The Were Witch Complete Series Omnibus

by Renée Jaggér

  She put her hands on her hips but paused to check her clothes. They weren’t the same as the ones she’d shredded when she shifted into full-sized wolf form, but close enough.

  “I already have a job with the gods,” she pointed out, “but yeah, things are fine so far. If you see or hear from anyone, tell them I’m back. To be honest, I think I could use a little alone time anyway. I’ll be home this evening, though.”

  After freshening up, Bailey realized she was famished. She wasn’t sure if metabolism worked the same way in the supernatural realms as it did here, but the battle against the trolls felt as though it had burned about eight thousand calories.

  She hopped into her black Tundra and drove it to the Bristling Elk, annoyed that she was hitting the place right during the dinner rush, but there was no way she was waiting until later to eat.

  Tomi noticed her at once. “Oh, hi, Bailey. Are you going for a job interview somewhere?”

  “Naw,” the girl replied, “all my shitty clothes are dirty.”

  An old couple sitting in the corner frowned at her language, but Tomi laughed it off.

  Half an hour later, Bailey sat before an empty mug of coffee and a mostly-empty plate; she’d ordered an outright steak instead of a steak sandwich, along with extra fries, and a small portion remained. It felt good to have a bellyful of meat.

  She looked up from the table at the same moment a fiftyish Native man in blue jeans and a red shirt came in. Unsurprisingly, he made straight for her table.

  “Hello, Bailey,” he opened.

  “Hi, Coyote.” She waved to the chair across from her. “Have a seat. I’m sure you planned to anyway.”

  He lowered himself into place and said, “Indeed. Are you well?”

  “Mostly.” She went on to briefly summarize all that had happened since they’d last seen each other.

  The trickster god gave an appreciative nod. “Well, then. Congratulations on your victories, though we’re both aware that the real enemy wanted you to win, as well.”

  She scowled. “Yeah, I know. But according to Loki, we have to keep playing along. Any updates on that whole situation?”

  “Yes.” Tomi appeared and asked if Coyote wanted anything. He ordered a root beer, and she hurried off to get it. “In fact,” the deity went on, “that’s what I came here to talk about. Fenris and Carl have taken out another of us. Thoth, specifically, or so they think.”

  The waitress returned with the drink, refilled Bailey’s coffee, and left them to their discussion as the girl finished off the last of her food.

  “Damn,” Bailey muttered around a mouthful of steak fries. “He’s not wasting time, is he? Usually he’s the one who drags me off to fight monsters, so maybe the fact that Loki did it this time spurred him to move quicker or something. Who all does that leave?”

  Coyote chuckled. “Me. Probably. I’m the logical next target. But our plan has worked thus far, and there’s no reason to believe it won’t again. We’ll still be watching and offering our protection and guidance from afar. You must keep doing what you’re doing, gaining power, neutralizing threats, and preparing for the final confrontation.”

  She sighed. “Easier said than done, but all right.”

  The man continued, “Time is growing short, but take a brief respite to acclimate to your new powers. Including this.” He reached out and tapped her temple with the first two fingers of his right hand.

  She felt as though an echo went through her brain, then everything grew louder. “Uh,” she mumbled, “thanks?”

  Coyote laughed softly. “A piece of my abilities; you may find it useful. Like Loki, I am a trickster deity, though our approaches are somewhat different. I’m used to the more insidious and convoluted side of magic, so what I’ve given you is a sort of inner filter that will protect you from the worst aspects of those new strains of knowledge and power bubbling away within you. It will make it easier to process it all.”

  She blinked. “Well, thanks. That ought to help a lot.”

  He stood up, having finished his root beer, and laid a five-dollar bill on the table. “Don’t mention it. Oh, and another thing that is useful is emotional grounding. Meaning, solace from strife and uncertainty with things, or people who evoke the feelings of peace, love, trust, and comfort. Recharge yourself, then return to the fray.”

  They waved their goodbyes, and he was gone.

