The Were Witch Complete Series Omnibus

by Renée Jaggér

  The Scotswoman called over her shoulder, “You haven’t crushed the Order! Merely a symbolic victory. We’ll be back in half a tick!”

  Reaching a spot she assumed was safe, MacLachlan shielded her back and opened a portal right in front of her.

  Bailey could have thrown a projectile through the shield, but there was a chance, however slim, that the sorceress could have caught it, given her immense talent at telekinesis. The werewitch decided not to bother. Instead, she pointed her index finger at the Scotswoman, who was on the verge of stepping through her gateway.

  MacLachlan exploded, her body bursting apart in a spray of crimson particles that the breeze caught and wafted off as a pinkish mist. Her portal winked out, leaving the few chunks that remained to be shadowed by the trees.

  Roland smiled. “With a cherry on top,” he quipped.

  Chapter Sixteen

  With the battle won, a generalized celebration erupted, and Bailey did nothing to stop it. Her friends had earned the right to go a little nuts.

  People cheered and laughed. Strangers hugged one another as though they’d been best friends since kindergarten. Wolves howled and leaped in the air. A couple of young Seattle witches took the center of the field and did cartwheels over patches of scorched earth.

  All the while, the werewitch-goddess tended to the wounded. She knew little of healing spells, but with her newfound powers and with the Other’s strange rejuvenating ability speaking to her in subtle voices, she was able to conjure patches of softly-glowing ambrosia that eased pain and stabilized the conditions of the injured. They would be okay until they could get to a hospital back on Earth, anyway.

  Given the ferocity of the struggle, though, several of their friends were beyond help.

  Old Mr. Holmquist lay among the fallen, but he’d died avenging his son and protecting the rest of his family and his people. Shari, the younger of the two witches they’d recruited with Dante’s help in the frozen yogurt shop, had also perished. Bailey didn’t know them well, but she mourned them all the same.

  The worst news, though, was that Roger had died fighting one of the Dreadknights. When he’d joined Bailey for the trials in the temple, he had fought with reckless bravery, trying to atone for his pack having stood by while their neighbors were wiped out. Bailey supposed his penance was more than done, and the Silver Stars would need a new alpha. She hoped whoever took Roger’s place was as brave as he had been, but more restrained. Packs benefited from consistent leadership.

  Roland and her brothers had survived. She wasn’t sure if she could have handled losing any of them.

  As the initial festivities settled down, the survivors dealt with the dead.

  “The Other,” Alfred Warner began, “is sacred, even the parts beyond the traditional holy ground of the Weres. Thus we should bury our dead here, in the place they gave their lives.”

  No one voiced any serious objections, so the lycanthropes took to digging graves for their lost brethren.

  At the same time, the witches considered what to do. Deanna, Shari’s friend, offered a suggestion. “Those who were consumed here should remain, but those who left intact bodies, we might as well take them back home.”

  Agreeing, the casters gathered their dead. The agents did likewise, some of them coming over to help their allies with the somber task. Agent Velasquez approached Bailey and Roland and Dante, surveying the scene.

  Velasquez composed himself before he spoke. “It’s tragic,” he said, “that we lost as many people as we did here today. All of us.”

  Bailey and the others, including humans, witches, and Weres, nodded with solemn faces.

  “But,” the agent went on, “we all know what would have happened if we hadn’t shown up to fight the good fight. Sometimes these kinds of sacrifices are justified. Uncle Sam knows it and appreciates it, and so will our kids and grandkids.

  “And I have news. Townsend will live. I think he wanted to join Spall, but he’s gonna have to wait. We need him.”

  The werewitch reached out and took his hand. “He’ll be proud that we pulled it off. Spall would be, too.”

  Velasquez removed his glasses and looked into the distance. “Maybe one day we’ll find out about that. Oh, and perhaps you can bring Townsend here and heal him all the way. But that can wait. We have a victory to celebrate.”

