The Were Witch Complete Series Omnibus

by Renée Jaggér

  At that, Rhona smirked. “It is not over yet.”

  The werewitch wanted to knock her teeth out, but she took a sharp, deep breath and counted to ten.

  Pounding footsteps ran down the hall and the door burst open. Officer Smolinski leaned in, his breathing ragged and his eyes bulging.

  “There’s more of them coming!” he reported. “They came right out of fuckin’ nowhere! Like, they teleported in.”

  Roland pinched the bridge of his nose. “They probably did teleport.”

  “Hah!” Rhona laughed, her face lighting up with nasty exhilaration. “You idiots. It never occurred to you that I was no more than a plant! I spearheaded the first wave, and I am being tracked. You will be besieged in the place you thought would be safe. You will all die, and we will laugh over your bodies!”

  Browne looked at her evenly. “Shut up, you crazy-ass…ugh. Someone put some tape over her mouth while we deal with her friends. And get those damn Weres back here! We’re not done yet, it seems.”

  Jurgensen was already trying the phone. “Dead, sir. They either cut the line, or they’re, uh, interfering with it with magic or some shit. I dunno. This don’t look good, though.”

  Bailey glanced out the window and saw two figures in the Venatori’s distinctive leather uniform closing on the building. She thought she could make out the shadows of one or two more off to the sides. The witches must have completely surrounded the building.

  Bailey’s hands balled into fists. “Not done at all, Sheriff. Not by a long shot. Time to give ‘em hell.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Roland raised a shield that covered almost the entire building. “I can’t sustain a full-strength one of this size,” he apologized, and veins stood out on his neck and forehead. “It will offer us some protection, but they’ll get through eventually, or I’ll get too damn tired after ten minutes or so. You guys really need to drive them the hell off quick.”

  They didn’t have to wait to get their chance. Down the hall, the front doors blew off their hinges.

  “Oh, shit!” Jurgensen cursed, picking his rifle back up and charging toward the bare portal.

  Bailey was right behind him, and Smolinski fell in behind her, although he remained partway down the hall to keep an eye on Browne, Roland, and Rhona in the back room.

  The werewitch’s first thought was the Venatori had somehow reached beyond Roland’s shield to destroy the door from within, but she was wrong. They’d simply walked up and carved the green light apart with their conjured plasma-swords. It healed itself, but they were able to push through in the time it gave them.

  Two witches were right there, poised to strike with their blades. Bailey knew she could not afford to be merciful. She struck the woman on the left with a lightning bolt strong enough to fell a hundred-year-old tree, and the sorceress flew back against the lobby wall, a smoking corpse.

  Jurgensen opened fire. His rifle punched two holes through the chest of the witch on the right, and she spun, bled, and collapsed. There were three more behind the initial pair and they stomped in, shielded and conjuring all manner of terrible enchantments.

  Bailey expended as much magic as she could to neutralize the attacks. Then, almost not knowing what she did, she shifted. Bending over, feeling her hands become feet and her body become far more powerful, she would have a chance to hit the witches with something they probably weren’t expecting. During a lull, she pounced.

  Magic flashed and something burned her side, but she plowed into the attackers anyway, sending them in multiple directions like felled bowling pins. Her jaws closed on the neck and chest of the nearest one, teeth piercing flesh, and the power of her bite broke the woman’s neck. Then she launched herself at the others. A plasma blade cut a strip of flesh from her shoulder and everything became an incoherent whirlwind of violence, but still she lived.

  Behind her, Bailey heard shattering glass, twisting metal, gunshots, and screams. She tossed her head, clearing space around her, and as suddenly as combat had begun, it seemed to end. The witches were beating a hasty retreat out the front door.

  Part of Bailey wanted to pursue them and finish them off, but she dismissed the bloodthirsty notion and spun back to check on the others within the station, standing up to change back into human form in the same motion.

  The first thing she saw was Officer Jurgensen sprawled on the floor, moaning and pawing at a deep gash in his abdomen. Her eyes widened, and she dashed toward a first-aid kit Browne had already opened.

