The Were Witch Complete Series Omnibus

by Renée Jaggér

  She nodded and tried not to look annoyed, then turned and loped back to her truck. Behind her, the sheriff was already heading back into the building.

  After climbing into the Tundra and slamming the door, she grated, “Supposed boyfriend. Goddammit. Roland makes one offhand comment just to get the fuckin’ mob of adoring parents off my ass, and twenty minutes later, everyone in the valley is gossiping about it. I should have known.”

  But then again, that had been her plan from the start—for her and Roland to pose as lovers. That way, neither of them would be bothered by pestering suitors. At least, not as often.

  She fired up the engine and continued down the main street in the direction she’d been going when Browne had flagged her down. Gunney’s shop was that way, and she was pretty sure Roland had turned the Beamer in the place’s general direction.

  A turn up a street that sloped its way into the mountain foothills, and there was the rear-ravaged black vehicle, waiting for her at the far end of Gunney’s lot. She pulled her truck up alongside it, pulled the keys, and hopped out.

  “Dammit, Roland!” she exclaimed. “If the sheriff saw it was you driving this piece of crap, this is the first place he’d look, you know. They always go check with someone’s employer, even though I told him you were probably either with my brothers or back in Portland.”

  Still sitting behind the wheel with the windows rolled down, the wizard shrugged. “I dunno, the sheriff seemed more interested in you for some reason.”

  She waved a hand fiercely through the damp air. “Yeah, yeah. He just wanted to let me know that the girls are all safe. And that he’s got Dan Oberlin silver-handcuffed right here in town so that some dumbass in Portland jail doesn’t get his head bit off.”

  Roland stepped out. “Gotcha. Oh, and look,” he glanced to the side, toward the body shop, “it would appear our arrival has not gone unnoticed. I blame the antenna on this thing.” He reached up and flicked it. “It’s so thick.”

  Bailey planted a light punch on his arm as she turned to greet the man who approached them.

  Gunney was fifty or so and on the short side, but with an air of toughness that more than made up for it. He wore a graying beard, along with a baseball cap over his shaggy hair. His overalls were stained with dirt, grease, and grime, and his hands were thick and callused.

  “Wait,” Bailey announced, “who’s this old fart again?”

  He made a grunting sound in his throat but didn’t slow his advance, and his eyes twinkled. “Don’t ask stupid questions, silly-ass girl. If you don’t remember, then you’re the one with fucking Alzheimer’s or something. Calling me old!”

  They embraced, and she put her head on his shoulder for a moment, taking in his familiar car stink along with the faint odor of his cologne.

  When they separated, he squinted at her. “At least you’re safe. Salem’s no Portland, but it’s still big enough to get into trouble there. Of course, I’m pretty sure you could get into trouble anywhere. What the hell were you doing there, anyway?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” she replied.

  She’d been about to ask him how work was coming along, but he looked past her—and past Roland—at the two vehicles.

  “What?” he exclaimed, suddenly aghast. “What the holy fuck did you do to your truck? I thought you just fixed the damn thing up, and now it looks like the bumper guard went through five or six consecutive barbed-wire fences. And what happened to that Beamer? Jesus!”

  Roland put his hands in his pockets and looked around innocently. “Oh, there just might be a connection between the two.”

  As the older man started to frown with disapproval, Bailey put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Gunney, sorry. I know you don’t like to see a good truck treated like shit, but we did get into some trouble, and it wasn’t our fault, even. The, uh, original drivers of this POS started trying to run us down. We couldn’t lose ‘em, so eventually, we had no real choice but to return the favor. I mean, hey, at least I had the bumper guard. Otherwise, the front end would be---”

  The man raised a dirty hand for her to stop speaking as he closed his eyes and shook his head. “Please. I don’t even want to think about that.”

  “Okay,” she riposted, “don’t, then. But I have a proposition for you. See, I’m not sure I’m gonna have time to fix this guard myself right now. But to sweeten the deal on your part, well, there’s the Beamer.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What the hell about it? You trying to sell it to me? What would I do with a piece of junk like that?”

