The Were Witch Complete Series Omnibus

by Renée Jaggér

  Russell scratched his massive chin. “Kicking their asses doesn’t seem to have convinced them to leave you alone. We’ll see if ironclad customs do.”

  “They oughta,” Kurt piped up. “Any sensible Were is gonna be more scared of his parents lecturing him about fucking up the family honor than he is of Bailey breaking his nose.”

  Jacob threw a playful punch at his younger brother, and Kurt deflected it just in time.

  “Seriously, though,” Jacob added, “there’s still a handful of malcontents out there. Mostly the ones who don’t believe Fenris himself chose you for the position. If we’re lucky, they’ll come around without us having to convince them in person.”

  Russell’s hand clenched. “Convincing them might be kinda fun.”

  Ignoring the comment, Jacob went on, “Also, even though you’re free of the obligation to mate, there’s no rule that says you can’t be, you know, wooed or courted or whatever like any other single woman. And of course, in addition to guys spreading the word that you’re hot, being famous and important has a hotness all its own. Hate to say it, but you might start getting more attention from dudes than you used to.”

  She let her head fall backward and stared at the ceiling as she groaned. “Great. Juuuuust great…”

  The announcement that she and Roland were an item was overdue.

  Tomi, the usual waitress during lunch and dinner, approached with their sandwiches balanced on a massive tray. “Okay, guys, here you go. Russell, yours was the rare, right? And medium-rare for everyone else?”

  “Yes,” the middle brother rumbled.

  She set the food down and told them to enjoy their meals, which they proceeded to do.

  Bailey tore into her steak sandwich with an almost bestial hunger. Marcus had been keeping her well-sustained at the cabin with lean meat, vegetables, and other basic foods, and she was now craving something greasy and terrible. She’d have to prevail on her brothers to make chili mac or fried chicken later.

  Soon the sandwiches had disappeared.

  Jacob stretched his arms over his head. “I could use a drink.”

  “Me too,” said Kurt at once. “Just pretend I’m new. Maury might not think to card me.”

  “Shit, “Jacob threw back, “that might be the single smartest idea you’ve ever had. It’ll definitely work.”

  Bailey had to agree—with Jacob’s suggestion, not Kurt’s. As Tomi returned to gather up their dishes, Bailey caught her attention. “Hey, Tomi. Sorry, but we’re gonna drift over to the other side, I think. Could use something more to wash down the meal.”

  “Okay.” The waitress shrugged.

  They left her a cash tip on the table but took their bill with them to the bar. A moment before they seated themselves on a row of stools, the doors opened behind them, and in sauntered Roland.

  He stopped and blinked, seeing the quartet. “Huh, they’ll let anyone drink here nowadays. This town isn’t what it used to be.”

  Bailey snorted. “Shut up, Seattle boy. Come have a beer with us, though.”

  “Not a bad idea,” he acknowledged. “I was kinda thinking a cup of strong coffee, but a depressant might be just as comforting as a stimulant.”

  He joined them, selecting a stool to Bailey’s left, and together, they took up most of the bar. Maury Fitzpatrick, the aging proprietor who usually ran the alcohol side of things during daylight hours, appeared from the back room.

  “All of you together. That’s a handful.” He grunted. “What’ll you have?”

  “Beer,” said Bailey. “Except for Kurt. Get him a Coke.”

  Nodding and sighing, the man went to bring their drinks.

  The girl turned to the wizard. “So, what were you up to?”

  “Practicing out in the woods,” he answered her, “and thinking about, I dunno, what’s next.” He’d decided to keep the witches’ visit to himself for now. Bailey didn’t need to be told they were planning something else since she already knew it, and the rest would just hurt her feelings or worse, cause her to doubt him.

  “Gotcha.” She said no more than that. Roland’s statement had a dual meaning, after all. The more obvious one was that he, like she, was worried about what might happen involving the Order and its vengeful agents, not to mention pack politics and so forth.

  Less obviously, he probably meant what was next for them as a pair.

