The Were Witch Complete Series Omnibus

by Renée Jaggér

  Her teeth were bared as though she was still a wolf. “What the hell’s going on here? Why do you people keep coming after me? I didn’t wipe out any fucking Were packs. Tell me why you did this!”

  By now, the Shashka Weres, not to mention the South Cliffs and Roland, had piled out the back door, forming a semicircular crowd that filled most of the back lot and surrounded the werewitch and her hostage.

  “Hey!” one of the Shashkas cried out. Like the rest, he’d shifted back to human and lost the buff provided by their shaman’s spell. “Don’t kill him.”

  “I won’t. If,” Bailey shouted, “you all back the fuck off and tell me what’s going on. Nicolas Jezak, you tell them to stand down, or I’ll turn your head into a pan of cherry cobbler fresh out of the oven.”

  The plasma ball in her hand blazed brighter.

  Nick inhaled through bleeding nostrils and hardened his face, making a sighing sound of resignation.

  Then, stunning them all, he said, “No.”

  “What?” Bailey sputtered. “You want to die?”

  His Weres didn’t resume the attack, though, and she didn’t want to kill him. Not unless absolutely required.

  The apprentice glared at her. She now realized he’d made up his mind to sacrifice himself. “It’s worth dying to stop you. All those dead Weres up in Washington, not to mention most of the earlier ones here in Oregon, have been laid at your feet. A shaman has a responsibility to his people. I’d be a failure unless I made that choice. Guys! Take her out!”

  They hesitated. Nick was still convinced of the justice of his cause, but everyone else was confused.

  Especially Bailey. “I don’t understand,” she admitted, her tone softer now. Force and threats clearly wouldn’t work on the man in her grasp, and she found herself depressed, almost sickened by the pointlessness of it all.

  Then footsteps, heavy yet somehow muffled, sounded just behind her. She spared a quick sidelong glance and saw a familiar figure, tall and broad, dressed in a bulky hooded coat, striding into the lot from an indeterminate location. Weres parted to let him in.

  Marcus stood between the crowd and the pair at the center of the scene, about three feet from Bailey’s elbow. He looked them both over.

  “Kill him, Bailey,” he said.

  Nick and the girl stared at him. He gave a small, almost undetectable flick of his hand, though, and when Nick’s mouth fell open, no words came out—just a faint, hollow gasp.

  The tall man focused his gaze on Bailey. “Kill him. And his wolves. They attacked you and tried to take your life, based on clearly false information that they didn’t even try to verify. You were set up, and they went along with it. You can’t allow that to go unpunished. Kill them all.”

  Twenty werewolves growled or spat in protest, but rather than attack, they drew back, afraid. They must have known who Marcus was. Who he really was.

  Roland, on the other hand, just stared at the man, his face icy and impassive.

  Bailey froze, shuddering with horror. Anger resurfaced as fleeting images of the Elk’s patrons running in terror flashed before her mind’s eye. They were good, normal people; she’d known most of them since birth. Any of them could have been hurt or killed.

  She wanted to kick the Shashka apprentice in the face for that and punch him in the nuts again, but she couldn’t just murder him.

  I can’t. The thought repeated itself in her brain. I can’t, I can’t!

  “No,” she said. “It’s not right. These guys might be dumb as posts, but they thought they were doing the right thing. They’re not like those pricks who were kidnapping and selling our girls. Someone lied to them, dammit!”

  Nick had gone pale. Now, he looked like he wanted to live after all. Offering oneself as a heroic sacrifice was different from being executed for a crime.

  Marcus seemed to be considering her proposal. “Very well,” he agreed. “The pack will be spared. But…”

  Too fast for anyone to react, his big hands shot out, seized Nick by the head, and snapped his neck. The wide eyes went glassy, and his body slumped in Bailey’s grip.

  “No!” she protested. “Why the hell did you do that? He surrendered, goddammit!”

  The wolves were agitated but too awed by the presence of their god to do anything.

