by Renée Jaggér
“Surrender!” the auxiliary leader repeated. “Your time is up!”
“No,” Bailey stated.
Everyone leaped into action at once. Five wills, five streams of destructive force of all kinds clashed in a great explosion of arcane violence at a point halfway between the two groups.
Bailey staggered back from the power of the blast, but then she felt herself harnessing it, forcing the amalgamation of powers back toward the witches. One of them cursed in her native language, and all three stumbled backward.
“Ha, ha!” Roland chortled. “Nice one. Oh, Marcus just showed me a little something, by the way.”
He swept his hand, and the portal the Venatori had opened widened, becoming a vertical pit. He telekinetically pushed the witches toward it.
They resisted, but by now, Bailey was summoning multiple elements at once, as she’d just done, forming a miniature solar system of rotating earth, air, fire, and water. The mass of natural forces closed on the sorceresses, and for a moment, the werewitch could taste a relatively easy victory.
Then a white beam, thin and intense like the long blade of a heated knife, shot out from amidst the foreign witches and struck Roland in the side.
“Ugh!” he shouted, his voice loud and ragged, and he collapsed to the ground.
“Roland!” Bailey cried.
She barely remembered what happened next. Knowing that the witches would probably finish him off if she didn’t neutralize the threat immediately, she somehow caused the mass of elements to rain down on the trio while at the same time, she shifted into her wolf form and pounced.
And yet, it was not blind rage that moved her, but a rational assessment of necessity. She was in control.
Another white cutting beam streaked out toward her, but she leaped over it, trying to concentrate on magic. Can I still cast in this form? She wondered. How did Estus do it?
The change of bodies had affected her abilities, but somehow she gathered up her wrathful desire to protect the wizard and formed it into a wedge projected ahead of her, much like what the Juniper shaman had done. The witches’ attacks bounced off the barrier, and Bailey and her magical battering ram smashed into them.
The women cried out and flew in different directions. Bailey stood up straight, returning hastily to humanoid form, and tossed lightning at all three Venatori simultaneously. It struck each and looped around between them, and a hostile circuit was established. Bailey realized she was draining their power.
They were unable to counterattack, but after some moments, they caused the electricity to wink out.
But by now, the two witches from the earlier fight had all but collapsed. Even the fresh one was tottering under the strain of an unwinnable battle.
Marcus plunged into the fray, standing beside Bailey and extending his arms to finish the Venatori off. Spiraling waves of indigo magic struck the witches, and he telekinetically lifted all three of them into the air.
Bailey blinked. “What are you doing?”
The shaman hurled the women as a cluster down the hill—straight toward the black pool.
“Nooooo!” the middle one, the witch most in control of her faculties, screamed. She thrashed in midair, but to no avail. She and her two companions vanished into the black water, which rose up to suck them under and blot out any evidence that they’d been there.
Bailey watched, horrified and sick to her stomach, as silence settled back over the mist of the Other.
Roland ambled up. “Why did you do that?” he asked the older man. The question was partially innocent, but there was a sharp undertone to it, bordering on accusatory.
Marcus seemed unfazed. “To eliminate them,” he stated bluntly. “They won’t be bothering us again. You will not have to fear death at their hands, and they won’t be able to add their power to anything their leader does to destroy you.”
Gritting her teeth, Bailey tried not to admit that the shaman had a point.
“And,” Marcus went on, “to feed the Other. Magical potential can be sacrificed to that pool. It’s true that it’s a terrible fate for them, but no worse than what they’d planned for you. And there is a purpose to that dark lake, although I can’t tell you what. Not just yet. Not unless you commit to the path of the shaman. When you do, the revelation will be forthcoming.”
She looked at the ground. “That’s not much of an answer. Makes me feel worse and more confused instead of better.”
“I never said it would be easy.” Marcus was back to his stoic, almost icy demeanor now. The girl had hoped he would be warmer and kinder, as he had been by the pool.
