Season of the Witch part 9

Calla was not enjoying her time in Baba Yaga’s clutches much.  This wasn’t all that surprising, since the witch had this habit of near-constantly watching her out of at least the corner of her eye, with a deeply hungry expression that made her shiver.  Even when the mage looked away, she could still feel Baba Yaga’s eyes on her.  On the good side, she didn’t necessarily seem to be planning to eat her-Calla doubted she’d have gone to all this trouble for a meal, when there were so many people available in Russia.  No, she seemed to be studying her for some other reason…


Soon after Tristan had gone, the witch asked Calla to do her a favor, and clean up the cottage a little bit.  Even though she was sure Baba Yaga could do it herself with a wave of her hand, Calla didn’t ask questions-she waved her own hand, and the dust swept itself into a neat pile, before she levitated it out the window.  She conjured up water and a cleaning rag, and wiped up all the spills, scrubbing down every dirty surface and making everything shiny.  She was picking up the black sunflower’s petals and preparing to throw them out the window (which was finally without the force field from earlier), when she was interrupted.
“Wait!” Baba Yaga interceded with a wave of her hand, “I can use those later.  Just put them in this jar, would you?”
She held out a glass jar.  Calla put the petals inside, and the old witch quickly transferred it to her cabinet.
“Thank you.  Now go out and weed my garden.”


A small, rebellious part of Calla which had only recently started to grow wanted to protest this treatment, especially since she was not Baba Yaga’s servant (and hopefully would not become such-though it was jumping to conclusions for her to already be thinking like that, since it hadn’t even been a full day since Tristan left).  But, remembering some of the old fairy tales about people being asked to do things for magical beings, and the rewards/punishments that could come about based on their response, she simply went outside to do as she was told.


The garden was a small plot close to the fence, and appeared to be absolutely overgrown with weeds.  Not to mention the unforeseen problem of the house still being maybe fifteen or twenty feet off the ground, and she hadn’t been able to bring her carpet, because she hadn’t even known she’d be going on this little excursion; she also wasn’t sure that she trusted the house enough to ask it to bend for her.  So, for the first time in a long while, she had to use her own energy, and a spell, to lower herself to the ground as gently as possible.  It put quite a bit of strain on her body-she was out of practice, and it made her arms tremble violently from trying to keep the magic of levitation focused for so long.  But eventually, she was lowered to a point where she could safely drop without breaking anything, landing rather gracelessly on the wild grass and taking a moment to catch her breath.


By now it was getting close to evening; Calla suspected that Baba Yaga’s next request would be for her to make dinner, so she decided to do a preemptive strike.  After casting a spell to make the weeds start pulling themselves up and being discarded in a pile, she picked carrots, potatoes, onions, radishes, garlic and parsley, conjuring up a bag and putting the vegetables in it and across her shoulder.  Then, hesitantly, she approached the house.  She wasn’t sure if she could levitate herself up safely, thinking of how much her arms had trembled on the way down, and she certainly wasn’t going to ask Baba Yaga for help.  Something gave her the feeling that the witch was testing her, wanting to see how she’d handle all of these chores…  Even if it meant nearly falling again, she did the same thing Tristan had: tickling the leg, she chanted, “Izbushka, Izbushka, lower your door to me.”
Calla stepped back, just in time for the house to lower itself to its knees and allow her to climb up the steps.  And unlike when Tristan had been with her, it waited until she was safely inside before rising.  Odd.  Maybe she could have asked it the first time.


Baba Yaga was sitting at the table reading a very ancient-looking book when Calla came in.  Without looking up, she said, “If you’re done with the weeds, I would like you to pick me some vegetables for dinner.”
“Will these do?”  Calla stepped forward and laid the bag on the table.  The witch actually jumped, and stared at the food with eyes widened.  Though she knew she shouldn’t, the girl felt a rush of satisfaction.
After a second, Baba Yaga coughed, and said, “Yes, they will do quite nicely.”  After another second, she added, “Well done.  You’ll find some meat in the icebox behind the cabinet that you can use to make stew.”
Before she could stop herself, unsure she wanted to know the answer, Calla asked, “What kind of meat?”
The witch gave her an iron grin.  “Good question.  It’s hard for me to keep track of what they all are in there.  Just use whatever looks good.”


