“No offense,” Boudicca said with a rueful eye roll.
Beka smiled at her. Gwrtheyrn’s mostly well-deserved anti-Human bias didn’t bother her nearly as much as discovering that the outlaw leader the Queen had tasked her to uncover had already been hard at work sowing dissention and recruiting followers among the undersea people.
“How many of your people do you think have chosen to follow this agitator?” Beka asked. “And do you think they are dangerous?”
Boudicca sighed, her abundant bosom heaving. “It is impossible to say. The rumors are everywhere. The renegade himself seems to be nowhere. As for dangerous . . . how dangerous are Humans when they are feeling threatened and helpless and frightened, and some forceful figure comes along and tells them exactly what they want to hear?”
That was exactly what Beka had been afraid of. Queen Morena’s fears that this renegade and his followers would do something that would irrevocably reveal the existence of magical creatures to the entire Human race had apparently not been an overreaction.
If Beka couldn’t find and stop these people before they went too far, Humans could get hurt or even killed. And then the backlash, should the paranormal world be discovered, would be unspeakable. The best they could hope for would be dissection tables, zoos, and internment camps. The worst—the witch hunts all over again.
She had to find these renegades fast, and not just because the Queen was going to take her job away from her if she didn’t.
Beka said her good-byes to Boudicca, Gwrtheyrn, and Tyrus, and made her way back to the pathway that would return her to the doorway between the worlds. Frantic plans tumbled through her brain as she walked. She would try to find Kesh and see if he had heard anything about this renegade leader, or even been approached to join the group. She would send a message to Marcus’s father (hopefully without Marcus finding out and ripping her head off) asking him to warn the other fishermen to be alert for trouble. Although that one was tricky, since she couldn’t exactly explain what forms the trouble might come in.
And she thought it was time to call in some help.
As soon as she got home, she was going to summon the Riders.
* * *
JUST AS THERE had always been Babas, there had also always been the Riders. No one seemed to know if they were immortal creatures who chose to look like men, or if they were simply a series of creatures who took on the same guise when one took over for another. Brenna had insisted that the Riders she knew had been the same ones that her mentor Baba knew, and between them, they covered hundreds of years of experience.
No matter what manner of being they truly were, the Riders were dedicated to the service of the Baba Yagas. Attractive, powerful, and completely dependable (as long as you didn’t mind some collateral damage along the way), the White Rider, the Red Rider, and the Black Rider had ridden their magical horses through the old Baba Yaga stories, inspiring awe and fear. If a Baba Yaga had a problem too big to handle on her own, she could call in the Riders.
As far as Beka was concerned, this particular set of problems definitely qualified.
Apparently Chewie agreed.
“It’s about damned time,” he muttered as she changed out of her finery and detailed her plan to him. “There is no shame in admitting you need help.” He was stretched out on the floor next to her bed, taking up most of the rest of the space in the small room. “Are you going to call them now?”
Beka nodded, tossing on a simple sundress and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Right this very minute, if you could stop bitching long enough for me to concentrate.”
“I am a male,” Chewie growled. “I don’t bitch.” But he sat up alertly, adding only, “I really like that Alexei. It will be good to see him again.”
Beka snorted. “Of course you do. You’re both insanely large, furry, and like to eat anything not nailed down. You’re practically twins.”
Taking off the dragon earring with the black tourmaline in it, she held it in cupped hands and closed her eyes, summoning as clear a picture of Alexei Knight as she could, building a bridge to his essence with her memories and her desperation. A huge bear of a man, at least six foot eight, and massively built, Alexei was the berserker of the three, who lived to fight and drink and eat, and did all of them with joyous abandon. She could see him now as if he stood before her—his coarse brown hair wild as brambles, his beard braided, his eyes lit from within as if by fire. He usually wore black leathers that jangled with chains, and rode a black Harley that roared almost as loudly as he did.
I need you, Alexei. Come to me.
Replacing the tourmaline earring, she took out the one with the pearl and thought about her favorite of all the Riders. Mikhail Day, the White Rider, had always been kind to her when she’d been a child, and she’d had an avid crush on him as a teen. Little wonder, when he looked like a Tolkien elf; his long blond hair worn loose to drift over his broad shoulders, dressed in pristine white jeans and a linen shirt, so handsome that otherwise sensible women tended to lose their heads when he walked into a room. His white Yamaha purred like a panther, and he had a weakness for sweets and damsels in distress. Surely Mikhail could help her, if anyone could.