Wickedly Dangerous (5 page)

Belinda's eyes widened. “You mean you won't even try to find Mary Elizabeth until I do three
impossible
things? That's . . . that's . . .”

Baba shrugged again. “You came to me. That's the way this works. Even the Baba Yaga has to play by certain rules.” She didn't mention that her favorite hobby was bending those rules until they resembled origami done by a drunken blind man.

Since some of a Baba's power came from her connection to the Otherworld, there were certain conventions that had to be followed. Of course she'd start looking into the matter right away, but Belinda didn't need to know that. And as long as the woman accomplished three tasks eventually, the principle would be considered fulfilled.

“Fine, then,” Belinda braced her narrow shoulders. “What is my first task?”

Baba put on her best portentous voice. This was the official bit. “You must discover for me what is causing the disruption of nature's balance in this region. I can hear the land and water and air cry out in anguish. Tell me what is as the root of their pain, and I will help you.”

Part of her job as the Baba Yaga was to maintain the balance of the natural world, but even with control over the elements, it was an impossible task in this day and age. There were too few Babas and too many humans bent on destroying the planet. But since she was here anyway, she might as well figure out what was disturbing the local equilibrium and set it right. By setting her new client to find the problem, she could kill two birds with one uniform-clad stone.

To her surprise, the woman laughed. “I thought this was supposed to be an impossible task. I can answer that question right now.”

Baba took a slow breath.
Well, that was unexpected
. It was rare for anything—or anyone—to catch her by surprise. Interesting. Perhaps she wasn't dealing with two separate issues after all. The mystery deepened.

“Is that so?” she said, expression bland and unimpressed. “Tell me, then.”

“It's the hydrofracking,” Belinda said, as if everyone knew about it.

“The
what
? Is that some kind of curse word?”

Belinda's mouth twisted. “It should be. Hydraulic fracturing is a way of forcing water, mixed with chemicals and sand and other things, sometimes including radioactive trackers, down deep into the earth under extreme pressure. It can contaminate the water table for miles around, it causes water and air pollution, and the waste water it generates is highly poisonous.”

Baba felt her jaw drop open. “Why would anyone do such a thing?” Humans were even more insane than she'd already thought.

“Money,” Belinda replied, her tone so bitter that the herbs on the shelf above her head shriveled inside their jar. “Hydrofracking is used to access natural gas deposits. The gas companies pay a lot of money to lease land so that they can use it for drilling. And a lot of people around here are desperate; the small farmers can't compete with the big agribusinesses, and plenty of folks in this area never had any money to start with.”

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. “Maya 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.”