The Were Witch Complete Series Omnibus

by Renée Jaggér

  Black, with a golden firebird on the hood.

  “I had the old POS original engine removed and put in a nice Chevy big block, and turbo-charged it for good measure. It’s got a custom six-speed transmission mated to it. Marriage made in heaven.”

  He turned to gauge her reaction and smiled warmly to see her grinning. “It’s just,” he went on, “a little something I’ve been tinkering with on the side for a while now. And not to get all sentimental, but since you’re like a daughter to me, well, I thought you might get some use out of it. At least temporarily.”

  Bailey laughed. “Shit, Gunney. I didn’t realize it was Christmas.”

  He reached into his pocket. “Ho, ho, ho, I guess.” His hand emerged holding a keyring, which he dangled in front of her face.

  She reached for it, only for him to snatch it back. He eyed her sharply and she retracted her hand, waiting for the obligatory old-guy warnings and admonishments.

  “But,” he said, “I don’t want anything to happen to this one, meaning no more Mad Max shit while you’re out there. And,” he lowered his voice, “no banging the pretty-boy wizard in the backseat, okay?”

  Bailey’s face felt like it had just burst into flames, and she looked at the gravel next to her feet.

  “Doesn’t seem right,” Gunney murmured. “Not that I care about your personal business, especially since you’re a grown woman. It’s more, y’know, for the sake of the car seats. Plus, if word got out, everyone in town would gossip about it so fuckin’ much that I’d have to start wearing earplugs on the job.”

  * * *

  The car drove as beautiful as it looked. Bailey had to bite her lip to keep from giggling like a little girl at the thought of being on the road behind the wheel of this thing.

  “You know,” Roland remarked, “we could have gone with a less conspicuous vehicle, though it’s nice to travel in style.”

  “Damn right,” Bailey agreed. “Maybe we’ll make a proper grease monkey of you yet.”

  He leaned back and admired the interior as they went through the mountain pass out of the valley.

  “I’ll whip up a minor cloaking enchantment, something that will make people not notice us too much. Like when a person walks by and you can’t remember what their face looked like, even though you just saw them.”

  She kind of wanted people to see her behind the wheel of this car, but she understood the dangers as well as he did.

  “Okay. Do so. Speaking of magic, tell me more about these weird research stashes wizards supposedly have. Like, what are we walking into, and what do you expect to find? And, well, what are the chances it’ll help us?”

  Roland ran a hand through his hair, and his eyes were vacant as he parsed the information, trying to decide what was most relevant and how best to explain it.

  “Witches and wizards have been around for a long time, as you can imagine,” he began. “Long enough to leave ancestry notes in safe places. Clues that only we would pick up on that will point us in the right direction, toward, well, stuff like the library stash in Seattle.”

  She nodded and waited for him to continue.

  “Of course, we also have online databases and stuff like that. Websites, either ones where everything is written in code that’s only comprehensible to us, or, alternately, ones that hide in plain sight by looking like typical kooky New Age-type stuff. That way, we can speak plainly, but no one takes us seriously. It’s a nice arrangement.” He still wasn’t going to mention the arcane web. That would be like dangling a steak in front of her.

  Bailey chuckled at that. Despite having grown up a werewolf, somehow she had never taken magic seriously, either. It just hadn’t seemed real to her until she’d met Roland.

  “These days,” he went on, “most of what we need to know can be found on the Internet, at least the basic stuff. Normal people might see it, but again, they either don’t believe it, or if they try to use it, it won’t work because they don’t have the gift, so it’s harmless. The stashes are mostly either for more delicate, inflammatory information or for hiding special tools that we use for testing stuff. Those things are highly valuable, and we wouldn’t want them getting broken by idiots or sold off at some flea market.”

  The girl was listening intently. “Makes sense.”

  “I’m not sure what I can find about you—you in the collective sense, I mean, as in werewolves—but there ought to be something. I’ll certainly try my best.”

  She smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Roland.”

