by Renée Jaggér
Roland and Marcus were on the ridge watching her. She realized that they’d somehow been there all along, that they’d seen the battle with her shadow. Or seen something.
The shaman descended. “I have a good idea of what happened,” he began. “You battled part of yourself within your mind, although it seemed to you that it happened in the outside world. The details were not perceptible to anyone else. So, tell me what happened.”
She was still in shock, but she did her best to explain the fight. Marcus listened closely, nodding every few seconds.
“I see,” he said. “There were several outcomes, but only one could be considered passing with flying colors, and that is not the outcome you effected.”
Her heart sank.
“You did not fail,” he added, “but neither did you accomplish what would have been best. You quite literally pushed the challenge away from you, acting instinctively out of anger and fear rather than dealing with it directly. You didn’t succumb to the pool’s dark power, but you were not in control. You eked by with a hasty decision. Again, don’t despair. Others have done far worse, but clearly, you need more practice. Otherwise, you will continue to deal with overwhelming odds by simply lashing out like a wounded animal. A strong one, yes, but you must become more than that.”
She steeled herself, trying not to think about how disappointed she was. She needed to focus on the tasks ahead. “All right. What next?”
He motioned for her to follow him, and they climbed back up the ridge. Roland’s face was neutral. He’d surely heard what Marcus said but was withholding smart remarks for the time being.
The shaman looked at them both. “Now,” he stated, “we train. I will remain here and help you. Get ready.”
Chapter Eight
Shannon wrinkled her nose. “Eeeewww,” she exclaimed, unable to control herself. “How the fuck does she expect to learn magic from a goddamn bum who doesn’t even live like a human being? He’s probably training her in how to guzzle cheap vodka. God.”
She and Aida and Callie stood in a stretch of pine forest not far outside the town of Greenhearth, where a small, makeshift shack had been assembled from materials provided by the surrounding woods, though there were a few more modern sophistications as well.
The place was the temporary home of the shaman who’d taken the stupid Were-girl under his smelly wing.
Aida put her nose in the air. “It smells of magic. The type we would find in other worlds. Does it seem that way to you?”
Callie sputtered in contempt. “All I smell is that scruffy guy’s fucking B.O. I wonder if she’s banging him? Hope she is so we can tell Roland about it.”
“Shut up,” Shannon snapped. “Yes, Aida, I do. Do you think they went into the Other? I’m not noticing any trace of them anywhere nearby.”
“Perhaps,” the taller, darker witch said. “But where would we begin to look for them there?”
Callie interrupted again. “The Other? Since when can werewolves even go there? What the fuck?”
Shannon flicked her eyes toward her. “Since we discovered that werewolves can do magic. Stop acting like you don’t understand the implications of that. Ugh, I hate that place. The last thing we need to do right now is wander around in there.”
Aida was lost in thought for a moment. “I would guess that since this shaman seems to care so much about her development,” she intoned, “he took her either to the Mount of Seeing or the Pool of Dark Reflections.”
Callie blinked. “Uh, okay. And what about Roland?”
Shannon tapped her lips with a magenta fingernail. “He’s probably with them. Or with the girl’s family. If we go to her house first, though, they’ll raise the alarm. Okay, we’ll start with the Mount, then the Pool. I haven’t done this in a while, but if those idiots can do it, so can we.”
She spread her arms, closed her eyes, and concentrated. Without needing to be asked, Aida joined her, aiding and abetting the spell, and Callie at least had the decency not to get in their way. After a few moments of entrancement, a shimmering doorway of deepest amethyst opened in the air before them, between two trees near the shack.
“Good,” Shannon breathed. “Callie, you go first.”
“What? Why? This crap was your idea.”
Shannon’s teeth clamped together. “Just do it! We don’t have time to argue. We’ll come through right after you.”
Sighing and squirming, the youngest and curviest of the three stepped through the portal.
“Okay,” Shannon commented, “she didn’t melt, so we did it right. Come on.”
She and Aida passed through, focused on the task of locating both their enemy, Bailey, and their quarry, Roland.
So focused, in fact, that they didn’t notice two other women watching them from far back in the woods. Sure, they were magically cloaked, but still not invisible if the Seattle sorceresses had been paying attention.
“So,” said Lavonne, group leader of the Venatori squad currently operating in Oregon. “They’ve crossed over. They are more skilled than we thought.”
Her assistant Savina chortled. “Yes, but still not as talented as they think they are.”
“They never are.” Lavonne scoffed. “It is likely we must pursue them all into the Other at some point. But we know not where to look, exactly, and too many magic-users in that place at once can create ripple effects that will reveal our purpose too readily. Instead, let us examine this quaint little town.”
The two witches wended their way down the wooded hill and reentered their SUV, which they’d parked inconspicuously behind a stand of trees, then magically cloaked for good measure. The engine purred to life, and Lavonne piloted the vehicle steadily back into Greenhearth.
They’d driven through the heart of the town once on the main street when first passing through. Now they took a couple of deliberate detours on side roads, getting a feel for the place. It was little more than a village, so there wasn’t much to see. Lavonne decided to park in the lot of a large hardware store, then she and her partner stepped out to see the town on foot.
