The Were Witch Complete Series Omnibus

by Renée Jaggér

  Suddenly she wanted to cry, but something fierce within her clamped down on the urge. She swallowed the lump in her throat with only a slight moistening of the eyes.

  “Aw, hell,” the mechanic lamented. “That’s what I was afraid of, even if it’s good to see that you’re safe. Well, it probably wasn’t your fault, but when someone dies, it can bring a whole world of shit down on everyone involved. Come on in and let’s talk about it. I could use some help with this goddamn old El Camino, anyway.”

  It was early evening and the employees had gone home, leaving only Gunney to keep tinkering with the vehicle. And Bailey, of course.

  The car was a nice pearly white, and surprisingly unblemished, given its presumed age.

  Bailey squinted at it. “That an ’83?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Gunney affirmed. “Seems like I’m getting a reputation. People from farther and farther afield have been bringing their rare old cars into Greenhearth. Keeps us busy, at least.”

  Smiling, the girl teased, “And I’m sure you hate having to work on all these antique pieces of shit. Such drudgery.”

  He chuckled and didn’t respond as he gathered his tools.

  But if more outsiders are coming into town, Bailey thought, that’s more people who might see what’s going on here lately. Or even people who might end up in the line of fire…

  She tried not to dwell on that.

  Instead, she helped the man who was her mentor, her employer, and effectively her second father. They worked and talked.

  “And then, I had this vision,” she relayed. She’d glossed over most of the details of the Other and its magical properties, but somehow she felt Gunney would be amenable to her second experience with the black pool. She’d heard what Marcus had said about it, yet something in her yearned to hear the opinion of a normal human.

  “Oh?” the old man remarked, as he raised the El Camino on the lift. Bailey had already grabbed some tools out of habit.

  She described the rush of words and images, holding nothing back. Coming into this situation, she’d intended to censor some of it, to stop herself from telling him the worst or strangest aspects of the horrible waking dream. She felt so familiar and comfortable with him—not to mention worried over what it could mean—that she simply poured out the whole thing, pure and unadulterated.

  Gunney worked as she spoke, not looking at her, but she knew he was listening all the same.

  “It’s like,” she went on, trying not to get too emotional, “I have all this power and potential, at least according to all these shamans and witches, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to use it right. It’s a goddamn struggle to figure out the right choice, because if I make the right choice, then I have the power to make everything fuckin’ great, but the wrong choice would be a catastrophe. I don’t know if I’m cut out for that kind of responsibility. I didn’t even know I had this power when I was younger, so I wasn’t trained for it. I don’t know if I’m smart enough or strong enough to use it wisely.”

  Her voice trailed off. She felt as though she ought to say more, but she was unsure what words should come next. She waited.

  Gunney had begun the process of taking the cylinder heads off the engine. “Well,” he began, “in my experience, responsibility is mainly a matter of choices. And choices come down the pipeline at you one or two at a time, so that’s what you deal with—the one choice you have to make right now. Nobody expects you to make every choice you’re ever gonna have to make in advance.”

  Bailey nodded. She wanted him to say more, but so far, his response made sense. He handed her a cylinder head for cleaning.

  “It’s just trying to the best of your ability to do the right thing with each situation as it comes. Step by step, one small thing at a time. Kinda like working on a car, in fact.”

  She smiled. Of course, that would be the analogy he defaulted to. Then again, she might have done the same if she’d been mentally approaching the subject the way he was.

  They replaced the fan and started working on the carburetor, talking only briefly in small bursts, but when Gunney spoke, it usually counted for something. His words favored quality over quantity.

  “As you get older,” he continued, “you start to see that everything isn’t necessarily riding on one big event that’s coming up soon. Doing this job, for example; it’s not like my business is going to succeed or fail based on doing a perfect job on the President’s limo. It’s the day-to-day stuff—doing a good job on one car after another, trusting that I know what I’m doing but still keep having to make the decision every day to show up and get it done right.”

  “Yeah,” Bailey replied. “Maybe you’re right. Like, even if something big is coming, there are still going to be all those smaller things, and those are what make a difference in the long run.”

  He nodded. “Something like that. Just keep trying your best. And every once in a while, step back and do an honest assessment of what’s going on. That way, if it seems like you’re having trouble making the small decisions, maybe it’s time for a big decision that will change the types of small decisions you have to make. Knowing when to do that is a type of responsibility, too.”

  She ruminated on the implications. “I guess. Gonna need some time to think that one over, though.”

  “Do what you have to do,” he stated and extended his hand. She placed a wrench in it without having to be asked. “It’s no different with cars than it is with people, Were packs, or all this magical shit, from the sound of it. Just do what you can now and you’ll be fine.”

  Soon they were done, and it was well past time for supper. Bailey figured Roland and her brothers were waiting for her.

  “Thanks, Gunney,” she told the mechanic. “You gonna let that thing go and get yourself a good meal finally?”

  He sighed. “There’s a decision I’m gonna have to make .”

  * * *

  The Nordin boys had collaborated on the current feast. None of them by himself was a great chef, but between them, they’d hit the proverbial home run.