Thankfully, Calla was able to find, via a spell, some meat that was formerly the shoulder of a cow.  She didn’t check to see what the others were, because she really didn’t want to know.  Instead she defrosted it, chopped it and the vegetables into bite-size chunks, added spices, and after browning the meat, turned everything into an enormous stew.  By now it was close to evening, and so it was with great relief that Calla, stomach growling, placed the cauldron next to the table and announced that dinner was served.


It was lucky for Calla that she took the time to dish out a bowl for herself, because Baba Yaga devoured all the rest.  It seemed inconceivable that such a thin old woman could eat so much, but eat it she did.  When she finished, she gave a tremendous belch, and then retired to her private room at the back of the cottage without so much as saying goodnight to Calla.  She didn’t even put a new force field on the door to make sure her collateral wouldn’t try to escape.  Both the witch and the mage knew there was no need; they’d signed a contract in blood, and in the magical world, the consequences of breaking one of those were uncertain, but definitely bad.


Calla ended up conjuring a downy sleeping bag and plump pillow, and after taking off her shoes, curled up next to the dying fire.  The warm embers were rather comforting, especially since, now that she was no longer being kept busy, she had time to think about just what she had gotten herself into.


There was nothing she could really do about this situation except rely on Tristan to come back with the sword, she realized.  She had to hope that he could do it, and that Koschei wouldn’t find and/or kill him (she didn’t have to worry about him chickening out and deserting her; she knew Tristan too well for that).  And though, of course, she had every confidence in his ability to succeed in stealing the treasure and coming back, a part of her thoughts wondered, What if he doesn’t?
If he didn’t come back, for some reason or other, within the next six days...then Calla would be trapped here forever, as a servant to Baba Yaga.  She’d known the risks when signing the contract...but she hadn’t really thought about the consequences of them.


Up to then, Calla hadn’t cried about her circumstances.  She’d been busy doing what she was told, and therefore distracted from any negative emotions.  Even with magic to make it go by faster, being busy helped.  But now she was alone, she was not quite as full as she would have liked, there was nothing left to do, and it was dark, so before long her eyes were feeling hot, and it felt like a hand was squeezing the inside of her throat, and her stomach was churning.  Not wanting Baba Yaga to hear, she hid her face in her pillow, and felt the tears begin to flow in abundance.
Finally, after she-didn’t-know-how-long, Calla flipped her pillow over and fell asleep.  And, due to one of the few good results of her childhood, she fell asleep almost instantly, and very, very soundly, without any dreams.


She was awakened by a buzzing in her pocket.  Groggily pulling her phone out, she saw that there were two interesting things: 1) it was six in the morning here, and 2) Lars was calling.
“H’lo?”
"Calla, are you okay? I haven't heard from you all day. And I went to pick you up for our date just now but Xen said you were gone."
“Date?  What-”  And then she remembered.  The night of dinner and dancing at Club Lusus Naturae that he’d asked her to go on two days ago.  Her stomach lurched guiltily.  “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry, I forgot about it! Sorry, Tristan and I got a case yesterday, and things haven’t quite happened the way we thought.”
"That's all right.”  However, he sounded disappointed.  “Where are you?"
“...Believe it or not, we’re in Russia.”
"... Huh. He has jurisdiction there?"
“Our client requested his help.”  She glanced nervously at the witch’s door, in case her voice woke her.  So far, so good.
"Are you allowed to tell me anything else?"
“I don’t know.  But you might not want to know just yet.”
There was a sigh. "Calla, you're involved. I want to know."
I don’t want you to know, though.  I don’t want to have to know that you’re over on a different continent, freaking out just as much as I am.  But it would be wrong to lie about it, so…
“Have you ever heard of Baba Yaga?”


