The Were Witch Complete Series Omnibus

by Renée Jaggér

  Russell turned his head away, snickering, and Roland chuckled, despite having no idea who Frederson was.

  Bailey rubbed her eyes. “Sounds about right. Also, I think Kevin’s rubbing off on Roland. ‘Jedi platitudes?’ Really?”

  The wizard shrugged. “Phrasing it that way seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  The mood lightened as breakfast progressed, with the four Nordins trading stories from around the town, and Roland occasionally chiming in with something similar, or at least amusing, from his time in Seattle. The worst of the tension was gone by the time Bailey stood up and started to gather everyone’s empty plates.

  “Roland,” she said, “I want you to stay behind and keep the boys here company. They could use an adult around in case Kurt tries to stick a fork in a wall socket or something.”

  “Hey!” Kurt protested. “I was wearing a rubber dish glove the one time I tried that.”

  “And,” his sister continued, patting the wizard on the shoulder, “that reminds me. It’s your turn to do dishes.”

  He tried to look put-upon. “Okay, fine,” he whined. “Where are you going? You said ‘stay behind,’ which kind of implies that you’re leaving.”

  “True,” she stated. “I’m gonna go see Gunney and maybe help him get some work done. Especially if he’ll put me on the clock for it. All this shit you and I have been doing hasn’t provided a paycheck.”

  That was true, but her family pooled their money to pay the bills, so all she needed her job for was gas and pocket cash. Mainly, she just wanted to see the old man and talk.

  The wizard slowly hoisted himself to his feet and trudged toward the kitchen sink, carrying the last of the dirty utensils. “Fine. Go have fun. See if I care. No one appreciates all the work I do around here.”

  Jacob shook his head. “Good thing we know him well enough by now to understand he doesn’t mean that.”

  Chapter Seven

  Bailey left the boys behind, pulling on her boots and hopping into her truck almost as soon as Roland had left the dining room. It was a short drive to Gunney’s auto shop, which lay on a ridge in the north-central part of town, adjacent to a fenced-off car lot that the aging mechanic also owned.

  It was Sunday, and the shop was technically closed. Gunney spent most of his free time there, though. It was more his home than his house was. She wasn’t surprised in the slightest to glimpse him standing in the farthest of the three repair bays from the road, tinkering with a brown sedan on a lift.

  She parked on the far side of the front lot and climbed out. He glanced at her as she approached, then went back to work, knowing she’d find her own way in.

  Bailey wandered up to his side. “You’re getting rusty, old man. I could’ve snuck up behind you and brained you with a wrench or something. You barely even noticed when my truck pulled up. Tsk, tsk.”

  He smiled without looking at her, his attention focused on the elevated car’s underbelly. “Dumbass. There’s a big difference, young lady, between not noticing something and knowing it so well that there’s no point in making a big display of watching it. People say you’re a wild card, but you’re almost as predictable as the goddamn sun.”

  She stuck her lips out in a fake expression of hurt and indignation. “I take offense to that one. There’s also a big difference between me wearing the kid gloves when I come to see you and the way I am with most everyone else. As far as the rest of the town’s concerned, I’m more like the rain. Comes and goes, never know for sure.”

  He nodded. “Fair enough. Grab me a funnel?”

  She had pivoted to look for one, finding it almost before he’d asked. She handed it off to him with the easy familiarity of one who’s performed a given action hundreds of times.

  He didn’t need to ask, then, as she helped him through a routine oil change and filter replacement. Most likely, the car needed other, more complicated work done tomorrow when Gunney had a full crew, and the old man wanted to get the minor stuff out of the way in advance.

  “Once we’re done,” he told her, “help yourself to one of them orange sodas in the fridge. Glass bottles, don’t you worry.”

  Her favorite. “Pssht,” she shot back. “You don’t have to mention they’re in glass. That’s standard. I’d be disappointed otherwise. Just warn me if you have to resort to plastic, is all I ask.”

