by Renée Jaggér
Leaving the neophyte to ponder his words, the leader supervised the on-site medic’s treatment of Agent Rhine’s burns. He’d be out for a while recovering, but he would live, and probably not suffer any major incapacitation. Only scars.
With that attended to, Townsend checked his phone, which he’d left on silent during the raid. There was one missed call from HQ. He speed-dialed the number and held the device to his ear.
“Townsend,” he said into the receiver. “We just cleared the plumbing. Upper pipe. Proceeding to lower momentarily. Two casualties, one dead, one injured. What did you need to talk to me about?”
The voice on the other end informed him that they’d successfully intercepted a selection of the enemy’s communications. The Venatori were reaching out to unaffiliated women and a few men throughout the United States, many of whom showed up on the Agency’s list of probable witches.
“Damn,” Townsend rasped. “I take it this means they executed the false flag operation they seem to have been kicking around in their little brainstorm sessions recently?”
The voice replied in the affirmative.
Four other agents standing around their commander watched him and listened to the conversation with solemn concern. The rest of the men were engaged in treating the wounded man, securing the perimeter, and disposing of the piles of ash.
Townsend nodded as he listened. “Yeah. Yes, sir. Understood. With all due respect, this is why I asked to remain in charge of operations in the Northwest. The Nordin girl knows me, and the town warmed up to us after we rescued their asses. Requesting permission to take charge of the situation there immediately.”
Permission was granted.
“Good. Thank you. My men here can rendezvous with Agent Balfour in Jacksonville. They’re more than capable of a successful repeat performance. Yes. Acknowledged. Over and out.”
He ended the call and pocketed the phone, then turned to briefly address his men. There wasn’t time to explain the details, but most of them had overheard.
“For those who didn’t catch that,” he announced, “I’m leaving post-haste. I have to deal with a developing issue in the Northwest sector—something that could lead to us getting even more feces spattered on us than the current shitstorm has flung our way. Once you’re done here, proceed to Jacksonville and await Agent Balfour. Until he arrives, Agent Madeiros is in command. Good luck, and try not to lose anyone this time.”
He left, relaying the message to the pair of snipers, who had remained outside to act as lookouts while the others cleaned up within the warehouse. Then he hitched a ride with his local police liaison to the airport, where he caught the first flight to Portland, using his credentials to bull his way through the airline’s bureaucracy and stall the flight by about five minutes.
After all, he doubted any of the other passengers needed to arrive at their destinations as soon as he needed to get to his.
Chapter Fourteen
Bailey sat at home, meditating on the couch. She was feeling around in her mind for the “gift” that the wolf-spirit had bestowed on her at the end of the trials. It was difficult to find, but she knew it was there. It did seem that her consciousness had subtly expanded. She found herself thinking in terms of the bigger picture and the longer haul, and the deeper mysteries of lycanthropy were starting to make more sense.
She and Kurt were the only Nordins home, and Fenris was present as well. Russell was still out helping with the patrols, and Jacob had gone on a casual scouting trip to talk to people and harvest any rumors that might be useful.
She’d also spoken to Roland a half-hour ago. He was well enough to leave the hospital, having used unobtrusive magic to accelerate his healing, and just had some final tests and paperwork to go through. Bailey would be picking him up shortly.
Outside, a figure walked toward the house. Since it was only one person and they weren’t making any effort to hide their approach, she had no fear of it being a Venatori attack. The footsteps didn’t seem heavy enough to be Russell’s, so it must be Jacob.
The newcomer knocked on the door.
“Shit,” Bailey whispered, coming out of her semi-trance. “Not Jacob, after all.”
By the time she rose from the couch, Kurt had scampered downstairs from his room to answer the door.
“Oh, hi,” her brother’s voice said. “Always nice to see you right before something terrible happens. What’s the bad news for today?”
Bailey frowned as she hastened toward the door. Once in sight, she was not surprised to see Agent Townsend standing on the threshold.
“Bailey,” he said, looking past Kurt toward her. “May I come in? I have information you need to know.”
“Yeah,” she replied. “Sorry about my brother; he’s a smartass. You want coffee?”
The agent’s nod was sharp and curt. “Yes. I can’t stay long, though. Things are moving fast, and we can barely keep up.”
She sighed. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
She, Townsend, Kurt, and Fenris sat down at the kitchen table, although only she and the agent had steaming mugs. Fenris only drank tea, and Kurt intended to sleep that night. Bailey suspected she wasn’t going to have the opportunity.
The agent didn’t bother with a preamble. “I assume you have some awareness of the skullduggery the Venatori pulled when you rescued Roland. We heard about it as well. For what it’s worth, we were under no illusions that their side of the story was the correct one.”
“Hey, thanks!” Kurt remarked. “Always good to know that a shadowy government consortium believes in our integrity.”
“Yes,” Townsend stated, his face blank. “Your supposedly unprovoked attack on them and Roland was broadcast throughout the entire witch community in the United States. The chatter we’ve picked up indicates that a significant number of them have bought it. And, of course, we’re nearly positive that the Venatori will be coming for you again in full force.”
