Were War (WereWitch Book 4) Page 2

  The two of them stood in a sunlit glade in the woods just outside the town of Shashka, Oregon, in the mountain foothills southeast of Salem. Like most Were towns in the region, it lay off the proverbial beaten path, located on a road seldom frequented by outsiders or long-distance travelers.

  It was about a two-hour drive from Bailey’s hometown of Greenhearth. Of course, Marcus had ways of getting there far more quickly.

  The older man paused for a few seconds for dramatic effect, as though trying to decide how to approach the subject or how much he should reveal. “Have you heard of a Were named Bailey Nordin?”

  There was a slight tensing of the muscles along Nick’s square jaw. “Yeah, I have. Pretty sure every Were in the Pacific Northwest has, if not the whole goddamn continent by now.”

  “Yes,” Marcus responded. “I see. Then you’ve likely heard that no one is quite sure what to make of her. Some think she’s a hero, others think she’s dangerous. No one knows what to believe. Do they?”

  The apprentice shaman considered the inquiry. “I guess not. I don’t like most of what I’ve heard, but I got my own shit to deal with in the meantime. I figured I’d wait and see how things pan out.”

  Marcus stood looking at Nick but deliberately held off on speaking for a moment, waiting just long enough to make the pause awkward. “I do not think that would be a good idea,” he intoned. His face was grave.

  “Why not?” Nick asked. He seemed suspicious, but probably not of the shaman.

  “Because,” said Marcus, “she’s a hurricane in the form of a young woman. Shitstorm-category, to put it crudely. She has a lot of power but little self-control or self-discipline. A loose cannon. It is my opinion, after observing her for a while now, that she’s a danger to the entire community. She has good publicity among some groups, yes, but she has been directly or indirectly responsible for multiple deaths and far too much needless destruction.”

  He shook his head while looking into the distance.

  Nick narrowed his eyes. “Okay. Well, thanks for the warning. Right now I’m focused on doing the stuff my teacher wants, but if she comes around here, I’ll—”

  “Have you considered,” Marcus interrupted, “taking the initiative? It’s expected of all young shamans at some point. Your teacher might be impressed if you were to, on your own time, deal with a threat to all Weres before that threat had time to gather too much momentum.”

  The younger man considered. A slight twitch of his eyebrow suggested that he was surprised, even mildly shocked by the idea, but it took root in his brain. Slowly, a hungry look of ambition spread across his face.

  “I hadn’t considered that,” he confessed, “but maybe I should.”

  Marcus nodded. “Yes. And the sooner you reach a decision, the better.”

  Chapter Two

  Bailey’s ears, ever sensitive, picked up the soft sound of footsteps approaching. She perked up—not afraid, but alert. It was likely her visitor would turn out to be either Marcus or Roland, but it would be foolish to leap to a conclusion.

  She had, after all, been attacked in the Other twice by hostile magical forces.

  First by the trio of Seattle witches who wanted Roland for themselves. Second, by a task force sent by the dreaded Venatori, the fanatical European order of sorceresses who viewed Bailey as a threat to their arcane hegemony.

  As the footfalls drew closer, though, they started to sound familiar, and soon she recognized the tall, slim person to which they belonged.

  “Hi, Roland,” she called. “Marcus made a good old-fashioned campfire. Not that you’d have much experience with those since you’re a city boy, but it’s never too late to appreciate one.”

  The wizard strolled up, his frame bowed by tiredness, his blond hair hanging lank and sweaty over the fine classical features of his face.

  “Sounds great,” he said. “Compared to the Pacific Northwest in the real world, this goddamn place is mind-numbingly consistent in being cold and damp and gloomy.”

  She smirked a bit. “Looks like you got a workout, though. You’re as sweaty as if we’d been doing this shit in Texas in the middle of July.”

  “Something like that.” He came into the glow cast by the small blaze and lowered himself to the ground, crossing his legs in front of him. “Anyway, both of us are still alive, which I guess counts as evidence that we’ve been doing something right in our training. Of course, it’s still possible to die of exhaustion.”

