Wickedly Dangerous

by Deborah Blake

  “Ha,” she said, scooting her chair a little closer to the fire. “I can’t believe you came out here, enjoyed my gracious hospitality, and then insulted my gourmet cuisine. I’m going to start thinking you don’t like me.”

  There was a moment of silence from the other chair. “Ha,” Liam said, echoing her. But his voice sounded a lot more serious than hers had. “You’re odd, mysterious, and infuriating. What’s not to like?”

  Baba tried to ignore the heat that flushed her face. He probably hadn’t meant those things as a compliment, but she rather liked being described that way. At the very least, it was honest.

  “Want me to eat him now?” Chudo-Yudo asked from his spot at her feet. “I’ve still got a little room left after those hot dogs.”

  Liam jumped, still not used to having a talking dog around, and Baba tried to swallow a laugh along with her wine, spattering them both in a flash of droplets that made the fire flare and flash. She hid her smile behind the hand wiping dampness from her lips.

  “Don’t worry,” she said to Liam. “He’s probably kidding.”

  “Right,” Liam said, not looking reassured. He put his beer down with a sigh and turned his chair a little so he was facing Baba. “You know, part of me is almost getting used to all this weird stuff. The other part of me still thinks I’m hallucinating, and should seek out medical help and some form of heavy medication.”

  Baba sighed too, more quietly, so he wouldn’t hear. It’s not as though she really thought he was going to be okay with witches and dragons and magical doorways. But a girl could dream.

  “I’d stick with beer if I were you,” she made herself say in a bright tone. “Fewer side effects, and less likely to get you locked up in a room with padded walls.” She shrugged. “Besides, the weird stuff is only temporary. We’ll solve the Maya problem, get your missing kids back, and I’ll hit the road to chase down the next Baba Yaga call. Everything will go back to normal.” Liam winced, no doubt in response to her weak attempt at a smile.

  “Normal,” he said flatly. “I’m not sure I’d even recognize it anymore.”

  He gazed at her for a moment and asked, in the tones of a man who wasn’t sure he really wanted an answer, “So, was that actually you last night? The little old lady who called herself Babushka?”

  Chudo-Yudo snorted, spraying beer foam over Liam’s shoes. “It’s traditional.”

  “Traditional?”

  “The Baba Yaga usually appears as an old crone,” Baba explained. “The tales got a little exaggerated over the years, and gave her iron teeth and a long nose that bent down to meet her equally long chin, which curved up.” She felt her own nose a little self-consciously; really it wasn’t that long. Just a bit, um, regal. “I still use the old woman guise on occasion, but it is just a glamour. Illusion.”

  “An impressive one,” Liam said. “You had me fooled for quite a while, and I’m pretty sure that my deputies still think they met someone’s not-very-sweet grandmother.”

  He thought about it for a moment. “So, Maya’s dramatic bruises and colorful black eye—was that all a glamour too?”

  Baba nodded. “A glamour on top of her already existing illusion of a beautiful Human woman.” She grimaced. “If she’s really a Rusalka, I assure you, her true form isn’t nearly that attractive. Unless you like deathly-pale green skin, stringy hair that looks like seaweed, and long sharp pointy teeth.”

  Liam made a face. “No thanks, not my type.” His eyes strayed to Baba’s wild hair for a moment, and she tried to smooth it down before giving up with an annoyed mental shake. As if she cared what his type was, and that she clearly wasn’t it. Bah. Humans. Way too complicated.

  “I’m sure Maya will lie low for a couple of days, then reappear, miraculously healed except for a few tiny, tasteful bruises to get her sympathy,” Baba growled. “And in the meanwhile, people will still be giving me dirty looks, no matter what lengths the Ivanovs and Belinda went to in order to clear my name.”

  “I think she’s definitely lying low,” Liam said, looking thoughtful. “Today was remarkably quiet; no irate calls from farmers whose machinery had been sabotaged overnight, or neighbors wanting to blame each other for something crazy. I even managed to get some work done in the office.” He reached down and picked up the folder he’d brought.

