Dangerously Charming

by Deborah Blake

  “Oh,” Jenna said, swallowing hard. “So I don’t have to worry about becoming another Rip Van Winkle or Tam Lin. That’s good. And, um, Baba Yaga? Do you mean the witch from the Russian fairy tales? Why would I be traveling with one of them?”

  Mick snorted. “They come and go to the Otherworld quite a bit; I know because I used to work with them. It’s a long story.”

  “Them? I thought the Baba Yaga was one woman,” she said. “Wait—the Baba Yaga is real? And you worked with her? Them?” That certainly explained a lot, like why he wasn’t fazed by talk of curses, and why he knew about faery and all the rest. There was clearly a lot more to the man than he’d let on.

  “You have been granted entrance to the Otherworld, Human,” the guard said. “You may pass.” He gestured into the darkness that lay past this section of the cavern. “Do not leave the side of your escort. Do not eat or drink anything while in the Otherworld, unless you have been expressly bidden to do so. Do not stray from the path. You have been warned.” He turned his back on them and went to stand at his post, motionless.

  “Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars,” Jenna muttered. “This was way more fun in my imagination.”

  Next to her, Mick gave a snort. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It gets more impressive from here out.”

  After a short stroll through an eerie mist, which echoed with the sound of high-pitched laughter from some source Jenna couldn’t see, they came out into a meadow filled with exotic wildflowers and tall purple grasses. As Mick led the way down a faint path, they passed dainty miniature gossamer-winged horses nibbling on fuchsia-spotted yellow mushrooms and a tall weeping willow tree with branches that moved gently in a nonexistent breeze. For a while they followed a deep, narrow river, and Mick called out a greeting to a woman sitting on a large rock combing her long green hair and singing what sounded like a Beatles tune.

  “Is that, uh . . .” Jenna didn’t know how to phrase the question. “A mermaid?”

  Mick’s lips curved into a breathtaking smile. Jenna thought he should do it more often. Or, considering the effect it had on her heart rate, maybe not. “Not a mermaid. No tail, see?” The former Rider started humming the same song under his breath, probably without realizing it. “Merilinda is a Rusalka. They’re water creatures from Russian mythology. Mostly they’re pretty nice as long as they’re kept away from the temptation of drowning children or luring Human men into a watery marriage.” He frowned. “Mind you, there’s always one bad apple.”

  Jenna swallowed hard. “Oh. Well, I guess it’s good she lives on this side of the doorway, then.”

  “Creatures like the Rusalkas are one of the reasons the Queen decreed that all paranormal creatures had to move here permanently,” Mick explained. “Once the Human population became larger and more sophisticated, it was harder and harder to hide those among the magical folk who look different or wouldn’t follow the rules. Only those who couldn’t leave—like the mermaids you mentioned—were allowed to stay behind. No oceans for them here, you see.”

  “Ah,” Jenna said. “And how did she learn ‘Hey Jude’? Don’t tell me they have satellite radio here.”

  “Hardly.” Mick snorted. “No technology works on this side of the doorway. I suspect the Baba Yaga named Beka, actually. She plays the guitar now and then, and she sometimes entertains the court when she visits. Her musical tastes are pretty much stuck in the sixties, as far as I can tell.”

  He pointed up ahead. “Speaking of the court, we’re getting close, so I should probably give you a few pointers.”

  Jenna couldn’t believe she was going to meet an actual faery queen. Suddenly her jeans and blue cotton blouse didn’t seem very suitable. “Do I have to curtsy, or something?” How do you curtsy in jeans, anyway?

  “If you’re not comfortable with that, a small bow will do,” Mick said, tugging his own black leather jacket and dark jeans into order. “The main thing is always to be polite and respectful, and don’t speak to Their Majesties unless they ask you to. In fact, it would probably be best if you let me do most of the talking.”

  “Happily,” Jenna said, wishing she’d had a chance to comb her hair before they’d left.

