The Were Witch Complete Series Omnibus

by Renée Jaggér

  Without warning, Bailey’s clone sprang back in a defensive retreat, throwing up its arms with hands outspread. Steamy white fog shot up from the floor and the blinding light returned, reflecting off the mist and showing phantasmal images much like a movie screen.

  Bailey hesitated, and the fighting paused as everyone gazed at the sorcerous light show.

  “Look,” the other werewitch insisted, “look and see what’s happening right now!”

  In the center of the mist was Roland. He was tied to a tree in a dark, foreboding place, surrounded by a dozen witches who were torturing him. Blood ran down his face and bare torso, and he writhed and bucked, screaming for mercy or rescue. The Venatori just laughed and continued to cut and burn and beat him, gradually tearing him apart.

  “No,” Bailey gasped. “That’s not real. That is a goddamn lie.”

  The torment continued, the witches smirking gleefully at the wizard’s pain and seeming eager for him to succumb to death. He opened his mouth wider and shouted, “Why did she leave me? Why couldn’t she have gotten back sooner? She could have...”

  Then a sorceress lashed him with a barbed whip, and he shrieked again.

  Bailey exerted all the will she possessed to keep herself from covering her eyes. The young Venatori recruit she’d released had claimed they’d captured Roland, so the scenario was disturbingly plausible, but she couldn’t believe it was true.

  “Bullshit! Cut that out and fight fair.” She was on the verge of charging through the glowing fog and taking the clone’s head off with one punch.

  “No, Bailey,” her doppelganger retorted, “it’s true. Roland suffers because of you. Those are the stakes; that is what you are causing to happen. Lives are in danger, including that of the man you love. And not only him. Is this what you want?”

  She sensed fear spreading through her Weres. None of them were immune to the implied threat to their families and friends.

  The spectral cinematic shifted then and displayed an old farmhouse—the Nordin residence. Around the periphery of the scene, dark figures were closing in.

  The clone continued her taunting questions. “Can you afford to love and care about people if you insist on taking the hazardous path to being a shaman, a leader, and a werewitch? What if, while you pursue personal advancement and glory, the Venatori finish off your boyfriend and move on to your brothers?”

  Jacob, Russell, and Kurt appeared, lounging unaware in the living room and watching TV, when blasts of magic came through the front window. There was too much smoke and debris to see what happened next, but she heard her brothers screaming in fear and pain and saw more flashes of menacing light.

  “The witch cult has tried to attack your loved ones before,” the false Bailey added, “and it can happen again. Luck alone saved some of them last time, didn’t it?”

  Again the images changed. The mists disclosed a building—an auto shop resting partway up a hill from Greenhearth’s main road. Gunney’s business, more his home than his actual house. It was crumbling and engulfed in flames; anyone who’d been inside it was dead.

  Bailey raised her fists before her. “Goddammit. Let them try! They’ve already fucked with Greenhearth, and it didn’t go well for them, did it? Us Weres might have kicked their asses even without help from the Agency. And I think we’ve wasted enough time in this fuckin’ room talking to you. Time to get back home, so stand aside or get knocked aside. You hear?”

  The fog wavered and dimmed, then it grew thinner in the middle. That was all the invitation Bailey needed.

  She pounced through it and drove her fist into the doppelganger’s nose. Her double yowled and fell back toward the rear wall, and in time with the cry, the other lycanthropes roared and charged. Half the other clones joined their leader in being driven back or flattened on the spot.

  Bailey pressed her advantage. “Only way to go is forward. Right now, that means through your ass!”

  Her doppelganger tried a crouching, circular attack, sweeping to the side and making a vicious clawed-hand swipe at her groin. But Bailey had expected something like this since it was what she would have done in the same situation, so she brought her leg up in a crude but effective roundhouse kick. Her shin connected with the other Bailey’s head and bowled her over, sending the creature rolling backward.