  Fenris was impassive. “Like you said, Bailey, someone lied to this pack, and that someone was him.” He gestured to the corpse, and the Shashkas slowly fell silent.

  She searched for his eyes, but they were shadowed by his hood.

  He continued, “He was clearly corrupted by ambition, jealousy, and envy. You, on many occasions, have made it clear that you have no desire to forcibly displace other packs’ shamans or alphas, yet he continued to spread that vile rumor with the passion of a true believer. Addicted to the reins of power he held over the packs of central Oregon, he felt threatened by your rise, even after I decreed that you shall be the High Shaman and none may question it. This is the result.”

  Sirens were approaching. Bailey hoped it was Sheriff Browne and his men rather than the state troopers or the feds or the goddamn Men in Black. Though even Browne might well toss her in the slammer over a dead man lying outside a destroyed diner.

  Roland interceded, “We need to get out of here. You guys better head for the hills and fast.”

  Marcus’ hand shot up in a powerful grasping motion. “You may leave, but know this. You follow Bailey Nordin now. She is your shaman. I, Fenris, have spoken.”

  With grunted oaths and half-terrified bows, the Shashkas backed away, then shifted and sprang off through empty lots and narrow lanes toward the forest.

  Marcus looked at Bailey. “He led them astray. Acting as he did is against our code, and a violation of that magnitude has to be severely punished. Death alone could redress the affront he’s done to your pack and your town. Now, as Roland suggested, we must go. Back into the Other. Come with me.”

  The tall shaman knelt and picked up Nick’s body. Removing it as evidence from the scene of the crime, Bailey realized. Thinking of it that way only made it worse. Then Marcus opened a portal near the back dumpster and stepped through it, Nick draped over his shoulders.

  Bailey stood up. She looked past Roland toward her four new friends, who’d fought bravely to protect her. Tomi, the waitress, had also drifted out the back door despite her obvious fear.

  “Tell the cops,” Bailey began, “the gist of what happened. I’ll deal with the rest when I get back. Somehow. And I’m sorry. We’re really, really sorry. We love this place. And don’t take it out on my brothers. I know you’d like to still see them around here, Tomi.”

  The waitress managed a wan smile.

  The werewitch turned to her partner. “Come on, Roland.”

  She couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen him looking so cold and bitter, and she knew why. He blamed Marcus for what had just transpired and obviously disagreed with his judgment. At this point, she wondered if the only thing keeping him from heading for the hills himself was her.

  “Gosh,” he said, “I can hardly wait.”

  He handed her the remains of her clothes.

  Chapter Ten

  The part of the Other they’d come to was one Bailey and Roland had never seen before. Even denser and swampier than most places in a realm dominated by bogs, it was dark, dismal, and foreboding, yet somehow peaceful in its seclusion. A slight rise in the land, covered by dull purplish weeds, extended above a vast expanse of burbling water strewn with floating masses of plant matter. The ebony trees rose high enough overhead to blot out most of the deep-violet sky.

  The three figures crouched on the rise, a layer of mist roiling on the ground below them. Fenris had conjured up another campfire from a few pieces of gnarled wood, and it seemed the flames would magically burn as long as they needed them to.

  Bailey huddled beside the fire, trying not to get lost in her thoughts. Roland was giving the tall shaman a piece of his mind.

  “You killed a man
in public,” he ranted, barely controlling his tone of voice. “Half the people in town are regulars there, and most of them aren’t going to care that you’re a god. Either they believe in a different God or none at all. If you want to go around pretending to be a human, you have to abide by human laws, or everyone’s life will get a lot more difficult, especially Bailey’s, and mine. Here I was, thinking you were better at understanding mortals than most divine beings, and then you pull something like this. You’re endangering Bailey. Do you realize that?”

  Marcus stood, unmoving and unmoved, and waited for the wizard to run out of steam. Bailey tried not to be alarmed. She was pretty sure her teacher would refrain from smiting Roland like a bug for her sake. Still, it surprised her to see him fly off the rails at a being of Fenris’ power. She had to admire his courage.