"Oh man, what are you guys doing with her?"
“I’ll take that as a yes.  She’s having Tristan steal something from Koschei the Deathless.”
The line went quiet. After a moment, she could hear him taking a few deep breaths.  Calla flinched, knowing that was a sign of how upset he was.
Finally she said, “He should be back within a week.”  He’d better be.
"Wait, back? Are you alone with her?"
“...Yes.  It was part of the deal.”  Be honest.  “If she doesn’t get the object, Baba Yaga is going to take me instead.”
"What?!?"
“She wants to add me to her collection if Tristan doesn’t succeed in stealing the item.”


More deep breathing ensued.  Hesitantly, Calla said, “I’m sorry, there was no really good way to tell you.”
He sighed. "I know. Thank you for telling me. Is there anything I can do?"
“I don’t think so.  We signed a contract with blood; I can’t break that.  And even if I could, that wouldn’t be right.  It seems like all we can do now is wait for something to happen.”
"Please be careful, Calla. I love you."
“I know.”  She swallowed.  “Tell Rosie hi for me, okay?  And Isaac.  And everyone else.”
"I will."
“And-and I’ll ask Baba Yaga-if things don’t work the way we hope-to let you come visit me.  I’ll do-I’ll buy her raw dragon livers if I have to, or whatever else she might want in exchange.”
"Calla, if things don't work out, I'll just move to Russia to be closer to you. I won't leave you alone there."
She gave a watery chuckle.  “Hopefully you can learn to speak Russian fast.  Or get a universal translator.”
"Either way, doesn't matter to me, so long as I'm near you."


She really should have been used to that by now-his honest and strong feelings for her.  But her cheeks still felt hot, and she smiled widely as she whispered, “Thank you.”
"Believe me, it's my pleasure."
Before she could think of a reply to that, Calla found herself yawning.
"Oh, I woke you up, didn't I? I'm sorry."
“S’okay.  There’s a big time difference between there and here, you didn’t know.”
"Do you want to go back to sleep?"
“Kind of, yeah.  Who knows what she’s going to have me do when she wakes up?”
"All right, dear. Sleep well. I love you so much."
“And I-I’ll send you some photos, if I get a chance.”
"I will too. And remember that if you need anything at all or even if you just want to talk, I'm always willing to talk to you. You can call any time and I promise I'll answer."
“Okay.  See you later.”
"I'll see you soon, Calla. Goodnight."
She hung up, and as she sunk into sleep, realized that, what with the talk with Lars and the big cry she’d had earlier, she felt...somewhat better about this whole thing.

Season of the Witch part 8

Inside this place, wherever it was, it was blessedly dark.  I was in a long tunnel, about six feet high and made all out of brick, running away for about twenty feet, and then turning to the left-away from the floor plan of the cathedral.  I glanced back at where I’d entered, and saw a faint blue glow lining the brickwork.  So for now, there was a way out.  Feeling some comfort from that, I settled my backpack more comfortably on my shoulders, and then jogged off, keeping a weather eye out for booby traps.  Fortunately, at least to the corner, there were none.  When I got there, however, I pulled out a mirror, and used it to look.


No visible signs of anything.  That didn’t mean much, though, not in this world.  Putting the mirror back in my bag, I had to dig around for a bit, before finding the bag of laever powder.*  I scooped a bit of it into my palm, and then gently blew it into the air.  And just like in a spy movie, long, weblike threads appeared stretched across the corridor.  The image reminded me uncomfortably of spiders, and spider bites.  But, sucking it up, I began to maneuver my way through them.


As I went, I entertained myself by wondering how Koschei got past the trap; did he use a spell to make the threads part for him?  Or was it set up to only react for other people?  Or did he just have a different entrance altogether that only he used, and the whole purpose of this one was to use it to trap anyone who might be breaking in?  So many possibilities…
I kept my wings and tail tucked as close to me as possible, and even tried to pull the backpack close against my shoulders so it wouldn’t brush against anything.


