Wickedly Powerful

by Deborah Blake

  “A beer would be great,” Sam said hoarsely. He sat down in a third folding chair that he hadn’t remembered seeing when he’d first looked into the clearing, the owlet in its box almost forgotten on his lap.

  The girl she called Jazz bounded up the three steps into the caravan and bounced back down again with a platter full of meat in one hand and a beer in another. She gave the steak to Bella and then brought the beer over to hand it to Sam, peering into his face with unself-conscious interest.

  “Cool scars, dude,” she said. “Here you go.” She turned back to Bella without missing a beat. “Can I have a beer too, Auntie Bella?”

  “Hell no,” Bella said. “And don’t be rude to our guest.”

  Sam found, much to his surprise, that he didn’t mind the girl’s comment. Maybe it was because she didn’t appear fazed by the scars, any more than Bella had been. Or maybe he just preferred straightforward comments to morbid fascination or cringing pity, which were the responses he usually got.

  “That’s okay,” he said. “I mean, as long as she thinks they’re cool.” He felt an unaccustomed smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It had been so long, he almost didn’t recognize the sensation.

  “Way cool,” Jazz affirmed. “Like tattoos, only without the ink. You know, like the way some of the natives in Africa use scars to show which ethnic group they belong to or for spiritual reasons.” She shrugged when Sam stared at her. “What? I read a lot, okay? I know stuff.”

  “Sure you do, kid,” Bella muttered. “Everything but when to shut up.” She turned to Sam. “Sorry again. She’s not used to polite company.”

  “That makes two of us,” Sam admitted. “It’s fine. I kind of like the idea of my scars marking me as a member of some special group. Although God knows what group would have me.”

  Bella yelped, probably because her gigantic cat had accidentally put his claws into her leg. “Ow!” she said. “Koshka would like to make sure that I tell you that you are welcome to be a part of our little group anytime. If, of course, you want to be.”

  “Uh-huh,” Sam said. “The cat told you that.”

  The feline in question opened his mouth in a wide yawn that showed lots of sharp teeth and said, “Mrrrow,” in a definitive tone.

  “There, see?” Bella said.

  Sam looked at Jazz. “Do they always sound like they are having an actual conversation?” he asked jokingly.

  “Sure,” the teen said. “That’s because Koshka is really a magical dragon turned into a cat.”

  The cat made a rude noise and meowed again.

  “Oh right, sorry. A magical dragon disguised as a cat.” Jazz grinned at him.

  Clearly they were all as crazy as loons, but somehow that made him more comfortable in their company, rather than less. Which probably meant he was crazy too. No surprise there.

  Bella took four steaks off the fire and put them on plates along with salad and roasted potatoes. The steaks smelled heavenly as only charred meat under an open sky could, and Sam could feel his mouth start to water. It had been so long since he’d had anything approaching an appetite, he was startled when his stomach rumbled loudly.

  “You’d better give Sam his first,” Bella said with a laugh, and she handed a plate and some silverware to Jazz. She then put a plate down in front of the cat, who waited politely for everyone else to be served.

  “Hey!” the girl said, spotting the box on his lap when she gave him his dinner. “Is that a little owl?”

  Sam put the box on the ground next to his chair so he’d have room on his lap for the plate. “Yep. I’ve been taking care of it for a few days since some of the firefighters rescued him in the woods. The cat has been fetching me mice to feed it. Didn’t your aunt tell you about it?”

  Jazz’s eyes shifted off to look at something in the distance. “Um, sure. I just forgot.”

  Right. “Funny about that, because she forgot to mention to me that she had a niece staying with her.”

  “Oh, didn’t I mention her?” Bella asked, not even trying to act like she wasn’t bullshitting him. “I guess it just didn’t come up.”

  Sam took a bite of his steak, savoring the rich juiciness and smoky flavor. For a couple of minutes they just enjoyed the food, the cat eating almost as neatly as the others, although without the benefit of any cutlery besides teeth and claws.

