Dangerously Divine

by Deborah Blake

  “Koshka is more than welcome,” Gregori said. “But it would probably be best to take a shortcut through the Otherworld and leave the caravan behind. I’m in Minneapolis and we’re having the blizzard to end all blizzards. I’m not even sure your magical vehicle would be able to get through these streets. The closest doorway will bring you out in neighboring St. Paul. I’ll find a way to pick you up.”

  “A blizzard, huh,” Bella said. “Not a natural storm, I take it, if you need to call in a Baba Yaga.”

  “I do not believe so,” Gregori said. “Although perhaps you will be able to tell me for sure when you arrive.” He paused, not sure he had the right to even ask. “Unless you are busy. It seems somewhat rude to be requesting a favor in our first conversation in over a year.”

  Bella laughed. “Actually, I think this is one for the record books. This might be the first time a Baba Yaga has ever been formally Called by a Rider. Wait until I tell Beka.”

  “I am not—”

  “Yes, you are,” Bella said firmly. “You and Alexei and Mikhail will always be our Riders. And you can always call on me for anything. We’re family, and that’s what family is for.”

  Gregori’s chest was inexplicably tight. It must have been the heat of the kitchen or the fumes from the onions.

  “It will take me an hour or so to get some things together and say good-bye to Sam and Jazz. Then however long it takes me to get through the doorway to the Otherworld that’s hidden in my caravan and across the enchanted lands to the doorway I need to get to you.” With the Otherworld, time was always a bit fluid and unpredictable, although less so for the Baba Yagas than for many. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Thank you,” Gregori said. “I am very grateful.”

  Bella took in a deep breath. “Thank you for calling, Sun. Seriously. It means a lot.”

  She hung up and Gregori stood there for a minute, trying to digest the unexpected shifts and changes in reality brought on by the two calls. Nothing looked exactly the same as it had before.

  “Everything okay?” Ciera asked, coming over to give him a fresh mug of tea. “You look a little shell-shocked. Bad news?”

  “Quite the opposite,” he said, handing her back her phone a trifle gingerly, as if it might explode at any moment. “Help is on the way.”

  “That’s good,” Elisabeth said, crossing the room to join them. “We’re going to need all the help we can get. One of the kids just told me that no one has seen Shannon, Kelli, or their friend Julie Ann since last night. They aren’t here, or at any of their usual hangouts. I’m afraid they’re lost out in this storm.”

  CHAPTER 19

  CIERA’S heart skipped a beat. She had a secret soft spot for the trio, who somehow managed to act like normal giggly teenage girls while living lives of deprivation and chronic uncertainty. The thought of them out in the storm, probably shivering in the too-short skirts they insisted on wearing no matter what the weather, made her almost physically ill.

  “Maybe they’re at one of the other shelters,” she said. “Did anyone check?”

  Elisabeth nodded. “Trey. He’s one of their closest friends, as much as any of them have real friends. He’s the one who told me they were missing. He said he called the other couple of places that take in teens and no one matching their descriptions checked in at any of them. That turquoise streak of Kelli’s is pretty distinctive.”

  Ciera bit her lip. “If they’re not at any of their usual flops, maybe one of the churches took them in?”

  “It’s more likely they scored something good that is making them not feel the cold,” Byron predicted, sounding resigned. This storm was wearing even him down.

  “If that’s true,” Ciera asked, “is there any place in particular they might hunker down, where they wouldn’t have to worry about sharing?”

  Elisabeth frowned. “Some of the kids hang out underneath the overpass a couple of miles from here. They usually avoid it because some of the pervier homeless guys have been known to set up there, but I suppose if they had the place to themselves they might have huddled together for the night under a couple of blankets. But it’s not that far from here; if that was where they were last night, you’d think they would have shown up here for a meal by now.”

  Ciera was already shrugging on her coat. “I’m just going to run out and take a look, okay? I know we’re already short-handed, but it won’t take me long to get there, and if they’re not there, I’ll come right back.”

