The Were Witch Complete Series Omnibus

by Renée Jaggér

  She turned away from him and did as he asked, dropping cross-legged about three feet from the water. It did not lap; it was totally still. She could see only a few inches into it, making her wonder if it was water or something else.

  The shaman went on. “Look into it. Relax, focus. Try to channel your magic as you gaze into its depths and reflect upon it. Take as much time as you need; you have no shortage of it while you’re in here. Roland and I will be nearby, just behind you on the ridge.”

  She glanced at him, seeing his strong frame and Roland’s silhouette higher up, and then turned her eyes back to the water. “Okay. Will do.”

  Time passed. She tried to summon her powers, but nothing happened. Looking into the black pool, she suddenly felt overwhelmed by whatever mystery it concealed and closed her eyes, the better to focus on magic.

  She easily remembered the sight of the lake, and, concentrating on it, tried to pull her magic through the image. Here and there, she felt a slight tingle, but not enough to convince her she’d succeeded.

  Her sense of time was nonexistent by now. She felt like she’d been sitting there for days, drifting in and out of sleep every few hours, scarcely feeling her body. It was as though she’d become a tree that grew beside the shore.

  Bailey opened her eyes, suddenly restless. The dark water was bubbling.

  A jolt of alarm went through her muscles, and she looked back and up. Neither Roland nor Marcus was anywhere to be seen. Her head snapped back toward the lake.

  The bubbles were coalescing into a sort of mound or lump as something rose from the waters a few feet from where Bailey sat. She unfolded her legs and stood up, surprised that her limbs didn’t feel stiff, and braced herself for combat with the familiar rush of adrenaline.

  A figure stood straight up as if raised on a lift like the ones at Gunney’s shop, the black fluid running off the tall, sleek body with unnatural ease, leaving only the faintest trace of wetness. It seemed to be a woman, with brown hair made darker by saturation and an athletic build. Her head had been down, but now she raised it, turning her face to Bailey.

  It was her. It was the werewitch.

  Something in her went cold and weak, and she almost collapsed in sudden horror as the figure surged out of the lake toward her, arms extended, hands grasping for her face and neck.

  “No!” Bailey cried, her hands coming up in time to catch the doppelganger’s wrists. She threw all her weight at the attacker, rolling her to the side in the weedy gray muck.

  She fought panic as the uncanniness of the situation hit her. She was fighting a flesh-and-blood manifestation of her reflection in the mirror. It had to be some kind of magical illusion. It had to.

  The other Bailey was already springing back to her feet, arcane power crackling from her hands in blossoms of red sparks.

  Bailey’s eyes widened, knowing what was coming. The electrical circuit spell she and Roland had finagled last time leaped to mind.

  She caught the doppelganger’s lightning bolt, directed it to her other hand, and looped it back at her attacker, hoping it would catch her off-guard and destroy her. The reflection seemed to know as much as she did, though, and a circular loop was established.

  By rights, Bailey thought, that meant a stalemate, but something was wrong. The doppelganger, staring intently at her from under her wet stringy hair, kept adding more power into the circuit, and Bailey felt her body tremble with pain as she struggled to adjust to the greater voltage.

  Then, horribly, the reflection spoke.

  “You’re too weak,” she rasped, her voice harsh and hollow. “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you? You’re going to die here, and then there will be only me. I’m going to take your place. No one will even know you’re gone.”

  The fear induced by those words was almost overwhelming. Many people might have collapsed right then and there, but Bailey had been terribly afraid many times before, and she knew one thing: terror made good fuel for action.

  “No! No, goddammit!” she cried. Her mind turned to the increasing amounts of magical electricity coursing through her, and somehow she gathered it up and tossed it all back at its source.

  The circuit winked out and was replaced by a powerful bolt that struck the doppelganger full in the chest. But the other Bailey, the dark reflection, just stood there and absorbed it with a hissing laugh.

