The Were Witch Complete Series Omnibus

by Renée Jaggér

  As if reading her thoughts, Roland half-turned his head and whispered, “If there are any guards, they’re probably inside. Draws less attention to the place that way. Also makes a bigger target for homeless people to hang out, but they might have put the word out on the street by now to scare them off.”

  Bailey shrugged. They’d find out soon enough.

  Adrenaline rose in both of them as they sneaked closer to the closest of the structures. They kept a low profile: darted from tree to tree, stepped softly, and tried to stay out of the field of vision of anyone who might be lurking behind the windows. Nothing happened as they found themselves pressed against the side wall of the first warehouse.

  “So,” Bailey inquired, in the softest voice she could manage, “magically open the lock on the rear or side door again, sneak in, poke around, beat the hell out of people if we have to? I don’t smell anything, but that isn’t proof.”

  “Sure,” said Roland. “I have yet to come up with a better plan, and you’re pretty good at beating people up.”

  She nodded. “Thanks.”

  Unfortunately, the door they found was in the back and put them within sight of the warehouse just behind them. Bailey didn’t see anyone staring at them, though, and it only took Roland a few seconds to sorcerously spring the lock and gain them access.

  They stepped into dim brown darkness, inhaling the musty smell of dirt, mold, damp cardboard, and old wood.

  Bailey closed the door. “Not this one. It’s never the first one, is it?”

  “Usually not,” the wizard agreed. “Let’s do a cursory check, though, in case they’re hiding some of the women in here specifically because they assumed no one would search too hard after they got a look at this place.”

  They skulked through the piles of junk, lifting sheets and peering into crates but not really expecting to find anything. They were not disappointed.

  “Next,” Roland grumbled. Wordlessly, they left the storage space behind them and moved on to the warehouse just to its right.

  Bailey suggested as they moved toward the door, “Isn’t there some way you can narrow it down with magic?” She still didn’t smell any trace of their quarry.

  The wizard replied, “Maybe. Let’s peek in here first.”

  It turned out to be even more densely packed with random crap, but not with werewolves, whether the stolen girls or their kidnappers.

  “It’s funny,” Bailey commented. “I’m starting to think it’s déjà vu all over again. Like, ‘Wait, didn’t I have déjà vu about something like this before?’”

  Roland flicked his eyes toward her, his mouth puckering in an odd way. “That is kind of funny. And I hope you’re right, since last time we did this we won, succeeded, kicked ass, and so forth. There’s a chance they learned from what happened in Portland and have changed their methods.”

  Bailey grunted in acknowledgment. Their one ace in the hole, she figured, was that the Were cartel probably had no idea she and the wizard were in the city right now.

  Probably.

  Just ahead of her, Roland paused, flattening himself against the side of a metal storage rack and looking at the city map, holding it in a shaft of pale, dusty sunlight that slipped in at an angle through one of the narrow windows.

  Fixating on the section of town where they now stood, he slowly and carefully ripped out that piece, discarding the rest of the map and standing there, examining it.

  She nudged him. “What are you doing? Some magical shit you haven’t bothered to explain to me yet?”

  “Of course,” he whispered back. “You know, just like you said I ought to five minutes ago. The handy green lights faded long ago, but there should still be some residual power in this thing. I’m going to see if I can magnify it and narrow things down. The spell was a new thing for me, like I said, so anything’s possible.”

  Bailey crossed her arms and waited, wishing they were relying on a spell he knew to be effective. But they’d have to make do with what they had.

  Concentrating and holding out three fingers, Roland made a faint humming sound in his throat. It seemed the surface of the scrap of map turned hazy, and for a few seconds, she thought she could see the emerald lights again, swelling and reconfiguring themselves.

  Roland opened his eyes. “It worked,” he murmured. “Mostly. Out of eighteen total warehouses in two rows of nine, they’re concentrated in three in the center—two in the back row, one in the front.” He paused then, running his tongue around his teeth.