  “And if they are there?” Byron asked. “What are you going to do, drag them back by their hair, or Shannon’s lip ring?” He shook his head, making his long ponytail flop back and forth. “You’re crazy. They’re either already okay, or they’re not. You’ll do more good by staying here and helping us feed the ones who make it in.” Underneath that hippie exterior, Byron was a surprisingly pragmatic soul.

  “If they’re there, I’ll get them back here, don’t you worry,” Ciera said.

  “Fine, I’ll worry, then,” Elisabeth said. Then she shrugged. “I don’t want to send any of those poor kids back out into the cold, but maybe Gregori can go with you?” She tilted her head at him, looking for all the world like some kind of gray-tufted bird.

  Regret flashed across Gregori’s face. “I wish I could accompany her,” he said. “But that phone call I made means I am required elsewhere. I regret to say that I, too, must abandon you to all this extra work with one fewer pair of hands. I will endeavor to return as soon as I can, but as I must head to the monastery before I go to pick up my friend, I will see if I can persuade a few of the laypeople and monks to come and be of service in my stead.”

  “Man, how are you going to pick someone up in this weather?” Byron asked, waving a spatula vaguely in the direction of the outside and spattering grease across the already grimy floor. “The streets are slicker than pig snot, and half of ’em are just plain impassable. Besides, don’t you walk everywhere?”

  Ciera had been wondering the same thing herself.

  “I have transportation,” Gregori said. “That is why I need to return to the monastery, to get it.” He turned to Ciera. “I will walk you out, if you do not mind.”

  “Uh, sure,” she said, then stuck out her tongue behind his back at a grinning Elisabeth.

  When they opened the front door of the soup kitchen, the force of the wind nearly knocked her off her feet, and Gregori put out a hand to steady her. Even through her coat she could feel the warmth of his fingers, and she blinked at him through the falling snow.

  “I am sorry I cannot come with you,” he said, his forehead creased in concern. “I do not like the thought of you going out in this alone, especially to such an unwelcoming spot.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, not quite sure if she was touched or offended by his fear for her. “You know better than anyone that I’m more than capable of dealing with the average homeless drunk or druggie.”

  He nodded as she pulled her hood up over her hair, tucking the curls inside. “Of course,” he said, “I am more apprehensive about the weather. This overpass you spoke of, it is not far?”

  “Not really, although it will be a bit of a slog through this mess.”

  He hesitated, clearly torn between wherever he was supposed to be and going with her. Finally, he touched her face briefly with one gloved hand and said, “Be safe, then. I hope you find your missing girls.” And then he was gone, vanished into the swirling flakes like a ghost.

  Ciera watched him go, and whispered, “You be safe, too, Gregori Sun. I suspect we have unfinished business, you and I.” Then she set off in the opposite direction, pushing her way through wind gusts that felt like they had teeth, and forcing booted feet down the nearly invisible sidewalk, driven forward by worry and sheer determination.

  • • •

  GREGORI glanced over his shoulder once as Ciera disappeared into the storm, then set
out in the direction of the monastery. It had taken him longer than usual to walk to the soup kitchen earlier in the day, and he could tell it would be even worse as he retraced his steps. The afternoon sky was almost as dark as night, the clouds massing overhead to block out the sun.

  The cold gnawed at the few exposed parts of his body—nose and ears, lips and cheeks. A biting wind found any tiny cracks in his heavy clothing and did its best to chill him to the bone. Considering how little he usually felt the weather, it was impressive how unpleasant this storm was. He had no idea how normal Humans managed it at all.

  There were few people on the streets. Many businesses had closed early or never opened at all, and there was little in the way of public transportation still running, so most folks were staying inside if they could. Gregori stopped twice on his way back to the monastery, once to help push an SUV that had gotten stuck on an icy patch, and the second time to assist an elderly woman who was struggling to make her way back from a local market with a load of milk, toilet paper, and cat food.

