The Were Witch Complete Series Omnibus

by Renée Jaggér

  Jacob sighed, then steeled himself the way he did when he knew there was no way out of a situation except right through the middle of it. “Okay, then. Let’s go see what the lady wants.”

  Chapter Three

  The four Nordins and their guest rushed outside through the back door, streaming onto the small paved area that looked out on the lawn. It stretched for a ways across barely-tended grass and mud, the pole barn resting near the back corner toward the neighbors’ yard.

  It was in the other rear corner, just before the irregular slopes of the hills and the damp black shadows of dense pines, that their new visitor stood.

  She was a woman in early middle age, tall and fit, with strongly and archetypally Nordic features—straight hair of a pale golden hue, round blue-green eyes, high cheekbones, a strong chin, pale skin, and a small nose. She was beautiful in a severe way.

  Her garb was strange, though. She wore a pale-green dress, ankle-length and made of a thin filmy material Bailey could not identify. Draped from her shoulders was a cloak that appeared to be made entirely of large feathers, like those from an eagle or a falcon or something. Entwined around her head and holding back her hair from her face was a crown of silver ivy.

  Bailey glanced at Roland. He was frozen, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide, and the color had drained from his face. “Oh, shit,” he said in a voice that was halfway between a moan and a whisper.

  It suddenly occurred to the girl that the woman might be his mother, but no, that was impossible. She looked too young to have birthed Roland twenty-eight years ago, and somehow Bailey didn’t think that even a witch matriarch would go around in public dressed like that.

  Her brothers, too, were frozen in half-terrified awe. A faint nimbus of greenish-silver light played about the woman’s head.

  “Hey!” Bailey shouted as much to break the silence as anything else. “Who are you?” She stood in a fighting stance, trying to look brave and tough, but she felt her stomach fluttering. She twitched her feet within her boots to keep her hands from shaking.

  The woman raised both hands, and magical power of the same strange hue as that around her ears and hair crackled from her fingertips in arcing bolts and sparks like a miniature lightning storm raging amidst a fireworks display.

  “I,” the woman proclaimed, “am Freyja. Goddess of the Nordic peoples, lady of war, mistress of death and love, bestower of fertility, and high source of witchcraft.”

  Her voice was not as thunderous now as it had been when she’d announced her presence while they were still in the house, but it nonetheless had a force to it that made Bailey want to fall back a step. Or fall to her knees.

  “A goddess?” Bailey marveled. “I can’t believe that. How can you expect us to—”

  Jacob looked at her sidelong. “I think she means it, Bailey. Better start flexing your believing muscles.”

  He sounded frightened, and Jacob wasn’t the overly fearful sort, so his feelings might be contagious. Bailey steeled herself and turned back to the woman, who had not moved from her spot just in front of the woods.

  “Well,” she called, “whoever you are, why the hell are you here? What do you want?”

  The eerie light around the stranger grew brighter. “I have come for one of my own,” she stated, raising a hand and extending it toward them. “A member of that which I preside over.”

  Bailey, suddenly irritated by Freyja’s indirect way of speaking, planted her fists on her hips. “Well, I’m a werewolf, and as far as I know, we’re not your people. We’ve heard of you, but I think you screwed up. Might as well get out of here and stop wasting all our time.”

  Jacob sucked air between his teeth. “Bailey, don’t talk to her like—”

  “Not you, womanchild,” the stranger interrupted. “The he-witch. Him.” Her index finger uncoiled from her raised hand and pointed straight at Roland.

  Bailey turned and looked at her supposed boyfriend, who still appeared to have turned to stone.

  “Uh,” he said, his voice trembling, “what do you want me for, Freyja? Ma’am? I, uh, was under the impression that—”

  “Come,” the woman commanded him, beckoning, and again her voice rose to a volume that shook the ground.

  Idly, stupidly, Bailey wondered if the whole town could hear her, or if some magical effect ensured that her voice was only apparent to those she spoke to, or those who could see her.

