by Renée Jaggér
And they’d been about to step into the Other. Seeing as much, Lavonne had closed the portal behind the were-shaman to ensure her minions could spring their trap in time. Bailey and Roland would undoubtedly seek to finish what they’d started by going back into the alternate realm when they were done.
There, they’d be tested, and their strength would be drained. And when they returned to Earth this time, Lavonne and the full force of the Venatori in America would be waiting for them, ready to claim them while they were at their weakest.
The two women got into their SUV and took a drive through the mountains to the south. In a bit less than an hour, they arrived on a dark, wooded slope near the obscure and tiny settlement of Juniper.
Savina spoke up before they stepped out. “Madame,” she asked, “have you decided if we will kill Bailey, or is the goal now to capture her for study? Previously you’d said you were not certain.”
Lavonne checked her hair to ensure it was tightly bound atop her head. “We will try to capture her. If that cannot be done, she must die, but given her power, having her alive would be better. Both she and Roland might be of use. To make her less likely to resist, we will need to cut her off from her support network. Perhaps take a hostage.”
The younger witch nodded.
They climbed out, magically hid their vehicle from sight, and crept through the woods, following the smell of magic. It didn’t take long. After only a few minutes, they approached an old wooden cottage from the rear, a structure built on the very edge of the little hamlet.
Savina quickly scouted ahead for any other Weres, while Lavonne concentrated on hiding all trace of them or their magic. Back in the Other, they’d struck so boldly that the elderly shaman would not expect a sneak attack now.
No one was around to see. The assistant witch stood guard while the leader slipped into the cottage.
Estus was there, deep in meditation as he stared at a curious object like a cross between a dreamcatcher and a mandala. The old fool was entirely oblivious to her presence, cloaked as she was in multiple layers of powerful yet subtle sorcery.
Lavonne smiled. Just to drive home the insult, she did not bother preparing a spell, but just slipped a dagger out from the hem of her pants.
With one fast, smooth motion, she drove the blade into the shaman’s neck. He stiffened and gurgled but could not scream since she’d severed his windpipe. She wrapped an arm around his head to restrain him as the life drained out of his body.
“You useless fuck,” she said gently. “You are a hedge wizard even by the standards of a hedge species. You’ll not interfere with our affairs again. Your beast-boys will be adrift and leaderless.”
The shaman’s muscles froze, and his body began to grow cold in her grasp. She let the corpse slump to the floor, careful not to get any blood on her clothing.
When she left the cottage, Savina was still there, maintaining an invisibility spell since a lanky young lycanthrope strolled by only a hundred feet ahead. Lavonne trusted her abilities. The two witches casually walked back to their SUV.
Lavonne outlined the rest of the plan as they drove back to Greenhearth. “That man Marcus,” she observed, “is cut off. He ought to be trapped in the Other for some time yet. That will give us time to seek our hostage.”
“Who?” Savina asked.
The leader was disappointed that her aide hadn’t figured it out from the conversations they’d had around town earlier. “Someone just like family,” she stated.
Chapter Fifteen
There came a moment when both Bailey and Roland, having just spent energy on powerful but futile magical attacks, slumped almost in unison, neither of them able to attack or defend for a moment.
Rather than press their advantage, though, the Venatori witches turned and fled.
“Damn,” Bailey panted. “Guess we were doing something right after all.”
Roland stepped forward and threw what looked like a greenish flare after them. It hovered and wove around as it moved, almost like a giant fiery flying insect, and then burst in midair behind the rear witch. The seat of her pants caught on fire and she fell to the ground, rolling to extinguish it.
“Hah! That ought to convince her not to come back unless she’s even dumber and crazier than the rest of them.”
Bailey was too tired to think of a clever comeback. She and the wizard simply leaned against a tree, arms intertwined, the air cooling the sweat that coated their bodies.
Five or ten minutes passed. “So,” Bailey asked, finally, “what do we do now? Go home and tell every single person in the town what just happened? I think half of them saw it, and they probably already told the other half.”
Roland spread his hands. “I don’t know. It’s true, we shouldn’t have put on a fireworks display like that, but better that then let them kill us. Shit. I can only hope the other Man in Black was somewhere nearby and will cover things up on our behalf.”
Hearing him say that, Bailey flashed back to the death of the agent who’d rushed to their aid. It was one of the two who’d come to her house, but they looked so similar to one another that she wasn’t sure which one it was. And now he was gone. The death toll of people who’d tried to help her had risen.
And he’d killed two of the Venatori. Somehow, she didn’t think that the witch cult would call things even and let that slide.
She turned her face to Roland. “Things are gonna get ugly now.”
“Probably,” he muttered.
The air opened in front of them, disclosing a door-shaped patch of gleaming and watery purple light. Marcus stepped through it.
“Are you okay?” the shaman asked.
“Mostly,” said Bailey. “We just drove them off a few minutes ago. What the hell happened on your end?”
The shaman frowned. “Someone closed the portal behind me using extremely powerful magic, and—this is difficult to explain—scrambled the coordinates, so to speak, making it hard for me to locate the point at which I could reopen another to get back. It took me all this time. Now, tell me what happened here. Clearly, the Venatori chose the worst possible moment to return.”
