The Were Witch Complete Series Omnibus

by Renée Jaggér

  Rather than dwell on that, Bailey demanded, “Okay, so what do they want with you and me? Any guesses?”

  Roland raised his coffee cup high and drained it, then set it down gently. “Oh, they probably just want to have a friendly chat,” he mused. “Possibly about not causing trouble and attracting attention, like those two clones were rambling on about earlier. Or they might want to kill us. Who knows? They’re insane.”

  Wood creaked as Russell leaned back in his chair, flexing his big hands into fists. “I don’t like all these threats coming Bailey’s way,” he rumbled. “And most of them started when you showed up.”

  Roland met the middle brother’s dark gaze. “Sort of,” he acknowledged, “but only with regards to Shannon. The rest is all stuff that was already happening, or would have happened even if I hadn’t coasted into town. She was already on shitty terms with Dan Oberlin, and he was involved in that trafficking gang. And sooner or later, Bailey’s magical powers would have manifested and attracted attention. In any event, she and I have helped each other. A lot.”

  Bailey put her hand on his. “It’s true,” she confirmed. “Russell, thanks. I know you just want me to be safe, but honestly, I think I’m better off with this guy around. He’s better with magic than I am, at least so far. That counts for something.”

  Tensions died back down as they finished their food and took their dishes to the kitchen, although everyone was still stressed and gloomy.

  Once they’d cleaned up, Jacob put his hand on his big sister’s shoulder.

  “What are you going to do now, Bailey?” His eyes were kind but intense.

  She looked into the distance at nothing in particular. “I think Roland and I need to go find Marcus again.”

  The wizard raised his eyebrows as he waited for her to go on.

  “We need him,” she explained. “With this new information—Roland’s witches, the men in black, and these other people, the fanatics or whatever they are from Europe—all out to get us, we gotta find a way to accelerate my training. Like, we need to spend every spare moment preparing for this shit.”

  Roland pursed his lips. “Hmm. I don’t know about every spare moment, but I’ll agree that he needs to know about all this as soon as possible.”

  “Right.” She threw on a jacket and her shoes and grabbed her truck keys. “If those Ventura chicks think they run the whole world of magic, a Were shaman might be in danger too.”

  “’Venatori,’” Roland corrected her. “But yes.”

  The three brothers moved in closer, and Jacob spoke for them all.

  “Bailey, you sure that’s a good idea? It’s getting dark out, and you said this Marcus guy seems to live in the goddamn woods. You might have a repeat of last week.”

  Kurt snapped his fingers. “Well, Bailey and Roland did hospitalize most of those dickheads, so maybe not.”

  “Still,” Jacob urged, “that doesn’t account for the Vulvalini or whoever they are. They might already be in Oregon.”

  Bailey was silent as she opened the door, and she did not look back at her siblings.

  “We’ll be right back,” she told them. She stepped out, and Roland followed her, closing the door behind him.

  * * *

  The Porsche Cayenne was silver, and lights glinted off its surface as it cruised down the road. It kept to about four miles per hour over the speed limit. The driver wanted to get where they were going, clearly, but also wanted to avoid getting pulled over by the cops.

  Within the vehicle, Shannon DiGrezza clenched both her bony hands around the steering wheel, looking straight ahead, a lock of fuchsia hair draped over one eye. She was getting tired of this, and when she got tired, she got angry.

  “Hey,” Callie McCluskey asked from the back seat with her usual loudness and lack of self-awareness, “can we stop for food soon?”

  “No,” snapped Shannon, who kept herself on a strict diet of thirteen hundred calories per day, except on special occasions. “Unless we succeed at what we’re trying to do before the next restaurant shows up.” Which wasn’t likely.

  In the passenger seat, Aida Nassirian stretched. “Our poor legs could use a stretch,” she observed. “And perhaps a cup of coffee?”

  The driver gritted her teeth. “Another half-hour. Every minute we waste is another minute Roland is free and that bitch is alive, and neither of those things should be true.”

