He surprised her by shaking his head vigorously. “No. Don’t do that. You will solve this. You don’t need to call that one back.” A shadow crossed his eyes, turning their brilliant green to muddy olive.
“You’d rather have me than her?” Beka asked. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would prefer an inexperienced, barely competent Baba to one who had been doing the job for hundreds of years. “Why?”
Fergus gazed at the water, a somber expression on his normally cheerful face. “I do not wish to speak badly of the woman who raised you, or insult the Baba; she did her job well, of that there is no question.” He hesitated, two careful breaths that spoke more than words. “But I much prefer you, all the same. There was something . . . not quite right about the old Baba, toward the end. Many of us felt it.”
Beka could feel her eyebrows climbing in the direction of the blue skies above. “Well, Babas have never been known for their ability to fit in with the other races, Human or mystical, but my foster mother always seemed to me to do it better than most. She was not warm and cozy, exactly, but she took good care of me, long after any other Baba would have simply left me to manage on my own.”
Fergus shook his head, shaggy hair flopping into his face. “On the surface, yes, she always appeared benign. Especially for a Baba Yaga. But there was something dark underneath all those layers of long batik skirts and jangling beaded necklaces. Something wrong hiding just out of sight, like the fleeting glimpse of a predator you see out of the corner of your eye, right before it pounces and gnaws on your bones.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I know you think I am talking foolishness, but I still ask of you, as one who calls you friend, do not bring back the old Baba.”
Beka blinked, pleased that the Merman considered her a friend. She still thought she was out of her depth, and as likely to fail as not, but his faith in her gave off warmth like the sun overhead. As for the other . . . clearly, he was talking nonsense.
“I’ll do my best,” Beka said. She saw the Wily Serpent approaching from the open ocean, a ramrod-straight figure standing in the bow. She could almost see his scowl from here.
“But I’m not sure what I’ll do if the lab at the university can’t find whatever is poisoning the water. I will keep diving, searching for clues, but honestly, I’m baffled. Everything looks fine, and yet, there is something very, very wrong down there. And the closer I get to your home, the worse the wrongness gets.”
“I am sure that you will find your way to the answer before long,” Fergus said firmly. “You are the Baba Yaga.”
Yes, she was. And that was part of the problem. She really wasn’t sure she wanted to be.
SIX
“YOU’RE BROODING,” CHEWIE said as they sat outside the bus a couple of days later. A glowing quarter moon hung bright in the sky overhead, and cool, salty breezes blew in from the ocean across the highway. A small bonfire burned in the fire pit before them, its sparks spitting defiance at the stars.
Despite the beauty and peace of the night, Beka was definitely in a funk.
“I’m not brooding,” she said, poking listlessly at a log with a pointed stick.
The giant Newfoundland huffed, his breath igniting the stick and sending the flames roaring upward for a moment. “You are brooding,” he said, plopping onto the ground by her camp chair with a thud that rattled the entire bluff. “And it is getting on my nerves. You should make s’mores. That would cheer you up.”
Beka dropped the stick rapidly into the fire. “S’mores would cheer you up. And I’m not brooding. I’m just thinking, that’s all.”
“About that hunky fisherman?” Chewie said, perking his ears up.
She rolled her eyes. Yes. “No, not about the hunky fisherman. Well, at least not mostly.” Although it did seem ridiculously difficult to stop thinking about him. Three days on that damned boat together, and he not only tortured her during the day, but haunted her dreams as well. It hardly seemed fair.
“To be honest, Chewie, I’m not sure I can do all this.”
“Do what?” the dragon-in-disguise asked, baffled. “Sit under the stars and drink chardonnay?”
Beka sighed. “No, I mean this.” She waved her hand around, indicating the bus and everything it represented. “Maybe I’m not cut out to be a Baba Yaga after all.”
Chewie sat up so suddenly a roosting flock of birds was startled out of a nearby tree. Their indignant caws rained down like fall leaves as they flew away.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he said, staring at her. “You’re the Baba Yaga—there is no ‘cut out for’ or ‘not cut out for.’ Brenna chose you and trained you, and here you are.” Concern filled his soulful brown eyes. “Maybe you just need to have a little drink of the Water of Life and Death. It sounds like you need a boost.”