  “Well,” Bailey responded, “that makes the job easier, doesn’t it?”

  “Again, mostly,” he conceded. “But it also means that if we make any noise in one, any of our friends in the brown suits who might be around will hear it and won’t have far to run to find us.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Yeah, that sucks, but we’re doing this shit anyway. We did it last time, and we can do it again. No matter what.”

  “So be it.” He sighed, double-checking the map scrap and then stuffing it back into his pocket. “It’s always something, I swear.”

  * * *

  The little room lay in the extreme rear corner of the basement of the Seattle Police Department’s least busy and most obscure precinct. Agents Townsend and Spall had chosen it well. No one would disturb them during the interrogation.

  “We,” Shannon DiGrezza protested, “have a right to know why you’re detaining us and what the meaning of this fucking bullshit is.” Some of her spunk had come back now that it was fairly clear that the agents weren’t going to liquefy her. At least, not unless she did anything really obnoxious.

  Caldoria McCluskey was still shaken, but her inherently boisterous nature was seeking a release. She glanced nervously at her friend, sitting just to her right, and then glared at the two well-dressed men. “Yeah!” she echoed. “We have rights! You guys are a bunch of power-abusing, goose-stepping, unjust fucking—”

  “Silence,” Townsend commanded, his voice gentle but firm, holding up the flat palm of his hand.

  Both witches shut up. It looked like McCluskey was biting her tongue.

  Townsend wondered how Aida Nassirian would have reacted if she had been here, but she wasn’t. Instead, she was either unconscious or semi-conscious, thanks to tons of painkillers, and languishing in a hospital bed at a facility a few miles away.

  Spall picked up where Townsend had left off before DiGrezza had rudely interrupted him.

  “We know,” he began, “that you three have been pursuing this man, Roland, for quite some time now, and that you clearly want something from him. Something other than simple vengeance of the permanent variety, since you refrained from killing him when you had the chance.”

  Townsend jumped back in. “And that was good judgment on your part, ladies. Money, family connections, and magic would not protect you from us, or from the law if you’d been stupid enough to stoop to homicide.”

  The sorceresses glared at him. They were obviously smoldering with resentment but said nothing for now.

  “So,” Spall went on, “what we want to know is this. What are you after him for? Why did you drive all the way to that little town in the Cascades to pursue him? Why did you tear up a third of Portland in a car chase just over a week ago to try to get to him? Why did you get involved in a brawl just last night, using very obvious and visually impressive magic?”

  Townsend nodded, keeping his eyes, still covered by dark lenses, on the two women. “Yes. Answer that question, and maybe you’ll get out of this in one piece, and without extremely nasty blotches on your reputation. Like a criminal record, for example, or large amounts of negative media coverage. You girls don’t strike me as being the types who’d want that.”

  Observing the pair, Townsend could almost see the thoughts churning in their dense, albeit pretty, little skulls. McCluskey was still fighting without expecting to win—raging, complaining, whining, and thinking of deals to make with the powers that be to change the reality of their current situation.


  With DiGrezza, on the other hand, a larger degree of intelligence was involved. She went through a brief cycle not unlike the Five Stages of Grief in psychology, fast-forwarded through the worthless first four to begrudgingly arrive at the final stage: acceptance.

  The fuchsia-haired witch sighed and bowed her head in defeat, probably already deep into a line of live-to-fight-another-day-type reasoning.

  “Fine,” she mumbled. “If you must know, we want to marry him.”

  The two agents exchanged the briefest of glances. Then Spall responded, “Both of you? All three of you? As far as I’m aware, polygamy is illegal in every state in the Union. Are you admitting to conspiracy to commit a crime, ma’am?”

  DiGrezza was now visibly grinding her teeth while avoiding eye contact. She held off on speaking, probably to avoid blurting some unwise remark before she cooled off.

  McCluskey, on the other hand, piped up, “Oh, shut up! We were going to share him if we had to. It’s not that fucking hard to understand!”

