Wickedly Wonderful

by Deborah Blake

  On the left, the Queen of the Merpeople wore a gown of green and blue that swirled around her ankles, the pointed tips of the hemline dragging over her bare, slightly webbed feet as they slid effortlessly across the crusted sand. A silver belt entwined her slender waist, and a bejeweled diadem twinkled atop the crimson flame of her hair.

  To her right, the King of the Selkies strode in muscular grace. His attire was more muted: brown and gray with tiny glints of light from layered scales, as though his pants and tunic had been crafted from some exotic deep-sea creature whose subtle armored shell could be formed into everyday attire. No crown sat on his straight black hair, but he carried a scepter in one hand with a large emerald at its tip.

  Beka took a few steps forward and executed a sweeping bow. Strictly speaking, a Baba Yaga didn’t need to bow to anyone except the High Queen of the Otherworld, before whom all paranormal beings bowed (at least, all those with any sense of self-preservation). But as her mentor always said, it never hurt to be polite.

  “Your Majesties,” she said. “You wished to speak to me?”

  Queen Boudicca inclined her head slightly. “And so we did, Baba Yaga. We have need of your services, and have come to ask for your aid.” Her pale face was proud and stern in the moonlight, but worry haunted her almond-shaped green eyes. The Irish lilt in her voice bespoke the Celtic origins of both the underwater races who had migrated to the New World along with those who once believed in them.

  King Gwrtheyrn growled an agreement, sounding like a bull seal warning off a rival. “We tend to our own, most times,” he said. “With no need of meddling from those who left us behind when they fled this plane of existence. But the Babas have always been a friend to our people, and I’m not ashamed to say that the Selkies are in dire want of a friend, just now.”

  “And the Merpeople as well,” Boudicca said, shaking her head a little at her fellow royal. “After all, it was my woman who came and told us the tale of the Baba Yaga rescuing her child this day, which put the idea into our heads in the first place.”

  The King snorted, waving one hand in that “settle down, woman” motion that was the same both above and below the sea.

  “Are the mother and her baby okay?” Beka asked, trying to avert an argument. The King and Queen might share an underwater kingdom, but they (and their people) spent more time squabbling than a school of tiger sharks. Sometimes with as messy results. “I couldn’t see them from the boat once I was aboard, so I hoped that meant they’d gotten away without any further problems.”

  Boudicca gave a narrow, pointy-toothed smile. “Both are doing well, thanks to you, Baba Yaga. But the same cannot be said for our people as a whole. We face a calamity the likes of which we have not experienced since our ill-considered move to these shores.”

  Beka could feel her heart rate pick up. “The Merwoman I met said that something had happened to the water in the trench and you’d been forced to relocate all your subjects. Is that really true?” It wasn’t that she’d thought the Mermaid was lying, exactly; it just didn’t seem possible. And then, of course, a large, attractive fisherman had distracted her from the issue.

  The King’s austere face creased with concern. “It is true, Baba Yaga. Something poisons the fish, the plants, and the more vulnerable among us. Two children have already sickened greatly, and others show signs of ill health. Our wise men and healers can find no reason for this, our mages have tried all their tricks, and yet, the problem persists.”

  Boudicca sighed, head drooping as though the weight of the delicate crown she wore was suddenly too heavy to bear. “After one of the eldest of our tribe died suddenly, it was finally decided that we had no choice but to leave our homes. We found another deep trough, closer in to the shore, and we have cast all the magical protections around it that we can, in hopes of keeping the Humans away.”

  “But the trench where we have always lived was never discovered by the air dwellers; it appears on no map, and no diver has ever returned from its treacherous depths.” The King’s slightly predatory smile made Beka shudder, although she made sure to hide the movement. “This new place is visited from time to time by those they call scientists. We cannot safely stay there forever.”

  “And so it is we turn to you, Baba Yaga,” Gwrtheyrn said in formal tones. His voice took on the cadence of one about to invoke the Old Rites: magic and tradition that bound as tightly as any chains.