  “See?” she sneered. “You’re pathetic. You’re not ready for this, are you? I’m going to take your heart and soul. You don’t deserve the people you’ve given them to, so I will have them.” She took two steps forward. “Then I’ll do what you’re too feeble to accomplish.”

  Then the doppelganger pounced on her, eschewing elemental magic for sheer brute force.

  The two young women clawed and punched and kicked each other, wrestling when they could, jumping away when they had to, throwing each other to the ground. For minutes they fought, neither gaining the upper hand.

  But Bailey, for all her physical strength, was still a mortal creature, and she was getting tired. The doppelganger seemed to suffer no such ailment.

  I have to use magic, the girl realized. Even though she thinks I can’t, that is the only way to beat it.

  She started to conjure another cone of lightning, low intensity but well-controlled like the one she’d used to fend off the wraiths, but suddenly dropped it and instead went for a powerful telekinetic push.

  The mirror-demon, not expecting that, showed alarm on her disturbingly familiar face as a wave of invisible force pushed her back toward the water. “No!” she snarled.

  Bailey expected her to throw a magical attack at her, so, relaxing and maintaining the telekinesis with one hand, she used the other to conjure a shield like the one she’d seen Roland used.

  She was just in time. The doppelganger hurled a mass of swirling ice shards her way, but they ricocheted harmlessly off the shield. Through a combination of magical resistance and simply digging her heels in, she had slowed Bailey’s push but failed to stop it.

  “You’re failing even now!” the creature jeered. “This isn’t how you’re supposed to do it. Stupid, useless little bitch!”

  Still Bailey pushed, and the doppelganger stumbled back into the lake, sinking into it up to her knees as the werewitch changed direction and pushed down. Howling in rage, the doppelganger vanished back beneath the water and was gone.

  Silence. Bailey could hear nothing but the beating of her heart.

  She collapsed, shocked at how much energy she’d spent, and rolled over on her back, gasping.

  Roland and Marcus were on the ridge watching her. She realized that they’d somehow been there all along, that they’d seen the battle with her shadow. Or seen something.

  The shaman descended. “I have a good idea of what happened,” he began. “You battled part of yourself within your mind, although it seemed to you that it happened in the outside world. The details were not perceptible to anyone else. So, tell me what happened.”

  She was still in shock, but she did her best to explain the fight. Marcus listened closely, nodding every few seconds.

  “I see,” he said. “There were several outcomes, but only one could be considered passing with flying colors, and that is not the outcome you effected.”

  Her heart sank.

  “You did not fail,” he added, “but neither did you accomplish what would have been best. You quite literally pushed the challenge away from you, acting instinctively out of anger and fear rather than dealing with it directly. You didn’t succumb to the pool’s dark power, but you were not in control. You eked by with a hasty decision. Again, don’t despair. Others have done far worse, but clearly, you need more practice. Otherwise, you will continue to deal with overwhelming odds by simply lashing out like a wounded animal. A strong one, yes, but you must become more than that.”

  She steeled herself, trying not to think about how disappointed she was. She needed to focus on the tasks ahead. “All right. What next?”

  He
motioned for her to follow him, and they climbed back up the ridge. Roland’s face was neutral. He’d surely heard what Marcus said but was withholding smart remarks for the time being.

  The shaman looked at them both. “Now,” he stated, “we train. I will remain here and help you. Get ready.”

  Chapter Eight

  Shannon wrinkled her nose. “Eeeewww,” she exclaimed, unable to control herself. “How the fuck does she expect to learn magic from a goddamn bum who doesn’t even live like a human being? He’s probably training her in how to guzzle cheap vodka. God.”

  She and Aida and Callie stood in a stretch of pine forest not far outside the town of Greenhearth, where a small, makeshift shack had been assembled from materials provided by the surrounding woods, though there were a few more modern sophistications as well.

  The place was the temporary home of the shaman who’d taken the stupid Were-girl under his smelly wing.

  Aida put her nose in the air. “It smells of magic. The type we would find in other worlds. Does it seem that way to you?”