Fenris didn’t speak, only watched and glowered within the darkness of his hood.
Bailey rubbed her eyes. “That’s no shock. When?”
“Soon,” said the agent. “Likely within twenty-four hours, thirty-six at most. But the plot thickens further. While their largest force attacks Greenhearth, the rest of their available personnel will be resuming their genocidal campaign against shifter communities across the nation. Before you ask, yes, we’ve intercepted and neutralized a lot of them. My men and I killed twenty in South Carolina before I was ordered to fly out here. But we suspect that other groups have infiltrated the States and slipped through our grasp.”
The girl was starting to feel cold. “Goddamn. We don’t have time for this. A day ‘til they hit Greenhearth isn’t long. There’s got to be a way to, I dunno, mitigate the damage. Head off the worst of it before it happens.”
“We’re trying.” Townsend shrugged.
Fenris leaned forward. “There might be a way.”
All eyes looked toward him.
“As a shaman,” he began, presumably for Agent Townsend’s benefit, “I have connections to Were settlements throughout the world. From the Other, where time passes far slower, I can open portals to each of them. If we move fast, we might be able to visit most of the shifter communities in America. To warn them, or defend them if the witches have already struck.”
Bailey made up her mind in an instant. “Let’s do it. But we should get my South Cliffs first. And Roland. More magic on our side, plus he’s technically a witch, so he’s good for diplomacy.”
She and Fenris stood and headed toward the door, where Bailey put on her boots. She had an idea.
“Wait! Marcus, since the Venatori are rallying normal witches with this propaganda that I’m the aggressor, we need to fight defensively and avoid being too brutal. It’ll help our story and make it easier to convince some of them to stand down and realize they’re being manipulated into fighting.”
Fenris thought about it. “That might work, and it’s admirable to try. But there�
��s not much of a way to prove anything in the heat of battle. When push comes to shove, you must prioritize your safety and that of our kind. Sparing witches is secondary.”
Agent Townsend had come up behind them and was preparing to leave. “I’d rank it a little lower than that.”
Ignoring him, and reluctantly admitting to herself that Fenris was right, Bailey just said, “I understand.”
Before they departed, Townsend gave them the latest updates on where the Agency was deployed or would be deployed next. “Might as well work together on this,” he added. “Looking forward to working with you again.”
* * *
They’d done this six times, and the strain was getting to them, but a mixture of purpose, adrenaline, and the heady rush of success drove them onward.
Bailey stood at the front of the skirmish, blocking, redirecting, or neutralizing the endless waves of attack magic that blasted toward her and the village behind her. The squad of witches—about two-thirds local volunteers, commanded by Venatori—was growing increasingly frustrated and confused. They might succumb to panic soon.
Roland raised his free hand while he kept manipulating a snaking bolt of low-volt electricity with the other. “Ladies,” he announced, his voice magnified by spellcraft, “you really ought to consider the prospect of not fucking with us. We’re trying to use kid gloves here, and we’re still kicking your asses.”
Bailey was ready to unleash the wolves. “This is your last chance,” she warned them.
The volunteers looked ready to surrender, but their Venatori handlers pushed them to keep attacking. The lead sorceresses tried strikes that came in from alternate directions, but nothing could break through Bailey’s shield, and they kept having to dodge or block Roland’s attacks.
“Now!” Bailey shouted.
Will and his fighters, including three local Weres, shifted and pounced from behind the defensive line, bowling witches over and pinning them to the ground with jaws around their throats—not yet biting through flesh, but ready to do so at an instant’s notice.
Only one of their foes, the Venatori commander, remained on her feet, and she was breaking down in fear and rage, her magic coming in poorly-aimed, erratic spurts. Roland whipped his serpentine electrical conjuration around her leg, paralyzing her with spasmodic shocks, then Bailey hurled a lance of molten earth and metal through her chest. She toppled over, and her corpse smoked in the gravel.
As quiet returned, the remainder of the hamlet’s residents wandered out of their homes with wide eyes and gaping mouths.
Bailey looked at the witches on the ground. “You’ve lost. Give it up, and we’ll let you live. Is that proof enough for you that I don’t want to wipe you all out? That the Venatori manipulated that whole broadcast to whip you into a frenzy?”
“Silence!” the one witch of the Order among the prisoners rasped. “She lies!”
The other women ignored her and followed Bailey’s instructions to wave a hand twice in the air to indicate their surrender.
Roland laughed. “It probably helps that you brought me along. After all, I was the one in the fucking broadcast who was supposedly being menaced by you, and yet here I am, fighting at your side. Seems a bit odd, doesn’t it?”
They restrained the surviving Venatori prisoner with an anti-magic cord Roland had hastily made, and he kept an eye on her besides. Then Bailey turned to the people they’d saved.
It was a cluster of small homes housing about sixty people in total that squatted unobtrusively against a cliffside in the high-elevation semi-desert near Quemado, New Mexico. Bailey had never been this far south or east, or so distant from home. The place was the last of the threatened lycanthrope settlements in the western United States.
