The Were Witch Complete Series Omnibus

by Renée Jaggér

  “I see.” Gunney nodded. “Well, the Camry here needs the truck to come in before we can get to it, and the F-150 is just minor stuff, so I ain’t in a hurry at the moment.”

  Bailey shrugged. “I guess… I don’t know. Sometimes I just get tired of the fact that everyone in this valley—hell, this whole section of the mountains—seems to know who I am and everything about me. You know? Also, what’s with the candy-cane paint job on that truck? Little too much holiday spirit if you ask me.”

  The mechanic glanced to the side. “It’s solid red and solid white. It ain’t a mass of swirly stripes. Not sure why it makes you think of a candy cane. Anyway, the paint job is none of our business. Just the oil and the filter. Oh, and the oxygen sensor.”

  She made a sour, pouty face. “Yeah, yeah, fair enough, old man. Gotta be all respectful to the customers.”

  He waved one of his thick, callused hands. “Anyway, I know what you mean. About people knowing too much about you, that is. Well, more or less. I grew up down in Bend. It was a lot smaller back then, and everyone knew everyone else. Everyone talked about everyone else. By the time I was about your age, I’d just about had enough of it.”

  Bailey moved closer to him and leaned against the wall, just as he was doing. “Is that why you came up here?”

  He gave a roll of his shoulders that wasn’t quite a shrug. “Sort of. Had a few other stupid adventures first. I like it here; it’s nice and quiet. Of course Bend is a goddamn metropolis compared to this town, so everyone here knows me again now. I can live with that, though. I’m older, and I don’t make the same mistakes I used to. Makes it easier.”

  Bailey frowned. “You know I can’t just up and leave, Gunney. It’s not the same.”

  His face fell, but warmth and sympathy emanated from it. “True enough. Regular old humans have an easier time relocating. For what it’s worth, I understand some of what you’re dealing with.”

  While the girl brooded, the older man gave her an off-kilter smirk. “Being young mostly sucks, to be honest. It’s overrated, from what I recall.”

  Bailey put a hand over her eyes. He was trying to make her feel better, but he didn’t seem to fully grasp the situation.

  “Everyone,” she blurted in exasperation, “knows that my twenty-fifth birthday is coming up. Even Tomi at the Elk. And everyone knows what that means and won’t let me forget it. Marriage. I have to get married to some dickhead. Pack rules, traditions, and all that other shit that apparently there’s no escape from ever. Not for me, even if most of the people in our part of the world have moved on from that kind of thinking. None of that matters to Weres.”

  She’d surprised herself with how much she’d blurted out and how much emotion had forced its way out of her mouth. Also with the force and bitterness of her words. It was as though years’ worth of built-up insecurity, resentment, and frustration had all finally crystallized and demanded to be said aloud.

  Halfway embarrassed, Bailey looked at the Dale Earnhardt memorial poster on the wall, then through the window into the cozy office where Gunney received his customers. And where Gary bought his candy bars.

  The mechanic shook his head and made a low sound in his throat. Nothing in his demeanor was judgmental toward her for what she’d just said.

  “Different people have different customs, I guess. That’s how it’s always been. I’m right there with you, though. It don’t make much sense.”

  Bailey looked down and absentmindedly kicked at the floor, since she was fresh out of empty motor oil bottles. “Well, thanks. ‘Don’t make much sense’ is putting it mildly, though.”

  “If you ask me,” Gunney added, “marriage is even more overrated than youth. Well, I never been married, so I can’t really say from experience, whereas I have been young, believe it or not. But getting hitched just seems like more trouble than it’s worth.”

  Bailey shook the hair free of her shoulders, relishing the slight breeze it created. “So, it’s not just me, then. Glad to hear someone recognizes the inherent stupidity of it.”

  The old mechanic shrugged. “A wedding is like taking something that should just be a personal matter and turning it into this big legal ceremony, you know? Then both parties get unrealistic expectations and start thinking about their relationship in legalistic terms, and if they ain’t happy with one or two things, they treat it like a breach of contract. That’s where the problems come in. I don’t know. It was never for me, that much I can say for sure.”

