Wickedly Magical (Baba Yaga, #0.5)(20)

Barbara shook her head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Grace. You may have made it impossible for Ivan and the girls to return to their old life, but that doesn’t mean they can’t build another, even better one.”

“I don’t understand,” Grace said.

“That, my dear, is obvious in more ways than one,” Barbara said with a snort. “Ivan comes from the Russian community, and they take care of their own. He and Katya and Elena will disappear into the depths of that community, with new names and new identities, and soon the authorities will forget that Ivan Dmetriev ever existed.”

She waved a hand in Jonathan’s direction. “Unlike this man’s false family, created out of illusions and lies and manipulation, Ivan’s extended family is real and true, and they will never let him down. Not one person will ever tell you where they are. So choose now. There will not be a second chance.”

Grace bit her lip, then slowly backed away from her children until she was standing next to Jonathan, one hand resting on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, girls. But Jonathan needs me. He’s all alone now. I know you’ll understand when you’re older.”

Barbara gritted her teeth so the rude words in her head couldn’t make it out into a room with children in it. She would never understand Humans. Well, never mind. She’d given the woman a choice, and she’d made it. It was time to go.

As she walked out through the open front door, she could see Ivan’s truck parked at the bottom of the driveway, right where she’d told him to be. When he spotted the girls, he came racing towards them, and Barbara let go of their hands so they could run into his arms. He scooped them both up, hugging them as though he would never let them go. All three of them were crying, and Barbara felt a suspicious wetness at the corners of her own eyes, which she wiped away before anyone could see.

By the time she’d walked at a more sedate pace down the shadowy drive, Ivan was fastening his daughters into their car seats. He swung around defensively as she came up to him, and she laughed at the confusion on his face.

“I promised you I would get your children back,” she said in her own voice. “And so I have.”

“Baba Yaga?” Ivan said uncertainly. “Is that you?”

“It is and it isn’t,” Barbara said. “But close enough, at the moment.”

Ivan dropped to one knee, bowing his head. “I owe you more than I can possibly repay, Baba Yaga. You have given me back my heart, my life, my whole world. How can I thank you enough?”

“You can get up off the ground, for one thing,” she said in a dry voice. “Your children probably think you are being very silly.”

Giggles from the truck proved the truth of this statement, and Barbara had to hide a grin behind one still-wrinkled hand. After all, there was a formula of sorts for these things, and this was supposed to be a solemn moment.

“You came to me with a favor that was owed, and I have repaid it in full, do you not agree?” she said.

He nodded earnestly, his plain, sturdy face glowing with joy. “You have given me all I asked for, Baba Yaga. I will be sure to tell my babushka that her token was redeemed. Is there nothing else I can do to thank you?”

“You can take your children and live a good life,” Barbara said. “Love and appreciate them every day. That is all I ask. I’m afraid that, due to your wife’s lies in court, and Mr. Bell’s magical influence, you will probably have to start over under new names. But I am certain you can manage that.” She gave him a sly look. “I suspect your babushka knows someone useful. She seems like the type to know anyone worth knowing.”

Concern temporarily erased the newfound happiness from Ivan’s face. “But what if Grace decides to come looking for us? I don’t want the kids to have to spend their lives on the run. It just wouldn’t be fair to them.”

Barbara shook her head. “That won’t happen. Start your new lives, and I promise you, Grace will never bother you again. And a Baba Yaga never breaks her promise.”

Ivan smiled gratefully and turned back to finish buckling Katya into her seat.

“Wait,” Barbara said. “Perhaps there is one thing you can do for me.”

“Oh?” Ivan swiveled around, looking slightly alarmed. “What is it?”

She smiled. “When you tell the children tales of the Baba Yaga on a cold winter’s night, you might remember to mention that whether or not the witch is wicked often depends on who is telling the story.”

With a wave at the girls, she disappeared into the darkness. A moment later, they heard the sound of a motorcycle as it roared off down the road, and then there was silence.

***

A couple of weeks later, Barbara sat around a bonfire by a quiet lake with her two sister Baba Yagas. Now that the class she was giving was over, she was slowly making her way back across the country to her regular (albeit necessarily intermittent) teaching position at Berkeley, and all three Babas had taken advantage of a rare moment of coinciding lulls to gather together for an evening. The other two had taken paths through the Otherworld from the doorways hidden in each of their traveling homes, which was a whole lot quicker and easier than trying to meet up in any conventional way.

Beka lifted her glass of wine in a salute after Barbara finished telling them about her most recent adventures. “I love it when the good guys win,” she said. “Although I have to admit, I feel a little sorry for that Jonathan fellow.”