by Renée Jaggér
“Yeah,” Bailey muttered in a low voice, “we’ll be on guard, all right. And we know damn well that the real enemy will be revealed soon.”
Fenris sat before the black reflecting pool in the dead forest of petrified trees and bloodstained weeds that grew from the cracked earth beneath a sky like rusted iron. He came here occasionally to rest and meditate, and to conduct meetings with his apprentice, who was slightly late. No one else ever came here.
At length, Carl appeared. Rather than portal in directly, he must have stepped out at a more distant point and approached on foot, so as not to disturb his master unnecessarily with his intrusion.
Fenris stared into the black water and listened to the footsteps coming closer. “Greetings, Carl. I assume there’s a good reason for the delay?”
The lithe scion sat down next to the burly deity. “I don’t think I’d go so far as to call it good, but yes, there was a reason. Right as I was about to come meet you, I sensed Balder on the move and decided it was worth it to trail him, at least until I knew where he was going. He headed back to the council’s chamber. I don’t know why.”
Fenris nodded without looking at his partner. “I see. Well, we will find out soon enough. In all likelihood, they are convening to discuss the outbreak of attacks upon Asgard’s borders.”
“That’s what I figured.” Carl shrugged.
Fenris pulled back his hood and allowed the faint breeze to pass over his craggy face and through his dark, silver-streaked hair. The air here, in contrast to the place’s visual atmosphere of cold desolation, was hot, moist, and somehow salty. It went well with the omnipresent appearance of dried blood.
“In the meantime,” the wolf-father explained, “we must focus on Bailey. She’s grown incredibly powerful—as strong as I am, or very nearly so, which was always part of the plan. She must stand in for me and be as similar as possible, but she could pose a massive threat if she were to turn against us. We must act, and soon.”
The scion nodded to indicate he understood. “Of course. She was never exactly a lightweight, was she?”
“No,” said Fenris. “She’s not stupid, either. I am beginning to suspect that she suspects something. She may not know the truth yet, but she grasps that not everything is as it seems. We must be careful.”
Carl cracked his neck. “Indeed. But she won’t abandon people threatened by a crisis, will she? The whole point is to distract her with all the chaos so she dies heroically before she realizes what’s going on.”
Fenris kept his eyes on the reflecting pool. “It will succeed if we are vigilant. There were always risks, but I have planned this for too long for it to fail, Carl. The gods have grown too lazy, stupid, and complacent. The injustice of their rule is coming to an end, and with it, this whole world, universe, cosmos, or whatever they choose to call it that bears the marks of their flawed design and inept leadership. We will rule. It’s coming. It’s happening.”
Carl was silent for the span of three heartbeats or so, then he laughed softly, shaking his head. He liked Bailey, he really did, but Fenris had promised he’d rule at his right hand in the new world. “I can’t believe it. In a good way, I mean. You’re right. Everything's coming together.”
Fenris turned his head to look at the younger man for the first time. “Your next move is among the most important—to isolate and destroy Balder. You are more than up to the task. It’s simply a matter of getting him alone, where the other deities can’t rush to his aid, and where he is caught unaware. When you leave this place, go directly to fulfill that task. Don’t go to the council chamber since we don’t want them to see you shortly before Balder dies, but wait for him. He will go his separate way, and then you must move in.”
“Understood, my lord.” Carl smiled. “Tea?”
Fenris waved a hand and a kettle and cups appeared, though he would take the time to brew it the mundane way. “Certainly. We may not get another chance to drink before the beginning of the End is upon us.”
The Nordin family kitchen and dining room were the most crowded they’d been in a significant amount of time. At first Bailey thought “ever,” but then she remembered that it wasn’t too long ago that a small volunteer force of Seattleites and a Venatori task force had been crowded into the same place.
Jacob raised his hands before the group. “Okay, don’t worry, I made the coffee, not Russell. No offense, Russ, but it’s two o'clock in the afternoon. That’s waaaaay too late in the day for your stuff unless everyone’s planning to be up for the next thirty-six hours.”