  The clone pack had re-adapted to the Weres’ furious charge, alternating between crafty dodging moves and equally ferocious counters, which slowed the advance. Two of the doubles, including Will’s, were down for the count. The mirror pack was outnumbered.

  Bailey’s movements became automatic, her body fighting of its own accord as her thoughts and passions turned to Roland in danger, to the trust she had in her companions and mentors, and to her growing confidence in herself. Her duel with her double became a blur in which the adversary landed a couple of glancing blows but Bailey pummeled her twice for each one.

  Before the werewitch knew it, the mirror army collapsed as one, letting out a synchronized groaning sigh like the rising of wind over a field, and all eleven were consumed in a blaze of white light. Then they were gone, and the true wolves stood alone in the ivory chamber.

  “Gods,” Will panted, “we did it.” He swallowed, his emotions paralyzed as the full horror of brawling with himself overcame him, though the relief of victory made it easier to cope with.

  Bailey wiped sweat from her face. “That we did. Believe it or not, this is the third time I’ve had to fight–”

  Blue light solidified near the center of the ceiling much faster than it had before as the guardian wolf spirit returned in a fashion that was less like a thickening mist and more like an upswell of flame.

  “Congratulations!” it said again, although its tone was different, like a clear trumpet. “You have triumphed over your inner fears and doubts, refusing to succumb to despair even when told that catastrophe is guaranteed unless you destroy yourself. That requires resilience, courage, clarity of perception, and a level of wisdom beyond your years.”

  Bailey noted abruptly that there was no exit at the rear of the white room.

  Is this it? The end of the trial, the last thing that needed to be done? I hope we don’t have to walk all the way back.

  “You all have fought bravely,” the spirit went on, “and you, Bailey, have the makings of a great shaman. Throughout the trials, you have believed in yourself, as well as the abilities and unity of your fellows. You’ve demonstrated that you know who to trust and when, and how to weigh trust in your own judgment against the accumulated lessons of the past—both the ancestral past of our kind and your recent experiences. That is what it means to be a shaman. It is beyond our purview to bestow that title upon you, but you are well on your way. Receive now our gift.”

  A bluish-silver sparkle appeared on the guardian’s forehead, then drifted down to Bailey’s face. Although it was bright, it didn’t hurt her eyes, and her body absorbed it with a shudder of both cold and pleasing warmth.

  The wolf spirit concluded with, “The high magic is a gift—a true blessing, something precious and exceptional. You possess a conduit to the shamans of the past, as all shamans of the present must. They can bring clarity to your visions and help open pathways to new sources of power in times of great need. I hope you use it well, Bailey Nordin. At last, I bid you farewell and good luck!”

  As if a miniature star had erupted within its form, the blue light grew brighter, intensifying to pure silver-white, engulfing the eleven Weres as they shielded their eyes and cried out in alarm. Then there came a cold, dizzy sensation that lasted a second or less.

  Remembering to exhale, Bailey lowered her arm from her face. To her sides and over her head was the arch of the temple’s entrance, and in front of her was the clearing in the sacred forest. A tall hooded figure stood beyond the misty barrier, looking at her.

  “Fenris!” she cried, relief and triumph warring with each other for supremacy in her mind. Beside and behind her, the ten young men who’d gone through so much
to help her through the trials laughed and cheered. It was over. They’d won.

  Their god beckoned to them, and his grim face held the shadow of a smile.

  Bailey ran across the sward, the others following. Fenris parted the enchanted mist, so they were able to trot through, one at a time. Once everyone was safely past, the girl almost jumped at the shaman, embracing him.

  “Bailey,” he said softly, “I knew you would succeed. I knew it. But there’s something you have to know.”

  She was way ahead of him. “Roland. One of the witches said they captured him. Is it true?”

