Wickedly Spirited

by Deborah Blake

  Finally, one of the otters reached the half-submerged log that was their goal, amidst much cheering and groaning from the audience on the shore. Once the furor had died down, Koshka cleared his throat loudly. A dozen heads turned in their direction, and Jazz had to stiffen her spine to keep from taking an involuntary step backward.

  One of the centaurs, clearly the leader, clomped in their direction, the shiny beads braided into his long dark hair clicking as he moved. The rest of the group followed him more slowly.

  “Well, well,” the centaur said. “What’s this now? A Chudo-Yudo without his Baba Yaga. And who is this with you? Have you taken up babysitting?” All the other centaurs laughed.

  Oh great. It’s just like junior high all over again. Jazz stuck her chin in the air and held out her hand. “Hello,” she said, as if she met mythical creatures every day. “I’m Jazz, Bella’s apprentice. I’m studying to be a Baba Yaga, and Koshka insisted that my education wouldn’t be complete until I met you.”

  The centaur stood up straighter, towering over her even more than he had. But he put one large hand out and shook hers. “I am Polkan. These are my people.” He rattled off a bunch of names that Jazz prayed she wouldn’t have to repeat back anytime soon. “For once, the dragon shows some sense. We centaurs are among the most learned and revered beings in the Otherworld. As we were in the Human lands, before we were forced to leave.” He scowled, but it seemed more habit than actual feeling.

  “That’s what Koshka told me,” Jazz said, widening her eyes in her best innocent look. At her feet, Koshka gave her a dubious glance but for the moment, at least, kept silent.

  “And where is the Baba Yaga?” Polkan said. “Is she not with you, as is proper for a teacher and her student?”

  “Actually,” Jazz said, “I’m kind of here without permission. I’m on a mission.”

  Koshka made a choking sound and she nudged him delicately with one booted foot. Sort of delicately.

  “And there is some way you believe we can help you with this mission?” Polkan asked.

  “Oh, no,” Jazz said. “There isn’t anything you can do. Koshka just thought we should come pay our respects since we were passing nearby. We were actually on our way to ask the griffins for their aid.”

  “Griffins! Griffins! What could those misconceived mishmashes possibly do for you that the centaurs can’t?” Polkan stomped one front hoof indignantly. “They’re ridiculous. Have you ever seen one? The body and tail of a lion and the head and wings of an eagle—what benighted god ever thought that was a good idea?”

  “Oh, really?” Jazz bit her lip. “That does sound rather silly. I mean, compared to something as noble as a horse combined with a man. But still, I’m sure the book I read said that their tears were the most magically powerful, so I guess it doesn’t matter how strange they look.”

  The centaurs all snorted in unison. Jazz forced herself not to wipe away the flecks of spray that dotted her face and shirt with bits of foam and grass.

  “I don’t know what book you read that nonsense in,” Polkan said, flaring his nostrils. “But it is the biggest piece of claptrap I have ever heard. There is nothing magical about a griffin’s tears. Nothing at all. Why, I have more magic in one tiny drop than a whole herd of griffins could muster between them on the summer solstice during an eclipse of the full moon. Under a double rainbow. Most magical tears. Ridiculous.”

  Jazz let her head droop. “Oh,” she said. “I guess I’ve wasted my time then. And I was so hoping to impress Bella with my ability to gather powerful magical ingredients on my own.” She sighed. “Still, at least I got to meet you and your people, so the trip wasn’t a total loss.”

  Polkan scuffed one hoof in the dirt. “Hmph. You seem like a sensible child, for a Human. I’d like to assist you. Even I was a student once upon a time. But we centaurs are tough creatures. We don’t simply cry on command.” All around him, the other centaurs shook their heads, tossing the manes that ran down their backs.

  “So you would be willing to help me if you could?” Jazz said, widening her eyes even further.

  “What the hell are you up to?” Koshka asked in a barely audible voice. She ignored him.

