The Were Witch Complete Series Omnibus

by Renée Jaggér

  The girl whistled. “That sounds like serious shit.”

  Jacob put a hand on her arm. “You deal well with serious shit. But are these the kind of trials that might kill her, Fenris? We were hoping we wouldn’t have to keep worrying whether she’s coming home or not every time she leaves.”

  “I cannot say,” the god replied. “The more level-headed among them will ensure that the tests are fair by their standards, but it will be up to each individual to define that term.”

  Kurt and Russell both snorted.

  “Oh,” the former remarked in a sarcastic tone, waving his arms, “so they can define ‘fair’ however they want. That means Freya can ask Bailey to go back in time and change history so she was never born and call it good.”

  “Not quite,” Fenris elaborated, “but I’m sure she’ll set a difficult challenge. And they demanded that I answer on your behalf, Bailey. I told them you’d be willing to submit to their tests, but you might be able to back out if you don’t feel up to it.”

  The girl bit her lip. “You know damn well that backing out isn’t my thing, though I’ll admit I’d rather you’d asked me first. I’ll do it, and one way or another, I’ll win.”

  Fenris smiled. “That is exactly what I thought you’d say.”

  “But,” Bailey qualified, “not right away. They’re immortals, so there’s no need to hurry. I’d like to spend the evening here at home.”

  “That’s fine.” The wolf-father pushed back his chair and stood up at the same moment the oven timer went off. “I will see myself out. There are small things I can do to help ensure you have a fighting chance. Call me when you’re ready. I will hear you.”

  He and his protege clasped hands, then he left the house, vanishing into the wooded hills again.

  Jacob prodded Kurt in the arm with the butt-end of a fork. “Get the lasagna, dumbass,” he ordered.

  * * *

  “Okay,” said Gunney, wiping his hands on a dirty rag, “open it up, and let’s evaluate the damn thing.”

  Bailey frowned, but not because of anything to do with Gunney. She undid the screws, muttering curses about the bass-ackwards way her Toyota Tundra was constructed since getting at the screws with any tool was absurdly difficult. Then they lifted the plastic covering and examined her air filter.

  It was mostly white—not pristine, but still in pretty good shape.

  “That clears that up,” the old mechanic commented. “Unscrewing the fucking cover was probably more trouble than it was worth.”

  The girl gritted her teeth. Gunney noticed.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Something I said?”

  “Yeah,” she admitted, “but not your fault. What you said... Goddammit. It’s like exactly what’s going on with this council bullshit.”

  He cocked an eyebrow, curious. “Oh? How so? Usually I’m the one coming up with, uh, metaphors or allegories or whatever the English Literature majors call them. You’re moving up in the world if you don’t need me to make them for you.”

  She snickered at that and pulled her torso away from the guts of the truck, standing up straight. “More trouble than it’s worth to evaluate something. In this case, me. These all-powerful, all-knowing deities think I’m important enough to throw me through all this crap. I don’t know what they have in mind, but once again, it’s because they think I’m ‘dangerous.’ I’ve never been dangerous except to assholes who don’t know to leave me alone. Have I?”

  Gunney shrugged. “You always liked fighting,” he pointed out, “but you never picked a fight with someone who hadn’t done shit. Not that I heard of, anyway. Some people think anyone’s a threat if they don’t kiss ass and bend over backwards for them. Maybe some gods are the same way.”

  She grimaced. “I’m just so tired of being judged. I accept that I have more responsibilities now, but mostly I’d like to spend my time fixing cars, driving around with Roland, drinking beer, and watching the sunset, y’know?”

  “I do,” he replied. “Believe me. But like you told me, you’ve gone through all the motions, obeying their requests, doing everything you’re supposed to, and they’re still suspicious. At that point, the problem is on their end, not yours.”

  She took the rag from him and wiped her hands off, then closed the Tundra’s hood. “Yeah, but it’s harder to ignore someone else’s problem when they’re a frickin’ deity.”

