Bad Attitude (WereWitch Book 1)

by Renée Jaggér

  “Are your parents home? Or anyone else?”

  “Nah,” she told him. “Dad’s gone. He’ll probably be back tomorrow. You want a glass of water or anything? Figure we might as well sit down. In the living room there would be good, or the kitchen table’s fine.”

  Roland settled the issue by lowering himself onto the couch. “Water sounds good, thanks.”

  Bailey fetched him a glass, filling it from the kitchen sink. Since they didn’t have a refrigerator right now, he’d just have to do without ice. The tap water came out cold enough.

  She brought it out to the living room, where her brothers had already taken their own places—Jacob on the other end of the couch, Russell in the big leather easy chair, and Kurt reclining on the throw rug in front of the window.

  The other Nordins were in the process of explaining further how things worked around here.

  “The general attitude,” Jacob extrapolated, “is that if we don’t need something and one of our neighbors does, they ought to have it.”

  Kurt chimed in, “And vice versa, of course.”

  Bailey stepped into the midst of them. “Can it. We can discuss the local trade economy some other time.” Roland looked interested in the subject, but he didn’t protest. She handed him the glass.

  The wizard accepted the water. “Thanks. Just occurred to me that I might need to use the bathroom soon.”

  “Yeah,” Bailey remarked, “burn that bridge when you come to it. For now…”

  She plopped down beside the wizard, wedging between him and Jacob. She waited for him to finish his first long sip before she started talking on the off chance he might spit his drink out.

  Then she took a deep breath and began. “Roland, for all I know you already guessed, but we’re werewolves, too. All of us. The entire Nordin family. So were those four assholes in the diner. And quite a few other people scattered throughout this valley, and some of the ones next door.”

  She paused awkwardly. She’d spoken almost too fast, like she was in a hurry to just blurt it out and get to the part where he reacted.

  There was no denying it—she was nervous. She didn’t want him to think badly of her or be weirded out to the point that he wouldn’t know what to say and things would become all awkward.

  She’d already offered to help him with what he seemed to think was a serious problem. He wouldn’t reject that aid just because of what she was, would he? She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut but did not. She just swallowed the spit that had pooled under her tongue and waited to receive whatever the gods had decided was coming toward her.

  Roland turned his body to match the position of his face—toward her—and cocked his head at an angle, peering into her eyes. “Really? Well, that makes things even more interesting. I’ve never been personally acquainted with a werewolf, let alone a whole family of them.”

  Bailey laughed abruptly, mostly to disguise the expulsion of air that otherwise would have been an obvious sigh of relief. “They don’t have many werewolves up by Seattle. I’ve heard of a few in Washington, but mostly way out in the boonies. Wild, unattached ones in the mountains and deep forests, supposedly.”

  The wizard shrugged. “I’ve heard rumors along those lines. Anyway, it’s tempting for me to ask one of you to demonstrate by shifting into wolf form—”

  Bailey’s heart skipped a beat.

  “—but if I did that,” Roland went on, “it would only be fair for you to ask me to cast a spell or something. And I’d rather not, right now; the more obvious and visible magicks use up power I might need. Plus, it could potentially send out something like shockwaves or radio signals, which the fine ladies pursuing me might pick up on.”

  His face went grim at this with stoic anger. Bailey got a sense that he was already tired of dealing with the witches who were after him, and the breeding politics that had created the whole situation.

  Again, Bailey felt a surge of warmth and empathy. She wanted to give him a hug, but that might be a bit much.

  Kurt broke the pause. “Good on you,” he complimented Roland, “for not being the judgmental type. Just gotta work on that whole ‘seeing a kid lifting a fridge’ startled reaction thing.”

  Russell nodded and added, “Yep.”

  Before Bailey could suggest they move on to discussing their plans for what to do with Roland in the meantime, Jacob beat her to it.

  “Okay,” he began, “so you can probably stick around for, I don’t know, a couple days or something and just lie low, then we’ll go from there. And we’ll want to hear this grand idea of Bailey’s.”

