Wickedly Magical (Baba Yaga, #0.5)(4)
She sat down in the chair opposite Ivan and gave him his tea.
“Oh,” he said, clasping his mug with both hand as if it was the only solid thing in the universe. “So I guess the stories about the Baba Yaga that described her as an old crone were about the other Baba. That explains it.”
Barbara bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “Mostly it was just tradition. A Baba Yaga can look like anything she wants to, but usually the frightening old witch fits the role best.” She brushed away his next question with the wave of a hand. “Why don’t you tell me why you sought me out? Let me guess—you want me to give you some kind of treasure. People are always looking for magical treasure.” She sighed. It wasn’t that the Babas never granted jewels or riches to the people willing to jump through impossible hoops to get them; Barbara just couldn’t understand why on earth they’d go to all that trouble just for some shiny baubles.
Please don’t let it be treasure. Please don’t let it be treasure. She crossed her fingers under her teacup. She kind of liked the guy; she really didn’t want to have to send him into the mouth of a live volcano or down into a bottomless pit.
The lines around Ivan’s mouth grew deeper and his brown eyes saddened. “I already had the greatest treasure in the world, Baba Yaga, and someone stole it from me. I need your help to get it back.”
Barbara sighed and uncrossed her fingers. “What was it then? Diamonds? Gold? And who stole it from you?”
Ivan pulled a much-creased photo out of his wallet and handed it to her. It showed two young blond girls on a swing set, laughing as they soared through the sky. Their hair was lighter than his, but their eyes and cheekbones were pure Dmetriev.
“These are my daughters, Elena and Katya. They were two and four when this picture was taken last year, and they have been the treasures of my heart since the day they were born.” He blinked back angry tears and straightened up, jaw tightening. “Their mother stole them away six months ago. I’ve done everything in my power to get them back, but I’ve failed, so my babushka told me I should come to you. She said that a Baba Yaga could do anything. So please, please, Baba—Barbara—help me get my children back again. I’ll do anything you say, pay any price. Please, just say you’ll help me.”
Oh, hell, Barbara thought. A domestic dispute. I would have rather had a damned treasure hunt.
***
From the look on Barbara’s face, Ivan figured he had maybe five minutes before she kicked him out. Or fed him to her gigantic dog. The thing looked like it could have him for dinner and have room left over for a nice mailman for dessert. His babushka had warned him this wouldn’t be easy, but he didn’t care. If he couldn’t get his girls back, his life wasn’t worth living anyway.
The Baba Yaga tucked her wild cloud of hair behind one ear and scowled at him. “I’m a witch, sir, not a marriage counselor or a lawyer. I suggest you try one of them and save your grandmother’s favor for something more appropriate.”
Ivan’s fingers clenched around the mug and hot tea splashed unheeded onto his jeans. “Do you think I’d be here if I hadn’t already tried everything else?” he asked bitterly.
“When my wife first took the girls, I tried talking to her, then I tried a lawyer, then I tried the cops. At first, it seemed like that would work, but then my wife and her new boyfriend managed to convince everyone that I was a monster—that I’d molested my own children. The cops warned me off, the courts issued a temporary restraining order, and even my own lawyer turned against me. It was insane! As if I would ever do anything to hurt my girls. I never even spanked them, no matter what mischief they got up to.” He gazed into her amber eyes, trying to project his innocence like a message from his heart to hers. It seemed futile; nobody else believed him anymore, so why should she?
One slim finger tapped red lips thoughtfully. “You realize that lying to a Baba Yaga is a really bad idea, right? Epic, monumental, catastrophic bad.”
He nodded. “I’m not lying, I swear. But I don’t know how to convince you.”
She nudged the huge pit bull with one foot and he rose, yawning wide and showing off equally huge, sharp white teeth. “If you’re familiar with the legends, then you probably know that Babas were supposed to be able to sniff out lies with their long noses.” She touched her own nose a tad self-consciously, and then yanked her hand back down again.
“Um, yes. I remember something like that.”
“Ha,” she said. “The Babas actually have something of a secret weapon. You might be able to lie to me, but no one can fool Chudo-Yudo.” She patted the furred giant affectionately.
A long distant fragment of story floated to the surface of his mind. “Chudo-Yudo, that’s the dragon that guards the Water of Life and Death, right? I think my grandmother told a tale about the Baba Yaga controlling the dragon, or something like that.” He smiled at her. “Cool name for a dog. Especially one that travels with a Baba Yaga.”
The witch sighed, a hint of humor hovering briefly at one corner of her mouth. “Controlling might be too strong a word for it, really. No one controls a dragon, not even me. And the dog isn’t named after Chudo-Yudo, he is Chudo-Yudo. One of them, anyway. Each Baba Yaga has one.”
The pit bull grinned toothily at him, and shot tiny sparks out of its nostrils. Ivan fought the impulse to jump out of his chair and run for the door. He’d been braced for a mythic witch—sort of—but dragons? Dragons were another thing altogether.