Fire Touched (35 page)

I held my breath. He'd lived with her for centuries—he loved her, and she loved him back in her own way. His word would sway her more than anything I could say.

“If he dies, I will hate you forever,” he told her. “I will leave and never come back. And I'll tell everyone I meet how mean you are.”

Underhill's face flushed angrily, but I could see that the threat meant something to her.

“I'll allow a bargain,” she said finally, folding her arms on her chest and obviously unhappy. “A bargain for the Witch's service. A bargain I approve of.” She looked at me and smiled, a slow, cruel smile. “A life-for-a-life kind of bargain.”

Baba Yaga said, “Give me an unborn life, then, Mercy, so I may restore his.”

I put my hand over my belly—but I wasn't pregnant. We'd talked about it but had decided to wait before we tried.

“An unborn life is acceptable,” said Underhill slyly, taking in my gesture and my expression.

“You can't do that,” said Aiden in a low voice. “He'd never want to buy his life with another's. Especially not his own child's.”

I got up and went to the backpack and took out one of the hard-boiled eggs, chills sliding down my spine. What if I had just dismissed her remark over the phone? What if I hadn't decided to bring them along? What if we had eaten them for lunch yesterday, as I'd almost suggested?

I handed Baba Yaga the egg. “One unborn life,” I told her, my voice shaky.

“Hard-boiled are my favorite,” she said, popping the whole thing, shell and all, into her mouth. “I can't eat them much anymore at home. I keep telling her that just because she stands on a chicken leg doesn't mean she is a chicken.”

Underhill looked back and forth between me and Baba Yaga. “You tricked me,” she said, looking at me like I was interesting. She looked at Baba Yaga and suddenly smiled—a smile that didn't belong on a young face, so wise and joyous. She laughed and clapped her hands. “That was fun,” she said. She looked at me. “You should come visit me. We could play a lot of jokes on each other. It would be fun.”

“It could be fun,” I managed. That was the truth, right? The possibility existed that it would be fun—but I'd have put my money on terrifying.

Baba Yaga waved her hands at Adam—and he sucked in a breath of air so hard he choked, and the wolf convulsed, trying to breathe.

It hurt. I could feel it along our bond, but if he hurt, he was alive, so I didn't mind. Much. I fell to my knees beside him and put my head against his heart so I could hear it beat. He coughed as the pain faded, and tried to get up. It took him two tries, but once he was on his feet, he shook himself briskly. I held him for a moment more.

He was alive. I breathed in, breathed him in, and believed. I wiped my tears—of fright and grief—and then loosened my hold.

“He's okay?” asked Aiden, sounding, for once, the same age that he looked.

“Of course,” said Baba Yaga. “Everything was done right and proper.”

Adam turned to Baba Yaga and bowed his head. And then he did the same to Underhill. If his gaze was wary, I don't think anyone else there knew him well enough to notice.

Underhill sighed. “I suppose you want to leave again,” she told Aiden. “I won't make you work for it. There's a door about a half mile that way—” She pointed. “Baba Yaga knows where it is.”

“I will visit,” Aiden said. “But you have to promise not to make me stay here.”

Underhill bounced on her toes, and her voice was shy as she said, “Visiting would be better than lost forever. But you will die out there.”

“Death is part of life,” he told her. “Without the one, it is hard to have the other. That's what my mother used to say. But I could visit until then.”

“You used to not remember your mother,” she said.

“I'm remembering more Outside. I could come and tell you stories about it.”

She gave him a tentative smile. “I like your stories. All right. I promise not to make you stay here.”

—

Baba Yaga took us to a different door than the one we'd used to come in. This one was set in one of two walls belonging to the remnants of a hut that had seen better days. When she opened the door, I could see only the empty, overgrown patch that had once (presumably) been the hut's interior, but stepping through it, with Adam beside me, landed us in the same little, nondescript room that we'd entered Underhill from.

It had been light in Underhill, but it was evening here.

“How much time has passed?” I asked urgently.

Baba Yaga shrugged. “As much as needed to.” She paused, then smiled at me. “Oh, yes. I forgot that you had some adventures in an Elphame court. Underhill is far more stable, and her ties to this world are stronger. Time passes differently, yes, but not all that differently. If you had stayed in Underhill for a year, you might find that you'd spent a year and a half. But with a short visit, generally you might lose or gain an hour or six, but mostly it's not enough to matter.” She smiled again. “Generally.”

I caught my polite “thank you” before it left my tongue. “Good to know,” I said instead.