  “Well,” Gunney continued, “you’re one too, aren’t you? I say maybe it’s time you stood up and judged them. Don’t budge on your beliefs. Stick to your story—which is true—and call them as you see them. If nothing else, they’ll have to respect your honesty, and that can get you far. Respect and the knowledge that a person doesn’t go around saying what people think they want to hear.”

  She took a deep breath and gave the old man a hug before accepting the keys back from him. “I think you’re right. Thanks, Gunney. And I promise when this is over, I’ll be back in the shop to help more often. One of these days, Fenris will stop dragging me into interdimensional adventures and all that crap.”

  Bailey said her goodbyes and drove the truck away from the auto shop through the darkened, sleepy town before arriving back in her own front yard. She felt a little better. Both her mentors believed in her, and her brothers backed her up.

  She still missed Roland. As she lay down in her own room on her own bed for the first time in what felt like far too long, she wished he was next to her, kissing her cheek as they traded sarcastic comments and stroked each other’s hair.

  “Soon,” she breathed and fell asleep.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The chamber was in the same extradimensional palace as the council chamber and the crystal hallway that led up to it, though it was not accessible from either. All six of the deities who sat in the bright chamber on their thrones had quarters here, and only those few who knew the necessary secrets could gain entry.

  The doorway before the chamber was crafted of dark bronze. Engraved in its center was a crudely drawn smirking face, one replicated on the relic mortal men called the Snaptun Stone.

  Fenris reached out and pushed open the door, then stepped into the quarters beyond.

  The decor was paradoxical; the whole space was dark to the point of being cavernous, yet it was appointed with hangings, furniture, art, and plants in a riotous clash of bright, even obnoxious colors, most of which went poorly together.

  Loki always said he considered it a joke.

  Fenris approached the desk where the trickster god sat reading a book. “Hello, father,” he intoned.

  Loki snapped the book shut with a twist of his fingers and flung it over his shoulder. It flapped and squawked like a bird before finding its way to its place on the shelf, albeit upside down.

  “Fenris,” he responded. He stretched his long, thin limbs. “I expected you to show up, of course, and part of me was hoping for it. Does that make sense? I expect not.” He tittered as though revisiting a private jest.

  The wolf-god took four heavy steps closer. He did not speak.

  Loki’s dark eyes flickered with something no other being could comprehend: a unique form of madness. Insanity that enjoyed itself and would reject every opportunity to be cured. It had marinated and percolated over the eons, not giving in to reason or sense.

  The thin man steepled his fingers. “I know how things might very well play out, you know. And I wonder,” he sighed, “if it might be a good bit of fun.”

  Fenris continued his slow, inexorable approach. He was three steps from the desk. “What do you think is going to happen?”

  The narrow, twisted smile on Loki’s mouth widened. “Simply put, disaster. A disaster of the greatest, most magnificent kind. Something remarkable, noteworthy. History-worthy.”

  Fenris said nothing in response, only made a brief growling sound in his throat to indicate that he’d heard.

  Loki went on, looking at his fireplace and tapping his lips with a bony finger. “I suspect, of course, that you�
��re here to kill me. To remove the one unpredictable element from the coming situation—that nonsense with the vote. The others are predictable. Including Coyote, who’s supposed to be a trickster too, but he has nothing on me. I’m known for being rather more mischievous. Not that I was around much during your initial existence, since fatherhood never suited me, but you know me well. You know that I might, if the fancy struck me, do something rash and crazed.”

  Fenris took another step.

  “Something,” Loki almost sneered, “that would disrupt your plans.”

  “And what,” the wolf-deity queried, “do you think my plans are?”

  His father laughed. “Not think, know. I know you plan to start Ragnarök exactly as the prophecy says! You’re predictable too, at the end of the day. I’m nearly certain how you plan to do it.”

  Fenris did not react in any obvious fashion, save that his right hand balled into a fist.