  As the castle grew nearer, its magnificence distracted Jenna from her growing case of nerves. It was built out of some kind of glittering gray stone that managed to look both strong and yet ethereally delicate at the same time. Colorful pennants flew from pointed towers that seemed to reach for the sky, which was an even turquoise blue with no sign of clouds or sun. The temperature was perfect, like the best summer day of childhood.

  “Is there really no sun here? It’s so warm and bright. My grandmother raised me on fairy tales—she always thought that maybe the answer to the riddle might be found somewhere in one of them—but I never thought that I’d find myself in the middle of one. It’s amazing.”

  “That’s the enchanted nature of the Otherworld,” Mick said with a shrug. “It usually feels like midday here, unless the Queen is in the mood for evening, in which case it gets darker.” He pointed overhead. “The moons are always out, though, day or night.”

  “Moons, plural?” Jenna tilted her head back. “Oh my.” Three glowing white moons hung in the sky, one of them full, the other two crescents that curved in opposite directions. “Is it my imagination, or is the one on the right hanging a little crooked?”

  Mick grimaced. “The Queen got a tad upset. It’s better not to mention it.”

  Jenna resolved not to speak at all, if she could get away with it. Yeesh.

  As they drew closer to the castle, they started to see groups of people clustered together, chatting and playing croquet, or eating elaborate picnics while sprawled on colorful woven blankets. Mick nodded to a few folks as they passed by, but didn’t stop to speak to anyone. Instead, he steered them toward one particular gathering, where the picnic was taking place underneath a gauzy tent that looked like something out of the Arabian Nights.

  As they approached, Jenna could see two figures seated on ornately carved wooden chairs that managed to be both informal and regal at the same time. Around them, uniformly beautiful men and women sat or reclined as they dined on colorful tidbits of unidentifiable origin. Jenna would have thought they were all models or movie stars if it hadn’t been for the occasional glimpse of a pointed ear or a scaly tail peeking out from under a flamboyant swirl of cape.

  Loveliest of them all by far was the Queen.

  The ruler of the Otherworld was dressed in flowing lavender silks with a simple crown of spun gold and amethysts that matched her stunning purple eyes and an ornate necklace ending in diamond and amethyst droplets. Her shining white hair was braided and coiled into an intricate mass on top of her head, making her seem even taller than she already was. An upright posture and air of power made her crown an unnecessary adornment; no one looking at her could doubt that she was the Queen.

  Next to her, her consort the King had a more subtle but equally impressive presence. He wore a doublet and hose of dove gray velvet, with amethyst buttons that matched the Queen’s jewelry. His raven black hair was pulled back into a long tail, and his neatly pointed beard gave him an aura of slightly wicked sexiness.

  When Mick and Jenna entered the space under the diaphanous canopy, Zilya already stood in front of the royals’ chairs, but she had the air of someone who had been told to wait until the rest of the group arrived before the meeting could get started. Nearby courtiers pretended not to notice her, and a scowl marred her otherwise lovely face.

  The Queen set down her teacup made of porcelain so thin it was nearly transparent and sat up even straighter.

  “Mikhail, this is a pleasant surprise,” she said. She gave their attire a disapproving glance. “The faery Zilya informed Us you would be arriving soon. We are pleased that you have returned to Our realm at last, no matter what the reason.”

  Mick bowed low, nudgin
g Jenna to remind her to do the same—which she managed to pull off without actually falling over.

  “I apologize for our informal attire, Your Majesties,” Mick said. “Zilya insisted on our immediate attendance. I meant no disrespect.”

  The Queen waved one languid hand. “Yes, yes, White Rider. We are always happy to see you, no matter what your garb. So, may We assume this pressing matter has something to do with your companion?”

  Jenna realized that this was her cue and bowed again, trying frantically to remember everything she had ever heard about the proper way to address royalty.

  “Greetings, Your Majesties,” she said. “My name is Jenna Quinlan. It is a very great honor to meet you, and I thank you for allowing me into your august presence. Your kingdom is even more beautiful than I had imagined.”

