Wickedly Dangerous (9 page)

“Tell me what you've done with the missing children and how to get them back, and I'll allow you to leave this town unscathed,” Baba added.

Glee flitted across the little blonde's visage, although it was quickly replaced by a more cautious cunning. “You don't even know where they are, do you?” Maya said, licking her crimson lips. “You probably didn't even know for sure I was involved.”

Baba gave a wolfish smile, completely lacking in humor. “But I know now, don't I?” she said softly. “So I suggest you simply hand them over and count yourself lucky that I'm letting you off with a warning.”

Maya sneered. “Warn me all you want, Baba Yaga. Those children are far beyond even your reach now, dead and buried and rotting in the ground with the rest of the trash. And you'd better stay out of my way if you know what's good for you. I can make things very difficult for you, otherwise. I've been amassing power and influence in this area for months. You have nothing but a worn-out old dog and that shiny tin can you call a house.”

Baba's fingers twitched with the desire to reach out and slap the smugness right off her adversary's pretty little face, but there were people walking by across the street, so she restrained herself. Barely. Nobody insulted her house. Not even in the old days when it was a wooden hut running around on oversized chicken legs.

“I have an ally or two of my own,” she said calmly. “I am not without friends.”

“Ha,” Maya retorted. “I hope you're not depending on that pathetic sheriff to help you. He can't even do his job, and he doesn't want a woman like you. He's a broken man going through the motions, that's all; he's no threat to me or my interests.” She tossed her head, glittering chandelier earrings bouncing against her swanlike neck. “He has to do what his bosses tell him, and Peter Callahan owns them all.”

An unpleasant smirk held the echo of pointy teeth. “And I own Peter Callahan, even if he hasn't realized it yet. So I advise
you
to leave town while you still can. You may be stronger and tougher than most Humans, but Babas aren't immortal. You might want to keep that in mind.”

With that, Maya slid into her car, slammed the door, and peeled out of her spot, not even bothering to look for oncoming cars driven by insignificant mortals.

Baba sighed, watching her leave.
That could have gone better.
On the other hand, at least she knew for certain that Maya was behind the disappearances. And that somewhere, the children were alive and well. Maya may be great at disguising herself and excel at making friends in low places, but thankfully, she was a terrible liar.

BABA SPENT THE
rest of the evening riding around Clearwater County and checking on the land; now that she was well and truly involved, she thought it was best to get a feel for the essence of the place. Part of a Baba Yaga's gift was the ability to tune in to and manipulate the elements: earth, air, fire, and water. In some places in the Old World, they had even been viewed as goddesses, although the old Baba used to say that it was better to be an herbalist—less responsibility and shorter hours.

Most of the county was lush and lovely, green and verdant in the waning summer sunlight. Waving rows of corn murmured at her as she passed, and cows trotted their calves over to the field's edge to show them off, lowing proudly over black-spotted rumps and twitching tails. Red-tailed hawks soared on thermals above her as they headed for their evening roosts.

But there were places where an encroaching darkness showed to her acute senses as blemishes on the otherwise healthy landscape. Here, a stream where toxic minerals leached in from below, studding the water with pockets of slimy gray algae. There, trees hacked down and fields lying ruined and fallow as the debate over their future raged in meetings like the one she'd attended. Even if the county passed the ban on future fracking, it was too late for some places, where it would take decades for the scarred land to repair itself. The damage made her sick to her stomach, and echoes of bad dreams haunted her like the voices of the damned.

Acid anger boiled in her veins. No matter how long she lived, she could never get used to the callous disregard with which so many humans treated the natural world. Perhaps because their lives were so short, and therefore none would be around to reap the disastrous harvest of their shortsighted choices.

As the dusk slowly hid the countryside from view, she turned her headlights back in the direction of the Airstream, looking forward to a cold beer and an evening spent in an environment that didn't cry out piteously for her to heal it. She slowed her usual precipitous speed as she turned onto the dusty back road. It was long and winding and its gravel surface was pockmarked with ruts and holes. Even she wasn't crazy enough to take
that
road at full bore.

Which was probably all that saved her.

Her only warning was a flash of shimmering antlers as an enormous golden stag raced across her path, kicking up dirt and greenery as it charged directly in front of her, a blur of hide and horn and incredible mass. She yanked the handlebars sharply to one side, veering out of its way, braking and swearing and feeling the bike go down in a sickening nightmare of churning wheels, scraping metal, and the agonizing impact of body against ground.

She lay there for a moment, the breath knocked out of her, heart racing, then reached out one gloved hand to turn the key off and allow the tortured engine to tick slowly over into silence. Of the stag, there was no sign. Cicadas buzzed in the underbrush, the dust from the road tickled her nose. She could feel blood oozing slowly from a scrape along her jaw line, although her helmet had done its job protecting her head.

