The Were Witch Complete Series Omnibus

by Renée Jaggér

  Bailey unbuckled herself and opened the car door. “Here we go again.”

  They were in a partially wooded zone without many buildings nearby, a dead space between residential neighborhoods. There didn’t appear to be anyone around who might have glimpsed them.

  Once more, two Weres in dark suits climbed out of the SUV. One of them was holding something, and Bailey’s spine went cold as she realized it was a handgun.

  Roland, strangely enough, almost giggled. “Oh, look, we’re off the beaten path. No witnesses.”

  He raised his hand and an odd buzzing sound split the air, then the gun flew out of the Were’s hand and stopped in midair just in front of the wizard.

  “Oh, shit,” the man muttered.

  Roland stepped forward. “Electromagnetism is a beautiful thing.” Then he cast a lightning bolt.

  The green blast of electricity took the gunman in the chest, and he toppled to the ground in agony as sparks flew and his muscles seized up. It stopped after a few seconds, but he seemed to be paralyzed.

  The other Were, enraged, charged at Roland in a blind animal rush of belligerence.

  Roland’s hand extended again, and this time his target simply flew back through the air, telekinetically blasted off his feet, to crash hard into the ground past the intersection before rolling down a hill out of sight.

  “Well,” Bailey whispered. She ran over to the guy who’d been electrocuted. He was still conscious, though messed up, so she planted her fist in the side of his face. His head fell back to the earth, and his eyes shut. She made sure the guy who had fallen down the hill was out too, then came back to the SUV.

  The wizard walked up beside her. “Sorry you didn’t get to do much this time,” he apologized, “but time was of the essence. Plus, you did all the driving.”

  “True that.” She cocked her head, hearing the keen of police vehicles bearing down on them.

  Young women and girls started to spill out of the vehicle. Again, there were four in the backseat, and another behind it, who they sprung quickly from the trunk after Bailey ripped through the lock.

  One of them was staring at Roland. “How did you do that?” she marveled. “Are you, like, a wizard?”

  “Yes,” he answered her, preening.

  Bailey snapped her fingers and caught the women’s attention. “You are gonna be okay now,” she assured them. “Just wait for the police and tell them everything. Uh, you know, except our license plate number and vehicle description. On that note, we gotta get out of here. Be careful.”

  They stared after her with a mixture of perplexity, admiration, and shock as she turned and hopped back into the Trans Am, Roland doing likewise. Again they hit the road just ahead of the endless sirens.

  “Well,” Bailey murmured, mentally reminding herself to keep her speed down now that the chase was over, “that was a rush. Might need an extra beer or two tonight, I’m thinking. What do you say?”

  She turned to Roland just long enough to flash him a triumphant grin. It occurred to her that she probably looked crazy or maybe dangerous, as dirty and bloody and ruffled as she was. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, exposing the tiredness and pain that had been lurking behind it.

  She felt strung out, and her appearance likely matched.

  “Eh,” Roland countered, “more like an extra six-pack of beer, or we could just split a bottle of vodka or something. Let’s get the hell away from Greater Seattle before we worry about that. It’s something to look forward to, though.”

  Bailey sighed in a warm, contented way. “Good. I was half-afraid you might oppose a plan like that. Beer is how you’re supposed to unwind after a fight.”

  “Three fights,” he corrected her, holding up the appropriate number of fingers.

  “Yeah, yeah, shut up.” Her grin faded to a small smile as her body continued to relax.

  Their situation was still precarious, though. “So,” she added, “you still casting that spell that makes us less, uh, obvious or visible or whatever to the cops?”

  He flourished a hand. “Of course. They’d probably have caught us two or three times by now if not. It’s not foolproof, though, so just keep driving. Don’t speed too much, but I’d rather be well past Olympia before we think about stopping anywhere.”

  “No problem, my friend,” said Bailey. She increased her speed by a couple of miles per hour, which wasn’t enough to draw the attention of any but the most fastidious and foul-tempered police officer. It would shave a few minutes off their journey home.