  Beka glanced wildly around the beach, as though some miracle might come dashing through the fog to carry her off, out of the danger of obligations she might not be able to fulfill. But none was forthcoming.

  Boudicca laid one long-fingered hand over Gwrtheyrn’s, and their heavy gazes filled with the magnitude of their request. The temperature on the beach seemed to drop, and Beka shivered.

  “We ask, Baba Yaga, that you undertake the task of discovering the cause of this mysterious illness that afflicts our lands and our peoples, and if it is possible, cure it. Find a way for us to return to our homes before it is too late and the air dwellers discover us.”

  The Queen’s mellifluous voice rang with the power behind her words. It was a Baba Yaga’s job to maintain the balance of the elements, if she could. In this day and age, that was nearly impossible, but if someone who knew enough to ask requested a Baba’s help, and made the correct bargains, tradition insisted the task be undertaken.

  As if hearing her thoughts, the King added, “We promise you three boons, should you accomplish this difficult undertaking. A boon for you, a boon for a friend, and a boon for a stranger, should you find one such in need of our aid. These things we promise.”

  Boudicca repeated after him, “These things we promise.” And then they said it together, “These things we promise. And so the bargain is made. And so shall it be done.”

  A chime rang through the air, as clear as though the stars above had all rung like bells in unison. Beka felt the magic tremble down from her head to her toes, touching her essence and wrapping the invisible strands of destiny around her with a silken inevitability.

  “I will do my best,” she answered them, bowing again. And was glad they could not hear the tiny voice, far down inside, that said, But will your best be good enough? Or will you fail all these people, dooming their races to death?

  * * *

  CHARLIE KELLY WATCHED from the edge of the road as his driver backed the anonymous white van oh-so-carefully down to the decrepit-looking dock. It wouldn’t do to have an accident with the current cargo aboard. Charlie wasn’t exactly holding his breath as the tires ground their methodical way down to the abandoned cannery, but he didn’t breathe deeply again until the van came to a gentle halt.

  The moon overhead cast a welcome light over the Stygian darkness; no doubt the reason why his contact had insisted they meet tonight. Charlie hated all this cloak and dagger crap, but under the circumstances, he didn’t have much choice.

  There were too many people depending on him, and all those damned government regulations and budget cutbacks were forcing him to take drastic measures in order to prevent mass layoffs that would compromise the safety of the plant he ran. This was really the only way to cope—people kept their jobs, he kept his year-end bonus, and nobody got hurt.

  Hell, it was practically a public service, the way he saw it. And it was perfectly safe, no matter what anyone said; the containers were tightly sealed and the ocean was huge. It wasn’t as though anything one guy did could really affect it. Everything would be fine. As long as he didn’t get caught.

  Which was why he and his two most trusted guys were the only ones who knew about this little cost-cutting measure. Them and the man they were here to meet, that is.

  Charlie peered into the distance, finally hearing the sound he’d been waiting for. The muffled thrum of a powerful engine running at the lowest speed possible barely disturbed the silence of the empty site. A large speedboat, painted a black so deep it blended with the night, eased up next to the dock and slid to a stop so smoothly
it barely caused a ripple in the water. An equally dark figure jumped lightly onto the splintered wood dock and had a rope slung loosely around a crooked post before Charlie could even take a step forward.

  “You’re late,” Charlie said in a low growl. There was something about the diver he’d hired that just set his teeth on edge, although he could never put a finger on exactly what it was.

  But it hadn’t been easy to find someone willing to drag a bunch of unmarked containers down into the Monterey Trench where they would be out of harm’s way and safe from discovery. In fact, the guy had actually found him, although how he’d known that Charlie was looking to hire someone, the diver had never quite gotten around to explaining.

  Arrogant son of a bitch, and tight-lipped to boot. Of course, for Charlie, the latter was a quality he needed in the person he hired, and outweighed the first, so he just put up with the man.

