The Were Witch Complete Series Omnibus

by Renée Jaggér

  Then the girl jumped into a flying kick. The older woman noticed right before impact, and since Bailey’s shield was still active, the effect was as though she’d been hit by a moving wall. The witch let out a loud, sharp grunt and rolled into the barn toward one end.

  Roland kept shaking his head as Bailey passed him. It looked like he was on the verge of passing out. She wanted to hold him and talk to him, but first...

  The lead witch was back on her feet and not badly hurt. She pouted grotesquely. “How can you do this to us?” she asked with what may have been a Hungarian accent. “We are trying to help him!”

  The werewitch’s face distorted into a snarl. “That’s some hypocritical shit if I ever heard it.”

  Bailey used a kinetic blast to collapse the roof of the far side of the barn, hoping to crush the woman, but she simply caught the debris magically and tossed it far out into the grass. One of her allies tried to attack Bailey from the side, but a Were tackled her, and the two rolled out of sight toward the barn’s other end, cursing and struggling.

  Furious, the girl turned back to the apparent leader. “Call your people off! Get the fuck out of here, or I’m going to rip you to shreds! You have no right to interfere in our business, goddammit.”

  The woman smirked. “Saving Roland is our business.”

  “Bullshit! He’s mine!”

  With that, Bailey unleashed so much offensive magic at the sorceress that she couldn’t even see in front of her for a second or two. What remained of that end of the barn was vaporized, but her foe still stood when the smoke cleared.

  Then the stocky Hungarian turned and fled, moving with impressive speed for her age and build. Bailey’s instant reaction was a thrill of animalistic joy at having won and sent her enemy scurrying, but she thought she saw a faint smirk on the woman’s face as it turned.

  Bailey pivoted barely in time to block an icy lance hurled at her from behind. It was the tall witch who’d played dead at the beginning of the fight, very much alive.

  The werewitch succumbed to total rage.

  “Try to backstab me? Try to set me up?” she sputtered, and thrusting her hands forward, she overwhelmed the other woman with a wave of concussive and gravitational force.

  The witch rose above the remaining roof of the barn as she tried in vain to get control of her movements while throwing off poorly-aimed projectiles of ice and plasma. Overhead, the clouds thickened and darkened, then a bolt of lightning fell from the sky, striking the Venatori acolyte. Her scream echoed, and her smoking body plummeted to crash amidst a stand of bushes behind the barn.

  Silence settled over the farmstead. Including the woman Bailey had just annihilated, two of the witches lay dead, and the rest had retreated. One of Will’s South Cliffs also huddled on the ground, alive but severely wounded. The rest seemed okay.

  Bailey inhaled. “Will, we need to get help for that guy right away. Roland, too. You guys load him into my truck.”

  They lost no time in surrounding their friend and carefully lifting him. In the back of her mind, Bailey recalled something about how you weren’t supposed to move an injured person, but she didn’t think there’d be time to wait for the paramedics. She left them to the task, hoping they were up to it, and rushed to the post within the barn.

  “Roland, are you okay?” she asked.

  He groaned. “Not quite, but I’ll live. You walked right into their trap, Bailey. Sorry, I’m extremely happy to be rescued, but they pulled some devious shit here and got away with it. You don’t…” He coughed. “You don’t realize what you’ve done.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked as she untied him and helped him to stand.

  He slumped against her, struggling to walk on his own but needing her help. “This was a setup. They staged the whole thing to make it look like you kidnapped me and they were the ones trying to rescue me, then you attacked them out of the blue. And they broadcast it to the entire witch community. Things are going to get ugly.”

  Bailey’s stomach sank, but she tried to ignore it. First, they needed to get Roland and the injured Were to the hospital. In the meantime, at least they’d won another battle.

  She helped Roland into the passenger’s seat of the Tundra and made sure the wounded Were was secure in the bed, then she started driving toward town, slower and with greater care than she would otherwise, so as not to jostle the passenger. Will called 911 and told them their course so that an ambulance could meet them partway.

