The Were Witch Complete Series Omnibus

by Renée Jaggér

  The power surged through Bailey, exciting and terrifying at the same time. She didn’t want to stop.

  Roland looked at her. “Cut it off,” he shouted. “You did it. We’re done now, okay?”

  She didn’t know how to stop.

  “Enough!” Marcus bellowed again, and with a strenuous motion, he leaned into the blazing stream, flexing his powerful hands and arms.

  The bolt winked out, but an explosion of sparks erupted just in front of Bailey’s hands. Her muscles seized painfully up and she fell back as if pushed, legs kicking out as she landed on her ass.

  Roland blew out his breath. “Okay, that was close.”

  Again, he helped the girl up, and again she needed a moment to recover, her mind turning over what had happened as the shaman sauntered up to them.

  Marcus stopped and rubbed his broad, stubbled jaw. “You are like a broken faucet,” he observed—not being malicious or overly critical, rather, stating the facts as he saw them. “Behind you lies a tremendous reservoir of power, but it flows, even spills out, uncontrolled, random, and dangerous, with no way of adjusting the intensity.”

  That was exactly what Bailey had been afraid of hearing, but she supposed it was better for her new teacher to give her the straight, hard facts. Sugarcoating the truth would only make it less clear. She put her hands on her hips and held the older man’s gaze, waiting for his next advice.

  He continued, “You do not know how to shut the tap off while power is shooting out. And it’s not a steady flow, either, more like massive, erratic spurts. That is dangerous. To others, yes, but also to yourself.”

  His eyes widened slightly. “Bailey, understand that if I’m brutally honest with you, it’s only because I know of no other way to be honest. You must grasp what’s at stake. For now, I can help ensure that you have time to improve, but if you can’t get your powers under willful control, they might kill you.”

  She tried not to show any reaction that might make her look weak, hurt, indignant, frustrated, or despondent. She mostly succeeded by staring ahead and nodding gravely.

  And yet, somehow, Bailey felt like a weight was bearing upon her head from above. Bowing it down. Making her shoulders slump. Marcus probably noticed.

  If he did, though, he gave no indication. The older Were extended a hand, gesturing for them to pile into Bailey’s truck and return to the comfort of the Nordin family’s house. There was no need to speak. It had been a long day for all three of them.

  Perhaps because they were tired, even the two Weres, with their keen senses, did not see the tiny drone hidden between the branches of a distant tree on a slope above them, its camera watching their every move.

  Nor did they perceive the two men watching them remotely from two ridges deeper into the mountains, who now stood up and headed for their car.

  * * *

  Bailey and Roland had dropped Marcus off in the woods on the edge of town. He hadn’t said where he was staying, and had insisted on walking back. Weird though it was, they hadn’t protested. Bailey suspected that the man was sleeping in the forest.

  Soon they were back at the Nordin house, an aging but reasonably well-maintained two-story farmhouse near the back corner of the town’s northwesternmost neighborhood. Bailey parked her black Toyota Tundra out front, and Jacob, the eldest of her three younger brothers, opened the door to greet them almost as soon as they stepped out of the vehicle.

  “Hi,” he called. “Good timing. Dinner’s in half an hour, so you won’t have to wait long, but we got time to talk also.”

  Bailey smiled. “Nice.”

  Deep down, though, she felt cold and alone right now, and a million thoughts fought for space inside her head. She knew Marcus was right, but his words stung her. She had no idea yet how she could act on them and discipline her powers.

  I’m a danger to everyone around me, she thought, trying not to let that notion overwhelm her as she and Roland climbed the porch and entered the house. Beside her, the wizard was quiet.

  I could end up accidentally suicide-bombing myself, my brothers, Roland, and maybe the whole town. It’s something to do with the rush of using magic. I need to be able to clamp down on that, not just give in to it.

  Her other two brothers appeared from the living room. Kurt, the youngest, looked similar to Jacob, though slimmer and more youthful-faced, although both were tall and well-built. Russell, the middle brother, was even taller, and dark and glowering. She was glad her dad had left again. He would have been too much to face right now.