  He left her on her doorstep, sent on his way with her profuse thanks and the cookie she insisted on shoving into his gloved hands. By the time he had made it through the wrought-iron gate of the monastery, he was glad of the extra boost of energy from its sugar and chocolate.

  A few precious minutes were spent seeking out his teacher and explaining about the shelter; in the end, remarkably little explanation was needed. The monks were already preparing to help in whatever ways they could, including setting up cots in rooms normally used for exercise or meditation. A few volunteers were dispatched to fetch the overflow from the shelter and lend assistance at the soup kitchen. Gregori’s own activities were not even questioned in the midst of all the calm yet purposeful activity.

  Having fulfilled the first part of his mission, he quickly moved on to the second. Ducking out a back door, Gregori braved the outside again to walk to a wooden shed with a red metal roof located at the side of the parking lot. Hulking white lumps marked vehicles that would have to be dug out before they could go anywhere; fortunately, his transport was small enough to be kept under cover, although moving it through this storm might prove to be quite a challenge.

  He slid open the metal door to the shed, wincing at the screeching sound it made. Making his way past a riding lawn mower and a matched pair of dark green wheelbarrows, he came at last to his goal, and pulled off the gray tarp that hid the sleek, aerodynamic shape of what had once been an enchanted steed and now bore the semblance of a gleaming red Ducati motorcycle. Magic in either form, it would get him through even this weather, although he might be a tad uncomfortable during the journey. Such things did not matter to him, as long as he got where he needed to be.

  The bike roared through the dim afternoon like a dragon, ignoring ice and snow and traveling over impassable roads as if they were wide-open pathways. Periodically, a gust of snarling wind would claw at them, trying to make the motorcycle swerve or falter; Gregori simply clung to its bright red back and trusted it to get him to his destination. It had never failed him before, and as he had expected, it did not fail him now.

  Eventually, he pulled up in front of the entrance to the Wabasha Street Caves. There was a handwritten sign on the door that read CLOSED DUE TO STORM, but he hadn’t been standing there for more than a couple of minutes before the door eased open and a beautiful redhead peeked her face out.

  “Sun!” she cried joyfully when she spotted him, and took two steps out before stopping short and gazing around at the masses of snow piled everywhere, the rutted streets, and the seemingly never-ending flakes falling from the sky. “Holy crap,” she said, her eyes widening. “You weren’t kidding, were you? And, hey, I like the new look. It suits you.” She clasped him in an enthusiastic hug that was by far the warmest thing he’d felt all day, then stepped aside to allow her companion to follow her out.

  A huge furry brown-and-tan head with tufted ears and an impressive span of white whiskers stuck a dark pink nose outside the door and then sneezed. The giant Norwegian Forest Cat put one massive paw down into a pile of snow and shook it. “Bah!” Koshka said. “Forget it. I’m going back to Wyoming. I’m sure I saw a stray mouse under the stove.”

  Bella rolled her eyes. “Koshka, you’re a damned dragon. You know perfectly well that it would take more than a few snowflakes to bother you. Hell, you could walk through an active volcano and not even notice.”

  “If I was in a volcano, at least it would be warm,” Koshka grumbled. “Dragons like warm better than cold.”

  “Some dragons are lazy so-and-sos who need to get out of the house more,” Bella said, not without affection. “Gregori has a problem and he needs us, so stop your kvetching.”

  Gregori bowed. “I am grateful you are here. I apologize for the conditions, but obviously, they are part of the issue.”

  “I’ll say,” Bella agreed. “So you think this storm is unnatural in origin?”

  “That is my suspicion,” he said. “You cannot tell?”

  She shrugged, causing snow to cascade off the shoulders of the fringed tan leather jacket she wore. A hand-knitted cap perched on top of her wavy red hair and she tugged it down farther to cover her ears. “I’ll need a quiet place to do some magical work to be sure,” she said, patting the bag hanging over her shoulder. Then she glanced around and added, “Preferably inside.”

