Wickedly Dangerous

by Deborah Blake

  Baba shook her head. “Still, how can they not see that destroying the water and the land will make things worse for them?” Chudo-Yudo growled, and she reached down to pet him in a rare gesture of solidarity.

  “Damned if I know,” Belinda said. “But some of it is greed and some of it is ignorance, I guess. And the gas company hands out lies like they were Halloween candy.” She got a slightly wicked glint in her eye and stared at Baba thoughtfully. “There’s a meeting tonight in town. You should come. It’s supposed to be for the anti-fracking folks, but usually the pro-fracking folks come too, including the local head of the gas company, Peter Callahan, who’s the biggest douchebag I ever saw. I’d kinda like to see what happens if you meet him.”

  “You really don’t like this man, do you?” Baba raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t as if she had any big plans for the evening. “Is the sheriff going to be there?” Not that she cared.

  “I expect so,” Belinda said. “We’ve had some fights nearly break out at the last couple of meetings, so he’ll probably have a few us there in uniform just to keep things civil. Why, did you want to ask him some more questions about the kids?”

  Chudo-Yudo made a choking noise, and Baba kicked him with one bare foot. It was like kicking a brick wall. You’d think she’d learn.

  “Yes, of course,” Baba said. “Fights, eh? I like fighting.” She cracked her knuckles and Belinda jumped, possibly realizing a little too late that maybe this hadn’t been her best idea. “Suddenly this place is looking like a lot more fun. Fighting. Excellent.”

  * * *

  BABA RESTED HER shoulders against a cement-block wall at the back of the ugliest meeting hall she’d ever seen. Why an otherwise lovely town full of quaint old buildings would choose to hold its important gatherings in a modern beige-on-taupe-on-tan brick eyesore was beyond her. Rows of dinged gray metal folding chairs were filled with muttering people; the rank odor of their sweat and resentment offended her sensitive nose, and their churning emotions made her wish she’d stayed home where there was only a fire-breathing dragon to deal with.

  Still, she was there, so she may as well make the best of it. Maybe she’d learn something. Or get to hit someone. Either one would be good. Both would be splendid.

  From where she leaned, she could see most of the room. A row of dignitaries sat up front at a long, lopsided table with a matchbook shoved under one wobbly leg. Off to the left, Liam held up a wall in much the same position as she did, and watched the area with a wary eye. He’d raised one eyebrow as she’d entered, and for a moment it had looked as though he was going to come over and greet her, but he’d been waylaid by a middle-aged matron wearing a too-tight flowered dress, and in the end, he’d stayed where he was, a strained expression on his rugged face. Her heart had done a weird pitter-pat when she’d seen him, like she had one too many cups of coffee. Or stayed up all night dancing in a fairy circle. Except she hadn’t done either. Recently.

  From within a cluster of sympathetic neighbors, Belinda held a whispered consultation with an elderly woman whose eyes widened at the sight of Baba. The woman bowed her head respectfully in Baba’s direction, clutched her equally elderly husband’s hand tightly, and then turned resolutely to face forward, as if not wanting to draw attention to any connection between her and the stranger.

  Baba didn’t blame her. People were already giving Baba curious, vaguely uncomfortable glances when they spotted her, like a pack of coyotes sniffing at a wolf who had somehow wandered onto their territory by mistake. Maybe she should have changed out of the black leather pants, black tee shirt, and motorcycle boots. Oh well, it wasn’t as though she would have blended in, no matter what she wore.

  “They’re not being unfriendly,” Belinda said, coming to stand next to her against the back wall. “They’re just on edge because of the missing children, and of course, the hydrofracking. As far as they know, any unfamiliar person means trouble.”

  Baba snorted. They had no damned idea.

  Up front, a microphone let out an unearthly squeal that sounded like a mermaid with laryngitis, and a plump, jowly man with a receding hairline and an expensive suit cleared his throat and said, “I’m Clive Matthews, president of the county board, as most of you know. Let’s get things started, shall we? I’m sure we all have places we’d rather be than this lovely meeting hall, eh?” He gave a practiced chuckle, and Baba thought, Politician.