  Roland raised a hand. “We won the war for them. The witches and Weres of America united to take down the Venatori’s goddess, and it’s hard to see a cult of their sort recover from a blow like that anytime soon. If ever.”

  “They still have their headquarters in Lyon,” Velasquez pointed out. “And their senior council sat the fighting out, so they still exist. But...we inflicted a hell of a lot of damage on them. We haven’t been able to get the prisoners to say how many total members they have yet. It’s possible that the lower-level witches aren’t privy to that information. But there can’t be that many of them, and given the number we’ve killed since this whole mess started, well, it’s safe to say that they’ll be having a personnel crisis for a while. Not to mention, they threw the biggest gun they had at us—their deity—and it failed. Ought to give them lots to ponder.”

  “No shit,” Will Waldsbach agreed.

  Dante asked Bailey, “Do you think we should continue the war? Go after them and finish them off? It might be the smart thing to do, but then again, it’s unlikely they can do anything more to us at this point.”

  Bailey considered the prospect. With her newfound might, she could do it. The potential of them being able to threaten her or hers would be eliminated. But...

  “No,” she stated, “I don’t think so unless they force my hand. We’ll be on the lookout for a time yet, but if they’re stupid enough to try something else after today, they’re pretty much a shoo-in for a Darwin Award. No, I’m gonna say it’s enough to send them up to their room without supper and let them think about what they’ve done.”

  The wizard and the agent gave slow nods.

  “Yes,” said Roland, “exterminating them might look bad to witchdom, even if they have it coming.”

  “And,” added Velasquez, “keeping them around ought to help maintain a balance of power among the supernatural community in Europe. Another group of witches might challenge them for supremacy, and the Venatori will be busy trying to defend their position in their weakened state. With all that fuckery going on over there, we won’t have to deal with them.”

  Dante laughed at that. “Spoken like a true representative of the US government. Still, you’re right. There’s no reason for us to risk overreaching ourselves. We’ve won. There’s no other way to put it.”

  Roland turned to the other wizard. “You can be in charge of leading the rest of the Seattleites back home. I’ll be staying with Bailey, naturally.”

  “Sounds good.” Dante looked at his friends, particularly Charlene, who’d been watching him.

  At that moment, footsteps approached, and the bystanders parted. Fenris strode into the little valley from the surrounding dark forest.

  “Well done, everyone,” said the wolf-god, his mouth rising a tad at the corners. “I’ve been listening, and you said most of what needed to be said. I don’t have much to add besides my thanks and congratulations.”

  Wolves bowed their heads to him. Bailey approached and put her arms around his neck.

  “Fenris, Marcus, or whatever,” she told him, “thank you so damn much. Part of me can’t believe we pulled this off, but the other part figured we were destined to or whatever. Maybe it’s a mortal thing, kinda hard to explain.”

  Then she remembered that she might not be a mortal anymore.

  As though reading her thoughts, Fenris commented, “We should talk alone for a short while.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. I was thinking the same thing.”

  The wolf-deity turned to the crowd and announced, “I will open portals for everyone to return home after I’m done speaking to Bailey.”

  The two of them went off
into the woods, finding a small glade where a beam of purplish light fell from the sky to illuminate the space between the trees. Before Bailey could ask questions, Fenris began.

  “As you might have suspected, you are effectively a goddess now,” he proclaimed. “I knew it might happen, and in fact, it was my hope that it would.”

  Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She had no idea how to respond to what he’d told her.

  “It is a way of helping you,” the shaman-deity continued, “and also helping myself. The old laws and covenants keep me locked behind too many walls to give our people the help they need. You, as a newly-arisen divine being, are not bound by those.”

  It makes sense, she admitted to herself, but still, I wish he’d have warned me. Might be the craziest thing that’s happened so far, which is saying something.