  They’d finally gone all the way last week, and Bailey was overjoyed, in truth. Now they were together in every way that mattered. However, she hadn’t told anyone except Gunney they were officially a couple. Her brothers weren’t dunces, though; they must have suspected the possibility.

  Maybe, Bailey considered, Roland’s hurt that I went off on a “vacation” with Fenris right after we did the deed. I’ll have to tell him later it didn’t have anything to do with him. I was just frickin’ exhausted.

  The five chatted about minor stuff for a brief period before the doors parted again and a trio of young men, little more than teenagers, appeared.

  “Hey,” the one in the middle shouted, “are you Bailey Nordin?”

  She wasn’t sure she liked his tone. Then again, Weres weren’t the most diplomatic people, and she’d already had a few come to pledge loyalty to her even when it hadn’t seemed like that was their intent.

  “Yup,” she said, her tone casual as she turned on the stool. “You here to join the cause? If so, you’re welcome to join us for a drink. Not sure you’re old enough for a beer, but there’s always soda.”

  “We ain’t interested in a fuckin’ drink.”

  All five of the seated figures turned to stare at the three kids. Examining them, their features as well as their clothes, and paying heed to their subtle smells and vibe, Bailey realized she’d been mistaken.

  Only one of them, the one on the right, was a lycanthrope. The other two were humans. They dressed similarly, in nice but banal clothes that had been purchased recently and wouldn’t have been much good out in the forest. The one in the lead had a baseball cap turned backward. Her visitors must have been from the suburbs of Portland or Salem, where lapsed Weres had gone native among the general population.

  Maury waved a fat, hairy arm at them. “Hey, now. You boys don’t have any business being here if you’re not drinking or eating, or if you’re only here to hassle my customers.”

  The one on the right made a faint jeering noise. The leader said, “Three Mountain Dews, then.”

  Frowning, the bartender went off to fish around in his cooler.

  While he was gone, the out-of-towners came up behind Bailey and glared at her, unfazed by or not cognizant of the four large men she had with her. Not to mention her reputation for winning fights.

  “So,” the middle one began, “we heard you think you’re the boss of all the Weres now, and that you’re the fuckin’ queen of Oregon or some shit. Dominic, is she the queen of the Weres?”

  The one on the left, the domesticated lycanthrope, made a sputtering noise. “Hell, no.”

  “See,” the leader went on, “Oregon City doesn’t need your ass. It’s got us, and nobody cuts in on our territory.”

  The Were chimed in with, “She does have a nice ass, though.”

  Roland looked like he was trying not to crack up. “Are you kids in a role-playing group? One of those D20 Modern things, where you’re pretending to be in a gang?”

  The middle guy’s face snapped toward him. “Shut the fuck up. You look like a fashion model.”

  The wizard gestured with his elbow toward the dance floor. “Runway’s over there if you want to see.”

  Bailey put one hand on her boyfriend’s shoulder and extended her beverage in the other hand. “Hold my beer.”

  He accepted it from her and took a tiny sip from the bottle as he watched the werewitch and her new fan club stride toward the empty dance floor, in the wing of the building opposite the diner.

  Maury gave him a cock-eyed look, gesturing toward the beer.

  “What?” he asked wi
th an innocent pout. “She’s impossible to talk to some days until the hormones have worked themselves out or something like that. Besides, we all anticipate she’ll need another one when she’s done.”

  Jacob nodded. “True. You really do know her.”

  They watched as the fight began.

  The young man who’d spoken for the group seemed to consider himself her primary opponent, but after a quick feint, Bailey ducked around him and went straight for his buddy the Were. The two crashed together with a sudden snarl of fury, then a hairy fist lashed out. Bailey ducked it to grab the boy and body-slam him into the wooden floor, kicking him hard in the gut for good measure.

  Then the other two, both humans, piled into her. She staggered the leader with a sharp punch to the jaw, then took a blow to the stomach from the other guy before kneeing him in the groin and shoving him. He stumbled over his fallen friend and tumbled to the ground, clutching his family jewels.