  Thinking of home, she remembered something else and slipped a hand into her pocket, drawing out her phone.

  Roland, watching, asked, “Want me to do the dialing so you can keep your eyes on the road? Now wouldn’t be a good time to accidentally swerve out of your lane. Just saying.”

  She was about to snap at him that she could handle it, but grudgingly, she slipped the phone to him. “Gunney.”

  He nodded, found the old man in her contacts list, and handed the phone back to her. When she raised it to her ear, it rang twice before a familiar voice opened with, “Hi, Bailey. Not dead, are you?”

  “Nope,” she proclaimed. “Sorry to disappoint you. Oh, the car’s fine also.”

  The mechanic very obviously sighed with relief. “Thank God for that. Both, actually. Things have mostly been quiet here, but let’s hear your, uh, report or whatever first.”

  “Sure thing.” She took a deep breath. “We did it. We saved all the girls in Seattle. Roland tracked them down, then we freed half of ‘em on the spot and the others after we ran down their shitty SUVs. The cops’ll be along to get the ladies sorted out any minute.”

  Gunney was speechless for a second or two, and she could picture him slowly shaking his head. “Damn, girl. You’ve been busy, obviously. Well, that’s great. Congrats on being a fucking hero again—and I mean that.”

  She beamed, wishing he were here so she could smash him into the biggest hug in the history of the Hearth Valley.

  “Although,” the older man added, “that doesn’t mean there’s some kind of APB out on my Trans Am, does it?”

  “Uh,” she responded, trying to think fast, “I don’t think so. Roland cast a spell that made us, you know, harder to notice and track down, and we politely asked those girls not to say what kind of car we were driving. I think they damn well owe us that much.”

  “Okay,” said Gunney. “Just get it, you, and Seattle Boy back in one piece, and we’ll call it good.”

  She suddenly flashed back to what he’d said about “no banging the wizard in the backseat” and tried not to blush, fearing that Roland would notice and ask what the matter was. She quickly moved to change the subject.

  “You said things were mostly quiet back home,” the girl elaborated. “Does that mean there’s nothing to report, or that there is, but you don’t feel like talking about it yet?”

  “Uh…” The man hemmed and hawed for a moment the way he sometimes did when he’d encountered a situation that didn’t suggest a clear course of action to him.

  For all her love for him, Bailey quickly found herself getting annoyed. “Come on, you old fart, you can tell me. All we’re doing right now is driving down the damn freeway, and I could use something to pass the time.”

  “So be it,” he responded, sounding defeated. “Some guy is looking for you.”

  Her gut tightened. She’d heard that phrase, or very similar phrases, before. In her experience, it was never a good thing.

  “What’s he want?” she asked immediately, her voice coming faster and sharper.

  “Well,” Gunney answered, sounding like he was searching for the right words, “he said he wanted to help you. I guess that’s why I wasn’t sure if I should mention it yet. The whole thing’s a little odd. Doesn’t seem like a bad guy, but it’s not something I ever would have expected.”

  Roland, listening in as usual, narrowed his eyes in concentration and leaned closer.

  “Help me with what?” Bai
ley queried. “Is he a Were? Where’s he from?”

  “I’m getting to that. You’re the one who said you had time to kill, so hold your damn horses,” he grumbled. “He is a Were, or claimed to be one, and looked like one. You folks tend to have a particular look I’m familiar with by now. He’s from one or two valleys away in the mountains, and he said he wants to help you with what you’re going through. Your abilities, something about how he knows what it’s like to be different.”

  Something deep in the pit of her stomach tingled. “Oh. Uh, shit. That’s not what I would have expected. Umm, well, I dunno. What do you think of the guy?”

  His voice was lower when he replied, “Not sure. He first came around late at night—just after you called before, in fact—and scared the shit out of me, truth be told. But once I talked to him, well, I don’t think he means you harm or anything. Still, I never seen or heard of him before, and you never know. So I told him I’d pass on the message and let you decide where to go from there.”