  The phone rang.

  Bailey almost wanted to punch the wall at the interruption, but she restrained herself. Roland was closest to the phone, which sat on an end table next to the couch, but he wasn’t about to answer someone else’s landline, so Bailey stood up and handled it.

  She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Bailey,” said a familiar voice. “It’s Sheriff Browne up at the station. Say, did you bring that young gentleman back to your place? Everyone saw you walking out with him, so that seemed like a logical assumption.”

  Bailey turned her head and mouthed the word “fuck” into the air, making sure not to put any breath or volume behind it. Jacob saw her out of the corner of his eye but didn’t interrupt.

  She suddenly recalled the cop car that had driven past just before they’d had the powwow and turned down the side road toward her family’s house. Trying to deny Roland was here would be useless and pointless. Besides, it was a small town, and everyone knew everyone else—including the police.

  “Yeah,” she responded, “he and my brothers are here, just talking and relaxing. Why do you ask, Sheriff?”

  “Eh,” he replied, in a drawling, casual tone, “curiosity. Just wanted to make sure he’s staying out of trouble. Seems one or two people complained about a disturbance at the diner, although I’m glad to hear things didn’t get out of hand.”

  She was glad, too. “Yes, sir. Dan Oberlin was in a bad mood, but fortunately, he stopped at exchanging a few words, and my brothers and I did likewise.”

  By now, Roland and the male Nordins were listening in. Her brothers with their superior hearing could probably make out most or all of what Browne was saying. She wasn’t sure about the wizard.

  “Right,” the sheriff went on. “Did you figure anything out, by chance? I mean, has our new friend explained in any more detail what he’s doing here? I overheard him saying a few crazy-sounding things in the station, but that was probably just him trying to get a rise out of you.”

  Bailey retorted, “Just how he’d heard that Greenhearth was a nice little town, and it would get him away from…I think one of his exes is looking for him to start drama? Something like that. I’m not rightly sure.”

  Browne chuckled. “I suppose maybe I can believe that. You’re sure you didn’t just find him attractive enough that you brought him back home for some fun?”

  Bailey stammered without making sound for a sec, but before she could protest, the sheriff cut back in.

  “Just teasing you, ha-ha.” He chuckled. Sometimes he got like that, mainly when talking to someone he knew well. He was all business when dealing with outsiders. “No need to take it personal.”

  She cleared her throat loudly. “Not the most polite thing you’ve ever said, even so.”

  “Don’t mind me,” the man’s voice continued. “Anyhow, just curious how things were going. And if that guy Roland leaves nice and soon, and doesn’t cause any problems until he does, we can forget all about the minor speeding.”

  Bailey grimaced. She had been under the impression that he’d been released with a warning or otherwise cleared of that nonsense. Obviously something else was going on right now.

  “Why are you being so nice, Sheriff? Is there something you want to know? Might as well just ask if that’s the case.” Her tone had just enough edge for him to get the point without making it seem like she was giving him lip.


  There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Like I said, I have a good nose for trouble, and I do believe trouble has come to town.”

  Glancing up, Bailey saw her brothers, who must have overheard, eyeing Roland. For his part, the wizard just sat there calmly, a neutral expression on his face.

  Browne couldn’t have been talking about Roland. He’d already released him.

  She returned her attention to the phone. “Who or what are you talking about, sir?”

  “Three women,” the sheriff said at once. “They just rolled into town in a convertible—real attractive ladies, classy-like, probably from the city. You can smell the money on them. As it happens, they’re looking for someone meeting the description of your boy there.”

  Bailey’s stomach tightened up and went cold. “I see. Could you, uh, hold on a sec?”

  “Certainly.”

  She covered the receiver with her hand and turned to Roland. “Bad news,” she said softly. He raised his eyebrows, and Bailey repeated to him everything the sheriff had just told her.

  Roland tilted his head far back and almost slapped himself in the face as he covered his eyes with his hand. “Goddammit,” he grated. “I mean, I suppose it could technically be some other trio of swanky ladies in a convertible.”