  “So,” Kurt asked, smirking, “how did things go with the big creepy hairy guy?”

  Bailey narrowed her eyes. “He’s not creepy, he’s wise. And he taught us both a lot. I think with him around, I’m finally going to get hold of things.”

  Kurt shrugged.

  “Well,” said Jacob, “he didn’t seem like a bad guy, even if he is eccentric. Just be careful, though, especially if magic is involved.”

  They all sat down then, and the conversation turned to mundane things—the weather, gossip at Gunney’s auto shop, and so forth.

  After about five minutes, Bailey perked up, blinking and turning her head toward the front door. She caught sight of Jacob, who was doing the exact same thing. They’d heard it simultaneously.

  Footsteps mounting the porch. A couple of seconds later, three heavy knocks sounded on the door.

  Jacob squinted. “Who the hell? Better not be Freyja again, that’s all I’ll say.”

  “Nah,” Kurt quipped, “she’s not the knocking type.”

  Bailey and Roland were already on their feet. Though not exactly frightened, there was an undercurrent of unease that flowed freely amongst them. If someone were approaching the house, they should have heard it sooner than now.

  Bailey raised a hand to stay her brothers. “Just let us look. We’ll be fine.”

  She and the wizard stood before the door and looked through the peephole. Standing on the porch were two men in identical dark suits and even darker glasses.

  Roland’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, hell. Well, I suppose it was only a matter of time. The men in black, or whatever you want to call them. They probably want to offer us a stern warning or something.”

  Frowning, Bailey opened the door. “Can I help you?” she asked, politely but hard-edged.

  The two men, who were nondescript and almost looked like twins, nodded at the same time.

  “Yes,” said the one on the left. “I’m Special Agent Townsend.”

  The one on the right spoke next. “Special Agent Spall. And you’re Bailey Nordin.”

  She decided there was no point in trying to lie to them. “Yeah, correct. What do you want?”

  Both agents smiled in a forced, unpleasant way.

  “To talk,” stated Townsend. “About what you’ve been up to. And what courses of action you should be taking next.”

  Spall gave a nod. “We know everything. We’ve been following you ever since Portland.”

  Roland rubbed his eyes. “I believe it. Thing is, if you guys know everything, then you know that we weren’t the ones who started the recent messes.”

  Townsend frowned. “That may be, but we’re the ones who have to keep cleaning them up.”

  Bailey remarked, “Well, at least you get paid for it. Probably a nice retirement package, too—government work and all.”

  Spall ignored her. “The work we do is as much for your benefit as anyone else’s. By keeping a lid on supernatural activity throughout the United States, we’re protecting you and your kind from retaliation by normal concerned citizens.”

  Bailey considered that. Roland had mentioned these guys to her before and had been surprised that she’d never encountered them. With everything that had happened lately, their presence here had been inevitable.

  “I suppose you’ve got a point there,” she conceded.

  “If,” Townsend went on, “you absolutely need to blow something or someone up, or create a giant fireworks show, or do stu
ff that makes weird noises that can be heard two counties away, or do anything of the sort, that draws too much attention, please take it up to Canada.”

  Spall nodded. “The Canucks never have enough trouble, it seems, while we always have too much. They could probably benefit from added excitement, and you’d have more elbow room. Thousands of square miles of uninhabited forests to run amok in. Might be just the place for you, as long as you don’t mind a little cold weather.”

  Bailey laughed, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning on her left leg. “Canada, eh?”

  “There,” said Townsend. “You’re getting the hang of it already.” He did not smile.

  Spall agreed. “You’ll fit right in. Just remember to apologize for everything you do. Let us know when you’re leaving.”

  The girl shook her head. “I’m not leaving. Not anytime soon. I’ll take what you said under advisement, though, in case I ever need a Plan B. Does seem like America’s getting more dangerous all the time.”