Slowly, she levered herself up into a sitting position, counting bones and finding them all in place. Her worst injuries seemed to be where her left side had scraped against the gravel as she'd gone down; both elbow and knee were bleeding and bruised, the leather that had covered them torn away by the force of the skid. Still, without the leathers, most of her skin would have been shredded instead, so she had no complaints. It hurt like hell now, of course, the throb of it pulsing in her veins, but by tomorrow she'd be mostly healed, and in a few days there would be no sign she'd been in an accident at all.

Her beloved BMW, however, was another story.

She knelt down by the mangled remains of her motorcycle and patted it gently, as one would a wounded horse. Unshed tears burned against the back of her eyelids. She could use magic to fix her clothes and a few sips of the Water of Life and Death to speed up her own already accelerated healing, but metal was resistant to enchantment. It had been hard enough to convince it to leave its original oversized flying mortar-and-pestle form; once it had taken the shape of a motorcycle, it became vulnerable to the human world, its only magic an ability to travel faster than should have been possible.

The rear wheel still spun lazily, turning in lopsided circles as if to say
let's get out of here
. But the crooked handlebars and crumpled front fender made it clear that her poor, beautiful bike wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. The front tire was already sagging, and the acrid smell of burned rubber assailed the flower-scented summer air and gave her an excuse for her stinging eyes.

“I'm sorry, Old Thing,” she said, patting it again before rising as creakily as if she'd suddenly manifested her true age to drag the battered motorcycle the rest of the way off of the road. “I'll come back for you tomorrow at first light and see what I can do.”

She limped away down the verge without looking back, cursing Maya Freeman with every aching step and ragged breath. Each time her booted foot hit the ground, cut-glass shards of pain shot through her knee and jarred the elbow she hugged close to her body. The discomfort barely registered, though, drowned out by the fury that beat like a wild bird against the inside of her chest. That stag was no normal animal—it had either been sent by Maya, or possibly, even been Maya herself in another form or wearing another glamour.

The bitch had tried to kill her. This was war.

*   *   *

LIAM DROVE SLOWLY
down the long, narrow county highway. Half of his awareness was absorbed by the unpleasant errand that brought him out there, the other half searched the sides of the road for any signs of a lost child, more out of obsessive habit than any conscious intention. His tortoise pace, born of reluctance as much as caution, and that constant, darting sideways glance, were the only reasons he saw the motorcycle at all.

A glint of something foreign and metallic caught in his headlights in the increasing dusk gloom, and he pulled over as much as was possible on a road that barely fit two cars side by side. Wildflowers brushed the passenger side, leaving smeary golden kisses along the neat blue paint. Flashers sending crimson warning signals into the night, he opened the door of the cruiser and walked over to examine his find more closely.

The air whooshed out of his lungs as if he'd been sucker-punched when he recognized the mangled remains of Baba's classic BMW. The lack of an equally damaged body was somewhat reassuring, although he fetched a flashlight from the car and searched for any signs of a wounded woman staggering around, lost and confused. When he didn't find her, he called in to dispatch to find out if the accident had been reported or if Baba had turned up at the local hospital. Two negatives later, he put in a call to Bob at the auto shop, then got back in his squad car to go look for her.

No more than three minutes later, the glow from his headlights picked out a limping figure moving determinedly in the direction of the clearing where the Airstream was parked. This time he didn't even bother to pull over, just eased to a stop and opened the passenger door.

“Good evening,” he said cordially.

“The hell it is,” Baba retorted, scowling into the dim recesses of the car. “It's a lousy evening, in fact.”

Liam smothered a relieved laugh. She sounded too grumpy to be seriously injured. “I know. I saw your bike a little way down the road. Are you hurt? It looked like you took one heck of a spill.”

She gave an abortive shrug, stopping the move in midmotion and clutching her elbow. “I'm fine. But my poor motorcycle is a mess.” It looked as though even saying the words pained her, although that might have been the elbow. With Baba, it was hard to tell.

“Get in,” Liam said. “I'll drive you the rest of the way.” When she looked as though she was going to argue, he added, “I needed to talk to you anyway.” And at her deepening glower, “I know, I know—I promised you three days. But something's come up. Now get in the damned car before I get out and throw you in.”

“You and what army?” the cloud-haired woman muttered. But she slid into the seat, suppressing a wince as she did so.

When they pulled up in front of the trailer a couple of minutes later, she hauled herself out of the squad car and shuffled lopsidedly toward the front door before he could even try to help her. Liam heaved a sigh and followed her in. Chudo-Yudo sauntered over to meet them, sniffing at Baba's ruined pants and whining. She said something in Russian and the dog barked a couple of times. It sounded for all the world like they were having a conversation.

