Wickedly Dangerous (Baba Yaga, #1)(78)

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THE RAIN HAD driven Liam into the dubious shelter of a rickety kids’ fort cobbled together from old planks and some bright blue tarps in a corner of Davy’s backyard. Before that, he’d watched, perched up in the oak tree overlooking the yard, as Davy, his mom, and a tiny, hyperactive, brown dachshund had picnicked and played for hours behind the safety of a high wooden fence. When the rain came, driving the family inside, Liam got ready to leave. But as he began to slide down from his lofty roost, he was hit by that visceral feeling that longtime lawmen learn not to ignore, a little voice that said, Don’t go; something bad is coming.

So he waited for them to settle inside, and then he crept down an overhanging branch until he could get close enough to the ground to drop down safely. Which made him think grimly: if he could do it, so could someone else. So he tucked himself into the furthest recesses of the tiny fort and watched through the window as Davy’s mom prepared their dinner amid the warmth and light of a cozy kitchen, and hoped that no one would find him skulking in a child’s playhouse and ask him to explain what the hell he was doing there.

The rain pelted the top of the less-than-waterproof structure, dripping on Liam’s hat and occasionally finding a stealthy path to the back of his neck and down over his shirt collar. The damp seemed to work its way into his bones and his stomach complained bitterly as Mrs. Turner stirred something on the stove that sent tantalizing aromas drifting out the open window, hinting at tomato sauce and onions simmering in butter.

Liam had almost convinced himself that his instincts had steered him wrong when the back door opened again to reveal five-year-old Davy and his dog, whose wiggling body hesitated briefly before heading out into the rain to pee against the nearest tree. Once done, however, the already drenched animal was in no hurry to return back inside.

“Trevor, come back here,” Davy called softly, patting his leg and making what were probably supposed to be whistling sounds, but come out more as whooshing puffs of air. “Come on, boy! It’s almost dinnertime!”

The tiny dog yipped in excited defiance, chasing some smell more interesting than the dry indoors and ignoring his pint-sized master with an attitude that bespoke of common practice.

“Trevor! Trevor!” Davy hissed at the dog, then looked furtively over his shoulder toward his mother, who was rummaging through a cupboard on the far side of the room. Even through the window, Liam could see that she was focused on finding something deep in the cupboard’s recesses that had so far eluded her.

Davy gave one more backward glance and then came sprinting across the yard, intent on recapturing his pet and getting him back inside before his mother discovered them missing, and they both got in trouble. He skidded across soggy leaves and pounced, coming up with the squirming dachshund clasped firmly in his pudgy little arms.

Liam started to pull his too-large body even farther into the too-small fort, worried that the child might spot him, when something wrong tugged at his senses. A foggy gray shadow solidified into a beautiful blond woman, standing almost on top of the boy, who glanced up in surprise, blue eyes wide and mouth opening to call for his mother.

But Maya held out something that looked like a spinning, glowing ball of sunlight, its brightness only slightly defused by the foggy mist that surrounded her. The child’s eyes fogged too, turning to empty marbles the color of the sky at dawn, and then closing altogether. The dog slid unnoticed from his limp grasp to run under the fort, shivering and whimpering.

Liam put his right hand on his gun, and then hesitated. She was so close to the boy, standing right over him. It was too dangerous, even though less than two feet separated him from the creature as she stooped to pick up her latest victim. Liam stepped out of the lean-to, taking a giant step in her direction.

“Step away from the child,” he said in a low, authoritative voice. “Step away now.”

Maya lifted her head, startled by his sudden appearance, then let loose a silvery laugh that sent cold fingers down his spine. “I don’t think so, Sheriff,” she said, reforming the ball of light that had mesmerized the boy. “I think I’ll take this one too, and leave you lying here in the rain, looking even more incompetent than ever.”

She closed the distance between them, holding the whirring light up in front of his face. For a moment, he felt the world as a distant echo, far away and as illusory as a fireside tale, then a burning sensation from the medallion hanging over his chest snapped the spell like a spinner’s broken thread, unraveling it back to its source.

Maya faltered for a precious second, stunned by the unexpected failure of her magic, and Liam pulled out the Taser he’d been holding behind his back and shot her with 50,000 volts. She fell to the ground with a satisfying thud and lay there spasming uncontrollably.

By the time Davy’s mother had flown out of the house with a shriek, Maya’s hands were firmly handcuffed behind her, the cold steel holding her in place in more ways than the obvious. Davy sat up, looking dazed and confused, and Trevor the dog barked loudly as if taking credit for his enemy’s capture.

Mrs. Turner clasped the boy to her so tightly she threatened to cut off his oxygen, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Oh my god, oh my god,” she kept saying. “My baby, oh my god.”

Liam patted her on the shoulder, and then heaved a glowering Maya to her feet. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Turner. It’s all over now.”