Season of the Witch part 18

Calla felt a sudden stirring of hope.  If Tristan could find the soul of Koschei, then he could get Kladenets, and then they could go home.  The problem, of course, was getting the information to Tristan once they had it.  This scrying glass only appeared to be a one-way model, so she could see Tristan, but couldn’t communicate with him.
Or could she?
Thoughtfully, Calla pushed on the edges of the glass, using it to zoom in on the detective’s face.  And, despite her hesitation, on his eyes.
There was no way it would work.  At least, it didn’t seem possible, since she’d only ever thought she could do it while in close contact with the other person.  But somehow, she was suddenly sharing thoughts with Tristan.
Naturally, she felt his alarm and instant attempt to escape what he assumed was an attack.  But she hurriedly thought at him, Tristan, it’s okay!  It’s me!
...Calla?  How the blazes-
I’m using a scrying glass.  Apparently this...thing I do can work through that.
Interesting.
They spent a moment immersed in each other’s thoughts, looking at what had happened to each other in the last few days.  Calla was shocked and affronted by seeing how Koschei had tortured Tristan, and when she examined the physical and mental state he was in.  Then she caught a glimpse of a memory of his reflection that he’d seen in a window.
You look terrible.
Thanks. At least his sarcasm was still intact. 
Sorry.
Don’t be.  Tristan saw that apparently Xen and Morgan wanted to help.  You think they’ll find out how to find the soul?
Hey, if we find something it’ll make your job easier.  And it’s better than just sitting and doing nothing.  Xen’s been researching the different stories about Koschei’s soul, where it’s kept.
Tristan scanned the results thoughtfully, then gave a mental nod.
I’m thinking the best place to start looking might be the oldest part of the forest.  I’m going to head over there, look in any hollow trees I can find.
Good idea.  We’ll keep you posted on anything we find out-
The scrying glass shattered itself into hundreds of pieces.

***

Calla?  CALLA!
She was gone.  There had been a crashing sound, and her presence had vanished from my mind.  A lot of words ran through my mind, making it possibly for the best that she was no longer there.
She must have gotten caught.  Confound it all!
I hated that witch.  Hated Baba Yaga and Koschei and the whole bloody pack of Russians who were making my life miserable right now.  Especially when I opened my pack to try using the glasses which would help me decipher the types of spells present here, and found that the lenses had been conveniently removed.
Right then.  I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.


With a growl of frustration I made my way (silently, though) into the oldest part of the forest, where the smell of magic was the strongest.  It had to be here.  Somewhere.

***

Slowly, Calla looked up from the remains of the glass.
Baba Yaga glared back, her hair billowing wildly, even though there was no wind in the hut.  Her eyes glittered with red fire, and her iron teeth gnashed in a snarl.
“No fair helping Chernobyl,” she said softly.  Even though it wasn’t a shout, the words chilled all the way to Calla’s marrow.
“That wasn't in the contract.”  Calla surprised herself with her own boldness.  “There’s nothing in there against my offering him assistance or information.”
The witch looked like thunder, and for a moment Calla thought that she was about to be smited (Smitten?  It was hard to tell which word was more appropriate under the circumstances) into ashes.  Instead, after a second, her bony shoulders relaxed, and she smiled.
“Too bad the imp that controlled the glass is gone, then,” she said with a bit of a chuckle at the end.  “Good luck helping him now, myshka.”
And she went into her room for her afternoon nap, shutting the door behind her.


Calla sat there for a second, perfectly still.  Then a fire lit in her stomach; a hot, burning coal, that rushed up her back and into her arms and through the veins of her neck into her brain.  She was about to explode.  She needed to do something-anything-to make it stop, before she let it loose and seriously hurt someone like last time don’t think about it you might make it happen something needed to happen NOW-
She leaped to her feet, and her hand slammed onto the witch’s table, sending the raging magic fueling her at the moment into the wood and everything on the table, blasting it with what felt like the strength of a nuclear blast in concentrated form.
A moment later Calla was standing next to a pile of ash.  She dropped to her knees into it, heedless of how it affected her jeans, slamming her fists into the floorboards.  As soon as the anger came, though, once it was purged it was replaced by cold, numbing-defeat.


It wasn’t like she knew how to summon an imp and trap it in a scrying glass; that was something she had never really wanted to learn, since it was basically slavery.  And sure, there were other ways to send a message, but she needed something that would do so quickly.  Tristan didn’t have much time left.  Even if Morgan and Xen found the information now…


Finally Calla stood up again, and used a spell to repair all the damage she’d done.  Then, feeling that* blanket of numb complacency and resignation covering her again, she slowly walked out the door, climbed into the mortar, and methodically began paddling her way into the air.  Part of her considered trying to go to wherever Tristan was, but had the feeling Baba Yaga would stop her somehow.  So she just steered blankly into the sky, not caring where she went.  She should probably get used to this thing, just in case.  Even though it continued to be uncooperative.

*Eerily familiar