  “Hey!” the leader protested, remembering to bring his fists back up. “Bullshit! That’s cheating!”

  “What?” Bailey asked. “You didn’t say anything about rules.”

  He started to charge at her, but she aimed a sidekick at his solar plexus, and his torso folded over her booted foot. Groaning and trying not to throw up, he slumped to his knees.

  And that was it.

  “Okay, then,” Bailey stated, wiping her hands off on her jeans. She strolled back to the bar. “Gimme another beer, Maury. It looks like this dipshit drank a quarter of mine. Roland, I’m never trusting you to hold anything of mine again.”

  He whistled. “Harsh words. We’ll see about that.”

  Moments later, as the three kids were dragging themselves off the dance floor, a sheriff’s car pulled up outside, and Officer Smolinski strolled in. “Anybody dead?” he asked.

  Russell looked at the deputy evenly. “No.”

  Nodding, the officer ambled over to the troublemakers. “Someone heard you boys bragging about how you were gonna take out the famous Ms. Nordin. You oughta at least keep your mouths shut in public if that’s the kinda shit you plan to pull. You’re all under arrest for disturbing the peace. And for your own protection.”

  “What?” the leader snapped. He turned his cap around the right way. “That’s a bunch of crap. She hit us!”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Smolinski replied. “You have the right to remain silent…”

  As he led the youths away, he paused beside the bar. “At least it’s just normal shit this time, Bailey. Let’s try to keep it that way, huh?”

  She smiled.

  Leading the trio away, he continued to admonish them. “You assholes could have stayed home, or maybe come here for the scenery and the outdoorsmanship stuff. But no, you had to go and pick a fight with Wonder Woman.”

  The five at the bar burst out laughing as the doors swung shut.

  Jacob finished his beer. “Wonder Woman, my ass. Bailey’s more a Marvel chick, I’d say.”

  “Nah,” Kurt protested. “She’s definitely DC. Just because the MCU movies made more money, it doesn’t mean Marvel is better. Thanos is a complete rip-off of Darkseid. I mean, come on!”

  Roland raised a finger. “Now that she’s a werewitch, wouldn’t that make her kind of like the bad guy from Suicide Squad? Only more, uh, physical, I guess.”

  “Horseshit,” Jacob protested. “More like Storm from X-Men.”

  Bailey shrugged as she cracked open her second brew. “I’ll take what I can get.”

  Chapter Three

  After a good meal and a brief if satisfying fight, there were still hours to kill before twilight. Granted, Bailey would need to find a wolf pack to accompany her to the trials Marcus had mentioned, but she doubted that would take long, with all the out-of-town Weres roaming around the valley.

  After telling Roland about the trials, she ended up at the auto repair shop.

  Gunney saw her coming and hailed her without looking up from his work. “Hi, Bailey. If you’re looking for work, we got a whole bunch of shit to do on that Firebird, but that’s gonna take a while, so there’s also a basic oil change and maintenance check on this F-250 if you don’t feel like challenging yourself.”

  She had to admit she didn’t. “I’ll take the oil change. I’m still a little tired and zoned-out.”

  “That works.” He waved her over.

  Gunney was a rather short but tough man in his early fifties. He was of an age with her father, and he’d fulfilled a similar role for much of her life. He had a scruffy beard and shaggy hair he usually kept hidden under a smudged old cap.

  He and Bailey set to work on the Ford. Between the two of them, the job wouldn’t take long, and it would be enough easy work to set her mind at ease and give them time to talk.

  “So,” she began, “after last week, I would’ve hoped the Venatori got the message—that they can’t come around here killing and threatening us—and gave up and decided to stay home. Part of me wants revenge, yeah, but there’s so much that could go wrong. I’d rather that fight was the end of it.”

  The mechanic nodded vaguely. He had a way of listening without looking at her, somewhat like he was distracted, but years of knowing him assured her that he was paying attention.

  “But you don’t think this will be the end,” he surmised, finishing the statement for her.

  She frowned. “Yeah. They have to save face after what happened. Or us fighting back convinced them we’re an even bigger threat.”