  There was roasted chicken—a bit under-seasoned, but the barbecue sauce more than made up for it. There were mashed potatoes, rich and creamy, with decent chicken gravy and a healthy dose of black pepper. There was green bean casserole, savory and heavy with French fried onions and fresh diced mushrooms.

  And while none of them had been brave enough to try baking a dessert, they’d bought a pretty good apple pie to cap things off. All of it was served with Jacob’s coffee, which was probably the best of anyone’s in the household. He didn’t make it quite as strong as Russell did, but except on the dreariest of mornings, that was likely a good thing.

  Things started out on a jovial note. Jacob had put a few bits of chicken skin and gristle into a tightly-sealed plastic bag and slipped it onto Kurt’s chair as he sat down. His exclamation of “Oh, fuck, I sat in chicken!” cracked everyone up. The youngest brother joined in once he realized the bag had saved his pants from being ruined.

  Then they moved on to joking about their dad’s exploits in helping the Fredersons, not to mention lamenting the fact that the Nordins’ own next-door neighbors, the Hauers, had just had to buy a new refrigerator.

  Roland laughed out loud at this. “I remember when that kid came out your door holding your fridge on his back. That was when I started taking the whole werewolf thing more seriously.”

  “Damn right,” Jacob quipped. “They’ve always had shitty luck, though, to be honest, our old fridge wasn’t in the best of shape when we gave it to them.”

  Soon, though, the conversation turned to Bailey and Roland and all that had just happened. The werewitch and the wizard told the brothers the whole story, with Bailey repeating her fears and concerns. She already felt better from talking about it with Gunney, but she wanted to hear what her blood family had to say as well.

  “Bailey,” Jacob responded, as she started to wind down, “none of this is your fault. Well, unless you count drawing attention to you
rself by going off and rescuing all those girls, but no one who isn’t a total asshole is going to criticize you for that.”

  She sighed. “I know. Maybe there were things I could have done differently, but mostly I feel like I did the right thing, or at least tried to. It’s more like I have all this potential, but I’m not strong enough or smart enough—at least not yet—to use it right. I could’ve done more. Could’ve done better.”

  Before the Nordin boys could reply to that, someone knocked on the door. And, just as they had a couple days ago, Bailey and Jacob realized they’d failed to notice anyone approaching.

  “Shit,” she muttered. “It isn’t them again, is it?”

  Roland spread his hands, mouth twisted in a sheepish grimace. “Not to be the harbinger of ill tidings, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Bailey grunted. “Shuddup.” She grabbed his collar and urged him to a standing position, and the two of them marched toward the door. This time, Russell followed at a discreet distance.

  It was indeed the Men in Black or whatever they called themselves once again.

  “Hello,” said Agent Townsend, his face as expressionless as his voice. “We want to know about what’s been happening. Of course, we already know quite a bit, so don’t assume you can hide things from us.”

  Agent Spall nodded curtly. “Yes. We know the wizard’s girlfriends have been in the vicinity of this town. We know about the funerals down in Juniper—a town which, by the way, doesn’t officially exist, but we were aware of it. And we know the Venatori are nearby. If you’ve encountered them, we need to know everything that happened.”

  Bailey felt the muscles along her jaw ripple as her brow lowered itself over her eyes. “We were having dinner,” she pointed out. “And it’s been a long couple of days. Don’t much feel like repeating all that crap to you guys in the middle of a damn meal. Why don’t you come back in an hour?”

  Townsend snorted. “You’re not in a position to make demands. That’s not how it works. And given the amount of danger you might be in right now, we’d say it’s in your best interest to inform us of everything—now.”

  Spall smirked. “If our friends from Europe are directly involved at this point, this entire situation has escalated about two Defcon levels. We’d rather help you than screw you over, believe it or not, but now is not the time for you to be acting like a smartass. Things are serious.”

  Bailey’s eyes dropped to the floor, and a slow, wheezy exhalation came out of her. They were right. People were dead. Recovering her breath, she looked back up and told them what had transpired, though in as little detail as she could get away with.

  Roland helped fill in or clarify things when necessary, though Spall kept chiding him to stay out of the discussion unless specifically asked to contribute.

  “Oops,” the wizard murmured.

  The girl ended with the deaths of the five Juniper Weres and her and Roland attending the funeral. She made sure to mention that none of them had any idea where the Venatori had gone, but no one had seen or heard from them since the battle.

  Townsend, shockingly, removed his dark glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Jesus-effing-tap-dancing-Christ,” he intoned. “Do you have any idea how much paperwork we’re going to have to do because of this?”

  In a break from the usual unity of thought between the two agents, Spall remained unaffected. “This is pretty bad, but there’s still time to avoid things becoming even worse.”

  “How?” Bailey asked. She didn’t like the two men, but she was pretty sure they were sincere about wanting to keep things from plummeting straight to hell. If they’d wanted to arrest her or screw her over, they could have done so many times before now.

  Townsend put his glasses back on and gestured with a chopping motion of his hand. “Can you just slow down somehow so we have time to repair the damage that’s already been done? Like, try to restrict yourselves to only getting into the normal kind of trouble.”

