Wickedly Wonderful

by Deborah Blake

  “That’s not the only thing coming out of your mouth,” Beka said in a grim tone, using a tissue to blot away another bead of blood. “Pull over.”

  “Beka—”

  “Pull the damned car over right now,” Beka commanded. “Or would you rather start practicing saying ribbit?”

  She couldn’t do anything about whether or not Chewie’s missions had been successful. There was, however, one thing she could fix. Even if it cost her the title of Baba. It would be worth it.

  Marcus eased the car to the side of the road, ignoring the blare of a horn and raised middle finger from the battered green pickup that had been on their rear bumper. In the backseat, Kesh let out a muffled protest from underneath the blanket they’d thrown over his duct-taped body.

  “I ought to turn you into a toad anyway, just for telling me you’re fine when you’re not,” Beka said. “Unless you consider having a piece of your ribs intersecting your lungs ‘fine.’ I sure as hell don’t.”

  Marcus gave an abbreviated shrug, stopping when the motion obviously caused him pain. He turned to face Beka, moving slowly and carefully. “I’m fine for now,” he insisted. “Believe me, I’ve been in worse shape before. I’ll go to the emergency room when we’ve dealt with the others.”

  Beka shook her head, taking the Water of Life and Death out of its box and reverently removing the cork from the polished turquoise glass bottle that held its precious liquid. The bottle was etched with arcane symbols that seemed to shift and change as she watched them, and a shadow swirled around the inside as if a genie lived within it. From the open neck came the scent of summer and exotic flowers and the ocean at the moment of dawn. Next to her, Marcus caught a whiff and gave an involuntary sigh.

  “Here,” she said, holding it out for him. “Take a sip. Just a small one. It ought to be enough to heal your wounds.”

  Marcus stared at her. “Is that allowed?” he asked. More muttering came from the backseat and he leaned back carefully and thumped the blanket until it subsided. “I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

  Beka grimaced. “You fought to save a Baba Yaga from an evil Selkie prince and his followers; that should earn you dispensation. If it doesn’t, well, I’ll deal with the consequences.” Nothing the Queen could do to her would be worse than living with herself if Marcus died. Not just because he’d been fighting on her behalf, but just . . . because. It was Marcus, dammit. And the Queen had allowed Barbara to share the Water with her new husband, Liam, so he might live an extended life at her side. It wasn’t exactly the same thing, but she didn’t care.

  “Here,” she said again. “Drink.”

  Marcus stared into her eyes, his expression stern. “You first.”

  “Don’t you trust me?” Beka asked, shocked.

  He snorted, clutching his side. “Ow. You idiot. I followed you into battle with a bunch of seals and Mermaids. If that isn’t trust, I don’t know what is. But you need that Water far more than I do, and I noticed that you still haven’t had any either. So I’ll drink if you do, and not otherwise.” His features might have been carved out of granite.

  Beka gritted her teeth. Why was it the man could never just do what she asked without disagreeing with her? “I’m not bleeding all over my vehicle, or coughing up lung tissue,” she said. “Unlike some people I can name. I’ll have mine later.”

  Marcus cocked his head to one side, considering her as if she were some kind of puzzle to be figured out. She could see his pupils contract when he figured it out.

  “You’re afraid there won’t be enough,” he said quietly. “So you’re leaving yourself for last. And giving me your share, because you think I deserve it more than you do.” He leaned forward and brushed a wisp of hair off her face tenderly. “You just don’t get it—you deserve the world on a platter. I just wish I had it to give to you.”

  Beka sniffed. There was something in her eye. Sand or dust or something. That was it. She’d never had anyone look at her like that. Never had anyone who treated her like she was precious and valuable. She knew better than to get used to it, but still, it felt pretty wonderful.

  “You give me plenty,” she whispered.

  “Good,” Marcus said. “Then stop arguing with me and drink the stupid Water.”

  When she hesitated, he added, with his usual practical nature, “You can’t take care of everyone else if you’re about to fall on your face. This isn’t over yet, and you’re going to need all the strength you can get.”

