Dangerously Divine

by Deborah Blake

  “Can the shelter put up more than its usual quota because of the emergency?” she asked Elisabeth. “I know they have a maximum occupancy limit, but surely the city would make an exception under these conditions.”

  Byron shook his head and looked grim. “I asked yesterday. They’ve already got more people than they’re supposed to have. There just isn’t any more room, even if the shelter weren’t risking being shut down by the Health Department.”

  Ciera bit her lip. “Where will they go?”

  Elisabeth sagged over her cutting board, suddenly looking ten years older. “Some of them will find abandoned buildings to hole up in. But without heat, those places are only a small improvement over the outside, and most of them have their own dangers. A few might get taken in by friends or good Samaritans. The churches try and help. But in a storm like this? We’re going to lose some. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

  The kitchen door swung open and Gregori walked in, his black hair speckled with white from the snowflakes caught in its thick strands. He tucked leather gloves into the pockets of his woolen coat as he entered, knocking yet more snow off onto the floor.

  “I don’t suppose there is any chance of a cup of tea,” he said. “I just spent the last hour shoveling the front walk, and the sidewalk up and down the street, and I swear it looks as though I was not out there at all.”

  Ciera hurried to fill a chipped white mug with steaming liquid from one of the carafes they always had going, more necessary now than ever. She handed it to him, noticing that the dark circles under his eyes looked even more pronounced than the last time she had seen him, although from what he had told her, he was spending most of his time at the monastery. Maybe that was less restful than it sounded.

  “Still coming down hard out there?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  He nodded, grasping the mug gratefully in frozen hands. “It is. Even back in Siberia, I rarely saw such snow. Is this normal for your city?”

  Byron snorted, his gangly frame bent over a loaf of bread as he cut it into neat, practically identical slices. “This isn’t normal for any city, man. But it’s Minnesota. These people do snow in their sleep. It’ll be okay.”

  Elisabeth and Ciera exchanged worried glances.

  Sun raised an eyebrow. “I take it you two disagree with young Byron’s assessment of the situation?”

  “It’s a pretty bad blizzard,” Ciera said. “And the weather report says there is no sign of it letting up any time soon. They can’t even begin to predict it, because according to the guy I saw on the morning news, it isn’t conforming to any of their usual models.”

  “What does that mean?” he asked.

  “Oh, well, you know,” Ciera said. “Normally, they can point to weather patterns and say a snowstorm is caused by an arctic air mass moving down from the north, or El Niño, or something. But apparently this one just popped up out of nowhere and keeps on building, even though all their usual indicators say it shouldn’t.”

  “Told you,” Byron said, sounding remarkably like Eeyore. “Those Weather Channel idiots are just making it up as they go along.”

  “Actually, meteorology is a reasonably exact science,” Elisabeth said. “The weather can be hard to predict because there are so many factors and they all change constantly, but scientists know quite a bit about why weather patterns work the way they do. From what I could tell, this storm has all the experts baffled.”

  Gregori peered over his cup, his face wreathed with steam that momentarily gave him a mysterious and ancient look. “Ah,” he said. “I was afraid of that.”

  “Afraid of what?” Ciera asked, feeling an inexplicable shiver move down her spine. She would have blamed it on the cold, but the kitchen itself was overly warm with all the ovens and stovetops going at the same time.

  “There is something wrong with this storm,” he said, as though that explained everything.

  Ciera opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but Elisabeth surprised her by agreeing with him.

  “Yes,” the older woman said, sounding calm. “I thought so too. My coven tried scrying to see if we could find the source, but we didn’t get anywhere. Our scrying mirror just showed us a lot of swirling white fuzz.”

  What? “I’m sorry, Elisabeth,” Ciera said, trying not to stare at her fellow volunteer. They had worked together for over a year, but Ciera’s practice of keeping her distance meant that they’d never had much in the way of personal conversations. “Did you just say you were in a coven?”