She looked at Aiden, who was frantically patting his clothing. “Here, boy,” she said, digging into a pocket. She pulled out the key and gave it to him. “It's probably better if you have this now. Otherwise someone might say that I brought the artifact back and not you, hmm?”
She looked at me. “Remember to dot your tees and cross your eyes”—which she did—“when dealing with the fae.” She smiled broadly. “Now then, we should go to Beauclaire's office, I think. You can be sure that someone from the Council will be awaiting our arrival—and Beauclaire's office is as good a target as any.”

—

Two someones were waiting for us—or at least, they were in Beauclaire's office talking quietly. Goreu and Beauclaire seemed awfully startled by our entrance to have been actually waiting for us.

“That was quick,” said Goreu. “We didn't expect you for another day at least.”

“How quick?” I asked.

“Twelve, maybe thirteen hours,” said Goreu.

“Huh,” I said. “We were there a day and a night and most of another day.” I'd gained back about twelve hours of the month that the Elphame court had stolen from me.

Adam's clothes were folded and awaited him on a chair near the fireplace, which held a merry little fire. He walked over to the chair. I don't think that anyone except me knew how sore and tired he was.

“What are you carrying?” Beauclaire asked me.

I'd used one of the dead fae's shirts to collect what I could find
of the walking stick. I laid it on the desk in front of Beauclaire and opened the shroud to reveal shards and splinters of gray wood, some silver bits, and the spearpoint, still stained with the Widow Queen's blood.

Beauclaire touched the silver spearhead lightly and raised an eyebrow.

“The Widow Queen thought that she'd like an artifact all to herself,” I said.

Goreu growled. “I told you she acquiesced too easily. That she took the defeat of her people at the werewolves' hands with too much grace.”

“You took care of her?” Beauclaire asked me, ignoring Goreu. He didn't raise his eyebrows in disbelief, but it lurked in his tone.

“Aiden, Adam, and I,” I said. “But we had help. She couldn't do great magic without Underhill's consent, which she didn't get. The walking stick . . . helped me, too. In the end, that's what killed her. Without Baba Yaga's help, Adam would have died.”

“Baba Yaga,” said Beauclaire with a frown. “What was . . .” He quit talking, but his frown didn't go away. “Coyote's daughter,” he said quietly. “He and Baba Yaga are akin, tricksters and unreliable champions of the underdog. I can see why she might be inclined to help you.”

He was talking about her like she wasn't in the room.

“She didn't have much use for the Widow Queen,” said Goreu.

I glanced discreetly around, but she wasn't in the room. I started to say something, I don't know what, when Adam drew on the pack bonds to do another quicker-than-usual change. The power flowed to him, I felt the edge of it. But more than power, I felt the joyous welcome that sang through the pack as they celebrated Adam's return.

When I paid attention to the others again, Beauclaire was once more examining the remains of his father's work. Aiden was fumbling in his pocket, and Goreu was watching me.

“Interesting,” he said. “I hadn't realized how much magic resides within the werewolves. That magic produces their condition, yes, that I understood. That they themselves could produce and use magic . . . that I didn't know.”

I gave him a faint smile. “Every day brings something new,” I said.

His smile was a fraction wider than mine had been, and his eyes were warm. “Not if you have seen as many every days as I have,” he murmured. Then he cleared his throat, and said, “You went to Underhill to retrieve a gift for my people.”

Aiden held out the key, which looked like nothing so much as a nail that someone had gotten creative with. Its consequence was not added to by the dirt on Aiden's hand. I glanced down at my hands—they were dirty, too, and bloodstained.

Unprepossessing sight as the key made, Goreu and Beauclaire both focused on it intently.

“Oh yes,” said Beauclaire. “This,
this
is very good.”

Goreu smiled at Aiden. “Good choice,” he said. “But let's not tell anyone it was a choice, shall we?”

“It was the only one I could find,” Aiden said, his voice ringing with truth. He didn't say what exactly the “one” referred to. That's the secret of dealing with people who can tell if you lie.

“Excellent,” said Goreu. He looked at me, then glanced over my shoulder, where Adam was just finishing dressing. “Our bargain is made, and you have fulfilled all that you promised to try. None shall gainsay.”

“It is done,” said Beauclaire, and magic surged, spread, and flowed outward.

“It was done before,” I pointed out. “When we signed the agreement.”

Beauclaire nodded. “Yes. But that you were successful in your endeavor gave additional power to the bargain. Not only have we promised to maintain neutrality in the Tri-Cities but the bargain will itself enforce the neutrality on any fae in your territory.” He smiled. “As defined in our contract.”

“I have a further bargain to propose,” said Adam. He came up behind me and rested his hand on my shoulder.

“Oh?” Goreu examined my husband's face warily.

“I think you'll be happy with it,” Adam said, a smile in his voice. I glanced over my shoulder and saw his dimple.

“Underhill,” Adam said, “has requested that Aiden visit her now and then. She misses him. For him to do that, you have to guarantee him safe passage from my territory, through yours, and through a door to Underhill.”