  The girl frowned. “I don’t think Marcus plans to push us that hard. He’s trying to get the best out of us, so we have to go to our limits. I can’t see him being stupid enough to kill us with a training mistake. Especially considering, you know, who he really is.”

  She swallowed.

  Roland shook his head in an unhurried, deliberate way. He hadn’t been present when Marcus had revealed himself as a Norse deity made flesh.

  “If it wasn’t for Freya manifesting a few weeks back,” he remarked, “there’s no way in hell I would believe that. No offense. I trust you, but I would have guessed he was just some especially powerful caster putting on a very convincing illusion. Freya was no illusion, though, so I suppose I’m required to believe that her nephew or second cousin or whatever he is could show up at some point, too.”

  “Yeah,” she replied. “Hell, it took me a while to accept it too, but in his true form, he was no illusion.”

  They sat together quietly for a couple of minutes, and Roland took her hand. She didn’t object.

  “So,” he asked, “how did the fighting go?”

  She told him, discussing how she’d mostly learned to work around the Other’s limiting factors, but having to channel her power over such an extensive period of time was wearing her down.

  “I fought him to a draw, though,” she pointed out. “As a god, maybe he has powers I could never match no matter what, but on the level we were operating at? I held my own. Might have even been able to beat him.”

  The wizard smiled. He wasn’t overly fond of Marcus, and he seemed to be enjoying the thought of Bailey potentially defeating him. “Good shit. If you ever win, let me know, then tell me how you did it. That way, maybe I can have the same opportunity.”

  She gently punched him on the arm. “Come on, he’s not that bad. He’s helped us a lot. Anyway, what were you getting up to at, uh, wherever it was you went?”

  “Oh, you know.” He waved a hand. “Things and stuff.”

  She scowled at him, so he sighed and went on.

  “Much of what I did was less, uh, dramatic or pyrotechnic than what you were up to. More internal struggles, you might say. Visions and soul-searching and crap like that. I find that…”

  He hesitated, obviously a bit uncomfortable, so Bailey didn’t press him. She just looked at him, face free of judgment, and waited until he continued speaking. He’d done the same for her many times in the past.

  Finally, he managed it. “I keep wondering about my heritage, the true nature of it.” He gazed into the gloom beyond the fire’s glow. “I have greater magical potential than usual, especially for a male in a sub-species where women are usually the more talented casters. But where does it come from? Is it just an accident of heredity? Some random combination of genetic traits that was just right for me to end up the way I have? Or is it part of something that stretches way back? I don’t know. Nobody has ever talked about it.”

  Listening to him, Bailey realized that she had the same questions about him and also about herself. Werewitches were a rare occurrence in recent history.

  “And if it is some sort of legacy that’s coming out of the dim shadows of history or something, is it the source of all my goddamn problems? Would I still have had Shannon and her lackeys after me, not to mention the Venatori now, and possibly the Agency as well?”

  After a second, he turned to look at her and noticed the slightly curdled and uncomfortable expression on her face.

  “Of course,” he added, “the fact that all this stuff has
happened means I met you, also. So that’s the upside.”

  She smiled. “Nice save.”

  “But,” he went on, “at first I thought, I’m dragging you into all this. You put yourself in harm’s way partially to help me, and therefore I had a responsibility to protect you from the witches or whoever else might try to retaliate against us. But now, with you as this big, badass werewitch-shaman and the pupil of a frickin’ god, it’s like you don’t really need me to protect you. I’m glad to be here—I practically live with your family now, after all—but sometimes I wonder why I am here. Like, is there still some purpose I’m supposed to serve, a role I have to play?”

  Bailey didn’t have any easy answers to the existential aspects of the questions he’d posed. She was burdened enough by answering similar ones about her own situation.

  Still, there was one thing she could tell him.