  Byron rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows Elisabeth is a Wiccan,” he said. “Next you’re going to tell me you didn’t know she was gay. Or, like, the dean of women’s studies at the university.”

  Ciera’s mouth dropped open, and Elisabeth laughed, smacking Byron on the arm.

  “It’s okay, sweetie. He made up that last part. And it’s not like I talk about the other two all the time. He’s just nosy, that’s all.”

  “I’m interested in people,” he protested. “Sociology student, remember?”

  “Nosy student, more like,” Elisabeth said, but her tone was more affectionate than critical.

  “Your coven feels there is something abnormal about the storm?” Gregori asked, reminding Ciera of where this surreal conversation had started.

  Elisabeth used the edge of her knife to shove the finely chopped onions into a huge pot and wiped her hands on her apron. “Yes,” she said. “And we’ve talked to some other groups in the city, and they think so too. But no one has been able to get any sense of where it is coming from.”

  Gregori looked thoughtful. “Are there any witches in the area powerful enough to create such a tempest?”

  She shook her gray head. “Something like this? No. Not even a couple of covens working together. We’re Wiccans, not wizards. We might be able to call up a tiny rain shower for an hour, if we had a whole group working ritual together. But something like this? Never. Besides, why would we? We all live here too. What would be the point?”

  “A very good question,” Gregori said, his lips set in a grim line. “A very good question indeed.”

  Ciera lifted her hands. “Am I the only one who doesn’t understand a word of this conversation?”

  Byron nodded. “Pretty much, man. They’re sayin’ there is something supernatural about this storm.” He didn’t seem at all fazed by the thought. Of course, Ciera was pretty sure he was stoned. Maybe that explained it. Although it didn’t explain Elisabeth and Gregori, both of whom she had considered to be stellar examples of reasonable sanity until just a moment ago.

  “Supernatural,” she said flatly, gazing from one to the other. “You mean paranormal in some way? Mystical? Magical? Are you serious? It’s snow.”

  “It’s a lot of snow, Ciera,” Elisabeth said. “Snow that came out of nowhere, against all predictions, and shows no signs of stopping.”

  Ciera snorted. “That doesn’t make it supernatural,” she said. “That just makes it winter.”

  Elisabeth put both hands on her broad hips. “How about the fact that the blizzard is contained in an area exactly ten miles across in every direction, in a perfect circle?”

  “Is it?” Gregori said. “Curious.”

  Ciera had to admit that was a little weird, but she was sure it was some kind of explainable natural phenomenon, not voodoo.

  “You’re studying to be a monk,” she said to Gregori, “but you believe in magical storms?”

  His mouth quirked up on one side. “The two are not mutually exclusive.” His eyes sparkled at her, despite the serious nature of the discussion. “Much of spiritual study is based on having an open mind.”

  She had an open mind, dammit. Just maybe not quite this open. Ciera took a deep breath. “Okay, so say you two are right, and there is something, uh, supernatural about this storm. What are you going to do about it? Cast some kind of co
unterspell?”

  “I am afraid that such things are not in my skill set,” Gregori said, sounding genuinely regretful.

  “So you’re not going to do anything?” Ciera said, not quite believing she was having this conversation. “Either of you?”

  Gregori held out one hand. “On the contrary. I am going to do something we may all end up regretting.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, almost afraid to know.

  “I am going to ask to borrow your phone.”

  • • •

  GREGORI retreated to a warm space by the bread ovens, trying to thaw out while simultaneously dialing Ciera’s cell phone and watching the librarian out of the corner of his eye. She clearly thought he and Elisabeth were deluded, with all their talk about magical storms. Which did not bode well for telling her the truth about his own origins, should he ever decide to do so. Of course, if he succeeded on his current mission, she might find herself with no choice about what to believe.

  “Hello,” said a deep voice on the other end. “McClellan residence. Sheriff McClellan speaking. Can I help you?”

