Wickedly Wonderful

by Deborah Blake

  And if he’d been daydreaming about kissing her again, well, it wasn’t as though he was going to do anything about it.

  He opened his mouth to answer her, maybe even to admit that yes, he was actually having fun, but the words never made it past his lips. Another surfer slid up on Beka’s other side, paddling over with effortless ease.

  “Beka, darlin’, what an unexpected pleasure, to meet up with you on such a fine morning. Surely the gods are smiling on me today.” The stranger somehow managed to bow and paddle at the same time and look damned good doing it.

  Marcus had a completely irrational urge to knock the other man off of his surfboard and hold him under the water for a minute or ten.

  “Kesh!” Beka said, seeming delighted. “I didn’t expect to see you until tonight.”

  Oh, great. So this was the guy she’d been seeing. The one she said she wasn’t dating. Maybe someone should tell him that, since Kesh was gazing at Beka with an altogether too-proprietary air. Funny he should just happen to show up. And the morning had been going so well too.

  They all spent another hour or so paddling out and then riding waves back in, although it was clear that both Beka and Kesh were much more experienced and proficient at it than Marcus was. Rationally, he knew that was to be expected. Hell, he hadn’t been on a board in ages; really, he was doing damned well, all things considered, for a guy who’d spent most of the last twelve years in the middle of the desert. But he still hated that the other man was showing him up, doing fancy flips and turns, and generally being dazzling and handsome and charming.

  Marcus shook his head, pushing wet hair out of his eyes as he headed back in to shore. He knew he was being irrational. It’s not as though he and Beka were a couple, or ever likely to be one. She deserved a lot better than a burned-out Marine with a sick father and a bad attitude. And there was no place in his life for some New Age wisdom-spouting surfer chick who lived in a painted bus, for god’s sake. It wasn’t as though he wanted to be with Beka. He just didn’t want some guy with an Irish accent and gleaming white teeth to be with her either.

  Jaw tight, he laid his borrowed board upright in the sand and waited for Beka to finish riding her current wave. Her graceful form cut through the water as though she were a part of it, and for a moment he just watched and admired. As soon as she came in, he’d just tell her that he had to get back to the boat, and call it a day.

  “A wonder to behold, is she not?” a lilting voice said in his ear.

  Marcus practically jumped out of his skin. How the hell had the guy snuck up on him like that? For a moment, his heart beat wildly as he flashed back to a scorching-hot alley in Afghanistan—to a man with glinting black eyes and a viciously curved knife sliding silently out of a doorway, the smell of garlic and exotic spices and the dust underfoot, the sound of his own blood spattering onto the ground as they fought. Then he clenched his fists and jerked himself back to reality. He was home and safe. More or less.

  “Yes, she is,” he said, his tone even. But he had a feeling the other man could sense how much he’d rattled Marcus, and was enjoying it.

  You’re being an idiot, he scolded himself. You just don’t like him because he’s interested in Beka. That’s hardly fair, since you’re not.

  “It is kind of you to allow her to accompany you and your father out on your ship,” Kesh said in the same casual voice Marcus had used. His eyes were aimed at the sea, and Beka, but his attention was firmly rooted onshore. “I find her current preoccupation misguided, however, and I think it might be best if you no longer encouraged it.”

  Marcus folded his arms over his chest. “I think that’s up to her, don’t you?”

  Kesh turned his head and gazed into Marcus’s eyes. Despite the fact that Marcus had about forty pounds on the other man, and was at least three inches taller, a slight chill ran down his spine. Not fear. Kesh didn’t intimidate him, no matter how much he might be trying to. More like that feeling he got when he saw a scorpion or a coiled snake or a great white shark; that visceral gut reaction that said predator.

  “You would be wise to tread carefully where Beka is concerned,” Kesh said. “She belongs to me.”

  The HELL you say, Marcus thought. But out loud, he merely said, “She doesn’t seem to know that. And Beka strikes me as a girl who makes her own decisions.”

