Wickedly Magical (4 page)

Barbara nodded. “Yup. A guy whose wife ran off to join this guru’s merry band, and took their two little girls with her. Then, when my seeker tried to get them back, our mystery man somehow convinced a judge and a social worker and the guy’s own lawyer that he’d molested them.”

There was a weighty silence for a moment. “Well that just
sucks
,” Beka said vehemently. “I mean, assuming he didn’t do it.”

“Chudo-Yudo says he’s telling the truth,” Barbara said. “Beside which, he has a token from my old Baba. I’d have to help him anyway, unless I was sure he really didn’t have a good cause.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Beka agreed. “You know, there’s something about this whole situation that sounds familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. What’s the name of the guru-type you want me to look into?”

“Jonathan Bellingwood,” Barbara told her. “If I have to, I’ll find a way to get a lock of his hair or a piece of his clothing, and trace him magically, but it might be easier if I didn’t have to try to get close to him until I’m ready to resolve the situation.” She gave a slightly predatory smile. “One way or the other.”

“Uh-huh.” Beka rolled her eyes. “Try not to turn him into anything too unpleasant until I see what I can find out on my end, okay? I mean, it is just possible that the dude is innocent.”

Barbara shrugged. “Innocent he isn’t, sweetie. After all, he slept with another guy’s wife. But yeah, I’ll hold off on anything drastic until I can get more information. Just let me know what, if anything, you find out.”

“Will do,” Beka said, her voice growing fainter as the connection started to fade. “Let’s try to meet up with Bella sometime soon, if we can. I miss you two.”

“That would be nice,” Barbara said. “Call me if you get anything.”

The mirror dimmed back to black and the candle in front of it snuffed itself out with a whoosh, leaving her sitting in the darkened trailer for a moment until she waved her arm through the air and the lights came back on.

She straightened up, one hand rubbing her back, which ached a little from bending over the mirror.

“You okay?” Chudo-Yudo asked solicitously from the floor by her feet. Long-distance scrying could take a fair amount of energy. “You look like you could use a glass of wine.”

“Good idea,” Barbara said, rising to her feet and heading for the refrigerator with her fingers crossed. It was sweet that he was so concerned. The fates were with her, and a bottle of a nice dry white was lurking in there, right behind the Water of Life and Death in its crystal container.

“While you’re up . . .” Chudo-Yudo added, “You might as well get me a snack.”

Ha. So much for concerned. She pulled a hunk of roast beef out and put it on a plate in front of him.

“So what now?” he asked around a mouthful of meat.

“Now I go join a cult,” Barbara said. “I hear you meet the nicest people there.”

***

It wasn’t easy for Barbara to blend in with a crowd at the best of times, what with her cloud of ebony hair, almost-six-foot height, and the fact that her usual attire consisted of either head-to-toe black leather or colorful gypsy-bohemian skirts. But she guessed that the folks drawn to Jonathan Bellingwood’s events tended to be a little more conventional, so she ended up wearing a pair of black jeans and a white peasant top. She pulled her hair back into a tidy braid and put on flats instead of her usual motorcycle boots. That was as close to “blending” as she was going to be able to get.

About seventy-five people were gathered at the event advertised in the paper as “Tuning In—Tuning Up.” Whatever that was supposed to mean. Some kind of consciousness raising thing, as far as she could tell. All Barbara cared about was that it would give her a chance to see her mystery man in action, and possibly get some idea of whether or not he was using magic.

She’d hoped that Ivan’s wife Grace might be in evidence, but the only person on the pavilion stage at the local park was a slim blond man with wavy hair and an aw-shucks smile. Jonathan Bellingwood’s charisma was clear as soon as he started speaking, and he soon had the crowd in the palm of his hand. But as far as Barbara could tell, he was just clever, articulate, and good at manipulating people’s emotions—nothing supernatural involved.

The so-called guru talked for a while about the usual stuff: paths to enlightenment, becoming your own best self, the healing power of the mind, and all that. He led the group in a powerful guided meditation that ended up filling the area with a low-level hum of energetic potential that even Barbara could feel in her bones as a soothing balm. For a moment, she almost began to think that Ivan was simply involved in an unpleasant custody battle. Not nice, but also not her area of expertise.