  Roland raised his hands in what might have been a magical protective gesture, though he did not look very confident in his abilities, strong though they were. “Why?” he inquired. “What do you want me for? I can’t agree to anything until I know what it is.”

  Freya took a step forward, and they all could hear a faint, almost electrical hum that seemed to originate from her fingertips. “Yes, you can, my child. You have no choice. I am your deity.”

  Something about her casual arrogance and her sudden possessiveness toward Roland flicked a switch in Bailey’s mind.

  “Hey!” she barked, settling back into a bastardized boxing stance. “Fuck off! He’s not going anywhere. He’s mine, and he’s staying right here! Do you hear me? You’re trespassing on private property, and we’ve had enough goddamn stalkers after him lately. Get the fuck out of here!”

  Jacob groaned. “Oh, hell.”

  “Dammit, Bailey,” Kurt exclaimed. “Now really isn’t the time to be looking for a shot at the title or whatever. Why don’t you go beat up some drunk guys at the Elk?”

  Even Russell was giving her an uncertain, almost imploring look.

  She ignored them all. “Did you hear me, Freyja, or whoever you are? You’re not taking him!” She advanced a step, leaving the pavement to stand on the grass.

  The supposed goddess regarded her with a calm intensity that, oddly enough, reminded her of Roland, although Freyja’s subtle look of contemptuous disapproval was nothing the Seattle wizard had ever subjected her to.

  “Who are you?” the woman demanded. “And who do you think you are, to stand between me and my desires? You are only a mortal.”

  “I’m Bailey Nordin,” the Were shot back, “to answer your first question. And as for the second, all you need to know is that I’m his goddamn girlfriend, and I’m gonna protect him, no matter what.”

  She raised her hands, and to her own surprise, found they resembled claws rather than fists. Something deeper and more ferocious than she’d ever experienced before, even in the very toughest of fights, was surging up out of the essence of her being to inflame every vein, nerve ending, synapse, and scrap of tissue in her body.

  Freyja’s face shifted subtly; she was still too far away to see in detail, but somehow, it looked like she was smirking.

  “Protect him?” the woman mused. “You may try, little girl.”

  Then it happened.

  Bailey lunged, but even as she moved, intending to charge the haughty goddess and deck her in the face, something else—that strange, primeval force that had awakened within her—interfered with her simple plan.

  Her hands refused to ball into fists, elongating instead, growing long, sharp claws, as her arms reconfigured, and her upper body hunched forward.

  Her legs and feet deformed, stretched, and burst free from her jeans, and her clawed feet were already kicking off her torn boots.

  Her shirt split down the back and fell off as she bent forward, all four limbs now supporting her as her body shifted into a horizontal quadrupedal orientation.

  Her spine bulged upward, becoming a sharp ridge as hair sprouted from it and her limbs and torso, and even her face. Her ears grew tall and pointed, her jaw extended into a snout, her bared teeth became fangs, and her eyes turned red.

  Her snarl became a howl.

  “Gods!” someone exclaimed behind her, either Jacob or Kurt. “Holy shit. Holy shit. Oh, my!”

  The damp yard seemed to shrink, but Bailey knew she’d grown, even with her head lower to the ground as all four legs carried her rapidly toward her new enemy. The fur s
he’d acquired was a rich and glossy blue-black, and her senses, always sharp beyond the capabilities of normal humans, expanded still farther, taking in everything around her with incredible sensitivity to detail.

  She had changed.

  She had closed half the distance between her and the shining woman, and even Freyja looked shocked. She raised a hand and the polarity of the air shifted, causing Bailey’s hairs to stand on end.

  The wolf bounded aside, half-rolling behind a big thorny bush as a silver bolt of lightning streaked through the air and exploded on impact with the ground. Mud, burning grass, and greenish smoke rose behind her.

  Watching their sister dumbfounded, the Nordin brothers hesitated, knowing they should go to her side, but afraid they might provoke the goddess into unleashing the full brunt of her powers.

  Jacob snapped himself out of it. “Roland!” he urged. “Do something. Help her! Hit her with a protective spell or something.”