They spent perhaps an hour and a half wandering around, pretending to shop and occasionally buying things here and there, but mostly looking for excuses to bump into the locals and ask them questions—questions that seemed innocuous.
The two Venatori looked somewhat out of place here, with their leather outfits and tight hairstyles, but with their European accents, no one was going to assume they were rural Oregonians anyway. They posed as tourists on a day trip out of Portland, waxing poetic on all they’d heard of the beauty of the Hearth Valley and the Cascade Mountains in general.
And, of course, they claimed to have heard something about a “hero” girl who supposedly lived here. A young woman who’d disrupted a kidnapping ring, or something like that.
Some of Greenhearth’s people were mildly suspicious and reticent, but mostly they were friendly and helpful. Once they got past the initial sense of weirdness, they were all too happy to chat for a few minutes with the two nice foreign ladies about their pleasant little hometown and its most famous resident, Bailey Nordin.
Lavonne placed very subtle memory-wipe spells on the people they spoke to once they were done with them. Nothing severe enough to be noticed, but enough that they wouldn’t recall the conversations or any details about the pair unless someone pressed them hard.
The witches took a meal in at the local diner, where they got odd stares from the regular patrons. Striking up chats with the waitresses revealed some interesting information.
It seemed that many local women (including the waitresses) lusted after three young men who, it happened, were Bailey’s brothers. But the brothers were not leaving home as often as they used to, thanks to their concern for their sister. Things had grown strange and dangerous ever since Roland, the young man from Seattle, had come to town.
Lavonne smiled at the server. “How interesting. Even in such an out-of-the-way place, there is much drama and wonder and magic.�
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The woman chuckled as she refilled Lavonne’s coffee. “Dunno if I’d call it magic, but there’s damn sure plenty of drama. You want anything for dessert?”
Their meal finished, Lavonne and Savina departed the diner and found the one motel in town. It was simple and unremarkable but clean enough, and almost hilariously cheap. If anything, the Venatori had overbudgeted for this little expedition.
“Oh,” Lavonne told the young man in the motel office, “we are expecting our friends shortly. You will know them when you see them. We’re having a European girls’ night out, you might say. When they check in, please give them a room next to ours.”
“Okay.” He shrugged.
Once safely in their lodgings, Savina unpacked their few supplies while Lavonne called for reinforcements. She did not need a phone to do so. The other Venatori in the area immediately stopped their own investigations and headed for Greenhearth.
Within an hour, they had arrived. There were six of them now at the motel, and they’d split the group up between two vehicles in different groupings several times, the better to hide their numbers from anyone who might be interested in them.
The other five assembled before Lavonne like soldiers receiving orders from a commanding officer—which was what they were.
“The coarse brush,” pronounced Lavonne, “is no longer needed. Now we use the fine-toothed comb. Our target is almost within sight, but now is the time of greatest hazard.”
She explained to the other four what she and Savina had learned before adding a few more comments.
“We must watch out for law enforcement,” the leader reminded the others. “The police in small American towns are often suspicious of outsiders, particularly when strange things have been happening of late, as indeed they have. But we have dampened the memories of all we’ve spoken to, so it is unlikely that will become a concern immediately.”
The other witches nodded. Two of them were relatively new to these sorts of missions, but they all were smart enough to grasp the situation.
“And,” Lavonne went on, “we have broken no laws, and our identification is in order. There is nothing the police can do to us at this point, save perhaps watch us. Thus, we should not move too hastily within the town. First, we must try to locate Bailey within the Other. Nothing we do there is of any concern to these people. If our task cannot be accomplished there, then we make our move in this village. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” they replied in unison.
“Good. And those witches from Seattle have been careless. We might be able to track them and have them lead us to the girl once again. Now, let us see what they are up to.”
Bailey’s and Roland’s hands were raised in nearly identical positions, manipulating the wall of flame before them as unearthly shrieks and hisses echoed over the black water and misty earth.
“Bailey,” the wizard called, “it doesn’t take much. Spread it as thin as possible. We need to cover more area around us.”
“On it,” she said. She’d been right on the cusp of the same conclusion.
A few of the eerie mist-demons slipped around the sides of their defenses, but by then, the two magic-users were stretching the fiery wall to cover the gap. The creatures dissipated amongst the flames, becoming nothing but random fog once more, their essence wafting back toward the black pool.
Marcus had sent Bailey back to the dark lake, this time with Roland beside her, until the next challenge emerged. It hadn’t taken long. The omnipresent mist, coming into contact with the ebony waters, had solidified into phantasmal shapes like winged animals, which had attacked them in swarms. Their sheer numbers—dozens, now—made the assault by the wraiths seem minor by comparison.
But these creatures were even more susceptible to heat and light than the wraiths had been, and with the wizard and werewitch collaborating to surround themselves with arcane fire, the demons’ attack had faltered.