  Callie sputtered in contempt. “All I smell is that scruffy guy’s fucking B.O. I wonder if she’s banging him? Hope she is so we can tell Roland about it.”

  “Shut up,” Shannon snapped. “Yes, Aida, I do. Do you think they went into the Other? I’m not noticing any trace of them anywhere nearby.”

  “Perhaps,” the taller, darker witch said. “But where would we begin to look for them there?”

  Callie interrupted again. “The Other? Since when can werewolves even go there? What the fuck?”

  Shannon flicked her eyes toward her. “Since we discovered that werewolves can do magic. Stop acting like you don’t understand the implications of that. Ugh, I hate that place. The last thing we need to do right now is wander around in there.”

  Aida was lost in thought for a moment. “I would guess that since this shaman seems to care so much about her development,” she intoned, “he took her either to the Mount of Seeing or the Pool of Dark Reflections.”

  Callie blinked. “Uh, okay. And what about Roland?”

  Shannon tapped her lips with a magenta fingernail. “He’s probably with them. Or with the girl’s family. If we go to her house first, though, they’ll raise the alarm. Okay, we’ll start with the Mount, then the Pool. I haven’t done this in a while, but if those idiots can do it, so can we.”

  She spread her arms, closed her eyes, and concentrated. Without needing to be asked, Aida joined her, aiding and abetting the spell, and Callie at least had the decency not to get in their way. After a few moments of entrancement, a shimmering doorway of deepest amethyst opened in the air before them, between two trees near the shack.

  “Good,” Shannon breathed. “Callie, you go first.”

  “What? Why? This crap was your idea.”

  Shannon’s teeth clamped together. “Just do it! We don’t have time to argue. We’ll come through right after you.”

  Sighing and squirming, the youngest and curviest of the three stepped through the portal.

  “Okay,” Shannon commented, “she didn’t melt, so we did it right. Come on.”

  She and Aida passed through, focused on the task of locating both their enemy, Bailey, and their quarry, Roland.

  So focused, in fact, that they didn’t notice two other women watching them from far back in the woods. Sure, they were magically cloaked, but still not invisible if the Seattle sorceresses had been paying attention.

  “So,” said Lavonne, group leader of the Venatori squad currently operating in Oregon. “They’ve crossed over. They are more skilled than we thought.”

  Her assistant Savina chortled. “Yes, but still not as talented as they think they are.”

  “They never are.” Lavonne scoffed. “It is likely we must pursue them all into the Other at some point. But we know not where to look, exactly, and too many magic-users in that place at once can create ripple effects that will reveal our purpose too readily. Instead, let us examine this quaint little town.”

  The two witches wended their way down the wooded hill and reentered their SUV, which they’d parked inconspicuously behind a stand of trees, then magically cloaked for good measure. The engine purred to life, and Lavonne piloted the vehicle steadily back into Greenhearth.

  They’d driven through the heart of the town once on the main street when first passing through. Now they took a couple of deliberate detours on side roads, getting a feel for the place. It was little more than a village, so there wasn’t much to see. Lavonne decided to park in the lot of a large hardware store, then she and her partner stepped out to see the town on foot.

  They spent perhaps an hour and a half wandering around, pretending to shop and occasionally buying things here and there, but mostly looking for excuses to bump into the locals and ask them questions—questions that seemed innocuous.

  The two Venatori looked somewhat out of place here, with their leather outfits and tight hairstyles, but with their European accents, no one was going to assume they were rural Oregonians anyway. They posed as tourists on a day trip out of Portland, waxing poetic on all they’d heard of the beauty of the Hearth Valley and the Cascade Mountains in general.

  And, of course, they claimed to have heard something about a “hero” girl who supposedly lived here. A young woman who’d disrupted a kidnapping ring, or something like that.

  Some of Greenhearth’s people were mildly suspicious and reticent, but mostly they were friendly and helpful. Once they got past the initial sense of weirdness, they were all too happy to chat for a few minutes with the two nice foreign ladies about their pleasant little hometown and its most famous resident, Bailey Nordin.