  The wizard blinked and shook his head, then, nodding, focused his eyes on the werewolf and raised his hands, slowly contorting them into arcane configurations. As he tried to weave the spell of shielding, he noticed that Bailey looked different from any other wolf-beast he’d seen.

  Her fur was a deep and glossy blue-black, a striking and almost unnatural shade, and her eyes glowed purest crimson. The creature that had once been an attractive brunette girl was stunning in a way, but she looked like something that had emerged from the maw of Hell.

  In her frenzy to destroy Freyja, Bailey was unaware of anything the boys did or said behind her. She came out of her evasive maneuver at an angle, pouncing faster than she’d realized she could move toward the goddess but giving her no clear shot.

  Freyja adjusted her position but did not flee. Instead, she raised her hands, palms facing inward, and willed the grass to grow. The green fronds shot upward, becoming almost like tentacles, slowing and ensnaring the charging wolf.

  Then the woman swept her left hand in a downward arc and a torrential rain descended from on high, pummeling an area about three yards square that was centered on Bailey. The writhing grass, driving water, and growing muck all but immobilized her.

  “Now,” the goddess said, extending her right hand. The electromagnetic signature of the air changed again.

  Roland’s heart leaped into his throat, and he unleashed the barrier spell. It was premature, but there was no time. Even at full strength, the spell might not resist the will of a goddess, but it might be just enough to…

  The bolt of lightning struck a patch of air about six feet in front of Bailey and was suddenly immobilized, becoming a blazing ball of light and sparks. It slowly began worming its way through the shimmering air toward its target.

  “Bailey!” Russell barked. “Jump!”

  Bailey’s teeth grated together, her red eyes bulged, and her lupine muscles tensed. Gathering all her strength as the shining bolt of death gradually burned through the invisible shield, she hurtled straight upward.

  The grass tore away from her body and mud sprayed as she sailed into the sky, then with another tremendous effort, slanted her descent, urging herself toward Freyja like a falling black comet.

  The goddess stepped aside and Bailey smashed into an empty patch of earth, leaving a crater two feet deep and shaking the ground. What no one, least of all Freyja, had anticipated, though, was the incredible speed at which Bailey launched herself into her next pounce.

  The werewolf struck the goddess head-on, knocking her over and bearing her down, her jaws already opening for a decapitation strike.

  With a movement that was almost casual, Freyja lifted Bailey and tossed her aside as if she were a rambunctious puppy. Roland and her brothers gasped, trying not to despair.

  The goddess was already back on her feet, and Bailey was back on hers, ready to strike when Freyja raised a hand again.

  “Stop,” she commanded, her voice ringing. Somehow, it was both terrible in the commanding nature of its tone and oddly gentle. “I shall not harm you, nor Roland, nor your family. This test is concluded.”

  Bailey paused, the animal rage that had suffused her receding. Uncomfortable contortions went through her, and seconds later, she found herself standing again on two legs, though her teeth were still bared.

  Jacob made a borderline choking sound and then gasped, “What the hell?”

  Freyja’s stern, beautiful face settled into an almost pleasant expression. “You have my word, young lycanthrope. Our fight is over. I needed to gauge your reaction to my claim, and you have passed the test.”

  She glanced aside and snapped her fingers. The electrical blast she’d thrown, still struggling to get through Roland’s invisible shield, winked out of sight in a sparking puff of green vapor.

  Somewhere back over her shoulder, Bailey heard the wizard sigh in his characteristic way. She suspected he knew more about what the hell was going on right now than she did, and if he was relieved, it must be okay now.

  Hopefully.

  “If,” Bailey began slowly, making sure the supposed goddess heard her every word, “that’s true, you owe us an explanation. And I mean right now.”

  Kurt suddenly ran up behind his sister. He’d dashed back into the house and grabbed a heavy blanket, which he now threw over her shoulders. “There you go. It’ll, uh, serve the purpose until further notice.”

  It was only as the cloth touched her flesh and she gathered the corners around herself that Bailey realized she’d been standing there naked. The transformation had torn her clothes apart; they lay scattered in shreds across the lawn.