Kurt sputtered, “How do you know they aren’t planning that? Shit, I haven’t pulled an all-nighter in, like, two weeks or something. I feel weird without one, man.”
Russell frowned. “I thought people liked my coffee?”
Bailey leaned over and patted her middle brother on the shoulder. “It has its uses, don’t worry. But we have people here who are virgins to it, so it’s probably best we break ‘em in gently with Jacob’s. We can serve your coffee next time.”
Dante and Charlene, sitting in one corner, whispered to one another and cracked up. Bailey could have heard what they’d said if it wasn’t for the laughter, scraping chairs, clanking plates, and general clatter that filled the house.
In addition to her family and Dante and Charlene, Roland was present, as was Gunney. The old man seemed mildly self-conscious around so many people half his age, but he took it in stride and listened rather than spoke.
Besides, if anyone had made fun of him, Bailey would have been able to shut them up in a second with no more than a death glare. She was certain of it.
Jacob poured coffee for everyone who wanted it while Russell and Kurt brought out the food; they and Bailey had collaborated on a feast consisting of two roasted chickens, a double size green bean casserole, some macaroni and cheese, and a metric ton of mashed potatoes and gravy.
Kurt announced, “Admittedly, this is more of a Thanksgiving-type dinner that you’d eat in colder weather, but whatever. Nobody ever complains about chicken and fixings, right? That’s the advantage of it. This reminds me, though, we need to get a proper grill. Then we can invite you all over for a nice summer barbecue in, say, January.”
Chuckles went around the table.
Gunney spoke up. “I, for one, ain’t complaining.”
No one else did, either. Instead, they dug in.
The eating was fast and furious at first. Knowing the size of the meal that awaited, no one had bothered to have much breakfast, and they were all famished. Once the gluttony had subsided, conversation went around the table.
Roland asked, “How’s Deanna? She always seemed pretty cool. And those other gals who were with us at the end, Mavis and Andrea and the other one. Sorry, don’t recall her name.”
“Fine,” Charlene chipped in. “She had some family shit to deal with. She wanted to stay and help us, but she couldn’t.”
Dante nodded. “Right. And Mavis and Andrea and Jen all got home safely. Jen has good taste in music, by the way.”
That set off a debate among the urban types about electronic bands, hip-hop, and the like as Bailey, her brothers, and Gunney watched with a vague mixture of distaste and amusement. Greenhearth was a town where people mostly listened to country and classic rock, and that suited them fine.
Soon the meal was finished, and the dishes were piled in the kitchen. No one wanted to think about their existence, though a debate about who’d deal with them would certainly ensue before long.
Everyone wandered outside. The day was mild, as summer was waning. They stood or leaned against the pillars of the house’s porch or its walls, chatting at random and looking at the sky. It felt good to simply digest food in the presence of friends and family, Bailey acknowledged, and talk about nothing more serious or imposing than the goddamn weather.
But it was kind of boring. Whatever serious shit awaited them all, sometimes girls, even goddesses, just wanted to have fun.
“Hey!” the werewitch announ
ced, pitching her voice so she grabbed everybody’s attention. “I think what we need to cap this afternoon off is a race. I’m gonna hop into my Camaro there, and anyone who thinks they can take me is welcome to try. We start at the edge of town, then drive east, up to the scenic overlook. Roland, Gunney, you’ve been to the one I mean. Whoever comes in last has to buy drinks for all. What do you all say?”
Murmurs, chuckles, and boasts went around the group. Since some people were dithering or hesitating, Bailey added, “I promise not to use my powers to cheat. Well, unless someone goes off the damn cliff, in which case I’ll save them. Otherwise, it’ll be purely a test of driving skill. Come on, you know you want to!”