  The girl took a moment to chew on and digest his words. “I think you hit the nail on the head, Gunney. Bunch of meddling and lawyer shit, that’s all it is, really. You were smart never to get ensnared.”

  He laughed in a low, soft voice. “Maybe it works fine for some people, but for certain others, definitely not. Besides, who’d want a crusty old fuck like me?”

  Bailey squinted at him, biting her tongue. “Watch your language around me, you filthy old man,” she quipped, and she prodded his foot with the toe of one of her boots. “Last thing I need is your corrupting influence.”

  “Hah!” He scoffed. “Your mouth is every bit as filthy as mine half the time. Maybe more so. Although, come to think of it,” he tapped his whiskery chin and pretended to look off into space with a deep, philosophical expression, “my ‘corrupting influence’ might possibly have had something to do with that.”

  She grinned in a way some people might describe as wolfish. “So you admit it! See, anytime I’m not channeling you, I’m a lady. It’s my natural state.”

  “A lady?” he retorted, gazing at her and smirking. “Bailey, you’re a bitch.”

  The girl burst out laughing, both of them knowing full well that he was likely the only man on Earth, at least outside of her family and pack, who could get away with that little remark.

  Glancing at him out of the sides of her eyes, she shot back, “Gunney, you say the truest things. Most of the time, anyway. But you’d better mean that in the sense of me being a female Were and not the other kind.”

  They also both knew that the four dipshits at the Elk this morning weren’t the first guys she’d beaten up for that kind of language.

  As she eyed him, he scratched his chin, his lined face calm. “Hmm, well, not today, at least.” The corner of his mouth threatened to shoot upward again.

  Bailey put her hands on her hips. “I guess that’s as good as I’m gonna get.” She huffed. He was only teasing, but right now she’d rather have him warm than funny. At least he was capable of both.

  “For now,” the older man added, “try going an entire week without getting into a fight. It might help your reputation around here.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled, looking at the floor again.

  “Anyway,” Gunney went on, “I’ve got an oil and filter change coming up. If you got nothing better to do, you might as well join me. Not that I’m trying to make you ‘work without pay,’ of course, since I recall you were the one who offered to help.”

  Bailey laughed. “Yeah, we all know the score, old man. Trying to exploit the desperate citizens of this town for their cheap labor. I don’t know why I fall for your schemes.”

  The mechanic snorted and turned his head aside as if speaking to some invisible person across from Bailey. “Cheap labor,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Grab me the right box wrench, will you?” He set down the clipboard and strolled over to the two-tone F-150.

  Bailey turned to the tool rack and readily snatched the proper implement. “You ought to get it yourself. Lazy bastard.” Hefting the wrench, she followed him to the truck.

  He took it from her and started examining the vehicle’s undercarriage. “So, how’s Tomi doing, anyway? And that new gal? What is her name?”

  “Cheryl,” said Bailey. “Tomi’s about the same as ever. Cheryl’s okay, I guess. Seems like she mostly works mornings, so she’s only had to deal with the regulars who come in for breakfast. Or me and my brothers wanting a drink to start the morning off right. Wouldn’t kno
w how she handles the night rush, if she’s been around for that.”

  “I see.” Gunney nodded. He wasn’t looking at her, but she knew he was legitimately paying attention.

  Bailey went on, “And of course, Cheryl keeps trying to brush up against Jacob. And her and Tomi talk about them when they think I can’t hear. Not my business, but well, it gets old. All four of us seem to get a little too much attention.”

  “Right.” The mechanic started to loosen the oil pan drain bolt. “Well, you could always try distracting those gals with other gossip from around town. I heard that Maddie Foster—you remember her?—might be getting divorced from Tom soon. Not sure why, although they never struck me as being a happy couple.”

  Bailey, without needing to be asked, grabbed an empty pan to catch the old oil once it began to flow. “Just more evidence that marriage is a bad idea, I guess,” she remarked.

  Gunney chuckled and finished with the bolt. The old oil, black and thick and well below the recommended minimum level, drained into the pan as Bailey held it up.

