Wickedly Dangerous

by Deborah Blake

  Liam tried to stay out of anything even vaguely political, although he sure as hell wouldn’t want them drilling on his land. “I’ll make it if I can. I’m supposed to be off duty, but the last few meetings have been a little . . . unsettled . . . so I might come just to keep an eye on the hotheads and make sure no one gets too worked up.” At least this might be one instance where he could actually do the job he got paid for.

  The old man held out one gnarled, arthritic hand for Liam to shake, making I’m coming, I’m coming noises at his wife. “Well, we really appreciate everything you are doing to try to find our malenkaya devotshka. You’re a good man.”

  The three of them left, and Liam sat back down with a thud. Lucy put his lunch in front of him and he took a bite, but it tasted like sawdust mixed with bitter desperation.

  How could Ivan thank him? He wasn’t doing anything. Nothing at all, except spinning his wheels and wasting the taxpayers’ money. What was worse, he knew in his gut that if he didn’t find any answers soon, another child would go missing. And there didn’t seem to be a damned thing he could do to stop it.

  FOUR

  BABA TURNED SIDEWAYS past blue-tinged trees covered with hanging chartreuse ivy and slipped back through the door to the mundane plane. Stepping out of the minuscule wardrobe, she banged her head on the low doorframe and muttered a few rude words; it seemed like both worlds were against her today.

  She had hoped for a pleasant stroll; something to wash away the vague feelings of unease she couldn’t explain. A trip to the Otherworld should have been a calming retreat. But none of the paths she was used to seemed to be there, and her friends on the other side were either hiding or having fun without her. Something was clearly off-kilter, but she wasn’t in the mood to figure out what. It was her job to watch over the doorway between the Otherworld and the mortal lands, but it wasn’t her job to police either. And she had enough problems on this side of the door. There was something “off” about the local environment; she just couldn’t figure out what it was. If she stuck around long enough, she’d have to look into it.

  As she slammed the closet shut behind her, Chudo-Yudo lifted his massive head from where it was resting on what looked like the remains of one of her favorite spike-heeled boots and said, “About time you got back. We’ve got company.”

  Baba’s heart did a little dance to music only it could hear. “Oh?” she said in a casual tone. “Anyone we know?”

  The dog snorted. “It’s not that yummy sheriff, if that’s what you were hoping. It’s a woman. She’s wearing a uniform like his, but she fills hers out a lot better.” His tongue lolled in a leer.

  “Has she been here long?” Baba asked, walking over to look out the front window. Chudo-Yudo padded over to stand next to her and gave a canine version of a shrug.

  “You know I’m not good with time. If it’s not a century, it’s not long. But I can tell you that she spent a while walking around this thing trying to find a door, before she gave up and went to sit on her car and wait.”

  “Oh for the love of all that’s sacred!” Baba smacked the wall with one curled fist. Hard. “House! Make a damned door and leave it there.” There was a brief pause, and then the front entrance reappeared, shimmering for a moment before settling into place with a disgruntled thump.

  Baba glared at it. “How am I supposed to blend in with the Humans if you keep playing these silly games? I have half a mind to go back to living in a hut with chicken legs.” The Airstream seemed to shiver. “Right, then. Let’s see who our unexpected guest is.”

  She opened the door and stuck her head outside, taking a minute to check out her visitor before the woman noticed her. Uniform aside, the woman didn’t seem like anything unusual; pretty in an unexciting sort of way, if you disregarded the droop to her shoulders and the sadness on her face. Baba didn’t, of course. Those things meant something in her line of work.

  “Hello,” she called. “Were you looking for me?”

  Her visitor jumped up, startled. “How . . . I couldn’t find, I mean . . .” her voice dwindled away as she took a few steps toward the trailer. She walked slowly, her feet dragging as if unsure they wanted to take her in this direction, but eventually ended up at the front door. The difference between the deputy’s five foot two and Baba’s five foot ten was noticeable; the woman had to tilt her head to look directly into Baba’s amber eyes.