  “Of course,” Polkan said, bearded chin raised. “We are a generous race, besides being wise and noble. But alas, I do not see how we can give you what you need. A pity.”

  Jazz reached into her backpack and pulled out a small vial, a Swiss Army knife, and a round object. “You are generous. Fortunately, I came prepared. So I guess this is my lucky day.”

  “Is that an onion?” Polkan asked, taken aback.

  At her feet, Koshka smothered a laugh.

  * * *

  “A dozen centaur tears, check,” Jazz said. She felt a tiny bit smug for about a second, until she looked at the other two items on her list. “Um, Koshka, I don’t suppose you have any idea where we could find the shells from a phoenix egg.”

  The dragon-cat gave her a bland look. “Underneath a phoenix, I’m guessing.” He clearly still hadn’t forgiven her for so successfully conning the centaurs when he’d been certain she would fail.

  She held in a sigh. People who lived with regular cats thought they were temperamental. Those folks had no idea how easy they had it.

  “Come on, Koshka,” she said. “You must know where in the Otherworld I could find a phoenix nest. You’re so ancient and wise.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Koshka growled. “So ancient and wise my fuzzy butt. I’m not as easily played as a bunch of horse-men.” But she could see that he was relenting. “Well, as it happens, I do know where there is a phoenix nest. As do you, if you give it some thought.” He tilted his head to one side. “Mind you, you don’t know your way around the Otherworld like I do, so the information isn’t much help without me to guide you.”

  Jazz was confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t you remember, when we were at Mikhail’s wedding? He and Jenna were telling us all the story of their adventures and how they had to find three magical keys. One of which was—”

  “In the nest of a phoenix!” Jazz cried triumphantly. “At some dwarf’s house.” Her face fell. “But didn’t they have to go through fire to get to it, or something? I’m not sure I’m brave enough to do that.” She liked to think she was pretty tough, but walking through flames, even ones that she knew in theory wouldn’t burn her, might be pushing her limits.

  Koshka gave her a smug look and gestured with one pointy-clawed foot at himself. “You’re forgetting something, kiddo. Dragon. Fireproof. We’ve got that part covered.”

  Duh. “Oh, right. Well then, lead on, dragon dude.”

  Some indeterminate amount of time later (watches didn’t work in the Otherworld, and the pseudo-sun stayed straight overhead, so it was hard to tell), he led them up to a neat white house with a thatched roof. On the red door there was a plaque that said SMYTHE.

  Jazz rapped on the door with the gleaming brass knocker. After a minute, they could hear the sound of wooden clogs thumping their way, and the door swung open to reveal a short man wearing a tall green hat and a sour expression.

  “No, thank you,” he said, and started to close the door on them.

  “No, thank you what?” Jazz said indignantly. “For all you know, we have cookies!”

  “Do you?” the dwarf asked quizzically.

  “Uh, no. Not exactly,” Jazz said. At her feet, Koshka snorted.

  “Not at all,” the dragon-cat said. “No cookies in any form whatsoever, I’m afraid. But we would appreciate a moment of your time regardless. My name is Koshka, and this Human person is Jazz. She is the protégé of the Baba Yaga Bella, and I am Bella’s Chudo-Yudo.”

  “Oh,” said the dwarf, and doffed his hat, briefly revealing a shiny bald spot before putting it back on again. “Why didn’t you say so?” He scowled. “I thought you were door-to-door salesmen.”<
br />
  “Do you get a lot of that in the Otherworld?” Jazz asked, genuinely interested in the answer. Somehow she hadn’t imagined that would be a problem here.

  Smythe shook his head. “Not yet. But I’ve heard all about them, and I expect they’ll turn up any day.” He peered up at her. “You’re sure you’re not selling anything? If not, why are you here?”

  Jazz and Koshka exchanged glances. “Um, it’s about your phoenix,” she said cautiously.