  “Well, even with all my new powers,” she observed, “I woulda got my ass kicked by the Venatori without your help. Even with two of us, both strong channelers now, it was a damn close fight. I’d say we’re about equal. And we’re in it together.”

  The wizard relaxed; his vibe and demeanor grew warmer. “Yes, that’s true,” he conceded. “And thanks for saying so.”

  She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “No problem.”

  He exhaled. “Still, I feel like Marcus intends for me to make some kind of breakthrough almost as big as the ones you’ve made, rather than simply honing the skills I already have. Is it vain of me to want that? To want to get better to, I don’t know, grow into my identity? Or should I just take things as they come?”

  Bailey shrugged. “Not saying I blame you for wondering, but try not to worry about it too much. Whatever happens, I’m just glad you’re with me through it. Well, most of it.”

  “Fair enough.” The warmth coming off of him ratcheted up a notch. Clearly, he was feeling better just for having got all that off his chest.

  It was making her think, though. “For my part? I’m not gonna lie, I’m…worried, I guess, about all these trials that Marcus—Fenris—has in mind. When I was with him, I acted all cocky about it—no big deal, I’ll kick ass and so on. But deep down, I dunno. I think I can do it. It’s just killing me that I don’t know what’s coming. Or what’s expected of me.”

  “Makes sense.” The wizard nodded.

  She continued, “I’d rather be doing something. Like, if there’s a job to get done, I want to hear about it so I can get to work. If there’s something I have to face, then bring it on so I can deal with it. All these ominous warnings about vague stuff that might happen? Ugh. Not my favorite thing.”

  Roland tapped his lips. “Hmm. Well, if you want something to face, we could always summon some of those awful shadow-wraith things from one of the pools. The Other just loves to spit those bastards out at inopportune times. And you’d get more practice in! Just what we both need.”

  She groaned, but the sound transformed into a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, shut up.” She elbowed him in the ribs.

  “Ow.”

  In the ancient city of Lyon in east-central France, there lay a small plaza that was closed off from the rest of the metropolis and the general public, even though the location and design were sufficiently inconspicuous that it didn’t attract much attention. It fronted a nondescript office building thirteen stories tall that was linked to an old mansion by stone walls and covered walkways and separated by gardens and courtyards.

  The mansion was used for ceremonial or festive occasions, but today, various women were gathering there for business. Therefore, they convened on the top floor of the modern building.

  There were thirteen of them, many from France and the Low Countries, and some from elsewhere in Europe. They comprised the ruling council of the Venatori Order.

  Twelve sat at the sides of the long table, six each to the left and right. The room was state of the art and lacked no convenience they might need, yet was somehow sparse and austere. The one concession to lushness was the reddish-purple lighting.

  Most of them preferred the quainter environs of the mansion. Meeting here, in this stark and almost masculine environment, only emphasized the importance of their affairs.

  Madame Daria Gregorovia, a woman of sixty-four from Ajaccio in Corsica, was the current Grandmistress of the Order. Even for a meeting of this type, she wore the traditional dark burgundy robes, with the hood pulled over her tightly-coiffed silver hair. Rings glittered on her long fingers, and she seldom blinked. The other chairs were modern black leather, but hers, at the head of the table, was of antique rosewood.

  “Ladies,” she began in French, “all of you by now have heard the news from America. While enough of a concern to merit the dispatch of a squad of operatives, it is now clear that this matter requires our full and undivided attention.”

  Slow nods went around the table.

  “My thanks,” the Grandmistress went on, “to those of you who had to travel here on short notice from as far away as Dublin, Inverness, Palermo, Dubrovnik, and St. Petersburg.” She gestured in turn to the sorceress from each of the cities she’d mentioned, and the witches bowed their heads in response.

  When first the Order had formally incorporated, France had been the agreed-upon country in which to headquarter. However, it had taken some time before they’d settled upon Lyon.