Next, they’d be proceeding east. The Venatori presence was heavier toward the Atlantic, but the Agency also had more of its own people dealing with the situation over there. That being the case, Bailey had opted to save isolated rural communities in the peaks, deserts, woods, and prairies of the Mountain West first.
Will came up to the wizard. “I gotta admit, that snake thing was pretty cool.”
“Thanks.” Roland beamed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but back when ‘those other guys’ were running your pack, I whipped—literally whipped—a few of them with my belt after magicking it a tad. Doing much the same thing with electricity wasn’t too difficult.”
Another South Cliff gave him a cock-eyed look. “You fought guys with a belt? That’s a bitch move, man.”
“Watch your language around the lady,” Roland responded, although his tone was relaxed. “Meaning Bailey. Not so much our guest here.” He nudged the bound Venatori lieutenant, a petite Mediterranean lady who stood in stony silence.
Then the Weres of the settlement came out to greet them, thank them, ask the requisite questions, and promise they’d spread the word.
Bailey tried to take it in stride. “Thanks, all. We don’t have much time. Have to save other people across the country.”
“Do so, then,” an old Were encouraged her. “We’re behind you, Bailey.”
She smiled at him. “I’m on it. One last thing, though. We can’t take these ladies with us; it’s too risky. That cord will keep the Venatori out of trouble, but you’ll need to watch her. Call this number, and someone from the government will take her into custody. I promise they won’t give you any trouble. They’re in the know about us, and they’re on our side in all this.”
She handed the old man a slip of paper with a secret phone number that Agent Townsend had given her.
“Wait.”
Bailey looked back; one of the local witches had raised a hand.
“I want to come with you, and I think my sisters do, too. To be honest, we had our doubts about that scrying broadcast. The whole situation looked ambiguous. And now? I don’t see how you could have been doing what they said. It doesn’t add up.”
The werewitch and the wizard exchanged glances.
“I’m down.” Roland shrugged. “We could always use more help. And of course, as I’m sure they know since they’re standing ten feet away from me as I say this, if they try anything, we’ll twist their heads off and throw a fireball down their necks.”
The women agreed; they came across as nervous but sincere.
Bailey nodded. “All right, then, you’re hired. The more witches we have on our side, the more other witches will believe us. Let’s get going.”
Waving a hasty goodbye, Bailey’s force, which had suddenly grown larger, filed back through the violet portal they’d hidden behind a boulder and a couple of trees. A cold rush of disorientation passed, and they found themselves back in the Other, on a broad boggy plain with sporadic black trees amidst curling tendrils of mist.
Fenris awaited them. To disguise his involvement, he remained in the alternate dimension, not aiding the operations directly, only opening and closing portals as needed.
Bailey thumbed over her shoulder. “New recruits. They seem to be honest about it.”
The tall shaman stared at the women—four in all—for a suspicious minute, but then nodded. “So be it. I sense threats bearing down on two communities in Oklahoma and Arkansas, but according to the information from the Agency, their men should arrive to help the latter very soon.”
“The Okies it is, then.” Bailey grunted. “Everyone ready?”
“Hell, yeah,” said Will. Out of the temple maze with its lack of clear objectives and back in the straightforward real world, he was starting to enjoy combat again.
Fenris raised his arms, closed the doorway to New Mexico, and opened the one that would take them to their next engagement in Wilburton, Oklahoma.
Tired though she was, Bailey was optimistic. They were on a roll.
* * *
The portal behind them closed, leaving the Nordin house’s backyard in darkness. Bailey, Roland, Will, the other South Cliffs, and the witches who’d joined them slogged through the grass, all feeling close to passing out. Fenr
is brought up the rear.
“Man,” Will breathed. “How many did we do? Twelve?”
“Uh,” Roland murmured, “I think it was thirteen. Yeah, what with the place in Ontario. Usually Canada doesn’t count, so it’s an understandable mistake.”
Grunts and groans went around the group as they marched into the house, where Bailey offered everyone a drink of water and the use of her bathroom. Her brothers were out since she’d called them during a brief lull in the portal-hopping and told them to start fortifying the town and make sure everyone knew what was coming.
And come it would, tomorrow or the next day at the latest.
Bailey called Agent Townsend. He didn’t answer at first, but when she tried again five minutes later, he picked up.
“Townsend.”
“Hey, it’s Bailey,” she said. “We’re home. Any updates on what we can expect next?”
The Agent made a low throaty sound. “Not really. We neutralized a significant chunk of their would-be combatants, but we suspect they’ve still got a major force marshaling somewhere, which is highly likely to deploy on your doorstep. I have some fuckery to deal with presently, but I’ll be there tomorrow, and I won’t be alone. We’re going to beat them, just like we did last time.”
She sighed. “That’s a relief. We’d fight alone if we had to, but well, thanks for your help.”
“And thanks for yours. Over and out.”
She hung up. Then she called Sheriff Brown to ensure he knew what to expect and had enough help. He was aware of the coming siege and had deputized over forty townsfolk, but he didn’t seem confident it would be enough.
“Sheriff,” she told him, “I even have a few witches on our side. Between them, me, Roland, and all my Weres, I think we can put up a hell of a fight. The Agency promised to ride in on a white horse, too.”