  “Let’s see,” the older man mused, “what else has been up?”

  It occurred to Bailey that he was trying to get her mind off of her problems and distract her from the pressures of her people and their ideas about mandatory weddings and pack loyalty. She knew he was doing it, but it was a nice gesture.

  “Oh,” Gunney said then, “there was that little girl from the south side who went missing a couple days ago. Everyone’s pretty worried since they don’t have any real leads or trace of her. They’ve been out looking, but so far, nothing. The sheriff sent it up the pipeline, and they put out an alert statewide. Lots of prayers being said.”

  Bailey frowned. “Damn. I hope they find her. She might’ve just gotten lost in the woods and stumbled into someone’s shed for the night, and is trying to get home as we speak. But you never know.”

  “No,” Gunney agreed, “you don’t. Later, I’m gonna get a card for everyone at the shop here to sign. I know someone at church who knows her parents and they will pass it on.”

  “That’s good of you,” Bailey opined. “Missing children and potential divorces. Anything good going on?”

  The oil finished draining, and Bailey set the pan off to the side, then snatched a filter wrench, returning to the underside of the truck.

  “Yeah,” Gunney answered her. “My cousin’s boy Justin finally won a scholarship. He dropped out of high school, you know, so he had to earn his GED and then go through all kinds of rigmarole. Just a small one, but he’s off to Salem come the fall.”

  “Justin?” Bailey inquired. She reached up with the wrench and fitted it on the filter. “He was in the Elk this morning. He just turned twenty-one, didn’t he?”

  Gunney nodded. “That he did.”

  “He’ll have plenty more places to drink in Salem, I imagine, but nice of him to give Mr. Quaile a few dollars first.”

  They removed the old filter, and Gunney held down the proverbial fort as Bailey tossed it. Then she looked around for a new one. Unfortunately, some dumbass had put them behind a crate filled with old scrap parts. It was about two and a half feet cubed, and probably weighed a good hundred and ten pounds. There were scrape marks on the floor from the guys pushing it back and forth.

  Bailey squatted, grabbed the crate by its sides, and lifted it chest-high as she stood up. Then she walked it over to an empty corner and easily set it down there, where it would be out of everyone’s way before coming back and selecting the new filter. Gunney watched her and shook his head, a faint smile on his face.

  “Hell,” he commented, “I might be able to give you a couple more hours just to have you lift things for us.”

  “Oh,” she countered, handing him the part, “have me do all the dirty work and brute force manual labor. I see.”

  He handed her the bolt, smirking, but for now, they were done speaking. Not because either was angry or bored, but because they’d settled into a good rhythm of steady, comfortable, purposeful work, side by side.

  She put the bolt back in and tightened it with the wrench, her hands moving quickly and smoothly with the confidence of experience. Gunney’s own movements made short work of the replacement filter. He hand-tightened it to satisfaction. That just left the oxygen sensor.

  Bailey stood aside as the older man examined it.

  “These goddamn things,” he grumbled. “Always going bad around here, at least for this owner. I swear, this is the third time I’ve had to change his sensor in the last five years. Maybe four. What the hell has he been doing to the poor things?”

  The girl shrugged. “Beats me.” He likely hadn’t expected an answer, but still.

  A few moments later, Gunney had pulled the old one and plugged a new one in, and that was that.

  “Bailey,” he began, “wanna grab the keys and drive this one out back? Put it next to the black Dodge. On the far side of it, I mean. After you do that, I figure we can get something to drink.”

  “Sure.” She strolled back and located the appropriate keys as Gunney lowered the truck to floor-level with the lift. She got the engine running, and she reversed into the big rear gravel lot, parking the vehicle just where he’d indicated.

  They met by the rear door of the office. Gunney looked oddly apologetic.

  “I’m fresh out of orange soda,” he admitted. “So, what do you say we take a short drive to the convenience store?”

  Bailey smiled. “Sounds good to me. They still got ‘em in glass bottles, right? It’s not the same, drinking out of plastic.”