  Her arms and hands were cold and trembling with rage. Roland’s charade had gone on long enough. Really, now that Bailey had somehow demonstrated magic powers, it had devolved from a charade into an abomination.

  Aida and Callie agreed that the hick girl had to be eliminated, and for reasons that went beyond her silly claim to being Roland’s girlfriend. They weren’t quite as committed to the goal as Shannon was, though.

  The Cayenne made a good replacement for Shannon’s sadly departed Jaguar. It was technically an SUV, with all the advantages that came with that vehicle style, but it had a nice sleek profile, giving it an aesthetic appeal beyond the usual “soccer mom vehicle” look that people associated with vans. Shannon absolutely refused to be seen as the soccer mom type.

  Aida had argued that a different color would make them less conspicuous since the Jaguar had been the same hue, but Shannon had insisted on silver.

  “Oh,” Aida sighed, massaging her temples, “I so look forward to meeting Bailey again. I have so many things to pay her back for.”

  “We all do,” Shannon pointed out. “And we will. The sooner, the better.”

  Since the authorities probably would have expected them to head straight for Greenhearth, Oregon, once they’d escaped from Seattle, they took the scenic route to Bailey’s hometown—crossing the Cascades, southeast to Yakima, before heading south through the semi-desert on the mountains’ far side. They had been on the road for four hours and had just crossed over from Washington State. Once they were farther south into Oregon, they would turn east and enter the Hearth Valley via the proverbial back door.

  After they’d crossed the Columbia River and Interstate 84, another vehicle—a dark blue SUV similar to the Cayenne—exited the freeway just behind them, and had been following them south for the last ten minutes. Shannon sensed that something wasn’t quite right, and she increased her speed.

  Suddenly, flashing lights appeared on the front of the SUV’s roof.

  Shannon pounded a hand on the steering wheel. “What the shit? I was only going eight over the limit!”

  Aida raised a hand. “Wait.”

  The flashing lights were not red and blue, but purple and green.

  Nonetheless, Shannon started to decelerate. As she did, the dark blue vehicle sped ahead of her around the side and then blocked the lane. Shannon slammed on the brakes, alarmed, and jerked the wheel to the right, rumbling off the road to come to a stop a short way out into the scrubby field at the side.

  The other SUV then drove off the road and stopped behind them, blocking their reentrance to the highway. All four of its doors opened.

  Callie gaped. “Who the goddamn hell are these people? They can’t drive for shit!”

  “I don’t know,” Shannon grated, itching with the need to toss a lightning bolt into someone’s face, “but they’re about to find out who we are.”

  Out of the blue vehicle stepped four women. None of them looked alike, representing different ages, races, and body types, but all were dressed from head to toe in heavy leather outfits of deep purplish-red. The clothing was stylish in a bizarre way, although it looked like medieval armor.

  Two of the strange women approached each side of the Cayenne, and their apparent leader, a tall Mediterranean sort with black hair pinned up in an elaborate bun, rapped her knuckles on the driver’s side window.

  Shannon hissed but rolled it down.

  “Who are you?” she demanded, locking gazes with the dark eyes of the intruder, “and what the fuck is going on? You don’t look like law enforcement. You have no right to—”

 
“We,” the woman cut her off, in a sharp voice with a vaguely European accent, “are the Venatori. And we know who you are.”

  Shannon’s mouth snapped shut, and the blood drained from her face. Aida, too, was looking a bit pale, and even Callie couldn’t manage to blurt anything out.

  While her companions glared at Aida and Callie, the leader kept her dark gaze on Shannon.

  “You foolish girls have caused a great many problems for us, and for the magic-using community in general,” she went on. “You have grown reckless, doing far too much that draws attention and begins to be reported on the news.”

  Shannon ground her teeth and was about to protest that Bailey was the one who’d blown things out of proportion. However, the woman wasn’t done yet, and it was strangely impossible to talk over her.