  “Are you Barbara Yager?” she asked, finally meeting Baba’s gaze.

  “I am.” Baba didn’t smile. Those who sought her out always had to past certain tests. Getting through the door wasn’t supposed to be easy. If it were, then everyone would want to do it.

  “Uh,” the woman squirmed a little, but didn’t look away. “Are you also the Baba Yaga?”

  “I am. And you are?”

  “Belinda Shields,” she said. And then added. “My daughter is the one Sheriff McClellan was looking for.”

  “Ah.” That explained part of it. “So, are you the one who called me here, then?” Baba scowled, but the woman stood her ground.

  “No, that was my mother, Mariska Ivanov. She’d heard stories in the Old Country about how the Baba Yaga sometimes helped those in need. I mean, she told me the stories too, when I was growing up, but I thought they were just fairy tales and—”

  “And she believed,” Baba said, cutting to the marrow of the matter. “And so she summoned me, and now you’re here.”

  “Yes.” Belinda squared her shoulders and looked Baba in the face. “Can you prove you are who you say you are?”

  Baba suppressed a sigh. Things used to be a lot simpler, back in the old days. “You’re not supposed to need proof, you know.”

  The smaller woman stared at her through red-rimmed eyes. “I’m a cop. Humor me.”

  Tiny swirls of energy flowed from Baba into the ground. “Fine. How’s that for proof?” She gestured at Belinda’s feet, which were now firmly attached to the earth by the thorny vines of a wild rose entwining mockingly around her boots, poking tiny holes in the thick brown leather.

  “Oh.” Belinda looked down, blinking in mixed shock and relief. “You are the Baba Yaga. Will you help me find my daughter, please?”

  “It is not that simple,” Baba said. “If your mother told you the stories, then you know that there is always a price. Are you willing to pay it?”

  “Anything,” Belinda said, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “She’s my child. I would trade my life for hers, if that’s what it takes.”

  Baba felt the universe shift; reality changing in some minute way to accommodate the bargain offered and accepted. No turning back now. She was well and truly involved.

  She sighed, snapped her fingers to make the vines slither grudgingly back into the soil, and gestured toward the Airstream. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, shall we? You’d better come inside. We have a lot to talk about.”

  * * *

  BABA PUT A kettle on the stove for tea and started pulling assorted herbs out of jars to toss into the teapot. After a minute, she realized that her guest was still standing awkwardly by the door, and waved her toward a seat at the dinette table. Too many years living with the old Baba and minimal contact with normal humans meant her manners were less than smooth. She did much better with tree sprites and talking dogs.

  Chamomile for calming, she thought, crumpling a few white-and-yellow flowers between her fingers and releasing their pungent odor into the small space. Rosemary for remembrance and honesty. Lemon balm for healing. Without turning around, she said, “So, tell me about your daughter.”

  Belinda made a sound that caught halfway between a sigh and a sob. “She’s seven; just celebrated her birthday two weeks before she disappeared. Small for her age, with long blond hair and blue eyes. She takes after her father, not me,” she added, as though answering a question that most people asked. “She’s beautiful.”

 
“Of course she is,” Baba said impatiently, pouring hot water over the herbs to steep. She realized with a start that she’d never turned the stove on. The water still got hot, because she wanted it to, but she’d have to be more careful if she was going to have wayward guests and snooping sheriffs around. “But I want you to tell me about her. What is her essence? What makes her unique? I can’t find her if I don’t have any sense for who she is.”

  She turned around, leaning back against the counter, and gazed calmly at the distraught mother, waiting for her to say something vaguely useful.

  “Oh,” Belinda took a moment to think. “Well, she’s smart. She already knows her alphabet, and how to write her own name, the whole long thing: Mary Elizabeth Shields. She loves the color yellow, hates Brussels sprouts, and she wants a dog in the worst way. She’s been bugging me for a puppy for years, especially since her father left.” She sniffed. “If she comes home, the first thing I’m going to do is get her a damned puppy. I don’t care if I end up walking it every single time.”

