Her spell hit my raised hands, sliding past with a silken touch and bursting on my skin like spots of flying lava. I tried to scream but couldn’t. Something was crawling inside me, a magic so vile I could only writhe and shake in agony. My skin began to bubble in wild streaks, flashing red and then returning to pink, lashed by the invisible energy of an untamed curse dredged from the depths of that foul spring. Pain was my world. Rage filled my blood. I was helpless, and small, and to my utter horror, I was dying.

  The fake witches who drank black magic were going to kill me—kill us, and my world with it—and I could do nothing to stop it because I hadn’t done the one thing that could have made this all go away.

  I could have killed without question, ending their threat. I chose not to, and now, I would go into the darkness alone.

  “Aww. Short girls are usually so sassy,” Makenna said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. If hate was a virtue, her words would have made me a saint. I opened my mouth to shriek a final curse, praying that it would wound her until the end of her miserable days.

  No sound came out of me, just a rush of air. Lights began to flicker in my vision, shapes and shadows and points all swirling together in a red and gray smear. It was my body’s last cry for oxygen, my lungs thick with oozing magic that reached through me to poison my blood. It was brutal, and fierce, and perfect. If I’d been evil, I would have used it myself, but my last conscious thought was that at least my grave would be covered with good intentions.

  I fell, the ground rushing up toward me.

  Wulfric’s hand slid between me and the ground like armor, the force of my fall crushing his broad palm and skinning the knuckles bloody against the walkway. “She’s not as good as she thinks,” he wheezed, struggling against the fading bonds of Bridget’s spell.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Makenna asked, her eyes flashing toward Wulfric. She raised her hands, and I saw that the nails were growing, long and cracked, more animal than human. The spring was finishing what it started, corrupting her right down to the ends of her fingers.

  “Nowhere,” he answered. “But you are.”

  Wulfric pushed me upright, his hand covering most of my back in a hard, comforting warmth. I sensed the power in him despite his wounds, and used the inertia of his shove to launch myself from the ground, if only to get my hands on Makenna before I blacked out.

  Gran shot Bridget between the shoulder blades with a bolt of purest blue, the energy cooking through her tortured heart like an avenging angel. As Bridget fell to the ground, her crabbed hands waved in sorcerous motion, spreading random clots of black magic that sputtered and died as her shriveled heart took its last pained beat.

  She died as she lived; pretty, young, and foolish.

  Makenna hissed in fury, spraying the ground with a dazzling display of actinic fire that made my eyes hurt. I regained some control in that moment, sending my last spell toward her chest. The bolt of Eden was cool green, hazy, and swift, slamming into the folds of her dress with a high keening as it sought purchase in the decay of her fetid spirit. She whirled to face me again, only to be enveloped in Gran’s secondary spell, binding her tightly in shifting shadows of rings crafted from all the purity resting in Gran’s spacious heart.

  It was too much, even for a person made evil by the seed of demonic energy, and with a thin scream, Makenna fell to the lawn with a gelatinous thud.

  “I told him he could have me,” she said through teeth stained black with corruption.

  “And he will, but not in this life. Your atonement waits, Makenna, but not here,” I said. Gran nodded once, tears in her eyes at the destruction of so much for so little. Evil had nearly won, all in the name of vanity.

  Wulfric staggered to us, each step more stable than the last as the residual magic gave back control of his body. He looked at me, and then Gran. The pity in his eyes was a physical thing, and I nearly looked away.

  Makenna’s hand shot out to strike at Wulfric like a dying serpent, black magic coursing from her fingers to sear the skin of his thigh. Dark veins raced across his leg even as he brought his fist down in a thunderous blow, silencing the husk of a girl from Long Island who thought magic was her key to love, and fame, and everything else missing from the dark shadows of her heart.

  I saw Gran grab his leg, hands glowing as she raced to stop the spell of corruption, and then the night closed in and I fell down a well that lasted forever.

  Epilogue

  I woke to Wulfric’s touch, his fingers dancing light on my cheek.

  “Morning,” I said, beginning what would be, for me, an impressive stretch. When I saw the look on his face, I stopped. It wasn’t fear, or concern, or even worry. It was something else. “What?” I asked him, the smallest spike of nervous energy fizzing in my blood. I sat up, dislodging a pillow with a muffled whoosh as it slid down the side of the bed, landing on Gus. He glared and stalked off, then thought better of his exit and jumped to my side, pushing his head against me with a gentle purr.

  The door opened downstairs, and I head the distinct chatter of Gran. And Tammy. And other people, too, but their voices were indistinct, like they were entering a funeral home and didn’t wish to be loud.

  “What’s going on down there?” I asked, sitting farther up on the remaining armada of pillows. I’d gotten wary of groups of people being downstairs. It was an event that seemed to follow a brawl in which I got smushed. Or sort of smushed.

