by Renée Jaggér
The two men, who were nondescript and almost looked like twins, nodded at the same time.
“Yes,” said the one on the left. “I’m Special Agent Townsend.”
The one on the right spoke next. “Special Agent Spall. And you’re Bailey Nordin.”
She decided there was no point in trying to lie to them. “Yeah, correct. What do you want?”
Both agents smiled in a forced, unpleasant way.
“To talk,” stated Townsend. “About what you’ve been up to. And what courses of action you should be taking next.”
Spall gave a nod. “We know everything. We’ve been following you ever since Portland.”
Roland rubbed his eyes. “I believe it. Thing is, if you guys know everything, then you know that we weren’t the ones who started the recent messes.”
Townsend frowned. “That may be, but we’re the ones who have to keep cleaning them up.”
Bailey remarked, “Well, at least you get paid for it. Probably a nice retirement package, too—government work and all.”
Spall ignored her. “The work we do is as much for your benefit as anyone else’s. By keeping a lid on supernatural activity throughout the United States, we’re protecting you and your kind from retaliation by normal concerned citizens.”
Bailey considered that. Roland had mentioned these guys to her before and had been surprised that she’d never encountered them. With everything that had happened lately, their presence here had been inevitable.
“I suppose you’ve got a point there,” she conceded.
“If,” Townsend went on, “you absolutely need to blow something or someone up, or create a giant fireworks show, or do stuff that makes weird noises that can be heard two counties away, or do anything of the sort, that draws too much attention, please take it up to Canada.”
Spall nodded. “The Canucks never have enough trouble, it seems, while we always have too much. They could probably benefit from added excitement, and you’d have more elbow room. Thousands of square miles of uninhabited forests to run amok in. Might be just the place for you, as long as you don’t mind a little cold weather.”
Bailey laughed, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning on her left leg. “Canada, eh?”
“There,” said Townsend. “You’re getting the hang of it already.” He did not smile.
Spall agreed. “You’ll fit right in. Just remember to apologize for everything you do. Let us know when you’re leaving.”
The girl shook her head. “I’m not leaving. Not anytime soon. I’ll take what you said under advisement, though, in case I ever need a Plan B. Does seem like America’s getting more dangerous all the time.”
Despite her flippant attitude, her abdominal muscles had tightened, and a faint coldness was spreading down her neck and back. The two men were, in a way, threatening her with exile. She wondered if things had become that serious.
Roland stepped up beside her.
“So,” he began, gesturing with flattened hands in karate chop motions as if explaining job duties to a green teenage employee, “what she just said is a hard no. This is her hometown, and she’s never known anywhere else, aside from our brief visits to Portland and Seattle. Unless someone is forcing her to leave, I imagine she’d like to stay. If there’s going to be trouble, it’s going to happen right here on Bailey’s home turf.”
She tried not to emote in response, but her face was probably showing a hint of satisfaction. Roland had stood up for her against people who most likely had the power to ruin his life for it.
The two agents simply stared at them for a moment. Then they turned their heads toward one another, exchanging glances before sighing in nearly perfect unison. The tone of exasperated resignation was obvious.
As usual, Townsend spoke first. “Technically,” he began, his voice a note or two lower than it had been prior, “we can’t do much to you, or force you to do anything—yet. All of your actions, ill-advised and obnoxious as they’ve been, have, so far, been in self-defense.”
“It’s true,” Spall affirmed. “The people you keep having problems with are the bigger problem. You could have been a lot smarter about all this than you have been, though. Smarter and more discreet. And you may yet get your opportunity to handle things more diplomatically.”
Bailey narrowed her eyes. “What the hell does that mean?”
The agents cleared their throats.
“The witches,” said Townsend, “we detained in Seattle have escaped. Don’t even think of claiming you don’t know who we’re talking about. The ones with the cute schoolgirl crushes on your boy Roland here.” He nodded toward the wizard and cracked his knuckles.
Spall continued where his partner had left off. “They wouldn’t have escaped if we had been there to oversee their detainment, but we kept having to rush off to observe your activities. Congratulations. Now they’re probably out for revenge—against you.”
Bailey’s jaw muscles clenched. It was bad enough that the two G-men were being pushy, but thinking about Shannon, Aida, and Caldoria coming after her and Roland again made her downright furious.
She held up her right hand, index finger extended skyward before the agents could say any more.
“If,” she stated, upping the volume of her voice by a good twenty decibels, “those bitches show up on our doorstep again, we’ll deal with them however we have to. They’re welcome to try getting revenge on me or taking Roland away with them. Hell, or burning the goddamn town down if that’s what they have in mind. They’re just gonna end up getting their asses handed to them again. That’s a promise.”
The agents each raised one eyebrow—Townsend the left, Spall the right.
The first one responded, “That’s about what we expected you to say. Just, please, make sure you stop and think before you act if they show up.”
Spall adjusted his tie. “And don’t come crying to us if the regular authorities start breathing down your neck. Our business is in keeping things quiet enough that doesn’t have to happen. We’re not on anyone’s side. If you can’t restrain yourself, there’s nothing we can do for you.”
Bailey just gazed at them steadily.