  The King and Queen exchanged glances, seemingly mollified by her good manners.

  “This is your first visit to Our lands?” the Queen asked.

  Mick responded for her. “Jenna has never been here before, but her grandmother Flora once visited your court, twenty-five years or so ago.”

  The Queen pursed perfect pink lips. “Time means little here, as you know, and while we rarely have Human guests, those few we entertain do tend to blend in together after a while.”

  “You might remember this one,” Mick said. “She managed to make her way here on her own, without the assistance of an intermediary such as myself. And she came to speak to you and your consort about Zilya and a curse.”

  “Ah yes,” the Queen said, making a subtle moue of distaste. “We do remember her; she was very brave and quite determined. Alas, We were unable to assist her in her quest, despite her worthy cause. If you have brought her grandchild here on the same mission, then you will meet with the same lack of success, since the curse, although ill-advised, was quite within the bounds set for such things at the time.”

  “See!” Zilya said triumphantly, taking a cautious step forward. “It is as I said. The Queen has given her permission. Jenna has lost her battle before it even began.”

  The Queen set down her cup with the faintest of clicks and frowned at all three of them. “We are surprised that this issue has been brought before Us again. We may not be happy about it, but rules are rules.”

  A few courtiers looked torn between watching the unfolding drama and edging away from any possible fallout should the Queen lose her temper.

  Mick bowed again, shooting Jenna a reassuring look as he did so. “Of course, Your Majesty. No one would be so foolish as to question your earlier ruling. We are here to ask you for a completely different boon, should you be so gracious as to hear us out.”

  Mollified, the Queen put her hand over that of her consort where it rested on the arm of his chair, and nodded. “Very well, We are listening. What is your request?”

  Jenna glanced at Mick, hoping that she was getting her lines right. They’d hardly had any time to discuss the idea he’d come up as they’d walked to court. “As you may remember, Majesty, Zilya put a curse on my family line that allows the faery to steal away the firstborn child of a woman in every generation.”

  “Indeed.” The Queen narrowed her eyes. “It was that kind of behavior that necessitated Our people’s permanent retreat to this side of the doorway. I was not well pleased at the time and I am not pleased now, but it happened in an era before such things were forbidden.”

  She gazed at Jenna with something remarkably like pity. “We rue that it took Us so long to enact such a law. We might have saved your foremothers great grief had We acted sooner, and for this you have Our profound regrets.”

  Jenna had the feeling, from the expressions on the nobles surrounding her, that the Queen didn’t often say she was wrong or offer an apology. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I appreciate you saying so,” she said, hoping she was getting it right. “I understand that things were different back then.”

  “And so they were,” the Queen agreed. “What is it you wish Us to do now, pray tell?”

  Mick bowed again. “The matter has become somewhat urgent, Your Majesty. Zilya has brought us here because despite Jenna’s best attempts to prevent it, it would appear that she is pregnant.”

  There was an audible gasp from those in attendance. Faery children were few and growing fewer, according to what Mick had told Jenna as they walked through the Otherworld, and so babies were a rare and valuable thing.

  Zilya looked unbearably smug.

  The Queen rose from her chair and beckoned Jenna to come nearer. “How far along are you, my dear?”

  “About three months, Your Majesty. I’m not really showing yet.”

  A tiny smile flickered around the edges of the Queen’s rosebud lips as she gazed intently at Jenna’s belly, one hand hovering about an inch away. “May I?”

  Jenna knew it was too early for the baby to be kicking; she hadn’t even felt it move yet, and that would happen long before anyone could feel it from the outside. But who was she to deny the Queen of the Otherworld? “Of course,” she said.

  The Queen stood for a moment with her hand on Jenna’s stomach and then stepped back, almost regretfully. “Congratulations, my dear. Your daughter is healthy and growing well.”

  “I’m having a girl?” Jenna’s breath caught in her throat. “How can you tell?”