  The leader intoned, leaning closer, “the time has come for you to cease and desist. The very highest levels of our order’s leadership are furious, and they have discussed your actions. Drawing their wrath is not wise. Furthermore, you have proven unable to deal with the situation.”

  The trio in the Cayenne smoldered at being talked to this way, but none spoke save Shannon, after a moment’s pause.

  “What situation?” she asked.

  The leader gave a snort of contempt.

  “Bailey Nordin,” she stated. “She is a danger to us all, one serious enough that we have come to take care of her ourselves. You are hereby ordered to remove yourselves from this pursuit. Your childish plan involving the male witch Roland is nothing compared to the business on which we’ve come.”

  Shannon’s hands trembled. “What gives you the right to—”

  “Silence!” snapped the leader. “You are the ones who have acted outside your rights. If Roland is as powerful as the rumors say, we shall take him for ourselves. Such a wizard should contribute his genes to our order.”

  “What?” Shannon almost sobbed. It took all her self-control not to say more. Not to hit the woman in the face with the biggest blast of percussive magical force she could summon. She turned her face toward the windshield to stare straight ahead.

  Aida and Callie, too, seemed both furious and despairing, but they were holding it in, saying and doing nothing.

  Everyone knew that no one was a match for an entire group of Venatori witches. Everyone.

  The leader smiled. “Now,” she suggested, “perhaps you should turn around and drive back to Seattle.”

  * * *

  Marcus stood within a deep pool of forest shadows, his hood pulled over his head to further obscure his face. He was still and silent, turning over all Bailey and Roland had said.

  The girl swallowed. Is he going to answer me? She wondered if they’d finally told him something he was unwilling to deal with.

  Then he spoke. “Yes.” He gave a slow, deep nod. “We must move things forward and quickly. There are certain ways, but it’s regrettable that we have to resort to them.”

  Roland made the swallowed-groan sound in his throat again. “Mmm. Well, that doesn’t sound good, does it?”

  In her head, Bailey agreed, but she said nothing.

  Marcus looked around at the surrounding forest, and up at the last glow of the sun as it vanished behind the mountains. “It is neither good nor bad. It’s dangerous, but sometimes, dealing with danger is how we grow.”

  They stood there in silence for a moment, each alone with his or her thoughts.

  Bailey was just glad they’d been able to find the shaman again. She’d figured the best place to start was the part of the back road where they’d dropped him off earlier. Then they’d simply called his name into the woods and waited for a reaction.

  Fortunately, Marcus had shown up only a couple of minutes later. Wherever he was staying, it must have been close.

  Now, with night having fallen, there was a sense that they had dark business ahead of them.

  Marcus wandered a few paces deeper into the woods. Bailey was about to ask him what he was doing, but Roland put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. Then she heard him chanting under his breath in low, almost sinister tones.

  She held still, recalling what Roland had said about the importance of concentration in any magical endeavor. Marcus held up his hands, continuing his meditative incantation, and for a moment, nothing happened.

  Then he spread his hands as if pushing open a door, and that was almost exactly what happened.

  Before him, a portal appeared, the reality they knew folding back to reveal something that looked almost like a vertical mirror of shimmering liquid or a segment of the darkened sea, standing up straight. Its “water” was a deep and luminescent purple, the color about halfway between the midnight skies of autumn and the clear facets of an amethyst.

  “Whoa,” Roland breathed. “That’s impressive, and that’s coming from me.”

  Bailey just stared. If it was a doorway, she wondered, where did it lead?

  Coming out of his semi-trance, Marcus turned back toward them, his shoulders shrugging as he slowly exhaled.

  “This,” he began, “will take you to a place where your abilities will be tested and developed beyond what I can teach you in normal time. We simply call it ‘the Other.’”

  Roland gave a short, low whistle. “I’ve heard of the Other. Obscure high-level stuff. To be honest, I never looked into it in detail.”