  Kesh made a low sound in his throat, almost like a growl, as the woman in question bounded up the beach, grinning madly at them both as she rode the high that came from catching a great wave.

  “Did you see that?” she yelled, still a few yards away. “I owned that wave! It was amazing! Unbelievable!”

  “Leave her to me, fisherman. Or you will regret it.” Kesh strode off toward Beka and pulled her into an exuberant hug.

  “Definitely unbelievable,” Marcus muttered to himself. This was not how he’d planned for his morning to go.

  THIRTEEN

  BEKA SPENT THE next couple of days trying to find answers and getting nowhere.

  She called her friend from the university to check in, and see if any of his students could remember whatever results they’d turned up before the fire. That was a frustrating phone call.

  “Everything,” Bran said, unhelpfully.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she asked. “How could they have found everything?”

  She could practically see the shrug through the phone. “The ocean is a dirty place these days, Beka,” he said. “They found traces of pesticides, petroleum distillates, heavy metals, even radiation.”

  “Radiation!” Beka had a vision of herself suddenly glowing in the dark.

  Her friend laughed. “They’ve been detecting small amounts of radiation for the last year or so, washed across the Pacific from the Fukushima explosion in Japan. It’s nothing to worry about. My guess is that you haven’t found your ‘ground zero’ yet.”

  His voice grew more serious, as he added, “Be careful, Beka. Whatever is causing this, it is clearly capable of creating serious damage in plant and animal life. You may be tougher than the average girl, but that doesn’t mean you’ll be immune to its effects. Maybe you should report this problem to the government and let them take care of it.”

  She thanked him, then put the phone down with a bang. If only she could. Unfortunately, the government she reported to had already called in their supposed expert—and she was it.

  To make matters worse, both Marcus and Kesh were acting weird. Well, weirder, really.

  She’d thought the morning out surfing had gone really well, and Marcus seemed to have a great time. But ever since, he’d been even ruder and more distant than usual, barely speaking to her when they went out on the boat to dive.

  And Kesh . . . she had no idea what was going on with Kesh. Suddenly he was everywhere. He showed up in the morning to escort her down to the dock, saying that then she didn’t have to find a parking spot for the Karmann Ghia (like she couldn’t tuck the tiny car into a corner and then hide it with magic so she wouldn’t get a ticket), and then came to get her when she was done for the day. He carried her diving gear for her as if she were a schoolgirl, and brought her little gifts like flowers or some ancient trinket he’d found on the bottom of the sea.

  Their sunset picnics on the beach seemed to have become an every night affair too. She knew she should be grateful for his attention—he was a prince, after all, and a very handsome one at that—but she was getting to the point where she missed her quiet nights burning marshmallows by a bonfire with Chewie in front of the bus.

  But she couldn’t figure out a way to tell Kesh she wanted a night off from his company without hurting his feelings (or offending his royal father, which would have been worse). So she spent her mornings with a grumpy ex-Marine and her evenings with a too-charming Selkie, and she was rapidly becoming sick of it all.

  In fact, she just felt sick in general. She blamed too much diving, deeper than was truly comfortable even for her, and too much rich food at her nightly banquets
-by-the-sea. Not to mention too many nights spent wide awake and staring at the paneled ceiling of the bus, trying to figure out what she was going to do if she couldn’t solve this problem and live up to her title as Baba Yaga. Or if she even wanted to be Baba Yaga at all. Her thirtieth birthday was rapidly approaching, and she still hadn’t made a decision. Although she’d skipped her last couple of doses of the Water of Life and Death, mostly because she just didn’t feel like she deserved to drink the rich and magical elixir that kept her young and boosted her magical ability.

  * * *

  KESH SAT IN the battered wooden chair as though it were a throne, his black silk shirt and expensive linen pants as out of place in the dingy, crowded office as an orchid in a field of dandelions. On the walls, faded maps of fishing routes were interspersed with photos of numerous generations of men in boats, men showing off gigantic fish, and the exterior of the building when it was new and shiny and proud.