  The new arrival shrugged. “I’m here now. Shall we get these t’ings loaded before the dawn is upon us?” The diver’s good looks and charming Irish accent did nothing to conceal the steel edge under his tone. Something in his gut told Charlie that this was a dangerous man. Of course, who else would you hire for illegal dumping?

  Charlie’s two flunkies did most of the hard work of moving the unmarked canisters from the back of the van onto the dock, but the diver put them all onto the boat himself, swinging each large, unwieldy container effortlessly through the air and setting it down just so. Muscles rippled under the tight black tee shirt he wore, and he never lost his expression of mild amusement.

  When they were done, and Charlie had handed him an envelope bulging with cash, the man flashed a grin as bright as the moon up above and jumped lightly back into the boat.

  “A pleasure doin’ business with you, to be sure,” he said. Something cold lurked behind the sparkling eyes, making Charlie long to be back home, tucked safely in his bed.

  “Yeah, you too,” Charlie said gruffly. “Same time next month?”

  The man shrugged. “And why not, then? The money’s good and the work is easy.” His smile tilted sideways, giving him a sudden predatory look, like a barracuda who’d been masquerading as a tuna. “And like you say, the ocean is large. What harm could come of it?”

  His laughter hung over the water long after the boat was gone from view.

  * * *

  BEKA STOOD AT the end of the harbor dock and took a moment to appreciate the view. Not the ocean, although its green-blue surface shone like glass under the early morning sky. Nor was she admiring the orderly row of boats, all preparing to set sail for a day of fishing, their decks swarming with purposeful men, the air filled with shouting and slightly blue with the coarse language they used freely in the company of their own.

  No, Beka was taking in the unexpected magnificence and grace on the boat directly in front of her as Marcus Dermott methodically scrubbed the deck and fittings of the Wily Serpent. It was obvious that particular boat wasn’t heading out to sea this morning; Marcus was the only one to be seen on board, and the bustling activity of the other ships was notably absent on the Serpent.

  Dressed in only a pair of denim cutoffs, Marcus looked even larger and more imposing than he had the previous day. Muscles formed by hard work rippled across his broad back as he faced away from her, and his large hands moved quickly and easily across the deck’s surface. Beka had a momentary flash of what those hands might feel like on her body and felt a blush heat her face. What was it about this man that pulled at her so?

  He was attractive, yes, but not in a way that would grab your eye from across a room. It was more that he was somehow so self-contained within his skin—masculine and strong and real in a way that was rare in the world where Beka spent most of her time. No fun-seeking surfer or Renaissance fair reveler, this one. He was clearly a man who’d lived a hard life on his own terms, and he bore the scars to prove it. To Beka’s mind, they only added to the attraction.

  Of course, the wavy brown hair, flashing hazel eyes, and strong chin didn’t hurt either.

  Alas, she couldn’t stand there all day staring at him. Sooner or later, someone would notice and ask her what the hell she was doing. Besides, she was on a mission. Not one she had a lot of faith that she’d succeed at, but she had to try. Maybe he’d gotten over being mad about the net.

  And maybe fish could fly.

  Beka walked down to stand next to the boat and cleared her throat loudly. “Good morning,” she said in as cheerful a voice as she could muster. “Can I talk to you?”

  Marcus straightened up and turned around, dropping his sponge into a bucket of water with a splash. “Oh, for the love of god,” he growled. “What are you doing here?”

  Beka sighed. She’d known this wasn’t likely to be easy. “Nice to see you again too,” she said. “I came to hire you. Well, the boat. I can explain, if you’ll give me five minutes.”

  Marcus crossed his arms over his lightly furred chest, an expression she couldn’t read lurking at the back of his eyes. “You have three,” he said. “I have work to do. Thanks to you, I have to mend a net before we can go back out.”

  Beka had to resist the temptation to snap her fingers and fix the hole in the net herself. It wasn’t all that large, and she could have persuaded the fibers to grow back into one another in the time it took her to draw another breath. She might be the youngest, newest Baba Yaga in the States, but she was plenty powerful. A dangerous combination, her mentor always said. So Beka had learned to be cautious with her magic. But, oh, she was so tempted to see the look on his face when he went to repair a perfectly good net.