  The deputy motioned. “Bring it here. Leave it with me. Check on them.” His voice came out in a strained gasp.

  She deposited the kit beside him, hoping he had the strength to attend to himself for a moment while she ran down the hall. She didn’t even think about being naked at this point.

  The Venatori had destroyed the window and the entire section of wall around it, and debris covered the floor. Roland, Sheriff Browne, and Officer Smolinski all seemed to be fine, although they looked confused.

  Rhona was gone, only a tipped-over chair and a pair of plasma-cut anti-magic handcuffs indicating that she’d been there. Sometime during the fight, the witches had reclaimed their own before they’d slipped away.

  Bailey wondered aloud, “Why was she so important? She was just a sergeant, wasn’t she? And they let all the other witches under her die.

  Roland, his face curdled with distaste, looked into the distance. “They’ve got some convoluted plot in the works. I can’t fathom their minds, though. All we can do is try to prepare for anything and fight hard when we have to.”

  Browne, struggling to his feet with a crutch they’d fetched from the supply room, growled, “There’s been plenty of fighting already. We don’t need any more.”

  They checked on Jurgensen. He seemed okay for now, but he would need serious medical attention soon. While the deputies remained within to secure the building and put out the last of the guttering fires, the sheriff, the werewitch, and the wizard wandered outside to check on what was happening with the town.

  Amidst the smoking ruins and confusion, someone strode across the pavement toward the group. Bailey looked up. It was Agent Townsend.

  The man was stomping the earth with each step, moving as fast as a human can move while still qualifying as a walk rather than a jog. Yet, there was no undignified sense of rushing. He was simply moving with great purpose. His hands were balled into fists, his jaw was clenched, and his face had a reddish-purple tinge to it.

  “Agent!” Bailey called to him. “Damn. Do you know what happened? They—”

  “I sure fucking do!” he roared, flinging his hands up. Spittle flew from his mouth, and Bailey wasn’t sure whether to cringe or burst into crazed laughter. She’d never seen him like this. “Unbelievable!”

  Roland cleared his throat. “Well, believe it, Townsend. The Venatori just turned this nice little town into a warzone. The good news is, this time they ran into people who knew they were coming and were able to fight back. Most of them are dead.”

  “I know all that!” the agent snapped. “I just fucking said. I saw half the goddamn fiasco on my device. And don’t get defensive. If you think I’m mad at you, you have no idea how mad I am at my superiors for not dispatching the cavalry yet, and even that is only a tiny fraction,” he held up his thumb and forefinger pinched around about an inch of air to show how tiny, “of how mad I am at them. This was a brazen attack on humans in public! Fuck this shit!”

  Sheriff Browne, leaning on his makeshift crutch, eyed the man askance. “Could you keep your voice down, Agent, if you’re going to talk like that around all these kids? Things are bad enough in this community lately, for God’s sake.”

  Townsend glanced at him but didn’t heed his remark. He continued to rant and rave.

  “This is exactly the kind of thing my entire career was based on avoiding. And frankly, it’s the Venatori’s fault, not mine! They’re the ones who defecated all over the general truce we’d established. Next time the
y show up, we’re going to burn them at the stake!”

  Bailey grimaced. Tensions were pretty high around here.

  * * *

  At a scenic lookout south of Greenhearth, dozens of Weres gathered. It was big enough to qualify as a small park, and it overlooked the Hearth Valley. They’d chosen the spot for its symbolic beauty, for its relative seclusion from human activity, and because it wasn’t too far of a trip either for the wolves of Greenhearth and the Juniper, Whitcomb Creek, and Shashka packs.

  Bailey had also invited the Eastmoors, but they were among the packs the Venatori had exterminated. It was the last thing they’d done before invading her town.

  Roland had declined to come, feeling that this was, by definition, a Weres-only event. He needed some time to rest and think anyway.

  The werewitch stood before the assembled ranks of her people, along with the shamans who still lived, Alfred Warner of the Whitcombs and Fred Grotowski of the Shashkas, whom Bailey had never met. He had been the teacher of the now-dead Nick, and his long, thin face was grim with sorrow.