  “Noted.”

  They finished up, and Bailey grabbed a soda as he’d suggested. Sauntering back over to him and sipping the sweet liquid, the weight of her worries seemed to come back all of a sudden, bearing down on her head and shoulders, trying to flatten her.

  “So,” she began, “I can help for a little while—and let’s put this on the clock, by the way—but I’ll probably have to go again soon. Have another training session with Marcus sometime today.”

  The mechanic gave a soft grunt. “Okay. Waiting on parts for this thing anyway,” he reported, gesturing toward the sedan, “but there’s some basic organizational shit we could stand to do around the shop. Grunt work, but it all pays the same, so if you’re down for that, you got yourself a deal.” He took off the baseball cap he always wore on his shaggy head and wiped the sweat from his brow.

  Bailey agreed, and the two of them set about putting myriad tools back in their proper places, cleaning things that were getting too greasy, and then washing their hands before putting stacks of invoices in order in the office.

  As they worked, they talked.

  Gunney opened with the questions Bailey had hoped he’d ask. “How’s training going with that guy, anyway? I mean, he seems all right, but still, no one here really knows him.”

  “Great,” Bailey responded. “Well, I mean, it’s been an adventure, but we’re making progress.”

  She glossed over the details of her experience in the Other and the supernatural dangers they’d encountered there. Not only did she want to avoid making Gunney too concerned, but she wondered if he would believe it.

  Gunney knew and had known for many years that their town was full of goddamn werewolves. He’d even seemed to accept the notion that Roland was a wizard and that witches were after him and all that. But at heart, he was a salt-of-the-earth type—open-minded, but grounded. She didn’t want to overwhelm him with the sheer bizarreness of all that had happened lately.

  But she did want him to listen, and if possible, to offer advice.

  “My magic. I’m getting the hang of it, sort of. But it’s like a whole new world is opening up, and I’m expected to know everything about it as fast as possible. I’m pretty smart, but it ain’t easy.”

  His head moved, barely perceptibly, up and down in acknowledgment. “Most things aren’t easy. It’s probably best that you’re trying to tackle it head-on. Here, move that box all the way into the back.”

  She shoved the container against the wall as requested.

  “Yeah,” she went on, “thanks. I guess, just…” Her voice trailed off. Normally she had no trouble talking to the old man, but sometimes it took a little while before she could open up.

  Without looking at her, he responded, “You’re worried about something else? Not just the stress or whatever of learning?”

  Bailey sighed in relief. “Yeah, that’s it, all right. This shit is dangerous. I could hurt myself or other people.”

  She paused then, embarrassed about how stupid and weak and cowardly that sounded.

  “I mean,” she clarified, “I’ve never been afraid of danger, but it’s different now. There’s more at stake. It’s not just about whether I might get hurt or whatever. Other people have a horse in the race too. The crap I’m involved in is starting to spill over and affect my brothers. I have to help protect Roland too. Like, what if I fail him and those whores from Seattle get hold of him? What if something happens right here in town?”

  Gunney, sorting tools, kept his eyes on the task, but she could tell that he was listening intently. He waited for her to continue before he interjected any of his own commentary.


  “I could die,” she admitted, “and I could let everyone down. It would be so goddamn easy to screw up and squander everything. I’m starting to feel like I’ve got a real opportunity here to make something of myself, and that just makes it all the clearer how it could go to hell if I take one wrong step.”

  Gunney made eye contact finally. “I understand, Bailey. As soon as you step out of your comfort zone, the stakes rise. But if anyone can deal with it, well, it’s you. Probably. Still don’t know how you pulled off some of the shit you’ve already done, which bodes well for the future, I’d say.”

  She smiled. “Thanks, Gunney. Glad to know I’m doing something right. With all this potential, sometimes I’d rather just be normal.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “A normal Were? A regular human? A normal Oregonian, or someone who’s been around the block a few times? There isn’t any such thing as ‘normal’ in the world, except how a group of people in a particular place at a particular time agree to define it. Everyone’s abnormal in someone else’s eyes.”