  “No problem,” he responded. “Oh, and by the way, Seattle is not much of a Were city. There are a few around, but I don’t think I met any until I came to Greenhearth, so there aren’t many. That ought to decrease the likelihood of bumping into any more dickheads in brown suits.”

  She nodded; that was encouraging.

  “Shit,” she said after a moment, “we’ve only known each other for, like, what, a week or so, and already look at everything we’ve been through together. By rights, we should probably be dead or at least spending all our time in the personal meat lockers of charming folks like Dan Oberlin and Shannon DiGrezza, but so far, we’ve made it. I think we’re gonna make it through this, too.”

  Roland, to her mild surprise, raised his right hand and placed it atop hers, which still rested on his left shoulder. It was very warm.

  “Yes.” He smiled, “I think we are.”

  They drove through a wider section of the pass, where a sloping ridge lay to their left, with a row of trees and bushes blocking the lower part of the slope from sight. Neither of them noticed a man watching their car pass from between the trees’ branches. He wore dark, bulky clothes and a hood.

  He kept his eyes on the Trans Am as it sped down the curving mountain road. Once it was far enough from him, the man scrambled up the ridge. Scanning the hills, he saw a particularly prominent one up ahead. It would be a good vantage point from which to observe them for a while yet. At least he could get an idea of where they might be headed. Probably Portland, but it was possible they’d bear south again.

  He drew in a breath and launched himself into the sky.

  Cold, moist air rushed by, and the edges of his clothing flapped in the breeze. Somehow, his hood stayed down over his face. He did not fly, exactly; he’d only jumped.

  The man sailed a good quarter-mile and landed just below the peak of the prominent hill. He grunted on impact, then hoisted himself to the top and resumed his vigil.

  Chapter Five

  As the drive progressed, Bailey decided that they’d made the right choice. She had a good feeling about this trip. Seattle wasn’t too far away, but it was enough of a drive to give them time to just talk.

  “Now,” Roland announced, imitating an over-the-top tour guide, “as you can see, southern Washington state isn’t hugely different from northern Oregon. Over here, we have some trees, and over there, a couple of, uh, cars, and a gas station. In fact, it’s really not any different, aside from the color of the license plates. In fact, are we over the state line yet?”

  Bailey snickered. “Yes, we are, dumbass. I thought for a second we went over the national line ten minutes ago, remember?”

  “Ah, yes,” he mused. “Everyone always forgets about Vancouver, Washington. The other Vancouver. Did you know there’s also a Las Vegas in New Mexico?”

  Bailey scrunched her face. “Uh, this is a different one, right? I can never remember which of those desert states the big one is in. With the casinos and the Strip.”

  “Nevada,” said Roland. “Which, by the way, borders Oregon. Sorry, not trying to be snooty, but you did know about the other Salem, and even got Massachusetts right. Soooo I guess I just figured you’d know where Las Vegas is. The one in Nevada, I mean—the Vegas, not the one in New Mexico.”

  She reached over and punched his arm. “Shut up, wiz kid. You’re just trying to confuse me. Probably a pretext for a sleeping spell so you can dump me in a ditch and drive off in this beautiful ca
r.”

  He tapped his lips. “No, but now that you mention it, that’s not a bad idea.”

  They bickered and bantered some more, passing the time, aware that they were about halfway there now. They were just passing the town of Castle Rock after about two hours on the road, and they’d be in Seattle within two more.

  It hadn’t felt like very long.

  Still, Bailey was all too aware that this was the farthest she’d ever been from home. The hour or so to Portland had felt like a major road trip to her. She’d never been outside the Hearth Valley before that. Now, going all the way to the north end of a completely different state, she felt like she was embarking on a Lord of the Rings epic quest or something.

  She told Roland as much.

  “Nonsense,” he replied. “We’re driving. If we had to walk, your analogy might be accurate. Or we could drive to a port, sail to New Zealand, and walk across the entire southern island if we really wanted to do it right.”