  With a slow, deliberate motion, he nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid so. I could not intervene. They’ve discovered my identity; I knew it wouldn’t remain a secret for long. At this point, any direct action by me against them would draw Freya and the other gods into the conflict, escalating it to a level of destructiveness that might threaten the entire world.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, half-wanting to scream at him that he should have helped the wizard anyway, but the mature and responsible part of her—the part that had passed the trials of a shaman—knew he was right.

  “We’ve got to find him and save him,” she stated simply. “The whole last part of the tests, I had him in the back of my mind, to the point that I could barely concentrate. I am so goddamn worried. He…I, uh,” she stammered, “we’re together. I care about him so much.”

  Will, Roger, and the other Weres standing paces away heard everything she said. Well, they’d heard it from the clone, but now the cat was officially out of the bag.

  The tall shaman’s mouth moved in acknowledgment, and he placed a large hand atop her head.

  “I am not surprised, and it is all right. Let’s return to your world, then. Again, I can’t aid you directly, but I will offer support as far as I can. And encouragement. Bailey, if you can complete these trials that have defeated many candidates, you can rescue Roland and your town. I have the utmost faith in you.”

  She gave him one last squeeze, then stood up straight. “Thanks, truly. But I don’t have time to soak up praise, appreciated though it is. Let’s get moving.”

  Chapter Twelve

  A doorway of subtly luminescent liquid, like a bathtub of melted amethysts, opened vertically on a wooded ridge overlooking the Nordin household, not far from where Fenris as Marcus had lived for a while in his off-the-grid shack. Out of the portal stepped the deity, along with eleven werewolves.

  “Well,” Bailey quipped at once, feeling a small surge of relief, “at least they didn’t burn my house down yet. That’s good.”

  Before anyone could stop her or suggest they approach at a cautious pace, she flung herself down the ridge, running at full speed or jumping and floating magically as needed.

  Three or four voices cried out in alarm behind her, then they all followed her lead. Most remained on two legs, but a few shifted to four. They’d catch up quickly enough.

  It took Bailey only a minute or so to reach her backyard. As she came up on the pole barn, she allowed herself to half-fall against it while clapping her hands to its walls, hoping to rouse Roland if by some chance he was there. No sound came in response.

  She turned to the house as the first of her pack entered the yard. The back door opened and Jacob stood there, blinking.

  “Bailey? Why the hell did you go beating on the pole barn?” He furrowed his brow, perplexed.

  She answered him and asked a question of her own in the space of one short sentence. “Where’s Roland?”

  Jacob shrugged. “Last I saw or heard, he was with you. He hasn’t been back here. Is he okay?”

  She grimaced as she strode across the grass. “Truth be told, probably not. You-know-who might have captured him while we were doing our thing. By the way, I passed the trials. But right now, finding him is my top priority.”

  Russell and Kurt appeared as Jacob adjusted to the new information. She’d pulled them all out of a recreational activity they were probably hoping wouldn’t be interrupted by stuff like this, but they were still her brothers, and they’d help her if they could.

  The Nordin boys all made phone calls to establishments in town or to people they knew, especially to guys who were patrolling the town since they’d have been the first ones to notice any suspicious comings and goings. But pressing them turned up nothing.

  Meanwhile, Bailey and the other Weres took turns having a drink of water and using the bathroom. Being back in the real world, they suddenly found their physical needs demanding attention again. Everyone was hungry as well, but there wasn’t time to eat.

  They convened in the living room.

  “All right,” Bailey addressed them, “I’m gonna take these guys to fan out across the valley and look for anything that might lead us to Roland. The Venatori might not have set foot in town and instead warped straight to the boonies. After the shit they pulled, they couldn’t expect a warm welcome. It’s also possible they’re in disguise.”

  Roger suggested he and his pack head north. That was the direction they were from, and they knew the area. They could comb the mountains and woods up to Washington and report back.

  The werewitch agreed. “If you find nothing, go home. You’ve done plenty to help me. I may need your help again sometime, by the way.”