“Hello, Chudo-Yudo,” Liam said, not wanting to be left out. Besides, if she wouldn't let him be nice to her, maybe he could get a couple of brownie points being nice to her dog. “How are you tonight?”

Chudo-Yudo sniffed him too, then licked his hand and woofed enthusiastically.

“At least your dog likes me,” he said to Baba, trying to check out the damage without being obvious about it. If he had to, he'd haul her to the emergency room, but something told him he'd need the cuffs to do it.

Baba rolled her eyes at him. “Don't bet on it. He just thinks you smell like hamburger.”

He'd grabbed fast food on the way out here, but how could—ah. “Very funny. You saw the empty takeout bag in the car. Nice one, though. You almost had me believing you had a talking dog.”

“He's not a talking dog,” Baba muttered. “He's a talking dragon that looks like a dog. That's much more unusual.” She hobbled to the sink and got a glass of water, wincing a little when it touched a cut on her lip.

Liam ignored her silliness. She was clearly trying to distract him. Or maybe she had a concussion. He eyed her intently. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

She put the empty glass down and turned back around to face him, leaning against the counter to take the weight off her bad leg. “A huge golden stag ran me off the road.” She said it like she didn't expect him to believe her.

“A stag?” he said, confused. “Wait, you mean a deer?” Finally, something that made sense. “We have a lot of problems out here with deer-versus-vehicle accidents. Sometimes the deer loses, sometimes the motorists does. And that's when the driver is in a car or a truck. On that bike, you're lucky you weren't killed.” His heart clenched at the sudden image of the scene he
could
have come upon, sending out a grateful thought to a god he didn't worship anymore.

“Yes,” she said dryly. “Someone is going to be
very
disappointed.”

As he tried to figure that one out, she took a shaky yet still somehow threatening step forward. “Not that I don't appreciate the ride back, but why are you here? I thought we had a deal that you were going to leave me alone for three days. It's barely been one.”

“I got called in to Peter Callahan's office. His assistant Maya wanted to lodge a harassment complaint against you.” Liam frowned at Baba. “She says you accosted her in the parking lot, made all sorts of crazy accusations. Callahan wanted to have you arrested, but I managed to convince him to settle for a warning and a suggestion that you leave the area.” He shook his head, frustrated. “What the hell were you thinking?”

A red flush spread across Baba's high cheekbones and her nostrils flared. “Are you serious? First the woman tries to kill me, and then she sics the law on me?” Her accent grew markedly stronger as her voice rose, and she added a few words in Russian that Liam didn't need a translator to know were probably extremely rude.

Liam stared at her. “Do you know your eyes are glowing?” he asked in a level tone. It must have been a trick of the light, but it was a little freaky. And what was that “tried to kill me” comment all about? They were clearly back to odd, mysterious, and infuriating. Or at the moment, infuriated.

Baba made an obvious effort to calm down, breathing in and out through her nose a few times and clenching and unclenching her hands.

“Sorry. I need to work on my temper.”

“You
need
to stay out of these people's way,” he said flatly. “They're very powerful around here.”

Baba gave him an assessing look, her amber eyes back to their normal piercing stare. It made him feel a little like a bug under a microscope.

“The charming Maya told me that her boss owns the people who run the town—is that true?”

Somehow he thought there was a question there she wasn't asking out loud.

He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. They certainly seem to have a lot of influence these days. I just try to do my job and stay out of the politics. At the moment, I seem to be succeeding.” He volleyed the hairy eyeball back in her direction. “By the way, do you realize you're bleeding all over your fancy rug? You should have told me you were seriously hurt. Let me take you to the hospital.”

“Pah,” she said, curling her lip in a way he found perversely adorable. “It's not that bad. I'm a fast healer.”

Liam sighed. He didn't know for sure who Barbara Yager was, but one thing was certain: she was the most stubborn woman he'd ever met.

“Fine. Tell me where you keep your first aid kit and I'll patch you up myself.”

She gave him a blank look.

“Right. Of course you don't have a first aid kit. You probably just put herbs on whatever cuts and burns you get.” He sighed again. “Why don't you get out of those torn leathers and into a tee shirt and a pair of shorts, and get me a bowl of warm water and a clean cloth. I'll go fetch my kit from the car.”

He was almost out the door when she said, “Lavender and aloe for the burns. Maybe honey, depending on the cut. It's antibacterial, you know.”

Great. Now he had a mental image of her smeared with honey. He was never going to be able to use the stuff on his toast again.