Wickedly Dangerous

by Deborah Blake

  He bent over the table, and said without looking at her, “You need to stay out of police business, Professor Yager. Stick to your herbs. I’ll take care of Belinda and her family.”

  “Really?” Baba drew out the word in a voice that lowered the temperature of the room about twenty degrees. “Because it seems to me that you can use all the help you can get. Since, as you yourself said, you have nothing.” The last word was squeezed through gritted teeth, and the sharp edges of it caused his fingers to slip on the cue, sending the cue ball bouncing uselessly off empty air.

  Baba stared at him for a moment and then took her shot—and all the ones that came after, dropping striped balls into the pockets with the precision of a surgeon.

  “Three days,” she said, emptying her beer bottle and setting it down on the side wall ledge with a decisive click. “Had enough yet?”

  Liam shook his head and plucked the white plastic triangle off its hook, arranging the balls in silence. He fought back fury at her implication that he couldn’t protect his own people. More because it felt true at the moment than because it wasn’t. Around them, laughter and petty quarrels echoed from the other tables where people played for fun and not in a battle for . . . whatever it was they were battling for. He wasn’t sure either of them knew.

  A bright green ball slid into dingy white netting. Dozens of questions vied to be next, but what came out of his mouth was, “Are you married?” He could feel the tips of his ears burn. For once he was thankful he still hadn’t had time to get his hair trimmed.

  Baba’s eyes widened in surprise. That was some consolation.

  “I mean, do you have a significant other? You know, someone I should contact in case you get into trouble with the law?” Something he was almost completely certain would happen sooner or later.

  She opened her mouth to answer, but whatever she was going to say was drowned out by the sound of roaring as a bevy of motorcycles glided by the window, shaking the brick walls so hard, Baba’s empty bottle fell over and rolled onto the floor.

  Over by the back door, kept propped open for air and so the smokers could run outside for a quick puff between games, a waitress named Ellie peeked her head out cautiously and withdrew it, looking for all the world like a startled turtle.

  “Oh my god!” she squeaked, almost dropping the tray of glasses she carried. “We’ve been invaded by a motorcycle gang!”

  Liam walked over and looked out the door himself, Baba and most of the others in the room peering over his shoulder. He saw three bikes gleaming in the light from the solitary street lamp: a luminous white Yamaha, a hulking black Harley, and between them, looking like a thoroughbred between a show pony and a Clydesdale, a low-slung red Ducati. There was no sign of their riders, who had undoubtedly walked around to enter through the front of the bar.

  Liam rolled his eyes and suppressed a sigh. “Three motorcycles is hardly a ‘gang,’ Ellie,” he said. “There are more bikes than that parked in the front lot; I’m pretty sure I saw the Kirk brothers come in on theirs, and plenty of folks around here ride.” He gave the crowd his professional “move along, nothing to see here” smile.

  Ellie scowled at him, her thirtysomething face already looking middle-aged after a decade of dealing with rowdy drunks and too many late nights.

  “I’ve never seen those motorcycles before, Sheriff. And three may not be a gang, but it sure as hell can be trouble.” She sniffed, empty bottles and abandoned glasses clinking together on her tray as she slammed them down on her way out of the room.

  “I guess I’d better go see what the cat dragged in,” Liam said, leaning his cue against the wall in resignation. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Baba trailed out behind him, the beginnings of a smile starting to form on her lips. “I’ll come with you. I have a feeling I know who your visitors are.” At his questioning look, the smile grew a fraction wider, but she didn’t say anything else.

  They got into the main room just in time to see three men enter the bar and take a few steps inside, looking around as if searching for someone. The first man was tall, slim, and elegant in the slightly too-handsome manner of a movie star or a Tolkien elf. He wore his blond hair long and loose, touching his broad shoulders, and his white jeans and white linen shirt were so spotless, they shone like the sun on water. Women all around the room suddenly found a reason to touch up their lipstick.