  “Argh!” The little man banged his head against the doorframe so hard his hat fell off, and he had to lean down and scoop it up. “Not that damned thing again. Like I told the other guy, it is not my phoenix. Most definitely not.” He plopped his hat back on his head and looked down at Koshka with a hopeful expression on his homely face. “You’re not going to eat it, are you?”

  Jazz bit her lip to hide her smile.

  “Sorry, no,” Koshka said. “They taste terrible, phoenixes do. Worse than pelicans.”

  She thought about asking how he knew, but decided it would be better not to.

  “Actually,” she said to the dwarf, “we were just hoping to get something from its nest, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Help yourself,” the dwarf said, sounding fed up. “But whatever it is, don’t try and sell it to me once you’ve got it. And try not to track a lot of dirt around my nice clean orchard. I just swept last Tuesday.” He slammed the door and they could hear him clomping away.

  Jazz blinked. “Is everyone in the Otherworld so strange?” She’d only been there with Bella a few times, and then only to visit the Queen at court. People there had been very polite, even if they did seem to have a habit of looking down their noses a lot. At least, they had looked down their noses at her. She mostly hadn’t cared. As long as Bella and Sam never changed their minds about her, the way some of her foster families had, everyone else could look at her any way they wanted.

  “You thought that was strange?” Koshka laughed. “Oh, you are so young.” He turned in the direction of the precisely aligned trees that bordered the little house, his bushy tail waving through the air like a flag. Jazz shrugged and followed him.

  The tree the phoenix’s nest was in was tall and surrounded by a circle of flaming rosebushes. The flowers were as red as the blaze that engulfed them. Far up in the tree’s branches, Jazz could make out the bright orange and red feathers of the bird as it sat in a tangle of tightly woven twigs and grasses, all of which seemed to be smoking slightly.

  “Uh, what do we do now?” she asked. “I mean, do we have to wait for it to go through its whole cycle of burning up and being reborn? How long does that take?” She knew that time moved in strange ways in the Otherworld, although Koshka had told her she didn’t have to worry as long as she was with him. But she was more worried that Bella would return home before they got back.

  “Pfft. Not at all,” Koshka said, and then strolled casually into the flames.

  Jazz had to clap her hands over her mouth to hold in a scream, but a few minutes later, he strolled back out, just as casually, and spat a mouthful of brightly hued shards at her feet.

  “Phoenix eggshells,” he said smugly. “The ground under the tree is littered with them.”

  She bent down and touched them gingerly with the tip of one finger before wrapping them reverentially in a piece of cloth. “Wow. You rock, Koshka.”

  “I know,” he said. “Now, what was the last thing?”

  “The leaf from a Kalpataru tree,” she read off her list.

  “Ah, right,” he said. “That could be a problem.”

  Chapter Five

  That didn’t sound good. “More of a problem than getting tears from a centaur or shards of a phoenix egg?” Jazz asked, swallowing hard.

  Koshka gave a mountainous shrug, bits of fur drifting off into the air around him. “Yes and no. The good news is that there are a few of the trees in the Otherworld, one of which isn’t too far from here. The bad news is that you can’t just reach out and pluck a leaf off the tree; you have to convince the tree that you are worthy of having one.”

  Aw, jeez. “I have to convince the tree?”

  “Yep. And from what I hear, they’re not easy to persuade. You might even say their bark is as bad as their bite.” He snickered. “Come on, we might as well start walking. The sooner we get there the sooner we can head back.”

  He took off up a barely discernible path that was bordered on either side by some sort of creeping vine that actually crept, moving along with them as they continued on.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “How am I supposed to talk a tree into giving me one of its leaves? And won’t there just be some lying on the ground?” She tried not to sound whiny, but dealing with all this weirdness was stressing her out. She knew she would have to get used to it eventually if she was going to be a full-fledged Baba Yaga, but she totally wasn’t there yet.