  Ten minutes later, when Matthews had rattled on about how important the issue was without in any way saying anything substantive, or, in fact, actually getting the meeting started, she added to that observation: Pompous windbag with delusions of grandeur not accompanied by any particular wealth of personality, looks, or charisma. And seriously considered turning him into the toad he so strongly resembled. Only the fact that his audience might possibly notice the difference kept her twitching fingers at her side.

  “Let’s keep in mind that both sides are entitled to their opinions,” he was saying as she pulled her attention away from daydreams of a cold beer, “and that we’re gathered here to discover facts, not to argue. The county will be holding a vote soon to decide whether or not to enact a moratorium on drilling.”

  He scowled out over the crowd, his double chin aquiver with dignified self-righteousness. “I am against the moratorium, of course. The county needs the money that drilling will bring with it, along with the new job opportunities, improvements to our roads, and many other benefits.” He turned to gesture toward one of the men sitting at the long table behind him, the only other one wearing a suit, instead of casual everyday clothing.

  “Here to tell us all about how safe the hydraulic fracturing process really is, and what we can expect when his company expands their holdings into our area, is Peter Callahan, of the East Shoreham Oil and Gas Company.” Clive clapped his meaty hands together as the other man approached the mike; about a third of the folks in the room followed suit, while the others sat in stony silence, their lack of enthusiasm as palpable as the full moon’s tidal pull.

  Next to Baba, Belinda crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared at the handsome man in his well-tailored suit, her grief forgotten for the moment as she listened with obvious skepticism to his smooth explanations of foolproof safety records and guaranteed profitability. An undercurrent of something foreign and malicious eddied through the room, prickling at Baba’s senses like briars in a hedge.

  She swung her head to and fro, sniffing at the air surreptitiously, looking for the source of the odor of wrongness that clung to the atmosphere, causing the people around her to stir into restless agitation. Toward the front of the room, one burly man stood up and started yelling obscenities at the speaker, and Liam pushed off the wall he’d been holding up to move decisively in that direction.

  Baba let her eyes unfocus as she scanned the hall, lighting finally on a figure in the front row that blurred and sparkled with that aura that indicated someone or something wearing a glamour. Glamours meant magic. And someone with something to hide. Which in turn meant a whole host of other things, none of them good, since there shouldn’t have been anyone using magic with such a distinctly Otherworld feel to it.

  She cursed quietly under her breath in Russian, the sound blending in unnoticed amid the rising murmur of tense voices, as the woman swiveled her head and caught Baba’s eyes with a steely-eyed gaze. Something malignant stirred behind those gray orbs, sending a shiver up Baba’s spine.

  “Who is that woman?” she asked Belinda, using one sharp elbow to get the deputy’s attention. “The one down there with the platinum blond hair in a chignon, wearing a yellow dress?”

  Belinda looked surprised, although whether it was because she hadn’t expected the question or because she was amazed Baba knew the term chignon, it was impossible to say.

  “That’s Peter Callahan’s assistant,” Belinda said, peering across the room to be sure they were talking about the same person. “May
a something or other. Although, if you ask me, she might actually be a bodyguard. Apparently he started getting death threats about six months ago; she showed up not long after that, and since then, I haven’t seen him without her by his side.” She shrugged. “I don’t know why the company didn’t hire some big muscle-bound guy. Maybe they didn’t want to be obvious about it.”

  Baba pressed her lips together, not wanting to let what popped into her mind slip out of her mouth. Not to Belinda anyway. Six months ago. Right before children started disappearing. A coincidence? Possibly. Or . . . possibly not. But something in that glance said she was trouble. It just remained to be seen what kind.

