Dangerously Divine

by Deborah Blake

  “Jarilo! What on earth are you doing awake at this time of year? And why are you yelling my name in a tone like a rutting bull moose? Have you no manners left at all?” The white hair shifted silkily as she moved past the candles, a cold breeze wafting around her as she walked, putting out the candles one by one, each of them sputtering and dying as she passed. One tried valiantly to cling to warmth and light, and she glared at it until it gave up.

  “I am awake, my beloved Morena, because you still cannot leave well enough alone. What idiocy is this?” He pointed toward the outside.

  She pouted prettily. “I was bored. No one has bothered with us in so long. Then this Human invoked my name in the old ways, and asked for a boon using the traditional forms and offerings. I saw no reason to say no.” She shrugged. “Besides, I like snow and wind and ice. I haven’t been able to create a really big storm in so long, but this place made it easy, even though I do not have the strength I used to.”

  “Who was this Human?” Bella asked, bowing politely. “Do you know his name?”

  “Pfft. Why would I care about a Human name? Balthazar? Batbayar? He said something about making everyone worship me again, as I deserved.” Morena gazed at Gregori. “Was it you? No. Someone who looked a bit like you, anyway. He had the same dark hair and eyes, the same features. His hair was cropped short, though, and he was not so handsome.” She winked.

  “This is my son Gregori,” Jarilo said with a sigh. “Surely you remember him from when he spent his summers in the realm of the gods when he was younger?” He nodded in Bella’s direction. “And this is the Baba Yaga called Bella, and her Chudo-Yudo.”

  “Koshka,” the dragon-cat said. “Charmed, I’m sure.” He did not actually sound sure at all.

  Morena peered more closely at Gregori. “So it is, so it is. He turned out well, your son.”

  “I am glad you think so, Morena,” Jarilo said. “Since you are here because he asked me to get you to unmake this storm.” He crossed muscular arms across his chest. “A request I am going to have to insist you grant.”

  “You always were the sourest apple on the tree,” she said, stamping one slipper-clad shoe on the floor, which shook again. “Very well. I was getting a tad fatigued anyway.”

  She spun counterclockwise three times and let out a high-pitched ululation that sounded like the wind whistling through frozen mountain passes. Then she clapped her hands and disappeared, leaving behind only a slick of hoarfrost on the carpet where she had stood.

  “Hey, wait a minute . . . ,” Bella started to protest. But Jarilo waved a hand and the curtain shifted enough for them to see that the snow had already stopped falling. The night was suddenly silent as the blustery gusts outside died away as well.

  “Thank you, Father,” Gregori said formally, bowing low. “We are very grateful for your help.”

  “It was my pleasure,” Jarilo said. “Perhaps . . . Are you quite all right, my son? You suddenly look as white as the snow outside.”

  Gregori rocked on his heels, stuck by an overwhelming sense that somewhere, a frightened Ciera was calling his name. No, not calling his name, but thinking it, thinking of him so strongly that her voice echoed in his ears. Gregori, where are you? I need you. Please come find me. Find us. Gregori, where are you? Over and over, like the monk’s chant, as if the thoughts ran in an unceasing current under her conscious awareness. Gregori, where are you? I need you. Please come find me. Find us. Gregori, where are you?

  “I have to go,” he said abruptly.

  Bella put a hand on his arm to stop him. “What is it? Another premonition?”

  He nodded. “Ciera is in trouble. And not alone, I believe. I cannot be sure. I have to go find her.”

  “Since when do you have premonitions?” Jarilo asked curiously. “What else have I missed?”

  “It has to do with the Water of Life and Death,” Bella said. “Or maybe his mother. We’re not sure.” She lowered her voice. “Things have been difficult for all of your sons since they lost their immortality, sir.”

  “We can talk about it later,” Gregori said, shaking off her hand and walking rapidly toward the door. “I need to leave now.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Bella said in a firm voice.

