Wickedly Wonderful(67)

She should have known better. There was a reason that Baba Yagas didn’t allow themselves to get close to Humans. But Barbara had managed to make it work, and so for one brief moment, Beka had convinced herself she could do it too. She really should have known better.

Heaving clumping steps and a deep woof heralded the return of Chewie before he slid the door open and ambled inside. She brushed away tears and tried to look normal.

“Heya, Beka,” Chewie said, “I saw the sailor’s car was gone so I figured it was safe to come back.” He gave a doggy smirk. “Did you have a nice afternoon?”

Then he took a closer look, sniffed the air, and wandered into the kitchen where she was sitting next to the surfboard she hadn’t bothered to whisk back into its storage space.

“Okay, I’m confused,” he said. “Either you’ve taken up indoor surfing, or you’ve come up with some kinky new way to have sex. Which is it?”

“Neither.” Beka sniffed. “I was proving to Marcus that I could do magic. I tried telling him about being a Baba Yaga, and he didn’t believe me, so I brought the board in, and then turned a pillow into a bird.”

Chewie peered at her red eyes. “Either the sex really sucked, or telling him you’re magical didn’t go over well.”

Beka sniffed again, another couple of errant tears escaping and plopping onto the floor like a mini rainstorm. “The sex didn’t suck.”

“Ah.” Chewie sank down next to her, his giant head resting on her feet in a gesture of furry solidarity. “So he wasn’t thrilled and excited to discover that he was living in a fairy tale.”

“Not exactly,” Beka said with a sigh. “More like pissed off and freaked out. He obviously felt like I’d been lying to him by not telling him all along.”

Chewie growled. “Well, that’s just stupid. It’s not like you can go around telling everyone you’re a powerful witch out of Russian legend.”

“I know, I know,” Beka said. “I’m not saying his reaction was fair. But maybe I should have told him before we made love and not after. Or before he told me that he was serious about me.” She scrubbed at her eyes with her hands, tired of crying, but not sure how to stop. “Was being the operative word, I’m afraid.”

“Are you serious about him?” Chewie asked, lifting his head to stare into her face.

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now. He told me to stay away from him. It’s over. I just need to concentrate on doing my job and get on with my life. I’m sure Kesh will be happy to console me.”

Chewie growled again, louder this time. “Stick to chocolate; it might be safer.” He perked up. “Hey, at least you finally got laid. That’s something.”

“Oh, shut up,” Beka said, but she gave a watery laugh nonetheless, and rested her head against the cabinet behind her. The weight of the dragon leaning against her was comforting; almost enough to make her forget about her burning eyes and the relentless fatigue that made her bones feel like they were filled with lead.

The sound of a brisk knock on the half-open door made her stand up so fast, her head swam, and she had to grab the counter to keep from passing out.

“It’s not him,” Chewie said with quiet compassion. He stood on his hind legs to peer out the window. “Whoever it is doesn’t smell Human.”

“Oh.” Beka scrubbed at her face and straightened her clothes before walking over to the door with Chewie on her heels. She thought about grabbing one of her knives, but no paranormal creature would be foolish enough to try and harm a Baba Yaga inside her own hut. Er, bus.

When she pulled the door open the rest of the way, she could see their visitor standing just out of the sunshine; the shade from the bus seemed to cause his form to flicker and change. One moment he looked like a skinny Human of indiscriminate age and medium height, with sandy brown hair and no notable features. The next, the light shifted into a suggestion of pointed ears and something that resembled a lashing tail. And possibly an extra arm or two.

The not-quite-a-man gave a low bow, holding out a curled-up parchment in pale twiggy fingers. The antique paper bore a few thin scores that might have been made by claws clutching it a bit too tightly as its bearer traveled between two worlds.

“Baba Yaga,” the messenger said in a scratchy voice like wind creaking through gnarled tree limbs. “I bring you greetings and solicitations from my mistress, the Queen, and deliver to you this summons to her most August Presence.” He bowed again, so deeply that the invisible points on his seemingly Human ears scraped twin lines in the sand and gravel surface of the lot.