  He was right, of course. Even if she managed to heal the sick Selkies and Merpeople, she still had to heal the ocean where they lived. Giving in, she tilted back the bottle and let a few precious drops slide down her throat. It tasted like sunshine, bright and vibrant and warm, with a hint of roses and an aftertaste of ashes, to remind the drinker of the essence of death within every moment of life.

  As it hit her system, she could feel her body phasing and shifting, the damaged cells transforming themselves into something new and healthy. Energy and warmth flooded through her, making her fingertips—and other parts—tingle and spark. A sudden rush of desire roared through her; life reasserting itself in the most basic way possible. It was a pity there was no time to indulge in the feeling.

  Although she was going to enjoy watching Marcus’s face when he got his first taste of the magical elixir.

  She handed him the bottle, carefully licking the last tiny bit of moisture off of her lips.

  “Wow,” he said, staring at her. “You look better already. You’re practically glowing.”

  “They don’t call it the Water of Life and Death for nothing,” she said, laughing at his expression. “Go on. Just a little sip.”

  Marcus narrowed his eyes, but he took the bottle from her, holding it as if it were a bomb that might explode. Warily, he tipped it back so a couple of drops flowed into his mouth. For a moment, he just sat there, then amazement rolled over his face, like the sun coming out after a storm.

  “Holy crap,” he said, breathing deeply without wincing. As she watched, most of his wounds scabbed over and disappeared. A healthy color replaced the clammy paleness of his skin, and for just a second, a golden glow seemed to cover the surface of his hazel eyes. “That’s some stuff.”

  Beka took the bottle back and carefully recorked it, placing it back in its box like the treasure it was. “Magic,” she said. “Gotta love it.”

  “I’m starting to,” Marcus said, not looking at her as he put the car back in gear and steered them back onto the highway. He was silent for a moment. Processing, she thought. Then he said hesitantly, “Beka, would the Water cure my father’s cancer?”

  She was afraid he’d think of that.

  “It would,” she said, hating the words that had to come next. “But I can’t give it to him.”

  There was another pause, and he didn’t speak again until they were pulling off the road into a parking spot near the beach. “Why not?” he asked.

  “It’s against the rules to use the Water of Life and Death to cure Human illness,” she explained. “Otherwise a Baba would be tempted to use it all the time, and there isn’t very much of it. How could we choose who to save and who not to? So it is simply forbidden.”

  Marcus stopped the car again and stared at her. “But you gave it to me anyway.”

  She blushed. “There’s an exception for a Baba’s mate, on the rare occasions when one is Human,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “I was sort of hoping it would be covered under that. Because we, uh, you know.” She could feel the heat in her face climbing to reach her ears. “If the Queen is pleased with me when this is all over with, she’ll probably allow it. If she’s not, I’ll be in so much trouble, it probably won’t matter.”

  “I see,” Marcus said. He got out of the car without another word. She couldn’t tell if that meant he’d simply accepted her explanation, or if he was angry with her because she’d refused to heal his father. And she didn’t have time to worry about it, because night was falling and sudde
nly she could see Chewie on the beach, leading the King of the Selkies and the Queen of the Mer, along with a number of their people.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  THEY WALKED OUT of the sea by the dozens; they must have transformed out behind the rocks that bordered the beach. A few of the adults stayed where the water was about chest high, holding babies too young to change their forms under the water where they could still breathe. It was an eerie sight; the very old and the very young and their silent friends and family supporting them if they were too ill to walk on their own. No one made a sound, and in the waning dusk it was as if the beach was some strange twilight place between the worlds.

  The few regular folks who had lingered on the sands all packed up in a hurry and left, shaken and uncomfortable without knowing why. But Beka knew; she could see death in some of those waiting eyes, and prayed that she had not come too late.

  The King of the Selkies and the Queen of the Mer held themselves very straight and proud as Beka and Marcus approached. Behind them, their guards shifted slightly at the sight of a stranger, but a gesture from the King made them settle into an alert but relaxed stance. Chewie bounded up to Beka, spraying gritty sand and woofing an enthusiastic greeting.