  The man next to him was shorter, with long black hair pulled back in a tail, and the dark slanted eyes, flat cheekbones, and Fu Manchu mustache of the Mongolian desert. He moved with the loose gait of a man who knows many martial arts and has mastered them all, and the red leather jumpsuit he wore fit him like a second skin.

  Their companion made them both look almost ordinary; a massive giant of a man with coarse brown hair and a braided beard, wearing a black leather jacket that jangled with silver chains, worn black jeans, and dusty boots that Liam could have fit both of his feet into with room left over to spare.

  They all looked attractive, confident . . . and dangerous. Liam could feel his muscles tighten in response, like an alpha dog whose territory has suddenly been invaded. When they crossed the room to stand in front of Baba, it was all he could do not to growl.

  The blond man swept down in a graceful bow. “Baba Yaga, how lovely to see you. You are looking as glorious as always.” The Asian man snorted, but both he and the walking mountain standing next to him inclined their heads briefly.

  “Yager,” Baba corrected. “Barbara Yager. No nicknames here.” But Liam was disconcerted to see her wearing the first broad smile he’d ever seen on her face. “You are very prompt. I wasn’t expecting you for a few days. Tomorrow at the earliest.”

  The big man grimaced. “We were sitting around with nothing to do in Kansas City. Believe me, we were happy for a reason to leave.” Unlike Baba, he spoke with a very strong accent. Were sounded like vere. Liam suddenly felt like an extra in the movie The Russians Are Coming, the Russians Are Coming. He looked around to see if anyone else had noticed, but the room was so loud, the three could have been speaking in pig Latin and no one would have heard it.

  Liam cleared his throat. “Friends of yours?” he asked.

  “More like employees. They work for me, on and off.” Baba patted the blond man on one shoulder, and Liam spotted what looked like a tattoo of a white dragon curled around his collarbone with its face peeking slyly from underneath the elegant linen shirt.

  He raised one eyebrow. “Really? And what does an herbalist college professor need with a three-man private army? What do they do for you, go into the woods and pick pretty flowers?”

  The huge man scowled and bared his teeth, but Baba just laughed. “If I ask them to.” She waved one languid hand from left to right, blond to black to brown.

  “Meet my Bright Dawn, my Red Sun, and my Dark Midnight. This handsome fellow is Mikhail Day.” The blond man bowed to Liam, who only narrowly restrained himself from bowing back, and no doubt looking like a fool in the process.

  “Gregori Sun,” she said, and the Asian man put his palms together over his heart and tilted his head. “And this large person is Alexei Knight.” The big man, who must have been at least six foot eight, and as wide as the other two put together, just stared at Liam, his eyes narrowed as if he was trying to calculate the force it would require to snap the smaller man in half.

  Baba either didn’t notice his attitude, or didn’t care. “Boys,” she said, “meet Sheriff Liam McClellan. He’s the law here, and a good man. Try not to piss him off.”

  Liam was torn between ridiculous pleasure at being named a “good man” and irritation at what were clearly more secrets and lies from Baba. Whose last name might or might not be Yager.

  The balance slid heavily in the direction of displeasure when she added, “Sorry about our game, Sheriff. We’ll have to play again some other time,” then walked off without a backward
glance. She hummed as she went, and the few folks who had been staring at them suddenly seemed to lose all interest in the visitors, turning back to their beers and their conversations.

  As the odd quartet made their way across the bar and out the front door, Liam realized two things that made his already dismal mood turn dark and stormy: inexplicably, he was actually feeling a little bit jealous. And Baba had never answered his last question.

  * * *

  BABA SCRATCHED CHUDO-YUDO idly behind the ears as she explained the situation to the White Rider, the Red Rider, and the Black Rider. Pledged to the service of the Baba Yagas, even Baba herself didn’t know exactly what kind of creatures they were behind their human masks. All she knew for certain was that they were immortal, powerful, and on her side. At the moment, that was more than enough.

  “So,” Mikhail drawled, leaning forward to look at the laptop on the table in front of them. He and Gregori were tucked into the banquette seats with Baba. Alexei, whose bulk would never have fit in the limited space, had propped himself against the counter across the way. Baba thought she heard the trailer groan slightly as it adjusted to his weight.

