Wickedly Powerful

by Deborah Blake

  “Your Majesty,” Barbara said, “I bow to your great wisdom in this matter, of course, but how are we supposed to get them to return home if we don’t know where they are or why they haven’t been in touch?”

  “Simple,” the Queen said, seemingly mollified by Barbara’s court manners. “Bella will find them for Us.”

  FIVE

  BELLA SWALLOWED HARD. “I beg your pardon?” She added a belated half bow. “Your Majesty, why me?”

  The Queen leaned forward, the faceted gems of her crown glinting in the faux sunlight. “We heard from your sister Beka that you’d seen some sign of the Riders on your travels. Is this true?”

  “Well, I did think I spotted Sun’s and Knight’s motorcycles when I was in Montana a few weeks ago, battling some wildfires. But there were a lot of firefighters called in from outside the area, and I only saw them for a minute; I really couldn’t be sure. I told Beka I thought someone who looked like Alexei Knight waved at me from a rapidly moving black Harley, but it could have been just a really huge Human.”

  The Queen gave the smallest of frowns. “How unfortunate. We were hoping for something more certain.”

  Bella sucked her breath, praying that the Queen wasn’t in one of her more volatile moods. She wasn’t sure how her next piece of information would be received.

  “Actually, Your Majesties, I was planning to come see you today anyway,” she said. Nobles who had begun drifting away subtly wafted back; it could be boring, being immortal, and anything that broke the patterns of the lengthy days was worth paying attention to. Either that, or they were hoping to see the Queen turn Bella into something amusing, like a statue. Or a swan. Or a statue of a swan.

  “How intriguing,” the King said, as his lady settled back into her seat with a rustling of silks and the tiniest of sighs. “Pray tell Us why, Baba Yaga.”

  “I believe I may have received a message from the Riders, although I can’t be certain it came from them, or that it was directed toward me,” Bella said. Next to her, Barbara let out a gasp and Beka said, “What? When?”

  The Queen sat up even straighter. “At last. They have returned, then, Our three horsemen? We are pleased to hear it.”

  Bella shook her head. “I’m afraid not, Your Majesty. In fact, if the message I got was truly sent by them, then I think they might be in some kind of trouble.”

  The Queen’s tinkling laughter soared up over blossoming elderberry bushes and twining lavender and violet roses. “The Riders? In trouble? My dear girl, the Riders eat trouble for breakfast and then twice for lunch. Whatever are you talking about? True, We are somewhat concerned about their overlong absence, but that is hardly the same thing as believing that they have met with some circumstance they could not handle. It is much more likely that they have simply gotten distracted by women or fighting. Or fighting women, one supposes.” Courtiers tittered behind peacock feather fans.

  But Bella stood her ground. “Normally, I would agree, Your Majesty, but a sprite brought me this note late last night, and I think it came from them.” She pulled the tiny scroll out of the embroidered leather pouch that hung around her waist, and held it out so that the royal couple could see it.

  The King frowned, his eyes darkening from emerald to malachite. “What is that thing you are holding? It does not look much like a message to me. In fact, it looks more like rubbish.”

  “I think it is a tiny scrap of leather off of Mikhail Day’s trousers, Your Highness, tied with a few strands of Gregori Sun’s hair.” She took a couple of steps closer so that the Queen and King could see more clearly, although faerie eyes were so much better than Human ones, it was probably unnecessary.

  The Queen sniffed. “Mikhail would never allow his garments to become so soiled,” she said. “Clearly someone is having a joke at your expense. This sprite you speak of, perhaps.”

  Bella shook her head, and repeated the story the little winged creature had told her. “What reason would she have for making up such a tale, Your Majesty?”

  “Perhaps the message came from someone else, then?” the King suggested. “The Riders are age-old, well experienced, and immortal. What could cause them to be in such dire straits that they would need to use their own clothing and hair, and the services of a passing sprite?” He shook his head. “No, I cannot believe this missive came from them, Baba Yaga. Perhaps their unaccustomed absence preys on your mind, and so you mistake this scrap of leather for something of theirs. Quite understandable.”