  Though worried about their two casualties, the group was still operating on the rush of victory.

  “We smoked their asses!” One of Will’s friends laughed. “Like, holy shit. Anybody see any other Venatori around here? No? I thought not, ha-ha. Between today and two weeks ago, they oughta think twice before they fuck with Greenhearth again.”

  “Hell, yeah,” Will chimed in. “After what we went through in that temple, they don’t seem that tough anymore. And there was the same number of them as there were of us.”

  Bailey had her doubts about the whole situation, but she wasn’t immune to the triumphant vibe, and her boys could use a little cause to celebrate.

  “They ain’t unbeatable,” she quipped. “They’re pains in the ass, but we’ve proven that they can’t walk all over us. Buncha crusty old terrorist bitches with demigod complexes and bad fashion sense, if you ask me. And they aren’t doing anything that others like them haven’t tried to do before and failed at. We’ll give them the same option every other sane person gives to people like that—either they stand down and leave us alone, or we blow them into atomic particles.”

  Everyone laughed and cheered, except Roland and the other injured man. They’d both passed out again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tomi took two trips to bring out all the food. They’d ordered not only the usual steak sandwiches but also a giant appetizer sampler platter for good measure. Jacob and Russell had insisted on paying for it.

  “Hey,” Jacob quipped, “we could’ve cooked for you, but the dishes are already piling up. Frankly, nothing beats the Elk anyway. Am I right?”

  Bailey smiled. “You’re right.”

  Tomi finished unloading and wished them a nice meal, then bowed out to check on her other customers.

  The Elk’s business was recovering rapidly. Bailey had worried after the brawl with Nick a couple of weeks ago, that people would be scared to come back. However, after the Venatori’s assault on the town, people increasingly wanted to be around each other and support local businesses while they were at it.

  They tore into their food, everyone except Kurt starting with the sandwiches. The youngest Nordin had gone straight for the blooming onion.

  “Gods, this is good!” he exclaimed. “I mean, for something that’s a vegetable, it’s like, almost real food.”

  “Noted,” said Russell.

  As they ate, Bailey thought of Roland. He’d been taken to the hospital again and was in the process of recovering. The doctors were concerned he might have picked up an infection and had him on antibiotics, and he’d also lost a significant amount of blood. No major injuries, though, so they expected him to get out soon. Will’s friend, on the other hand, was in critical condition, and the staff was disturbingly vague about his prospects. He might well die.

  She couldn’t help worrying about them both, but it could have been far worse.

  The Venatori hadn’t wanted to kill Roland, after all. Their plan had been far more insidious, and as far as Bailey could tell, the witches had succeeded in the first phase.

  “So,” she moped, “now every witch in the world except Roland thinks I’m a psychopathic murderer who’s out to get them. Suddenly the goddamn Venatori look like the good guys. Local casters throughout the good old US of A are going to start thinking the Venatori are their potential allies and protectors since it seems like I’m out of control. This might be worse than when people were spreading those rumors about me wanting to take over their packs.”

  Jacob f
rowned in sympathy. “No one’s going to believe that horseshit.”

  “Witches,” Bailey pointed out, “will listen to their own kind before us. Even a bunch of whacked-out cultists.”

  Kurt snorted. “Believe them? That’s like having Loki say, ‘Trust me.’ I mean, come on.”

  Abruptly grasping the ramifications of what he’d said, the youngest Nordin looked around in apologetic embarrassment. “Shit, sorry. I mean the Marvel version of Loki—the fictional character. Not Fenris’ dad.” He coughed.

  The others snickered. Jacob pointed out, “In the myths, Loki wasn’t all that trustworthy either. But then again, we don’t have a way of knowing if the mythology is any more accurate than the goddamn comics and movies.”

  Bailey shrugged. “Fenris did say he never got along very well with his family. Good thing I wouldn’t know what that’s like.”

  She’d meant to say that in a sarcastic tone as a joke, but it came out sounding sincere, and for a moment, everyone smiled in the quiet warmth.