  The prickliness under her skin intensified almost to the point of pain, and Baba straightened, giving Belinda a shove in the direction of her parents. “Get your parents out of this room. Now.” Belinda gave her a startled look out of wide eyes but didn’t argue, setting off toward where the old couple sat. Around the space, arguments were erupting into raised voices, like a hornet’s nest disturbed by a thrown rock. Baba headed toward Liam, whose attention was divided between the profanity-spouting farmer and two of the men at the front table who were screaming at each other, dueling charts in upraised hands.

  He spared her a frustrated glance as she appeared at his shoulder; the two-inch heels on her boots made them almost the same height, but the irate citizen he was confronting dwarfed them both.

  “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with these people tonight,” Liam said, shaking his head. “It’s like they’ve all lost their minds.” He glared at the large fat man in overalls, who finally slumped back into his seat. Baba could sense the anger and frustration coming off him in waves.

  “I think they had some help,” Baba said, stomping on one particularly loud argument with her heavy boots. The people involved stopped yelling at each other and clutched their feet instead. “This isn’t normal.” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the increased volume surrounding them; clearly things were heading rapidly from Not Good to Worse Than Not Good.

  Liam separated a couple who were shoving at each other in the middle of the aisle and said, only a little disbelief in his voice, “You mean you think someone put something in the coffee?” He glanced around at the spreading mayhem. “Or the ventilation system? But why would anyone do such a thing? What would they have to gain?”

  Sure. Or cast a spell that ramped up everyone’s preexisting anger. Baba decided it would be better to just nod. “Maybe someone doesn’t want rational discussion about the issue,” she said. And then added, “Duck.”

  He ducked, and a chair came whistling through the air where his head had been. Baba vaulted over his crouched form and threw a roundhouse punch into the face of the man who had thrown it, dropping him like a stone. She grinned. This was more like it.

  But Liam spoiled her fun by saying, “Damn it, someone is going to get hurt. I’ve got to figure out some way to calm these people down.” He cast a slightly desperate look at Clive Matthews, whose eyes were narrowed as he searched for someone to hold responsible for the chaos, and said through clenched teeth, “The county board has been looking for an excuse to replace me. This ought to just about do it.”

  Baba sighed and looked around in resignation for a solution that didn’t involve cracking heads together while cackling gleefully. The sight of a sprinkler system set into the dingy ceiling gave her an idea, and she wiggled two fingers behind her back. Water sprayed down over the crowd, instantly soaking everyone in the room. People squealed and ran for the exits, most of them looking equal parts baffled and annoyed as they returned to their senses.

  She nodded at Belinda where she stood next to the control panel, elderly parents nowhere in sight. Liam gusted out a sigh of relief, spotting his deputy at the same time.

  “That was quick thinking. Cooled everyone down anyway. Although no doubt the board will have something to say about the mess and the expensive water damage.” His face looked grim under its wet coating.

  Also, running water short-circuits magic, Baba thought. She said out loud instead, “Oh, I think you’ll find that the sprinklers went off by themselves. Some kind of malfunction, no doubt. From the look of the rust on that panel, it hasn’t been opened in years.” She gave Liam a bracing thump on the shoulder. “And I’m sure there won’t be any lasting damage.” Another finger flick turned the water back off. The woman called Maya had disappeared, making her exit with the rest of the crowd. Too bad—Baba had a sudden urge to have a chat with the mysterious blonde.

  “Huh.” Liam looked up at the sprinklers and over toward Belinda, who was being berated by a decidedly damp Clive Matthews, his thinning hair dripping messily down over the blood vessel pulsing in his forehead. “I guess I’d better go rescue my deputy before she’s forced to shoot the president of the board in self-defense.”

  “In that case, wouldn’t you be rescuing him?” Baba said with a hint of a smile. Then, more seriously, “I need to talk to you.” And not just because you look incredibly hot, standing there with your soaking-wet shirt clinging to those broad shoulders and muscular chest.

  Liam’s eyes narrowed. “About who might have done this? Or about the missing children?” All his attention was suddenly focused in her direction, a constricted beam of penetrating light.