Somehow, by sheer luck, I made it through.  Just in case, I checked myself all over for any webs or spiders that might have gotten on me; as far as I could tell, though, I was safe.  And right ahead of me, just one step ahead, I could see that the ground was absolutely coated in a bright red spell, spilling all the way down the hall and halting only right in front of a thick-looking door.  I suspected that, unless this was an elaborate trap of some kind, this was my intended destination.
Just one more obstacle…
Yeah, right.  There’s probably going to be a lot more than just that.
I’m trying to be optimistic, okay?  Just humor me.
Whatever.
Ignoring my subconscious’s snide commentary, I stretched my arms out, measuring how far apart the walls were.  It looked like maybe I could make it...but was it worth the risk, though?  Not that I had a choice.


I did a small leap straight up, flinging my arms out and flattening my hands against the walls.  Once I had a grip, I dug my feet in too.  I was now about a foot above the ground.
Well, here goes nothing.
Barely giving myself a chance to think, because then I’d come to my senses and ask what the h___ I was doing, I began swinging down the hall.  I would move forward by the arms for a bit, catch myself with my legs, take a moment to breathe, then swing by my legs and catch myself with my arms.  As a result, I was slowly making my way closer to the door.**
I wasn’t in pain as much as many other species would be, since I’m physically stronger than most of them, and even though I’m kind of lazy when it comes to exercise, I’d like to think that I’m decently in shape.  So when I finally got to the door, I was only sweating a little bit-which still worried me, thinking about the possibility of a drop landing on the ground and activating the spell.


I hung there for a few moments, catching my breath, and examined the door.  There was a heavy iron lock on it, so, bracing my legs for extra support, I used my arms to shift around the backpack, and dug out another skeleton key, which I slid into the lock.  It instantly changed shape until it fit, and I turned it.  With a happy click, the door swung open, moving inwards; to my relief, the floor inside was unenchanted.  Re-bracing my arms, I swung back and forth, gaining momentum, gathering my strength...and then let go, allowing myself to go flying through the doorway into the treasure room, as I saw it was.


I managed, by the skin of my fangs, to land lightly on my feet.  I had to sway about a bit, but finally I regained my balance, and started taking a look around, after retrieving my skeleton key and closing the door behind me.  So far, this place reminded me of the museum upstairs, only without the plaques or glass cases: everywhere things were put on display, on pedestals, on the wall, in the air above me.  Most prominently placed was a Greek-looking pillar in the center of the room, on top of which was an enormous golden egg.  The egg’s shell appeared to be decorated in a flame pattern, with hints of red flecked throughout.  Based on what I knew of Koschei’s history, I suspected that it was a firebird egg.  And I wondered how on earth he had managed to get hold of it.


There was a tapestry on one of the walls close to the egg, that depicted a group of creatures on horseback hunting a zmey (Russian three-headed dragon); as I looked at it, the picture slowly changed, showing that the hunters pursued the zmey all the way to the foot of a mountain, where it was temporarily trapped, until it finally turned around and flamed them all.  It was a welcome change from the typical human ending.


Nearby were a gun with an engraving on the barrel that showed it belonged to someone named Chekhov, a golden hourglass that seemed to be frozen halfway through letting the sand fall, a giant frog’s head (stuffed), a long chain with an eye on the end, and numerous other odds and ends demonstrating that, like Baba Yaga, Koschei had a predilection for collecting unusual magical items.  Unfortunately, so far none of these seemed like they would be of any use in helping me achieve my goal of finding the sword and getting out of here.  By now feeling more than a little exasperated with this whole thing, I expanded my search.


And then I found it.  Kladenets was in the farthest, darkest corner of the room, leaned casually against the wall, with only a small, easily dismantled spell covering it.  I looked around the surrounding area for any traps that might be connected, or observation spells, or anything at all that could signify a potential trap if I touched that sword.  With or without the glasses, I found absolutely nothing.  Therefore, I was suspicious.  If this sword was supposed to be so special, and Koschei was leaving it hidden in the corner like this, it was either so powerful that he was trying to keep it hidden in plain sight, like The Purloined Letter...or it really wasn’t powerful at all.  Either way, at least I’d found the dumb thing.


