going to be like us.” Short and sweet.

Gran leaned toward Alex and asked, “What are you like, Alex? You mean your supernatural nature?”

He nodded, sipping his tea. “She thinks that Amelia is different, and it’s making her nervous. We—when we were growing up, there were ways for us to get by. We’ve been on our own for a long time.” I knew that tone. This was a young man with no memory of a home to recall, and it showed on the planes of his face.

“Was your mother a shifter, or your father?” Gran asked, gently.

“My father. My mother was something different. My father told me that she came to him looking for something, and after we were born, she left. Then one day he left too, and Anna and I had to decide if we wanted to live or die.” He gifted us a brittle smile. “Obviously, we chose to live.”

Gran sat back as a silence stretched into awkwardness. Then, she leaned toward Alex and picked up his hand, her touch light as a breath. To my shock, she sniffed him like a chef investigating an ongoing pan of sauce. Alex drew back his hand in alarm, but Gran let go without incident, and we both sat watching her dredge through memories she’d collected during decades of advanced witchcraft.

“Tell me,” Gran said after a long moment, “have you ever been told of your mother’s true nature?”

Alex’s eyes went round, and something hungry and hopeful glittered in them. This was clearly something he wanted to know, and it was close at hand. “No.” His whisper was almost inaudible. I felt his burning need and looked expectantly at Gran.

“Carlie, have you not mentioned that your relationship with Anna is . . . shall we say, strained?” Her prim analysis was far more mannerly than any term I would have selected, but I nodded while repressing an unladylike snort.

“That’s one way of putting it.” If her brother hadn’t been present, I would have run out of curses to describe my feelings for Anna. I tidied my thoughts and clarified with a simple, “Yes. It is.”

She drummed her fingers on the solid kitchen table, examining me with a scholarly flair. With a glance toward Alex, she asked, “When you’re around Alex, do you feel somewhat invigorated? Perhaps even the smallest bit intrigued by his obvious charms? You really are a lovely young man.” This last was delivered in conspiratorial aside. Alex blushed, but smiled after I leveled a cool gaze at him and opened my senses to their fullest potential.

There
. It was a vibration, distant and sweet. Almost, but not quite a song. An undercurrent of delicious intrigue filtered through my mind until I had to restrain myself from looking to see if he had scales, so powerful was the notion that he was a siren on the rocks, calling to doomed sailors under a spell.

I twitched my head, clearing the effect in an instant as my witchmark reasserted its dominion over the sensory intake of my body. “You mother was,” I started to say, then stopped after consideration. “No. Let me correct myself.” Gran smiled, and I knew I was on the right path.

Alex merely looked bewildered.

“Your mother was a halfblood, but she was no vampire. Correct so far, Gran?”

“Indeed.” Gran’s smile was bright. She loved watching my skills expand like a fractal.

I began again, this time in a more patient tone, given the nature of the proclamation. “Alex, the reason I, ah,
disagree
with your sister is because you are one quarter incubus. Your mother was half succubus, probably quite powerful, and much like magnets, similar polarities of power drawn from the Everafter will cause a natural repulsion between certain beings.”

“I’m what?” Alex asked. I’d lost him with the magnet analogy. Or maybe at the very start.

“Your mother was not human, nor was your father, dear,” Gran began to explain, taking the mantel of teacher from me as I sighed in relief. “You are actually a child of three worlds. Perhaps that’s why you’ve never really felt like you belong anywhere. Do you feel adrift, son?”

Tears brimmed in Alex’s liquid brown eyes as his shoulders sagged in a wordless admission of Gran’s astute observation. “Adrift.” He let his chin drop in agreement, then muttered, “Yes. That’s how it’s been since we were little.” His voice ended in a rasp.

I felt like hugging the guy. Whatever he was replaying in his mind was one long movie of troubles. I know the occasional touch of loneliness, but it’s an inconvenience at most. For Alex, I knew his life had been desolate, and seeing him rediscover those lost moments was hard to watch.

He looked at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. “What am I?
Who
am I?” It was plaintive and bitter.

“Your mother was half immortal, and a succubus. She thrived on the lust and dreams of others, although I cannot say if she was a killer. Most succubae are merely opportunistic; they’re more like dilettantes who move about, never staying in one place as they feed and flee, and carried by the tides of their own desires,” Gran said, her voice soft with sympathy.