  “Is that the information we got from Peter Callahan’s office?” Baba perked up. Finally, something concrete to focus on. Besides the sheriff’s flat abs and strong arms, that is. And his own particular masculine scent, which seemed to winnow its way straight to her core. “Were you able to come up with anything helpful?”

  Even Chudo-Yudo sat up and paid attention as Liam opened the folder and tilted his notes so he could see them better in the arcing white light from the trailer behind them.

  “I think so,” Liam said, scooting his chair closer to Baba’s, the dragon-dog circling around to sit at their feet. His tail inadvertently hung into the fire for a moment before he twitched it away, but the heat didn’t seem to bother him.

  “I double-checked the three missing kids against the list of families in the green files, and they’re all in there,” Liam said.

  His hands clenched on the folder until the papers inside crunched like dry bones in an abandoned graveyard.

  “Ah,” Baba said, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him. The best cure for both of their frustration and anger would be to concentrate on catching Maya and getting the children back. If that was even still possible. She wasn’t about to mention that it might be too late.

  “Were you able to figure out how many of the people in those files have children who might be at risk?”

  He nodded, pushing his hair back impatiently. “There are eight families on the list with children; a total of fifteen kids, since some of the families have more than one child.”

  “Gah,” Baba said, letting out a discouraged noise that startled a nearby bat into flying crooked. It banged into the side of the Airstream and clung to the windowsill, stunned, before taking off again, wobbly-winged, into the encroaching darkness. “That’s a lot.”

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Liam said, holding up one sheet of paper. “Some of the kids are too old to fall into her pattern, I think. So hopefully they’re not vulnerable. But that still leaves us with seven children, which is definitely too many to try to watch. I thought maybe we could talk them over and figure out a way to narrow the list down a little.”

  “Do you think Peter Callahan knows anything?” Baba asked. “I’d be happy to try to beat the information out of him. I could wear my motorcycle helmet and jacket, and we could blame it on Maya’s theoretical assailant.” She gave a happy smile at the thought, and Liam flinched.

  “I’m never sure if you’re joking, or if you’re really as bloodthirsty as you make yourself out to be,” he said. “But no, I don’t think beating up Callahan is going to help us any. I’m not sure if he is a willing participant or if Maya is just using him; the jury is still out on that one. But he must have at least an inkling that all those people in trouble came from his files. How could he not?”

  “Willful ignorance is a typical Human failing,” Baba said, shrugging. “But you’re probably right—trying to coerce him openly would no doubt just set Maya off again. If she’s being quiet for the moment, I’d just as soon keep her that way. Maybe we’ll come up with a plan in the meanwhile.”

  Liam ignored the insult, most likely because as a lawman, he’d seen the effects of willful ignorance all too often. “Well, then, we’ll just have to figure it out ourselves.” He took another sip from his beer. “I know all the families who have lost children, and there is one thing I’ve noticed: all these kids are particularly well loved, just like Gregori said. Take Mary Elizabeth, for example. She’s her mother’s and grandparents’ treasure. Her father was a drunken idiot, but the rest of her family loves her enough to make up for a
ny three fathers.”

  He scowled into the dimming light of the fire pit as if the fading orange fire could give him answers to impossible questions. “Would someone really be so cruel as to purposely choose the children who would be missed the most?”

  “Maya would,” Baba said grimly. “She could have kidnapped any number of kids from homes where they weren’t wanted. She’s not only picking her victims from the list of people Peter Callahan wants to pressure into signing over drilling rights; she’s intentionally taking the ones whose loss will cause the most pain. Maybe as some kind of twisted revenge for the damage Humans are doing to the water that is so precious to her.” She sighed. “I take back everything bad I’ve ever said about human beings. Otherworld creatures can be much, much worse.”

  “Hmmm. Maybe we can use that,” Liam said. He held the list up to the light. “There are two kids out of the remaining seven who stand out as unusually cherished. Davy is the only child of an older couple who tried for years to have kids, and finally succeeded after sinking every penny they had into in vitro fertilization. The other one is the only survivor of a car accident that killed her brother and twin sister; if her parents lost Kimberly, I think it would destroy them.”

