Wickedly Wonderful (Baba Yaga, #2)(104)
No, she wasn’t going to miss any of that at all.
“I think we should go away,” Beka said abruptly. “After all, Baba Yagas are supposed to travel around. What’s the point of living in a bus if you always stay in one place?”
“But I thought you hated moving around all the time,” Chewie said, his furry face perplexed. “You were ecstatic when Brenna finally settled us here for a while. And Baba Yagas travel when they get a magical summons that tells them they are needed somewhere. Did you get a vibe and not tell me?”
“No,” Beka said. “No vibe. I just thought it might be good to have a change of scenery.” She didn’t know if she could face staying here without Marcus nearby. Once his father was gone—one way or the other—Marcus would be gone too. He’d told her from the start that he’d never intended to stay. As soon as his father no longer needed him, he would be on his way to whatever his life held next, leaving the Bay just too empty for Beka to contemplate.
There was no way she was going to try and explain all that to Chewie though. It sounded crazy even to her. Who knew love made so little sense? No wonder Humans wrote all those sad songs about it. From now on, she was sticking to paranormal creatures and meaningless trysts. It was a lot easier on the heart.
“I’m going to go get changed so I can visit the Queen,” she said, jumping up from the table. “I won’t be able to relax until I’ve gotten through my obligatory visit without being turned into something with feathers, scales, or thorns.”
“There’s nothing wrong with scales,” Chewie called after her as she walked toward the bedroom. “And don’t forget to take your Orb o’ Death with you—that thing gives me the willies.”
*
BEKA BREATHED A sigh of relief as she stepped back through the closet that hid the doorway between the Human realm and the Otherworld. Tiny purple sparkles swirled around her feet as she crossed the border, and high-pitched giggles like silvery wind chimes followed her for a moment before disappearing into the distance. She shut the door behind her and put her back against it. She had the utmost respect for the Queen of the Otherworld—but holy crap, that was one scary lady.
Still, the Queen and her consort had seemed quite pleased with Beka’s report and her solutions to the problem. The Queen had even invited her to stay for high tea, an hours-long ritual involving dozens of stunningly beautiful ladies-in-waiting in gauzy dresses, exotic tea blends served in elaborately bejeweled golden teapots and poured into porcelain cups so delicate you could see through them, and dainty cakes so light that occasionally one simply floated away.
Beka rather enjoyed the spectacle of it all, basking in the Queen’s rare approval, but in the end she was happy to return home without having broken anything or spilled bright crimson jam onto her white lace court dress with its low neckline, flowing sleeves, and tiny embroidered flowers. Other than a small mishap with a couple of errant cloth rosebuds that forgot they were merely decorative in the heady atmosphere of the Otherworld, she’d come through the entire experience no worse for wear.
Now she planned to hang up her ornamental sword, take off this lovely but impractical outfit, slip into some jeans, and pour herself a glass of wine. She’d had enough tea to last her a month.
Humming some haunting but catchy tune the court musicians had played during tea, Beka meandered out into the main area of the bus to put the pure silver sword back onto its empty rack before changing her clothes. Always take care of your weapon first, even if it was never used for anything more lethal than attending a fancy dress ball, so she’d been taught.
“Hey, Beka, look who’s here,” Chewie said cheerfully as she entered the living room. “It’s Marcus.”
She dropped the sword on the floor with a melodious clang. Stooping to pick it up, she hoped the dim interior would hide her burning cheeks. While she’d been gone, the storm had hit in earnest, and the sky outside was almost as dark as night. Inside the bus, only a few lamps glowed warm against the fury of the gusting winds and driving rain.
Marcus had been lounging on the futon, drinking a beer and looking way too at home for Beka’s peace of mind. His hair was damp from the rain, and the rumpled forest-colored shirt he wore brought out the green in his eyes, which glinted when he saw her.
“Wow,” he said, standing up so fast he almost spilled his beer. He set it down on the floor with a thump. “You look incredible.”
The open admiration on his face made her heart beat even faster. “Thanks,” she said. “I was at court, visiting the Queen. She isn’t a big fan of hippie-dippy tie-dyed skirts and tank tops.”
One corner of Marcus’s mouth curved up. “Neither am I. Unless you’re the one wearing them.”
“I’ll just, um, go for a walk in this nice rain, shall I?” Chewie said, heading for the door. Beka barely heard him go.
“What are you doing here?” she asked Marcus quietly, putting the sword down on the counter and taking a couple of hesitant steps forward. “I would have thought you’d be spending the rest of the day with your father. Or has he chosen not to take the Selkies up on their offer?”
He shook his head. “As far as I know, he hasn’t made the decision yet. I tried to talk to him about it and he just muttered something about having important errands to run and bolted for the door.” He gave a short laugh. “I suspect he was headed straight for the Cranky Seagull, where men are men and emotions aren’t allowed.”