Bad Attitude (WereWitch Book 1)

by Renée Jaggér

  Bailey looked at him, having opened her side all the way with a single motion. “We really only needed to open the one, you know,” she pointed out, “but thanks. Oh, and don’t beat yourself up. Those doors are heavy. I’m, you know, stronger than most people. Always have been.”

  Roland raised his eyebrows. “Looks like it. I was kinda hoping the right door was just heavier or stuck on something. It’s good to know that you can bench-press a refrigerator. Wait, shit! That kid could lift a fridge, so you could probably bench press your frickin’ truck.”

  She chuckled at the thought. “You know, I haven’t tried, but I might be able to. I just might.”

  They strolled in, and Bailey casually pulled both the doors shut behind them. A few high windows let in enough light for them to see where they were going, but mostly the barn lay in deep gloom. It smelled moldy and musty, but not terrible, and this time of year, there weren’t likely to be bugs or spiders around.

  Bailey turned to look at her new pseudo-boyfriend. “Right, so,” she began, “I figure the first thing we need to do is come up with an action plan for getting around the area without being too direct about it. Don’t want to drive straight through town if we can help it.”

  Roland was absorbed in looking around for a place to sit or lean comfortably, but he was listening to her.

  “Sounds like a good idea,” he remarked. “There’d be more chance of them seeing us if we did that, especially in such a small community. Not to mention they’re probably using somewhere in the middle of town as their base of operations, so any trace we leave there could easily be picked up by any tracking magic they might employ. Which is a real possibility, by the way. There’s three of them, so a tiring magical operation would still leave the other two to pick up the slack.”

  That was a disturbing notion, Bailey decided. She hadn’t thought of it that way, but it was true. Even if Roland was more powerful than usual for a wizard, he was only one man.

  She flipped her brown hair over her shoulder and put her hands on her hips. “Yeah, definitely. In fact, now that I think about it, it might be better if I went and got us the supplies sooner rather than later. The witches won’t have had as much time to look around and talk to people.”

  “Right,” the Seattleite assented. “Also, do you have a map? I did scope this place out on Google, but it seems like some of the back roads and, uh, goat trails or whatever some of these don’t appear on the app. Just the major streets. It would be helpful to know all the byways and shortcuts and long scenic routes in case I have to make a hasty getaway on my own.”

  Bailey nodded, although she didn’t like the thought of him fleeing without her. She told herself he was probably just thinking of her safety—of situations where he didn’t want her involved with whatever trouble might be crashing toward them.

  But as far as she was concerned, they were in this together now. And they would stick together, just as if they were boyfriend and girlfriend for real.

  “I don’t,” she stated, “anticipate that becoming an issue. But I understand what you mean. Pull up Google Maps, then, and I can at least point out to you where the ‘goat trails’ are in relation to however much they show on there. We can try satellite view.”

  He did, cursing the slow and uncertain connection this far out in the sticks. Still, the app loaded after a couple of minutes, and he zoomed it, so it showed Greenhearth’s layout with a fair degree of detail, with some of the surrounding countryside visible as well.

  “Mmkay,” Bailey began, “we’re right about here. The dirt road leading to the farm isn’t listed, I see. There’s another dirt road out back—I’ll show you a little later—that leads up this way through some rough country,” she indicated where with her pinky finger, “and it intersects with Spruce Road right here, which then goes back to Main about a mile east of town. That will be our rear escape avenue.”

  He nodded. “Good. What else?”

  They spent a few more minutes hashing out directions and fallback plans. Roland seemed satisfied, maybe even impressed with the depth and usefulness of her local knowledge.

  “And this is the route I’m gonna take to get supplies,” she said. “As for going back to our house, there’s only the one route, so we’ll just have to hope and pray in that case.”

  “Right.” He rubbed his eyes; staring at the small, lighted screen in the shadowy barn was straining them. “Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

  He tapped out of Maps and pocketed his phone, then seemed to rest for a moment. He was getting tired, she figured—mentally more than physically. Still, he gave off an electrical signal she found strangely appealing.