Most people voted for a nap, but Roland finally sighed. “So be it. I hereby challenge you to a rematch for beating me at the magic duel earlier. You had an unfair advantage there, but if it’s driving ability alone, we shall see.”
Gunney laughed. “I’m up for it. Once again, I think you all underestimate me. No one can surpass me behind the wheel.”
Charlene stepped up. “Oh, really? We’ll see about that.” She was turning out to be more of a gearhead than Bailey would have expected, and she nodded with approval.
Jacob raised a hand. “I’ll participate if I can borrow a vehicle. Bailey, how about the Tundra? I know it’s special to you, which is why I’ll drive it as gently as possible for this being a dangerous, illegal drag race up a winding-ass mountainside.”
The girl nodded to him. “Deal.”
With the five competitors selected, they all piled into their cars or trucks and drove, nice and slowly, to the eastern edge of town, gathering at a pull-over location for semi trucks about half a mile before the road to the scenic overlook began.
Dante had accompanied his girlfriend, and he got out of her car to volunteer for the duty of formally starting the race, vowing to walk up the mountain behind them afterward.
Bailey snapped her fingers as they all leaned against their rides. “That gives me an idea. The loser should also have to go back and pick up Dante.”
They agreed.
The racers got back into their vehicles, breathing deep, as the younger blond wizard checked for cops, pedestrians, or slow-moving motorists. Then he raised his hand, made sure he had everyone’s attention and brought it down in a chopping motion.
The five hit their gas pedals. A quintet of vehicles rocketed up the road that led into the Cascades, engines roaring and with clouds of blue smoke hovering behind them.
Bailey was out in front, but not by much. Gunney, confident in his abilities, hovered right behind her shoulder and tried to nudge her aside, probably bluffing with the threat of damaging her prized car.
Oh, no, you don’t, the girl thought. Two could play at that game. She veered slightly to the left, so the two cars came within an inch of scraping, and the older man cursed and disengaged. She knew he’d have something else up his sleeve, though.
Roland was in fourth place so far, but he passed Charlene partway up the road. Jacob held steady in last place.
Bailey tried not to laugh. At least that means he’s less likely to fuck up my Tundra. But if he loses, he’ll never live it down with Russell and Kurt. Maybe he can beat Charlene or Roland if nothing else.
In truth, all five motorists were pretty close, and there were plenty of twists and turns ahead.
The werewitch grinned at the black asphalt and blue void ahead of her, welcoming the challenge.
Yeah, this one’s gonna be rough.
Note from Renée
October 15, 2020
You made it! Here we are at the end of book 8, second to last in the series. Thank you so much for reading this far.
So, one of the problems with not being able to go hardly anywhere is you…well, you want to go somewhere. Today I sat down and started figuring out somewhere to go during the rainy winter Oregon gives us in February and March. Hmmm, where can I go without running into Covid quarantines that’s safe for my health? Besides, we’ll have a vaccine by February, won’t we? I know I will want to be somewhere warm for a while by then, and I can write anywhere.
Hawaii came to mind, but that turned out to be kind of expensive for housing for two months, even though the flights are dirt-cheap right now. If you know someone in Hawaii who will put you up, I suggest you go.
Where else can I swim in crystal-blue waters and bathe in the sun? Let me think.
Canary Islands? OK, cheap enough housing. Decent flights through Madrid. Problem? State Department Warning, which more or less translated to don’t go there even if they’ll let you in if you value your life.
The Balearic Islands in Spain? Great-looking little village houses by lovely beaches…and the same warning.
Portugal…same
Sardinia and Corsica and Sicily, you can’t stick a toe in the water, it’s so cold then. Flight prices are decent and housing isn’t too bad, though.
By the end of the day, Jo and Storm and I had looked through so many Airbnb listings that I couldn’t tell the difference anymore and I’d run out of favorite tags in the Get Me Somewhere Warm in 2021 list.
I was also somehow tasting the cuisine of each country in my mind as I browsed, which made me very hungry. No decision yet. Stay tuned.
