by Sarah Noffke
Sophia gasped. “Baba Yaga.”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
“The grimoire belongs to Baba Yaga,” Papa Creola answered. “However, she’s gone mad, and in her hands, the spells would be very dangerous.”
“So, I’m supposed to get the book before she does?” Sophia asked, trying to remember what she knew about the ancient witch from folklore.
He shook his head. “No, you’re supposed to do more than that. Once she gets a hint of where the book is, she won’t stop until she gets it. That’s why I’m sending you.”
Sophia gulped. “So, what? You want me to kill her?”
Papa Creola gave her a look that said, “What do you think?”
“Okay, so I’m supposed to go to a mysterious location and just stab this evil witch and steal her spell book. Easy-peasy.”
He rolled his eyes at her, which under his long stringy hair, made him look a bit like a rebellious teenage girl. “Firstly, you are to find the book before her. If you don’t, then she can use its powers to get away, and in her hands, the grimoire will have devastating effects worldwide. I’m sure you can guess how I’ll feel about that sort of failure?”
“Peeved,” she supplied, hiding her smile.
“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” Subner chanted.
Sophia turned to face the hippie. “I believe the line from Oscar Wilde continues. Care to elaborate?”
“I don’t recall the rest of the quote,” Subner said stubbornly.
Sophia pursed her lips at him. “How convenient. I believe it goes, ‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, but the highest form of intelligence.”
“The last part is debatable,” Subner argued.
“Don’t you have a knife to sharpen or a Volkswagen bus you need to fix up?” Sophia asked.
Taking her seriously, he thought for a moment and then shook his head. “No, I don’t believe so.”
“I heard a rumor they sold bread with preservatives at the farmer’s market on Roya Lane,” Sophia offered. “If you got yours there, you might need to check it.”
That did the trick and Subner jumped to his feet. “I put it next to the vegan peanuts. The whole pantry will be infected.”
“Hurry,” Sophia urged. “Before it’s too late.”
The hippie hurried for the door to the back and disappeared.
Satisfied, Sophia turned back to face Papa Creola, who didn’t appear the least bit impressed.
“He can’t help being a hippie,” Father Time reprimanded her.
“No one ever can, but maybe after this mission and I save the dragons and restore world peace once more, we can try and eradicate hippie-ism. I’d risk my life for that cure.”
“As I was saying,” he continued. “You’ll need to get to the book before her. There’s one expert that I’ve stationed at the location to guide you.”
“And this location?” Sophia dared to ask.
“Is known by the brownies,” Papa Creola answered. “Remember, favors. If you don’t allow Mortimer to tell you, then you deprive him of the ability to return a favor.”
“Right.” Sophia nodded. “And that keeps the world in balance.”
“You should respect that more than most,” he said.
“I also respect efficiency, and if you know the information and could save me a trip…”
“Sometimes it’s not about cost-saving measures but the process,” he offered in a sage tone.
“Coming from the father of time, that’s sort of ironic. I thought you’d be all about time-saving measures, but whatever.”
“Time isn’t something we want to pass,” he advised. “The biggest mistake is in the idea of killing time or letting it slip by. Instead, it’s meant to be valued. Every second that ticks by is part of a precious hour that couldn’t exist without the accumulation of all that made it up.”
“I can’t help but think we’re bordering on a larger philosophical conversation that will invariably derail us from the mission you’re trying to advise me on.” Sophia thought of how they were wasting time when she had so many other things vying for her attention. She reasoned she was at least getting closer to finding the information for the protective spell for the dragonettes, and that was something at least.
“Secondly,” he continued as if they had just been discussing the mission and not getting derailed. “You’ll need to get this spell book before Baba Yaga, but the key to doing that is in not doing it alone.”
Sophia narrowed her eyes at the elf, wishing he didn’t have to speak in riddles. “Please do elaborate.”
“The only chance we have of stealing the grimoire from Baba Yaga is to confuse her. You see, she only trusts two others, and a selective glamour will make her think you’re that person, but for it to work, you’ll need someone else.”
Before Papa Creola could finish his explanation, the door to the Fantastical Armory opened, but Sophia already knew what he was going to say. More importantly, she knew who was entering the shop before they did.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Liv Beaufont looked surprised to see her sister standing next to Papa Creola in the weapons shop.
“Hey there, Soph,” she said, smiling at her through the surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“The better question is, why are you late, Liv?” Papa Creola asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Well, I thought you’d expect it since you’re in charge of such things,” Liv answered matter-of-factly. “And if you must know, I got my shoe stuck in an ogre’s as—”
“I think we get the point,” Papa Creola interrupted.
“Really?” Liv acted suddenly confused. “Because I had no idea that asbestos insulations in attics were still a thing.”
Papa Creola scratched his head and gave Sophia an annoyed look. “She was going to say asbestos. Please tell me I’m not the only one who didn’t see that one coming?”
Sophia laughed, nodding.