  Fenris took a step forward and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Well done. Later, I will begin training you—again—to deal with your new powers. But for now, go home and take a much-deserved rest.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed, “I do deserve a rest, don’t I? Roland too.”

  Together, they walked back to the plain to begin opening the portals that would carry the victorious back to their homes.

  * * *

  Bailey and Roland slept. They shared her bed in her room at the old farmhouse in the northwest corner of Greenhearth. Exhausted as they were, sleeping was all they’d done so far.

  That was fine with both of them. They slumbered deeply and well, languorous and relaxed, in the patch of soft warmth they’d made next to each other. No one bothered them. They didn’t have to be up at any particular time.

  Bailey woke up and stayed up before Roland did. Her clock read 11:36. Once she came to and decided she’d slept enough, she sat up straight, rubbed her eyes, and looked at her lover. His mouth was hanging open. Kinda undignified, but otherwise, his aristocratically handsome face was placid, his light hair tousled in a way that flattered him.

  She thought about waking him but figured he could use the extra rest. She dressed and went downstairs.

  Her brothers had gone off somewhere, although the coffee pot was still on and had about three cups’ worth left in it. Judging by its thick, intense blackness, it had to be Russell’s. Bailey poured a mug. It woke her up damn quick.

  Jacob had left her a note.

  Bailey, we needed to spend quality guy-time with the Weres who lost friends or brothers. You know that we’re still here for you and can be back in two seconds if you need us. Take care.

  Later, she’d have to spend quality sibling time with them.

  After a shower, she pulled on her boots and walked into town. She could have easily driven, but she felt like walking. Getting to the diner wouldn’t take very long, and it was a beautiful day, even if the sky was partly covered by clouds. It looked like it had rained last night.

  Two-thirds of the way to the Elk, as Bailey took a turn toward the establishment, a group of four teenagers caught her attention.

  A girl of maybe fifteen was being hassled by three boys who were around the same age, perhaps a year or two older. From what Bailey overheard, the boys were throwing their proverbial weight around, threatening the girl with their family connections and trying to impress her with their achievements since she’d apparently brushed them off earlier.

  “Listen,” urged one of the guys, “you have to be married off within a few years, and you’re not gonna find anyone better than us unless you want to marry some old fuck. You’re wasting time.”

  “I already told you,” the girl snapped back, although there was a note of fear in her voice, “to let me go and stop following me around. Okay?”

  Bailey stepped in. “Excuse me. Is there a problem?”

  All four pairs of eyes snapped toward her.

  “Oh,” the boy who’d spoken a moment ago began, “uh, no. You’re Bailey, aren’t you?” He and his friends fidgeted uncomfortably.

  The girl growled, “They won’t leave me alone.”

  The werewitch pursed her lips and regarded the group with a steady gaze. “Sounds pretty cut and dried. You boys run along. Leave her alone.”

  She could see the emotions clashing in the boys’ brains: their fear of her, combined with their unwillingness to seem afraid or to abandon the chase. The leader of the young men hit her with a question she wasn’t expecting.

  “You gonna blow us into burnt pieces or something if we don’t?” He grunted. It wasn’t a challenge, exactly. He was informing her that for all her power, she couldn’t get away with murdering teenagers on the streets of her own town.

  Bailey crossed her arms over her chest. With the new power she’d attained, she could have done pretty much anything she wanted to them: lifted them into the air, floated them over the mountains and out of the Hearth Valley, or told them via psionics to walk their asses home. But most of the town didn’t know what to make of her as a werewitch. What would they think if everyone knew she was a goddess?

  Instead, she told the boys, “No. However, if you don’t stop harassing this girl, I’ll stop you from doing so. Got it?”

  The leader chewed a lip. He stepped forward, jutting out his chin, and put an arm back over the girl’s shoulder as if he were protecting her from Bailey, absurd though that was. His friends came up on the side. The smallest one, Bailey realized, was human, although the leader and the other one were lycanthropes.