  Chudo-Yudo chose that moment to appear from the back of the Airstream and let out the short, growly bark that was his version of “hello.” It gave most people a sudden inexplicable desire to be elsewhere, but Belinda just smiled and held out a hand to be sniffed.

  “What a handsome dog!” she said, which got her the honor of a wet black nose pressed against her knee. She took the hint and scratched him behind the ears, and Chudo-Yudo’s eyes drooped closed in doggy bliss. “Is he a pit bull? What’s his name?”

  “Chudo-Yudo,” Baba said and waited to see how extensive the tale telling had been.

  “Chudo-Yudo; wasn’t that the name of the dragon who guarded the Water of Life and Death?” Belinda asked. “Is he named after that Chudo-Yudo? How cute.”

  Cute. Baba shook her head. “He is that Chudo-Yudo. And don’t call him cute. It will just give him a swelled head. And look at the size of the one he’s already got.”

  Belinda’s eyes got big. “He’s a dragon? But, but, he looks just like a dog.”

  “Looks can be deceiving,” Baba said, a warning hum behind her words. “Often.”

  Belinda started, probably feeling the menace of something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but knew alarmed her. Baba had that effect on people. Often. Sometimes even on purpose.

  Baba changed the subject, pouring tea into two pottery mugs carved with ancient magical symbols and decorative chickens, placing one in front of her visitor. “So, your daughter is the third child to be taken. Do the children who vanished all have something in common, that you know of?”

  Tired brown eyes gazed back at her. “Not that we’ve been able to find. And believe me, Sheriff McClellan has been looking for a connection. Not to mention the state police, who searched every database they had for any disappearances remotely like these. There are two girls and one boy, between the ages of two and eight, from different areas of the county. They don’t all go to the same school; their parents aren’t members of the same organizations. Nothing.”

  “Interesting,” Baba said. “And no evidence of any kind left behind at the scene?”

  “None.” Belinda nibbled on an already ragged nail. “You’d think they vanished into thin air.” A single tear tracked down her face, as if she’d cried so much already and it was the only one left. “I swear, I turned my back for less than a minute. I heard her giggle, like she’d seen something funny, and when I turned back around, she was just gone. The state police didn’t find anything more than we did.”

  Chudo-Yudo raised the corner of one pink-edged lip to reveal sharp and shining teeth. Baba nodded back in agreement. There was something very wrong here. More wrong than three missing children. Otherworld involvement wrong, maybe. That would explain a lot.

  “Huh,” Baba said, for lack of anything more helpful. “So, tell me about your child’s father. Is there any chance he was involved? Anything . . . unusual . . . about him?”

  Sometimes if one parent came from the lands beyond, they eventually returned home, taking the child with them. Not that many there had children anymore, even on the rare occasions when they dallied with the mortal kind. These days, an Otherworld child was a rare and precious thing, a treasure to be prized above all else.

  Belinda gave a sharp, harsh laugh, like a bullfrog as the night came down. “Not likely. Eddie didn’t want anything to do with Mary Elizabeth, not once the thrill of proving his manhood was gone. He was my “bad boy” walk on the wild side. When I got pregnant, I made the mistake of marrying him. Spent the next five and a half years putting up with his drinking and his lowlife friends.” She shook her head, as if in wonderment at her own stupidity. “I stuck with him for far too long, even after he started beating me, but when he drove drunk with Mary Elizabeth in the truck, I finally came to my senses and kicked him out. As far as I know, he’s not even in the area anymore.”

  Well, that was a boring old Human story. But at least it sounds like the father wasn’t part of the problem. That wouldn’t have explained the other children anyway.

  Baba plucked at the sleeve of Belinda’s uniform, trying not to make a face at the slick artificial feel of the tan poly-cotton blend. If it were hers, she’d work a little magic to turn it into something more comfortable and flattering. “I’m surprised he had the nerve to beat on a cop; you folks usually stick together, don’t you?”