  “Yet,” Loki rambled, “you can only achieve that if you remain on your current path, which means that you need that lovely girl Bailey for some bizarre reason. Therefore,” he smacked the desk’s surface for emphasis, “there remains the possibility that I might ply my wily ways and vote in a fashion that could make this little referendum terribly difficult for you.”

  Fenris stopped. His knees were brushing the far end of the desk. Only three feet of wood separated him from the god who’d sired him.

  “Correct,” he proclaimed, then paused. “I would apologize for what I am about to do, but that would be insincere. Besides,” a small smile, as twisted as his father’s, creased his face, “I imagine you find this all mildly amusing. Don’t you?”

  “Of course I do,” Loki confirmed. He stood up in a deliberate and unhurried way, then spread his skinny arms in a wide gesture, basking in the moment. “But take care, Fenris, my son. I am not a being easily outmaneuvered, let alone destroyed. In fact, I’ve considered that—”

  The attack came without warning. A huge dark shape, no longer human, was no longer standing on the other side of the desk but had stormed over it. The figures rolled amidst the bookcases, knocking two over. Wood and leather and bodies crashed to the floor.

  A cacophony of horrible noises filled the chamber, howls and snarls, screams and whooshes, the sounds of terrible impacts, liquids striking the marble tiles, wood splintering, and flesh tearing beneath the impact of overwhelming force and millennia of pent-up hatred.

  The flickering flames of the stone fireplace cast the struggle in jagged black shadows on the wall and in front of it as silhouettes, the two forms indistinguishable in their frenzied violence.

  Then it was over. Only one black shape moved.

  The form shuffled past the fire, its outline unrecognizable as anything human, sane, or sensible, possibly covered with fur, but an observer would have had difficulty being sure. It changed as it moved, growing slimmer and more definitely human.

  Beyond the fireplace was a great mirror lined with burnished gold. The figure examined his reflection.

  Though his skin and bones still rippled in places, his form was stabilizing—a thin, dark-haired man wearing an enigmatic smile. Incongruously, he also wore a big, bulky, hooded coat.

  The man frowned and the coat shifted, becoming a perfect replica of the sleek, dark suit the man at the desk had worn. He nodded in satisfaction.

  “Bailey,” he whispered to himself, “we’re done here. Now it’s on you.”

  * * *

  The girl hugged her brothers, who stood in a line on the back porch to see her off. The morning was bright and pleasant; part of her regretted she couldn’t spend another day, or another week, enjoying the weather and doing normal stuff around town.

  But the challenge that lay before her wouldn’t go away simply because she felt like procrastinating. She intended to deal with it before it loomed too large, then move on with her life.

  Jacob held her gaze. “Be careful. I know we always say obvious shit like that, but it’s kinda required.”

  She flashed them a rueful smile. “You know I don’t mind. I’ll be fine.”

  Turning away, she raised her arms and called, “Fenris!” imbuing her voice with magic that rippled through the fabric of multiple dimensions. He might have heard her normal voice if he was listening, but she’d rather be thorough about it. She listened to the echo as it reverberated within the Hearth Valley and crept up into the mountains.

  It took less than a minute. A doorway of glowing amethyst-hued liquid opened before her and out stepped her god and teacher.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “Yup,” she affirmed. “I’m nice and rested and all that. I think it’s time to get this over with.”

  He nodded and waved her toward the portal. “Good. Come along.”

  Raising her hand to her brothers, she stepped through, with Fenris following her.

  Once more they emerged in the glittering crystal hallway, which stretched for what looked like a mile toward a haze-covered arch. Before they started toward their destination, Fenris put a hand on the werewitch’s shoulder.

  “I must leave,” he told her. “I can’t say why, but I’m not able to be present during the trial. You will do fine, however. Do what they say, believe in yourself, and remember all you’ve learned thus far.”

  Suddenly, in a delayed reaction that was stronger than it should have been because of the delay, the girl was afraid. She’d faced up to what was coming and was confident she could handle it.