  “Me too,” Koshka said. “As much as I hate the idea of getting on that damned Ducati again.”

  “I will come as well,” Jarilo said, surprising them all. “After all, I am already here. And I have not seen my son in a long time. Perhaps I can be of more assistance.”

  Gregori was torn. On the one hand, all his focus was pulled in the direction of finding Ciera. On the other hand, it was possible his father actually could help somehow. After all, he was a god, even if a much-weaker-than-usual one.

  By the time he had decided there was not much he could do to stop any of them from coming along anyway, he had rushed out the front door of the monastery. The others piled out after him, only to screech to a halt in front of the motorcycle.

  “That is your steed?” his father said. “It is very red.”

  “I think I see a problem,” Koshka said in a dry tone. “It is also very small.”

  “Crap,” Bella agreed. “We’re never going to get all of us on that thing.” She glared at Gregori. “Why didn’t you turn that motorcycle into a nice four-wheel-drive Subaru when you moved to Minnesota?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “It is not so simple a thing to get a magical steed to change form once it is in the Human world.”

  “It is if one is a god,” Jarilo said. He reached out and touched the Ducati, and it shimmered briefly before settling into the shape of a Jeep Cherokee that exactly matched one parked nearby, no doubt driven by one of the late-returning monks or laypeople. Gregori suspected Jarilo had had to copy whatever was closest, since he would have known nothing about cars. At least he had kept the red color—or possibly the steed itself had, since it had been both a red motorcycle and a red horse, once upon a time.

  Thankfully, the driver must have left his keys in the original Jeep, since there was a set dangling from the ignition of Gregori’s new transportation. He had a momentary pang for the Ducati, and hoped that if everything worked out, he might be able to persuade it to return to that form. But for the moment, that was the least of his worries, since the tone of the voice in his head was growing ever more frantic.

  Gregori, where are you? I need you. Please come find me. Find us. Gregori, where are you?

  They all piled into the Jeep and headed out of the driveway back toward town. Jarilo clutched involuntarily at the dashboard as they spun on some black ice. He might not have been able to die, but apparently that did not make his first experience in a car any less alarming.

  “Where are we going?” Bella asked.

  Gregori could only think of one place to start the search. “The soup kitchen,” he said. “I have a bad feeling.”

  “Crap,” Koshka said. “Then I have one too.”

  CHAPTER 26

  GREGORI, where are you? I need you. Please come find me. Find us. Gregori, where are you?

  Ciera couldn’t help but repeat the litany at the back of her head. It seemed to return no matter how many times she tried to banish it. She didn’t know why she was so sure he would try to save her—save them—but in her heart she believed it, more than she had ever believed anything in her life.

  Except maybe that they would almost certainly be dead before he could track them down.

  It had been hours since Victor left. The girls had gamely practiced over and over again the simple self-defense moves Ciera thought might be the most useful, but had finally given in to hunger and exhaustion and curled up on the couch together like a litter of puppies. Shannon had gone to use the bathroom and defiantly put the wastebasket full of drugs outside the door before shutting it to use the facilities, and then put it back when she was done with only the tiniest of wistful glan
ces.

  She and Kelli were fast asleep, their heads lolling against the grimy sofa and their feet up on the table in front of it, wrapped in their coats against the chill of the room. Kelli snored lightly, making a buzzing sound like some out-of-season hummingbird. Ciera had assumed Julie Ann was asleep, too, but as she glanced over at the couch, she saw the older girl’s eyes open and stare back at her.

  The teen rose slowly, careful not to wake her friends, and joined Ciera where she was sitting on the chipped floor next to the door.

  “Do you hear anything?” Julie Ann asked.

  Ciera shook her head. “Nothing. If there is anyone out there, they are being pretty damned quiet. Maybe Victor couldn’t get back here because of the storm.”

  Julie Ann curled her lip. “Maybe he is just letting us stew. Figuring that we’ll get so scared or bored that we’ll take his drugs and make things easy for him.”