  Belinda gave another laugh, this one filled with genuine humor; her smile made Baba revise her original estimate of “just pretty” up to “almost beautiful, when her life hasn’t been ripped apart.”

  “Oh, no,” Belinda answered. “I wasn’t with the department when I was married to Eddie. I got the job afterward.”

  “So you’d be safe if he came back?”

  “So I could shoot his ass and get away with it.”

  It was Baba’s turn to laugh. Not because she didn’t believe Belinda, but because she did. Damned if she didn’t like the woman.

  At their feet, Chudo-Yudo’s furry white sides shook with amusement too, and they exchanged glances.

  “Very well,” Baba said.” I will help you.”

  Belinda looked like she couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. “Because I said I would shoot my ex-husband?” Clearly, she thought that was a strange factor to consider in her favor.

  “Because you’re willing to stand up for yourself and your child,” Baba clarified. “You’re no damned princess waiting for someone to come and rescue you. Although the shooting thing helped, I won’t lie.”

  “That’s great,” Belinda said. “But what can you do that the entire sheriff’s department and the state police couldn’t?”

  Baba shrugged. “We’ll just have to see. Something will come to me. It always does.” Her face grew even sterner than usual. “Now, about that price.” She tapped one finger against her full lips as she thought. “I think we’ll go with the traditional three impossible tasks. I find that usually separates the men from the boys. Or girls, in this case.”

  Belinda’s eyes widened. “You mean you won’t even try to find Mary Elizabeth until I do three impossible things? That’s . . . that’s . . .”

  Baba shrugged again. “You came to me. That’s the way this works. Even the Baba Yaga has to play by certain rules.” She didn’t mention that her favorite hobby was bending those rules until they resembled origami done by a drunken blind man.

  Since some of a Baba’s power came from her connection to the Otherworld, there were certain conventions that had to be followed. Of course she’d start looking into the matter right away, but Belinda didn’t need to know that. And as long as the woman accomplished three tasks eventually, the principle would be considered fulfilled.

  “Fine, then,” Belinda braced her narrow shoulders. “What is my first task?”

  Baba put on her best portentous voice. This was the official bit. “You must discover for me what
is causing the disruption of nature’s balance in this region. I can hear the land and water and air cry out in anguish. Tell me what is as the root of their pain, and I will help you.”

  Part of her job as the Baba Yaga was to maintain the balance of the natural world, but even with control over the elements, it was an impossible task in this day and age. There were too few Babas and too many humans bent on destroying the planet. But since she was here anyway, she might as well figure out what was disturbing the local equilibrium and set it right. By setting her new client to find the problem, she could kill two birds with one uniform-clad stone.

  To her surprise, the woman laughed. “I thought this was supposed to be an impossible task. I can answer that question right now.”

  Baba took a slow breath. Well, that was unexpected. It was rare for anything—or anyone—to catch her by surprise. Interesting. Perhaps she wasn’t dealing with two separate issues after all. The mystery deepened.

  “Is that so?” she said, expression bland and unimpressed. “Tell me, then.”

  “It’s the hydrofracking,” Belinda said, as if everyone knew about it.

  “The what? Is that some kind of curse word?”

  Belinda’s mouth twisted. “It should be. Hydraulic fracturing is a way of forcing water, mixed with chemicals and sand and other things, sometimes including radioactive trackers, down deep into the earth under extreme pressure. It can contaminate the water table for miles around, it causes water and air pollution, and the waste water it generates is highly poisonous.”

  Baba felt her jaw drop open. “Why would anyone do such a thing?” Humans were even more insane than she’d already thought.

  “Money,” Belinda replied, her tone so bitter that the herbs on the shelf above her head shriveled inside their jar. “Hydrofracking is used to access natural gas deposits. The gas companies pay a lot of money to lease land so that they can use it for drilling. And a lot of people around here are desperate; the small farmers can’t compete with the big agribusinesses, and plenty of folks in this area never had any money to start with.”