But then again, he’d helped them overcome enemies who wanted them dead.
“All right,” she murmured. “I don’t like it, but I’ll trust that you know what you’re doing.”
Roland was still looking at the shaman sidelong, almost suspiciously, but he held his tongue.
Bailey turned her attention to the wizard, and suddenly she was alarmed. “What the hell are you doing, rushing up like this? You’re wounded! You ought to be lying down and waiting for help. Goddamn, Roland! Are you okay? I thought you might be dead for a second there.”
“Well, I’m not dead,” he quipped, but his face was pale and strained. “And I do know a thing or two about healing magic. Remember how fast I recovered from getting my ass kicked after all those Weres jumped us?”
Hearing that made her feel slightly better, but she still knelt to examine the wound.
It looked like someone had stabbed him right above the hip with a thin and very sharp sword. The wound was small but hideous.
“At least you’re not bleeding,” she observed. “And it kind of just went through the loose skin and flesh, I think. Doesn’t look like it hit your guts.”
“It didn’t,” he assured her. “Still hurts like a bitch, though. Wait, sorry.”
She stood up and ruffled his hair. “Don’t worry about it. But you be damn careful until you’re better, okay?”
She hugged him carefully, and with weak and trembling arms, he hugged her back.
Marcus stepped up. “I can repair the wound in part, though healing it fully would take too long. Even with time distorted in here, if we linger too long, the remaining Venatori will be able to plot their next move before we can stop them.”
As the shaman knelt beside the wizard, keeping his hands over the burnt gash and channeling soft purplish light into it, he spoke to Bailey.
“I think we’ve learned another important thing about your abilities,” he proclaimed. “In that fight, you attained something very close to full mastery, and the catalyst was love. Acceptance of yourself combined with the desire to protect those you care about is the answer to the question: why am I a werewitch? Why do I have these powers?”
The girl blushed but recognized the truth of his words. “Well, I was always the protective type.”
“Good,” said Marcus. “You have control now, an orderly flow of great power, even here in the Other. It’s barely limiting you anymore. And you have a purpose: the defense of your people. I suspect you will have to fulfill that purpose very soon.”
Roland grimaced. “Uh-oh.”
“What do you mean?” Bailey demanded.
Marcus stood. The wound in Roland’s side did look better, although still a few days from “no big deal” territory.
“I mean,” elaborated the shaman, “that the witches, if they can’t strike you down directly, might decide to strike elsewhere.”
Bailey’s eyes bulged. “Open a portal now. We need to get back!”
The tall, mysterious man was already doing just that. He cycled through his incantation faster than usual, it seemed, and another amethyst doorway spread before them.
Bailey looked at Roland. “Can you fight? Will you be okay?”
“I think so.” He sighed. “But I’ll be a lot okay-er after we’ve gotten rid of those goddamn people once and for all. They’re even worse than Shannon, aside from her fashion sense.”
&nb
sp; Marcus stepped aside. “Go. I’ll be right behind you.”
Bailey didn’t hesitate. She ran through.
Chapter Sixteen
Marcus had opened the portal near his shed on the mountainside, Bailey realized. She had hoped he’d place it in her front driveway, but he’d probably meant for them to emerge in the woods and be able to inconspicuously rush down the slopes before entering the town since it was now nighttime.
But something had apparently not occurred to him. The witches had found this spot. They knew about it.
Bailey’s dash through the portal caused her to stumble once back on Earth, and as she caught herself and halted her momentum, she looked up.
Before her was a scene from her nightmares. That it was too dark to see all the details made it worse.
The leader of the Venatori, her hair cruelly bundled atop her skull, stood behind a man on his knees whose hands were tied behind his back. To each side of the chief sorceress were two more of their order. They’d brought in reinforcements beyond the original six.
As Roland trudged up beside her, the man on his knees looked up from under his dirty baseball cap. It was Gunney.