  “Hmm.” Once more, she felt like opposing emotions were playing tug-of-war with her insides. “Okay. I see. I’ll think it over, I guess. Anything else I should know?”

  “Yeah,” he went on. “His name’s Marcus. He didn’t tell me at the time, but he’s been around town, talking to people, introducing himself and asking about you. I suppose if he was here for the wrong reasons, he wouldn’t be doing that—letting everyone in Greenhearth know who he is—so there’s that. Think he might have gone to see your brothers, so make sure you talk to them, too.”

  She relaxed a little, hearing that bit. “Okay. Will do. Thanks, Gunney, and I’ll see you soon. I think we’ve about had enough adventuring for this week, so I’m heading home and bringing your baby with me. Oh, how’s the Tundra?”

  “Another day or two,” he said. “Come back to work, and maybe I’ll put you on the damn thing just to get it out of the way. See you soon.”

  “Bye.” She hung up.

  Roland inhaled. “So, not that I’m the eavesdropping type, but seeing as I’m trapped a few feet away from you and forgot to plug my ears—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Bailey shot back. “I’m sure you heard most of that. Some guy wants to help me with my newfound abilities. How the hell did he know? That’s what I’m wondering. Sounds like Gunney kinda sorta trusts him, though.”

  The wizard took a moment to think it over, tapping his lips with his forefinger. Then he retracted the finger and snapped it against his thumb. “He might be a shaman,” he offered, sounding both amused and excited.

  “What? Seriously?” For some reason, that hadn’t occurred to her.

  “It’s possible,” he explained. “Some types of magic users can sense when others with similar abilities are nearby or have activated their powers. Maybe he had a similar sensation. Of course, that’s conjecture. Meeting him in person is the only way to be sure.”

  Bailey blinked as the ramifications set in. “Shit. I guess so.”

  “Yup.” Roland smiled. “And if that’s the case, we’re in luck. Finally. For once. On the double, woman. We need to get you home.”

  She turned to glare at him. “You wanna do the driving for once? Be my guest. Or shut up. Your choice.”

  * * *

  Townsend spread his hands, looking cool and authoritative as he explained to the good people of Seattle exactly what they’d just witnessed.

  “The drug traffickers from Oregon have been getting increasingly reckless in their turf wars with local Washington gangs,” he stated, “but the offenders in these particular cases have now been apprehended, meaning that you can expect things to be safe and quiet once more.”

  He'd meant to say in this particular case, singular but had slipped up. They’d already done this once today for the first of the two black SUVs. Now, dealing with the witnesses to the chase involving the second, a sense of pointless repetitiousness had dulled his cognition.

  Spall, standing beside him, nodded and looked at the crowd—ten people in all, mostly those who’d witnessed the tail end of the chase and thought they’d seen weird flashing lights and a guy flying through the air after the two vehicles stopped.

  “Furthermore,” the other agent added, “the high-speed chase between the traffickers almost spilled over into a situation involving a small film crew who were shooting a movie scene, with some on-site special effects being employed to reduce the costs of adding everything in digitally after the fact.”

  A grim-faced woman near the front looked skeptical. “What? Are you frickin’ kidding me? There weren’t no damn wires pulling that guy! Something launched his ass through the air like he’d been shot out of a cannon!”

  She planted her fists on her hips and glared at the two dark-suited government officials.

  Townsend and Spall were unfazed.

  “Ma’am,” the former began, “there have been many impressive developments in special effects technology in recent years. Even we at the federal government are likely behind the curve when it comes to what Hollywood has come up with.”

  “Yes,” Spall concurred. “Extremely cutting-edge. Fortunately, we checked with the city, and the filmmakers in question had a permit. All is well.”

  The woman scoffed and snorted, but the other people looked halfway satisfied.

  An old, overweight man in a pink sweater shrugged. “So be it, I guess. As long as you guys have the situation under control and there’s no danger.”