Bailey stood up. “You got that right.”
She and Roland related what had happened. She made sure to emphasize that there had probably been a lot of witnesses. Roland mentioned that the agent might be on hand to mindwipe people as needed, and Bailey reminded the shaman that the people of Greenhearth already had some knowledge of the supernatural.
Marcus rubbed his chin. His face was impossible to read. “We cannot do anything about what the townspeople might have seen or heard,” he stated. “But we can complete your training, and it must be done now. Our enemies have already struck again. Come, then.”
He hadn’t closed the portal behind him. Before the werewitch or the wizard could object or question him, the shaman stepped through into the Other.
Bailey inhaled and plunged after him, fearful of a repeat of what had happened earlier. This time, though, the doorway stayed open, and Roland followed her.
They passed through the disorienting coldness of the warp and found themselves again on the hillock above the black pool. Marcus was standing a few feet away, waiting for them.
The girl furrowed her brow. “I thought you said you were going to take us somewhere different and, you know, worse. Though I guess that damn lake is bad enough.”
Marcus waved a hand. “After the battle you just completed, I don’t think it’s necessary. What you need now is further reflection and insight.”
She must have flinched because he held up a hand in a gesture of reassurance and immediately said, “No, not another vision from the pool. Something else. In fact, something gentler.”
She didn’t bother trying to hide her relief. She exhaled and closed her eyes for a second.
“Sounds good,” quipped Roland. “By the way, I was getting very hungry when we came through the portal. In here, of course, hunger has no meaning, but it’s your turn to make dinner when
we get back. Which I suppose means I’m inviting you to said meal.”
Marcus stared at him. “I’m not much of a cook,” he admitted.
The wizard frowned. “Damn.”
Bailey sighed. “Shut up about food. We got more important things to worry about right now. There’s a group of high-level fanatics who want our goddamn heads and were willing to kill a government agent to get a shot at us.”
“Correct,” said Marcus. “But I’ve shielded and cloaked this area from their sight. They might be able to unravel the spell, but it will take time. Now, let me show you a different side to magic—a kinder, more constructive side. Sit down, please. You too, Roland.”
The young pair obeyed. They’d expected Marcus to begin some grand incantation while he towered over them, but instead, he sat cross-legged across from them and murmured something in the tone a parent would use to sing a lullaby to their child.
“That’s beautiful,” Bailey commented.
The shaman didn’t seem to have heard her; he was focused on whatever spell he was casting.
The effects were not obvious, but as the moments elapsed, they became clearer and clearer. Tiredness lifted away, and fears and worries melted. The damage their bodies had taken healed itself fast enough for them to see the effects. And somehow, the dismal and foreboding landscape of the Other grew more pleasant and fruitful, as though spring had arrived.
“Marcus,” Bailey asked, “what is this? It’s beautiful, whatever it is.”
“The creative force,” he explained. “The restorative force. It is the preternatural, the unconscious equivalent to what humans call love. You will need to master this as well, even if the destructive potential of sorcery is more useful to you right now.”
Roland sighed pleasantly. “I’d say this is useful. And being able to heal yourself is a good skill to have if you plan to get in fights, isn’t it?”
“Indeed,” the shaman affirmed. “Now, as we recover, I’m going to tell you where you stand in the course of your development.”
He went on to elaborate on how she’d progressed, but erratically. In fact, she had advanced so much and so quickly that her power was overflowing. It had grown faster than her ability to contain it.
“You have attained more control than you used to have,” he pointed out, “but it’s still incomplete. You have not yet achieved mastery, and that is what you need.”
Soon they felt as good as though they’d just risen from a long night’s sleep in the middle of a vacation free of even the possibility of danger or stress. Marcus stood, and the faint aura of peace and loveliness began to fade. Bailey was sad to see it go.
“Now, we’ve come to the crucible point. This test does not involve any magical trickery. No combat with strange creatures, no visions spawned by the black pool. There is only you alone with yourself, but in a way, I can help guide you.”
Bailey and Roland stood up, too. The wizard, sensing that he wasn’t necessary to the process, backed up a bit, but kept his eye on the girl. She could feel him sending good vibes her way, morally supporting her in what was to come.
The silence was total. Bailey wondered if she was supposed to say or do something. Her skin crawled, despite the odd sense of peace that had emerged.
She suddenly worried that Marcus and Roland both knew what she was supposed to do, or say and that they thought it was obvious. What if, she wondered, they were just waiting for her to do it? Was she screwing up by not knowing?
Just as she was about to ask the shaman for clarification, he spoke quickly, cutting her off.
“What do you fear?” he asked.
She blinked, mouth hanging open. It was a good question. She would have thought it would be easy to answer, but it wasn’t.
“I-I,” she began, stammering, “I don’t know. Well, I fear…a lot of things. Failing, mainly, I think.”
Marcus did not reply or nod or do anything. He just waited for her.