Carefully I rolled up my sleeves to the elbows, and adjusted the glasses further up my nose.  The yellow sparks were up on the guard; I dug one claw in among them, and began to painstakingly pick apart the spell.  Before long, I had pulled it free, and the remaining spell residue fluttered to the ground.  I checked the sword for any extra spells that might have been concealed on it by the first spell; none in sight, hearing, or smell.  Finally, hesitantly, I picked up the sword.


It felt normal.  Nothing seemed to be all that special about it.  Normally, with very powerful magical weapons, you can feel at least some of that energy pulsing about inside, even if you can’t see the magic itself.  Kladenets, however, didn’t feel like much of anything.  While considering all the possible reasons why this might be, I opened my backpack, and slid the sword inside, grateful for its being kind of like Mary Poppins’ carpet bag.  Then I put it back on my shoulders, and crept to the entrance.


I put the key in the lock, turned it, and opened the door.  And saw, much to my horror, that the spell covering the floor was no longer on the floor.  Instead, it was rising up in an enormous red wave, and was just about to crash down on me.
How did this happen?!  What did I do?!  I was certain this wasn’t connected to anything-is it the room?  Or-
And then, in that split second, I remembered that when I had swung my way into the room, there had been a slight noise, so soft that even I hadn’t really acknowledged it: the sound of the brickwork crumbling, and tiny pieces falling...into the security spell.  And it appeared to have been just lying in wait for me to leave the room.
I would like to say that I was able to perform a complicated somersault maneuver just before I could be captured, or that I produced a gizmo of some kind, like the yarn, which would let me cut out a new gateway or in some other way escape at the last possible second.  As it was, however, I barely had time to start saying, “Oh, da-” before it crashed down, covering me up and rendering me insensible.

*Laever juice in powdered form, a bit obviously.
**Note: I would not advise trying this at home, unless you have appropriate safety equipment, super strength and/or someone there to supervise you and make sure you don’t dislocate a limb.  Just a friendly warning, ‘kay?

TANSTAV part 23

Chapter 6 part 4

After her bout of hysteria had subsided, I got Calla to eat some soup.  Because I was feeling kind of hungry again, I ate some too.  We sat at the kitchen table, munching in silence.  Then I noticed that Calla was watching me eat, eyebrows furrowed.

“What is it, kid?  Expecting me to be slurping it up like a savage jungle beast?”

“No.  I-I just noticed that you’re left-handed, like me.”

“Actually, I’m ambidextrous.”  I demonstrated by effortlessly switching the spoon to my right hand.  “But Xen’s left-handed.”

“Who’s Xen?”

“My...friend.  She’ll show up at some point.”  I continued, “Getting back to what I was saying, many monsters are left-handed.  It’s no big deal to us.  It’s probably part of the reason why humans used to think it was such a taboo, and sinful thing; primeval memories associated the two.”

Calla murmured, “I see,” and inhaled a noodle so fast it flipped her on the nose as it went in.  She managed a small smile at that.

When we finished, she went back to bed; and, finally admitting defeat, I did too.  When I awoke, it was 7 in the morning.  Normally, I would have gone to work now; however, Ishida had said that Calla was to be in my care.  And, since she was forbidden to leave this apartment, I was unsure if that meant that I had to stay here too.  Reluctantly, I called him to find out the exact details of her incarceration.

After about 3 rings, his voice came grumpily through the receiver.

"What is it, Wormwood?"

"Since the girl has to stay here, do I have to too?"

"Huh?  What- Oh.  Yes.  Yes, until further notice, you are temporarily relieved from working with us.  Only go out if you can get someone to replace you."

Silently, I punched the air.

"Thanks, Chief."

"My pleasure," he said dryly.  "Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do."