  Still, that would raise too many questions. And she had work to do too.

  Three minutes. Fine. “I’ve got a lead on a salvage job,” she said, speaking quickly and trying to bend the truth rather than break it. After all, she was trying to salvage the Selkies’ and Merpeople’s home. “And I need to do some diving in the area where you were out fishing. I know that most fishermen tend to have a route they use, so I figured that meant your boat would be the only one that went out to that part of the ocean regularly.”

  He opened his mouth, a no clearly forming on his lips, and she hurriedly added, “I wouldn’t interfere with your fishing. You could drop me and a dinghy and come back for me when you were done for the day. You’d hardly even notice me.”

  A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I doubt it. I can’t imagine a circumstance under which you would be anything less than noticeable.”

  Beka wasn’t sure how she was supposed to take that, but his comment had her heart beating faster despite her uncertainty.

  She pulled out a bag with some gold coins in it, like the ones she’d given him the day before. “I’d pay you well for the ride out there and back.”

  The smile disappeared, vanishing behind the cloud of his usual black scowl. Thick brows pulled together as he moved in an effortless leap from the ship to the dock, leaving him suddenly standing only inches away. “Are you insane? You want me to just drop you in the ocean?” he asked. “Put that away. It’s not happening.”

  Beka felt his nearness like an electric humming in her blood, and his anger washed over her in a magenta-hued rush of emotion. She returned his glare, with interest. “It’s not like I took the gold out and flashed it at you,” she muttered. “What the hell are you getting so worked up about?”

  “I’m not talking about the gold,” Marcus said through clenched teeth, his tone even and measured, as if he were talking to a not-very-bright child. “I’m talking about the fact that you think I would leave you out alone in the middle of the ocean. Diving by yourself is dangerous.”

  Beka rolled her eyes. Of course, she couldn’t tell him why she’d be as safe in the sea as she would be in her own bed, but still, he could have a little faith. And a lot less crappy attitude.

  “I dive by myself all the time,” she said, matching his tone. “What’s more, I am an accomplished surfer, and that can be a lot more dangerous. I assure you,
I know what I’m doing. I just need to hitch a ride on a boat to do it, that’s all.”

  “Not a chance in hell,” Marcus said. “You’re a damned menace. Look at what you did yesterday, getting yourself all tangled in our net trying to save some baby dolphin. You could have been killed!” Suppressed fury made his hands tighten into fists. “I am not going to allow you to go out there and finish the job. Not on my boat. Not on my watch.”

  “Fine!” Beka couldn’t believe the nerve of the guy. Who the hell was he to tell her what she could and couldn’t do? “I’ll find another ship to take me out. Or I’ll rent a motorboat and just take myself.” Ass.

  “The hell you will,” he said, in slightly lower tones. “You know perfectly well that a motorboat will just drift away while you’re underwater, and no other fisherman is going to leave his territory just to take you diving.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, and he added, “Besides which, I plan to have a little word with the other captains. I grew up on this harbor, and I know just about everybody around here. Believe me, by the end of the day, there won’t be one person willing to have you. So you might as well give up this cockamamy idea and go home. There’s no treasure worth risking your life for.”

  Beka closed her mouth with a snap. She couldn’t believe she’d actually been attracted to the man. He was a bossy, stubborn jerk. Counting to ten under her breath, she forced herself to speak calmly.

  “You must find it hard to work a boat with that handicap,” she said, meeting his steely gaze with one of her own.

  “What handicap?” Marcus asked, a puzzled look on his face.

  “The stick you’ve got up your butt,” Beka said with a sweet smile. “I imagine it makes bending over kind of difficult.” And she swiveled on her heel and marched off down the dock, refusing to look back. If she never saw Marcus Dermott’s face again, she’d be a happy, happy woman.