  The girl relayed her other fears, admitting that she knew she ought to be focusing on the here-and-now, but with her increasing responsibilities, it was almost impossible.

  All the while, they checked the F-250’s brakes, rotors, and filters, opting to replace the latter, and topped off all the fluids, which didn’t seem to be leaking.

  They were nearly done when Bailey concluded with, “I dunno if there’s any way to stop the escalation at this point. Those witches have got to be hurting.”

  To her surprise, Gunney snorted with contempt. “Well, they oughta be. Fuck them.”

  Bailey had expected him to offer his usual sort of advice, stuff that was calming and reassuring, replete with analogies about how best to view the situation differently. Instead…

  “They started this. They came after you and yours, and all the rest of us here besides. When was the last time Greenhearth, Oregon hurt or threatened anyone in goddamn France? If they never show up again and you decide to let bygones be bygones, fine. But if they have the nerve to come back here again, Greenhearth will kick their asses even harder. You’ve got an army of Weres now, plus, those government guys are on our side, and we all know what to expect. We’re fighting to defend our homes, and that counts for something. If they’re still looking for a fight, they’ll lose. Believe it.”

  The way he said it, she no longer had any doubts.

  “Shit, Gunney,” she murmured. “You got a point there. Thanks. I think I needed to hear that.”

  “You did,” he affirmed, “and I suppose I needed to say it. Makes me feel better, too.”

  They talked about a few more things—what color Bailey planned to paint her Camaro, what work would look like next week—until the sun grew low enough in the sky that Bailey recalled she needed to head up the mountain.

  “I gotta go,” she told the mechanic, shaking his callused hand. “I’ll record this on the timesheet, and I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

  He smiled. “I know you will, girl. Take care of yourself.”

  She was walking back to her car, still matte gray and unfinished, when four figures approached. At the head of them was Will Waldsbach, the alpha of the South Cliff pack, who’d pledged themselves to her cause.

  “Hi, Will. Guys,” she greeted them.

  Before she could ask if they’d be willing to volunteer for a field trip into the Other, Will spoke.

  “Bailey. Roland sent us your way, saying you needed Weres to help you with some kind of magical trials. So, here we are.”

&nb
sp; She tried not to laugh at her good luck. “That works out perfectly since I’m on my way now. It’s too far to walk in time, though, so why don’t you guys head west on Main Street, and I’ll pick you up in my truck? Just gotta drive home to get it.”

  The four nodded. “Deal.”

  * * *

  Will grinned as they came to a stop. “Hell of a nice ride,” he remarked.

  “Thanks,” said Bailey. “Would’ve expected to hear that compliment on my other car, but that thing wouldn’t fit all you dumbasses.”

  One of Will’s friends piped up, shouting through the rear window. “That’s okay, you can take us out one after another in it when we get back.”

  Roland made a sour face at that, but the Weres all just laughed.

  Bailey had brought the pack along in her Tundra, with Will in the passenger seat and Roland, due to his skinny frame, in the half-assed back seat. The other guys rode in the bed. They’d covered themselves with a tarp until they were out of town, since even though she had an understanding with Sheriff Browne, she would rather not risk a ticket.

  Her other vehicle, of course, was a ’72 Camaro—a gift from Gunney after she’d helped him restore it. That thing was too precious for an errand like this.

  The six of them got out of the vehicle and stepped onto the dirt patch where the winding mountain road ended. The cabin Marcus had rented was about a quarter-mile up the footpath. As her boots struck the earth, Bailey hoped she’d brought along enough Weres. Marcus had said something about a full pack, she recalled.

  Mere seconds after she’d had the thought, figures appeared on the path ahead. They were little more than black silhouettes in the dim reddish light of evening, but the one at the front wasn’t hard to recognize with its height, broad shoulders, and hood.

  “Bailey,” said Fenris, “these young men came looking for you. They’ve just arrived from Washington, and they wanted to talk to you before the trials.” He gestured to the other six forms, then stepped back to let them speak for themselves.