  The shaman’s eyes went distant. “It is a place between places, an eldritch locale where the paranormal can and does reside in peace and flourish to great and terrible extents. This doorway will take you to a corner of it that is almost empty. Almost. It exists in its own pocket of reality, with a few denizens who dwell there, separate from all other beings.”

  Bailey blinked. “I see. Marcus, you’re making it sound pretty goddamn scary. Not that I’m the type to be afraid of things, but still.”

  “Yes,” said the big man. “It is scary, and you should be afraid, but only as far as you need to be in order to be cautious and take things seriously. Beyond that, fear becomes pointless. Do you understand? Fear can warn you of danger, but you must not let it cripple you from acting.”

  Hugging her arms to her torso, the girl nodded. “Right.”

  Roland did likewise. “It makes sense. That’s been my theory on the subject for quite some time now.”

  Marcus turned back toward the glimmering portal.

  “The Other is, in its way, a living place. In the past, it’s been used for extreme training by other shamans and werewitches. It’s certainly good for that purpose, but the risk is great. And you will be alone.”

  Bailey took a deep breath.

  “Well,” Roland qualified, “not quite alone.” He took her hand, and in the darkness, she smiled, happy to have him beside her.

  “Magic,” Marcus continued, “can take sentient form in this place. It will challenge you, although I cannot say how. It’s different for each individual. But it will guide you through all the hurdles you must clear in order to evolve. You may not think you need them, but you do.”

  The girl let her breath out, long and slow. “I understand,” she stated. “So, no point wasting time.”

  She strode past the shaman, pulling Roland along with her until he caught up. The two of them stepped straight into the glowing purple mass.

  There was a brief tingling coldness and a sense of every nerve being alerted while their heads swam in dizziness, and then it was over as quickly as it had begun.

  They now stood somewhere much different than the pine-forested mountains of Oregon.

  Before them stretched a vast primordial swamp or bog, somehow barren-looking despite its wetness. Enormous trees twisted out of the earth, widely spaced from one another, yet their gnarled limbs spread so expansively from their trunks that they formed a partial canopy.

  The sky, for its part, was a deep silvery-purple, at once bright and dark, indicative of neither daytime nor night.

  The landscape undulated and was littered with mossy boulders and patches of weeds and tho
rns, and steamy white mist wafted up through gaps in the masses of peat from the surface of the standing water.

  “Oh.” Roland sighed. “This is picturesque, I suppose.”

  Bailey glanced behind her. “Shit. There’s no portal back!”

  Roland looked as well, and his shoulders slumped. “Well, that’s lovely. He could at least have warned us. Presumably, we’ll have to either figure out how to conjure our own exit or find another one somewhere in here.”

  Howls echoed out of the vastness before them, then an awful scream that almost sounded human.

  Bailey tensed. “What the hell?”

  Roland stepped forward. “He did say we’d be ‘tested,’ whatever that means. Trial by combat? Well, I’m pretty sure my magic is up to the task.”

  He closed his eyes and raised his hands, and then stumbled back as if in confusion.

  “Uh,” he murmured. “Nothing’s happening.”

  “What?” Bailey stared at him. Subconsciously, she had been trying to gather her powers, but she’d had no success thus far.

  The wizard cleared his throat. “My magic doesn’t seem to be working.”

  They looked at each other, wide-eyed, as the howls drew closer.

  Chapter Three

  They ran. Plunging, stumbling, bounding, or dashing as needed, they thought of nothing else but moving. Staying ahead of them.

  It had probably been only a few minutes since their pursuers had caught sight of them, but the Other distorted their sense of time, and so did their panic and terror.

  Neither Bailey, who had always been bold to the point of recklessness, nor Roland, who was well-experienced with the supernatural, was immune to the crashing wave of overwhelming fear that had descended upon them.

  Roland, with his greater height and longer legs, had gotten slightly ahead, despite Bailey’s strength and athleticism. He glanced over his shoulder. “Come on!” he shouted and slowed his pace.