  Baba tapped her fingers on her thigh. “Either one sounds like a perfect target for Maya. Of course, if we’re wrong, then we’re leaving the other five kids vulnerable for nothing.” The crystal stem of the wineglass in her other hand snapped in two. She dropped it on the ground before Liam noticed, sucking on a small cut until it closed. Damn it, she did not want Maya to get her grimy supernatural paws on one more child.

  “Well, I could have deputies patrol near all the kids’ houses, but there’s no good way for me to explain why I think those children are at particular risk without admitting we burgled Callahan’s office.” Liam grimaced. “And if I did that, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be giving orders to anyone.”

  “Yeah, there’s that,” Baba agreed. “So we have the Riders keep an eye on the five we think are less likely to be her next victims, the best they can anyway, and you and I each watch one of the two kids we think she’s most likely to grab next. She’ll probably make a move soon; I’m guessing her attempt to get me locked up was because she’s worried that I’ll discover the location of her secret doorway. She must be feeling the pressure even more now that we’ve thwarted her again.” She straightened. “Which kid do you want me to take?”

  There was a palpable lack of response from Liam’s direction, and when she looked over at him, his eyes slid away from hers.

  “What?” she demanded. Then the other shoe dropped.

  She stood up, one booted foot crunching pitilessly on what had been priceless crystal. “I get it,” she said. “After all this, you still don’t trust me enough to have me watch one of the children. In fact, you don’t trust me at all, do you?”

  The drowsy coals flashed into sudden wakefulness, flames shooting upward as if to meet the stars halfway. Baba’s heart roared with matching fury and pain, its intensity catching her by surprise. One rare tear fell onto the fire and evaporated, like a stillborn dream of happiness.

  “Barbara—” Liam stood up too, his face a conflicted arena of guilt and some emotion too intangible to name. “Baba. It’s not that I don’t trust you, exactly. It’s just—”

  “I know,” she said, bitterness seeping out of her like poison gas into the clean night air. “I’m odd, mysterious, and infuriating. And you can’t put the lives of those you are sworn to protect into the hands of someone like that.”

  TWENTY

  LIAM FELT LIKE the world’s biggest heel as he watched Baba wipe her face of all emotion, returning it to its usual cool, unreadable mask. They’d been having such a pleasant time, despite the grim subject, and he had to go and stick his foot in it and hurt her feelings. Until that very moment, he hadn’t even been certain she had any to hurt. He should have known better.

  The problem was—he really didn’t trust her. Yes, he believed that she was trying to help the children. But her methods were . . . unpredictable at best. And they clearly had some very different ideas on what constituted acceptable ways of arriving at a solution to the problem.

  Still, none of that was the real issue.

  “It’s not that I don’t trust your intentions,” he said, standing there helplessly, trying to figure out how to explain himself without making the situation worse. “It’s that I don’t understand you. I don’t know who you are—what you are—how you can do the things you do.”

  He pointed at the shattered crystal goblet, its brilliant shards currently reflecting prisms of red light while poking out from under Baba’s black leather boots. “For instance, you can actually fix that, can’t you? With your, um, magic, I mean.” Hell, he could hardly bring himself to say the word; how was he supposed to work with someone who actually used it?

  Baba shrugged, shooting him a cool glance from underneath inky lashes. “Sure. If I wanted to expend the energy it would take to collect all those little pieces and meld them back together again. But I’m a practical kind of witch. I’m much more likely to just go inside and get another damned glass.” She turned her back on him and stalked inside, heels clomping on the metal steps with teeth-rattling force.

  Chudo-Yudo sighed. “Now you’ve done it. Benighted Human idiot. I have to live with the woman, you know.” He picked up the half-empty wine bottle gingerly between large, sharp teeth and followed her into the trailer.