  “You know,” she insisted, “scrap it. Part it out, sell the most expensive bits. Maybe keep the rest for spares, or just turn it over for the metal. I’d say that’d more than cover the cost of showing the Tundra a little love.”

  Gunney’s expression didn’t soften. “Bailey, if that’s a legally owned vehicle, then that’s a crime. Do you realize that? I’m not running a goddamn chop shop here. Scrapping that thing could get me in serious trouble.”

  She pouted. Bailey knew he was right, but there were extenuating circumstances.

  “Yeah, well,” she started, “after we rammed the thing, the guys who stepped out were some of the same bastards who were involved in kidnapping our girls. They’re pissed off that we cost them a lot of money. I made Roland drive this thing back so they couldn’t follow us after we kicked their asses.”

  The mechanic frowned. He still wasn’t happy, but he’d gotten even more serious, and he seemed to at least be thinking it over.

  “You,” he said to Roland, “drive that thing around back, so it’s out of sight, at least, while I make up my mind. And Bailey, what would really sweeten the deal is a little extra muscle around the shop. Lately you’ve been content to give half your hours to the new girl, but we’re busy enough right now that I could use you.”

  She spread her hands. “Well, here I am,” she pointed out. Behind her, Roland fired up the Beamer and piloted it to the extreme rear corner of the back lot.

  Gunney shook his head. “Not right now. I already got all other hands on deck today. But starting tomorrow, if you can. Besides, there’s something else you need to do.”

  Bailey cocked an eyebrow.

  “I know,” he explained, frowning, “you’ve been avoiding your family lately. Don’t know why, but it’s pretty obvious. And with all the shit you’ve been involved with, I think your brothers ought to know that you’re safe after being out of town overnight again. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

  Bailey let her eyes go distant as she drew a long, slow breath. “Okay, fine. I’ll go home and talk to the boys. On one condition.”

  “What?” Gunney asked.

  She looked back at him. “You got any orange soda? Or did Kevin drink it all while I was gone?”

  The old man smiled. “Glass bottles only. As always.”

  * * *

  “Hey,” Bailey asked as the streets between the auto shop and the town’s northwestern neighborhood slowly gave way beneath her feet. They’d left the truck with Gunney since her house wasn’t too far away on foot.

  Roland, who’d been admiring the mountains, turned his head to her. “Yes? This is about the ten bucks, isn’t it? Sorry, I forgot. I’ll fish it out of my pocket after we get back to your place.”

  “That too,” she decided, “but I was actually gonna ask you something else. Were you using magic again to cloak us from the police? While we were getting away in Salem. Just wondering, since it seems like we’ve been awful damn lucky when it comes to stuff like that.”

  The wizard shrugged. “At first, yeah. A little when we were just coming out of town since there were way too many other motorists who could see us driving like maniacs. Not to mention those three dickheads in the Beamer. To be honest, though, I kind of got distracted after you ran them off the road into that field.”

  She nodded. “Okay. Makes sense, I guess. Weren’t a lot of people out there anyway, so probably nobody saw us.”

>   “That’s the hope,” he replied vaguely. “I guess we’ll know for sure when Sheriff Browne either does, or on the other hand, doesn’t arrest us. Or if the Feds show up.”

  Bailey shot him a sour grimace. “Shut up, Gloomy Gus. We got away, and everything’s fine. I’m feeling better, even, so that big lug’s fist earlier must not have damaged anything internally. Besides, didn’t you say something about how the Feds only investigate interstate crime sprees or something?”

  “I did,” he acknowledged, “but they’re involved in other stuff, too. And I wasn’t necessarily talking about the FBI, you know. Remember what I said before about the guys who look into things that are a little too strange for most people?”

  She was silent for a moment while she digested his words. “Yeah, I remember. I’ve never seen them, though. Or even heard of them, except from you.”

  He smirked. “Well, there’s no source more reliable than me.”

