Wickedly Wonderful (Baba Yaga, #2)(18)
“Powerful, yes,” Beka said, ruefully. “Careful and wise, not so much.”
The dog huffed again, this time without the pyrotechnics. “Man, you sink one submarine and you spend the next ten years second-guessing yourself. I think Brenna was too hard on you. And now that she’s not here, you’ve taken over the job. Cut yourself a little slack, will you?”
Beka knotted her hands together in her lap, looking down at them instead of at her companion. “I’m thinking of cutting myself a lot of slack, actually, Chewie. Like, as in giving it up altogether.”
Chewie’s jaw fell open. “What? You can’t just quit being a Baba Yaga!”
“I can, actually,” Beka said quietly. “The change isn’t final until a Baba has been drinking the Water of Life and Death for twenty-five years. That won’t be until my thirtieth birthday, in a couple of months. If I stop using it now, my extra powers will eventually wane and I’ll go back to aging at a normal rate. I’d be a regular Human again.”
“Why the hell would you want to be that?” Chewie bellowed. “You are so much more than that now. And people are depending on you. The world needs Babas, and there are too few of them as it is.”
“Lots of reasons,” Beka said. She tried to concentrate on the sound of the waves, which always soothed her, but tonight, they seemed to have lost their magic. “I don’t feel like I’m doing a very good job at being a Baba. I haven’t been able to make any headway in solving the Selkies’ and Merpeople’s problem. And once you are permanently a Baba . . . well, you know, Babas can’t have children of their own. Sometimes I think I might want that.”
Chewie rested his massive head on her thigh. “You’ve only been working on the water issue for a few days; it is too soon to say you have failed. Besides, do you really want to give up magic?”
She didn’t say anything. If she knew the answer to that, she would have made this decision long ago.
He gave a bone-scented sigh and rubbed his jowl affectionately against her leg. “I can’t tell you what to do, Beka. I can just tell you that I would be very sorry if you weren’t my Baba. I’ve kind of gotten used to having you around.”
Beka blinked back unexpected emotion. “Thanks, Chewie. That’s really sweet.”
He was quiet for a moment, and then said, “You know what’s really sweet? S’mores, that’s what.” He gazed up at her with an innocent expression. “Just sayin’.”
*
PEWTER-EDGED CLOUDS SCUDDED across a sky that bled crimson, making the rising sun look sickly and dull. Restless waves lashed the barnacled hull of the boat as Marcus stood guard over the port side where it was tied up to the dock, ignoring the spitting rain with the practice of someone who’d spent most of his youth on the sea.
His breath caught in his throat when he saw Beka walking toward him. Her long blond hair was pulled back in a practical braid, and her gear was slung over one shoulder; she looked cool, and competent, and not at all like the flaky hippie chick he’d snared in his nets less than a week before. He had to remind himself that underneath the current illusion there still lurked the girl who lived in a painted bus and made a living selling jewelry to people dressed as knights and wenches. It wasn’t fair that even in the sullen light of an overcast morning, she still shone like the sun.
At her heels, Marcus saw an even less welcome sight—the ever-cheerful Fergus, trotting along behind her with his own equipment, grinning through the drizzle at something she’d just said. Marcus wasn’t an idiot; he recognized the stupidity of resenting the very person he himself had insisted she have join her. But apparently having Beka around did something to sabotage the rational part of his brain, because there was no denying that every time he saw her with Fergus, his fingers twitched just the slightest bit with the urge to shove the weedy redhead into the water.
Marcus wasn’t even sure they were a couple. He just knew that the two of them joked and laughed together in a way that was diametrically opposed to the constant arguments and head-butting standoffs that seemed to be the only way she and Marcus communicated. And he knew that it bothered him, although he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. It wasn’t as though he was at all interested in her. She lived to make his day a misery, and he couldn’t wait to be done with her.
Then she was, standing in front of him, bare feet planted firmly on the rough wood dock, a quizzical look on her face.
“I wasn’t expecting a welcoming committee,” she said. “Good morning.”
Marcus shook his head. “It’s not, actually, in case you hadn’t noticed. The weather is miserable, and likely to get worse. Not a good day to be out on the water.”
Beka just stared at him with blue eyes as bright as the sky should have been. “So you’re not going out today?”
He snorted. “Oh, we’re going out, all right. It would take more than the possibility of a bad blow to get my father to give up a day of fishing.” He muttered under his breath, “Stubborn old jackass.” The man was going to get them all killed. You’d think he’d learn. Hell, you’d think Marcus would learn.
“Just because my da is insane doesn’t mean we all have to be. It’s not going to be safe to dive; I suggest you skip it today.” He pointed down the dock the way she and Fergus had just come. “Why don’t you go home and string some beads or something. Your imaginary treasure will wait for you.”