I watched the understanding spread across both Gray Lords' faces, but it was Goreu who said, “A very interesting bargain you propose. We shall have to discuss it.”

“Underhill would be obliged if you agree.” Aiden said aloud what everyone was thinking. “If you'd like, I could put in a good word for those who have dealt true with me and my friends.”

“Aiden has had a very long time to learn how best to deal with Underhill,” I told them.

It was Pirate night at our house, and I had, once again, died an ignominious death. So I'd left the vicious cutthroats to their play and gone upstairs to make brownies with the orange oil I'd bought from Izzy's mom. She was right, they tasted better with the oil than with the extract I'd used before.

I'd buried the walking stick in one of the garden beds near the back door, with Aiden, Jesse, and Adam as witnesses. It seemed like a good resting place for an old object of power, a safe place where pretty things grew. I planted lavender on top of it because I like lavender. Once we replaced the plywood with windows again, I'd be able to see the lavender from the kitchen window when I was doing dishes.

The Tri-Cities was a neutral territory—and none of us really knew what that meant yet. I knew what the fae wanted it to mean, I knew what the pack needed it to mean—but no one knew exactly
how it was going to work. Uncle Mike's was open for business again—but this time it was open to humans and others alike. The local police stations had asked to meet with Adam to discuss what being under the protection of the pack really meant—and what they could expect from the fae. So had the Feds. Adam had made appointments to meet with the police. He was letting the Feds stew. He was still mad about the tracking device on the SUV.

I couldn't control the Feds, the fae, or the future, but I could bake brownies. I dipped a spoon into the last of the dough and took a bite.

Yes, still good.

“What are you cooking?” asked Aiden, coming up from the basement where he'd been playing computer games. He had only set the house on fire once since we'd returned from Underhill. He'd told me that Underhill promised she could help him stop lighting fires in his sleep. He planned on going for a visit next week to see what she could do.

“Brownies,” I said.

He flinched.

Jesse, who'd come up behind him, laughed. “Not that kind of brownie, dummy. It's a cross between a cookie and a cake. You'll like it.” She sniffed. “Smells good.”

“Here,” I said, handing them two plates filled with frosted brownies. When I make brownies on Pirate night, I bake four pans to ensure that there is some left for me. “Take these downstairs.”

Brownies in hand, they disappeared downstairs without another word. I frosted the batch I'd just pulled out. Technically speaking, I should have let them cool all the way. But if I frosted them while they were still warm, the frosting soaked deliciously into the brownies. It didn't look as pretty, but it tasted marvelous.
I was smoothing out the frosting when I heard Adam's footsteps behind me.

“Just a minute,” I said, turning toward him. “Let me get these cut . . .” My voice trailed off at the expression on his face. He'd left the game and gone into his office to take a call from Bran. “Something wrong?” I asked.

“Not exactly,” he said. “As we thought, Bran would like us to stay independent for a while longer, until we see how the treaty is going to work out for everyone.”

“No surprise there.”

“No,” he agreed. He looked at me steadily, and said, “Bran is the reason Baba Yaga left Russia to come here.”

I put down the knife I'd been using very carefully.

“He told me that it was a calculated risk. She owed him a favor, but she is unpredictable.” Adam put his hand on my cheek. “But he said he couldn't just sit and hope things worked out for us. He knew that she liked you, so he took a chance.” He wiped my eyes and hugged me. “He didn't abandon you.”

“No,” I said, my throat tight.

“So do I get a brownie?” Adam asked. I sniffed, pushed back, and cut him a brownie.

He bit into it, paused, and swallowed. “This is amazing.”

I gave him a smug smile. “I know, right?”

“Hey, Mercy?”

I looked to see that Aiden and Jesse were back. Aiden had two empty plates, and Jesse had her cell phone—which she handed to me. I glanced at it, started to look back at her, and returned my gaze to the phone.

“Darryl wanted to know where you got the essential oil, so I looked it up online,” Jesse said. “And Aiden came over to see.”

Jesse had found the Intrasity Web site and the front page had the founder of Intrasity. She wore a bright green silk suit and a great big smile.

Jesse continued, “Aiden says that Tracy LaBella is Baba Yaga.”

Adam leaned over to take a look. He laughed and handed Jesse's phone back to her.

“I guess you don't have to worry about talking to Elizaveta,” he said.

I gave the kids another plate of brownies to take down with them.

“Baba Yaga is a multilevel marketing guru,” Adam said, still smiling.

“I need another brownie,” I told him.

He followed me to the counter. When I cut into the last batch, he put a hand on either side of me and leaned against me. His breath was hot on the skin of my neck.

“Nudge,” he said.