Bad Attitude (WereWitch Book 1)

by Renée Jaggér

“Good,” Bailey agreed, although privately, she would rather have made an occasion of their stay here and chosen someplace nice.

  The river started to bend northwest, and following Roland’s instructions, she merged onto the freeway, then crossed the Fremont Bridge to the east side before turning left onto N. Interstate Avenue and continuing into North Portland.

  Here the city became more residential, with traces of industrial elements. In general, it all looked slightly less rich. Roland told her to take a left, and they continued west through the metropolitan labyrinth.

  “All right,” he announced, “it should be coming up on the right. Just past this street.”

  The traffic light in front of them turned yellow and Bailey almost gunned it through, but she saw a police car in her rearview mirror and hit the brakes instead, jerking them both in their seats as the truck ground to a hard stop a few inches over the white line.

  Roland inhaled. “Good call. Getting a ticket would leave a paper trail for people to follow. Not to mention the two of us might seem a tad suspicious, so they might search us and all that crap.”

  “Us?” Bailey mused. “Suspicious? Nahhh. Nothing strange about a hick werewolf and a runaway wizard heading to a flophouse for the evening.”

  He chuckled but said nothing until they were through the intersection. Then he instructed her to turn, which she did, and the cop car passed them without incident.

  They pulled up near the office of the motel, which at least looked to be in good repair. Otherwise, it was about what they’d expected; it was the sort of place frequented by recent middle-class divorcees who were in the process of moving out and trying to cut costs, or city kids looking to party on the down-low. Bailey just hoped it wasn’t also a hotspot for prostitutes and druggies.

  Before Bailey could shut off the engine, Roland held up a hand. “Wait a minute, please. I need to do something.”

  She squinted at him but didn’t ask questions, at least not yet.

  He leaned back, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. Then he held up both hands, each twisted into an odd configuration, and moved his right hand in a circle as if scattering dust or water around them. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

  Bailey felt something—a strange tingle on her skin, almost as though a cold breeze had blown through the cab of the truck, although no such thing was obvious. It was more in her head than in the air.

  Magic? Nah. Old trucks had odd cracks.

  Roland opened his eyes and lowered his hands. “There,” he stated. “That ought to obscure our presence and make us harder to pinpoint, even though those three would much prefer to hit up the local Marriott or something.”

  They both unbuckled and stepped out of the truck, Bailey stretching her arms and legs.

  “I’ll handle renting the room,” Roland offered. “I have experience with that sort of thing. Wait with the truck, and keep an eye out for a goddamn silver Jaguar XKR.”

  She’d been about to protest since it seemed patronizing of him to act as though she couldn’t handle something as simple as renting a room. Granted, she’d never done it before, but how hard could it be?

  But once he finished his statement, she decided he was right. Someone should act as lookout, at least until they were safely checked in and could park the truck somewhere out of sight before getting themselves behind a nice locked door.

  “Okay.” She shrugged. “Just holler if you need me to rescue you.”

  He smirked and gave her a thumbs-up, then walked casually into the office.

  The night was getting chilly, and Bailey climbed back into the vehicle after three or four minutes. It embarrassed her a little; she’d spent plenty of time outside, and only the coldest days of the winter usually bothered her. There must be something different about the quality of the atmosphere in the city—a particular chill associated with lots of wet concrete.

  The door opened a moment later and Roland strolled out. He motioned for her to roll down the window.

  She did, but immediately mouthed off to him. “What, you’re physically incapable of getting back in the cab now?”

  “Ha-ha,” he said flatly. “No, I was just going to say that I’m physically capable of walking to our room, which is around that corner there.” He pointed. “You bring the truck around, and I’ll meet you there.”

  “Fair enough,” she muttered.

  He leaned closer and added in a low voice, “Try to park somewhere no one will be able to see the Tundra from the street.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Already thought of that, but it’s good to know that you’re as smart as I am.” She smiled.

