by D. R. Perry
I look at Maya. “So what do we do?”
“We go in.” She’s already stepping up and into a dark goddess’s house. I can do nothing but follow.
Saying it’s untidy in there is like saying the ocean is wet. Dust bunnies big enough to be Great Danes live in each corner. The sourness of gone-over meat comes from crumbs littering the shelving to the left side of the fire. And a stink of unwashed flesh emanates from the crooked figure on the three-legged stool in front of the blaze. One wiry arm emerges from a nest of hair and faded red rags, a wooden spoon in its hand to stir the pot.
“Baba, your guests are here.” Leora gives a little curtsy. I see that the wrist that wore the bracelet earlier is now bare.
“Inna minute.” Baba Yaga finishes her cooking task, scraping the sides and bottom of her cauldron. When she withdraws the spoon, a fish head tries to come with it. She shakes it off, and it falls back into the stew with a fat plop. “Whaddaya want?”
“I figured you’d be the one telling us, ma’am.” I give her a slight bow. Not because she’s considered a deity by some but out of respect. Baba is a maternal word, and I was raised to respect mothers in general, even the non-Italian kind.
She cackles. I’m not sure whether she’s thrown her head back or not because of all the hair covering her face and most of her body. But I’d bet you dollars to donuts she does. And I can’t even eat donuts anymore.
“Love that one. Getsem every time.”
“Baba, you know we’re worrying about mortal time.” Leora’s tone is almost chiding but gentle enough to be mistaken for a plea, reminding me of how Ma used to talk to my grandmother at the beginning of her Alzheimer’s.
“At’s right.”
Something creaks as she gets up. I’m not sure whether it’s the stool or her old bones. There’s a table and benches built into the wall to the right side of the fire. She hobbles over to it and takes a teacup from the saucer sitting there. It vanishes under the steel gray of her hair. In moments, she straightens. The hair deepens to a rich white-streaked auburn, and her figure goes from withered to matronly in less than sixty seconds.
“Valentino Crispo and Maya of Macedon, I welcome you for the time being.” Baba Yaga’s voice is the same but her accent and inflection have changed entirely.
“Thank you.” Maya copies Leora’s curtsy.
“Thanks.” I smile. It doesn’t faze Baba Yaga one bit, of course. But I’m on the defensive because of the word Macedon, which is ancient. But Maya can’t be that old. Maybe the witch meant Macedonia, which I happen to know is a country just north of Greece where Yugoslavia used to be. I paid attention in Geography, okay?
“Now. I hear that you’re fighting back against the fishes.”
“The Deep Ones. And yes, we’re after them. They stole my sire, killed Leora’s mother, and raped two other friends of mine.”
“I saw what they did while you went on your errand of mercy for the Pickering Lamb, Sir Crispo. This child’s mother was one of the mortals under my protection, among other things. We have the same enemy. Will you accept my assistance?”
I’m about to answer with a simple yes but Maya takes my hand. I keep my mind’s eye peeled and let her show me what I need to see.
It’s Leora. She’s outside the studio where my office is, getting into the same house we’re currently visiting. And then I see her again, coming out of this house in a field behind what looks like a school. She’s ugly-crying. I realize that this must be right after she found out her mother died. I watch Kayleigh approach her and their conversation becomes audible.
“No. You’re a hunter and I’m not going with you. I’m getting the Guidance Counselor to find me a group home.”
“Look kid. I know you’re the old lady’s Lamb. But I’ve got no beef with either of you. My family’s not against magicians, anyway. I’m just helping a friend find you because he wants to talk.”
“Which friend?”
“Valentino Crispo.”
“Now him, I’ll talk to.”
The scene fades. I grip Maya’s hand tighter, preventing her from letting go. Why was she following me and my friends? I need to know. No word of excuse or explanation comes but I feel her regret, like an undertow threatening to drag her down. And she gave me all the information to handle this talk with Baba after all. Our mission now is more important than past actions, especially if we want to rescue the others and keep Whitby from taking the throne uncontested.