  “Right,” Spall affirmed. “Restrict your encounters to things like, I don’t know, a Tweet where you just say ‘Oops, something went wrong,’ followed by a big mood emoji, and then say, uh, ‘I’m going to yeet away now, bee-are-bee, bye,’ or whatever the hell it is you kids nowadays say.”

  Bailey and Roland stared at him in confusion.

  The wizard cleared his throat. “Um. We’ll do our best, sirs, but with the frickin’ Venatori after us, well, let’s just say we’re still not the ones starting these little scuffles.”

  Townsend waved a hand. “We’ll deal with the Venatori one way or another. And keep us posted on your trio of little admirers. If they don’t go back to Seattle and stay there, I’m sure we can have their asses arrested for something.”

  “Yes,” said Spall. “Just lie low and stop making things worse, so we can make things better. We hate paperwork!”

  Bailey frowned. “Yeah. Lie low. Have a nice evening, you guys.”

  The agents adjusted their ties and glasses, then turned around in unison and marched silently back to their car.

  Bailey closed the door, and she and Roland made ready to return to dinner. Russell, waiting for them, observed, “Those guys are sure hung up on paperwork, aren’t they?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The sun had been up for a good three hours. Bailey had slept in before seeking out her teacher for another day of hard work. Now she and Marcus stood in a clearing in the forest near his makeshift shack, perhaps a mile from the edge of town. They were high enough on the mountain slopes for the trees to be thinner and the air colder.

  The shaman spoke. “So far, there is no sign of the Venatori. I can sense the presence of their magic, and it is not far, but I don’t know where they are or what they’re doing. Either they’ve left town and only the residue of their power remains, or they’re hiding somewhere and cloaking themselves with great skill. Either way, they do not seem poised to offer an immediate threat, but I don’t think the danger has passed, either.”

  “Yeah,” said Bailey, “that’s about what I figured. Let’s get training, then. I need to be ready for them if the time comes. Gods.” She shook her head, and her eyes went distant. “That lady with the bun who was in charge of them summoned the kind of magic Roland and I can use in our world, only she was in the Other.”

  Nodding, Marcus agreed. “They are clearly not to be taken lightly, but you standing against them in that realm means that you’re learning your lesson. Now you need to be able to control your powers as well here as you do there, with an emphasis on sustained management of high-powered spells. And no collateral damage. Let us begin.”

  They started off by essentially playing catch with small fireballs and lightning bolts, playing tug-of-war with kinetic force, and having Bailey try to resist a sleep spell. It made her groggy and disoriented, but she retained consciousness.

  “Good,” Marcus praised her. “Soon we’ll try a fear spell, too. You told me you almost succumbed to one of those against the witches and Roland had to intervene to save you. There’s no shame in that, but you should know how to fight it yourself.”

  “I agree.” She slapped herself gently across the face to dispel the lingering effects of the sleeping enchantment. She wished she had some of Russell’s coffee, but wishing wouldn’t be much good in a sorcerous duel.

  They continued, repeating fairly basic spells and exercises, but Bailey found that she saw them and felt them in a new way. Her experience in the Other had transformed how she employed the arcane in both worlds.

  Marcus also talked about the philosophy of shamanic magic. “All magic ultimately comes from the same source, which is the power of creation,” he told her. “That is why the Other is open to witches as well as us. But as magic descends in ways that can be manipulated by mortal forms, it starts to take on different shapes, different flavors. You must find the way of approaching it that works best not only for you as an individual, but for you as a werewolf. That is why our tradition is not the same as
that of wizards.”

  Even if, she surmised, we’re ultimately drawing from the same deep well of power. Still, it made sense to her.

  “Like how two different people can see a movie and both like it, but for different reasons. Kind of,” she commented.

  “Something like that, yes,” Marcus agreed. “And keeping that in mind, you should remember that as a potential shaman of the Were people, your first duty is to your own kind. Other people have their own responsibilities to attend to, and you have yours.”

  She nodded, concentrating on maintaining an arc of electricity between her hands for as long as possible without letting it grow large enough either to tire her or to go out of control and burn down the forest.

  Thinking she only really had to take care of her pack and perhaps neighboring packs like the Junipers took away some of the stress she felt about the future.

  But what about Roland? And Gunney? And all the decent normal humans in Greenhearth?

  She’d protect her family first, it was true. But if she could, she’d protect the rest as well.

  Roland appeared a moment later. “Hi,” he greeted them. “Were you expecting me? I kind of figured you were, but no one rolled me out of bed for the occasion, so…”

  “Welcome,” Marcus said. “It was best that Bailey and I have some time to discuss matters particular to our kind, but having you here will allow us to test your abilities working together.”

  “Good deal,” the wizard quipped.

  First they did another lightning circuit amongst the three of them and were able to sustain it for almost half an hour, during which Bailey struggled at first to maintain the current at a low voltage. Soon enough she settled into equilibrium, and her mind went peaceful enough that the time passed more quickly than she’d expected.

  Next, Marcus moved on to sparring.