  “Listen,” he insisted, “this is none of your business. Don’t you have more important stuff to do? We–”

  Bailey charged them.

  It was over in half a minute. After all the exhaustive magical shit she’d done lately, she appreciated a little old-fashioned ass-kicking. She didn’t hurt them too badly. None would need to go to the hospital. They were just dumb kids. She simply convinced them that their course of action was unwise, and they ought to reconsider it.

  They did. The human fled, rubbing his bruised jaw, and a second later, the two Weres joined him, one hobbling from the moderate groin-kick he’d taken, and the other nursing a fat lip and bruised abdomen.

  The girl sighed in relief. “Thank you, Bailey. They used to be my friends, but they’ve been acting weird lately. I think it’s because we’re getting older, so now everyone is talking about this marriage stuff.”

  Bailey looked at the young woman. She had auburn hair and a longer face, but otherwise, she might have been looking at herself nine or ten years ago.

  “I understand,” the werewitch stated. “Believe me. I was about to get some, uh, brunch, I guess, at the Elk. Want to join me? I’ll pay.”

  “Okay.” The girl smiled.

  After they reached the diner and ordered their food, the young woman, whose name was Shelley, confided her fears about the future.

  “It doesn’t seem right,” she muttered, “that we have to be married off by a certain age. I’m not even out of high school yet. What if I want to, I dunno, do something else?”

  Bailey paused. “Shelley, I promise it won’t happen. Things can change, and if I have anything to say about it, they will.”

  * * *

  “Hey!” a familiar voice called. Bailey looked up.

  It was Roland. He’d emerged from the depths of her bed and caught up with her when she was mere steps from the lot in front of Gunney’s shop.

  “Hey,” she returned. “Nice timing. You missed brunch, though.”

  He shrugged. “I had a PBJ back at the house. Any news?”

  “Mm, no,” she considered. “Not particularly. Town’s quiet and things are pretty normal, all things considered. I taught three punk-ass kids a lesson, but not hard enough for anyone to get in trouble or have to worry about medical bills.”

  The wizard scratched his nose and looked at the sky. “Your restraint is admirable. Since you could have done far worse to them, last I checked.”

  “Thanks.” She aimed a gentle punch at his stomach, but he caught it. “You’re getting stronger, you know, for not being a Were.”
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br />   “Also thanks,” he said. “Let’s go talk to the old man.”

  They approached the repair bays, which were empty of vehicles. Gunney was taking inventory of his tools and supplies.

  “I heard that,” he barked as they approached, without looking at them. “Old, my ass. Almost a decade still before I can collect Social Security, in theory.”

  Roland shrugged. “Late middle-aged, then?”

  Bailey put a hand on Gunney’s shoulder. “Listen, whatever your age is, there’s stuff I have to tell you. So far, I haven’t told anyone else, not counting the people who were with me for the battle there, since they saw with their own eyes.”

  “I’ll listen,” he replied, his voice low and gravelly. They went out back by the scrapyard, and Bailey recounted everything. Including Fenris’ confirmation of what she’d suspected.

  The mechanic’s jaw dropped as she spoke. He swayed and shook his head. When it was over, he had to wipe his eyes before he could respond.

  “I’ll be goddamned,” he breathed. Then he laughed. “I helped raise a goddess. That’s interesting. And I still get to boss her around in the shop. Plus, you’re technically a customer since you’ve got one of my rides.”

  Bailey cracked up. She hadn’t expected him to react like this, but now that he had, she couldn’t imagine him saying anything else.

  “True,” she conceded.

  “Oughta be good for business.” He fished around in the pockets of his overalls and produced a key. “Look over there.” He indicated where with a movement of his head.

  The Model T awaited, its shiny red paint a beacon of hope.

  “I figure someone has to give it a test drive. Since you’ve still barely broken in the Camaro, I ain’t giving it to you, but we’ll see about the future. Still, take ‘er out on the town.”