  She stopped in place at that for a second. “Shit. Yeah, I guess that’s true. Good to know, also.”

  Her mind teased out more of the implications and then focused on some of them—the ones most pertinent to what she’d just been angsting about.

  “Gunney,” she elaborated, “I think what it is, in part, is that I feel like I might be able to set a new standard and a good example. Something like that. A different way for Were society to be. How many other girls out there never had any option but being married off to some other pack’s males? I always felt like sooner or later, the bad old ways would win and I’d end up forced into the role I was ‘supposed’ to take. But now, it looks way more possible for me to come out on top.”

  He chuckled. “Like I said, you’d be the one. Weres are good people mostly, but yeah. Can’t help but notice that their—your—society is still stuck in the Dark Ages in some ways.”

  “Maybe,” Bailey mused, “I can help change that by being an example of how things don’t have to be that way. Being a role model for others. Stuff like that. But goddamn, it’s hard, and I’m scared I’ll just mess up and squander it. Then, after I’m dead, or maybe even while I’m still alive and living with that failure, everything will be just the way it was before.”

  Gunney put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t get too far ahead of yourself. You’ve already done a lot. You’re a local hero, remember? Just focus on one or two things at a time. Get it done, then move on to the next thing. It’s good to have a notion of where you’re headed, but don’t look too far ahead or you’ll miss what’s right in front of you.”

  Already, she was feeling better. They worked together for another hour, chatting occasionally about minor bullshit, putting the shop in a higher degree of order and just being comfortable in one another’s company.

  Before she left, Gunney took her out back to the car lot.

  “The Trans Am,” he stated, “is as good as new. You somehow managed not to wreck the damn thing, for which I’m eternally grateful. But there was some scuffing and some mud, and I think you kicked up more gravel than you should have. Nothing a little spit and elbow grease couldn’t fix, though.”

  Bailey stared at it—the Smokey and the Bandit car in the flesh. Or steel, whatever. She couldn’t believe he’d let her drive it to Seattle and back.

  “So,” she queried, “does that mean I can borrow it again?”

  “Nah,” he said. “Well, not unless you wreck the Tundra again.”

  * * *

  Bailey and Roland were only about two minutes reunited when Marcus reappeared.

  “Whoa!” Roland exclaimed. “Where did you come from? Couldn’t you at least give us a few minutes to have a light lunch or something?”

  The shaman paid no heed to his remark. “Come,” he said. “You’ve had time enough already. Now we need to begin the next phase of your training.”

  Bailey had pulled into the driveway, moments ago, and leaped down from her truck to find the wizard waiting for her, leaning against the house on the front porch. Presumably, her brothers were indoors or had gone elsewhere. Joining Roland, Bailey had quickly recapped all that she and Gunney had discussed and was about to ask what he thought they should do next.

  That was when the tall older man had emerged from the woods. She hadn’t heard him approach, and now, having made his statement, it didn’t look or sound like he was in the mood to argue.

  Bailey put her hands on her hips. “Glass of water first, then we’ll come along. Where are we going, anyway?”

  Marcus didn’t object to her first condition, but only answered the question she’d asked. “Into the woods.”

  Sighing, Roland quipped, “Well, that narrows it down, doesn’t it?”

  Bailey and the wizard went inside for a quick drink, a pee, and to say goodbye to Russell, who had remained behind while Jacob and Kurt had left for the Bristling Elk, their local pub and diner.

  “Take care,” her huge middle brother bade her. His mood seemed darker than usual, but on some level, he trusted his sister to deal with her own problems. Mostly.

  Marcus was standing in the same place when they emerged. He waited for them to approach, his expression irritated.

  “That,” he commented, “must have been a very tall glass of water.”

  Roland nodded. “Towering.”

  The shaman turned and tramped off into the tree-grown slopes west of the Nordins’ corner of the neighborhood.