  Mikhail went on, recapping what Baba had just spent twenty minutes telling them in one brutal sentence. “You’re saying we have three children who have mysteriously disappeared with no explanation, a disturbance in the balance of the natural world that may or may not be related to Human gas drilling, and some woman wearing a glamour who you think may have used magic to disrupt a town meeting.”

  He gestured at the pictures of the children on the screen in front of him with one manicured finger. “I can see why you called us in. This is a mess.” The accent that sometimes sounded harsh coming from the other two turned to music when it came from his well-formed mouth, but didn’t make his words any less painful.

  Baba breathed in and out through her long nose, striving for an equanimity she didn’t feel. She always had a hard time maintaining her emotional distance—part of a Baba’s job description—when children were involved.

  She tapped the photo of Mary Elizabeth Shields, clearly visible in the article posted by the local newspaper. Sometimes Baba thought the Internet was more amazing than magic; or at least more mystifying. As much as she disliked and distrusted modern technology, computers had proven to be more enticement than she could resist. The ability to do research wherever she was had won her over, although the rest of the time the laptop lived in a cabinet with some old books and Chudo-Yudo’s spare water bowl.

  “This child is the one we are specifically looking for. Her grandmother is from the Old Country and knew enough to call me in. And her mother asked nicely and agreed to my terms; the bargain is made with her. But if you see any of the other missing children in your travels, I want to know immediately.” Her full lips drew together in a thin line.

  Gregori shrugged. “I suspect that if we find them at all, it will be together. It would be too much of a coincidence for three children to disappear at the same time. Unless the first one gave someone else ideas, I suppose.”

  “Yes, but that person may have split the kids up and sent them elsewhere,” Alexei disagreed, his voice a low rumble that made the windows rattle. “Or disposed of their bodies, I suppose.”

  Under her hand, Chudo-Yudo stiffened, and Baba patted his head with tense fingers. “That is, of course, a possibility. But for now, I am assuming they are still alive and in need of rescue. I want you three to go out into the local area—and as far afield as you think reasonable—and look for them.”

  “If the children are anywhere to be found, we will find them,” Gregori said with finality. “This Maya woman is using enchantments of some kind; are you assuming she is somehow connected to the Otherworld? Or could she just be a local witch who is using them for dark rituals? Such people do exist, after all.”

  Baba’s stomach clenched, the stone that had taken up residence within growing larger by the minute. “I’m going to have a little talk with her,” she said through gritted teeth. “We’ll see what she has to say about all of this. But the magic felt like ours, not something Human, as much as I could tell across the room. And she felt like . . . more, somehow.”

  “If she’s using them to fuel evil, the process might change them beyond recognition, if they even survive at all,” Alexei added, his gray eyes fixed meaningfully on Baba. He’d been around when she was growing up; he’d watched the old Baba raise her, and seen her move further and further from her human roots as the magic she learned changed and twisted her body and spirit in ways that were no less powerful for being invisible.

  Baba shook herself like Chudo-Yudo after a bath, throwing off the gathering gloom that threatened to cloak her in despair. “Well, we can only do what we can do. You boys go have a look and see if you can spot anything the sheriff missed. I’ll tackle pretty Miss Maya tomorrow. Check in if you find anything.”

  “I might keep an eye on our mysterious lady myself,” Gregori said, quiet menace emanating from his slender form. “See if I can spot her doing something incriminating.”

  Baba nodded, but said, “Keep out of sight, Gregori. You were all seen with me at the tavern, unfortunately, so she’ll know who you are. And keep away from the locals—I’ve already had people down at the local diner ask me if I was related to the Ivanovs, because we all have Russian accents.” She frowned at this, since she’d been certain hers was so faint as to be nearly undetectable. Apparently not. “The last thing we need is a bunch of people wondering why the place has suddenly been overrun with foreigners.”