“Yeah, well,” Liv continued. “Imagine my surprise when I’m trying to sneak up on this man-eating monster, and my foot went through his roof. I was ready to fight him when he found me, with one leg pinned, but then he got concerned because he informed me the insulation was still the old school asbestos, and he’d meant to get it replaced. So, he helped me out. Real sweet guy.”
“Did you slaughter him like I asked?” Papa Creola was tapping his foot with impatience.
“Yes, after the big old lug got me out of the predicament, all the while being careful enough to ensure I didn’t breathe in the harmful stuff, I totally slaughtered him,” Liv said, batting her eyes at him.
“You didn’t.” He said it with disappointment.
“Of course I didn’t,” she stated. “I got him to agree to stop pillaging and destroying monuments dedicated to clocks and time. He was surprisingly cool about it and said the whole thing was a misunderstanding. When you told him time would be the death of him, he was trying to get on top of the problem. I explained that you are pretty bad at threats, and we shared a glass of brandy and laughed at your expense.”
Papa Creola didn’t say a word, just continued to tap his foot, impatience heavy on his face.
“Hey,” Liv argued. “It’s customary for ogres to drink after making a deal. That seals the agreement. You didn’t want me to rush off before that, did you?”
Sophia couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her mouth. She slapped her hand to her face as Papa Creola turned his judging eyes on her.
“Well, since you’re both here, we can get to business,” the elf said, turning his attention to a glass cabinet at his back.
“Business?” Liv asked, looking between the old man and Sophia. “What business?”
“We’re going after Baba Yaga,” Sophia explained.
“So, you’ve figured it out then?” Papa Creola asked, giving her an impressed expression over his shoulder.
“Well, I think so,” she began slowly, trying to work out the details before she continued. “Baba Yaga is
a supernatural creature who often appears as a trio of sisters. You need someone she won’t suspect, and if we, as sisters, glamour ourselves to look like her, then she won’t feel the threat. We can sneak in under her nose and steal the grimoire from wherever it’s hiding.”
Papa Creola looked at Liv while pointing at Sophia. “Your sister gets things a lot faster than you do.”
Her sister smiled proudly. “She’s loads smarter than me.”
“And punctual,” Father Time added. “I suspect that Baba Yaga will be at the location for the grimoire because she’d recently gotten word about where it is.”
“You suspect?” Liv asked, folding her arms.
“Well, I know, but let’s pretend like this is all conjecture,” Papa Creola said. “I know a lot about this situation, but it’s better if I don’t share the details. Less is more for you.”
“I love when you use the less is more philosophy,” Liv joked.
“No, you don’t,” he countered.
“So, we’re going after Baba Yaga?” Liv wanted to know. “Is this some sort of misunderstanding too? Like, you threatened her by saying she’s cursed by time, but she’s just a sweet old grandma who wants to grow old gracefully?”
Papa Creola shook her head. “She’s seven-thousand years old and has gotten more wicked as time has passed. Something woke her from her slumber, and she’s found out where her grimoire is located. If she gets to it first, she will find out how to turn back time, making herself younger and restoring her former powers.”
Liv nodded. “So, we should go after the old witch then.”
“Yeah,” Sophia added. “And I need her grimoire to protect the dragonettes.”
“I love one-stop shopping,” Liv said with a laugh.
“Sophia will fill you in on the rest since you were late for the first part of this meeting,” Papa Creola told her.
“Foot stuck in an asbestos roof,” Liv chimed.
He didn’t seem to hear her as he reached into a cabinet of weapons and withdrew a knobby stick that was burned at one end. It had a few scorched bristles remaining, attached by a coil. “This is Baba Yaga’s broom and the only way I’m aware of finishing her for good. It was how she was stopped the last time, but obviously not for good.”
“She was stopped with a blunt stick,” Liv commented. “And here I was going to try stabbing her with a giant-made sword. What was I thinking?”
He lowered his chin and regarded her from under hooded eyes. “You obviously weren’t.”
Sophia took the scorched stick when Papa Creola offered it to her. “How do we use it to kill her?”
“That’s for you to figure out,” he answered. “The broomstick can only be used after you acquire all of the pages from the grimoire.”
Liv laughed and looked sideways at her sister. “You’ve played this game before, right? We ask the questions and he supplies useless answers. It’s really fun.”
“Like Yahtzee,” Sophia agreed.
“What I will offer you is that you must kill her, otherwise getting away with the grimoire or even getting close to it will be impossible,” Papa Creola told them. “She’s angrier than ever, and will be powerful after waking.”
Sophia gripped the strange broomstick. She instantly felt something weird about it. There was a lot of energy radiating around the object, and none of it felt natural or good.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
“If Mortimer knows the location, then it must be a mortal place,” Liv reasoned after Sophia filled her in on the rest of what Papa Creola had told her.
The pair strode down Roya Lane, receiving more than a few cautious glances from those on the street. Many gave the sisters a wide berth at the sight of them.
“At least Papa Creola gave us the means to kill Baba Yaga,” Sophia stated, eyeing the strange broomstick which didn’t look flight worthy.
“That makes me even more worried,” Liv said. “How to use it to end her must be incredibly difficult, or he would have inconspicuously hidden it somewhere and made recovering the weapon part of the challenge.”