  Barbara, always the most assertive of the three Babas, stepped forward and said, “Perhaps we should ask her what the message says.”

  The Queen’s brows rose, but she gestured with one white hand to indicate her willingness to listen.

  Bella unrolled the tiny scroll with trembling fingers, although she’d already memorized the brief message. “There are only three words, Your Majesties, and my Chudo-Yudo confirms that they are written in blood that carries the scent of magic within it.”

  The garden grew so silent, even the grass temporarily stopped growing.

  “Well?” the Queen said. “And what are those words?”

  “The note says: Cave, Help, Brenna.”

  At the mention of Brenna’s name, a ripple spread outward from the center of the circle surrounding the royals, as whispering voices repeated the message to those standing behind them who had been too far away to hear Bella’s quiet voice.

  Barbara’s hand went involuntarily to the hilt of her sword, and Beka’s normally cheerful face turned ashen. Brenna had been Beka’s mentor, had raised her and trained her, but reluctant to give up the power of a Baba Yaga, had also purposely undermined her confidence in her magical abilities to the point where Beka had almost walked away from the role she was meant to play. When that course failed, Brenna had colluded with a handsome Selkie prince and, eventually, tried more than once to kill her.

  In the end, Beka had triumphed, but Bella was sure the betrayal still stung. To put it mildly.

  It certainly bothered the Queen, who had declared Brenna a traitor to the court, her life forfeit if any found her, and forbid the utterance of her name anywhere in the Otherworld.

  Oops.

  The King held out a calming hand as his consort started to rise. Beneath the Queen’s feet, colorful piles of artistically coiled vines drew back from her anger, as if justifiably fearful of being singed.

  “We did ask her to tell Us the words of the message,” he pointed out. “It is hardly her fault that one of those words is anathema to Us.”

  White lines pinched the Queen’s nose as her face tightened with barely restrained wrath. “Surely not even Brenna would dare to imperil the lives of the Riders,” she said with a hiss.

  “I don’t believe we can dismiss any possibility when it comes to that woman,” Barbara said. Her tone was calm and even, but Bella could see her hands clenched in fists at her sides. “She tried to kill a Baba Yaga. The woman”—Barbara carefully avoided uttering the forbidden name—“is completely, totally, nut-cracking insane.”

  Another wave of muttering went through the assembled nobles at Barbara’s bluntness, but no one disagreed. It was a well-known fact, although little discussed in polite circles, that in rare instances, too-long use of the potent Water of Life and Death brought on a kind of madness called Water Sickness. This was one of the reasons why Baba Yagas eventually stopped drinking it and retired to a quiet life in some luxurious corner of the Otherworld, leaving their newly trained replacements to take their places. Only Brenna hadn’t wanted to give up the power of being a Baba Yaga, and had stalled too long. Eventually, the Queen had forced her to retire and give up her position to Beka, but by then, the damage was done.

  Of course, Barbara’s theory was that she’d been unbalanced all along, but no one mentioned that either. The only thing scarier than an out-of-control Baba Yaga was one who was both out of control and, as Barbar
a had put it, “completely, totally, nut-cracking insane.”

  The Queen looked from the note to Bella, and tapped her chin thoughtfully. She and the King exchanged glances, communicating in the silent fashion of longtime couples.

  “Very well, Bella,” she said, finally. “You have piqued Our interest. We believe this matter to be of some concern, although it is to be sincerely hoped that your suppositions about the origins of this mysterious message will be proven incorrect. You have Our permission, nay, Our command, to investigate and report back to Us.”

  Barbara and Beka both stepped forward in unison, although it was Beka who spoke, unusually firmly. “We’d like to help, Your Majesties.”