  “So,” she queried, keeping her tone as casual as she could, “I take it your three wannabe baby-mamas aren’t your type?”

  He almost squirmed in discomfort. “Correct, they’re not. Even if they weren’t trying to practically stick me in a tube and hook a tap to my balls, I wouldn’t want anything to do with them. They’re like those chicks on Sex and the City. Ugh.”

  Bailey chortled at that. She didn’t watch that show, but she got his drift. “I see. So, what would you say is your type? I mean, just, you know… What kind of people do you like?” She cleared her throat. “In general.”

  Roland found a sufficiently non-cobwebbed patch of wall and leaned against it, raising his right leg to lay his foot flat against the wood.

  “Hmm,” he mused. “I don’t pay much attention to the superficial stuff. Of course, every man notices when a girl is attractive in general, but looks aren’t all-important. Appearances can be bought, and like the saying goes, they can be deceiving.”

  Bailey nodded. She sometimes wore makeup, but only a little.

  Roland continued his spiel. “I guess you could say that I like girls—people, really—who are tough and ‘real.’ Not in the sense of being mindlessly aggressive or whatever, but people who can hold their own and get things done. Wizards and witches have gotten too reliant on magic and status and tradition and appearances over the years. There’s something refreshing about people who don’t mind getting their hands dirty.”

  Softly, Bailey responded, “You’ve come to the right place, then.”

  He smiled. “Kinda seems like it, doesn’t it? I’ve been dealing with airhead bimbos my whole life. People who are chasing the image they want to project to the world. I’m through with that shit, though. I mean, I got a lot of attention, and I liked it at first, as a kid. Who wouldn’t?”

  Suddenly Bailey found herself wondering how many girls he’d been with. It wasn’t technically any of her business, but her brain couldn’t keep itself from asking the question.

  “But,” he went on, “some time ago, I figured out that I was just a commodity to those people. Every girl or young woman I met who was a witch acted like I was a walking mass of candy. Not trying to brag, but for people with sufficient magical sensitivity, I give off an aura of power they seem to find irresistible.”

  There was something about him, Bailey had to admit.

  “And as for the normal girls,” he continued, running a hand through his hair, “they noticed the witches wanting me, so they wanted me, too. You know how females are, no offense. I was drunk on always being wanted by the time I was nine years old. ”

  Bailey blinked and almost fell back a step. “Nine? They weren’t, you know…”

  He gave her a sad half-smile, half-grimace. “The sexual overtures didn’t start till a few years later, but I guess you could say the groundwork was laid in childhood. If I was drunk on the attention at nine, I was hungover by fifteen. I have spent the rest of my time as more or less a hermit, interacting as little as possible. Now I’d rather just sober up.”

  She took a moment to ponder his words, to digest them. Then she folded her arms over her chest. “Roland my friend, it sounds like you’ve led an interesting life, I’ll say that much. Shit, you got some balls, having finally just run away. Are you trying to start over? I almost wish I could do the same thing
.”

  He spread his hands. “I’m not sure yet. I’ve missed a lot in life. At the very least, I need a long vacation away from Seattle, from the magical community, and from everyone I’ve ever known. I’d like to see more of the country, maybe go on a vision quest or something. Possibly I’ll go back when the coast is clear, or I won’t. I kinda like it here, though. There aren’t people like you where I’m from.”

  At that, something fluttered in Bailey’s stomach.

  Before she could respond, she picked up the sounds of people—at least four—moving heavily toward the barn.

  She almost slapped herself in the face. She’d been so engrossed in Roland’s story that she hadn’t noticed what should have been obvious to her much sooner. Quickly she pivoted toward the doors.

  There was a crash and the cracking of wood, and the right-side barn door flew inwards, bent in the middle and nearly broken in two, disclosing a square patch of light that was partially blocked by a cluster of hulking figures.

  Bailey recognized them immediately. She’d known who it was even before she’d seen them.

  A familiar voice growled, “Well, well, well. We happened to be in the neighborhood, and look who we stumbled across.”