  Also with them was their god. Fenris, in his human guise as Marcus, effectively represented Greenhearth and its packs as “acting shaman” until such time as Bailey could take over her full duties.

  Knowing who he was, many of the Weres were dazed or uncomfortable. Yet, his presence emphasized the seriousness and reality of their situation.

  Warner was the first to speak. “Yesterday,” he began, “emissaries of the Venatori, a sorcerous order based in Europe, launched an attack on our friends and neighbors in Greenhearth. It’s come to light that this was only the last of a string of strikes against Were communities throughout the Northwest US. The Eastmoors, whom some of us were acquainted with, were wiped out, along with multiple packs in Washington. Those of our boys who died stopping them did not do so in vain because these new enemies would have done the same to every last one of us.”

  Bailey was uncomfortable with the belligerent, almost militaristic tone of Warner’s speech, yet nothing he said was inaccurate. He’d summarized the truth.

  The memorial service proceeded, and tempers cooled as the focus shifted to the three Weres who’d perished rushing the witch Rhona’s unit. One was a South Cliff, one a Whitcomb, and one a Shashka. Bailey did not know any of them, although the South Cliff, Tyler Ives, was a guy she’d at least heard of and probably seen around town.

  All had laid down their lives, rushing to her aid.

  Earlier that afternoon, she’d been to a town hall meeting in Greenhearth where the mood kept threatening to veer into panic and mass anger.

  The town’s human population knew the Weres as their neighbors and had never held any antipathy toward them, but they were understandably loath to get caught in the middle of a war that had nothing to do with them. People shouted and threatened to leave. They hinted at lawsuits or suggested going to the national news media if it meant protecting their children. Who, Bailey wondered, could blame them?

  Bailey, Sheriff Browne, Agent Townsend, and the mayor had all tried to assuage their concerns, pointing out that large forces were in motion to put a stop to the Venatori’s depredations. The townsfolk, inclined to stick by their own, at least appreciated that Weres, a wizard, and local law enforcement had shut down the attack before any more humans had been hurt or killed.

  Any more, since the sheriff would be walking with a cane for a while and Jurgensen had died of his wounds. His funeral wasn’t until next week.

  The whole thing had left a bad taste in Bailey’s mouth. The warmer vibe she encountered here among the other werewolves who understood what was going on came as a massive relief.

  It was her turn to speak. “Everyone,” she began, seeing a welcome lack of harsh judgment in their eyes, “I wanted to start by saying two things. They are maybe obvious, but they need to be said, and I’ll be damned if I don’t mean them both. Thank you, and I’m sorry.”

  Heads nodded; they were with her on this. She felt a little better.

  “Thank you for helping me—and all of us—deal with this horrible situation. We’re under attack, and we didn’t provoke it. All I did was have the bad luck to be born a werewitch, and the rest of you did even less. That leads into the ‘I’m sorry’ part. I’m sorry you all got dragged into this, and I’m sorry we lost three good young men. The Venatori seem to have decided that all of us are thorns in their sides, and there’s nothing we can do except defend ourselves.”

  She wasn’t done yet, and they knew it. They waited to hear more.

  “This started because of me,” she conceded, “and I regret that. I never wanted things to turn out like this. But now that they have, I’m gonna do everything I can to stop it. That’s what I’m training for, and I will succeed. We’re gonna get through this. All of us.”

  The nodding grew fiercer and shouted words of assent and encouragement rose from the crowd.

  “We’re with you, Bailey,” one voice insisted.

  She almost grinned like a schoolgirl, but this wasn’t the occasion for that. “Thank you again. I…well, public speaking isn’t my forte, and I don’t have much else to say. We’ll all be in touch, though. Take care.”

  Bailey stepped back, feeling as if her speech had gone out with a whimper instead of a bang, yet no one seemed disappointed or mocking or angry. She let out a big slow breath.