  Gregori thought getting out of the cold was a good idea. His core might be overheating, but his toes were still starting to get numb inside his boots. “Your chariot awaits,” he said, gesturing toward the Ducati waiting at the curb. No snow dared mar its pristine crimson finish.

  “Oh no,” Koshka said. “Hell no. Triple scoops of steaming excrement, no, no, no. You cannot possibly expect me to ride on that thing. I’ll fall off.”

  Bella bit her lip, bending her head to hide a smile. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll tuck you inside my coat and you’ll be between me and Gregori. You’ll barely even know you’re not on solid ground.”

  “I hate you both, you know,” Koshka said, stalking toward the bike, flicking his paws with every step. “There had better be a can of tuna at the end of this trip.”

  Gregori chuckled. “I will endeavor to provide one, if I can.”

  They mounted his steed-turned-motorcycle, and he handed his spare helmet to Bella, as much to keep the wind off as for protection, since the magical bike would almost certainly keep them safe. Almost certainly. Koshka burrowed even deeper inside Bella’s jacket, his claws sunk into the motorcycle’s leather seat beneath him, forty pounds of disgruntled dragon-cat.

  “Do you have a place for us to go?” Bella asked him as the Ducati roared to life. “I’m assuming a Buddhist monastery doesn’t have a lot of private spaces for magical work.”

  “I have an idea,” Gregori said. “But we will have to make a quick stop first.” He thought that perhaps Ciera would allow him to use her apartment, which should be perfect as long as she was staying at the shelter. Besides, he admitted to himself reluctantly, he was going to have a hard time concentrating on the task at hand until he knew she was safely back from her search for the three missing teens.

  But when he and Bella walked into the soup kitchen, Koshka on their heels, there was no sign of either the girls or Ciera.

  CHAPTER 20

  MAYBE Ciera was back in the kitchen, Gregori thought hopefully. The main room was packed, with every seat at the tables filled and some teens leaning against the walls. A couple of exhausted-looking young mothers dozed in a corner, their babies wrapped in worn blankets and tucked safely between them. A small group of twentysomething men, older than the usual clientele, played cards on a makeshift table made from an empty carton. Every once in a while one of them would let out a whoop and scoop up a pile of pennies from the middle of the surface.

  The air was alive with chattering voices, the comforting aroma of chicken soup, and the less-appealin
g miasma that came from too many unwashed bodies in a too-small space. Underneath it all, there was a subtle wave of fear and desperation, although most of the faces he looked at seemed outwardly cheerful enough.

  But no matter how much he searched, none of them was the face he sought.

  Spotting Elisabeth behind the serving table, he made his way through the crowd, Bella and Koshka trailing behind him. Elisabeth brightened when she saw him, although her expression dimmed a little when she looked past him.

  “Hey,” she said. “I thought for a minute you’d brought Ciera back with you.” She wiped her forehead with the back of one glove-covered hand; the many bodies at least made the room plenty warm.

  “She has not returned?” Anxiety wrapped bony fingers around Gregori’s heart, although until that moment he would have sworn he had remained true to his usual detachment. Visions of Ciera lost in the snow filled his head, but he thought this was due more to imagination than any actual premonition. At least, he hoped so.

  Elisabeth handed a bowl to a boy so skinny, his cheekbones stuck out like razors in his gaunt face. After a moment’s hesitation, she ladled extra soup in until it almost slopped over the rim and was rewarded with a bright, gap-toothed smile.

  “I haven’t seen hide nor hair of her since she left,” the older woman said. “But it is getting late, so maybe she found the girls and just headed back to her apartment, figuring we’d be out of beds at the shelter.”

  From the kitchen, a tall man with a shaved head and saffron-and-maroon robes backed through swinging doors bearing a platter loaded with fresh rolls. Their smell brought smiles to the faces of everyone nearby, and there was a sudden rush toward the serving counter. Gregori inclined his head gravely at the monk, bowing in thanks. The monk returned his bow, then disappeared back into the activity behind them.