  Dan Oberlin grinned at his own wit, his beard bristling around his lips and teeth. His cronies mimicked the expression. In addition to the three who’d been with him at the diner, he’d picked up another South Cliff scumbag somewhere along the way.

  By now, Bailey had positioned herself to where she could clearly see them, but she was partially protected by one of the wooden posts holding up the loft. Roland had come up just behind and to the side of her.

  Bailey snorted. “The neighborhood?” She looked around as if in wonderment. “There’s nothing around here but trees, shrubs, mud, and random small animals. Just how many wrong turns did you dipshits manage to take?”

  Roland bit his tongue and turned his face to the ground, but she could still hear the sudden expulsion of air from his nose as he tried not to laugh.

  Glowering at her, Oberlin flexed his big hands. “Enough to see that there’s a bitch in the woods who needs a little training.”

  The Nordin brothers weren’t around to restrain their sister this time, but then again, they weren’t in the diner anymore, either. No civilians, no witnesses. That made a big difference.

  Although Bailey could already feel the red haze of anger creeping over her brain, she restrained herself for the moment. Five Weres might be a bit much, even for her. She had no idea how well Roland could handle himself in a fight.

  “Y’know,” she shot back at the gang, “I should have figured that stink was you guys. At first, I thought my truck was running rich, but then I remembered that it never has issues. Why the fuck are you here?”

  She glanced at Roland to see how he was doing. He was looking at her, and his face was scrunched in confusion. “Running rich?” he asked.

  “I’ll tell you later,” she replied quickly, then turned back to Dan and his pals.

  All the mirth had drained from Oberlin’s square face. “Cut the bullshit. We followed you. I figured I’d give you another chance to be mine.”

  Bailey met his stare, fists planted on her hips. “Marriage doesn’t agree with me,” she said flatly.

  “Fuck marriage!” Dan raged. “We don’t need to bother with that. Just hook up with me; that’s all you gotta do. It’ll get your folks and your pack off your back, and I’ll get the same benefit. We’ll be mated, and that will be good enough for everyone.”

  She continued to glare at him, not even blinking, while Roland tried not to barge into the conversation. The wizard seemed almost shocked. By now, Bailey had figured out that other groups of people had much different views on mating than the more degenerate sorts of werewolves did.

  But she said nothing.

  Oberlin’s seething anger grew. “And if not,” he continued, shrugging and baring his teeth, “I guess you’ll just be another stupid bitch I put in her place. Can’t let that public disrespect from earlier slide.”

  His boys chuckled, apparently basking in the machismo of their glorious leader.

  None of them seemed to notice, though, that a switch had just flipped in Bailey’s mind. Calling her that once had been bad enough, but Dan had done it twice in as many minutes. As far as she was concerned, he was already hooked up to an IV tube in intensive care.

  Before she leaped into action, though, one of Dan’s minions—the squat, multi-chinned guy Russell had nearly dismantled back at the diner—gestured contemptuously at Roland.

  “Who’s this scrawny fuck, anyway?”

  Roland stepped forward, speaking for himself. “I’m her boyfriend,” he stated, his tone even but firm. He turned his glance from Chins to Oberlin. “And I really don’t think you should have called her a bitch. Twice, even. That was excessive.”

  Dan snorted so loudly that Bailey was amazed snot didn’t shoot out of his nose. “And why the hell is that?”

  “Because,” the wizard said in the same steely, matter-of-fact voice, “I’m about to kick your ass.”

  Chapter Seven

  All hell broke loose. Just before Bailey dropped the last of her inhibitions like a scalding pan and tackled Dan Oberlin head-on, she saw that, oddly, Roland was undoing his belt and pulling it out of the loops on his jeans.

  “Get her!” one of the South Cliffs barked. Bodies moved and tangled in the irregular light in front of the barn entrance.

  Bailey crashed into Dan’s waist, her arms clamping around his midsection to lift him off the ground even as one of his boots kicked at her leg and his arms clamped down on her. His foot struck her shin, but at an angle that caused the blow to glance off. It might be bruised later, but nothing serious.