  Bailey snorted. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Seriously, though,” he went on, “I’d be surprised if they haven’t been over Portland with a fine-toothed comb by now. Shapeshifted werewolves running alongside a busy street? Christ, I didn’t even know stuff like that happened in real life. Though judging by the attitude those three other guys today had, we must have made their organization pretty frickin’ angry.”

  Once again, Bailey grinned through her teeth. “Good.”

  Roland chose not to respond to that. He was probably torn between agreeing with her on an emotional level and wanting to face-palm on a logical, rational, pragmatic level. He got like that sometimes.

  She wasn’t worried about it for now. She didn’t want to talk to her brothers while she was still smoldering with half-murderous rage, though, so she made herself take a few deep breaths and thought about mudding, and the smell of the forest after it rained, and the taste of ice-cold beer. It calmed her down.

  The Nordin family lived near the edge of what could reasonably be called “town,” off a street that was pretty much the last thing before the hills and woods took over the landscape.

  They owned a solid acre, with a pole barn out back in addition to the house. It was a two-story faux-Victorian, not quite a farmhouse, but close enough for most people’s purposes. Though in decent repair, it was an old house. The Nordins had possessed it for generations.

  Bailey paused out front, noting the corner of the pole barn out back that was barely visible from the driveway. The small structure used to be the Tundra’s home, but for now, they were using it to hide Roland’s car.

  The wizard did have people looking for him, after all. Unpleasant people. He and Bailey had gotten rid of the three witches for a while, but sooner or later, they’d be back.

  They walked toward the porch. The front door opened and out stepped Jacob, the eldest of the three brothers, though Bailey was the oldest of the four siblings.

  He was just over a year younger than she, about six foot two, with a good strong build and a rugged if slightly scruffy look that had endeared him to half the local female population by the time he was seventeen. Now, at twenty-three, he was universally considered fair game.

  “Well,” he called, “looks like they didn’t burn you as a witch in Salem after all.”

  Roland raised his index finger. “Wizard.”

  Bailey snorted. “That’s the other Salem, dipshit. The one in, uh, Massachusetts, I think. Besides, that was a long time ago.”

  “Also,” Roland added, “I think they stuck to hanging and pressing, being English settlers and all. Burning was more of a Spanish, French, and German thing.”

  Jacob threw up his hands, incredulous. “Gods. I can’t even greet my big sister and her scrawny boyfriend without getting a fuckin’ history lesson. Anyway, come inside and tell us how the hell it went.”

  The three of them headed indoors, Jacob fetching beers from the fridge without needing to be asked as Bailey and Roland made for the living room. They sat down on the couch.

  Kurt and Russell were already there, the former sitting on the windowsill, the latter in a chair. The TV was on in the corner, with some crime show playing, though neither of them seemed to be paying much attention to it. Instead, they turned to the new arrivals.

  Kurt, by far the more loquacious of the two, spoke first. “Wait, who are you people again?” he inquired. “I feel like I used to see you around occasionally, but shit, it’s been a long time.”

  The youngest of the Nordins, he was slimmer and smoother-faced than Jacob, but otherwise remarkably similar-looking. In a couple more years, they’d barely be distinguishable from each other.

  Bailey kicked in his direction since she couldn’t be bothered to get up. “Shut up, Kurt. Pay closer attention next time, and you won’t have to ask stuff like that, like a kid wandering into the middle of a movie and wanting a plot recap.”

  Kurt shrugged. “Why do that when I can just look up the plot summary on my phone? Progress is a beautiful thing.”

  Russell turned to his sister. “Hi,” he said. That was all. At about six foot seven, he made Jacob and Kurt look average-sized at best, and he was the darkest-complected of the brothers. “Glad you’re okay.”

  “We are,” Roland offered. “Though the BMW that tried to run us off the road suffered a debilitating injury and is now being put out of its misery. Poor thing.”

  Russell glowered, and at once, the whole mood in the room turned grim. “Details,” he demanded.

  Jacob returned with their brews just then, distributing them as Bailey and Roland began to tell their story.

  They started by explaining their purpose in randomly taking off for Salem, which was really no purpose at all. They’d been bored, and neither of them had ever seen the town.