  He leaned forward and looked at Bailey. “Ask him to describe the vehicle.”

  Nodding, the girl removed her hand and spoke into the receiver. “Uh, Sheriff, could you describe the car they are driving?”

  “Sure thing,” Browne agreed. There was a brief delay, accompanied by a heavy sigh and some shuffling sounds, as though he’d written down the details and already lost it amidst the other papers on his desk.

  Bailey’s tapped her fingers on the end table in her impatience.

  “Let’s see,” the man continued. “It’s a silver 2011 Jaguar XKR, four-seater, two-door. Nice car if I may say so. Does that ring a bell?”

  “Hold on.” Again, Bailey hand-muted the phone and relayed the information to Roland.

  He shook his head, frowning with something more like annoyance than fear, yet she could sense the subtle tension that had spread through his whole body. He was trying to keep himself under control.

  He sighed. “Well, that would be them.”

  Kurt added his two cents. “Shit. Well, no offense, but if they’re witches, you kinda had to figure they’d have a few tricks up their sleeves for finding people they’re looking for. Right?”

  Roland nodded. “I did figure, but they’re better than I gave them credit for.”

  Bailey waved her arm sharply at them. “Pipe down. We can discuss this after I’m done talking to the sheriff.”

  Once they shut up, she resumed her conversation. “Thank you, Sheriff. We’ll keep that in mind. And don’t worry; no one wants any trouble.”

  Browne coughed. “They sure seem to,” he muttered. “Annoying rich chicks, acting all entitled and like us country bumpkins don’t have a right to stand between them and whatever it is they want. Pretty clear they’ve got an agenda of some kind involving our man Roland. Again, I don’t want any ugliness here.”

  Before Bailey could respond, she heard noise in the background, although it was hard to make out. Human voices—female voices—seemed to be involved, though.

  Then the sheriff resumed speaking, now at a much louder volume. “So, then,” he practically shouted into the phone, “do you have any idea where this Roland guy is?”

  For a split second, Bailey was confused, but then it struck her. The man had just asked that for show. His three visitors were meant to overhear it, and it was supposed to provide her with a certain amount of cover.

  “Uh,” Bailey stammered, “well, no, not really, Sheriff. We’ll keep you posted if he does turn up.”

  “You do that,” Browne urged. “I’ll let you go for now. Have a nice day.”

  The voices in the background piped up again and seemed to be moving closer to the phone.

  “You too,” said Bailey. She hung up and turned to the four men.

  Jacob spread his hands. “Well?”

  “Well,” she shot back, “we’ve got some talking to do and some plans to make.”

  For whatever reason, the living room, and the house in general, had started to feel stuffy, almost oppressive. The rain seemed to have let up for the rest of the day, or at least for a couple more hours, so they’d wandered out back, strolling around the Nordin property as they discussed what to do next.

  The backyard was a mixture of grass and mud. There was a moldering, moss-covered woodpile at the far rear corner of the lot, composed mostly of branches they’d trimmed in the surrounding pine forest to keep the trees from shrinking the property with their encroachment.

  They also had a pole barn back and center of the yard, which was beginning to rust around the edges. They kept their lawn tractor and most of their tools in there, and it was where Bailey and Jacob did most of their tinkering with half-viable automobiles. Sometimes fully viable ones.

  Jacob grunted. “At least we know what kind of vehicle to look for in case they start cruising around for their victim. Silver Jaguar. Not a lot of those around here, so they ought to stick out like a sore thumb.”

  “Ugh,” Roland assented, “yes. And let me tell you something. Those three might be driving a Jaguar, but they’re a nasty enough bunch that in another ten years, they’ll all be cougars.”

  All three of the Nordin males burst out laughing at that. Jacob guffawed, hands on his stomach. Kurt cackled and slapped his knee, and even Russell turned his head down and chuckled while shaking his head.

  Bailey laughed, too, partially because her brothers’ mirth was contagious, and partly because it was good to know that Roland had a sense of humor.