  Gunney shrugged as they walked over to his truck, an F-150 not unlike the peppermint wonder they’d just worked on, though uniformly brown in his case. “As far as I know, yeah.”

  * * *

  When they returned fifteen minutes later with a twelve-pack of orange pop, Gary was talking to someone on the shop’s landline phone.

  “Yeah,” he said into the receiver, “you can probably come in about two and handle the oil changes for the rest of the day. Get you a few hours.”

  Bailey’s face scrunched. “Oh, God. Is that Emily he’s talking to?”

  “I think so,” Gunney confirmed.

  They’d hired Emily two weeks ago, and it seemed like she still wasn’t through the mixture of hazing and being handled with kid gloves that always seemed to apply to the new guy. Or new girl.

  “Gary,” Bailey called, “why not have her help you with that Blazer? She’s barely worked this week.”

  He said goodbye and hung up before he turned to acknowledge her. “Well, she’s new.” He shrugged.

  “I know that,” the girl retorted, her tone grumpy, “but she’s got bills to pay, same as the rest of us. She’s gonna have to start turning tricks on the street corner to earn enough to live this way, you heathens.”

  Gary started to look defensive, although he also seemed to be trying not to laugh. “It’s a rite of passage. You know, a tradition. No one can be trusted to be a mechanic until we’re confident they can at least handle an oil change.”

  “Which she has,” Bailey observed, raising a finger. “I’ll take her on as my apprentice if I have to.”

  From down in the pit, another voice joined the conversation, and Bailey finally recognized it.

  “See?” the other man jeered. “I told you. She’s a Dark Lord of the Sith, and now she’s taking on an apprentice. Always two there are, no more, no less. The evil counterpart to the Jedi.”

  Bailey picked up a pipe thick enough that it barely fit in her hand. “I’ll shove this pipe up your ass, Kevin,” she called, her voice echoing as it descended. “Then you’ll have something to think about besides Star Wars.”

  “Ooooh,” Kevin retorted, “not the pipe!”

  Before Gunney could intervene, a white car pulled up out front, and out stepped a familiar-looking fortyish lady. She was one of the shop’s regular customers, as Bailey recalled.

  Gunney went into the office to receive the woman, and Bailey trailed behind h
im. She wasn’t angry at Gary and Kevin—they were her friends—but since she hadn’t been in the best mood for most of the morning, she’d rather not linger on arguments.

  “Hi, Monica,” Gunney greeted the newcomer. “How can I help you?”

  “Hi, Gunney.” The woman ran a hand through her hair. “You think you could squeeze my daughter in for a checkup before tomorrow evening? She’s got the Corolla. She’s driving to San Francisco in a couple days, and I’m worried about her. Don’t want her breaking down somewhere in California.” She rolled her eyes.

  The mechanic nodded. “Very likely. Just bring her in as soon as you can. I got two vehicles I have to finish today, but shouldn’t take too long, and nothing much lined up after that.”

  Monica was about to say something, probably thank him, but then Bailey caught her eye.

  “Hey,” she began, “you okay, Miss Nordin? I heard about the fight. Supposedly the cops and an ambulance got involved.”

  Bailey clenched her jaw. Word certainly spread fast in a town with barely a thousand people, and that was including the folks who lived in the woods in the hills outside the town limits.

  “Yeah,” she replied in a monotone. “I’m fine.”

  “Well, good,” Monica went on. “I worry about you, though. If stuff like this keeps happening, don’t mind my saying, but it might make it harder for you to end up mated to someone from a good pack.”

  Gunney visibly winced at the woman’s comment.

  “Oh,” Bailey grated, “that’s a relief. Just means I have to kick a few more asses to keep from giving mine up. I prefer it that way.”

  Gunney snorted with suppressed laughter and shook his head as the woman blinked in surprise and discomfort. She clearly didn’t know how to respond.

  Gunney stepped in front of Bailey and put a hand on Monica’s shoulder. “Anyway, I promise you a slot as soon as your girl can make it in. You know you always have a place here, even if my employees can get a bit…earthy, at times.” He chuckled, doing his best to blow the whole thing off as a joke.