  Then Fenris stepped forward. “My children,” he opened, his deep gravelly voice more resonant than usual, perhaps supernaturally augmented. “I have little to add. Your shamans have said what needed to be said. Provided you do not defy my will or my commands, you have my support. You know who I am, and therefore, you must understand that I cannot intervene directly in this situation without drawing unwanted attention to us all. I will do what I can. Namely, I will finish training Bailey for her role as High Shaman. Soon she’ll be ready, and you will have a protector. Now, return to your homes, and make ready for whatever might come.”

  Bowing their heads in deference, the Weres dispersed. Some went to the vehicles they’d used to carpool. Others climbed the hills or went down the cliffs or disappeared into the woods on foot.

  Out of the tangle, the three Nordin boys appeared. Bailey approached them with a faint yet warm smile. “What are you miscreants doing here?” she asked. “Instead of sitting around watching football and drinking beer?”

  “Oh, you know,” Kurt opened. “Just our god summoning us to a low-key war council or something.”

  Jacob smacked the back of his brother’s head. “Something like that, yeah. Anyway, Bailey, that was a good speech, seriously. Maybe not polished like what you’d hear from a politician, but good enough for us. People are behind you. I don’t think anyone thinks it’s your fault, and if they do, at least they understand that we’re all in this together.”

  She hugged him. “Yeah, that about sums it up. I mean, shit, it is my fault. But how the hell was I supposed to know that a bunch of damn witches in Europe who I never heard of would randomly decide we need to be wiped out just because I rescued some kidnapped girls and then started trying to control my powers? Which, by the way, I didn’t ask for? Goddamn!”

  Her brothers just shrugged.

  “You weren’t,” said Jacob. “No one could have predicted that. Now come on, let’s go home and get something to eat, and then get around to that football-watching and beer-drinking you mentioned.”

  Finally, she allowed herself a full grin. “Sounds good to me.”

  When they reached the truck, however, Marcus appeared out of nowhere beside them. All four stopped and looked at him, awaiting his words.

  “Bailey,” he intoned. “Once again, I am proud of you. You handled today’s duties well.”

  She gave a single nod, almost a bow. “Thank you, Fenris. I won’t lie, I was worried. Part of me still feels like I’m the one to blame for all this shit.”

  He shook his head. “Only in the most indirect and abstract sense. You did not draw first blood. Since things have reached this
point, with the conflict having escalated to open combat in the streets, you’ve done just the job that a shaman is supposed to do. You helped protect the humans in your town as well as the Weres. That has made them more amenable to you, even if some of them are in a low-level panic. You fought well, made good use of your allies, and turned back the threat. It’s tragic that three Weres died, but far more would have perished if the Venatori had been left unopposed.”

  Russell surprised them by entering the discussion. “Yeah,” he growled. “They won’t be unopposed, though.” His clenched fist looked like a giant war-hammer from the Dark Ages.

  Marcus glanced at him. “Yes. We are a warlike people. Even the wolves farther north who were ambushed and murdered in their beds tried to fight back. And now they no longer have the element of surprise.”

  The day had waned; the sun had set. Bailey briefly pondered if Townsend’s Agency was finally prepared to send their support. It had been days since he’d pledged their aid.

  “One more thing,” said Fenris. “Part of why the witches can no longer take us unaware is because of the work you’ve done rallying the whole community. Not only fighting, but also talking to them in peace, and soothing hearts when lives were lost. I heard several of them in today’s crowd talking about how you went to the funerals of the Junipers who died in the Other weeks past. Things like that form the other half of what makes a true leader.”

  He laid a hand on her shoulder, and she put her own hand atop it and closed her eyes.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Neither the Venatori nor the Agency showed up the following morning, but everyone knew it would only be a matter of time. They could do little but wait, hoping the Agency’s personnel would arrive first.

  But they knew better than to rely on others. Defending their community was up to them.

  Bailey spent an hour talking to Weres and humans alike and ensuring that patrols of local militia were guarding the whole of the Hearth Valley. Then, with the precious time they still had before the next battle flared up, Marcus took her and Roland once more into the Other to complete their training.