  Lavonne placed very subtle memory-wipe spells on the people they spoke to once they were done with them. Nothing severe enough to be noticed, but enough that they wouldn’t recall the conversations or any details about the pair unless someone pressed them hard.

  The witches took a meal in at the local diner, where they got odd stares from the regular patrons. Striking up chats with the waitresses revealed some interesting information.

  It seemed that many local women (including the waitresses) lusted after three young men who, it happened, were Bailey’s brothers. But the brothers were not leaving home as often as they used to, thanks to their concern for their sister. Things had grown strange and dangerous ever since Roland, the young man from Seattle, had come to town.

  Lavonne smiled at the server. “How interesting. Even in such an out-of-the-way place, there is much drama and wonder and magic.”

  The woman chuckled as she refilled Lavonne’s coffee. “Dunno if I’d call it magic, but there’s damn sure plenty of drama. You want anything for dessert?”

  Their meal finished, Lavonne and Savina departed the diner and found the one motel in town. It was simple and unremarkable but clean enough, and almost hilariously cheap. If anything, the Venatori had overbudgeted for this little expedition.

  “Oh,” Lavonne told the young man in the motel office, “we are expecting our friends shortly. You will know them when you see them. We’re having a European girls’ night out, you might say. When they check in, please give them a room next to ours.”

  “Okay.” He shrugged.

  Once safely in their lodgings, Savina unpacked their few supplies while Lavonne called for reinforcements. She did not need a phone to do so. The other Venatori in the area immediately stopped their own investigations and headed for Greenhearth.

  Within an hour, they had arrived. There were six of them now at the motel, and they’d split the group up between two vehicles in different groupings several times, the better to hide their numbers from anyone who might be interested in them.

  The other five assembled before Lavonne like soldiers receiving orders from a commanding officer—which was what they were.

  “The coarse brush,” pronounced Lavonne, “is no longer needed. Now we use the fine-toothed comb. Our target is almost within sight, but now is the time of greatest ha
zard.”

  She explained to the other four what she and Savina had learned before adding a few more comments.

  “We must watch out for law enforcement,” the leader reminded the others. “The police in small American towns are often suspicious of outsiders, particularly when strange things have been happening of late, as indeed they have. But we have dampened the memories of all we’ve spoken to, so it is unlikely that will become a concern immediately.”

  The other witches nodded. Two of them were relatively new to these sorts of missions, but they all were smart enough to grasp the situation.

  “And,” Lavonne went on, “we have broken no laws, and our identification is in order. There is nothing the police can do to us at this point, save perhaps watch us. Thus, we should not move too hastily within the town. First, we must try to locate Bailey within the Other. Nothing we do there is of any concern to these people. If our task cannot be accomplished there, then we make our move in this village. Is that understood?”

  “Yes,” they replied in unison.

  “Good. And those witches from Seattle have been careless. We might be able to track them and have them lead us to the girl once again. Now, let us see what they are up to.”

  * * *

  Bailey’s and Roland’s hands were raised in nearly identical positions, manipulating the wall of flame before them as unearthly shrieks and hisses echoed over the black water and misty earth.

  “Bailey,” the wizard called, “it doesn’t take much. Spread it as thin as possible. We need to cover more area around us.”

  “On it,” she said. She’d been right on the cusp of the same conclusion.

  A few of the eerie mist-demons slipped around the sides of their defenses, but by then, the two magic-users were stretching the fiery wall to cover the gap. The creatures dissipated amongst the flames, becoming nothing but random fog once more, their essence wafting back toward the black pool.

  Marcus had sent Bailey back to the dark lake, this time with Roland beside her, until the next challenge emerged. It hadn’t taken long. The omnipresent mist, coming into contact with the ebony waters, had solidified into phantasmal shapes like winged animals, which had attacked them in swarms. Their sheer numbers—dozens, now—made the assault by the wraiths seem minor by comparison.