  Bailey furrowed her brow as she hastened to keep up with the man. “Marcus, if we’re gonna be throwing magic around again, shouldn’t we head somewhere farther from people?”

  Without turning around, he answered her in a low, flat voice. “We will not be doing anything here. All three of us are going back into the Other.”

  Roland grunted. “Ugh. I was afraid that was what you were going to say. Well, the first time was certainly an educational experience, even if it wasn’t much fun.”

  Bailey poked him with her elbow. “Training isn’t supposed to be fun, dumbass.”

  He scowled. “I’m not sure about that, but I suppose he’s the expert.” He flourished his hand at the shaman.

  Marcus did not reply, only led them deeper into the forest, stopping after about five minutes in a small glade surrounded on all sides by dense stands of pines. No one would be around when the glowing violet doorway appeared.

  Unless, Bailey thought, those goddamn men in black are tracking us remotely with a drone or some shit. She glanced up and examined their surroundings, but could see no clear evidence of any such thing.

  “Now,” the shaman proclaimed, “let us begin. I will send you to a different part of the realm, and this time, I’ll be coming along. At least at first.”

  He raised his arms, falling into deep, meditative concentration. Bailey and Roland kept silent.

  After a few moments of low chanting, the doorway to the Other appeared once more, shimmering faintly with multihued light even as its surface remained a murky deep purple.

  Marcus stepped back and to the side. He was waiting.

  “Okay,” Bailey murmured, and she grabbed Roland’s hand, leading him forward. They stepped through the portal, bracing themselves for the odd chilling sensation. Almost instantly, everything was different.

  Different, but familiar. Looking around, Bailey saw the same dim primordial landscape as before. It was indeed a different place, but its overall character was much the same. She wondered if there were different regions and biomes within the Other, or if the whole thing was one giant swampy Limbo of mist, ragged waterlogged ground, and gnarled black trees.

  She and the wizard took four or five steps forward, and they heard Marcus’s heavy tread as he came through behind them. Bailey glanced back and watched, without much surprise, as the shaman dispelled the doorway. There would be no going back until he felt the time was right.

  They were on a rise in the damp, ash-colored earth, with dark and twisted forest on
three sides. Ahead there was a ridge, and the ground sank sharply beyond it.

  Marcus walked past them toward the ridge and the young pair followed, hanging by his left and right elbows. As they reached the crest, they saw a broad, bowl-shaped valley beyond and below. At the center, starting near the foot of the slope, was a placid lake of inky black water.

  “There,” said Marcus, “is where you’re going, Bailey. Roland, I want you to stay behind for now, on this ridge.”

  “Okay,” he agreed. “At least from up here, there’s a nice view of all the…fog.”

  The shaman took the werewitch ahead, the two of them descending the slope via a mostly hidden pathway that might or might not have been made by mortal efforts.

  As they approached the water’s edge, Bailey noticed how utterly quiet it was here. The Other was not a noisy place—except when the wraiths made their sporadic, spine-chilling howls—but next to the black lake, sound was nonexistent except when they created it.

  Marcus looked down at the girl. “This place,” he explained, “manifests in ways based not only on your needs but also on your fears.”

  Her gut tightened at that, but she just breathed in through her nostrils and nodded.

  “It will push you,” the man went on, “and it will not push gently. You may find that it will be too much for you, and you won’t be the first, if so. You don’t have much choice but to face it, though. There is once again the risk of death. Which would you prefer? The chance here, where at least success means you will emerge stronger and wiser? Or would you rather go back to the so-called ‘real’ world unprepared and try to hack it there, where forces are arrayed against you that also want you dead?”

  Something ferocious awakened within her, and she stared into the shaman’s eyes. “I’m going to make it here.” It was a flat statement of fact.

  He smiled. “Good. You are a neophyte, yes, but not someone to be trifled with. I’ll grant you that. Now, go and sit just before the edge of the lake.”