  “Why not check it out?” Roland posited, rhetorically. “It’s about the same distance as Portland. Slightly farther, maybe.”

  “And,” Bailey added, “we didn’t have any reason to suspect that those fuckers would be there. I guess we just assumed they didn’t go that far south.”

  Jacob briefly interrupted them. “’Those fuckers,’ meaning the guys who wanted to buy our girls?” His hands slowly clenched into fists.

  Bailey confirmed they were at least part of the same group or organization, if not the same individuals. An unpleasant gloom seemed to settle on the cozy room as, seemingly all at once, the five of them realized this meant their enemies could have people stationed all over the Pacific Northwest.

  Things lightened up as the couple detoured to talk about what they’d done in Salem—saw the state capitol building with its impressive gilded statue of the Oregon Pioneer, got some lunch at a damn good Mexican restaurant, wandered around—but they could tell that the brothers were impatient to get to the juicy stuff, Russell in particular.

  Finally, they relayed the chase through Salem’s eastern suburbs, followed by the detour into the countryside and the brawl in the field. Not to mention Bailey’s idea to steal their vehicle and have Gunney scrap it.

  Jacob shook his head. “Damn, Bailey, what did you get yourself into? A frickin’ war with the City-Were Mafia? I guess they couldn’t have picked a worse person to feud with since you’re no slouch in the ass-kicking department, but this might be more trouble than we need.”

  “Yeah, well,” Bailey grumbled, “wouldn’t have started if they and the South Cliffs hadn’t decided to move into the human-trafficking business.”

  “Hey,” Kurt said, “I heard it’s a profitable industry.”

  Jacob threw a pillow at him. “Shut up, Kurt. This shit isn’t funny.”

  Russell seethed. “They best not come here. I don’t think they’d be that stupid. But you never know with some people. They just have to see how far they can push something until it kills them.”

  Everyone sat for a moment in uncomfortable silence.

  Jacob broke it by standing up. “We’re just glad you’re back, Bailey. And you too, pretty boy. Just don’t go dragging her into trouble.”

 
Roland shrugged. “Usually, it’s her dragging me into it. And through it. Especially when it gets knee-deep.”

  The Nordin boys all chuckled at that, and Bailey couldn’t help basking in the hint of pride she saw on their faces.

  Jacob stretched. “Anyway, I think we ought to make some dinner. Dad’ll be back tomorrow, and supposedly he’s bringing back something special. Maybe venison, but we’re on our own ‘til then. Chili mac sound all right?”

  “Sure,” said Bailey.

  “Good,” Jacob replied. “We made the chili yesterday, but of course, we already ate most of it, and there’s not really enough for five people, so adding it to a few boxes of mac ‘n cheese ought to stretch it far enough. That okay with you, Roland?”

  He nodded. “No complaints here. I’m a fan of homemade chili, and I doubt there’s anyone who doesn’t like mac ‘n cheese, at least as a guilty pleasure.”

  Bailey looked at him, enjoying the sight of him. Somehow she’d assumed everyone from large cities was a hyper-fastidious vegetarian or organic foods fanatic, and she appreciated that the wizard wasn’t too picky of an eater.

  Though he did seem to mostly eat healthy stuff, which probably contributed to his trim figure and smooth skin.

  Before she could put a hand on his arm, a voice thundered through the walls from somewhere outside, shaking the very foundations of the house. Everyone, even Russell, practically jumped out of their boots.

  “You,” the voice boomed. Although it clearly belonged to a woman, it made even Russell’s deep and rumbling tones sound feeble by contrast. “I am here. Do not hide from me.”

  Bailey sprang to her feet, clutching the wizard’s arms and shoulder protectively. “Who the fuck is that?” she almost snarled. “Is it Shannon? Those whores are gonna learn the even-harder-way this time, if so.”

  Roland swallowed. “No. I don’t think so. But I have no goddamn idea who else it might be.”

  Russell and Kurt stood up too, and the voice stormed amidst them again. “You who know me! Come, for I stand behind your house. I am waiting! Come now.”