  Despite her flippant attitude, her abdominal muscles had tightened, and a faint coldness was spreading down her neck and back. The two men were, in a way, threatening her with exile. She wondered if things had become that serious.

  Roland stepped up beside her.

  “So,” he began, gesturing with flattened hands in karate chop motions as if explaining job duties to a green teenage employee, “what she just said is a hard no. This is her hometown, and she’s never known anywhere else, aside from our brief visits to Portland and Seattle. Unless someone is forcing her to leave, I imagine she’d like to stay. If there’s going to be trouble, it’s going to happen right here on Bailey’s home turf.”

  She tried not to emote in response, but her face was probably showing a hint of satisfaction. Roland had stood up for her against people who most likely had the power to ruin his life for it.

  The two agents simply stared at them for a moment. Then they turned their heads toward one another, exchanging glances before sighing in nearly perfect unison. The tone of exasperated resignation was obvious.

  As usual, Townsend spoke first. “Technically,” he began, his voice a note or two lower than it had been prior, “we can’t do much to you, or force you to do anything—yet. All of your actions, ill-advised and obnoxious as they’ve been, have, so far, been in self-defense.”

  “It’s true,” Spall affirmed. “The people you keep having problems with are the bigger problem. You could have been a lot smarter about all this than you have been, though. Smarter and more discreet. And you may yet get your opportunity to handle things more diplomatically.”

  Bailey narrowed her eyes. “What the hell does that mean?”

  The agents cleared their throats.

  “The witches,” said Townsend, “we detained in Seattle have escaped. Don’t even think of claiming you don’t know who we’re talking about. The ones with the cute schoolgirl crushes on your boy Roland here.” He nodded toward the wizard and cracked his knuckles.

  Spall continued where his partner had left off. “They wouldn’t have escaped if we had been there to oversee their detainment, but we kept having to rush off to observe your activities. Congratulations. Now they’re probably out for revenge—against you.”

  Bailey’s jaw muscles clenched. It was bad enough that the two G-men were being pushy, but thinking about Shannon, Aida, and Caldoria coming after her and Roland again made her downright furious.

  She held up her right hand, index finger extended skyward before the agents could say any more.

  “If,” she stated, upping the volume of her voice by a good twenty decibels, “those bitches show up on our doorstep again, we’ll deal with them however we have to. They’re welcome to try getting revenge on me or taking Roland away with them. Hell, or burning the goddamn town down if that’s what they have in mind. They’re just gonna end up getting their asses handed to them again. That’s a promise.”

  The agents each raised one eyebrow—Townsend the left, Spall the right.

  The first one responded, “That’s about what we expected you to say. Just, please, make sure you stop and think before you act if they show up.”

  Spall adjusted his tie. “And don’t come crying to us if the regular authorities start breathing down your neck. Our business is in keeping things quiet enough that doesn’t have to happen. We’re not on anyone’s side. If you can’t restrain yourself, there’s nothing we can do for you.”

  Bailey just gazed at them steadily.

  Roland flashed them a smile. “Noted. Thanks for all your help thus far, I guess.”

  For a second, it looked like the agents were about to leave, but then both their faces almost twitched, as though they had suddenly remembered something.

  “Oh,” Townsend commented, “one more thing. It’s kind of important, so pay attention.”

  Since they’d already overstayed their welcome as far as Bailey was concerned, she hoped that whatever else they had to say would be over with quickly.

  The agent on the left continued rather than allowing Spall to pick up for him.

  “We track a great deal of supernatural, preternatural, or paranormal activity worldwide,” he elaborated. “You are a focus of our attention in this region, but there’s lots of other shit going on out there. We keep an eye on all of it. One of the most interesting things to happen lately involves a group you’ve probably never heard of—the Venatori.”

  Roland suddenly made an “mmm” sound in his throat that rose and then fell in inflection, as though he’d almost burst out with a surprised reaction and then swallowed it, turning it into a groan at the same time.