Sophia laughed. “You don’t think he intentionally tries to make things difficult, do you?”
Liv gave her a pointed look. “What do you think?”
“I think you know your boss better than me,” she answered as they arrived at the brownie official headquarters.
“He’s like a parent,” Liv related. “He does it for our own good.” She pursed her lips and scrunched up her face. “‘I can’t do everything for you, Liv. It’s better if you figure things out on your own.’” She did her impression of the elf, which was pretty spot on.
Sophia laughed as the door to the office materialized. “After you,” she encouraged, waving her hand at the small door that led to the brownie’s headquarters.
“Okay.” Liv crouched down. “But don’t look at my butt.”
Before Sophia was all the way inside the reception area, small arms assaulted her, albeit lovingly, around the neck.
“Sy mavior!” Ticker exclaimed, kissing her multiple times on the cheek.
Sophia rose to a standing position and hugged the brownie, smiling. “Hey, Ticker. I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Yecause bou!” he hollered, continuing to peck her repeatedly.
“Save a brownie, and you will never be starved for affection again,” Liv said, winking at her sister.
“Thank you for rescuing our Ticker.” Pricilla smiled up at Sophia, extending her arms to her.
“Of course,” Sophia replied, peeling the little guy off her and handing him to his mother.
“Now, the Beaufont sisters are here for important business, Ticker,” Pricilla said, holding her son, who was practically as big as her. “You let them go see your father. They have people to save and a world to help.”
Liv waved at the brownie. “Thanks. As well as an old witch’s evil reign to end.”
Pricilla grinned. “Better you than me. I can’t even watch a PG-rated movie without having nightmares.”
Liv elbowed Sophia in the ribs. “Sounds like Clark, doesn’t it?”
Once in the back office, the sisters found Mortimer attentively waiting for them, his hands folded on the desk. He smiled widely at Sophia, his eyes sparkling.
“Not only,” he began with a squeak, “do I have the privilege to thank you, Dragonrider Beaufont, for saving my son, but I understand that you also rescued many of my other brownies.”
Sophia blushed.
Liv gave her a proud expression. “Been busy, have you, sister?”
“Oh, didn’t Plato tell you?” she asked Liv.
Liv scoffed. “Like that lynx tells me anything. He told me he picked up a side gig, and that’s why he’s always late for dinner.”
Sophia laughed. “He’s managing the Great Library.”
“Which he asked my help with,” Mortimer explained. “I’m afraid that we brought our greatest enemy to his door.”
“Dust bunnies?” Liv asked.
“Hobgoblin,” Sophia corrected.
“Wow, you have been busy, Soph.”
“To thank you,” Mortimer continued, “I’m happy to have all your laundry done for the entirety of your hopefully long life, as well as ensure that all hard to reach places in your dwelling are dusted for always.”
Liv gave Sophia an impressed expression. “Brownies don’t usually do that for magicians. That’s a good deal.”
Sophia shook her head. “Although I appreciate it, the Castle at the Gullington already takes care of that for us… and I guess the housekeeper, although I think her job is more as a psychologist and emotional support, but I’m getting off-topic. Instead of that generous offer, could we simply get information on where Baba Yaga’s grimoire is located?”
“Baby Yaga…” Mortimer began sorting through a stack of papers on his desk. “I saw something come across here recently about that. Apparently, it’s in an untraditional location and so it was reported to me. I, of course, told my brownies to leave it b
e since it’s full of really dark magic.”
Sophia gulped, realizing she was the lucky, or rather unlucky, person who got to be the spell book’s keeper once they found it.
“Oh, yes,” he squeaked loudly. “Here it is! It should make for an interesting place for you two to visit.”
Mortimer handed over the piece of paper. Liv leaned in and read the location of the grimoire over her shoulder.
“Oh, you have to be kidding me,” Liv said dryly.
Sophia couldn’t help but agree. Of all the places a couple of magicians didn’t want to find themselves if they didn’t have to, this was it.
Chapter Seventy
“Have you ever been to an airport?” Liv asked as they stood in front of Tom Bradley International Terminal at LAX in Los Angeles. The place was a sea of cars and anxious passengers, all getting ready for the departures.
Sophia shook her head. “Why would I ever need to?”
“Yeah, same here,” Liv related. “We’re magicians, so commercial air travel isn’t really our thing.”
Watching the chaos of cars honking and people struggling with their luggage as they studied various signs for airlines made Sophia instantly grateful she’d almost always had portal magic. She couldn’t fathom having to go to a crazy place like this airport every time she wanted to set off to a new location.
Sure, there were restrictions to portal magic, like barriers that prevented it inside of certain locations. The locations that were heavily protected had larger perimeters, but for the most part, Sophia could usually get close enough and then hike into wherever she was going.
“Who is Tom Bradley?” Liv questioned, reading the name of the terminal.
“I’m not sure.”
“I think he’s a football player,” Liv said, answering her own question.
Sophia shook her head. “That’s Tom Brady.”
Liv gave her a look of surprise. “How do you know that?”