We unclasp our hands. Baba Yaga is stirring her stew again, back turned to us.
“I understand you’re used to making contracts, Baba. Arrangements with mortals.”
“Yes, but you aren’t one.” She turns her head, so I see her in profile. “I don’t want tithes from you. Vampire law will do.” Awesome, that’s exactly what I wanted her to say.
“Baba, here is what I offer in return for you and yours obeying my orders regarding the Deep Ones and the Pickering family.”
“Continue.” She turns her back again, stirring.
“Leora Kupala has no guardian—”
“I am guardian enough.”
“Here? Absolutely. I’m not questioning that.” I shake my head. “But I’ve heard you don’t get out much. The mortal world is different. It’s hard enough to navigate when you’re anything other than human. And Leora isn’t even an adult yet. She will face more hardships than other kids her age, going it alone on your business. That is unless you arrange for someone out there who knows what they’re doing to help her.”
The spoon goes still inside the pot. “And all it takes for you, an honorable vampire, to accept this responsibility, is my obedience in one single fight?”
“No, Baba. You will obey my orders regarding the Deep Ones and the Pickering family. Until they both cease to exist.”
“And your intention is to destroy all of the fishes.”
“No. Only the ones who don’t accept the Pickering’s new agreement.”
“Ah.” The witch turns, brandishing the spoon. A rivulet of stew trickles inexorably down the handle and toward her hand. A long tongue with gray splotches darts out, catching the droplet, marring that matronly image by reminding me of the crone on the stool. “But there will be death? Bloodshed?”
“I’m almost ninety-nine percent sure that kind of thing will be happening.”
“Then I accept your offer. Let me ready your most important weapon.”
“That’s okay.” I wave a hand at Maya’s duffel and my saber. “We came prepared.”
“No, you didn’t. I’ve got someone better than that.” She drops the spoon in the pot, then gets a ladle and scoops out a dipperful. “Sparky!” She whistles. “Get out of there!”
And the last thing I expect happens. From the whitest part of the fire in the hearth, a shape emerges, red and rimmed with black. As it crawls out of the heart of the fire, Baba lowers her ladle. And now I recognize that shape as the salamander. He holds his sticky little feet up toward the food Baba’s offering but she moves it away to slosh it in a bowl. She places that on the stool. That’s when Sparky starts to warp and grow in front of my eyes.
He still looks lizardy, but this is a kid, sort of. He’s definitely not human, though he’s got similar enough anatomy to pass for one if he wears a hat to cover his lack of ears and total baldness. His skin has a yellowish cast and his eyes are dark enough brown to look almost black.
“Um, you said something about weapons, Baba?”
“Yes.” She jerks her suddenly much wrinkly chin in Sparky’s direction. “He’s it.”
“Okay.” I can’t imagine how I’ll use a salamander in combat but I’ve kept my mind open since becoming supernatural and it’s served me well so far. Might as well leave it that way.
“Hi, Sparky.” Leora sits next to her friend and hands him a spoon. He starts slurping down the stew like it’s the most delicious thing in the world. It’s steaming so much I’d stop Leora from having any until it cooled off. But Sparky just literally walked out
of a fire. So he's okay. But just because her friend is going it doesn't mean Leora should. Oh God. I’m starting to think like my parents.
Well, there’s a first time for everything.
“How do we find the Deep Ones, anyway?” I ask Maya the question Baba seems either unwilling or unable to answer. She’s back to her stinky old crone self, the tea having worn off, apparently.
“I’m not sure.”
“I know.” Leora peeks at the duffel bag. “But I want to see what’s in there before I tell you.”
“Okay.” Maya unzips it, then whistles. “Wow.”
“Didn’t you know those would be in there?”
“No. But that’s because I didn’t pack the bag. Peligro did.”
“Is Peligro your dog?”
“No!” Maya laughs. “He’d think that was pretty funny if you said it in front of him, though. He’s another vampire I work with sometimes. Well, I’m not sure why he gave this to me. Peligro knows I can’t use those in combat.”