  Townsend gave them a quizzical look, nodding in a way that was less indicative of understanding than confusion.

  “So,” he said, “you were going to, what—form a corporation, and then use legal corporate personhood to marry him collectively?”

  McCluskey looked like she was trying to kill him with her eyes. “No, you fucking moron! Shannon was going to marry him, and then she was going to loan him to us! Christ, I can’t believe you’re having trouble—”

  “Callie!” Shannon snapped, turning to her friend. “Shut up.” She pivoted her head back toward the agents. “But yes. That’s the gist of it.”

  Spall pretended to still not comprehend. “Loan him for…”

  DiGrezza turned her eyes to the side. “Do you want us to draw you a diagram? Spell it out in a step-by-step procedure?” she jeered. “We want his…seed. We want to have his children, even if he’s an imbecile who doesn’t have a firm grasp on reality. He has the highest magical potential of any male witch in decades. With him, we could sire a lineage that would end up dominating the entire arcane community within twenty years.”

  Having finally admitted her motivation, she let out a huffy sort of sigh and hunched over, embarrassed, not so much for her actions, but for having to explain them to people she regarded as her inferiors.

  Townsend looked at Spall. Predictably, the other agent looked back. Then both turned their steady gaze toward the witches.

  “’His seed,’” Townsend repeated. “Ladies, are you lying to us?” His tone was icy-cold.

  DiGrezza sucked air between her teeth. “No,” she stated flatly and refused to say any more.

  McCluskey couldn’t take it anymore. “Don’t you guys know anything?” she blurted. “Magical ability is usually hereditary, and we value strength in our culture. It makes perfect sense, okay? Plus, he’s hot. Jesus, it’s like you’re developmentally disabled or something. Is this how they’re spending our tax dollars? On you guys’ suits? I—”

  Townsend held up his hand again, and the girl bit down on the rest of her rant.

  Then the two agents stood, silent for a moment before both of them cracked up.

  “Oh, my God,” Townsend gasped between snorts of laughter. “That is rich. Truly rich.”

  Spall chortled. “You used the word ‘seed’ for fuck’s sake. Holy shit!”

  DiGrezza was just as mad as she’d been moments ago, as mad as her less-restrained friend.

  “Goddammit!” she raged. “It’s a legitimate concern for people who come from quality families with real abilities. People who aren’t just…ugh, normies. We’re supposed to marry a man who will improve things for our lineage, all right? Do you think this is the plot of a fucking porno or something? It’s traditional, aristocratic stuff.”

  Townsend wiped away a tear and looked at the floor. “Sure,” he agreed. “’Traditional.’ Okay, then. I think we believe you.”

  “I do,” added Spall, “since no one would make up something so ridiculous as their cover story. Of course, that still leaves the question of all the laws you’ve broken in your pursuit of his precious seed—ha—but we can discuss that later. We are also wondering how you will persuade him to go with you, since he’s declined rather forcefully several times.”

  Shannon remained silent, and Callie just smirked.

  Spall inclined his head toward his partner, and Townsend picked up where he’d left off. “We need to discuss things and perhaps call in a few favors from on high. Maybe, just maybe, you ladies will get out of here without being buried in an avalanche of criminal charges.”

  Spall gave them a small, curdled smile. “Try to relax in the meantime. Make yourselves comfortable.”

  He and Townsend left the room, shutting and locking the door behind them and leaving the witches to languish in their folding metal chairs at the table in what was otherwise a bare, uninviting little room.

  The two men took long strides down a short stretch of hallway, then turned a corner to sequester themselves in a dark dead end. Once they were alone, they again lost control.

  “Jesus,” Townsend guffawed, clutching his belly as his sides heaved, “those bitches are something else. Good shit.”

  Spall kept trying to catch his breath but failing. “Oh, man. ‘Seed!’ I can’t get over that bit. It’s a shame we can’t tell every fucking person in Seattle about this.”