“I’m afraid,” she stated, her soul feeling like it was uncoiling within her, “that I’m going to let everyone down. That I’m not good enough for this. I’m afraid of dying, honestly, but not just for my part. If I’m gone, then everyone else is at the mercy of my actions. Like I’m leaving a mess behind for them to clean up.”
She cringed, worried that her way of putting it sounded stupid, but Marcus did not judge her. He just awaited the rest of her statement.
“And,” she swallowed, “I’m afraid that if I don’t fail, what I have to do to succeed is going to turn me into a monster. I want to do this right. I don’t want to fail in either direction.”
Then, finally, Marcus bowed his head before raising it again.
“Good,” he said.
Bailey was breathless, unable to believe that she’d somehow come up with the “correct” answer.
“Those,” the shaman went on, “are good fears to have. They mean you care enough to be self-critical. You know you’re capable of making mistakes and being wrong sometimes. If you do make an error, you will desire to correct it. You are considerate of how your actions affect others, and knowing this ahead of time, you can fix many problems even before they happen.”
She broke into a grin, trembling with relief.
Roland took a few steps and patted her on the shoulder. “Maybe it wasn’t a beautiful, epic speech, but it sounded pretty good to me. And in this case, I agree with Marcus. The stuff you’re worried about indicates that you don’t need to worry too much after all.”
Marcus gestured to Roland. “He speaks the truth. Instead of endlessly tormenting yourself with how your abilities can go wrong, reflect on how you can use them to do right. Accept what you are. And do with it what you can.”
Hours had passed, or what she assumed were hours in the mortal world. In the Other, it might have been days or weeks. Bailey sat on a comfortable slope of the hillock, near the top but slightly below it, her back against a tree that looked fairly dry.
She’d spent the whole time having a talk with herself, and it was turning out to be a good conversation. Both sides of it were now in agreement that the strange destiny she’d found herself in—that of a werewitch—was not a burden or a curse, but an opportunity.
Marcus and Roland had gone off somewhere, assuring her that they were nearby and still in the Other. Bailey didn’t wait for the shaman to return and advise her on the next step, not this time. Instead, she tried something.
She concentrated on the strangely neutral temperature of the Other and tried to summon extra heat in multiple places at once. A fire—small, controlled, but bright—erupted about a hundred feet in front of her between two trees, near them but not quite setting them alight.
Then a second flame appeared far off to her left, and a third to the right. Dispersing her consciousness between them, she willed them to rotate, orbiting her like planets around the sun. She stood and drew them closer as they circled her. She was protected by a moving barrier of fire.
Marcus crested the hill. “Good,” he said. “I hadn’t seen you do anything like that before.”
“I know!” she confirmed, smiling. “I think it’s finally all coming together. I don’t know, it’s like I’m not so afraid of it anymore that I either hold it back or it just all spills out.”
She thought back to what Gunney had said about small, consistent steps.
Marcus beckoned for her to ascend the incline between them. “Keep those fires spinning around you,” he instructed. “And add the other three classical elements. Then chain them together with lightning.”
As difficult and complicated as it sounded, she concentrated, oddly confident that she could do it even with the Other tamping down on her full potential and bleeding out her raw power.
And she succeeded.
Water, as the opposite of fire, was first, and a stream of it rotated just below the flames. Then came earth, chunks of dirt and rock spun just inside the double helix of flame and liquid. Finally, the air through which the other three moved sped up, turni
ng all the ingredients to a blur.
“And now,” she whispered.
Lightning struck her hand from the sky and she threw it out, seeing the bolts and sparks intersperse themselves so that the full power of nature encased her in a terrifying yet beautiful cyclone of force and matter and energy.
Marcus projected his voice through it, as clear as if he were speaking into her ear. “Now release it in an orderly fashion. Return everything to the place you got it from. One element at a time.”
The electricity dispersed, the winds slowed, the earthen fragments returned to the ground. Then the heat and moisture dissipated back into the atmosphere, and all was clear and quiet again.
Marcus smiled warmly. “Impressive. Where you are now, I’d say you could—”
The air ripped open, and three figures burst through it.
Roland appeared behind the shaman. “They’re back again. For fuck’s sake! I thought you said they couldn’t find us for a while? I should have handled this crap myself.”
Ignoring him, the shaman turned to face the witches, Bailey and Roland standing at each side.
Of the trio of Venatori, two were the same ones whom Bailey and Roland had fought on the mountainside earlier today. That was encouraging; the cult must have been running short of agents if it had to send the same people into two consecutive fights.
The third was another woman they hadn’t seen before. Their leader from the previous attack in the Other was still nowhere to be found.
“Halt,” the third one commanded, even though they were unmoving. “This is your last chance to surrender and keep your lives. We have considered that neither of you need be destroyed, but you must submit to our judgment. And you,” she flicked her eyes to Marcus, “must leave and cease your meddling in our affairs.”
The shaman gave a graceful bow, and to Bailey’s surprise and dismay, he backed away and sequestered himself amidst a stand of trees off to the side.
He’s leaving us to do this ourselves, she concluded. It’s another part of the testing, isn’t it? He could probably blast them to oblivion if he wanted to, but…