  “So,” Sam said finally. “How on earth did you two get caught in that fire this morning? I’ve spent all day trying to figure out how poor Jazz got stuck up in that tree with the flames underneath her.”

  Bella and Jazz exchanged looks and then recited a tale exactly like the one the fire chief had passed on to him. It didn’t sound any likelier on the second rendition.

  “You fell asleep in the tree waiting for your aunt to come find you?” Sam said when they were done. “And the fire didn’t wake you up until it was too big to escape?”

  Jazz shuddered, her fear seeming a lot more real than her story. “That fire must have come on really fast,” she said. “I woke up and it was just there. Although I admit, I am a really heavy sleeper. One family I lived with used to roll me out of the bed to wake me up.”

  “Family you lived with?” Sam asked, raising one eyebrow.

  “She means our relatives,” Bella said. “We all visit one another a lot. You know, for the summers and such. I have sisters. Sort of sisters.”

  Sam sighed. These two were the worst liars he’d ever met. Hopefully that just meant that they hadn’t had much practice. And not that they were both dangerous lunatics.

  “Uh-huh,” he said.

  Jazz jumped up from her seat and gave him a wide-eyed look. “Gee,” she said. “Can I look at the owl? He’s so cute.”

  Nice subtle way to change the conversation, kid. “Sure,” Sam said. “It’s time for another feeding anyway.” He turned to Bella. “Do you think you could get—” He blinked, realizing the cat was already gone. “Oh. Damn, that is one smart cat.”

  “You have no idea,” Bella said dryly.

  “I think we should give it a name,” Jazz said, still doing her “look how innocent and adorable I am” act.

  “The cat? I thought his name was Koshka,” Sam said, confused.

  “No, the owl, silly.” Jazz rolled her eyes. “Jeez.”

  “Oh.” Sam hadn’t even thought about naming it. After all, it was more likely to die than not, and if it lived, it would just go back to live in the forest where it belonged. “It’s not a pet, Jazz. It’s a wild animal.”

  “Well duh,” the girl said. “So are you saying wild animals aren’t entitled to names too? What are you, speciest?”

  “Speciest?” Bella bit her lip, clearly trying not to laugh at Sam’s predicament.

  “You know, like people are prejudiced against black people and they call them racist, and people who don’t like old people are called ageist. Sam’s clearly got something against wild species, so he’s speciest.” The girl crossed her arms and looked stubborn as only a teenager can.

  “I am not speciest,” Sam said with mock indignation. “Which isn’t a word, by the way. Heck, I’m trying to save the thing, aren’t I? I don’t see you getting up every few hours to feed it dead mice.”

  “Dead mice?” Jazz said. “Ugh. Gross.”

  “Aha!” Sam pointed at her. “You’re miceist!”

  Bella laughed, her head thrown back to expose the smooth line of her throat, and Sam suddenly lost his train of thought. While they’d been eating, the sun had set, and the sight of Bella standing in the moonlight laughing took his breath away. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so beautiful in his life.

  And that was more terrifying than any fire.

  FOURTEEN

  KOSHKA CAME BACK in a few minutes with an improbably large pile of tiny mouse carcasses, along with a few other small critters. Jazz made a face and volu
nteered to wash the dishes inside the caravan, which might have been more impressive if she had actually taken them with her as she bolted for the door.

  After the little owlet was fed, Sam fought the desire to get up and run for the safety of the tower and his solitary life. His reaction to Bella both alarmed and confused him. He’d been resigned to a lifetime alone and thought himself incapable of ever feeling for another woman the way he had for Heather. He didn’t understand what was happening to him, but he didn’t see it ending anywhere good.

  For one thing, although Bella was welcoming enough, there was no indication that she felt anything other than friendship for him. How could she, with his scars and his sputtering social skills? Besides, they’d just met—didn’t even really know each other—and she was only passing through on her way to somewhere else. Plus there were the lies, of course.

  And yet, the way the dim light above the caravan door lit up her face and her fiery hair made him want to stay, despite himself.