  “Goddammit!” Oberlin snarled. His hands twisted into her hair and the fabric of her shirt around the shoulders, but she’d already heaved him up and back, throwing him toward the left doorframe. His left hand released her hair, but his right took a small piece of her shirt with it.

  It was worth it, though, because he smashed into the door, splintering the wood down the middle and then tumbling aside to land on his ass in the muddy yard. His legs were sticking straight up into the air.

  Then she plunged toward the guy behind him, teeth bared and fists flying.

  Meanwhile, Chins had made a beeline for the out-of-towner.

  The freed belt snapped up and out like a whip. It looked at first as though Roland had swung it toward the tubby man’s voluminous midsection, but its end somehow shot upward mid-strike to lash across his face.

  “Shit!” Chins cried out in pain, his momentum halted as his hands reflexively went up to his jaw and mouth and lower cheek, where a nasty red welt was already forming. His lips split and swelled up even as they bled.

  Then Roland snapped the belt again, this time lower, and it wrapped around the man’s calf. The wizard gave a short, sharp tug and Chins’ feet flew out from under him, sending him crashing into the fallen remains of the right-side barn door. He lay there, groaning.

  Bailey was now taking on two of the South Cliffs at once as Dan Oberlin struggled back to his feet. Another of the South Cliffs was trying to help encircle Bailey, while the last of them was closing in on Roland.

  For his part, the wizard had advanced to the threshold, trying to be near his supposed girlfriend as the fight worked its way outdoors.

  Bailey was just about to deck the gangly bastard in front of her when one of the others pounced on her from behind, wrapping a thick, sweaty arm around her neck. Unfortunately for him, his hand ended up near her mouth.

  She put her chin down and bit hard into the meat near the base of Sweaty’s thumb. As he let out a ragged yell of pain, Gangly moved in on Bailey.

  The girl surprised him by jumping up, still in the other man’s grip, and kicking both legs square into his midsection. He let out an oof that indicated the wind had been knocked from his lungs, but as he doubled over, the noise turned into mo
re of a gurgle. He fell to his knees and heaved, trying not to puke.

  Bailey jerked up Sweaty’s arm and he cooperated, just trying to free his hand from her teeth. The instant she released it, his fist lashed out at her torso while her fist drove toward his face.

  Both found their mark. Bailey’s knuckles connected with the bastard’s nose, squashing it and drawing blood, and his balled-up hand bludgeoned her in the side, missing her kidney by an inch or two. They stumbled away from each other.

  Sweaty’s leg then came up clumsily, his shin hitting the back of Bailey’s knee. Not hard enough to damage it, but enough to force the knee to bend, dropping her halfway to the ground.

  She was already anticipating the next move. Sweaty, his face livid with incoherent anger, raised his foot for a stomp-kick to her face, she seized his foot and pulled straight up. With the momentum of the kick, he tripped and slammed into the muddy grass, rolling a few feet down a slight decline.

  The guy who’d been circling her had changed his mind after Bailey had gotten head-locked. Now he and the sixth man, a muscular redhead, were converging on Roland.

  The wizard held up his belt in a slow, almost lazy motion. Then suddenly, it flashed toward Redhead’s eyes, hitting from what almost seemed to be an impossible angle. The man squawked and cringed, temporarily blinded, flailing uselessly with his arms.

  Roland evaded him and turned to face the other man, a nondescript bearded guy who almost looked like a smaller version of Dan. The attacker charged, his shaggy head down, his fists forward.

  There were only a few feet of dirt separating them, and that dirt looked perfectly flat. Yet, just before he was in range, the bearded man tripped over a small protrusion he hadn’t seen.

  “Shit!” Little Dan cursed, struggling not to fall, and instead stumbling against the side of the barn. By the time he got control of himself, Roland had aimed a roundhouse slugger straight at his jaw. It connected, rattling his skull and momentarily shorting out his brain’s electrical system, and he slumped to the ground.