  “Nice job, Chewie,” she said, patting him on the head in gratitude. “How did the other half of your task go?”

  She held her breath and crossed her fingers on the hand not holding on to the box. She wasn’t sure what she would do if the Queen of the Otherworld had refused her request; there was no way Beka could simply let all those children die. It was a Baba Yaga’s duty to protect the young, but it was more than that. Those young lives were so precious, so rare in a community that bore fewer and fewer children every year. Beka knew she would trade anything so save them. Even her own life, if that was what it took.

  Chewie head-butted her leg, almost knocking her down. After most of a lifetime together (hers, anyway), he knew the way she thought.

  “Stop worrying,” he said. “I was very persuasive.” He smiled his sharp-toothed doggy smile, and Marcus took half a step back involuntarily. Beka snorted. Chewie didn’t realize that his smile didn’t quite come across the way he meant it to. Of course, when he was in dragon form, it was much worse.

  “The Queen said yes?”

  “The Queen said yes.” Chewie nodded his massive head toward the ornate box Beka held tucked carefully under one arm. “She said to tell you that under the circumstances, she would allow it, since the Selkies and Mer are her people, too, for all that they are forced to live out their lives on this side of the doorway between the worlds.”

  Beka snorted. That sounded like a direct quote from the Queen, who always had a certain amount of pity for any paranormal creatures not able to reside within the ethereally beautiful borders of her kingdom. Still, all Beka cared about was that she had permission to use the Water of Life and Death to save the people Kesh had poisoned.

  The King of the Selkies had been politely listening from a few paces away, but now took a forceful step forward. “The Queen has granted your request?” he said with relief, his stiff back unbending just enough to show how tense he had been. “That is most welcome news.” He looked at Beka and Marcus, taking in their somewhat battered appearance. “And may I also assume that you have found and vanquished the villain responsible for all of this?”

  Beka widened her eyes at Chewie, and he gave a tiny shake of his black muzzle. Great. He clearly hadn’t told the King the identity of the person who had poisoned his realm. She sighed. First things first.

  “Yes,” she said, leaving it at that. Marcus stared at her but didn’t say anything.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Your Majesties,” Beka said. “I would like you to meet my friend Marcus. He has been invaluable in helping to find the source of the illness, as well as helping me to capture the er . . . villain.”

  The King bowed his head, and the Queen of the Mer gave him a sweet but absentminded smile, most of her attention focused on the small child huddled in her arms.

  “I’d like to start giving the Water to the sickest people first,” Beka said, nodding to the Queen of the Mer.

  Chewie dropped a small velvet bag in the sand at Beka’s feet. “The Queen of the Otherworld sends these, with her compliments,” he said, as Beka pulled out two silver spoons, one tiny and the other barely there at all. “She bid me to tell you that they are the exact amount needed for the treatment of the little ones and for the adults among the water people. You were instructed to give this amount; no more and no less.”

  Trust the Queen to control the situation, even when she couldn’t be there in person. Still, no one knew the properties of the Water of Life and Death better, since the Queen was the one who created it through some magical process only she knew.

  Boudicca held out her grandchild, her arms trembling noticeably as Beka tilted the minute amount of Water the smaller spoon contained into the limp Mer’s open mouth. The aroma of flowers and sunshine drifted over the beach, and those still waiting for their own dose suddenly stood slightly taller.

  A moment, suspended in time. The moon blinked out behind the clouds and returned. The Merchild giggled. “Yummy,” she said to her grandmother. “More.”

  Boudicca clutched the little one tightly as they all watched the color return to tiny, chubby cheeks. “Thank you, Baba Yaga,” she whispered. “All my gratitude and blessings upon you.” She wept unabashedly and stepped aside for a haggard man bearing a Selkie elder, a shrunken woman so tiny and thin she seemed to weigh nothing at all.