  “Hello, Liam. It is Gregori. Is Barbara home?” When he had seen her, Barbara said she had Baba Yaga business to attend to, but he was hoping against hope that she had somehow wrapped it up quickly and returned to the residence she and her husband, Liam, shared with their adopted daughter, Babs, in upstate New York.

  “Gregori?” Liam sounded surprised to hear his voice, although Gregori thought he detected pleasure underneath the amazement. “Great to hear from you. But I’m sorry, Barbara is still out on the road in the Airstream. Last I heard, she was somewhere in Florida. Bit of trouble with a werepanther or something. I’m not expecting her back for another few days.”

  “Ah,” Gregori said. “I was afraid of that.”

  Liam’s voice grew more serious and Gregori could almost hear him put on his “official business” hat.

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?” Liam asked. As a rural sheriff, he was used to dealing with all sorts of problems, although some of them had gotten distinctly weirder since he had met and fallen in love with the tough Baba Yaga with the cloud of raven hair. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “I do not believe so,” Gregori said with regret. He genuinely liked the Human sheriff—not to mention that he had a tremendous respect for anyone who could hold his own with the notoriously cranky and antisocial Barbara, plus her dragon disguised as a giant pit bull, Chudo-Yudo. But this was not a situation in which a gun and badge would be of any assistance, alas.

  “I appreciate you offering, but it appears the trouble is of a magical sort,” Gregori said.

  “Well, I’d send you Babs,” Liam said, only half joking, “but I suspect she’d be more likely to make things worse instead of better. She’s still at the early stage in her lessons, although Barbara says she is showing impressive progress for a seven-year-old.”

  Liam thought for a moment. “Have you tried contacting Bella? I don’t think she is out on a job, and the middle section of the country is technically her territory anyway.”

  Sun hesitated, only briefly, but the acute sheriff picked up on it anyway.

  “Gregori,” he said with an unusual hint of exasperation. “Please don’t tell me you still haven’t talked to Bella or Beka since you’ve returned from the Otherworld.”

  “I have not,” Gregori said stiffly. “The opportunity has not arisen.”

  The other man’s sigh wafted through the phone. “Gregori, I realize that you are much closer to my wife than you are to me, but she’s not here to say this, so I am going to have to do it for her. You know I admire all the Riders tremendously, but don’t you think it is time for you and Alexei to get your heads out of your butts?”

  Gregori was tempted to bang the head in question against the nearest wall. He really did not want to have this conversation. And to think, he had been worried about calling Barbara. He had no idea she was rubbing off on her husband so strongly.

  “We are no longer the Riders,” he said. “And we are all attempting to adjust to that in our own particular ways.”

  “Your own particular ways suck,” Liam said bluntly. “At least they do when it means avoiding the people who care about you the most. You have no idea how upset all the Baba Yagas were that you and your brothers shut them out so completely after the incident with Brenna. Bella still thinks you all blame her for not finding you sooner.”

  Gregori stared at the phone, taken aback. Such a thing had never occurred to him. “That is absurd,” he said. “No one blames her.”

  “And how would she know that, if none of you have talked to her?” Liam pointed out. “The only reason Barbara is finally feeling at least a little bit better about the whole thing is that she and Mikhail have reconnected and he is now living in the area. Why do you think Barbara dropped everything to go to you when you contacted Mikhail and asked him for help? She was hoping to reestablish a relationship with you as well.”

  That had not occurred to Gregori either. “I have been selfish,” he said slowly. “I had not realized.”

  Liam let out a breath, and Gregori suddenly got the flash of a vision of the other man slumping against the hallway wall in relief, concern etched in deep lines on his compassionate face. It could not have been an easy discussion to be on his end of either.

  “Please give Barbara my apologies for not realizing sooner how my silence might have affected her,” Gregori said, blinking his eyes until the vision disappeared. “As soon as she returns from her travels.”