  “So,” Jacob quipped, “aren’t there like, Olympics this year? Don’t follow that stuff too closely, but once in a while, it’s cool to check in.”

  “Yeah,” Kurt answered at once, “the Summer ones, in Tokyo, supposedly. They’re always the same year as elections. Weird, right? I wonder if there’s a connection?”

  Bailey kicked his leg under the table. “No. We are not talking about politics.”

  Jacob and Russell laughed.

  They tore into the remainder of the appetizers and had Tomi refill their mugs of coffee, allowing casual conversation to unfold about sports, movies, TV, and stupid shit the locals had done while Bailey was away or busy. Another half-hour passed before they decided it was time to pay their tab and move on.

  As they were making ready to leave, a tall man in a hooded coat came in, striding past the waitress with a wave of his hand and walking to their booth.

  “Well,” Kurt piped up, “speak of the, uh, god. Half an hour or so ago, that is.”

  Nodding his greeting to the three brothers but otherwise ignoring the comment, Fenris looked at his protégé.

  “Bailey. Now that Roland is safe and the Venatori have been repelled again for the time being, I’d like to extend my congratulations to you once more. You took swift action against our enemies yesterday despite being tired from the trials. Sadly, it seems they were able to bend the situation to their advantage. However, allowing them to convert Roland would have been unwise.”

  She looked at the floor. “Maybe I should have done it differently. But yeah, that was what I thought, too.”

  “You’ll need further courage, though,” the shaman went on, “for what is to come. There might be a chance to defuse the violence by speaking to normal witches the Venatori are trying to sway to their cause. Some of them have always viewed Weres with suspicion and will be only too eager to fight, though.”

  Russell spoke up. “When the time comes, we’ll fight back. They’ll lose even harder this time.”

  Bailey smiled and aimed a thumb at her sibling. “Yeah. What he said.”

  * * *

  After lunch, Bailey had drifted back to the auto shop. It was a slow day, and Gunney and Kevin were the only ones working. She punched in anyway, knowing the old man wouldn’t mind paying her for an hour or so of helping him with whatever he currently had on his plate.

  “Bailey. Good to see you made it back, not that I had any doubts about that. Did you, uh, pass your test? I’m still kinda fuzzy on how all this shit works. Been around Weres for decades, but this shaman stuff is new to me.”

  She smiled. “Of course I passed it, ya old fart. Couldn’t stop thinking of all the shit you’d give me if I didn’t.”

  He chuckled and fanned himself with his cap before pulling it back over his shaggy mop. “You’re getting past the point where I’m in much of a position to tell you what you should do, so whatever you do, do it right. Speaking of which…” He flourished a hand at their afternoon’s work.

  It was an old beat-up Chevy Blazer, a ‘98. Between Gunney’s grunted explanations and a brief examination of the vehicle, Bailey learned that it needed its water pump changed, alternator replaced, new spark plugs, and finally, the ever-popular oil change.

  Bailey shook her head. “What a P.O.S. They oughta scrap this thing and buy something halfway decent. Not that I’m complaining about us getting the business.”

  “Me neither,” agreed the mechanic. “If customers want to keep sinking money into vehicles that are basically zombies, well, that’s up to them.”

  Thinking of how her own new car still needed a proper paint job, Bailey set to work, helping the older man with the water pump before moving on to the less complicated stuff. They worked in silence at first, but it was an easy, comfortable silence, the type that arises between people who’ve been close for decades.

  Eventually, the conversation turned to local news. Notably, three families had moved away within the last two weeks, all humans. They didn’t feel safe here anymore, not with the witch attacks, and despite the best efforts of Weres, not to mention Sheriff Browne, to keep a close eye on the town.

  “That’s too bad,” Bailey opined, “but I suppose I can’t blame them. We have to stay, though. Can’t pass the buck. We just need to figure out what to do.”

  Gunney replied with a carefully considered monologue.