  At first, some witches, particularly those native to southern France, had suggested Albi, from whence originated the Cathar movement, or Avignon, the seat of the “second Pope” during that controversy within the Catholic Church. Many had appreciated the symbolic value of either place, but ultimately those locations were deemed too hard to access. Thus, something farther north and east was chosen for the benefit of their members from elsewhere on the continent.

  “Grandmistress,” inquired Madame Natalie MacLachlan, a strawberry-blonde from the aforementioned Inverness who was the youngest witch on the council, “I heard that the entire squad we sent to the United States was wiped out. Is this true?”

  The older woman at the head of the table grimaced. “All were either captured by the American authorities or killed. I would prefer to disguise the truth of such a catastrophe, but there would be no use in doing so. Not even I could have predicted the opposition they would face. Madame Lavonne was skilled enough, but she clearly underestimated her target. Hence, the urgency of this meeting.”

  Brief comments of assent and acknowledgment went around the chamber. Madame Gregorovia could sense which of them were subtly hostile and perhaps questioned the quality of her leadership, but she had little doubt she would win them over soon. Certainly after the mission was complete, and perhaps even by the end of today’s conference.

  “In response to our initial failure,” she continued, “I have authorized swift and decisive action to contain the threat and neutralize the so-called werewitch, Bailey Nordin.”

  A few of them looked skeptical, probably because neutralizing Nordin had been the goal of the first expedition. Most nodded their enthusiasm.

  Before bothering to proceed with the discussion, Gregorovia pressed a button before her to summon drinks. A moment later, the door opened, and a pair of male servants clad like traditional butlers came in with bottles of excellent local wine, along with fine crystal glasses. They poured swiftly, then excused themselves without a word.

  The ladies all drank. It was customary to complete a full draught, followed by a moment’s appreciation, before resuming business.

  Gregorovia was the one to break the silence, of course. “The task ahead is challenging, but we have dealt with greater threats in the past. Our great Order has persisted throughout the centuries, despite unending hostility from innumerable foes.”

  “Exactly,” quipped MacLachlan, her tone a little too arrogant for the elder witches’ liking. “And this Nordin person is just one rustic girl. I’m surprised she hasn’t already been neutralized.”

  Madame Dorleac, second in seniority to the Grandmistress, spread a hand
before her and added a comment on the one issue no one really wanted to discuss.

  “There are also the rumors that the Nordin girl is now being mentored by a god,” she stated. She deliberately allowed the words to weigh heavily in the air, oppressing them all with the implications.

  MacLachlan jeered. “That’s blithering nonsense. That gossip came from the lycanthrope community, did it not? They’re a backward, ignorant people, especially in the Americas, combining the worst elements of peasants from the medieval period with the barbaric frontier settlers who first invaded that particular landmass.”

  Gregorovia leveled her eyes at the other witch in an expression that wasn’t quite a glare but nevertheless shut her up.

  “There is a disturbance in the astral plane and beyond, young Madame, and it seems to have been following that girl around of late. Great powers are converging on her. The truth of what has transpired remains to be seen, but a magical intelligence of lower or middle deity strength is not impossible. To rule out the notion altogether would be to make the same mistake Lavonne made—underestimating what we face.”

  Grim silence set in. MacLachlan’s face was stony. Her inner thoughts were undoubtedly rebellious, at least for the moment, but she gave no protest.

  Dorleac spoke again. “That annoyingly opaque American institution, the one that calls itself simply ‘the Agency,’ is now involved as well. Their personnel were the ones who captured the witches who survived the fight. They will likely use their clout with the American government to try to seal the country against further meddling by us. Butting heads with them could lead to an international incident. Much scrutiny of us and our activities—”

  “Agreed,” Gregorovia interrupted, talking swiftly to head off any lapse in confidence among her followers. “And we are already accounting for that. The force we send next will be large and powerful. But it will also enter the country via a long detour, rather than the more direct route we used last time. And we shall take great care to ensure that their presence and their movements are in the open. There are, of course, ways to effect this.”