  Roland had seen her. Through an immense exertion of will, she stopped herself from blushing.

  Freyja relaxed her posture and the miniature thunderstorm which was playing around her hands died away, leaving only the peaceful glow that seemed to emanate from her silver crown.

  “Of course, womanchild. Or woman, truly, though you are rather young.”

  Bailey scowled, not sure what to make of that statement. “Uh, thanks, I guess. Almost twenty-five, which is old enough.”

  By now, Jacob, Russell, and Roland had wandered farther into the yard, wanting to be nearer to her just in case, and also curious to see a Norse deity closer up. Kurt stayed where he was, although he remained slightly behind Bailey just to be safe.

  The goddess drew herself up to her full height, though her demeanor was the gentlest and most relaxed they’d yet seen.

  “This young man,” she began, indicating the blond Seattleite, “is one of my children. Not in the sense of having been born of any earthly womb of mine, but rather, in that all witches are my daughters and sons in spirit. I am their patron in the heavens.”

  Bailey relaxed her posture. The whole situation, bizarre as it was, was starting to make somewhat more sense. She frowned, though, at the thought that Freyja was also the patron of Shannon DiGrezza, Aida Nassirian, and Caldoria McCluskey, Roland’s loathsome would-be suitors.

  For his part, Roland was just glad the goddess knew enough about human beings to add her qualifier statement about her “children.” She, at least in her current form, did bear a slight resemblance to his biological mother, and it was starting to creep him out.

  Freyja went on, “You have earned my respect, young woman, for defending him, and far more ably than I would have guessed. You have great strength as well as great courage, and perhaps your powers are stronger than you realized.”

  At that, Bailey felt as if trickles of ice were running down the back of her neck. She wondered if Freyja had somehow anticipated what would happen. If so, she was the only one in the world.

  Everyone knew Bailey Nordin could not change like most Weres could. She was practically disabled. Everyone knew, especially Bailey. She drew the blanket tighter, and her bare feet shifted uncomfortably in the cool, damp grass.

  The goddess continued, spreading her hands wide to indicate she was speaking to everyone present. “Roland is a witch of tremendous power. He has potential beyond what most of
his kind can dream of, and he has as of yet tapped only a fraction of it. His seed is strong and good, and with his latent abilities, he would make a fine suitor for any young witch-woman.”

  Bailey figured Roland must be rolling his eyes at that. He’d told her that people were always saying how special he was.

  Freyja seemed to take it for granted that he should only mate within his species.

  “Together,” she went on, her voice soft but majestic, “he and a bride of similar quality could sire a bloodline that will inscribe its glory upon the tablets of the ages. Thus, I came to see to his protection. Many of your kind—werewolves—are threatening him as we speak, and they seek his death. I shall not intervene directly, but by what means I can, I shall not allow him to come to harm.”

  Roland blinked. “Well, thank you, ma’am. People always told me I had potential, but this is the first time I’ve gotten divine intervention because of it.”

  He sounded almost cocky, though there was weariness behind it.

  Freyja glanced around, then allowed her bright aquamarine gaze to settle upon Bailey. “I had thought all Weres might be foes of my children now, but it pleases me to see otherwise. You, young wolf, have proven your devotion to his well-being. I foresee that you will require every ounce of your valor and ferocity, for more threats are brewing.”

  Bailey’s spirits darkened at that, but it wasn’t anything she didn’t already know. The three men they’d beaten up earlier had said as much, though not so clearly.

  “Now,” said Freyja, “you and Roland and your family and what trusted friends you might have…you must produce a plan, a strategy for ensuring that Roland is kept safe. His importance is great, and even I cannot say what dangers you will face, or when they will emerge from the shadows.”

  She took a step back, and her face grew wistful, her eyes distant. “Go now, my children. Protect Roland, and protect yourselves. I will be watching.”

  Then she was gone.

  Bailey started in place, her spine tingling again. There had been no warning, and now there was no trace of the goddess’s presence except a barely perceptible shimmer of silver-green light in the air she’d just occupied that quickly faded to nothing.