  Ciera thought that sounded just like Victor. Controlling and efficient. Why bother to waste his time blustering and making threats, when hunger and desperation could do his work for him?

  “Maybe,” she said. “If so, he figured wrong.”

  “When does it get better?” Julie Ann asked softly, hugging her knees with her too-thin arms. “When you quit using. How long does it take before it isn’t all you can think about?”

  Ciera paged back through her memories to her own early days of getting clean. “Honestly? It takes months. And even then, there is the stray yearning years afterward when things get rough. But the first couple of days are the worst, and once you make it through the first few weeks, it really isn’t so bad. Especially if you’ve got support.” She stared at the girl until the teen finally looked up and met her eyes. “I promise you, when we get out of here, I’ll make sure you and the other two have all the support you need.”

  “Don’t you mean if we get out of here?” Julie Ann said, glancing over at the couch. “I know Shannon and Kelli think we can kick ass now, but I’m pretty sure one guy with six rounds trumps three teenagers with a couple of karate moves every time.”

  “Three teenagers and a librarian,” Ciera said with a small smile. “Whole different story.”

  “Uh-huh. I feel so much better now.” Julie Ann’s customary sarcasm was firmly back in place, so maybe she did.

  After they sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the old warehouse creak and groan around them, Julie Ann suddenly said, “Do you think Mr. Sun is going to come for you? Maybe he’ll come riding in to save the day like in one of those silly romantic movies.”

  It took Ciera a minute to figure out who Julie Ann was talking about; somehow she had never thought of Gregori as “Mr. Sun” or, for that matter, as the hero of a romantic movie. Well, maybe the last one, just a little.

  “Why would you ask that?” she said.

  Julie Ann rolled her eyes. “Duh. Anyone can see the way you two look at each other. Or try not to look at each other, which is almost more of a giveaway. And when you were working together to show us self-defense stuff at the soup kitchen, you did that whole ‘communicate without even talking’ thing.”

  “We barely know each other,” Ciera said carefully. “And Gregori—Mr. Sun—is studying to be a monk at a Buddhist monastery. Besides, I’m not in a good place in my life to be in a relationship.”

  “Wow,” said Julie Ann. “That’s a lot of excuses. None of which has anything to do with the fact that he really likes you and you really like him.” She narrowed her eyes at Ciera. “You know, for a smart lady, you’re kinda dumb about some real-life stuff, aren’t you?”

  Ciera opened her mouth to protest, and then closed it again before the automatic denial could come out. In the silence, she heard the refrain in her head again: Gregori, where are you? I need you. Please come find me. Find us. Gregori, where are you?

  Crap. Julie Ann was right. Here she was, in one of the most dire and frightening situations in her life, and there was a part of her soul that was completely focused on Gregori Sun. A part of her that wanted to see him again more than anything else. A part that, against all odds, believed that any minute now, he was going to walk through that door.

  Where had this come from, this connection between them? They had both tried so hard not to make it, to stay true to their other commitments, and yet there it was, like an invisible ribbon that bound her heart to his. She thought, perhaps, it went in the other direction as well.

  Now that she was finally allowing the walls to drop, all she could see was his beautiful face, with its sharp cheekbones and dark, mysterious eyes. Longing welled up inside her, like a bowl suddenly filled to the brim, and for a moment, all she could feel was how very much she wanted to see him again. To hold him one more time, and feel the beat of his heart against hers. To know the strength of his arms around her, as she had on the one night they’d shared.

  In a bittersweet rush of awakening, she realized that she wanted more—more than one night, more than a temporary connection. Too late, she finally realized what Skye Blue had been saying when she told Ciera to choose happiness over safety.

  Blinking back tears, she shook her head. “Maybe a little bit dumb,” Ciera said.

  Julie Ann patted Ciera’s shoulder awkwardly. “Don’t worry,” the teen said. “I’m pretty sure you’re not the only one.”