Roland flashed them a smile. “Noted. Thanks for all your help thus far, I guess.”
For a second, it looked like the agents were about to leave, but then both their faces almost twitched, as though they had suddenly remembered something.
“Oh,” Townsend commented, “one more thing. It’s kind of important, so pay attention.”
Since they’d already overstayed their welcome as far as Bailey was concerned, she hoped that whatever else they had to say would be over with quickly.
The agent on the left continued rather than allowing Spall to pick up for him.
“We track a great deal of supernatural, preternatural, or paranormal activity worldwide,” he elaborated. “You are a focus of our attention in this region, but there’s lots of other shit going on out there. We keep an eye on all of it. One of the most interesting things to happen lately involves a group you’ve probably never heard of—the Venatori.”
Roland suddenly made an “mmm” sound in his throat that rose and then fell in inflection, as though he’d almost burst out with a surprised reaction and then swallowed it, turning it into a groan at the same time.
It wasn’t something that instilled confidence. Bailey just hoped that Roland had a contingency plan for whatever it was that had dismayed him.
Spall explained, “They’re an ’order,’ you might say, or maybe ‘cult’ would be a better term. Fanatical religious zealots who are witches, and their religion is witchcraft, or at least their view of how it should be practiced. They’re based in the European Union, and they have substantial political power, as well as deep finances and lots of connections. Not to mention magic, of course.”
Townsend rubbed his nose with his thumb. “Most of them left their headquarters in France recently. The whereabouts of their leaders are currently unknown. However, several o
f their mid-level agents entered the United States via Quebec three days ago. We don’t know what their purpose is yet. At least, we don’t know for certain.”
He paused, and Spall picked up where he’d left off.
“We snooped on a few conversations and connected a few dots,” the other agent embellished. “Lots of vagaries and code words, idle chatter designed to throw off anyone who might be listening, which was to be expected. But we’re not morons. Our best guess is that they’ve developed an interest in a twenty-four-year-old woman from Oregon, referred to as simply ‘B’ whenever she came up. Does that sound like anyone you know?”
The agents were apparently enjoying the revelation of this info. They probably figured Bailey deserved to hear this and get stressed out and afraid after all the trouble she’d caused the two of them.
Then again, it sounded like the Venatori might be able to cause far more trouble than she ever could.
But what really worried Bailey was Roland. He’d shed his usual demeanor of casual cockiness, and his still-healing injuries now made him look vulnerable and shaken. She wished the agents would go away so she could ask him about it, rather than having to listen to their blather.
Townsend had one more tidbit to offer. “Incidentally, they also mentioned a twenty-eight-year-old man from Seattle referred to as ‘R,’ but he didn’t come up nearly as often as B did. I’m sure the two of you are intelligent enough to reach the same conclusions we have come to, especially given the recent manifestation of power from the young lady here.”
Roland inhaled. “Thank you, sirs, for that extremely useful information.” He was trying to be sarcastic, but his voice quavered.
“We will take everything you’ve said into consideration. Now, if you have nothing else to say, we’d like to have a cup of coffee, and as you said, make plans to deal with things the smart way.”
Both agents snorted.
“As you wish,” said Spall. “Good luck. I’m sure we’ll see each other again before long.”
Their movements synced to an uncanny degree, the two men pivoted and marched toward their black car. They did not look back, although Bailey thought she could faintly hear them muttering as they climbed into the vehicle and started the engine.
Jacob closed the door. “Fuck,” he breathed. His eyes rose toward his sister. “Bailey, what the hell have you stepped in now?”
His eyes met hers, then everyone looked at Roland.
The wizard pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s just say,” he muttered, “that I have more questions than answers right now, but the few answers I have aren’t particularly good.”
“Yeah.” Bailey grunted. “That’s what I figured. Kurt, get us that damn coffee, how about?”
Chapter Two
They waited till they’d all had a hot brew, not to mention eaten most of their dinner, before Roland began clarifying what the mysterious agents had told them.
“So,” the wizard stated, forking one of the last bits of meatloaf into his mouth and chewing discreetly, “what they said was true, first of all. The Venatori are nothing to fuck around with. I don’t know much about them, but it’s generally understood that they are at, or at least near, the top of the food chain in the world of magic.”
Jacob shook his head. “And they’re some kind of fanatical cultists, according to those guys. Great combination. The craziest people with the most power.”
Kurt shrugged. “Isn’t that how it usually goes? I mean, come on.”
“Sometimes,” agreed Roland. “They don’t possess official authority over the witches and wizards of the world—they’re not, like, our ‘government’ or anything like that—but they can pull a lot of strings, and they’re not people you want as enemies. We all grew up with the occasional story about someone who got melted into a puddle by them or turned into a worm and trapped in a glass jar for five hundred years or something like that. Some of those stories are probably true. Not sure which ones, though.”
Rather than dwell on that, Bailey demanded, “Okay, so what do they want with you and me? Any guesses?”
Roland raised his coffee cup high and drained it, then set it down gently. “Oh, they probably just want to have a friendly chat,” he mused. “Possibly about not causing trouble and attracting attention, like those two clones were rambling on about earlier. Or they might want to kill us. Who knows? They’re insane.”