And then something shifted. It was subtle at first. As Bellingwood finished up the meditation, he sent a few young women out into the crowd with collection baskets for donations. Nothing all that unusual there (as long as he had the proper permits, Barbara assumed), but then, as he started talking about how grateful he was for any donation, no matter how large or small, and how good it felt to contribute to the work, Barbara began to feel a tugging sensation. It was faint, but forceful all the same. Even she almost reached for her wallet, and she didn’t carry one.

All around her, people were smiling and putting bills into the baskets. Little children were searching their pockets for coins, and an old bag lady who had just been resting on a bench nearby glanced around furtively and thrust one grimy hand into her sagging bosom and pulled out a ragged dollar.

Barbara growled quietly to herself and moved over to stand next to the woman, regardless of the smell that arose indelicately from her clothes and belongings. Barbara laid one unusually gentle hand on the bag lady’s dirt-encrusted sleeve.

“You’d better keep that for yourself,” Barbara said quietly. “I expect you need it more than he does.”

The woman blinked as if waking from a dream, scowled at Barbara, and walked away at a rapid, if somewhat lopsided, trot, tucking her precious hoard back inside its formidable hiding place.

Barbara tucked her hands under her arms, less to restrain herself from donating, since once she’d recognized the uncanny “push,” it no longer had any effect on her, but mostly so she wouldn’t give in to her normal impulse to stop the magic cold and send it back to the one who used it to take advantage of all these people. With interest.

She didn’t want to reveal herself yet; not until she could figure out how exactly he was doing it. This close to Bellingwood, it was clear to her that he was a Human. She’d thought it was possible he was some kind of paranormal creature using magic from the Otherworld in defiance of the Queen’s edict to keep a low profile. It was
not
a good idea to defy the High Queen of the Otherworld. Not if you wanted to keep your head attached to your body, and your form looking like the one you’d been born with. Even Baba Yagas didn’t mess with the Queen.

But if Jonathan Bellingwood was Human, how was he affecting all these people? Barbara couldn’t see anything obvious, but clearly there was something Not Right here. And she was going to have to find out what it was if she was going to have any hope of getting Ivan’s little girls back to him as she’d promised.

It looked like she was going to have to go into the belly of the beast—the commune itself. Drat. That meant she was going to have to play nice with others.
Not
her best talent, even on a good day. There’d better be chocolate.

***

Back at the Airstream, Barbara told Chudo-Yudo what little she’d discovered, and what she thought her next step would have to be. Her companion wasn’t too happy about it.

“I wish I could go with you,” he grumbled. “You know I hate waiting around here all by myself while you are off having all the fun. But I have to stay and guard the Water of Life and Death.”

Barbara patted him roughly on his broad white head. “At least you can magic up your own food whenever you’re hungry. You’re a lot easier to deal with than a normal dog. Not that anyone would refer to you as normal.”

“Don’t be insulting,” Chudo-Yudo said. “But do be careful. After all, you don’t have any idea what tricks this guy has up his sleeve.”

“Now
you’re
being insulting,” Barbara said, somewhat miffed. “I’m a Baba Yaga. I have yet to meet a Human who can best me.”

“You were born Human too, you know,” the dragon-dog reminded her. “You’re not invincible.”

“True,” said Barbara. “But I am really, really cranky. It’s my superpower.”

“Good point,” Chudo-Yudo said. “And by the way, I think your mirror is ringing.”

Barbara grabbed the scrying mirror and sat down, quickly sliding into a trance state and trusting Chudo-Yudo to watch for interruptions.

“Beka!” she said. “Did you find something? I’m about to go into the compound, if I can, and it would be nice to have more to go on than a grieving father’s accusations and some vague suspicions.”

“Then I’m going to be your new favorite person,” Beka said through the mirror’s glimmer with a grin. “Because I’ve got a couple of actual facts for you.”

“Well, you were my old favorite person too,” Barbara said. “Along with Bella, of course. But if you can give me something concrete, I’ll bring you a bottle of wine the next time I’m back in California.”

“From that winery you saved from a pixie infestation, or whatever it was? The grateful owners still sending it to you by the case? That’s good stuff. And I think I’ve earned two bottles.”

“Okay, spill it. What do you have?”

“John Bell,” Beka said, a little smugly.

“Who?”