  “You’re right. To expand on what I said about me telling you what to do, well, I don’t have any obvious moral-of-the-story type shit for you this time. I wouldn’t know what to say about a goddamn war brewing between Weres and witches. Despite everything I’ve learned from living in this town, I never would’ve expected to see that in my lifetime.”

  Bailey nodded as they started installing the alternator. “It’s okay. Stuff you told me in the past is part of what got me this far, I reckon.”

  It occurred to her that he was passing the torch. Recognizing not only her growing independence as a young adult but also that mentoring her was increasingly the business of Fenris and the were-shamans.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “sometimes it’s good to get away from stuff you can’t do much about and focus on simple things when you can. We’re in a lull in the whole struggle, and people still got to drive, so might as well be productive on that front. And you’re safe. That’s the main thing. Knowing that, let’s be content and get some work done.”

  Once the alternator was securely in place, she put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s the idea, and that’s enough. Thank you.”

  The hours passed at a steady clip, the young woman and the older man trading light banter, and Kevin occasionally shouting remarks up from the depths. Finally, the Blazer was done, daylight was waning, and Gunny motioned for Bailey to follow him into the office.

  She cocked an eyebrow and made a show of being skeptical. “What’s this all about?” Probably, he wanted to confess how worried he was without Kevin hearing.

  Instead, he produced an envelope from a drawer and handed it to her, a warm, placid expression on his craggy features.

  “Cash,” he stated. “The BMW. After parts and labor for your truck, of course.”

  She blushed. “Shit, Gunney, you’ve given me enough. I can’t accept this.” She tried to push it back into his hand.

  He stepped backward and held up a hand. “Oh yes, you can, young lady. You got no choice in the matter. Suck it up.”

  She laughed. “Fine. Can’t argue with that logic.”

  * * *

  “Shoot to kill,” said Agent Townsend. “I repeat, do not bother waiting for them to initiate hostilities. They already have. Eliminate them on sight.”

  Mouths set in stony grimaces and eyes bright and blazing, the other men nodded their acknowledgment of the orders. This time, Townsend had almost a platoon under his command. Two dozen agents, including him.

  They’d estimated that there were twenty or more witches in Charleston, South Carolina right now, and all seemed to have congregated
in the warehouse Townsend’s troops currently surrounded. Two dozen men were the most the Agency could spare for the southeast coast. After Charleston was clear, there was still Daytona Beach down in Florida to deal with.

  They used their scanner-melters to defuse the outermost ring of the sorceress’ alarm glyphs but didn’t bother with the inner ones. It would take too long. Besides, the current official strategy was to use shock-and-awe, combined with overwhelming force.

  With their silvery arcanoplasm guns raised and aimed, the bulk of the force stormed into the warehouse, firing the instant they had a clear shot. Two snipers waited outside to pick off any witches who tried to escape.

  Mostly, they died. Startled leather-clad women with European accents spun on their attackers, some tossing off spells at once. Thanks to their fast reflexes, they killed one agent, who collapsed with poisoned ice shards through his neck, chest, and stomach, and wounded another, whose legs and right hip ended up badly burned.

  It was a well-executed assault, though. The battle was over in half a minute. Townsend didn’t bother to hurl any suspension-field grenades since they weren’t here to take prisoners. Bodies collapsed on the floor and burned to piles of white ash.

  When it was over, Townsend paused for a second to catch his breath, then he called for medical aid for the burned man. The guy who’d been impaled by the ice blast, Agent O’Malley, was dead.

  “Good job,” Townsend told his subordinates in a monotone. “Next time, we aim for zero casualties, but it’s impossible to fight a war without losing someone.” His gut clenched, thinking of the Agency’s first loss—his friend and partner.

  A newly minted agent in his late twenties named Gao stared in horror at the incinerated remains of the people they’d killed with such ruthless efficiency.

  Townsend came up behind him and put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “It’s ugly, I know, but remember who these women are. Their organization is implicated in the deaths of hundreds of men, women, and children, and these ones arrived for the express purpose of doing more of the same and fanning the flames until the whole fucking country is ablaze. We are authorized to stop them by any means necessary.”