“Well, you said he was psychic.” I shrug. “So maybe they’re for someone else.”
“Nobody I can think of. But that’s okay. Better to have them and not need them than need and not have, right?”
“Truth.” I give Leora what I hope is a stern enough look. “Okay, you saw. Now you tell.”
“All we do is walk out the door.”
“Really? That’s all?”
“That’s how Baba’s house works. It shows up where it’s supposed to.”
“Well, what are we waiting for?”
“Sparky.”
I watch the salamander kid finish his stew by picking the bowl up and drinking from it. I have reservations about taking one kid into combat, let alone two. But Baba Yaga must know what she’s talking about. Unlike the way Frankie and Raven discussed the Deep Ones, Baba seems to genuinely care about her Lamb, and even the rest of the Kupala family. Or maybe this is all that’s left of it and she wants revenge for that. She did seem awfully bloodthirsty.
Whatever her reasons, I’m glad for her help. And I think the agreement I struck would make Raven proud. It really roped her into helping us without being able to turn around and mess with the Pickerings later, including Raven and Frankie. And it keeps her from ever going full-on genocidal on Deep Ones. Which, I mean they are creepy fish people but no group deserves that fate.
Sparky burps, giggles, then wipes his mouth. He holds his hands out for a hug and Leora gives it, mortar and pestle charm bracelet gleaming on her wrist. They definitely have a sibling vibe going on there. I’m sort of sad my folks never had another kid. But what can you do? Make family, I guess. Like I did with Maury.
The salamander kid morphs himself back into a regular looking amphibian and gets in the cross-body pouch Leora’s still wearing. After that, she stands and goes to the door.
“You guys coming or not?”
Maya zips the bag closed again and slings it over her shoulder. We’re all about to leave when Baba’s voice sounds behind us.
“Knockem dead!”
As much as I’d prefer not to, I think we’ll be doing plenty of that. And when we step out that humble little door, I have a bigger suspicion that death exits Baba Yaga’s house with us. We’re deep inside a pipe so huge it feels like a tunnel. With the light from the door and windows inside the hut, it’s easy to see that there’s water in the bottom, but not much. We’ll get our shoes wet, not our ankles.
It’s close quarters and I’m actually sort of grateful it’s not the entire group from the van in here. I’m not claustrophobic but I think almost anyone would get a little bit tweaky in this place, because there’s no light. I see better than a human in the dark but it’s still disconcerting. Everything is gray. And then, Leora opens Sparky’s pouch.
It’s like she turned on a flashlight. Warmth comes back to my field of vision and it makes all the difference. Even as a vampire who gets severely burned by the sun, I still love the light. Maybe that has more to do with what’s in my heart than the state of my body.
As we advance down, I hear echoes of speech up ahead. I don’t want to burn blood even though I’ve still got a full stash in my pockets. Who knows what we might need? So I wait until we’re further along and I can make out what’s being said with regular vampire hearing. That happens sooner than I expect because something’s lining the ceiling further in, damping down the echoes that distorted the voices before.
“We need more of them. They’re so durable, no dying when we’re out.”
“Not many more in this city.”
“We get this new one to turn its friends.”
“After this there’s Boston.”
“Too many there. No Pickerings, no Lambs.”
“Caution, then. And after that, New York.”
“With New York, we’ll have the world.”
I realize that these Deep Ones are talking about vampires. Snatching us and stealing our appearances. And Providence is just the beginning. They want the world, or at least the coastal parts of it. We have to stop them here and now. One glance at Maya tells me she’s on the same page. But I still would rather not kill them if I don’t have to.
If I can find Raven, give them time to negotiate, maybe I can stop an all-out war. But it’s a long shot. I can’t think of a way to locate our friends. Although I do have two other clues. The Lazakhars.
I pull them from my pocket and loop one of them over each arm. And the best thing is, they’re both glowing, faintly but definitely lit up from within. That means both King DeCampo and Stephanie are still alive somewhere nearby. Or as alive as undead people can be, I guess.