“John Bell,” she repeated. “That’s who your Jonathan Bellingwood was until a couple of years ago. Plain old John Bell was a used car salesman around the Santa Cruz area. Apparently did pretty well for himself; his boss said the guy could convince a little old lady to buy a Maserati. But something happened after that last big earthquake we had here. Bell changed.”

“Changed how?” Barbara asked. “Did he suddenly lose the ability to sell fast cars to old ladies?” She snickered.

“Just the opposite. According to his boss, Bell was making deals right and left. The problem was, half the people who signed on the dotted line couldn’t afford the cars he sold them, and some of them came back and complained later that—and I am quoting his boss here—‘They didn’t know what came over them.’”

“Aha,” Barbara said. “That sounds interesting.”

“Oh yeah,” Beka said. “Eventually he was fired from the dealership, and after that he suddenly got religion. Started up some kind of New Age pseudo-Wiccan group promoting Gaia worship and getting back in touch with nature. It was apparently pretty successful for a while too.”

Barbara snorted. Getting close to nature wasn’t a religion for Baba Yagas; it was their job description. “So what went wrong? I assume something did, if he moved out here and started over again with a different name.”

Beka nodded. “I told you I thought something about this sounded familiar. Seems like Bell makes a habit of gathering kind of a harem around himself. The women find him irresistible, although I can’t figure out why. Wanting to go out with the guy, sure. Wanting him enough to be willing to share him with a bunch of other women? I don’t get it. Of course, I’m not exactly an expert on dating, am I?” She sighed. The Baba Yaga curse didn’t spare even the cute blond ones, apparently.

“Anyway, his last devotee in the Santa Cruz area turned out to be the underage daughter of a powerful politician, and Bell found himself in for a lot of unwelcome scrutiny. Last anyone knew, he’d disappeared, leaving behind a bunch of folks who suddenly couldn’t figure out why they’d walked away from their perfectly good lives and joined a cult, handing over large chunks of their money in the process.”

“Hmph. Interesting,” Barbara said. “It sounds like whatever he’s doing to influence people only works for as long as he’s around.”

“Yep,” Beka nodded. “I’m wondering if he found something—some powerful arcane talisman, maybe—after the earthquake. You know how every once in a while a big shake-up will temporarily open a door to the Otherworld and let something through.”

“Or unearth an ancient cairn where some paranormal creature stashed his treasure and then forgot about it when most of them were forced to go live in the Otherworld permanently,” Barbara said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “It definitely sounds like Mister John Bell may have found something that doesn’t belong to him.”

“If he did, I suspect the Queen would like you to get it back,” Beka added. “You know how she reacts to Otherworld objects falling into Human hands.”

They both shuddered involuntarily.

“Shit,” Barbara said with feeling. “I do
not
feel like being turned into a swan. Or a bullfrog.”

“I think the last one was a tree,” Beka said helpfully. “But that was someone who really pissed her off.”

“Remind me to make an effort not to do that,” Barbara said. “I’d make a terrible tree.”

“You would,” Beka said. “So you’d better get going and deal with this.”

“Don’t say it . . .” Barbara warned.

“You’d better
leaf
right now,” Beka said, and the mirror dimmed on the sound of her laughter echoing over the ether.

***

Jonathan Bellingwood leaned back in the padded leather desk chair and gazed out through the picture windows of his study with satisfaction. The view of his little empire never failed to give him a warm glow. No one would have ever expected little Johnny Bell, abandoned by his alcoholic mother at the age of six and tossed around the foster system for years, to end up here, the master of all he surveyed.

Not that it was all that much—just a ranch house with some acreage—but it was a start. And a long way from the days of being the outcast foster kid with no friends and no money. Now he was surrounded by people who adored him; he’d created the family he’d never had, and never had to be lonely again. Or poor.

Of course, it helped that no one could say no to him anymore. He’d learned to be charming early on, mostly in self-defense, but these days, his natural persuasiveness had an added boost. One hand crept up to touch the medallion he always wore, tucked under his shirt where it could touch his skin. Its unnatural heat pulsed like a drowsing dragon against his chest, quiescent for the moment. The bronze-colored metal got even hotter when he actually called on its powers, but it was worth the temporary discomfort to be able to get whatever—and whoever—he wanted.