Wickedly Dangerous (Baba Yaga, #1)(88)
“You’ll give me the boy,” she said succinctly, each word dropping into the air like a biting fragment of hail, “or I will bring your world crashing down around your ears. I’ll tell your wife we’ve been screwing since my first interview. I’ll tell everyone in town that you helped me to choose which children to steal and that you’re behind all the mischief that’s happened to the people who haven’t wanted to let you drill on their land.”
“That was you too?” Callahan looked so stunned, Maya wanted to laugh. “But—but if you were helping me before, why do this now?”
“I helped you get what you wanted because it suited me to do so at the time,” she said with a shrug. “And now it suits me to take it away. Just as you Humans took away my power and drained my spirit by destroying the pure waters that link my kind to this benighted world. Be practical, my darling Peter. You can make another son, but can you build another powerful career if I destroy your reputation and implicate you in my crimes?” She rolled her eyes at his deer-in-the-headlights look. “Consider your son the price for all my help. At that, you’re getting quite the bargain.”
Callahan glanced around desperately, as if some miraculous answer would materialize from behind the overstuffed white couch with its hand-embroidered golden pillows or slide out from behind the bland, expensive artwork hung on the walls.
“He’s out with my wife,” he said. “You’ll have to leave town without him.” Callahan pulled his wallet out of a back pocket, the tooled leather gleaming under the lights of the tasteful crystal chandelier that hung from the high ceiling overhead. “Look, I can give you money. My charge cards. I’ll write you a blank check.”
“I don’t need your money,” Maya said. She tilted her head as if listening. “Ah, how convenient. I believe I hear your wife pulling in now. I’ll just take what I came for and go; you can get on with your empire building in peace.”
“But—what will I tell my wife?” Callahan bleated, all his usual polish wiped away. “I can’t tell her I simply handed over our son!”
Maya smiled evilly. “Tell her you were wrong about me after all; just another poor victim of the horrible woman who stole away everyone’s children. Maybe you’ll even get enough sympathy from those foolish locals to sway a few more people to your side.”
Tired of arguing, she drew on her borrowed magic and bound his will to hers. The spell hadn’t worked as well as she’d hoped on that silly Melissa, protected as she was by her own insanity. But Peter had no such protection, and Maya relished the moment when he realized he no longer controlled his own actions. Only his eyes, darting frantically back and forth, revealed the mind that no longer ruled his body.
She turned her back on him and walked outside, knowing he’d have no choice but to follow. At the top arc of the circular gravel driveway, Callahan’s wife Penelope was helping a small boy out of his car seat, a pile of shopping bags on the ground near her feet. She looked up in surprise when she saw Maya.
“Why, Ms. Freeman, I didn’t expect to see you here.” Penelope gave Maya a cautious look, suspicion edging her voice. “I heard in town that you’d accused Sheriff McClellan of being involved in the kidnappings somehow. I just can’t believe it’s true. You must have made a mistake.”
“Not to worry,” Maya said brightly. “It will all become clear soon enough. In the meanwhile, I’m afraid there’s been a little problem in your basement. It seems like one of the pipes there sprang a leak, and the water is rising fast.” She tapped her toe again, speeding up the flow of the underground spring she’d called on earlier to break through the floor and flood the cellar. Sometimes having control of water was a handy thing.
“Your husband asked me to come take little Peter Junior out for ice cream while the two of you deal with the plumber and all that mess,” she continued, moving to take the boy’s hand before his mother could react, and walking him rapidly in the direction of her rental car. She would be so relieved never to have to use these stupid human metal torture devices again. Even with all her increased strength, it was agony to ride in the things.
“And I was happy to do it. You just take all the time you need. Peter Jr. and I will be just fine, won’t we?” She smiled happily down at the child, who craned his neck around to look at his mother uncertainly.
“Oh, no,” Penelope said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You don’t even have a car seat. Besides, we’ve been out all afternoon and Petey is tired. And it’s almost dinnertime.” She gazed as her husband, obviously expecting him to do something.
“Peter. Peter! Tell her she can’t take our son!”
Callahan just hung his head and said nothing, holding Penelope back by force when she would have stopped Maya, who plopped their son into the passenger seat of her car, buckled the seatbelt around his tiny waist, and drove off in a spray of gravel and impending sorrow.
*
LIAM WAS WALKING out of the cemetery with Baba when he heard the crackle and squawk of the two-way radio in the squad car. Technically, he shouldn’t even be driving it now, but he hadn’t gone home yet to exchange it for his personal truck. Besides, as long as he still wore his uniform and could sit behind the wheel of the cruiser, he could almost pretend he still had an office and a job to go with them.