Wickedly Wonderful (Baba Yaga, #2)(9)
Behind her cheery disposition and irritating in-your-face attitude, he suspected there lurked someone who was used to being criticized. Stormy depths hid behind those bright blue eyes. He’d had young guys in his unit like that; sometimes half the bluster was just a defense against being told they were lacking in some way. And hell, at least she’d paid him for the trouble she’d put them through. The coins she’d given him would more than make up for the day’s wasted trip. Assuming they were real. Although looking at the decorations on the walls, he didn’t doubt her story of being a diver, even if he thought half of everything else she’d told him was a lie.
No point in hanging around any longer, no matter how nice the scenery was (and he didn’t mean the inside of the bus either). There was no place in his life right now for women, especially not gorgeous, eccentric ones whose worlds were so far from the one he inhabited, they might as well be on two different planets. He had a responsibility to his da, no matter how much he might dislike the old man. And as soon as he’d fulfilled that obligation, he’d be long gone. If he never saw another fish, or another ditzy California environmentalist, it would be just fine with him.
He closed his fingers over the coins and nodded brusquely. “Thanks. And do us both a favor and stay away from my father’s boat. I’ve got enough to deal with without having to worry about you crazy Greenpeace people. We’re just honest fishermen trying to make an honest living. I suggest you do the same.”
He turned on his heel and stalked out the door, almost running to get away from the feeling that he didn’t truly want to leave at all.
*
“WELL. THAT WAS rude,” Beka said. That didn’t stop her from crossing to the window to watch him walk away. No harm in looking. And it wasn’t as though she was likely to have the chance again. Besides, just because she was a powerful witch didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate a nice butt when she saw one.
“Man’s clearly got issues,” Chudo-Yudo said, padding over to stand next to her and giving her leg an affectionate nudge that almost knocked her over. “But he’s kinda cute.”
Beka rolled her eyes. “What the hell do you know about cute? You’re a dragon.” She resolutely tore her gaze away from the sight and went to flop down on the futon instead.
“I know that you hardly ever pay attention to men, even when they treat you a lot better than that guy did,” Chudo-Yudo said, opening the mini-fridge with his teeth to fetch out his latest bone. “And I also know that you hardly took your eyes off that one the whole time he was here. Hence—cute.” He crunched on the bone loudly.
Beka would have argued, but what would be the point? It was true. There was something about the man that pulled at her core . . . despite the fact that he was cranky, unpleasant, and couldn’t stand anything about her. Thank goodness she was never going to see him again.
Chudo-Yudo lifted up his head and a second later, a knock on the door made her heart skip a beat. But something told her it wasn’t a stick-up-his-butt fisherman, coming back to borrow a cup of sugar.
In fact, when she opened the door, her visitor was revealed to be a slim, dark-haired man clad only in a pair of shorts. He dripped wetly on her doorstep, smelling faintly of salt and sea and mystery. When Beka came down to meet him, he bowed low in respect, his pale form bent almost to the ground. A ragged piece of seaweed was caught behind one ear like a ribbon, tangled in his ebony curls.
“Baba Yaga,” he said, his tone formal as he handed her a roll of something that wasn’t quite parchment, but still looked ancient and weighty, for all that it, too, dripped salt water on the ground beneath. “I bring you greetings and salutations from the Queen of the Merpeople and the King of the Selkies. They hope that you will meet them this e’en at tide’s turn, down upon yon beach.” He gestured gracefully toward the ocean that waited just across the highway, its heartbeat as dependable as the waxing and waning of the moon.
Damn, Beka thought. So much for staying out of trouble.
“I see,” she said to the messenger, although clearly she didn’t. “Please tell them that I will be there.”
She’d spent the last two years avoiding anything that would call for her to draw on her powers as Baba for anything more urgent than averting the occasional tidal wave or quieting an earthquake, so she could be sure of not screwing up. Something told her she’d finally run out of time.
FOUR
A LOW MOON hung over the deserted beach, casting eerie shadows over windswept sand. A few days past full, its pallid globe danced in and out of scudding clouds, playing at hide-and-seek with a group of friendly stars. A little way offshore, a whale breached, sending a spume of water into the sky to add to the fun.
The night air held a tiny bite of cold as it crept in off the water, and elusive scraps of fog wandered to and fro as if looking for the party. At her feet, a crab edged sideways toward a safer section of sand. Beka wished she could do the same.
The moon hid its face for one long moment, and when it returned, a half a dozen figures had materialized out of the frothing surf. They walked out of the sea as if they strolled out of another world, one of mystery and magic and strange enchanting beauty. Which was more or less the truth of the matter, as it happened.
The two in front had the kind of presence that caught the eye without intending to; an upright stance, a high-held head, a regal stare that said, Look, these ones are important. Special. Do not presume to bother them.