  They laughed wordlessly for another minute or so before regaining their composure, straightening themselves out, and glancing back down the short hall to make sure no one had heard them and come to investigate.

  Townsend cleared his throat. “But yeah. Almost makes me want to trade places with that Roland idiot. Those girls aren’t bad-looking.”

  “Horrible personalities.” Spall chuckled. “But nice enough to look at. Too bad we don’t have magical seed.” He raised a fist to his mouth and looked aside, tightening his gut and doing all in his power not to crack up once more.

  His partner shrugged his jacket into a more comfortable position on his shoulders and cleared his throat. “I’m wondering if we ought to arrest him—Roland, I mean—in advance, because any guy who would flee from that opportunity has got to be cracked in the head. Or gay, but somehow I don’t think so, given how close he’s gotten to our wolf-girl.”

  “Who knows?” Spall replied. “He’s an odd duck, but we’re dealing with an entire community of people where normality doesn’t exist. I’m starting to wonder if everyone associated with the paranormal is cracked in the head. Including us.”

  Townsend smiled, glad his job permitted him some entertainment, even if he’d have to get back to serious business within the next few moments.

  “Could well be,” he agreed. “Could well be.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Now that they’d narrowed it down to three warehouses, Bailey could smell the Weres, and they could detect the traces of activity. Relaxed yet heavy footsteps periodically made the rounds of the first of the three structures.

  The werewolf heard the sound before the wizard, and she dropped to the ground almost at once, pulling Roland down with her. Then they crawled on hands and knees across the grass toward the base of the building.

  “A guard, I’d guess,” Bailey whispered. “Nothing’s ever easy.”

  Roland nodded morosely. “That’s an accurate assessment. Both of the things you just said, I mean. Anyway, since they probably have the girls tied up and helpless, I propose we don’t go in guns a-blazing. It might endanger them.”

  Bailey had to agree. “Okay.”

  She was about to motion him toward the rear of the warehouse, but narrowed her eyes and frowned.

  “Hey, now, wait a minute,” she remarked. “We tried to do this the stealthy way last time. In fact, it almost worked. Come to think of it, it was your idea to call in your ex-girlfriends and use them as a distraction. Don’t make it sound like things only turned into a brawl because of me.”

  He turned to her, blinking in confusion. “Yes
, I know. I was just saying that of our available courses of action, one would work better than the other. That’s it. Oh, and they’re not my ex-girlfriends.”

  The wizard crept toward the back corner, Bailey following just behind his elbow.

  She didn’t think the discussion was over, though, and decided to make sure they understood one another.

  “Well, if that’s the case, why the hell did you have Shannon’s number in your phone? Hmm?”

  Roland sighed. “Because she tracked my number down and started sending me longwinded, rant-y text messages a while ago, so logically I saved her number to block it in case I got a new phone—which I should have done—and she tracked that one down too.”

  Bailey grunted vaguely. “Okay, fine, whatever. Let’s get the job done here.”

  “Yes,” said Roland. “Let’s get back to what we were doing a minute ago before you started with the soap-opera stuff.”

  Bailey’s jaw dropped. “Soap opera? What makes you think—”

  “Shhh,” he warned.

  She curled her lips inward and tightened her jaw muscles. He was right, but she’d make him pay for that little remark later when it was safer for everyone.

  According to Roland, the other two occupied warehouses were both to the west of this one, which made it less likely they’d be seen from the back door than if one had been right behind. Again, he was able to magically open the lock in seconds.

  They slipped in and shut the door behind them. In contrast to the first building they’d explored, the difference here was immediately obvious to Bailey. She wondered if it might even have been apparent to the wizard.

  The smell: acrid sweat and what might have been urine. Bailey cringed at the odor. There were definitely people in here.

  It took only a moment of creeping past mostly empty shelves before they saw the cages. Just like in Portland, the kidnappers had employed large enclosures with metal bars, the kind used to hold large livestock or animals bound for a circus or zoo.