Wood creaked as Russell leaned back in his chair, flexing his big hands into fists. “I don’t like all these threats coming Bailey’s way,” he rumbled. “And most of them started when you showed up.”
Roland met the middle brother’s dark gaze. “Sort of,” he acknowledged, “but only with regards to Shannon. The rest is all stuff that was already happening, or would have happened even if I hadn’t coasted into town. She was already on shitty terms with Dan Oberlin, and he was involved in that trafficking gang. And sooner or later, Bailey’s magical powers would have manifested and attracted attention. In any event, she and I have helped each other. A lot.”
Bailey put her hand on his. “It’s true,” she confirmed. “Russell, thanks. I know you just want me to be safe, but honestly, I think I’m better off with this guy around. He’s better with magic than I am, at least so far. That counts for something.”
Tensions died back down as they finished their food and took their dishes to the kitchen, although everyone was still stressed and gloomy.
Once they’d cleaned up, Jacob put his hand on his big sister’s shoulder.
“What are you going to do now, Bailey?” His eyes were kind but intense.
She looked into the distance at nothing in particular. “I think Roland and I need to go find Marcus again.”
The wizard raised his eyebrows as he waited for her to go on.
“We need him,” she explained. “With this new information—Roland’s witches, the men in black, and these other people, the fanatics or whatever they are from Europe—all out to get us, we gotta find a way to accelerate my training. Like, we need to spend every spare moment preparing for this shit.”
Roland pursed his lips. “Hmm. I don’t know about every spare moment, but I’ll agree that he needs to know about all this as soon as possible.”
“Right.” She threw on a jacket and her shoes and grabbed her truck keys. “If those Ventura chicks think they run the whole world of magic, a Were shaman might be in danger too.”
“’Venatori,’” Roland corrected her. “But yes.”
The three brothers moved in closer, and Jacob spoke for them all.
“Bailey, you sure that’s a good idea? It’s getting dark out, and you said this Marcus guy seems to live in the goddamn woods. You might have a repeat of last week.”
Kurt snapped his fingers. “Well, Bailey and Roland did hospitalize most of those dickheads, so maybe not.”
“Still,” Jacob urged, “that doesn’t account for the Vulvalini or whoever they are. They might already be in Oregon.”
Bailey was silent as she opened the door, and she did not look back at her siblings.
“We’ll be right back,” she told them. She stepped out, and Roland followed her, closing the door behind him.
The Porsche Cayenne was silver, and lights glinted off its surface as it cruised down the road. It kept to about four miles per hour over the speed limit. The driver wanted to get where they were going, clearly, but also wanted to avoid getting pulled over by the cops.
Within the vehicle, Shannon DiGrezza clenched both her bony hands around the steering wheel, looking straight ahead, a lock of fuchsia hair draped over one eye. She was getting tired of this, and when she got tired, she got angry.
“Hey,” Callie McCluskey asked from the back seat with her usual loudness and lack of self-awareness, “can we stop for food soon?”
“No,” snapped Shannon, who kept herself on a strict diet of thirteen hundred calories per day, except on special occasions. “Unless we succeed at what we’re trying to do before the next restaurant show
s up.” Which wasn’t likely.
In the passenger seat, Aida Nassirian stretched. “Our poor legs could use a stretch,” she observed. “And perhaps a cup of coffee?”
The driver gritted her teeth. “Another half-hour. Every minute we waste is another minute Roland is free and that bitch is alive, and neither of those things should be true.”
Her arms and hands were cold and trembling with rage. Roland’s charade had gone on long enough. Really, now that Bailey had somehow demonstrated magic powers, it had devolved from a charade into an abomination.
Aida and Callie agreed that the hick girl had to be eliminated, and for reasons that went beyond her silly claim to being Roland’s girlfriend. They weren’t quite as committed to the goal as Shannon was, though.
The Cayenne made a good replacement for Shannon’s sadly departed Jaguar. It was technically an SUV, with all the advantages that came with that vehicle style, but it had a nice sleek profile, giving it an aesthetic appeal beyond the usual “soccer mom vehicle” look that people associated with vans. Shannon absolutely refused to be seen as the soccer mom type.
Aida had argued that a different color would make them less conspicuous since the Jaguar had been the same hue, but Shannon had insisted on silver.
“Oh,” Aida sighed, massaging her temples, “I so look forward to meeting Bailey again. I have so many things to pay her back for.”
“We all do,” Shannon pointed out. “And we will. The sooner, the better.”
Since the authorities probably would have expected them to head straight for Greenhearth, Oregon, once they’d escaped from Seattle, they took the scenic route to Bailey’s hometown—crossing the Cascades, southeast to Yakima, before heading south through the semi-desert on the mountains’ far side. They had been on the road for four hours and had just crossed over from Washington State. Once they were farther south into Oregon, they would turn east and enter the Hearth Valley via the proverbial back door.
After they’d crossed the Columbia River and Interstate 84, another vehicle—a dark blue SUV similar to the Cayenne—exited the freeway just behind them, and had been following them south for the last ten minutes. Shannon sensed that something wasn’t quite right, and she increased her speed.