  The Queen dismissed the offer with a wave of her diamond- and ruby-encrusted scepter. “Brenna is old and no longer has access to the Water of Life and Death, and Bella is still young and at the height of her power. Bella should have no problems handling her, if she is behind this, which We doubt. You both have your own duties to attend to, and more than enough to do as it is. Bella knows where to find you if she needs your assistance. We had already intended to task her with this mission. Her news merely gives Us one more reason to do so.” Her tone made it very clear that Bella had better not need assistance, if she knew what was good for her.

  “Well, this was certainly interesting,” the Queen said, rising gracefully and taking her consort’s arm as he rose along with her. “But I do believe it is time for tea.”

  Swell, Bella thought. So all I have to do is solve the mystery of where the Riders have vanished to, based on the tiniest of clues, and how, if at all, a deranged former Baba Yaga is involved. Piece of cake. Suddenly she wished that tea was a nice, strong martini.

  * * *

  MIKHAIL DAY LIFTED his head a scant millimeter off the rough, uneven floor and then dropped it down again, exhausted by just that small effort. The scent of damp rock and musty air and rusting iron surrounded him, making him long for clean summer breezes.

  He thought wistfully about some of the ocean shores he’d visited in his long life, with their crashing waves and swirling sand, bright blue skies and joyfully soaring sea birds. But that distraction only worked for a moment, and then the craggy cave walls crouching like motionless prehistoric beasts curved in around him again, making his chest tighten with newfound claustrophobia.

  He was starting to think that he would never see the ocean again. Or feel the wind on his face. They were going to die in this dark pit in the marrow of the world, and it was all his fault.

  “You okay, Mik?” Alexei’s deep voice sounded hoarse as it echoed off the rock around them.

  The three Riders were all encased within the same cave, but it was just large enough that none of them could touch any of the others, no matter how hard they strained to reach out with torn, bloodied fingertips. Spell-armored cages chained them in their separate spots, such that they were unable to move other than to sit up or lie down. Not that it mattered anymore; none of them was strong enough to break loose, even if the bars had been made of tin. Although Alexei had nearly ripped his arms out of their sockets trying, in the beginning.

  “I’m fine,” Mikhail whispered. But of course it wasn’t true. None of them were fine, least of all him.

  The witch had captured him first. He’d been so cocky, so proud—he’d never seen it coming. In all their thousands of years of existence, nothing and no one had ever truly threatened the Riders, although plenty had tried. So when he’d stopped on his way out to aid Beka on the West Coast, he’d assumed he would stride in as he always did, rescue the damsel in distress, and leave her sighing pleasantly over his handsomeness and gallantry as he rode away on his enchanted white Yamaha. He’d always had a weakness for a good damsel in distress.

  Alas, this time the damsel was anything but good. Evil, in fact, one might be tempted to say. Especially if one ended up chained to a cold, uncomfortable cave floor, being tortured over and over again and drained of one’s lifeblood and magical energy. And to make things even worse, to have been used as bait to lure in the two other men who were both companions in battle and friends of the soul, and be forced to watch them endure the same agonizing treatment.

  Yes, he thought, evil was not too strong a word for her. He hated Brenna with every wounded fiber of his being, and if wishes made things true, she would be the one writhing in pain, her own essence trickling away into the gray dirt.

  Alas, for the moment, that fervent wish might as well have been the breeze on some distant beach, for all his chances of attaining it. Their cages seemed unescapable, and none of their gifts—not Alexei’s strength, nor Gregori’s wisdom, nor his own charm—could get them out. They could only hold on as each of them was bled again and again, and pray that one of the Baba Yagas had received Gregori’s message and was able to figure out its obscure clues in time.

  Sadly, time seemed to be something they were running out of fast.

  SIX

  SAM PACED THE small space; thirteen steps in one direction, then turn and thirteen steps back again. From force of habit, he maneuvered around the small rickety table, the neatly made single bed, and the miniature kitchen with its once-white propane stove and dorm-sized refrigerator. Every time he swung back toward the south he could see the smoke, its gray-black plume rising up above the tall ponderosas in the distance.