  “Why don’t you come visit and tell her yourself?” Liam suggested. “Little Babs would love to see you. She has been missing her honorary uncles too.”

  “I shall endeavor to do so,” Sun said. “But it may be some time before I can leave town. I am studying to become a Buddhist monk at a local monastery. Plus, of course, there is this current crisis.”

  “A monk,” Liam said. “Barbara said something about that, but I thought she was pulling my leg. I should have known better; she’s still working on the ‘sense of humor’ thing. Well. At least give her a call sometime. In the meanwhile, are you going to contact Bella to see if she can help you?”

  Gregori looked around for a pen and a piece of paper, finally discovering a shopping list lying on the counter. “Our magical connection no longer works since I ceased being a Rider,” he said. “The phone number I have for her is from before her marriage to Sam. Do you know if she is still using the same one?”

  “Hang on,” Liam said. “I think they switched to some kind of family plan, now that Jazz is with them. Teenagers apparently use a lot of minutes.” Jazz was a girl Bella had found living in the woods of Wyoming while she was there on a mission. Since the foster-home system had failed the teen, and she turned out to have magical potential, Bella had taken her in to train. Apparently, it was working out. So now there were two young Baba Yagas in training: Jazz and little Babs.

  “You will find that out one way or the other soon enough,” Gregori said, teasing a little.

  “Don’t even joke about that,” Liam growled. “Babs is growing up fast enough. Do you want Bella’s number or not?”

  Gregori laughed and duly wrote it down. The two men said their good-byes and Gregori stared at the phone for a minute, not sure how to take the next step. Across the room, Ciera glanced over and gave him a small smile, just a brief flash of acknowledgment, but it was enough to lend him the courage to tap the next set of numbers in.

  This time the voice that answered was a warm alto that sent him a vision of a flame-haired woman wearing a man’s checked flannel shirt and blue jeans, a smudge of yellow paint smeared across one cheekbone. When not off on her Baba Yaga duties, Bella was a gifted artist. She might use “traveling artist” as a cover when she was out on the road in her modern caravan, as Barbara used “traveling herbalist” for hers, but that didn’t ma
ke either of their talents any less real.

  “Hello?” Bella said.

  “Hello, Bella,” Gregori responded. “I apologize for interrupting your work.”

  “Gregori?” Bella said. “Is that you? And how did you know . . . Oh, right, Barbara said you had developed some form of precognition or intuition since the . . . well . . . since Brenna.”

  “Since the dose of the Water of Life and Death, anyway,” he agreed. “No one knows for sure what has caused Mikhail and me to develop new abilities.” He hated that she felt responsible, now that he knew it was so. “None of it was your fault, Bella. Nobody ever thought it was.”

  There was silence for a minute on the other end. “Then why have you been avoiding me?” she asked, so softly he might not have heard her if not for his unusually acute hearing.

  “Because I have been a self-indulgent fool,” Gregori said. “Something I regret most profoundly. But perhaps I can make it up to you by dragging you across several states and into a strange and probably dangerous situation that requires your magical expertise.”

  “Really?” Bella said. He could almost see her bouncing on her toes, overjoyed by a suggestion that most sane people would have found off-putting in the extreme. Of course, no one ever said the Baba Yagas were sane. There were many job requirements, but clearly that wasn’t one of them.

  “Can I bring Koshka?” she asked. “He’s been so bored lately, he’s threatened to start scratching the furniture.”

  Koshka was Bella’s Chudo-Yudo. Each of the Babas had a dragon companion, although they all took different forms to blend in (at least as much as they could) on this side of the doorway. Barbara’s was a massive white pit bull that tended to offer to eat people; Beka’s was a huge black Newfoundland who was as mellow as Barbara’s Chudo-Yudo was grumpy; and Bella’s Koshka used the guise of a gigantic Norwegian Forest Cat. He mostly acted like a cat, which wasn’t all that far removed from a dragon anyway.