  A peel of laughter like chimes echoed through the tent. “You are in my land now, child. I can sense most anything within the borders of my kingdom, should I choose to pay attention to it.”

  “A girl,” Jenna repeated, folding her hands protectively over her belly. “I’m having a girl.” Although she tried to stop it, tears filled her eyes, and the Queen shook her head regretfully and returned to her seat.

  “Your Majesties,” Mick said in a formal tone, as if reminding them of why they were all there. “Zilya is already aware of the pregnancy and has made an effort to seek Jenna out in order to lay her magical claim on the baby. We have come here to ask that you forbid Zilya to do so until after the child is born.”

  Zilya hissed, but said nothing as yet, clearly biding her time.

  “What difference can that make, White Rider?” the King asked, leaning forward in his chair. “Either way, Jenna will still have to give the baby up when the time comes.”

  “Ah, but you see, Sire, I believe that Jenna may be the one to finally solve the riddle her many-times-great-grandmother was given, and break this curse once and for all. But for this she needs time, which Your Majesties alone can give her.”

  The Queen arched one white eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “You truly believe this, Mikhail?”

  “I do,” he said firmly. “I have every faith in Jenna’s cleverness and determination.”

  Jenna felt a glow that had nothing to do with being pregnant, and she gave Mick a watery smile. The Queen and King exchanged looks and whispered for a moment behind the Queen’s upraised lace fan, their light and dark heads bent together as they pondered.

  “I protest, Your Majesty!” Zilya said, her voice shrill yet somehow still musical. “This girl I have not met in person before today, but her family and I have a long history, which I am looking forward to continuing.” She gave a smile that strayed dangerously close to a smirk. “I would assume you have no problem with that, Highness, since you agreed to my rights in this matter many years ago.”

  “Never assume anything, Zilya,” the Queen said, her voice so cold that frost crept over the surface of her teacup, making lacy white patterns that crackled in the warm pseudo-summer air. “You have taken many an infant from this woman’s family, and you seek to claim the child she carries within her now, do you not?”

  Zilya held her narrow chin up high. “I do, Your Majesty. It is my right.”

  The Queen pursed her lips but didn’t argue. “When this woman’s grandmother came to seek Our aid some years ago, that much was established, it is true. But We are
curious as to the origins of this curse. Explain them to Us.”

  Zilya looked startled. “You didn’t ask me about that the last time, Your Majesty.”

  The King simply said, “We are asking you now, Zilya. Answer the question, if you please. I am quite certain you would not like your Queen to have to ask you twice.”

  The faery bobbed another quick curtsy. “Of course not, Sire. As to the beginning of it all, well, there was this man.”

  “Of course there was,” the Queen said, with what on any lesser person might have been called an eye roll. “Was he one of Our ilk, this man?”

  “No, Your Majesty, he was a Human. But he was mine, and then Rose, this woman’s many-times-great-grandmother, stole him.”

  “And young Jenna’s ancestor, she somehow tricked or beguiled this man into choosing her over you?” the Queen asked.

  Zilya pouted. “She must have. Why else would a man choose a mere Human over me?”

  “Why indeed?” the King muttered.

  The Queen tapped one slim finger against her lips. “So, this curse was cast on a woman who is many and many years dead, because of a man who is also many and many years dead, is that what you are saying?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “The girl Jenna has asked of Us this boon: that you be forbidden to claim her unborn child until after it leaves her womb, thus allowing her the remaining days of her pregnancy to solve the riddle you set her ancestor. Under the circumstances, this seems a reasonable request, and We will grant it. Therefore, Zilya—”

  “Your Majesty! That’s not fair! That child belongs to me! You have to give me a second chance.”

  The King rose so swiftly from his chair, Jenna barely saw him move. “Do you dare to interrupt My beloved, your Queen? You forget yourself, Zilya.” The faery turned pale; clearly the King was a power in his own right, to be taken no less seriously in spite of the more benign manner he usually displayed.