  Part of him ached to be down there, attacking the fire with chain saw and polaski and sheer teeth-clenching grit, struggling through the smoke and the exhaustion and the blisters until the job was done. He could almost feel his heart beating in time with those who were, his mouth dry and his muscles tense in sympathy. They’d been battling this one for two days; two long days during which Sam watched and waited and battled with his wish to be in the midst of the fire, his relief that he wasn’t, and the guilt that came with both.

  Finally, just before dark, he could see the smoke dwindle, mixing with the early evening clouds until it disappeared into the gloom. The two-way radio for the county zone officer clicked and buzzed at him, bringing the news that the fire was under control and all those fighting it were safely back at base. A few had been selected to stay overnight, keeping an eye out for flare-ups, but the crisis was over.

  “Any hint of what started it?” Sam asked, feeling the tightness in his neck starting to ease.

  Click. “Nope. Just like the last couple. No lightning that anyone saw, no sign of a campfire or careless smoking, although this one was burning pretty hot by the time we managed to hike in to the site, so no way to tell for sure. We lost some old growth trees and about ten acres, but kept it from taking one of those new cabins, so we’re calling it a win.” Click.

  Sam rubbed the back of his hand over gritty eyes. “Good to hear,” he said. “Your guys did a great job. Too bad about the trees, but at least you saved the rest of the area.”

  Click. “Speaking of which, I’m sending a little present your way.” Click.

  “What?” Sam thought he heard a chuckle in the other man’s voice, but it was hard to make out through the crackling static of the radios. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ll see.” The other man signed off, leaving Sam slightly puzzled, but mostly just grateful that they’d made it through another fire without anyone getting hurt.

  He’d reheated some stale coffee from the morning and was halfheartedly sipping at it while trying to read when he heard footsteps on the stairs. It was pretty unusual to have visitors at this time of the day; the tower was sixty-nine feet up, with seventy-five stairs to climb. Intimidating enough in the daytime, even more so in the waning light of the slowly setting summer sun. In fact, there was only one person who occasionally showed up this late, his closest “neighbor,” Tiny, who lived with his wife in a cabin not far from the tower.

  Tiny was, in fact, about six foot six, which must have made it interesting for him in the days when he had worked the job Sam had now. The ceiling of
the tower wasn’t much higher than Tiny was. At somewhere past seventy, Tiny was still active and fit, and he occasionally subbed for Sam on the rare occasions Sam needed to make an unavoidable run into town.

  “Hey, Sam!” Tiny said, knocking perfunctorily and ducking his head as he came inside. His gray hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, and he wore a denim shirt, blue jeans, and a well-worn pair of hiking boots. A knapsack slung over one shoulder was emitting much better aromas than anything Sam ever cooked, and there was a small cardboard box tucked under his other arm.

  “Evening, Tiny,” Sam said, getting to his feet. “Do I smell Mrs. Tiny’s three-alarm chili?” He actually didn’t mind having the older man around. Unlike most people, Tiny didn’t care about Sam’s history or his scars and didn’t seem at all self-conscious around the former Hotshot. He was blunt and straightforward, and sometimes in his company Sam would actually forget for ten or fifteen minutes that he wasn’t the man he used to be. Tiny had lost part of three fingers to a chain saw before Sam had met him; maybe this made him more accustomed to disfigurement than most. Or maybe it was just his easygoing nature.

  “Yep, that it is,” Tiny said, placing the bag carefully on the table. “I was coming up here anyway, so she insisted I bring you up a couple of meals’ worth. She thinks you don’t eat enough. Silly woman would feed the entire world if they’d sit still long enough for her to do it.” The words might have sounded critical, but Sam could hear the pride and affection in Tiny’s voice.

  “Well, you tell her I said thank you. You know I love her chili. But to what do I owe the honor?”

  Tiny snorted. “What, you thought we wouldn’t notice all that wood you cut and stacked for us a couple of days ago? Or maybe we’d think it was done by elves?”

  Sam shrugged, looking away. He liked helping the older couple, who were both kind and didn’t seem to mind acting as a buffer between him and the rest of the world. He just didn’t like being thanked.