Sparky sticks his nose out of his pouch and sniffs, then has a look at the glowing amulets. He winks at me, which I don’t doubt now. I think my ability to roll with the supernatural punches is better than it was last month. Which is good because that was abysmal before. I hope I wasn’t too much of an asshole.
I make a fist and raise my hand, signaling everybody to stop. We’re near a corner and I’ve got a feeling we’ll run right into the Deep Ones if we just keep going. I take mirror out of my pocket, which is usually completely useless for me. But this time, it’s exactly what I need. I tilt it so I can see around the corner. And sure enough, there are two of the froggy fish people. They’ve got a line of people all in a line, bound to each other by some moldy old rope. One of them is wearing my gym shorts. Frankie.
It’s time.
I put the mirror away, then draw my saber. When I drop my fist, I start the charge, wordlessly. Behind me, I hear my friends following, feet splashing. As we round the corner, the Deep Ones turn. They hiss when they see us. Then, they rush.
We clash. I don’t see what happens right away. A flash of red-tinged light to my left means Sparky and Leora have attacked. A pained hiss tells me they didn’t miss.
The Deep One rushing toward Maya on my right stops and takes a step back. I don’t blame him. She’s a horror of spike and claw, snarling and baring her fangs. And still perfect. Like a lioness, the ideal predator. She ends up having to chase hers down the pipe and past the prisoners. Her prowess is such that she cuts them free with a rake of her claws as she passes.
The third Deep One keeps on coming at me. That’s fine because he’s unarmed. But I forget about the slime until the last possible second and duck out of the way just in time. My saber slash misses by a hair. But it’s better than getting hit by the bad-luck goo.
The Deep One’s slime does something to probability, making it work against whoever’s been smeared with it. That’s how Leora’s mother Katerina, a formidable fire magician, got herself killed. It’s also how Stephanie got snatched. Mrs. Kupala saw the whole thing as she died, watched her vampire contact be captured while trying to seek revenge. First comes the slime, then the bad luck. I have to avoid getting touched at all costs.
I step back again but hit the wall this time. So I’ve got just one shot at this. I feint left and right, then right again. The Deep One buys it. I slash left.
It drops. I step over it and sheath my saber to help my friends get the rest of the way free. The rope’s been cut but they still have hoods over their heads.
I pull the one off Raven first. They wrinkle their nose and I don’t blame them. The cloth is filthy and reeking. I’d rather sit next to Baba Yaga on a ninety degree day at the beach than wear that thing. Well no, not really because vampire plus beach equals permadeath. But you know what I mean.
When they see the duffel, Raven’s eyes light up. They open it and I understand. The throwing knives are for the Attaché. Peligro must have foreseen this. I wonder what else he saw, but it’d be no use asking someone as incoherent as him about visions even if he were here.
More hissing means I have to stop my rescue mission for now. Maya’s taking three of the newcomers on but that’s only half of the attackers. Leora and Sparky blast one. It rushes at them and they blast again. It finally drops. But two are headed straight for me and my saber’s sheathed. A knife handle blooms between one pair of eyes. Raven’s got my back. The last of this new set drops with one of the projectiles in its left eye. The Attaché retrieves their blades. I move to free Frankie.
His eyes are wide, rolling, panicked. But when he sees it’s me taking the bag off, he blinks. He’s still got his peepers peeled but they’re not frantically moving every which way. He pats his pockets and I remember that he’s got post-its and Esther’s levitation powder. Thank God. All the same, I motion for him to get behind me and reach for the hood over Mother Pickering’s face. Once freed, she nods, then re-secures her hair in its clip. I don’t blame her. The last thing I’d want is to die from hairdo malfunction.
We hurry through the pipe where the ceiling is getting closer by the pace. I look up. By the light of Mother’s magical hands, the Lazakhars, and Sparky, I can see they’re bubbles. Big ones, like person-sized. And they are all black. Mother sees where my gaze is and nods. I take it as an invitation.
“What are they?”
“I can’t pronounce the word for them. But those are what they put people in when they want to impersonate them.”