  “Gran and Tammy, as I’m sure you can hear. You scared us, and they care about you, but that’s not why they’re here,” he said. With one finger, her toyed with an errant lock of my hair. It was the one with the last vestiges of silver, now fading completely back to the darkness of my natural color. His finger went further, touching my witchmark with a delicacy that surprised me, but then everything about him is a surprise, even the butterfly caress of his touch.

  Butterflies.

  “Butterflies?” I asked out loud, just as Gran and Tammy entered our bedroom. It was, I admit, a bit odd to have family barge in while I was still in bed, but my brawl with the witches had been a lot more violent than I expected.

  “Hey, kid.” Tammy came over to sit on the bed, nudging Gus with a confidence that made him obey. He responded with glacial indifference, letting his bum slide off my hip as if it was exactly what he planned. Someday, I want to have the confidence of my cat.

  “Hey yourself.” I touched my face, wondering if I had marks, of magical scorching or something I didn’t have words for. “What’s going on?” I repeated, growing more bewildered by the second.

  Gran stood motionless, looking at me with an expression of such joyous wonder that I felt myself slipping into a swirl of confusion. Her smile was radiant, suffused with something wholly new to me. It was a side of her I didn’t know, and that in and of itself made my stomach flutter with nerves all over again.

  “Wulfric, be a dear. Open the curtains.” Gran didn’t wait for his compliance but sat where he had been while he threw the room open to the November sun. It was brilliant, if washed out by the angle, and our room came alive with light and life.

  “Gran, am I dying?” I asked her. It was all a touch dramatic, but I wasn’t sure where the whole wellness check was going to end. I had my fingers and toes. The witches were toast, and poor Todd was. . . well, he was at peace, and that was all I could say about it. I grieved as only a witch could, though my humanity was pushing hard for tears, too.

  “No, you’re not,” she said.

  “Who is downstairs?” I asked.

  “A few friends. People who know and love you. Pat. Glynna, Dub, and others. Brendan is making coffee,” Gran said.

  I turned to Tammy, who watched me like she was hunting for dangerous moles. “What. Are you. Staring at?” I asked her, more tersely than I intended.

  “You were right,” she said to Wulfric in a conspiratorial tone. “How did you see it?”

  “I am a thousand years old, you know,” he said with great dignity.

  I bolted up, irritated and unsure of what the hell was happening. Wulfric put a calming hand on me, his fingers spread wide over my heart. “I love you.” His tone was so pure, I stopped to stare at him.

  “Are you proposing to me in bed in front of my family? I mean, points for, um, quirkiness, but could I put on pants?” I asked him.

  “We’ll get to that. I still have concerns about the unfair weight limits in the bouncy houses—”

  “We are not having a bouncy house at our wedding. Wait, are we getting married? Do you do that sort of thing? I mean, I’m all for it, but did we have to have everyone here?” I asked. I felt a bit pressed, and he could see it in my eyes.

  Gran leaned over and touched me, her fingers warm and knowing. “Not a wedding, at least not today.”

  “Then what, Gran?” I asked her, my stomach flipping again with nervous energy. My witchmark began to hum, too, a tone I’d never heard before. It was peaceful and low, like a hymn.

  “I wanted to be the first to welcome her. So did Tammy.” Gran put her hands on my stomach, and the butterflies returned, but this time, deep inside me, glowing with maternal warmth that filled my heart with a joy beyond anything my mind was made for.

  The room swam. I slumped, leaning into Wulfric and Tammy, who propped me gently between them. With shaking fingers, I reached down, lifting my shirt to reveal a flat expanse of stomach that held what was a secret no longer.

  “How did you know?” I asked, my eyes jeweled with tears.

  “You glow. I could see it,” Wulfric said.

  “A daughter,” Gran murmured, her eyes narrowed concentration. “She has much to say.” When her eyes opened, they brimmed with tears as well.

  I placed all ten fingers flat on my stomach, sending thoughts to her even as I fell head over heels in love for the second time in my life.

  “She’ll be perfect,” I whispered.

  “They always are,” Gran said. Tammy kissed my cheek, the scent of her perfume filling my senses with echoes of security, love, peace. Then she moved back to let Wulfric’s arms encircle me. He murmured in my ear, and I felt the armor of his love.

  I was surrounded with good things. Our daughter was surrounded with good things. It had taken me all my life to get to this moment, a shifting maze of choices and danger and love, all bringing me here. With Wulfric. With Gran, and Tammy.

  With my daughter.

  “Ariadne,” I said, speaking my first words to her, “we’re waiting.”

  Reviews

  If you enjoyed Halfway Hunted please consider leaving a rating and review on the site where you bought it. All genuine comments and feedback are welcome.

  Reviews and feedback are extremely important to Terry Maggert, as well as other potential readers, and would be very much appreciated. Thank you.

  Let’s stay in touch through my website and mailing list. It’s spam free, with signing events, free book alerts, and upcoming projects:

  www.terrymaggert.com/get-the-newsletter.html

  Author’s Note

  Here we are five books in, and Carlie is still endlessly funny to me. I hope you find her to be the same, as well as Wulfric's continued bewilderment at our world. Special thanks to some groups of people-- namely, my readers. Without you, I don't have nearly the fun writing about my little town and all of the magical mysteries that unfold between our world and the other side of the veil.