“He dies,” the lead witch intoned, “unless you turn yourself over to us. It won’t even require magic. I have a dagger pressed to his neck. Do anything other than what we tell you to do, and this filthy little man will go to hell.”
Gunney held Bailey’s eyes. There was sadness there, but not terror.
The girl wasn’t sure if she wanted to freeze, explode, or throw up. Her mind clamped down on her immediate panic and rage reactions. She had to think and fast. Roland, too, looked shocked.
Behind them, Marcus started to step through the portal.
The four auxiliary witches raised their hands, and as the shaman’s face emerged from the glimmering purple surface, they struck him with a powerful magic push. His eyes widened in surprise as he was blasted back into the Other, then the leader slammed the door once again.
That brief distraction was all Bailey required.
Her mind had already sought out the metal of the witch’s knife, and she struck it with so much concentrated heat that the woman yelped and fell back, the dagger flowing from her now-burned hand as a small torrent of molten steel.
Before her followers could strike, Roland surprised Bailey by lunging forward, shouting, “Get them!” and hurling two shotgun-like spreading blasts of flares and magical blades at each pair of auxiliary witches.
The werewitch was on all fours, bolting straight for Lavonne.
Total chaos engulfed the forest glade, again lighting up the mountainside with fearsome colors and awesome sound, as both werewitch and wizard tapped the deepest wells of power they possessed to annihilate their enemies in this one final clash.
Through it all, Gunney’s eyes rolled as he struggled to get out of the way, wishing he could help but incapable of doing anything but try to survive.
Bailey piled into the nearest of the Europeans, clawing her shoulders and driving her back into a tree. The woman grunted loudly and struggled not to lose consciousness. By then, Bailey had jumped back toward the larger battle, half-transformed into a young woman again and was ready to tear the whole mountain apart if it meant saving Gunney and Roland.
Roland knew he couldn’t match four or five Venatori in pure destructive force, especially not when they had a coven link established. That gave him an idea, though.
He reached for the mental bond between the witches and turned his mind back to what had just happened in the Other, introducing the coven to their members who had recently been cut off.
Two witches screamed horribly, clutching at their faces and hair and falling to their knees. Bailey attacked one of the ones still standing, knocking her over and rolling her partway down the hill during the distraction.
Roland smirked with what he had to admit was sadistic glee, even if, on some level, he felt terrible for what he’d just done—link the minds of the remaining coven to their fellow witches now rotting within the Pool of Dark Reflections.
He doubted anyone deserved to have their consciousness assaulted in that fashion, but he couldn’t afford to hold back. Not now, not with so much at stake.
Lavonne bared her teeth in terrible rage. “You fools! It’s just a psychic illusion!” She raised her hands to try to crack the spell.
Roland tried to stop her, but a giant serpent-like gout of flame drove toward his head and he stumbled back, barely managing to conjure enough earth and water to neutralize it. His wounded side screamed in pain.
Meanwhile, Bailey was everywhere at once, shifting back and forth from human to wolf, tossing spells with every change and never letting their foes get a bead on where she was or what she would do next.
Still, the two witches she’d pounced on were not down for the count. Lavonne bolstered them, and soon all five were again fighting as a unit. Bailey and Roland were back on the defensive, and Gunney, dumbfounded and battered, could do little but crawl behind a tree off to the side and pray.
Lavonne seemed to sense the bond of emotion between the girl and her mentor. Leaving her four assistants to press the attack, she lunged around the periphery of the battle, seeking out the mechanic.
Gunney saw her coming and tried to hide, but even out of sight and blanketed in the nighttime forest’s deep black shadows, he couldn’t escape her psychic probes and arcane tracking techniques. In moments she found him, pounced on him, and dragged him back out into the clearing with one hand twisted in his hair and the other pulling his shirt tight around his torso.
“Bailey!” she bellowed. She’d augmented her voice so it echoed horribly through the woods and reverberated off the mountain. “No more tricks. Surrender! Surrender and all three of you will live. If you fight on, I will kill him and Roland first, and then you will wish for death. This is your final chance!”