  Yet, just knowing the witches were in town put a damper on the moment. Somehow, Roland’s comment had just served to emphasize the danger he was in. Bailey didn’t know much about witchcraft or wizardry. What would they be able to do to him?

  For that matter, she wondered, what would they be able to do to her and her family if they decided to punish them for helping Roland?

  Her brothers must have picked up on the vibe and reached the same conclusion since they sobered up from their laughing fit pretty quick. By now, they’d trudged halfway across the yard, trying to keep to the less-muddy areas. That was for Roland’s sake since the Nordins didn’t care. Bailey figured they’d end up in the pole barn.

  Bailey let out a small snort. “You know,” she commented, “if these goddamn witches are already here, and assuming they have, you know, powers of persuasion beyond what any decent-looking woman has, it’s not gonna be long before they start talking to people and asking around. They’re probably gonna get just the answers they want.”

  Roland gave her a halfhearted thumbs-up. “I’d say that’s an accurate assessment. You don’t happen to have an abandoned fruit cellar or something you could hide me in? Or maybe a commando tunnel dug through the ground under the woods over there?”

  Kurt chuckled. “Not quite. Digging one of those might be fun, though. Thanks for the idea. We’d just have to get the weight calculations right so the whole thing didn’t collapse on us.”

  “Cute,” Jacob grumbled. “Thanks, Kurt. We’ll keep that in mind.”

  Kurt smirked. “Don’t mention it.”

  The oldest of the brothers turned to the newcomer. “Roland, my friend, I’m thinking you can’t stay here. Even if we did have a fruit cellar or a frickin’ tunnel, I don’t think it would keep you hidden for long.”

  Roland frowned. Bailey, hovering beside him, could tell that he knew this, and had known it even before Jacob had said it, but he was trying to avoid having to reach the conclusion.

  Jacob added, “Don’t get me wrong. Not saying that because we want to get rid of you. You’re all right, actually. I just mean, realistically, if they know basically where you are, then your chances aren’t good.”

  “Dammit!” Bailey interjected. “We
can’t just send him on his merry way again. That won’t solve anything, and he’ll just end up running away until he hits Boston or Miami or something. Then what the hell’s he gonna do?”

  Roland sighed. “Good question.”

  As Bailey had predicted, their little group found its way to the side door of the pole barn. Russell, having the longest legs and all, had outpaced the others and gotten out in front, and he opened the door, ducked in, and held it for the rest of them as they filed in.

  Bailey flipped on the light. The overhead fluorescents flickered for a moment and then buzzed to life, flooding the space with bright white illumination. It was merciless in revealing the general dirtiness and disarray of the place, but then again, a pole barn wasn’t the same thing as a living room.

  In the center of the building was a 2006 black Toyota Tundra. It was lifted, not to a ridiculous degree, but enough to look cool. Just enough that you could tell it had been modified by someone who knew what they were doing.

  “Bailey,” Jacob asked, “did you ever get that thing running again?” He gestured to the truck.

  Bailey grinned. “Yessir.” She didn’t try to hide the pride in her voice, and she could feel her brother’s pride in her.

  Roland rubbed his chin as he examined the vehicle. “Not bad. What was wrong with it?”

  “Tell you later,” said Bailey. “You know, I’m thinking maybe we need to get out of town-town. I mean, we’re kinda on the edge here, but Main Street isn’t far. Our friend from Seattle will be safer out in the country, I’m thinking.”

  Russell glowered, already calculating the risks. “How far out are we talking?”

  “Probably,” Bailey began, “one of the old farms to the northeast. That’ll take us out of town and also away from South Cliff territory, just in case those dipshits end up getting involved.”

  The brothers nodded slowly. They did not miss the implications of Bailey’s choice of words: us. She didn’t intend to send the wizard off by himself.

  Meanwhile, Roland kept silent. He clearly trusted their judgment and had until further notice placed himself in their capable hands. He was apparently smart enough to grasp that the Nordins knew the countryside around here a lot better than he did. He wasn’t about to queer things by asking what they were getting out of it. He figured he’d find out sooner or later, and they seemed like good people.