I always thank my advance readers and the proofreader team, the ones who read my stories after they are edited. Special thanks this time to Dave and Dorothy and Diane and Jeff for hanging with me through this series. They help make this book (and every book) its best. Couldn’t do it without you, folks! Much appreciated!
I hope you enjoyed Bailey’s and Boland’s further adventures. They will be back for their final adventure in Book 9.
And if you get a moment, drop me a review, please. Those keep us writers going! We really appreciate it when a fan takes the time to do that for us, and for other people who may want to venture into our world!
Until next time,
Renée
Winner Takes All
Were Witch Book 9
Chapter One
Bailey “Nova” Nordin stood on the grass under the shafts of sunlight that filtered down from the scattered clouds. It had rained last night and earlier that morning, raising the humidity, but the heat of summer was waning toward autumn, and the day wasn’t too uncomfortable.
Still, after how much she’d been exerting herself, her brown hair was slick with sweat as she stared across the field and reflected on all that had led her to this point.
I wanted to get out of a mandatory arranged marriage and save a nice, good-looking wizard from being turned into some Seattle chicks’ breeding stud. If you’d told me that I’d have ascended to godhood by the end of it, I would’ve laughed in your face and told you were crazy.
Now, I’m being asked to stop the fucking Norse apocalypse. No pressure, though. Shit, what’s a goddess to do?
Forty feet away from her, staring her down, Roland raised his sword. The breeze caused his golden hair to fly away from his face in a mass of yellowish spikes and whipped his shirt about his slender frame. “En garde,” he said.
Bailey raised her own blade and charged at him.
Using the magic she wielded as both a werewitch and a goddess, the girl augmented her speed, moving twice as fast as a normal human being would have; the distance between them vanished in a flash. She was practically on top of him, her sword flashing and thrusting.
The weapon in her hands resembled a classic European longsword, made of bright shining metal that was not of the Earth. It lacked a crossguard, however, giving it an appearance that was both unusual and elegant. It sliced through the air and crashed toward the blond wizard.
Though not a deity, he was a caster of greater than average power and potential. And then Bailey had given him an infusion of arcane might that had raised his profile still higher. He was effectively a demigod now.
And using his considerable skills, he nimbly sidestepped her blazing charge, slashing the blade he held to deflect Bailey’s strong ove
rhead swing and pull her off balance, so she stumbled past his position.
Roland resumed his defensive stance as he turned to face her again. The weapon he held was an enchanted seventeenth-century side sword, a compromise between a rapier and an arming sword. It was able to cut and thrust with equal efficiency, and an elaborate shining handguard curled over his knuckles from the base of the blade.
Bailey taunted him as she readied herself for the next attack. “That was fancy. You’ve gotten faster lately. I figured I’d bowl your ass on to the ground in one move.”
The wizard smirked. “Not yet. Nice try, though.”
Their blades clashed again, and Roland slipped the point of his over Bailey’s guard toward her face. She recognized instantly that he wasn’t putting enough force behind the motion for it to reach her face. It was a bluff to make her flinch.
She did feel her muscles tighten and her head draw backward an inch or two, but she held her ground, ready for his next move, which was to swipe his sword down and aside toward her arm.
Bailey pivoted to the side. Roland’s balance was good enough that he’d be able to respond quickly, but she was faster. She brought her leg up so her shin connected with his lower abdomen, then whipped her sword down toward his groin, pressing the blade lightly against his inner thigh as he froze in place.
“Dead,” she informed him. “Carotid artery.”
He squinted. “It’s the femoral artery, dear. I think the carotid artery is in the, uh, chest or something. In any event, if I’m going to lose, it might as well be while you’re caressing me between the legs. Though preferably not with a sword.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she shot back. “Keep up that attitude, and I’ll do more than caress your groin with it.”
He made an “O” with his mouth. “Kinky. You are, however, unwise to lower your defenses.”