“You’re a person, Alex. You just have something beyond the norm, or even that unusual part of you that lets you run free at times,” I said, looking into his face to offer him an anchor during the storm of his own history. “Have you ever harmed anyone?”

His eyes rounded in shock. “No. Why?”

I shrugged. “Well, then your questions as to what and who you are have been answered. You appear to be Alex, who doesn’t hurt people, had a lonely childhood, and now finds himself at a crossroads of sorts. At least, that’s what I see when I look at you.”

He drew several calming breaths, finally looking around the kitchen as his mind began to process his newfound knowledge. “It’s going to take a while to understand all of this.” He put his slender hands flat on the table, then squared his shoulders. The effect of readiness was undeniable. He addressed Gran. “You want to know what’s going on in your lands, correct?”

Gran simply nodded. I stayed quiet.

Alex smiled with a warmth that had been missing only moments earlier. “Before we go any further, tell me something—there aren’t any sharks around here, right?”

I laughed out loud at his comical question. “No, not for millions of years, anyway. Why?”

He held his hands up, grinning impudently. “Thought so. Just figured I’d ask. See, you were wondering if there were any vampires around, and I can tell you that there are. I run the woods a lot. Anna never really embraced her feline side. Not like me, I cover a ton of ground. And I haven’t just seen one or two vampires, I’ve seen a dozen. At least.”

Silence fell between us. That was a considerable amount of vampires. Hell, that was a lot of vampires for
Las Vegas
, let alone Halfway. Like I said, they rarely play well with others. Their territorial nature made this influx even weirder, since vamps tended to find some nice, quiet corner of the globe to exploit and settle down.

“Umm. So, a dozen vampires. Here.” I looked to Gran, whose lips were pressed together in a flat line of concern. That alone was reason enough to worry me, if not for the astonishing amount of vampires suddenly running around our little corner of the mountains.

“Yeah, that was unusual to me, too. I’ve seen a clan meet once, about three years ago. They were all relatively young; some of them were less than thirty years old, in fact. It was in New Jersey, and they nearly tore the town apart after
one night
of their little reunion. But here, I’ve seen almost no sign of them being, I don’t know—” Alex said, then faltered.

“Acting like typical young vampires? Running around and eating people and posing in good lighting for selfies with their idiotic friends?” I asked. Younger vamps, unlike other undead, embraced social media. They were basically frustrated stage actors with a thirst for human blood and their parents’ approval. Blood, they could get. Acceptance was harder to come by, so they were always sort of hangry, like toddlers before snack time. Unlike kids, they had the ability to tear people apart if given the chance, and they were never apologetic or snuggly. So, yeah. Vampires were unwelcome, except for Wulfric, and even he was a half-blood of rare quality. I’d heard of less than five half-bloods who had integrated into society at all, and then only after some highly-unusual circumstances were at play. Guarding a toxic spring for a thousand years qualified as unusual and then some, so if anything, Wulfric was a good example of what could grow from the twist of separation. Exile made humans out of monsters, proving my theory that the need for socializing extended even into the ranks of the undead.

Alex waved a hand vaguely. “I guess? I haven’t seen
any
evidence of them. Isn’t that sort of odd? I mean, at what point in their collective vampire lives did they all develop this steely sense of self-control? Aren’t there plenty of people around here who could go missing, and not be found for long enough to let the killer escape?”

He had a point. Gran lifted her chin in thought, then gestured broadly at the north end of town. “Do you know what keeps villains in line?” She smiled at me and I knew I was in the midst of some teachable moment, but I had the drop on her this time. I knew the answer.

“A meaner villain.” I smirked in victory. Gran let her smile deepen, and I noticed that there was concern underneath her amusement. Okay, so we were getting to the core of the problem.

“And since these are, after all, vampires, we can make some simple deductions since they’re such predictable creatures. You said this Philip is at least three to four centuries old?” I nodded, and Gran continued, “That means we’re dealing with something older, more powerful, and less human.” She turned to Alex with an air of apology. “I do hope this isn’t remedial for you, but the nature of undead beings is well known to us witches. Are you aware of the changes that vampires go through as they season?”