Wickedly Dangerous (Baba Yaga, #1)(42)
Another crash of thunder directly overhead made the ground shake, and Baba marched over to the door and flung it open.
“That’s it,” she said. “I’m putting a stop to this. The elements are my sphere of influence; I’ll be damned if I let some other witch or magic user mess with the folks under my protection.”
Chudo-Yudo cocked his head to one side quizzically, as if asking if she meant simply the Riders (who normally didn’t need protecting) or the missing children or everyone in the entire area. Then he gave a shrug and came to stand in the doorway behind her again.
“Go ahead, then. I’ll just watch from here. If I get soaked, you’ll be complaining about the wet dog smell for a week.” He gave her a look of exasperated concern. “Just try not to get struck by lightning, okay? You still haven’t gotten around to training your replacement, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to do it.”
Baba rolled her eyes at him and strode out into the storm, bare feet squelching in the viscous brown mud and wet grass catching at her ankles as if to hold her back. She was instantly soaked to the skin, the cotton shirt and long skirt she wore clinging to her chilled body. Above her, the night was rocked by simultaneous explosions of lightning and the feral roar of thunder, until it seemed like the entire meadow must soon disappear in a flare of smoke and fury, never to be seen again.
Baba ignored it all—churning noise and electric crackle and shuddering ground, the slash of the pelting rain and the biting fingers of the wind. She planted her feet firmly on the dirt, digging her toes in until the rich soil oozed up around her arches. Her arms flew up into the air as she flung her power against the raging energy of the storm.
“By the earth that is my body,” she shouted, the words reverberating up from her core, “by the air that is my breath, by the water that is my blood, and by the fire that is my spirit, I command you, elementals of nature, to return to your natural balance. This is my will and my desire, and so mote it be!”
A bolt of lightning struck the ground so close to her, she could feel her hair crackle with static. But then the rain began to ease, dropping back to a drizzle that was soon barely more than a mist in the suddenly quiet evening. Water dripped from the Airstream’s roof in musical pitter-pats, and a sliver of moon poked its head out from behind a web-thin cloud. It was over.
She padded soggily back to the doorway, where her faithful dragon-dog sat.
“Nice,” he said. “Can I have a cookie? Storms always make me hungry.”
*
ALEXEI WAS THE first to arrive, pounding on the front door and growling like the great black bear he resembled. “Baba, I’m drenched to my skivvies out here, let me in, will you?”
Her heart warmed with relief at the sound of his familiar gruff bellow, and she ran to open the door. In the dim mahogany light outside, his dark bulk blended with the night so he seemed only a shadow of black on black, ominous and foreboding. Forward movement brought his features into focus, a black-and-white photo morphing into color.
Once inside he shook himself, sending droplets of dank water scattering across the room, and making Baba and Chudo-Yudo cry out in protest.
“Alexei! Are you trying to drown us?” Baba snapped her fingers and the moisture disappeared, leaving a dry but still-grumpy man-mountain standing in the middle of her kitchen.
“Came close enough to drowning, myself,” he said, scowling down at her. “Might as well share the joy.” He stomped off to sit down on the sofa at the near end of the Airstream as another, less forceful, knock came on the door.
“Mikhail!” Baba said, letting him inside and drying him off too. “I was starting to worry about the three of you. Are you okay?”
His bright blue eyes flashed like the lightning. “I am now. I assume you’re the one who stopped that benighted storm?” He shook his head, his gorgeous face uncharacteristically dour, and his long hair lank from his drenching. “For a while there, I wasn’t sure I was going to make it back at all.”
“Me neither,” a voice said from behind him, and Baba gasped as Gregori Sun made his way into the trailer, a limp marring his customarily graceful walk. A large gash made a livid path across his forehead, and he held his body as if it hurt to move. “Hello, Baba. Mind if I sit down?”
Baba closed her mouth and led the two Riders to the lounge area at the right of the door. Alexei slid over on the couch to make room for the other men, and Baba grabbed a stool for herself. Chudo-Yudo sat at her feet, black tongue lolling as he stared in fascination at the three battered-looking Riders.
Before she sat down, Baba said, “Can I get you some tea? It will warm you up.”
Alexei grimaced. “Tea? We all come in half dead and battered and the best you can do is offer us tea? I don’t know about these guys, but I could use a stiff drink. Vodka, preferably.” The other two nodded in agreement, even Gregori, who rarely drank.
“Oh, sure,” Baba said, and pulled a bottle of Stolichnaya out of the freezer. She poured four large shots, although she didn’t touch the one in front of her. Something told her she was going to need to keep her head.
“Confusion to the enemy,” Mikhail said, raising his glass.
“Surviving to fight another day,” added Gregori, lifting his.
Alexei rolled his eyes. “Na Zdorovie!” And muttered under his breath, “Philosophical idiots.”