by Renée Jaggér
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 yourself 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 essentiall
y 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.
“A free-for-all,” he announced. “Nothing too big or flashy—we can’t attract a lot of attention to ourselves up here—but do what you must to win. Within the limits I’ve outlined, then, a contest of power and control.”
Bailey took a deep breath. “Let’s do it.”
Roland scratched his head. “This ought to be interesting.” He raised his hands.
The friendly fight rapidly became almost as chaotic as the battle with the Venatori had been. In the back of her mind, Bailey knew that neither Marcus nor Roland wanted to hurt her, but here on Earth, their powers were unchained to such a degree that it seemed their spells would do too much damage.
The two Weres and the wizard were soon leaping around the clearing, and occasionally into the trees, hurling small blasts of arcane fury, manipulating the landscape to their advantage, and even attacking one another’s will to fight.
Bailey realized she still didn’t have much of a conception of the psychological type of magic. The elemental stuff, with its primal directness, somehow made more sense to her, and she found herself subtly increasing the intensity of her attacks to compensate for her lack of subtlety.
Marcus shot her a hard glance. He knew what she was doing.
Seeing that, she quailed, then sucked in air and stood up straight. To her surprise, she channeled the shaman’s feelings into a spell.
On some level, he thinks it’s hopeless, she realized. Let him FEEL that, then!
For a second, Marcus stumbled, and the bright aura of his power dimmed. She pushed it toward Roland as well. His face showed momentary alarm, and his spells weakened.
Then Bailey pushed against them with more and stronger blasts of lightning and fire and ice, and they had to work harder, now on the defensive.
Marcus suddenly raised both hands over his head, and something almost like a miniature sonic boom rattled them as a translucent wave of dark purple light spread across the clearing, neutralizing every magical effect in its radius.
“Enough!” he boomed. “The session is concluded.”
Bailey and Roland stopped, lungs heaving and eyes wide.
Marcus relaxed. “Yes, this is where we must stop for now.” He seemed pensive, and Bailey was impatient for him to say more.
“What?” she asked. “Did I do well? Did I do something wrong?”
The shaman rubbed his broad, stubbly chin. “Not exactly. You did quite well, but not in the way I’d hoped. We might even say that you won, but only because you pushed the level of power we all had to employ beyond the limits I’d set.”
She frowned and willed her shoulders not to slump. Instead, she looked at Roland.
“Yeah,” the wizard remarked, “I’m going to have to agree with our hobo-like friend on that one. You did technically kick our ass briefly, but I could have made a comeback by using dirty tricks that would have seriously harmed you.”
Marcus nodded. “And I could have defeated you both, but only by calling upon far greater levels of power than it was wise to unleash. The town would have seen, and perhaps even suffered damage.”
Bailey’s neck prickled at that. If it was true, Marcus was stronger than she could imagine.
“Well,” Roland drawled, “I’m not so sure about that.”
The shaman smiled grimly. “Let’s hope we don’t have to put it to the test. For now, though, we need to focus on Bailey.”
He turned to her, and she steeled herself for his assessment.
“You did not fail,” he informed her, “and you have made a great deal of progress, so don’t despair or beat yourself up. But you’re still not all the way there, and we’re running out of time. You did well within the parameters we set, but you’re still a danger to yourself and others. A bomb cannot be partially defused. It’s all or nothing.”
She nodded slowly. His analogy made sense, yet what he was saying contradicted what Gunney had said yesterday about how the true battle was in the day-to-day stuff, rather than everything riding on one big event.
“We need,” Marcus went on, “a catalyst to push you through this last barrier. Another pressure test to ingrain the lessons you must learn. I think you’d benefit from one more trip into the Other—an especially threatening part of it.”
Roland rubbed his eyes. “Somehow I just knew that’s what you were going to say. Can you at least give me some pointers on how to open a door out of the place? I honestly don’t know how to do that.”
“Later,” Marcus intoned. He was already lapsing into the ritual meditation and chant that preceded the opening of a portal.
Bailey interrupted him only briefly. “Just keep the Venatori out of there, and we can handle it.”
She wasn’t sure if he heard. A purple doorway opened in front of him, and she wondered what awful locale it might lead to.
“Come,” he sai
d and stepped through.
Bailey hesitated. Roland made no move, either. Hating herself for her sudden cowardice, the werewitch strode toward the portal.
Then it vanished. It was as though someone had slammed a door in her face.
“What the hell?” she exclaimed. “Marcus! I was on my way, for fuck’s sake. Open it back up so—”
“You!” a voice jeered.
The werewitch and the wizard both looked up. Standing on the ridge above them, they expected to see Shannon and Callie, but no. Instead, it was four women dressed in dark leather.
“Oh, shit,” Roland gasped.
He’d created a shield around them almost before he knew what he was doing, and it was hardly a moment too soon, because the witches’ first attack had already struck.
A spear of earth came out of the ground beneath both of them, but Roland had completely enclosed them, so the attempted impalement failed. Instead, it flung the pair, shield and all, through the air as though they were encased in a giant rubber ball.
“Get them!” a voice screeched. “Kill the girl. Capture the wizard!”
As they soared between the trees, Bailey caught a glimpse of their attackers and saw that the bun-adorned leader was not among them, though one of the sorceresses appeared to be the assistant Estus had felled yesterday. The other two must have been licking their wounds, which meant there were at least six of them in Oregon.
“Bailey!” Roland shouted. “Slow our fall! I’ll take care of these assholes.”
She concentrated on creating air resistance and weakening the pull of gravity, and they floated back toward the earth as Roland unleashed a storm of hail, lightning, and swirling winds on the Venatori quartet.
Not to be outdone, the witches struck back with huge gouts of flame. Bailey saw with rising horror that they were intentionally trying to start a forest fire, as both an attack and a distraction. It looked like they were succeeding.
Pines went up in the blaze, and orange flames and black smoke rose toward the sky. Bailey pushed at the edges of the shield, keeping the heat and fumes away from them, but she knew they’d run out of breathable air soon unless they got clear.