  Bailey added the five he’d left to the pool of what she planned to use to pay for her meal, his drink, and the tip, confident of how best to heed his advice.

  * * *

  “Fuckin’ hell,” Gunney grated, “does this godawful bullshit ever end?” He flipped his cap off his head and blew upward from his mouth to get his shaggy, sweaty hair out of his eyes.

  Bailey shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like it, but I think it will calm down a lot once we’re done with the plan and you-know-who is stopped.”

  Then again, she’d hoped that before and always been disappointed. Since the fateful day Roland had rolled into town, she was pretty sure that a month had been the longest stretch of peace she’d had. Usually, much less than that.

  They both sipped beer. The place was closed for the night, and as the owner of the shop, Gunney had the authority to permit his employees to drink on company grounds.

  The mechanic sighed. “Well, maybe my attempt at, y’know, consoling you won’t matter much, with the weight of the apocalypse resting on your shoulders, but they say it’s the thought that counts.”

  “It does count,” she affirmed, putting her hand on his.

  After she’d shown up and they’d hugged and said their hellos, she’d told him about everything that had transpired: Fenris’ betrayals and supposed murders of two more gods, the news of Carl’s duplicity, the fact that the other deities were enacting their own counter-deception to draw Fenris out, and her two battles against the elves and trolls. Gunney had briefly attended the funeral for Will Waldsbach’s friend after the fight against the alfar, so that part wasn’t news to him.

  “All I can say,” the old man offered, “is that the events are out of your hands. You didn’t do anything to make all this happen. Not your fault. Those guys came up with this shit long before you were born and never paused to think about whether it was a good idea, so no need to agonize over how or why it came down the pipeline. But you’ve got to face it, from the sound of things. Focus on your duty. You’ve always been good at staring down the beast or whatever and kicking whatever ass you have to. Standing up for what’s right, all that corny shit. Corny, but true. Like I’ve said before, one thing at a time.”

  She hugged him again. “You have said that before, but sometimes it helps to hear it again.”

  “I’m sure it sounds stupid,” he went on, “and that facing it all will be difficult, but thinking of it that way, it becomes simple.”

  They stood up, tossing their beer cans into the returns tub.

  Bailey said, “I don’t much feel up to working on a car.”

  Shrugging, Gunney suggested, “How about a race, then? You got enough spunk left for it? Besides, we only had one beer each. That’s within the legal limit, I think.”

  She laughed. “Sure. It’s dark, though. We haven’t raced at night before. You’ll be at an unfair disadvantage since I’ve got were-vision and all that crap.”

  The mechanic snorted. “Were-vision! No substitute for experience. I was racing cars when you were still an embryo.”

  Gunney waited at the shop, readying his ‘65 Shelby Cobra as Bailey drove her Tundra back home, left it there, and returned with her black Camaro. They drove to the edge of town, stopping at the mouth of a long side street that went to the base of the mountain.

  The mechanic poked his head out the window. “So, let’s not bother going up the mountain this time. A short sprint to the No Passing sign, that’s all. And if you can make us invisible in case Sheriff Browne or one of his boys is lurking up ahead, so much the better.”

  Bailey agreed to his terms and
cast a spell to make them both invisible and soundless. She’d have to reverse it if other motorists appeared, but it wasn’t a well-traveled road at night.

  They counted down to three and then hit the gas.

  To the girl’s surprise, Gunney pulled out ahead of her within the first two seconds and stayed there. He cannily anticipated her attempts to pass him and cut her off each time, casually holding her behind as he sped his way to victory. Both drivers blazed past the No Passing post and took their feet off the pedals, slowing to a stop as the road inclined and began to twist around the base of the peak.

  The older man climbed out of his beloved car. “Ha, ha,” he chortled. “Nice try.”

  “Damn,” Bailey muttered. “Usually either I win, or at least it’s, you know, close.”

  Gunney spread his hands. “I’ve been going easy on you all this time. Tonight, the gloves came off. I might be getting old, but I still have a couple tricks up my sleeve.”