  Jim, the burly lieutenant, asserted, “And you’ll have it. We pledged loyalty, and we don’t take that lightly.”

  Bailey thanked them again and dismissed them.

  Her brothers wanted to join the posse, but someone needed to remain at the house in case Roland appeared there—or in case the witches attacked.

  Russell grunted. “I want to search for him. I can cover ground in this area faster than most any Were. Including you, Bailey.”

  She flashed him a subdued smile. “That you can. Okay, Russell will search, and Jacob and Kurt will stay behind. Russell, if you do find a bunch of witches, do not take them on by yourself. I know you’re tough, but it takes a squad or more of wolves to deal with even a small group of them.”

  “Understood,” her towering sibling rumbled.

  They dispersed, spending the next hour and a half combing as much of the valley as they could, separating into two groups before reconvening in the woods at the southwest edge of town.

  Nothing. No sign that Roland had been there at all. In her growing desperation, Bailey turned to her teacher.

  “Please, Fenris, isn’t there anything you can do to help? You don’t have to intervene in the rescue or fight the Venatori, just help me find him. You can do that, can’t you?”

  The set of his mouth within his stony face betrayed his sadness. “I cannot. I might be a god, but I’m not the god of witches, so it’s not within my purview to keep track of their kind. Not even when it’s one who is important to you, my pupil, my candidate for High Shaman. And Roland has left no trace. I’m sorry, Bailey.”

  It took all the strength and self-discipline she had to keep from screaming skyward in rage and anguish. She couldn’t stop her fists from trembling or a lump from forming in her throat.

  Gods and witch-cults and magical rules and regulations... So much bullshit, so many traditions and alliances that had been around too long to give a shit about the measly lives of individuals in the present day.

  Then, parsing Fenris’ words in her head, something occurred to her.

  “Wait,” she said aloud, “you’re not the god of witches. Does that mean the witch deity could locate him?”

  The tall man’s mouth frowned in a thoughtful way. “Yes, but I don’t think that would be a good idea. It carries a great number of risks, and you might not be able to restrict those risks to yourself.”

  The words of the mirror phantom from the end of the trials flashed briefly in Bailey’s mind; she’d triumphed over its insinuations, but it wasn’t entirely wrong. Anything she did could potentially bring danger down on others.

  “Yes,” she conceded, through clenched teeth, “but–”

  “And,” Marcus i
nterrupted her, “you do not understand the half of it. Freya and I are not on good terms and haven’t been for a long, long time. It’s well known throughout the celestial realms that you are my apprentice. If she were to manifest, I could not protect you from her if she decided to destroy you. And in fact, it would be best if I wasn’t around. My mere presence would anger her.”

  Bailey squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to breathe while counting to ten. Not only to keep herself from saying or doing something hasty and stupid but so she could think the conundrum over and reach a decision.

  “Okay,” she began, “I understand. I don’t want things to get any more fucked up and complicated than they already are. But I can’t leave Roland in their clutches, doing who knows what to him. I just can’t. If we can summon Freya, could you leave before she has a chance to freak out?”

  The hooded shaman rubbed his rough chin. “Hmm. You would still risk incurring her wrath, but that might work. I’d suggest you continue the search by conventional means, but if you are absolutely determined to seek her aid, I will contribute as best I can without making the situation worse.”

  Will and the other South Cliffs had been observing the girl’s exchange with the older man, listening without speaking. They were beginning to sweat, fidget, and look around as if wondering what to do. It occurred to Bailey that after everything they’d been through in the Other, meeting the goddess of a rival species might be too much.

  In fact...

  “Hey,” the werewitch addressed them, “I think it’s best if you guys take cover along with Fenris once the fireworks start. There’s no telling how Freya will react to a group of Weres staring her down. I met her before once, and if it’s only me, I think I can talk to her.”

  Will jerked his chin; it was obvious that he and his boys were relieved by the suggestion. They’d backed her up through so much shit that she figured they deserved a break.