Wickedly Dangerous (Baba Yaga, #1)(21)
The man next to him was shorter, with long black hair pulled back in a tail, and the dark slanted eyes, flat cheekbones, and Fu Manchu mustache of the Mongolian desert. He moved with the loose gait of a man who knows many martial arts and has mastered them all, and the red leather jumpsuit he wore fit him like a second skin.
Their companion made them both look almost ordinary; a massive giant of a man with coarse brown hair and a braided beard, wearing a black leather jacket that jangled with silver chains, worn black jeans, and dusty boots that Liam could have fit both of his feet into with room left over to spare.
They all looked attractive, confident . . . and dangerous. Liam could feel his muscles tighten in response, like an alpha dog whose territory has suddenly been invaded. When they crossed the room to stand in front of Baba, it was all he could do not to growl.
The blond man swept down in a graceful bow. “Baba Yaga, how lovely to see you. You are looking as glorious as always.” The Asian man snorted, but both he and the walking mountain standing next to him inclined their heads briefly.
“Yager,” Baba corrected. “Barbara Yager. No nicknames here.” But Liam was disconcerted to see her wearing the first broad smile he’d ever seen on her face. “You are very prompt. I wasn’t expecting you for a few days. Tomorrow at the earliest.”
The big man grimaced. “We were sitting around with nothing to do in Kansas City. Believe me, we were happy for a reason to leave.” Unlike Baba, he spoke with a very strong accent. Were sounded like vere. Liam suddenly felt like an extra in the movie The Russians Are Coming, the Russians Are Coming. He looked around to see if anyone else had noticed, but the room was so loud, the three could have been speaking in pig Latin and no one would have heard it.
Liam cleared his throat. “Friends of yours?” he asked.
“More like employees. They work for me, on and off.” Baba patted the blond man on one shoulder, and Liam spotted what looked like a tattoo of a white dragon curled around his collarbone with its face peeking slyly from underneath the elegant linen shirt.
He raised one eyebrow. “Really? And what does an herbalist college professor need with a three-man private army? What do they do for you, go into the woods and pick pretty flowers?”
The huge man scowled and bared his teeth, but Baba just laughed. “If I ask them to.” She waved one languid hand from left to right, blond to black to brown.
“Meet my Bright Dawn, my Red Sun, and my Dark Midnight. This handsome fellow is Mikhail Day.” The blond man bowed to Liam, who only narrowly restrained himself from bowing back, and no doubt looking like a fool in the process.
“Gregori Sun,” she said, and the Asian man put his palms together over his heart and tilted his head. “And this large person is Alexei Knight.” The big man, who must have been at least six foot eight, and as wide as the other two put together, just stared at Liam, his eyes narrowed as if he was trying to calculate the force it would require to snap the smaller man in half.
Baba either didn’t notice his attitude, or didn’t care. “Boys,” she said, “meet Sheriff Liam McClellan. He’s the law here, and a good man. Try not to piss him off.”
Liam was torn between ridiculous pleasure at being named a “good man” and irritation at what were clearly more secrets and lies from Baba. Whose last name might or might not be Yager.
The balance slid heavily in the direction of displeasure when she added, “Sorry about our game, Sheriff. We’ll have to play again some other time,” then walked off without a backward glance. She hummed as she went, and the few folks who had been staring at them suddenly seemed to lose all interest in the visitors, turning back to their beers and their conversations.
As the odd quartet made their way across the bar and out the front door, Liam realized two things that made his already dismal mood turn dark and stormy: inexplicably, he was actually feeling a little bit jealous. And Baba had never answered his last question.
*
BABA SCRATCHED CHUDO-YUDO idly behind the ears as she explained the situation to the White Rider, the Red Rider, and the Black Rider. Pledged to the service of the Baba Yagas, even Baba herself didn’t know exactly what kind of creatures they were behind their human masks. All she knew for certain was that they were immortal, powerful, and on her side. At the moment, that was more than enough.
“So,” Mikhail drawled, leaning forward to look at the laptop on the table in front of them. He and Gregori were tucked into the banquette seats with Baba. Alexei, whose bulk would never have fit in the limited space, had propped himself against the counter across the way. Baba thought she heard the trailer groan slightly as it adjusted to his weight.
Mikhail went on, recapping what Baba had just spent twenty minutes telling them in one brutal sentence. “You’re saying we have three children who have mysteriously disappeared with no explanation, a disturbance in the balance of the natural world that may or may not be related to Human gas drilling, and some woman wearing a glamour who you think may have used magic to disrupt a town meeting.”
He gestured at the pictures of the children on the screen in front of him with one manicured finger. “I can see why you called us in. This is a mess.” The accent that sometimes sounded harsh coming from the other two turned to music when it came from his well-formed mouth, but didn’t make his words any less painful.
Baba breathed in and out through her long nose, striving for an equanimity she didn’t feel. She always had a hard time maintaining her emotional distance—part of a Baba’s job description—when children were involved.