  • • •

  VICTOR scowled at his driver as they took yet another detour through the frozen city.

  “I told you I wanted to be back at that warehouse by nine p.m.,” he said. “It is after nine thirty now. What’s the holdup?”

  It was really a rhetorical question, since the answer was self-explanatory and right outside the Hummer’s window. The power was out in sections, meaning no stoplights and no streetlights. The stoplights weren’t a huge issue, since there were so few people out, but the lack of streetlights meant navigating down shadowy, unplowed roads that were deeply rutted in the places they weren’t solid snow.

  Add to that the streets that were completely impassable due to the amount of snow, or blocked by accidents, and the city had become a maze, traversable only by guesswork and sheer determination. Anyone sane was tucked up safe at home, hunkered down to ride out the storm as best they could.

  Victor thought sanity was highly overrated, and safety purely an illusion. He put a lot more faith in his ability to get what he wanted, when he wanted it, no matter what the cost. That’s what had gotten him this far, and it was going to get him a lot farther before he was done. He’d started out with nothing—less than nothing, really: a mother who was a whore and a father who was so low in the cartel’s pecking order there was virtually no one he didn’t answer to.

  Even as a child, Victor had known that was not the way he was going to end up, down on his knees in front of someone, begging for scraps and favors. Hell no. People would be down on their knees in front of him. Begging. Screaming. Whatever it took.

  He’d risen through the ranks on a tide of brains, charm, and ruthlessness, using whichever one seemed most appropriate to the task at hand. Unfortunately, none of those tools had the slightest bit of influence on the snowstorm, and bullying his driver wasn’t going to get them where they were going any faster.

  “Sorry, Mr. Mendoza. This is a great car, and it is designed for just about anything nature can throw at it, but if we go any faster, we might end up like one of these poor schmucks.” The man at the wheel tilted his head at a car that was stuck nose-first halfway into a snowbank, its driver long gone. They’d passed many such cars, abandoned until they could be dug out. Or until the snow melted, whichever came first.

  “No, no, you’re right, Tommy,” Victor said. Tommy had been driving for him for over ten years, and he would never have lasted that long if he couldn’t be trusted to do whatever was in Victor’s best interests. “Do what you think best. We’ll get there eventually.”

  It wasn’t as though his unwilling g
uests were going anywhere, he thought with a chuckle. Another hour or two in the cold warehouse with no food, no hope, and no way out would only make things easier for him in the end. He had no idea if Suzy—Ciera—would give in and take the drugs. Undoubtedly, her little friends wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes after he walked out the door, but he was less sure about Ciera.

  She had already surprised him more than once. First, when she had somehow found the courage to leave him. That was unforgivable enough. None of his conquests had ever walked away of their own free will. Some he had tired of and thrown away. A few had been too weak and succumbed to the drugs or their own despair. But no other woman had ever walked away from Victor Mendoza. For that alone, he would have happily killed the woman who made it possible, even if Skye Blue hadn’t also threatened to expose the criminal empire hiding under his carefully erected persona as a successful legitimate businessman.

  But then, when he had finally tracked Ciera down years later, he had been amazed to discover that she had escaped not only him, but the drugs as well, creating a whole new life for herself that was as far from the starving teen he’d found living on the streets as he was from his own humble beginnings.

  One might have thought he would be impressed by her ability to completely re-create herself, much as he had. In fact, it had only infuriated him. Once, everything she possessed had come from him: every scrap of food or clothing, every high and every low. The fact that she had somehow found the strength to build a life without him had rubbed at his nerves like an infected boil. But until now, he had simply ignored it, as he did all the things he could not control.

  After tonight, that would change. He had spent the last couple of hours making arrangements. Tomorrow he would send out the letters he’d left her to sign and it would be as if Ciera Evans had never existed. Suzy Johnson would be back where she belonged.