  It occurred to her also that Fenris wasn’t his deity, Freya was. Roland had been far more deferential to her. He’d been cautious with Baldur, who was an unknown quantity to them both.

  The shaman cleared his throat. “I did not kill a man, I killed a Were. According to our laws, his death was justified. Ultimately, it is none of the human authorities’ business.”

  While Roland threw up his hands in exasperation, Marcus knelt by the fire, having produced a broad stone cup in which he now was brewing some liquid.

  “Okay.” Roland sighed, “I know there’s a partition between the supernatural and the so-called normal parts of the world, and that certain things tend to get swept under the rug. However, this wasn’t the same thing as wolf killing wolf out in the woods. It was more like—”

  “Like you and Bailey,” Marcus interrupted, “running cars off the road in the middle of Portland and Seattle. Although Greenhearth is a far smaller town, one where the existence of Weres is understood and recognized.”

  The wizard bit down on whatever his next comment would have been. He was shaking with anger but unable to produce an immediate comeback.

  The shaman went on, “Truces exist between humanity and lycanthropes and go back a long way. People will converge on the ‘crime scene’ and fill out the necessary paperwork to make certain it looks like human laws are being observed. In the end, it will be dismissed as something that belongs on the other side of the ‘partition’ of which you speak.”

  Bailey knew Marcus was right, or mostly right, but she was still worried. Even if no one was arrested, the Elk might never be the same. People in town might be afraid to go out and talk to each other, like suburbanites in a neighborhood where a gang war had spilled over.

  “And,” Marcus added, “there was no body. Therefore, they cannot classify it as a homicide.”

  After they’d come into the parallel dimension, the shaman had left Bailey and Roland alone for a few minutes while he took Nick’s corpse through another portal. It led to Shashka, Oregon, and he returned the young man’s remains to his family. And the rest of the pack would whisper the truth of what had happened.

  No Weres would report it as a murder to the human cops. None.

  Roland sat down and put his face in his hands. “Okay, fine. Maybe you do sort of know what you’re talking about. But could you at least warn us about this shit? I’m just glad I got a decent night’s sleep for once.”

  “It depends on the needs of Bailey’s training. And because she obviously considers you a potential consort, I will not retaliate against your challenge. But don’t do it again.”

  Roland refused to respond to that.

  Bailey tried not to dwell on that word “consort” since it was true.

  Fortunately, Marcus had other business to discuss, and his next words saved her from awkward mental explorations.

  “Here.” He picked up the stone cup, which he’d placed at the edge of the campfire to heat the liquid within. It gave off wisps of silvery steam, and it smelled spicy but bitter. “You must drink this. But first, let me explain what you can expect.”

  “For once,” Roland snarked.

  The shaman paid him no heed. “It’s a magic potion, similar to what you’d call a hallucinogen. As it’s made with arcane components, it will not hit you as powerfully here in the Other as it would on Earth, yet the effects will be more profound as it goes along.”

  The girl looked at the mug. The liquid within was purplish-brown.

  “You should know,” Marcus extrapolated, “that this will be dangerous. It’s not all in your head, not this time. Your mind and spirit will be transported to a world of phantasmal visions. Strange things will emerge, things which might surprise you, and they will test you severely. Nothing will be as it seems, and everything will carry some deeper meaning.”

  She nodded. “Like at the black pool.” Her spine tingled with the memory.

  “Somewhat, but not exactly.” The shaman handed her the cup and she held it with both hands, waiting for his command to drink. “The important difference is that in this case, your actions and feelings will have real consequences for your body and mind and soul. The effects will linger long after the vision is over. You will interact with things as though you were a spirit, but as you remain tethered to your body. Any damage you take or bad decisions you make will impact the rest of you. Remember that.”

  The young woman doubted it would be possible to forget. Seldom had she been more nervous.

  Roland raised a hand. “Wait a minute. Is this some kind of sympathetic-magic scenario where if she hallucinates an undead warrior throwing a spear through her chest, a giant hole is going to open between her ribs in real life?”