The blaze of combat came temporarily to a stop. The young duo, standing about twenty feet apart, both half-hidden behind trees, remained poised to attack or defend. Bailey’s eyes fixed on Gunney.
Lavonne held him by the collar with her left hand, while her right hovered near his throat. A translucent blade of force energy or magical plasma, pulsating with purplish light, had encased her hand, and its sharp edge barely touched the leather skin below the mechanic’s whiskered chin.
“What do you want?” Bailey called. “I’ll give myself up to save him, but you have to tell me—”
“No!” Gunney cried. “Goddammit, Bailey. I’m getting old anyway. Just let me go. It’s more important that you—”
The witch glared at him, and his face froze. He was still conscious, but had lost the ability to speak.
“The girl,” Lavonne jeered, “must make her own decision.” She gazed at Bailey. “We wish to study you. Your powers may be able to help us do a great many good things for all of witchdom. You will not be harmed. Now, surrender!”
Bailey’s shoulders slumped. She was close to despair, knowing that she’d failed. And yet, Gunney had mentioned something about one thing at a time. Perhaps it would be better to live to fight another day.
“Study?” Roland snapped. “They’re going to stick you in a goddamn cell somewhere in Europe. Do you really want that?”
Just then, one of the auxiliary witches fired a cheap shot—a simple low-intensity lightning bolt, one that bridged the distance between her and the wizard instantly, striking him in the thigh.
“Augh!” he shrieked, face contorting in agony as his leg muscles gave out. He collapsed, felt the wound in his side tearing open anew, and screamed.
Now the white-hot rage was back. Bailey felt it growing, rising like a wave reaching its crest and about to crash down. “Why the hell did you do that? Are all witches lying pieces of shit who try to sucker-punch people during negotiations?”
Lavonne swiped her mage-blade in the girl’s direction before returning it to its place beside Gunney’s throat. “Be silent! We will be taking Roland as well. He too ha
s a purpose to serve.”
“Yes,” one of the other witches gloated. “He’ll make a fine stud, aiding us in producing future generations of excellent Venatori.”
The wave broke.
“Go fuck yourselves!” Bailey raged. “Better use of your time than trying to fuck him. All your pretenses of being this big wise authority over the world of magic, and you’re no damn different than those bitches who wanted Roland as their sex slave.”
Lavonne began to press the ethereal blade into the flesh of the mechanic’s neck.
Bailey leaped, spreading her arms wide and summoning everything she could think of to help her. Her need was great, and failure was half a second away, but half a second was better than nothing.
Spiraling torrents of electricity and wind converged on Lavonne from three directions, striking her before she could slash Gunney’s throat. The witch howled in pain as the electricity flowed through her body and the winds tossed her about like a discarded toy.
The other four Venatori struck at the same time. With their leader incapacitated, they could not cast spells at the same intensity as with a functioning coven, but they were not slouches. Advancing walls of concussive force, gouts of subterranean flame, descending hails of frozen nitrogen shards, and invisible assaults on the girl’s emotions and will buffeted her.
She surrounded herself with a shield as she rocketed into the sky above the tree line, then descended toward Lavonne. Gunney, she saw, had seized the opportunity to wriggle away and get behind the fattest tree he could find. Now it was just Bailey and the witches.
As she came down, whizzing past tree branches, she tried to summon something like a spear made of the pure essence of magic, something that could cut through lesser spells. Like the Venatori leader’s translucent knife, but more powerful.
A pointed mass of reddish light emerged from her hand, and focusing all her concentration on the task at hand, she shifted into wolf form, trying to preserve the spear. To her shock, she succeeded.
Lavonne was recovering from the triple blast she’d taken. The bun atop her head had fallen apart, and her hair hung wild and loose about her head. Her eyes widened. She raised a hand to create a jagged bowl-like shield, one that would stop Bailey’s descent and injure or kill her at the same time.