  “Maybe neither. Maybe both.” Baba wiped water off her face and wrung out her mass of dark hair. “I have a possibility, but no proof.” And no idea what the hell a human sheriff could do against a supernatural-wielding opponent. But he still had the right to know. As he’d said when they met, these people were his responsibility. Besides, she’d promised Belinda that she’d help—and a Baba’s promise was both rare and unbending. Much like the Babas themselves.

  “I see.” He didn’t look convinced. “Well, I have to deal with this, and we both need to change into dry clothes.” He looked admiringly at Baba’s own dripping form, trying to hide a smile. “How about you give me an hour and meet me at The Roadhouse? It’s a bar on the way out of town. You would have passed it on your way in from where the Airstream is parked.”

  She nodded. “It’s a date,” she said. There was no need for her to return to the trailer for new clothes, of course; she could dry herself with a thought. But she had something else she wanted to set into motion before she and the sheriff had their little talk.

  There was something going on here she didn’t understand, but she trusted her instincts after all these years, and her gut was telling her that the three missing children and Maya’s magical riot act were connected somehow . . . and that things were going to get worse before they got better.

  It was time to call in some assistance—and she had just the men for the job.

  FIVE

  THE ALLEY WHERE Baba had left the BMW was dark and smelled like things best not looked at closely, but it was also deserted and likely to stay that way, which suited her purposes just fine. She could ignore the smell; this wouldn’t take long.

  She brushed away a drop of water that rolled down her neck and tried to pull her clammy tee shirt off over her head. The damp cloth clung to her curves, thwarting her, and she finally just growled and snapped her fingers. The shirt vanished with a faint “pop,” leaving her clad in dry leather pants, a black lace bra, and three elaborate tattoos.

  A white dragon with green eyes coiled around her right bicep, a red dragon with slanted golden eyes curled around her left bicep, and a black dragon with long whiskers lay across her upper back and shoulders. She stroked them like the old friends they were, and recited a summoning chant in Russian that brought back memories of the old Baba standing in front of a smoky fireplace, stirring something that smelled worse than this alley. The memory made her smile, and helped her ignore the tiny shuddering sting each tattoo let off as it shivered and squirmed, eyes glowing momentarily in the dark night.

  “There,” she said to herself in a satisfied tone. “That ought to put t
he cat among the pigeons.”

  She hummed a little as she glanced down at the black leather pants, and shook her head. With another snap, she pulled more suitable clothing out of the closet in the Airstream, using her magic to transport it through the ether. Although if there was any outfit perfect for hanging out at the local tavern and telling an attractive but clueless shaggy-haired sheriff that his town may have been infested by creatures he didn’t believe in . . . she didn’t know what it was.

  * * *

  HE’D DONE IT again, Liam realized, as his gut tightened and his pulse beat a tango against the side of his throat. He’d possibly maybe appeared to ask Barbara Yager out. How did he keep doing that? He hadn’t asked anyone out in years, either accidentally or on purpose, and never said yes to any of the women who’d asked him. He put all that energy into his job instead. And yet somehow, he’d arranged for her to meet him at a bar. She’d said, “It’s a date.” But she didn’t really think it was a date, did she?

  No, of course she didn’t. She’d said she had something to tell him about the case, and he’d merely suggested a place they could meet up to have that conversation. That’s all it was. Business. Sheriff business, nothing more. The concern died down, to be replaced by a certain disappointment that he shrugged off with practiced ease. Life wasn’t a fairy tale. You did what you had to do and got on with it, that’s all. And tried not to get trampled as the people around you got on with theirs.

  For tonight, that meant listening to whatever Barbara Yager thought she knew—although since she’d just arrived in town, he doubted there was anything she could tell him that would help. Unless she was going to confess, of course. Still, he desperately needed to get a lead on this case and couldn’t afford to dismiss anyone. And perversely, he enjoyed her company. Although he couldn’t figure out why, since she was odd, mysterious, and infuriating.