  He widened his eyes in mock hurt and surprise. “You doubted me? Shock!” He turned and ambled down the walkway ringing the building.

  Bailey followed him, pulling ahead of him once she attained the rear lot. She glanced around to get a feel for the line of sight from the road and parked close to the structure near the center of the back wall, then climbed out and locked up.

  Their room was two doors to the right of where she’d left the truck. Roland was in the process of fumbling with the keycard. He may have had experience with this sort of thing, but he wasn’t an expert yet.

  “Y’know,” she told him as she walked up, “I just realized that we forgot to bring toothbrushes. Or, uh, deodorant and all that.” She sighed, feeling more like a country bumpkin than ever. “Crap.”

  The wizard finally succeeded in opening the door, and he held it open for her with his foot while he slipped the card back into his pocket.

  “Eh, well,” he drawled, “it’s an economy place anyway. Every motel provides soap, and they might have some courtesy mouthwash, if nothing else. If not, we’ll buy some in the morning. And in the meantime, I promise not to comment that you still smell like you were fighting in a barn earlier today.”

  She planted a gentle punch in his stomach as she walked past. “That’s the smell of victory, my friend, so watch your mouth.”

  “Oof,” he grunted, his gut tightening under her fist. It might have been genuine. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  They flicked the lights on and looked around. The room was serviceable. No-frills, but it was reasonably clean and had what they needed.

  Bailey piped up. “This’ll do. To be perfectly honest, well, it woulda been nice to stay somewhere a little fancier. More fun. I’ve never done anything like that—had the royal treatment in the big city.”

  Roland caught her gaze, indicating that he was paying attention, but he grasped that she was about to say more, so he waited.

  She went on, “And with your three, uh, suitresses—is that a real word?—hot on our tails again, I guess we’re gonna have to keep our heads down and focus on staying ahead of them. That might make it hard to see the Japanese Garden and that arch thing you mentioned.”

  She allowed her head to hang a little.

  Roland only said, “I’m sorry.” Given his tone and his face, he meant it, but not to the point that he was admitting any fault. And really, it wasn’t his fault.

  “I’m sorry too,” Bailey continued, her words coming faster than she’d intended, “for complaining just now. That’s, I dunno, out of character for me. I’m not a girly-girl. I’m used to roughing it and being self-sufficient, and it’s not like I’m trying to guilt-trip you for not spending enough money on me or anything like that. It’s just…”

  Her eyes went distant as she searched for the right way to articulate her feelings.

  “It’s more like, well, I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together on this little adventure since you rolled into town, and I was kinda hoping we could make a fun vacation out of this, y’know? But now, having to stay here and hide our wheels? Well, it’s a blunt reminder that we’re damn near fugitives. It’s not a—” she swallowed, “an excursion.”

  She’d almost said romantic excursion, but had stopped herself at the last instant. The word “romantic” could mean a lot of different things, and the old definition had more to d
o with adventure than with couples. That was what she’d meant, of course. But she didn’t want Roland to get the wrong idea.

  His eyes were soft, and his face almost sad.

  “I understand,” he intoned and sat down on the slightly dingy loveseat before he continued.

  “I’ve had fun too, and you’ve helped me a lot—really—so I’d rather have made this more pleasant for both of us. I like the thought of being your tour guide for the world outside Greenhearth, even though I’m kind of new to the world outside Seattle myself. But it is what it is. This is what my life has been lately—shitty motels, dive bars and restaurants, back roads, strange hours, and suspicious cops. It’s the life you end up living when you’re on the run.”

  Somehow, hearing him say that hit her right in the gut. She wanted to put her arms around him and tell him it would be okay, but she didn’t. At least, not the physical part.

  “It’s okay. Or, well, it will be okay. We’re gonna figure this out. I understand, though, and I won’t complain again. We’re in this together, and we have to do what we have to do, I guess.”