  Fenris looked up at him. “Possibly.”

  The wizard snapped his face aside, probably to avoid spouting profanity, and his hands clenched and unclenched.

  “Listen, Roland,” said Bailey, straightening up. “I know you’re worried about me, but I trust Marcus, and I’m the one who’s most directly affected. If it’s good enough for me, it should be good enough for you, y’know? You trust me, so by extension, trust him. Whatever I need to do to get through this and become a proper shaman, I’m gonna do it. That’s all there is to it.”

  His grimace slowly melted, leaving a faint yet warm smile in its wake. “So be it. Good luck, Bailey.”

  Marcus laid a hand on the wizard’s shoulder, and he tensed for a second but didn’t object. “She will be fine, Roland, provided she follows my advice and has the necessary strength. I would not have chosen her if I didn’t think she did. All will be well.”

  He shrugged. “You’re the expert on Were stuff. Let’s keep watch over her, though, shall we?”

  “We shall,” said the god. He made a sharp vertical motion with his outstretched hand.

  Breathing in deeply through her mouth and out through her nose, the werewitch raised the cup to her lips and drank.

  * * *

  She awoke in a world that made the Other seem bright and cheerful. It was a land of blackness and fog. There was only a dark, flat sky like a starless night in autumn that seemed to encompass everything, as though the horizon were lower from the sky eating into it. There were no mountains or trees or any other features that might be called a landscape, only darkness.

  Fog covered the ground, or perhaps “floor” would be a better term. Bailey looked down. The mists were lazy and oddly capricious, contorting into new shapes at random and writhing, seemingly for a thousand miles in every direction. Yet they only came up to her ankles.

  From what she could see, her body was hazy and indistinct. Not quite transparent, but like an out-of-focus image. Yet she felt far too lucid for this to be a dream.

  She was in the spirit world. Nothing here could be compared to anything else she’d seen in her short life.

  Bailey looked up and started. Her brothers were there, lounging amidst the nothingness, just as they might be doing right now at their house. Everyone was sitting in his usual spot in the living room.

  Yet they didn’t have physical bodies. They were like ghosts of translucent blue light, combined with generous helpings of the fog that had been fo
rced to conform to a particular shape. None of them seemed to be aware of her presence.

  “Hey,” she greeted them, and her voice sounded muffled and distant. “Jacob. Can you see me? Russell, Kurt? You guys there?” She waved a hand, hoping to catch their attention with motion as well as sound.

  Then a jagged mass of lightning, a central bolt with branches in all directions, struck right where the TV would have been, sending shockwaves that engulfed the Nordin boys, making them writhe and smoke.

  “No!” Bailey cried out and reached for them. A tendril of lightning leapt from the horrible carnage and encircled her wrist and she jerked back, her skin burned and her muscles seizing up.

  Then the living room scene and the apparitions of her brothers were gone, and she was stumbling through a void of still-greater darkness. The mists rose to her knees, and after some moments, the pain in her arm subsided and other visions appeared.

  Everything was outlined in deep-blue light. Figures were everywhere, many of them familiar. She held her breath even if she was not sure she had lungs and watched.

  People—and wolves—milled around in what seemed like the chaotic aftermath of a titanic battle and a drunken party. Or perhaps a natural disaster. She recognized faces from the town, people she knew well and others she didn’t, although she’d seen them before.

  There were werewolves, most of them shifted, leaping to and fro, fighting each other and attacking the humans and striking them down.

  Witches appeared as well, cruel-faced women unknown to her, slaughtering wolves with powerful blasts of magic. Ancient warriors, many of them Norse like Baldur’s host of the slain, joined the combat wherever they could, hopelessly throwing themselves into a struggle that seemed to have no meaning.

  At the center of the violence, looking harried and bewildered and on the verge of defeat, was her teacher. He did not see her.

  “Marcus!” she called to him. “Fenris! What is this? What am I supposed to do, dammit?”