One of them wafted above the heat of the thin blaze, its smoky white form displaying horrible images of fanged jaws and bulging eyes. Bailey raised a hand as if to smack it in the face, producing a red spark of low to moderate intensity. It took enough effort that her hold on the flame-wall nearly faltered, but somehow she maintained it.
The mist-demon, meanwhile, found itself headless as the spark dissipated the mist above its makeshift shoulders. Tumbling backward, it was consumed in the fire.
By now, most of the demons had been corralled on the shore in front of them.
“Hey,” Bailey said, “let’s push them back! Force the fire outward.”
“Good idea,” Roland agreed.
Concentrating, feeling each other’s powers, they moved the flaming barrier forward, destroying the first couple of mist creatures and driving the others into a retreat. A few fled around the sides of the black lake and were lost to the mist in the surrounding woods. Most simply dissolved as soon as they touched the dark waters.
The two mages waited, keeping the blaze burning in case the things came back. They did not.
“Okay,” Roland panted. “That’s that.” He clapped his hands, and the flames died out.
Bailey lowered her arms. For a moment, she’d felt downright vigorous as they started to win, but now, the immense expenditure of so much magic under the dampening conditions of the Other struck her full-force.
“Gods,” she gasped. “I’m dead-fucking-tired.”
She collapsed onto her butt, and Roland sank down beside her, obviously in agreement.
Behind them, Marcus tramped down the slope, stopping about two-thirds of the way down. “Well done,” he commended them. “You worked together, didn’t panic, and maintained good control of your powers. Bailey, you’re still short of the breakthrough we need, but you are moving in the right direction.”
Her breath heaving, she acknowledged him with a motion of her head before she could actually speak. “Thanks,” she muttered.
He smiled slightly. “Now, rest. I’m leaving for a little while. I will return, and then we will resume your instruction. Remember that we have all the time we need.”
“Oh,” Roland quipped, wiping his brow, “I don’t doubt that in the slightest.”
The shaman turned away, then bounded up the hill in great leaps, seeming to fly back up the ridge. Then he vanished into the gnarled forest on the other side of the incline.
Bailey and Roland remained where they were, regaining their strength and going over what had happened in their minds before they picked each other’s brains.
The werewitch broke the silence. “So, that was fun,” she remarked. “Like building a bonfire with my brothers out back, or when we went camping.”
Roland chuckled. “Something like that. Well, I’ve never been camping, but it sounds accurate.”
“Never been camping?” She shook her head. “Boy, I still need to do some work on you, that’s for sure.”
He smiled. “You can work on me however you want.”
She blushed and decided to pretend he hadn’t said that. “Any, uh, new revelations?” she asked. “Like, about how magic works. Last time you were flabbergasted by the circuit thing we did.”
“Hmm.” His eyes went distant. “Not really, though this time we collaborated on a different type of spell, and under duress. It was good practice. We both have a better feel for what we’re doing under the conditions this place imposes.”
Then he frowned. “I’m getting tired of the limitations this shithole imposes, though. I understand his logic, but it will be nice to practice this sort of magic when things are, you know, normal.”
That made sense to her. “Aye.”
Before she could think of anything else to say, he asked if she could share with him in more detail what had happened during her mental battle beside the pool earlier. She sensed that it was partly concern for her, but also intellectual curiosity on his part.
She didn’t want to recall the experience, but she did her best, repeating what she’d told Marcus, but with mor
e detail about the emotions she’d gone through.
“It was…” she reported haltingly, “even worse than it seemed, in some ways. Like, the more I think about it, I was seeing my destruction at my own hands. I was trying to destroy myself in turn. Is that what it’s like when magic gets out of hand?”
The wizard considered her question for a moment. “Sometimes,” he responded, “though in my experience, it’s never been quite that dramatic. I had the benefit of good instruction from a very early age. Not to mention, wizards and witches have a well-established network of protocol and tradition.”
He blinked as though embarrassed. “Not to say werewolves don’t, but it seems like magic isn’t the main focus of your society since so few Weres are born with the gift.”
“Yeah,” she reassured him. “I knew what you meant. Were culture is more about… I don’t know. Well, sticking by your pack and your family, which is good. But also a lot of stupid shit, like girls being expected to marry before they’re twenty-five. Anyway, I have to admit I’m scared.”
Having said that, she looked at the ground and swallowed. “Never thought I’d say that aloud to anyone, except maybe Gunney.”
Roland gave her a warm smile. “It’s okay, Bailey. I’m pretty goddamn scared too at this point. I mean, look at this place! And the Venatori getting involved. There’s a lot of crap going on I never thought I’d have to deal with, but I’m not complaining. Meeting you was worth it.”
Before she knew what she was going to do, Bailey embraced him. She held him tight, and he held her back. She’d been worried for a second that she might kiss him if she looked up, so she forced herself to keep clutching him.
He didn’t object. “Magic is dangerous, yes, but you will not destroy yourself. I can promise you that. You’re too strong for that to happen, and if I can help, I will. Whatever ends up coming at us in the days and weeks to come, we’re going to kick its ass into next year. Or better yet, the next half a century, so we don’t even have to think about it again until we’re septuagenarians.”