  He smiled gently. “Thank you, Bailey. I mean, we’ll still be able to have some fun, I’m sure, but we have to watch our asses.”

  She clenched her teeth, a powerful fury rising up in her before she even knew where it had come from.

  “Goddammit. Wish we could just eviscerate those three bitches and be done with it. At least with the South Cliffs, we were able to kick their asses and send them back to Oberlin’s house with their tails between their legs.”

  He laughed at that, and she had to admit she liked the edge to the sound. He didn’t seem like a vicious person by nature, but he’d clearly enjoyed beating the hell out of them. They’d deserved it, after all.

  “True that,” he agreed. “Shannon, Aida, and Caldoria are a little more complicated to deal with, though. First of all, it’s harder to get away with beating the hell out of women, even if they pretty much have it coming, let alone eviscerate them. Good word, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” She smirked.

  “And,” he continued, “there’s the whole witchcraft element. But yeah, I’ll confess to wishing some things were different, too. That there was a way to go back and make different choices at different times. Like, the idea that our whole lives might be different now if we’d just done one little thing instead of one other little thing years ago.”

  Bailey closed her eyes. “Yes, I know what you mean. I truly do.”

  For another hour or more, they stayed up and conversed, Bailey sitting on the bed while Roland stayed on the loveseat, exchanging their thoughts and feelings on their lives and all they’d done.

  They talked about random incidents in their pasts, fleeting impressions that were lodged in memory, and minor cases of taking one road instead of another, and wondered about all the possibilities they’d missed by doing so. They imagined what it would be like to live in a world without the stresses and pressures they continually labored under and to prevail in a life where they were masters of their own fates. Somewhere in the middle, Roland cast a healing spell on them so they’d be functional in the morning.

  Eventually, Bailey laid down on the bed, a warm and comfy grogginess coming over her. Her voice slowed, while Roland’s grew distant. The rigors of a very long day caught up with her, and she passed out.

  The wizard sat quietly where he was for five or ten minutes as the young woman slipped into a deep sleep. He watched her for a bit. It occurred to him that she might suddenly fly awake and chew him out for it, but he wasn’t leering at her. She was attractive, yes, but mostly he was just thinking.

  She was his companion now, his partner. Not in a romantic sense, of course, their cover story of being in a relationship notwithstanding, but the two of them would have to see this through. They were now committed to each other’s well-being.

  Looking at her, he realized he could have done far, far worse. He was lucky.

  He stood up and moved to the other side of the bed. Bailey was lying halfway across the damn thing, and knowing he risked awakening her, he put his hands under her arms and hauled her into a proper position, then put a pillow under her head so she wouldn’t wake up with an aching neck. Then he took the covers and draped them over her. She stayed asleep.

  Stretching and exhaling, he went into the bathroom to relieve himself, wash his hands and face, and rinse his mouth—just with water since sadly, the room didn’t come with courtesy mouthwash after all.

  “Should have bought it in Walmart when we got her the blouse,” he whispered to himself in the mirror. “Oh, well. We can always buy some tomorrow.”

  He knew problems with money might be lurking on the horizon, but for now, he wasn’t worried about it.

  Once he was ready to sleep, he returned to the main room and hesitated for a moment halfway between the bed and the loveseat.

  “Eh,” he grumbled, then chose the loveseat.

  Even if he was a virtual transient these days, he still came from a good family and liked to think of himself as a gentleman. Climbing into bed next to a woman he’d only known for a day without her permission seemed iffy.

  And, he ruminated as he reclined and got comfortable, he had no idea how a Were-female would react upon waking up and finding a stranger sleeping next to her.

  “Knowing her fiery-ass temper,” he murmured as the haze of pre-sleep came over him, “she might rip my torso open before she even knew what she was doing. I don’t think either of us want that kind of misunderstanding.”