"Oh, wait!  I forgot to add: I got her set up with a psychiatrist.  Dr. Higgins.  Does she have to stay here for those too?"

"...I'll send a message to Dr. Higgins to make it a house call," he sighed.  And with that, he hung up.

For three weeks, I spent most of my time in my apartment.  Xen came over as often as possible, in order to help look after her, and every other day, Higgins came for the therapy session.  I don't know the exact nature of his treatment, since I usually took those times to go to the station or work on the case, but I do know that soon Calla was looking a lot better.  The bruises faded, and having healthy meals made her look less cadaverous.  Xen went out shopping for her, and bought her some new clothes, which fit her frame a great deal better.  Furthermore, she responded well to the therapy.  I think Higgins might have cheated a little, using some kind of spell to calm her nerves, but if it did the trick, I was okay with it.  Within two and a half weeks, Calla's serious brown eyes began to lose that haunted look.  Not completely, but to an acceptable degree.  A few times, I even made her smile.  A small, timid one, but a smile nonetheless.

However, while she may have been improving, my case was going nowhere fast.  I watched the tape, and it showed zilch.  At 8:30 am of that day, Jessup was still in his cell, lying on his bunk, staring up at the ceiling.  The list of enemies brought no clues whatsoever, since they all had alibis, and were not known for having any motive for kidnapping that I could find.  I brought the magic samples down to the station, and a mage (not Fleming, thankfully) found out that the one outside the senator's house and the one in the elevator had both been used for teleportation.  The one in the cell had been a hypnotism spell.  That certainly made things suspicious, but it wasn't really concrete evidence.  We still couldn't find out who the fragments had come from, and I was sure Jessup wasn't gonna talk.  It was possible to use a spell to force the truth from him, but it had the side-effect of shattering the person's mind.  As delightful as that would be, it was also highly illegal.  Dang it.

Anyway, the three weeks were soon up.  Calla went to the police, made her statement, and the case was officially recorded and filed.  Since she was a legal adult, and had no known relatives and nowhere to go, I took her back home with me.  Well, that’s not the only reason.  Our laws have a special clause called the Mercy Clause, installed by President William “Billy” Bones back when he was in office, regarding people who kill in self-defense.  If they have true remorse for their actions (we have ways of confirming that), and it’s clear that they hadn't planned to kill the person beforehand, they can avoid time in prison if they can instead be put in the custody of a trusted relative, or the equivalent, to make sure they don’t get into trouble again.  As there was no one to fulfill this role, to her knowledge (her mother had left when she was eleven, and she didn't know where she was, and the judge and Ishida preferred to just get this over with, rather than spend time looking for her), I stepped in as her non-official guardian.

Now that she was no longer under house arrest, Calla was allowed to go stay at Xen's place while I went to work.  With a small sigh, I headed for the office.  It was a Monday, so of course my spirits were already rather low (not to mention it being April, the cruelest month), without the added weight of having no information regarding the senator.  I slumped at my desk, and doodled furiously on my legal pad.  Suddenly, I heard a knock at my (newly repaired) door.

"Come in," I called.

The door opened, and in came that freaky zealot I'd met in the street!

As soon as we saw each other, I could tell she recognized me.  She flushed to the roots of her hair, and for a moment looked as if she were about to beat a hasty retreat.  But after a moment, she composed herself, and entered.  I, however, was slower to adapt, and gasped "You!" in a strangled tone.

Standing straight at attention, Freaky Zealot Girl said calmly, "Mr. Wormwood, I have a case for you."

I rolled my eyes.  Why else would she be here?  However, I decided not to comment.  Remembering my manners, I said, "Please take a seat, Miss..."

"Greenbriar.  Morgan Greenbriar."

Without further ado, Miss Greenbriar sat down in the chair across from me, and said, "I need your help.  One of the people I have been caring for at my center has vanished without a trace, and I would like you to find him."

I must admit, my eyes popped slightly.  Two people missing within three weeks of each other, in the same city?  That sounded too close to be a coincidence.