  She must have looked more disgruntled than she felt since the mechanic came over to lay a hand gently on her shoulder. “Don’t feel bad. Anyway, sometimes it’s better to let the other person win. Consider that another piece of advice, I guess.”

  Bailey was about to protest that in the struggle with Fenris she wouldn’t have that luxury, but that only emphasized that most things in life weren’t anywhere near as important. Thinking about that, she relaxed.

  “So,” Gunney wrapped up, “back to the shop. I think we need to eliminate another beer. It’ll help you sleep, aside from waking up to pee. Just be careful on the drive back home.”

  * * *

  Bailey had passed out shortly after midnight and had expected to be out for a good eight hours, a decent and standard “full night’s sleep.” Instead, when she rolled over and glanced at her clock, it read 12:11. She might have slept later still if she’d been allowed to since it was pounding on her door that roused her.

  “Uhh,” she groaned. “Yeah, I’m awake. Who are you people, and what do you want with me?”

  Jacob’s voice asked, “Can we come in?”

  “Sure, why not?” She had a sheet over her, and she wore a t-shirt and pajama shorts.

  The door opened and Jacob stepped in, with Kurt hovering beside him. “You’ve got guests, and they want to talk ASAP. We tried to stall them, but you know how it is with people wanting to talk to you. Always something urgent and scary.”

  She rubbed her eyes. “Who?”

  Jacob started to clear his throat, but Kurt spoke first. He put a hand beside his mouth and whispered, “The suits,” though it was quite possibly the loudest whisper she’d ever heard.

  The girl sat up and pulled her jeans and socks on. “Oh. Agency. I was wondering when their asses would show up again.”

  They descended the stairs and Bailey trudged into the foyer, accepting a steaming mug of coffee from Russell with a nod of thanks. She blinked at the men waiting for her.

  There were three instead of two.

  “Holy shit,” she exclaimed, trying not to drop her coffee. “Wasn’t expecting to see you.”

  Agent Townsend’s grim face broke into a smile, and at his right and left elbows, Velasquez and Park grinned openly.

  “Hello, Nordin,” the senior agent greeted her. “I, meanwhile, wasn’t expecting to see anyone until pretty recently. But I’m back on duty, if somewhat the worse for wear.”

  She opted not to agree with him, though he did look like he’d aged five or ten years in the last couple of months. He was paler, thinner, and his hair had turned gray in spots, and he seemed to have trouble supporting himself on his legs, but he was alive and functional.

  Velasquez added, “We’re glad to have him back. You’ll be shocked to learn that we need to talk and ask for your help again. There’s news.”

  Park concluded, “And it’s bad. I mean, what other type of news is there?”

  Bailey waved the agents into the living room. “Lemme sit down and get a single mouthful of coffee in me, okay? Then you might as well give it to me raw.”

  The instant she swallowed, they did.

  “Our scanners,” Velasquez began, “have picked up staggering numbers of paranormal entities moving across the barrier zones we’ve established in the direction of our universe. We sent teams in to conduct recon, but half of them vanished, and we had to pull the other half back before they could report on much.”

  Park asked, “Any of this ring a bell?”

  “Sure does,” Bailey grumbled. “You probably should have come to me first. Here’s what it is. Multiple simultaneous invasion forces from hostile-ass monster races, all of them stirred up by a god who’s trying to pull off a coup within Asgard and kick off the frickin’ Norse apocalypse. Which supposedly will start a chain reaction of crap that will not spare the Earth. That’s the long and short of it.”

  The three agents were silent for four or five seconds, then a morose-looking Agent Park pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to Townsend, who slipped it into his pocket.

  “I knew it,” the eldest agent gloated. “There was no way Bailey would fail to hit peak critical mass in terms of her fucked-up ability to attract unlimited shitstorms of fuckery and myriad bullshit. Judging by the accelerated rate at which every single thing she’s been involved with has been worse than the one before, I had no doubts whatsoever that this time, it would be the end of the world as we know it. That twenty was mine yesterday, Park. Today is simply the day the inevitable transfer took place.”