  Koshka snorted, tiny flickers of flame temporarily visible in front of his nostrils. “If you had a part of your body that could grant wishes, would you just leave it lying around where anyone could pick it up? I don’t think so. Kalpataru leaves are incredibly potent magical ingredients, and the trees themselves are sentient, so they make sure the leaves don’t fall into the wrong hands.” He gave Jazz a glance that strongly hinted he might consider her hands to be included in that category.

  “Hey,” she said, indignation making her voice go up an octave. “This is for a good cause, remember? It’s not like I’m wishing for a zillion dollars or bigger boobs or something frivolous. This is for the Riders.”

  Koshka stared at her chest for a moment. “Oh, I don’t know. You might want to consider adding in that second part while you’re at it.”

  Cats.

  * * *

  Jazz could see the Kalpataru tree long before they got to it. It rose up into the sky higher than any of the surrounding vegetation, and unlike most of the Otherworld plants, which were colorful and strange, its arching branches and gnarled roots were brown, and the heart-shaped leaves, larger than Jazz’s palm, were a mundane green. As they drew closer, she could hear a murmuring sound, as if a hundred different voices were talking quietly all at once.

  They walked underneath the wide spread of the tree’s limbs, which formed a canopy so dense, you could barely see the sky through it, and came to a stop near the knobby and twisted trunk. Koshka plopped his butt on the ground decisively, wordlessly indicating that she was on her own. Great.

  “Er, hello?” she said. “Um, tree? My name is Jazz and I’m here to ask for one of your leaves. Please.”

  Good grief. She was talking to a tree. Thank goodness no one was around to see her. She felt like an idiot.

  Then one of the larger knots opened up and a voice issued from it, sounding deep and wise, kind of like James Earl Jones.

  “Greetings, Human.” There was a small pause and a creaking noise, as if a section of the tree had bent down for a closer look. “Greetings, dragon. How small you are today.”

  “But still as handsome as ever,” Jazz said hurriedly as Koshka’s fur ruffled up and he shook himself as though getting ready to transform into his original form. She already had all the distractions she could handle, frankly.

  The dragon-cat settled on his haunches, glaring up at the tree. She wasn’t going to get any help from that quarter. She would have to handle this herself. That was one of the things she loved about being a Baba Yaga in training—there were endless tests, most of them unofficial but all of them crucial. Yeesh.

  “So,” the tree said in its rumbly voice, “you have come to ask for the boon of one of our leaves. We suppose this means you have a wish you believe is worthy.” It made a noise like a garbage disposal. She couldn’t tell if it was laughing at her, growling, or just clearing whatever passed as its throat. “We find the prospect highly unlikely.”

  Jazz bit back her first respons
e, which probably wouldn’t have helped her cause any. But, man, she got so tired of people—even tree people—doubting her. If she were here making a wish for herself, it would be that she could skip these annoying teenage years and go instantly to being an actual adult, so everyone would take her seriously.

  She stood as straight as she could and stared the tree in the . . . knot. Whatever. “Do you know the Riders?” she asked.

  The leaves whispered above her for a moment. “All in the Otherworld know the Baba Yagas’ companions,” the tree said.

  “Then you probably know what happened to them.”

  “We do.” There was a pause. “If you want a leaf so you might wish them cured, we regret to inform you that they do not work in such a fashion.” It made that grinding noise again, so she guessed it wasn’t laughter after all.

  “I know,” Jazz said. “But I am working on a spell that might give them back their immortality, and one of your leaves is a vital ingredient. I’m not at all sure the spell will work without it. So, please, could I have one? For the Riders?”

  There was another pause, filled with the sound of murmuring she’d first heard when they’d approached. But up close, she could see the various knots on the tree’s trunk opening and closing as if it was holding a conversation with itself.

  “Group mind,” Koshka said quietly from the area by her feet, making her jump. “Kind of like bees. Only smarter.”

  The knot that had first spoken to her gaped open again. “You are not a Baba Yaga.”

  She wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. “Not exactly. Not yet. But I am a Baba Yaga in training, and even the Queen has said I have a great deal of power. I know I could make this spell work.”