  Enormous thanks to my tribe-- the writers, organizers, and people who make my travel so hilarious and weird and joyous. You're amazing.

  As to Desirre and Hope and the brilliant Erin Spencer-- the book you see before you doesn't happen without them. Thanks for all of it.

  Terry

  Nashville, TN, 2018

  About the Author

  Born in 1968, I discovered fishing shortly after walking, a boon, considering I lived in South Florida. After a brief move to Kentucky, my family trekked back to the Sunshine State. I had the good fortune to attend high school in idyllic upstate New York, where I learned about a mythical substance known as "snow". After two or three failed attempts at college, I bought a bar. That was fun because I love beer, but, then, I eventually met someone smarter than me (a common event), and, in this case, she married me and convinced me to go back to school—which I did, with enthusiasm. I earned a Master's Degree in History and rediscovered my love for writing.

  My novels explore dark fantasy, immortality, and the nature of love as we know it.

  I live near Nashville, Tennessee, with the aforementioned wife, son, and herd, and, when I'm not writing, I teach history, grow wildly enthusiastic tomato plants, and restore my 1967 Mustang.

  Contact Terry Maggert

  Author’s Blog: terrymaggert.com

  Additional Social Media:

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/TerryMaggert

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/terrymaggertbooks

  Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/20617266-terry-maggert

  Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/terry68/terry-maggerts-author-swag/

  Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Terry-Maggert/e/B00EKN8RHG/

  Signed Paperbacks: Contact author directly via Facebook, or at terrymaggertbooks@gmail.com

  More Books by Terry Maggert:

  Halfway Witchy: Come for the waffles. Stay for the magic.

  Halfway Dead

  Halfway Bitten

  Halfway Hunted

  The Fearless: Three lovers. Two demons. One Problem

  The Forest Bull

  The Mask of the Swan

  The Waking Serpent

  A Bride of Salt and Stars

  Short Fiction

  Cool to the Touch

  Call of Shadows

  Banshee

  Cities Fall. Dragons Rise. War Begins

  Halfway Dead

  Halfway Witchy Book 1

  Carlie McEwan loves many things.

  She loves being a witch. She loves her town of Halfway, NY—a tourist destination nestled on the shores of an Adirondack lake. Carlie loves her enormous familiar, Gus, who is twenty-five pounds of judgmental Maine Coon cat, and she positively worships her Grandmother, a witch of incredible power and wisdom. Carlie spends her days cooking at the finest—and only—real diner in town, and her life is a balance between magic and the mundane, just as she likes it.

  When a blonde stranger sits at the diner counter and calls her by name, that balance is gone. Major Pickford asks Carlie to lead him into the deepest shadows of the forest to find a mythical circle of chestnut trees, thought lost forever to mankind. There are ghosts in the forest, and one of them cries out to Carlie across the years. Come find me.

  Danger, like the shadowed pools of the forest, can run deep. The danger is real, but Carlie’s magic is born of a pure spirit. With the help of Gus, and Gran, and a rugged cop who really does want to save the world, she’ll fight to bring a ghost home, and deliver justice to a murderer who hides in the cool, mysterious green of a forest gone mad with magic.

  Halfway Bitten

  Halfway Witchy Book 2

  The circus came to Halfway, and they brought the weird.

  When clowns, vampires, and corpses start piling up in town, Carlie has to break away from her boyfriend, Wulfric, to bring her witchy skills to the table- or grill, as the case may be.

  When the body of a young woman washes up in the lake, it unleashes a spiral of mystery that will bring Carlie, Gran, and Wulfric into a storm of magical warfare. Spells will fly. Curses will rain. Amidst it all, Carlie will make waffles, protect her town, and find out if a man from the distant past can join her in happy ever after.

  With love and honor at stake, Carlie has no peer.

  Halfway Hunted

  Halfway Witchy Book 3

  Some Prey Bites Back.

  Welcome to Halfway; where the waffles are golden, the moon is silver, and magic is just around every corner.

  A century old curse is broken, releasing Exit Wainwright, an innocent man trapped alone in time.

  Lost and in danger, he enlists Carlie, Gran, and their magic to find the warlock who sentenced him to a hundred years of darkness. The hunter becomes the hunted when Carlie's spells awaken a cold-blooded killer intent on adding another pelt to their gruesome collection: hers.

  But the killer has never been to Halfway before, where there are three unbreakable rules:

  1. Don't complain about the diner's waffles.

  2. Don't break the laws of magic.

  3. Never threaten a witch on her home turf.

  Can Carlie solve an ancient crime, defeat a ruthless killer and save the love of her life from a vampire's curse without burning the waffles?

  Come hunt with Carlie, and answer the call of the wild.

  Halfway Drowned

  Halfway Witchy Book 4

  Something is wrong with Carlie.

  A magical storm. An ancient shipwreck. A hidden evil.