  Sighing, she shot back, “You know what I meant, dumbass. Besides, Greenhearth is the farthest you’ve ever been from home. We’re just backtracking from your perspective. Maybe when this is all over, we can drive to Florida or some shit.”

  “Eh,” Roland commented. “In the winter, maybe. Humid heat doesn’t agree with me. I’m a proper Pacific Northwest boy; I prefer humid cold. Or cool, at least.”

  “Whatever,” muttered Bailey. She didn’t say anything for a moment, wanting to ask him about things but not knowing how to begin. Finally, she figured she’d just try her best and see how it went.

  “Roland,” she ventured, “that business with Freyja—gods, I still can’t believe it—got me thinking about, well, how little I know about all the weird stuff in the universe. What… I’m not even sure how to ask this. What’s it like, being a wizard, witch, or whatever?”

  He didn’t respond for a few seconds. “Didn’t we already have this conversation?”

  “I mean,” Bailey added, hurriedly, “what does magic feel like? Compared to, I dunno, when you’re not using magic.” As she said this, she was thinking of the weird rush she’d gotten while she was in wolf form. It had been so alien, and yet in some ways, she was surprised by how much she’d felt like her usual self.

  “And,” she went on, “was there ever a time when, say, you suddenly realized what other people were like, and you just, uh, it kinda hit you all at once how different you were from them? Like, all of a sudden, you realized you were this person with these quirks out of all the other billions of people in the world you could have been?”

  The wizard folded his hands in front of his mouth and placed a knuckle on his lips. He was staring straight out the windshield, but she knew he was paying close attention to her and thinking seriously about what she’d said. He always did.

  Except, of course, when he was being a sarcastic prick. But he clearly realized she was serious about this.

  “I think I understand what you’re trying to ask,” he replied, his voice soft, “and I get the impression that it was hard for you to ask it. It’s equally hard for me to answer. I’ll try my best.”

  She nodded, willing to give him a moment, but oddly impatient at the same time.

  He breathed in slowly, then let it out. “First of all, magic feels like a state of intense concentration and focus, but there’s a dreamy lightness to it, like something inside you is floating around above your head and then spreading its arms over, well, whatever it is you’re trying to ensorcell. It’s odd. Even having the gift, I suppose I was never under any illusion that it was a normal state. You just know it’s something different from the standard human experience. I can’t explain it beyond that.”

  Bailey was intrigued. She wished he could explain better, but hearing that much was enough for now. She knew she’d be thinking it over later, lying in bed while she tried to sleep.

  “As for the second part of your question,” he continued, “I had that moment very early on. I think I told you before that even when I was a little kid, people were always telling me how special I was and making a big deal over me and all that crap. I used to think about it a lot. Of course, it went to my head at that age. You might say I had a second moment years ago when I realized that being special actually kind of sucks in a way. Having three psycho bitches after my goddamn sperm certainly contributes to that.”

  She made a small grunt in her throat. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

  “It’s like,” he went on, a note of exasperation in his voice, though it wasn’t directed at her, “they—not only Shannon and Aida and Callie, but all those people—just saw me as a ‘trophy husband,’ something they wanted to put on their mantel and show off to others as a status symbol. Yes, it’s nice to be desired by beautiful women. I’m a man, and I’ll confess that much. But it’s like I have no agency in the matter.”

  Bailey felt something tingling in her gut.

  The wizard wasn’t finished yet. “Ever since I got old enough to realize what was really going on, I’ve had to be wary of everyone. There’s always someone gunning for me in the Machiavellian sense—trying to work an angle, trying to slip into my good graces and win favors, trying to seduce me or use me as their little pawn.”

  “Ugh,” Bailey quipped. “Yeah, we did talk about this before, but still, it sounds awful. And it makes more sense now; I guess because, well, now I can relate to you as a Were to a wizard. A real Were. Shit, our neighbors might have seen or heard me change. If word of that gets out…”

  Roland furrowed his brow. “People will talk, obviously, but I don’t think I’m getting your drift.”