  Park muttered something in Korean while Velasquez snickered and looked at his tablet.

  Bailey took another swig of coffee.

  “Yeah, yeah, fuck off. Anyway, I can help you in a manner of speaking, but it’s gonna have to be on my terms, and you’re gonna have to bring your own gear and firepower. I’m already dealing with this stuff on my end, along with the other gods, so it’d make more sense for us to incorporate you guys into our plans instead of the other way around.”

  The three exchanged emotionless glances, and Townsend said, “Fine.”

  “Okay. We’ll figure out the details momentarily. First, did you find anything useful? Your equipment honestly is about as good as half of my magic. On a good day, anyway.”

  Velasquez pulled a chair closer to her and set up his tablet on the end table. “We did. Here’s one of our screens that plots the energy signatures of supernatural beings on the move. Things were relatively quiet this morning, but right before we arrived, we got a bunch of activity spikes here. Does this place look familiar?”

  Bailey blinked at the display; it took a second for her brain to process the crude lines of the landscape relief, along with what looked like multiple smaller buildings inside a segmented wall with towers at its corners. Blobs of light converged on the complex.

  “Oh, fuck,” she gasped. “It’s the academy—the training grounds. There were still some students there, last I heard.”

  After she’d left the five survivors in the castle, she’d told Loki and Balder about it, assuming that one of them, or their subordinates, would render the necessary aid. She still felt guilty for not double-checking herself, and there was no time to ask around Asgard about it. If anyone was still trapped there…

  The werewitch guzzled the rest of her coffee and pulled her boots on with one hand while pulling out her phone with the other. She texted Roland, telling him to get Dante and anyone else he could muster and to meet her here.

  Then she turned to the agents. “You guys packing heat?”

  Park snorted. “Of course.”

  “In fact,” Townsend elaborated, “we brought the big guns this time. To be safe.”

  “Good,” said Bailey. “Agent Townsend, I dunno if you’re up to it, but we need all the warm bodies we can get for a potential rescue mission. Now.”

  Townsend stood up, his legs trembling. “Let’s say that it’d be better to put me in the rear. But I’ll come.”

  “Told you!” Velasquez exclaimed.

  Park,
scowling, fulfilled his end of the bet and went out to fetch the weapons. Bailey followed him, concentrating on the academy and then opening a portal to the same place she’d entered before. As soon as it looked like the agents were ready, she plunged in, not waiting for them to catch up. Besides, it might be better if she scouted ahead.

  The werewitch emerged from the astral tunnel into the field directly before the gates of the main castle complex. Things were much the same way they’d been during her previous visit. The place was dead silent, and the castle was still scarred with battle-damage. No hazards or enemies were anywhere in sight.

  Bailey jogged to the front gate and peered through it, seeing nothing so far. She glanced backward. The three agents emerged from the portal. Once they were clear, she did not close the doorway, but blocked it off from misuse with a heavy arcane barrier.

  Making eye contact with the three men, she raised a finger to her lips. They nodded, advancing without speaking.

  Then Bailey noticed the weapons they carried. They looked somewhat like thick silver shotguns, attached via cords to silver packs they wore attached to their belts. Both the arcanoplasm rifles they’d used against the Venatori and the disruptor devices they’d wielded against Callie’s clone-spirits had been slightly different. She was curious about what the so-called “big” guns were capable of.

  Raising an arm, the girl summoned her sword, the blade flashing into her hand in an instant. She held it up beside her shoulder as she strode ahead.

  They entered the gates, examined the outer grounds, and found nothing. Moving through the next set of gates to the inner bailey, they could see that the dome-shield the werewitch had left over the keep was gone, and the crude material barrier the students had set up had been taken down.

  Bailey crept closer, squinting. The blockade had been carefully disassembled rather than destroyed, which suggested that the survivors had taken it down themselves as opposed to a hostile entity battering through it from without.