  But she’d envisioned Fenris being there for her. She’d never seen herself as having to face down half a dozen gods alone.

  No, she insisted, and her will rose up to blot out her fear. We’re doing this. He’ll be with me in spirit whether he’s standing there or not. He’s said time and again that I have what it takes.

  Bailey strode down the hall. When she looked back over her shoulder a moment later, Fenris was gone. So was the portal they’d come through. She briefly wondered if the wolf-father had headed back to Earth or somewhere else.

  It didn’t matter. Only what lay ahead was important.

  Nearing the arch, however, she realized she might not be alone after all. A familiar figure, tall, dark, and muscular, stood before the opening.

  “Carl,” she marveled. “How the hell did you get here?”

  He smiled. “I’m Balder’s pupil, remember? And half-god myself. I figured you could use someone like me to vouch for you. I was sent to spy on you, so now’s my chance to deliver my report about how you’re an insane terrorist who should be destroyed immediately.”

  She snorted and punched him in the arm. “Ha-ha. Cute.”

  “Or something like that.” He scratched his head. “Whatever I say, it will be the truth.”

  She breathed in, then out. “Can’t ask for more than that.”

  In unison, they stepped through the incandescent fog that separated the corridor from the chamber, and the heavens stretched before them beyond the crystal windows.

  The six chairs were empty. Bailey’s brow furrowed and she spun, glancing everywhere at once, mentally and physically shifting into combat mode in case something was wrong.

  Carl was less alarmed but still concerned. “This is odd,” he remarked. “Wait, here they come. We got here early, is all.”

  Her sextet of judges strode through the hazy barrier. Bailey wondered why she and Carl hadn’t seen them in the hall, and it occurred to her that the arch might be a portal, with each deity approaching from a different place.

  Freya was there, resplendent in silver and green, haughtily ignoring her. Balder’s face was cast in its customary enigmatic neutrality, and there was the boisterous bluster of Thor, the solemn wisdom of Thoth, the good-natured humor of Coyote. Last to arrive was Loki, who wore a disquieting little smirk.

  The six took their seats and nodded at Bailey.

  Freya looked around. “How odd,” she announced, “that Fenris chose not to be here to see his apprentice perform.”

  Loki ch
uckled, steepling his fingers. “Perhaps,” he posited, “the old wolf-god is afraid of what the outcome might be, and like a dog smelling a bear, tucked tail and ran off, content to bark from the ridge until someone gives him a treat for being so bold.”

  Low laughter went around the semicircle of the seated gods. Coyote did not participate for obvious reasons, but the rest seemed amused by the joke at Fenris’s expense.

  Bailey fumed, and her right hand balled into a fist. As far as she was concerned, the session was off on the wrong foot. It strengthened her desire to prove them all wrong.

  Beside her, she felt Carl’s presence. A subtle vibe emanated from him, urging her to control her anger. To save it for later and use it when the time was right rather than wasting it. She calmed down and waited for the referendum to begin.

  Thoth spread his hands.

  “Let us hesitate no longer. Bailey Nordin, you are here today in part because one of our members made a poor choice. It stemmed from our broader concerns about you and the role you will play in our universe. Since the first manifestation of your powers, chaos and destruction have followed you everywhere. There are many who believe you to be an ill-disciplined agent of violence and disorder. One who may, furthermore, be suffused with dangerous levels of ego and ambition. How do you answer these charges?”

  In her opinion, they’d been over this before, but she went through the motions anyway in the hope that it demonstrated her patience and regaled them with the whole story. She filled in details of everything that had happened since Freya had first appeared to her and Roland months ago.

  She explained that she had agreed to the council’s suggestion that she go to the training grounds, and elaborated upon having met Carl and Ragnar and worked with the scion to save as many people as she could from Ragnar’s rampage. She’d remained at the grounds for further study until Fenris summoned her before the six deities.