  Jazz came back out after a while and sat around the small stone fire pit with them, the bucket of water on one side (“just in case”) and the owlet on her lap.

  “Can we call him Charming?” she asked Sam.

  Sam wasn’t sure how anyone could tell what kind of personality a young owl had, but he supposed it didn’t matter. “I guess so,” he said. “But I’m not sure the name suits him. Screechy is more like it.”

  “Not that kind of charming,” Jazz said, rolling her eyes. “You know, like Prince Charming. Because you never know, maybe he’s an enchanted prince under an evil spell.”

  “Life isn’t a fairy tale, you know,” Sam said.

  “Wanna bet?” The teen smirked at him then handed back the box with the owl in it. “I’m getting eaten alive by bugs. I’m going inside. Night, Sam. Night, Auntie dearest.” She blew what looked like a sarcastic kiss, if there was such a thing, in Bella’s direction and headed into the caravan.

  Sam stood up too, figuring that this was as good a time as any to make his escape. It had been nice to pretend to be like everyone else for a few hours, but he could feel himself turning back into a pumpkin.

  “Um, I should go too. Early morning and all that. Thanks for dinner. It was great.”

  “You’re welcome to join us again sometime,” Bella said, standing up and coming over to stand next to him. “I think Koshka likes you.” She rubbed the spot on her leg where the cat had punctured her earlier.

  “Right. Well, I don’t know.” Sam looked at the ground, scuffing one boot in the dirt. “I’m usually not very good company.”

  “I’m hanging out with a teenager and a temperamental cat,” Bella said with a small smile. “The bar is set very low around here. But it’s up to you.”

  Sam didn’t even feel like he’d been entitled to the delicious meal he’d already eaten, much less an invitation to any future dinners. “Look,” he said abruptly, the words forcing themselves up and out of his throat. “I wanted to say I was sorry.”

  Bella blinked up at him, and he suddenly realized that she was about six inches shorter than he was. She had such a large presence, he’d never realized she was actually fairly petite.

  “What? Sorry for what?” she asked.

  “Not coming to your rescue earlier,” Sam said, still looking at the ground, his voice even raspier than usual. “I could see you from the fire tower, and I could tell you and Jazz were in serious trouble, but all I did was talk on the radio and look out the window. I feel terrible about it.”

  Bella sounded baffled. “But that’s your job, isn’t it? You spotted us and sent help. That’s what you’re supposed to do. I didn’t think you were even allowed to leave the tower and go fight the fire yourself; wouldn’t that have been deserting your post or something?”

  Sam hugged the box with the owlet close to his chest. His stomach hurt and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. The steak he’d enjoyed had turned into molten lava in his gut. “Yeah. I guess. I just feel like I should have done more and I’m sorry. I should go now. Thanks again for dinner.”

  Ignoring the hurt and puzzled look on Bella’s face, Sam turned and bolted for the four-wheeler parked on the path back to the fire tower, suddenly feeling like the forest was closing in around him. This had been a mistake. He’d thought he could pretend everything was okay, but it wasn’t. He wasn’t. And he never would be. Bella deserved better.

  * * *

  BELLA WATCHED HIM go, feeling torn and confused. On the one hand, it was a relief not to have to keep telling Sam lies he obviously didn’t believe. On the other hand, the clearing somehow felt colder and emptier without him. She moved back to sit by the fire pit, snapping her fingers to make the flames grow a little higher. It was just the chilly night air, nothing more.

  She rubbed one hand over her heart, not understanding the ache she felt there. Empathy for Sam’s pain, she decided. After all, they hardly knew each other. She was no Jazz, to believe in fairy tales. Witches, yes. Love at first sight and happily ever after? No. At least not for a Baba Yaga.

  Poor Sam. She recognized survivor’s guilt when she saw it, although that wasn’t something that Baba Yagas dealt with much either. When you outlived most of the people you knew, it was too much of a luxury to indulge in. Better to avoid connections with Humans in the first place—especially if you have the unpleasant habit of setting them on fire by accident—and stick to the paranormal folks who were made of tougher stuff.