  The agents reassured them that everything would be perfectly fine.

  “Now,” Townsend announced, “there’s one more thing we need you all to do, and it will only take a couple more minutes. Then you’ll be free to go.”

  Spall nodded. “Very easy.”

  He’d brought a black shoulder satchel with him out of their car, and now he reached into it and produced a clipboard, which he held aloft where everyone could see it.

  “On this clipboard,” he elaborated, “we need each of you to write down a brief description of what you saw, or what you think you saw. Be honest; this is only for record-keeping purposes.”

  It was Townsend’s turn to nod and back his partner up. “Taking down your statements, essentially. CYA stuff in case the department needs to review the case, which is highly unlikely.”

  He didn’t bother to specify which department he was referring to.

  The normies seemed mildly annoyed at having to perform the task, but they obeyed, each of them in turn holding the clipboard and looking down at it as they wrote. This put their faces in clear sight of the tiny camera embedded in the clip at the top.

  Once they’d all written down their observations, Spall took the board back. “Thank you for your cooperation,” he stated in a monotone. Then he held up the clipboard with the camera facing the small crowd. “One more thing.”

  As he depressed a small button within the clip mechanism, the camera emitted a brief yet surprisingly bright flash.

  While the normies were distracted, Townsend made his move. A slender tube shot out from its concealment up his sleeve and he aimed it at the cluster of citizens, spraying them with a cloud of white gas. It struck them in the faces but dissipated after only a couple of seconds.

  Some of them staggered back, but then all just stood there, blinking in confusion, mouths slack. It looked like they were having trouble remembering what was going on.

  “As we said,” Townsend repeated, “the drug traffickers responsible for the recent incidents have been apprehended, and the film crew whose on-site movie shoot was responsible for the strange phenomena have been checked out. They had a permit.”

  “Yes,” Spall said. “Exactly. All is well; fear not.”

  With their short-term memories functionally erased, the folks of the town shuffled off, like people just waking from a deep slumber, and did not pester the agents with further questions. Even the skeptical grim-faced woman gave them no more trouble.

  They turned, their movements in almost mechanical synchronization, and walked back to their
rather distinctive Le Sabre.

  Townsend snorted. “Well, that’s over. That woman with the grim face who argued with us was my least favorite of the day.”

  “Affirmative,” said Spall as they climbed into the car. “There’s one like her in every group, I swear. It’s amazing, though, how the flash distracts even her type.”

  His partner chuckled and strapped himself into his seat. “One of these days, it would almost be funny if the gas failed to work on one of them, just so we could gauge their reaction to the flash. They’d probably assume that was what had wiped everyone else’s memory.”

  Spall gave a sour smile as he started the engine. “Probably. Blame Hollywood. Men in Black was both a blessing and a curse. Made it harder to do our job, but at least it gave the boys in R&D the idea for the flashy thingy.”

  “Yes.” Townsend adjusted his tie.

  They pulled back onto the freeway, content to let the fuzz deal with the aftermath now that no one would be telling wild stories about supernatural events. Metropolitan Seattle was safe for now.

  Nonetheless, Townsend let out a ragged sigh. “We’re going to have to keep doing this five times a day if that girl keeps up her antics.”

  Spall increased his speed as they headed south toward Oregon. “Highly probable. Even if she’s not the bad guy in this situation, she’s the biggest trouble-magnet we’ve seen since… Hmm.”

  “Since that disturbingly flamboyant lich,” Townsend suggested, “back in 2006. Remember that creature?”

  “Unfortunately,” Spall retorted, “yes.”

  Simultaneously, both men shook their heads and gazed out the windshield at the road before them.

  * * *

  Just west of the Greenhearth town limits, there was an unobtrusive little dirt road leading off the highway and into the wooded slopes to the north. Only a few people lived out that way, and a large group of people had gathered on a muddy lot beside an abandoned barn.

  The ones from other towns had come via a small convoy of trucks. Some had come on foot. Including, it seemed, the man who had convened them.