  Across an equally battered metal desk heaped with invoices, bills, and miscellaneous other bits of paper, all held down bits of flotsam reclaimed from the sea, Leo Koetke shook his head wearily. “I’ve told you, Mr. Kesh, I’m not interested in selling the processing plant. My grandfather started it with his brothers, my father ran it until the day he died, and I’m not about to give up on all that history. Yes, we’ve had a rough couple of years, what with the competition from out of the country and the crappy economy, but we’re hanging in there. So I’m afraid you’re going to have to find someplace else to build your luxury condos.”

  Kesh leaned back in a chair that creaked in protest, and smiled benignly at the other man. Neither the slightly run-down surroundings nor their short, balding owner impressed him much. But he had plans that would change all that. Power on land was all about money, and Kesh was discovering he enjoyed playing the games that brought him more of both.

  “I have heard that the fish are not running well this year and you have had to cut back on hours and staff,” Kesh said in a conversational tone.

  Leo shrugged, calloused fingers fiddling restlessly with a chunk of old iron that might have once been part of an anchor. “Some years the fishing is good, some years it isn’t. That’s the nature of the business. In a couple of weeks, it could all turn around.” He started to rise from his seat. “If we’re done here, I have to get back to work. I’ve got a machine down that I have to jury-rig a part for, and it isn’t going to get done while I’m sitting here talking. Like I’ve told you before, I have no plans to sell.”

  Kesh didn’t move and the smile never left his lips. But malice gleamed out of his gray eyes. “I have also heard you are behind on paying your workers, you owe money to suppliers, and you had to take out a large loan on the property. What a shame, when your family has owned the building for so long.”

  The shorter man subsided back into his chair and glared across the cluttered expanse of his desk. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but none of that is any of your business.”

  Kesh raised one eyebrow. “It is true, though, is it not? Just as it is true that if the fish do not return quickly, you will be forced to close your doors whether you wish it or not.” He leaned nearer, suddenly projecting an aura of menace that had been previously hidden from view. “Would it not be better to sell to me now than to wait until you are forced to shut down and get nothing?”

  Leo bit his lip, running one hand through already rumpled hair. “I can’t just sell up. It isn’t only that the business has been in the family for three generations. I’m one of the biggest employers in the area; if I shut down, where will my people get work? They depend on me, on this place. Your condos aren’t going to provide jobs for more than a few gardeners and maids. I can’t do it, I tell you.” The piece of iron he’d been toying with slipped through his fingers and fell unnoticed onto the gouged linoleum floor.

  “Oh, I am certain we could find employment for a few of your workers,” Kesh said with a leer. “I noticed a number of reasonably attractive women when I came through before. I have a new venture—floating casinos located on boats just over the line into international waters. They are proving to be surprisingly profitable, and I can always use pretty women to provide entertainment to my predominantly male and wealthy clientele.”

  “You want to use my workers as prostitutes?” Leo got up so fast his chair fell over with a clatter. “You’re crazy!”

  Kesh lifted his hands in the air. “How is being a paid companion any worse than cleaning fish for a living?” He rose in a more leisurely fashion and headed for the door, turning around before he went out to add, “It would be best to accept my offer sooner rather than later, Mr. Koetke. The price will go down every day you wait. And I do not believe you have much time left.”

  He shut the door softly behind him and stopped to wink at the cute redhead sitting at the reception desk. She blushed a becoming pink that matched the strand of little pearls she wore around her neck. Her fingers reached up involuntarily to touch them.

  “Good meeting, Mr. Kesh?” she asked.

  “All my meetings are good,” he said with a grin, laying on the charm even thicker than usual. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, darlin’.”

  The secretary giggled and gazed up at him with open admiration. “I guess that’s why you’re so successful, huh?”