  Roland liked her; there was no use denying that. However, she was arguably a member of a different species, one he only knew about from books, legends, bullshit gossip, and the last few hours’ worth of experience. He preferred not to take unnecessary risks with things he did not yet understand.

  He yawned and drifted off to sleep, dreaming of Seattle on its sunnier days in his distant childhood.

  Bailey woke up having no idea how long she’d slept, and it took her a second to remember where the hell she was. As vision and hearing returned to her and she stretched her body under the heavy covers, she recalled.

  The motel in Portland. With Roland.

  Glancing around, she saw him snoozing on the loveseat across from her. She wouldn’t have minded if he’d slept in the bed, as long as he hadn’t tried anything stupid and or hogged the covers or snored too loud.

  There was a clock on the nightstand: 8:47 in the a.m. She wasn’t sure when she’d fallen asleep, but it couldn’t have been any later than midnight, so she’d gotten enough rest. It had been a tiring day—two fights plus a road trip. That had to be some kind of record for her.

  She slid off the bed and made straight for the bathroom, closing the door to use the toilet and then splash cold water on her face. Roland woke up since she heard him shuffling around, followed by the floorboards creaking as he stood.

  He knocked on the door. “Hey,” he asked, “who the hell is in my bathroom?”

  She snorted into the sink. “Not yours now, boy. Wait your turn. I’ll be done in a minute.”

  After she let him pee, they took turns taking a quick shower. Bailey had washed her hair yesterday morning, so she figured she could let it go for today. Somehow, she didn’t feel like dealing with wet hair when they couldn’t even brush their damn teeth.

  “So,” Roland said as they settled back into the main room, “I think we need to keep moving. We can probably spend the first half of the day in Portland—get breakfast, see and do something—but by afternoon, we ought to push onward toward…I don’t know, somewhere else. It will depend on whether or not my fifty cent piece goes off again.”

  Rubbing her eyes and wanting a cup of coffee, Bailey agreed. Until they could find a way to get the wizard to more or less permanent safety, it wasn’t smart to hunker down in one place.

  She confessed, “I don’t know how I’ll be able to keep up running from place to place for too long. Sooner or later, I’ll need to get back home.” Tha
t reminded her, her brothers should be going crazy about now. She should have called.

  A stormy cocktail of emotions struck her all at once. Even though she’d only been gone for one night, she was homesick. She’d never been away like this. Never.

  At the same time, she knew that what she’d just told Roland wasn’t true. She could, in theory, just run away with him. Part of her wanted to say, “Fuck it” and do exactly that. Another part of her was ashamed for even entertaining the idea.

  “First, though,” Roland offered, “before we come to any major decisions, I propose food. My treat. I’m famished.”

  “Amen to that,” quipped Bailey, smiling.

  She warmed up the truck while he went into the office and checked them out of the room. Rather than pull up to the door, she waited for him to come around the rear again on the off-chance he might have seen—or felt—something suspicious up there.

  He climbed into the passenger’s side. “Well, no disturbing pocket vibration so far,” he stated.

  “That’s always encouraging,” Bailey remarked.

  After filling the tank at the gas station next door, they found a restaurant specializing in breakfast and brunch about a block and a half east of the motel. It was doing a modest business, which hopefully meant a shorter wait time.

  “Right now,” Bailey said, “I’m pretty sure I could eat enough omelets for both of us. Meaning two. Three or more might be a bit much.”

  “Hmm,” Roland pondered. “We could order three and split the third one.”

  They ended up doing just that, to the initial confusion and later amusement of their waitress, an older lady who seemingly enjoyed the opportunity to take down an unusual order.

  The pair sipped their coffee.

  “Roland,” Bailey asked once they had some privacy, “I was wondering. Where do you get your money? Can you really afford all this? I mean, I kinda got the impression that your family’s pretty well-off, and obviously you’ve been managing so far, but…I dunno. Just curious.”

  His mouth took a sour twist. “I was afraid you might ask that,” he muttered.