  It wasn’t something that instilled confidence. Bailey just hoped that Roland had a contingency plan for whatever it was that had dismayed him.

  Spall explained, “They’re an ’order,’ you might say, or maybe ‘cult’ would be a better term. Fanatical religious zealots who are witches, and their religion is witchcraft, or at least their view of how it should be practiced. They’re based in the European Union, and they have substantial political power, as well as deep finances and lots of connections. Not to mention magic, of course.”

  Townsend rubbed his nose with his thumb. “Most of them left their headquarters in France recently. The whereabouts of their leaders are currently unknown. However, several of their mid-level agents entered the United States via Quebec three days ago. We don’t know what their purpose is yet. At least, we don’t know for certain.”

  He paused, and Spall picked up where he’d left off.

  “We snooped on a few conversations and connected a few dots,” the other agent embellished. “Lots of vagaries and code words, idle chatter designed to throw off anyone who might be listening, which was to be expected. But we’re not morons. Our best guess is that they’ve developed an interest in a twenty-four-year-old woman from Oregon, referred to as simply ‘B’ whenever she came up. Does that sound like anyone you know?”

  The agents were apparently enjoying the revelation of this info. They probably figured Bailey deserved to hear this and get stressed out and afraid after all the trouble she’d caused the two of them.

  Then again, it sounded like the Venatori might be able to cause far more trouble than she ever could.

  But what really worried Bailey was Roland. He’d shed his usual demeanor of casual cockiness, and his still-healing injuries now made him look vulnerable and shaken. She wished the agents would go away so she could ask him about it, rather than having to listen to their blather.

  Townsend had one more tidbit to offer. “Incidentally, they also mentioned a twenty-eight-year-old man from Seattle referred to as ‘R,’ but he didn’t come up nearly as often as B did. I’m sure the two of you are intelligent enough to reach the same conclusions we have come to, especially given the recent manifestation of power from the young lady here.”

  Roland inhaled. “Thank you, sirs, for that extremely useful information.” He was trying to be sarcastic, but his voice quavered.

 
“We will take everything you’ve said into consideration. Now, if you have nothing else to say, we’d like to have a cup of coffee, and as you said, make plans to deal with things the smart way.”

  Both agents snorted.

  “As you wish,” said Spall. “Good luck. I’m sure we’ll see each other again before long.”

  Their movements synced to an uncanny degree, the two men pivoted and marched toward their black car. They did not look back, although Bailey thought she could faintly hear them muttering as they climbed into the vehicle and started the engine.

  Jacob closed the door. “Fuck,” he breathed. His eyes rose toward his sister. “Bailey, what the hell have you stepped in now?”

  His eyes met hers, then everyone looked at Roland.

  The wizard pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s just say,” he muttered, “that I have more questions than answers right now, but the few answers I have aren’t particularly good.”

  “Yeah.” Bailey grunted. “That’s what I figured. Kurt, get us that damn coffee, how about?”

  Chapter Two

  They waited till they’d all had a hot brew, not to mention eaten most of their dinner, before Roland began clarifying what the mysterious agents had told them.

  “So,” the wizard stated, forking one of the last bits of meatloaf into his mouth and chewing discreetly, “what they said was true, first of all. The Venatori are nothing to fuck around with. I don’t know much about them, but it’s generally understood that they are at, or at least near, the top of the food chain in the world of magic.”

  Jacob shook his head. “And they’re some kind of fanatical cultists, according to those guys. Great combination. The craziest people with the most power.”

  Kurt shrugged. “Isn’t that how it usually goes? I mean, come on.”

  “Sometimes,” agreed Roland. “They don’t possess official authority over the witches and wizards of the world—they’re not, like, our ‘government’ or anything like that—but they can pull a lot of strings, and they’re not people you want as enemies. We all grew up with the occasional story about someone who got melted into a puddle by them or turned into a worm and trapped in a glass jar for five hundred years or something like that. Some of those stories are probably true. Not sure which ones, though.”