  So survivor’s guilt was more of an abstract concept to Bella, and in Sam’s case, she really didn’t understand it. He wasn’t responsible for his friends’ deaths. He wouldn’t have been responsible if something had happened to her and Jazz today. She wished she could have found the words that would make him feel better. He’d looked so sad.

  Bella sighed. She didn’t understand the guilt, but she was definitely starting to identify with the feelings of inadequacy. So far she was failing miserably at both the mission she’d taken on for the locals to discover and deal with the source of the fires and the task the Queen had given her, finding the Riders. She didn’t know how to help Sam, and she had no idea what she was supposed to do with a teenage runaway. At this rate, she was going to go down in history as the world’s most useless Baba Yaga.

  She put her head down on her knees, struggling to find her usual optimism. Instead, she just saw a vision of Sam’s scarred face and defeated eyes. Augh.

  “Um, Bella?” The door to the caravan opened, and she looked up to see Jazz standing there uncertainly, her backpack slung over one thin shoulder.

  “Hey, kid,” Bella said, sitting upright. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Jazz looked around, clearly checking to see if Sam was still there. “I thought I’d take off, now that we don’t have to play niece and aunt anymore.”

  Bella shook off her rare bout of melancholy; she didn’t have time to be self-indulgent. There were jobs to be done and teenagers to wrangle. Tomorrow was another day.

  “I’m kind of enjoying having a niece,” she said more cheerfully. “I’ve never had one before. I’d sort of like to see what it feels like in the morning. So why don’t you turn your butt back around and I’ll make up the pullout bed for you. There’s one built right into the wall of the caravan; it’s very cool. And I’m almost completely sure that it is more comfortable than the crook of a tree.”

  Jazz glanced out at the trees and then back at Bella, her expression hard to read in the dim light. “Yeah?” she said.

  “Yeah,” Bella answered, putting out the fire with another snap of the fingers and getting up to follow her in.

  The girl stared at her for a minute without speaking and then said, “Cool,” and walked inside.

  “It kind of is,” Bella muttered.

  * * *

  A CRASH OF thunder jolted Sam out of a deep sleep filled with unsettling dreams; he was sitting up in his boxer shorts
, legs slung over the side of the bed, before he was even aware he was awake. The chill of the floorboards radiated up through his bare feet as he ran through scenarios fraught with lightning and fires, his head half in dreamland and half aware of his surroundings.

  He’d been dreaming about Bella again, some strange mix of fantasy and reality where they both ran next to giant cats in a land filled with brown and green mushrooms that towered over their heads with snapping embers of fire chasing at their heels. So for a moment he thought it was her he saw standing in the middle of the fire tower, glowing red-gold in the moonlight that came through the wide expanse of the glass walls.

  A second look showed him it wasn’t, and a combination of disappointment, guilt, and fear caught in his throat and made his breathing ragged and his heartbeat uneven.

  The ghost stared at him across the room as if she could read his thoughts and found them wanting.

  “Heather,” he said. Then, “You’re not real.”

  “Oh, Sam,” Heather said sadly. “You don’t love me anymore. You love her. That woman.”

  “What?” His head jerked up. “No, of course I don’t. I will always love you, Heather. Always.” Hot tears forced themselves to the edge of his eyelids, threatening to spill over. Real men don’t cry, his father always said. He’d spent months fighting back the emotion; toughing it out in silence . . .

  “You need to stay away from her,” Heather said, her voice a rough echo of the thunder building outside. “Stay. Away. From. Her.”

  Sam took one step toward her, and the figure held up a hand as if to stop him from coming any nearer. His shoulders drooped. Maybe the ghost was right. If seeing Bella was going to keep making things worse, he should stay away. His eyes darted to the kitchen drawer where he’d shoved the pills the doctor had given him; pills he’d refused to take. Tranquilizers could make you drowsy, and a fire watcher couldn’t afford to be anything less than alert at all times. Sam lived in fear of someone finding out he’d been prescribed them and thinking he was unfit for the job.