  He blinked at her, unspoken reproach in the tiny movement.

  “Right, sorry. What was I thinking?” She grinned. “If you don’t want her to see you, she won’t.”

  “And I have no desire to mingle with the peasants,” Gregori said. “We leave such things to you, dearest Baba.”

  “About that sheriff,” Mikhail winked at her as he got up from the table. “You know he likes you, right?”

  She would have said she didn’t remember how to blush. She would have been wrong. Heat flooded her checks as she shook her head. “Don’t be absurd. I’m his biggest suspect.”

  Laughter rumbled its way out of Alexei’s huge chest. “Doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you, Baba.” He chucked her under the chin like he used to when she was only as tall as his knees. “You grew up to be a beautiful woman. Men are attracted to you all the time; you just don’t notice.”

  “She noticed this time,” Mikhail teased, and Chudo-Yudo let out a barking laugh.

  “Oh, get out of here,” Baba said with asperity. “Go do your jobs and stop trying to provoke me. Just because you’re immortal doesn’t mean I can’t turn you into toads and lock you in a golden cage for a decade or two.”

  “You only did that once,” Gregori pointed out. “And the guy was trying to kill you at the time.”

  “So maybe I need more practice,” Baba snapped. “Who wants to go first?”

  The three Riders all left in a hurry, the sound of their engines lingering in the air like a symphony of metal, magic, and mayhem waiting to happen.

  SEVEN

  BABA CHANGED INTO a short red silk chemise and settled into a tapestry-covered chair, trying to calm her frazzled nerves with a good book and a glass of merlot from a winery in the Napa Valley whose vineyards she’d saved from a pixy infestation. The owners, a pair of old hippies whose years of acid use allowed them to see things most people didn’t, gratefully sent her a few of their best bottles every year.

  She sipped it from an old silver chalice, a gift from another grateful client, enjoying the velvet texture and hints of rich oak backed by notes of plum and cherry. With her bare feet resting on Chudo-Yudo’s broad back and the mellow buzz of the wine floating through her veins, she finally began to relax for the first time that day.

  Naturally, someone chose that moment to knock on the door.

  “Gah,�
� she said, sliding her feet to the floor with a thump. “You have got to be kidding me.” Chudo-Yudo snorted a laugh as she got up and stomped over to the front door. “If that’s some local yokel wanting a cure for his warts, I swear I’ll kill him and bury him in the backyard!”

  “You only did that once,” Chudo-Yudo said, his muzzle gaping open in a doggy grin. “And that guy was trying to kill you too.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Baba muttered. Nobody gave her enough credit for being bloodthirsty. She yanked open the door and said in an unwelcoming tone, “What?” But the space in front of the Airstream was empty.

  “Huh,” she said, and closed the door. “That’s odd.”

  She went back over and sat down again, but as soon as she picked up her goblet, the sound of rapping echoed through the trailer. Baba scowled and got up again, bare feet padding across the antique Oriental carpet. She’d reached her hand out to turn the knob, when Chudo-Yudo said, “Uh, Baba? Wrong door.”

  She looked at him. “You could have told me that the first time.”

  He wandered over to stand in front of the closet that led to the Otherworld. “What fun would that have been?”

  Baba rolled her eyes, nudging him with her toe to get him to move out of her way. Irritation made sparks fly into the night air when she rattled the tricky handle and yanked the door open. But her bad mood fled like a startled rabbit when she saw who was on the other side.

  “I don’t believe it!” she exclaimed, and threw her arms around the last person she expected to see—and the one she needed the most, right at that very minute.

  * * *

  KOSHEI HUGGED HER back, grinning from ear to ear and looking as devilishly handsome as always. His short, dark hair curled endearingly over his forehead, accenting his light blue eyes and high cheekbones. The close-cropped, neatly trimmed beard and mustache gave him the look of a Roman Centurion who’d wandered out of a storybook into a time not his own; fitting, of course, for the long-lived dragon, who had undoubtedly meandered in and out of many a legend before winding up in the middle of hers.