  One by one, Beka dispensed the Water to all those who needed it. One by one, they began to recover as soon as they swallowed the precious liquid. Only a single tiny infant Mer failed to improve, his cloudy green eyes fluttering for a moment and then closing forever. His parents enfolded him in grieving arms and swam slowly back into the sea. For him, the answers had come too late.

  Beka wanted to weep, but there would be time for that later. For now, there was still work to be done.

  Finally, only the royals and their guards remained, standing with Beka, Marcus, and Chewie on the deserted beach.

  Boudicca turned to Beka. “Now that you have discovered the cause of the illness, this rade-ey-ashun your Chudo-Yudo told us about, will you be able to repair the damage to our homelands? Or will we be forced to remain in our new location, more vulnerable to discovery by Humans?”

  “I am fairly certain I can come up with a magical solution,” Beka said, happy to be able to impart good news. “It will take me a little research and experimentation, but I believe that I should be ready by tomorrow afternoon. If Marcus and his father will agree to take me out in their boat one more time, I hope to cleanse and purify your old home of the toxins that were poisoning both you and the water.” She smiled at both of them, hoping that she wasn’t promising more than she could deliver. “If you like, I can meet you here tomorrow night at this same time and report to you on my progress.”

  “That would be most acceptable,” Boudicca said.

  “Now, about the one responsible.” Gwrtheyrn glared at Beka. “Please do not tell me you killed him in battle. I have been looking forward to having that pleasure myself.”

  Marcus and Beka exchanged glances. “I am afraid that the Queen of the Otherworld has commanded me to bring him to her,” Beka explained. “She intends to pass judgment on him herself, for his crimes against both your people and hers.” She swallowed hard. “But there is something you should know.”

  The King scowled. “What?” he barked, sounding more seal than man.

  Beka bit her lip, and Marcus touched her lightly on the shoulder. “We’ll be right back, um, Your Highness,” he said. He and Beka walked back to where the Jeep was parked.

  “The King isn’t going to be pissed that we beat up his son, is he?” Marcus didn’t sound all that concerned one way or the other. “Because I’d just as soon not get into another fight tonight if I can help it.”

  Beka shook her head, opening the rear do
or. “Honestly, I have no idea what he’s going to say when he finds out.”

  She pulled the slightly musty blanket off of Kesh, who gaped up at them, sweaty and disheveled. The additional time spent in the backseat of the car hadn’t been kind to him. One eye was swollen almost shut and turning remarkably vivid shades of green, blue, and purple. Other bruises and cuts decorated his face and arms, and his silk shirt was tattered and marred by bloodstains and dirt. He bore very little resemblance to the handsome, charming prince she’d first met. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t bring herself to feel sorry for him.

  Apparently, neither could Marcus, who yanked him roughly out of the car, banging the Selkie’s head on the doorframe in the process. Probably accidentally. Maybe. Beka pulled out one of her knives and enjoyed watching the Selkie Prince’s eyes widen, but she just used it to cut the duct tape off of his arms and legs. He wasn’t going to make a break for it; after his cramped sojourn in the backseat, it was all he could do to hobble down to the beach between them, with Marcus holding one arm and Beka the other.

  He was just starting a sputtering, indignant speech about their inexcusably rude treatment when they brought him to a halt in front of Boudicca and Gwrtheyrn. A couple of the Selkie soldiers pushed forward, then stopped, stunned, as they recognized Beka’s captive.

  It took Gwrtheyrn a second longer, perhaps because his heart was unwilling to see what his eyes could not deny. Beka saw the moment when he realized the truth; the King seemed to waver between forms, both bull seal and man letting out a roar of pain and fury and agonized betrayal that echoed down the empty beach. Then he steadied, backlit by the setting sun as it blazed its way into the darkening sea.

  “Kesh,” Gwrtheyrn said in voice thick with sorrow. “Tell me this is a mistake. Tell me you are not the one who rained terror and disease down on our own people.” Boudicca grasped his arm in silent sympathy, but her eyes glittered at Kesh with an anger not tempered by grief.