  She was annoyed that he still didn’t get it, but at least he was trying. “It will increase my market value. Like if you’d already had people after you because of your powers, but they were a little iffy because you had a big ugly crooked nose, but then you got plastic surgery. You see?”

  Blinking, he slowly moved his head up and down. “Yes, I do. Shit.”

  Something invisible flowed between them, like a cycling electric current.

  “So,” Bailey concluded, “yeah. We’re in the same boat, really. Not exactly the same, but close enough. People are basically trying to buy you, whereas in the culture I come from, I was sold when I was born. Not to anyone specifically; it was just sort of understood that I’d be bartered off in an arranged marriage.”

  Roland started to put his feet up on the dashboard, but Bailey shot him a deadly glare, and he stopped himself. “Right, I forgot this car is an antique. And speaking of old things, we of the supernatural persuasion seem to still have traditions that most of humanity has moved past, don’t we?”

  “Yup,” said Bailey. Her jaw muscles tightened. “I’m trying to fight it, though. And my brothers are with me. They all pledged not to get married until I do—which might mean never.”

  Roland laughed out loud at that. There was an admiring, almost triumphant tone to it. He caught her eye and extended a fist.

  She did the same and bumped knuckles with him.

  “Goddamn,” he marveled. “Your family is something else. I haven’t talked about mine, but they’re not quite so supportive. Makes me think we should continue the current charade and just marry each other. It would sure shut everyone the hell up.”

  He chuckled as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He was only joking.

  “Oh,” Bailey replied. “Ha-ha. Yeah, it would, I think.”

  She swallowed a mouthful of saliva, thinking the infusion of moisture would calm her stomach. “Anyway, uh, how bad is the traffic in Seattle? Like, compared to Portland?”

  He groaned. “Worse. Seattle proper, the official city, is only slightly bigger, but the suburbs cover more ground. It’ll start after Olympia, pretty much, and the metro area has about a million people more than Greater Portland.”

  Bailey grunted. “At least we’ll be getting there before rush hour. And it can’t be as bad as Salem. Nobody’s going to ruin our ride by trying a bunch of Dukes of Hazzard shit on the h
ighway, right?”

  Roland turned and looked at her, his face showing total, albeit exaggerated, confusion. “Wait,” he queried her. “I thought you said this was the Smokey and the Bandit car?”

  She reached over and flicked his ear. “Shut up, city boy.”

  * * *

  Bailey felt like she was starting to get the hang of cities, or at least, she had felt that way until now. Portland was massive compared to her little town, and Salem was decent-sized as well. But Seattle was beyond anything she was expecting.

  “Goddamn,” she cursed as the thickening traffic forced her to change lanes yet again, squeezing between two cars. “This is just ridiculous. How long does this town go on for?”

  “Awhile yet,” Roland told her. “Population-wise, it isn’t that much bigger than Portland, but the difference is that Portland is shaped like a flower or something, radiating out from downtown, which makes it faster to drive through. Seattle—and Tacoma—are spread out in a long line that basically clings to a couple of north-south highways through about a third of the entire state.”

  Squinting to see ahead through the masses of vehicles, with buildings all around, Bailey nodded vaguely. The reality wasn’t contradicting anything the wizard said.

  He went on, “Now, the library we’re looking for is in Fremont, which is a small neighborhood just over the bridge after we get through the middle of the city here. Once we’re over the Fremont Cut, I’ll point out where to go.”

  Bailey tapped the brakes after the guy in front of her did the same for no identifiable reason. “Okay, whatever. We’ll figure it out. This secret stash isn’t, like, at the main library downtown?”

  “No,” he answered her. “That one’s fairly new, and it would have been too much trouble moving everything over there. The Fremont branch is much more appropriate, anyway. You’ll see what I mean.”

  Through the tangle of streets they proceeded, picking up the highway again in a somewhat more residential area before approaching the Aurora Bridge.