  Liam debated his options for about a half second: turn tail and go home, or try to explain what he meant and fix the damage he’d done. Then he picked up the rest of his beer and walked into the Airstream, hoping he wasn’t going to get struck by lightning or turned into something slimy and unpleasant. Either way, he felt a lot more comfortable having this conversation with Baba in the bright lights of the Airstream’s interior than having it outside in the darkness.

  “You still here?” Baba asked without looking around as he closed the door behind him. She pulled a plain, slightly tarnished copper tankard out of a cupboard, clearly not in the mood to risk a more delicate piece. “I thought we were done.”

  Liam’s heart, which he’d been sure no longer functioned, skipped a beat at the thought of ever being done with Baba. No, not bloody likely. Not yet anyway.

  He sat down on the couch and spoke in a reasonable tone. “I didn’t say that. What I said, in my usual clumsy fashion, was that I’m a simple country sheriff. I’ve seen some unusual things in my career, but nothing that prepared me for the kinds of stuff I’ve come up against since I met you. I’ve never known anyone who could masquerade as a little old lady without using a disguise, or who lived with a talking dog that was really a dragon. How am I supposed to adjust to that?” That last sentence may have come out with more anger and frustration than he’d intended it to.

  But at least Baba took pity on him and sat down by his side, the greenish-orange mug cupped between her fingers. Chudo-Yudo relinquished the wine bottle, rolled his eyes, and plopped down on the floor, his huge head pillowed on his massive paws; a big, furry referee. Or maybe just waiting to be entertained.

  “I guess it was unreasonable of me to expect you to,” she said, a little wistfully. “But I don’t have a magic wand I can wave that will make you think I’m any less strange.”

  Liam could feel the corners of his lips curve up. “You’re mostly strange in some pretty wonderful ways,” he said. That veil of ebony hair, for instance, or those amazing amber eyes. Or the way you kick ass when it really matters. “It’s just, well, you have all these secrets you can’t or won’t share, and abilities I don’t understand.”

  Baba took a sip of wine, a thoughtful expression on her grave face. “Maybe I can explain some of it, but I’m warning you, it is kind of a long story. And it’s . . . complicated.”

  Liam put his arm out along the back of the couch, resisting the urge to run his finger
s through the glossy raven strands just inches away. “I’ve got all night,” he said, raising his beer at her. “And I love a good story.”

  “I’m not sure it’s all that good,” she said soberly. “But it’s mine.” She sat in silence for a minute, clearly trying to pick the right place to start.

  “Baba Yaga is more of a job title than anything else,” she said finally. “It’s a time-honored position that originated in Russia and the surrounding Slavic countries, and has spread slowly over time to most of the occupied world. There aren’t very many of us, though, and the job requires a certain single-minded dedication, as well as an aptitude for magic, so it can be hard for any individual Baba Yaga to find a replacement to train who will eventually take her place.”

  “Also,” Chudo-Yudo put in, “the Babas tend to be a seriously antisocial lot, and most of them don’t want a small child underfoot, getting in the way and making messes.” It sounded like a direct quote from someone. “So some of them put it off way longer than they’re supposed to.”

  “A small child?”

  “Most Babas feel that it is better to start the training early, when the mind and spirit are still malleable,” Baba explained. “My Baba found me in an orphanage when I was about five. I was abandoned, so nobody really knew my age for sure. But the Baba must have sensed something special in me, some potential for the talent to wield the kind of power the job requires, and she brought me home to live with her.”

  Liam was appalled, although he tried to keep from showing it. Who takes a five-year-old child to live in the woods and trains her to be a witch?

  Apparently he wasn’t as successful as he’d hoped, because Baba gave him a crooked smile. “You have to understand, Liam. Russian orphanages at that time were brutal institutions, where cruelty and neglect were the standard fare. Children were clothed, housed, and fed a subsistence diet, but otherwise, they got little in the way of care. It was a long time ago, but I still remember shivering in the cold, with nothing but a ratty gray blanket to keep me warm, and an empty belly that kept me awake when the chill didn’t.”