  Kesh leaned over and kissed her lightly on crimson lips. “It helps to have friends in all the right places,” he said, barely managing to conceal his distaste. The woman was far below him, and not his type, but an endless font of useful information.

  She giggled again. “Will I be seeing you again soon? That last restaurant you took me to was so fancy.” She sighed in memory.

  “You can be sure you will, darlin’,” Kesh said. And you can also be sure that you will be the first one I send to work on the casino boats after I raze this dump to the ground. “You have no idea how much I am looking forward to it.”

  * * *

  FINALLY, IT WAS Sunday, and that meant the Wily Serpent wouldn’t be going out. She’d told Kesh last night that she needed the day to herself to do some magical work, and he’d agreed, however reluctantly, to give her some space.

  So first thing after the breakfast of toast and tea that was all her twitchy stomach seemed willing to tolerate these days, she’d pulled out a bunch of arcane supplies, the bits and pieces she needed to work with the powers of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water, and a dozen tiny glass dishes filled with the various samples she’d collected over the last week. Chewie sat off to the side to “supervise” (she’d made him stay at least three feet away from her during complicated magical workings ever since the time he sneezed and melted the enchanted necklace she’d been making as a wedding gift for Barbara).

  Most of the magic that a Baba Yaga did was instantaneous and relatively effortless; the snap of her fingers could summon a book from across the room or turn a cloudy day into instant rain. But she was trying to achieve something much more delicate, examining the essence of each frond of seaweed or fish’s fin, so she’d decided to go the more traditional route of casting a ritual circle to contain and focus her power and whatever showed up during her explorations.

  It would have been easier to have done the work outside, in a larger space, but Beka wasn’t in the mood to drag everything out to someplace private and then do even more magic to ensure that some tourist didn’t stumble upon her and get the surprise of his or her life. (The windows of the bus were already enchanted so that no one could see in; a hand-me-down from her mentor Brenna.)

  So she just made do with the patch of clear floor in front of the sofa, sprinkling sea salt around herself and her supplies to create a ritual circle. Once that was in place, she sealed it with a drop of her blood by using one of her sharpest knives to prick her thumb, letting the salt in her own fluids join the beginning and the end of the white crystals.

  A humming in her bones, too low to hear, told her that the circle was in place. That meant it was safe to call in the elem
entals: the swirling red-hot salamander that represented Fire, the mythical golden Bird of Paradise who represented Air, the tiny goat-legged faun who represented Earth, and a delicate sea horse swimming in its own bubble of seawater that stood for Water.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said, bowing slightly to the elementals. “You are welcome here.”

  All the small creatures bowed back from their places at the quarters: Air in the east, Water in the west, Fire in the south, and Earth in the north.

  Beka gestured at the bowls that contained the selections of damaged and mutated sea life. “Can you tell me what caused this?” she asked.

  Each elemental took a turn hovering above the collection of glass bowls, sending that same subliminal humming sensation through Beka’s bones. Finally, the salamander said in a fierce sizzling voice, almost too high-pitched to hear, “It comes from the sun, the great cauldron.”

  The faun said hesitantly, in tones that rang clear like bells in a forest clearing, “It comes from deep under the earth, Baba Yaga, from the great untapped veins below.”

  The Water and Air elementals just shook their heads.

  Beka forced herself to smile and thank the elementals for their aid, giving them the tiny gifts she had gathered for them—bits of shiny crystal for the faun, a perfect miniature shell for the sea horse, a small candle for the salamander, and for the Bird of Paradise, a vial of air from the moment when the first rays of light hit the ocean, one of its favorite meals.

  She had no idea what their words meant, but at least they’d tried.

  As the elementals examined their gifts, Beka placed some of her samples into the black marble mortar and pestle she had inherited from Brenna. It was a bit of an “in joke” for the Baba Yagas, of course, since the earlier Babas in Russia and the surrounding Slavic countries actually rode around in enchanted mortars that were steered by huge pestles, but it was also a handy tool for magical work.