Season of the Witch ending

“You know-” Calla gasped as we ran faster- “I think I had-a dream about this once.”
“Really?” I puffed back.
“Yeah.  When I was-maybe five.  I don’t remember everything-just being chased by the house.”
“Did it have chicken legs?”
“Yeah.”  Her eyes widened.  “Maybe-an early vision?”
I shrugged, wincing at my already-aggravated broken wing.
“Wouldn’t-be surprised.”
I awkwardly pulled the towel out of my shirt,* and threw it over my shoulder.
“What’s that for?” Calla yelled.
“Is it doing anything?” I yelled back.
There was a gasp.  “Yes!”
Just in case, I looked over my shoulder.  And yes, just as I’d hoped, it had become a vast, glassy lake, right there in the forest.


Why Baba Yaga kept items in her hut that could be used against her, especially in easy reach of others, was anybody’s guess.  And you’d think she’d have learned from previous times dealing with people who used the same trick.  But maybe it was for the same reason that she wanted to steal the sword.  Arrogance.  Or following the proverb of “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
It slowed her down as we kept running; Baba Yaga couldn’t swim, and as I suspected, she didn’t have the patience to go around.  So I saw her forcing the hut to wade into the lake.  The hut didn’t like it; it squirmed, and shook, and finally jumped out of the water and refused to go back in, water dripping from the floorboards.


“You okay?” Calla suddenly asked.  Since the witch was briefly inconvenienced, we were going a bit slower-though not slow enough to be overconfident.
“...You’re asking this now?”
“You look pale.  And I’m not having to struggle to keep pace with you.  Tristan, I think your wound’s worse than you’re acting.”
“I’m fine, kid.  I’ve got my adrenaline-”
Which is when I started to see colored spots before my eyes.  Because whoever is control of these things loves their moments of irony.


Calla muttered something that was almost a curse, but not quite, and then grabbed my arm, draping it over her shoulders.
“That’s gonna slow you down,” I protested.
“I’m not leaving you.  Xen would never forgive me.”
“Better get this out, then.”  I fumbled around until I got the comb.  “Lake’s probably not gonna hold her for long-”
Sure enough, we heard the sound of the mortar riding the wind across the lake.  I didn’t bother to look this time, focusing on running.
Calla said indignantly, “It flies far better for her than it did for me!”
“Well-” I gasped- “it is her mortar.”


Time for the comb.
I tossed it, just long enough to see it starting to grow into a giant impenetrable forest,** and kept going without looking back.

***

Much to my relief, Baba Yaga did not continue chasing us.  At least, not that I could sense, even though my abilities were a little off par at the moment, so she could have flown past us dressed as a belly dancer playing an accordion, and I might not have noticed.


Eventually we made it into a town with a teleportation mirror, and took the first opportunity to get home.  We materialized in the kitchen...where I’m ashamed to admit that I promptly passed out.
Hey, it had been a long week for me, okay?  And I’d just gone through a lot of physical exertion while suffering from severe blood loss; don’t judge me.


My last conscious thought was, Well, I can add this to my list of Times Tristan felt Useless.
It seemed like all I’d done the entire time was be captured/at the mercy of more powerful beings, and rely on others to do things for me.  I mean, it’s not that I wasn’t grateful to Xen, Morgan and Calla for finding out what I wanted to know, or the vodyanoy-duck for leading me to where the soul was kept...I just felt like I spent more time being acted upon than doing any acting of my own.  Definitely not my finest hour.


I regained consciousness to find myself in bed.  My limbs felt heavy, making me realize after a moment that Xen must have bitten me to keep me paralyzed for some reason.
How long have I been here?
My eyes slowly flicked open, and caught sight of Xen sitting by the side of the bed, glaring at me in a way that made me nervous.
Seeing I was awake, before I could even try to speak, she leaned down and kissed me.  Which felt wonderful, after everything I’d been through.
When she finally stopped, I gasped, “For a moment I thought you were going to hit me.”
“I did consider it.  But decided I’d rather do this.”
“Is there a reason why I’m paralyzed?”
“So you stay in bed until your blood cells have sufficiently multiplied.”
“Geez, doc, you’re taking your practice very seriously.”
She glared at me again.  “You have a bad habit of underestimating the extent of your injuries.  While that can be an admirable quality, it also makes me occasionally want to strangle you.”


“...How’s our son?” I asked.
Xen finally smiled.  “Waiting for his daddy to get better.  He keeps wanting to come in and play with you.  I had to be firm and tell him to let you sleep.”
My throat constricted.  “Well...can I at least see him before bedtime?”
“Of course.  Until then, go back to sleep.”
“Yes, boss,” I sighed.

***

So far there have been no nasty repercussions from Baba Yaga or Koschei the Deathless.  But we’ve been on alert, just in case.  And trying our best to recuperate.  Xen’s had me on a lot of bed rest while my blood cells regenerate and my broken wing finishes healing.  Phil plays with me as often as he can, and hopefully soon I’ll be strong enough to carry him on my shoulders again.  Calla’s been very quiet and thoughtful about whatever the witch told her.  I haven’t pushed about it, figuring she’ll tell me if she wants to, but I am undeniably curious.
For now, though, I’m trying to enjoy life with my family until some new catastrophe hits us.

* Snapping off a button in the process; dang it.
**Which, if the story was correct, she wouldn’t be able to go through, and every time she tried to fly over it it would just grow higher.  And trying to chop down the trees with her iron teeth would just result in splinters in her mouth.  Hopefully she wouldn’t try her magic instead; I wasn’t sure if it was resistant against that.

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

Season of the Witch part 14

I awoke with a jolt.  A second of confusion, and then everything flooded back to me: Baba Yaga, Calla, Mr. the Deathless, the sword, capture, bleeding-how long had I been asleep?!
I jumped up, feeling an adrenaline rush-and nearly fell over as my vision became covered with colored spots.  I used my left hand to grip the chair, but finally had to slump to the floor and lie down for a few minutes until I could see straight again.
Right; let’s try this again.  First of all, better check my hand.
I pulled it up from my chest, where somehow I’d been able to keep it for all this time, and took a look.  Thank goodness, the bleeding had stopped.  Now it was just clotted with a lot of dried blood.
I miss Xen.


I tried to make some sort of noise; the spell, however, had not worn off, making it impossible even to croak.  Not that I really needed my voice at the moment.  It would just be nice to have it back eventually, you know?  I decided to focus on getting out of here.


Now that I was actually free, and wearing the shaded glasses, I could see that my prison was made out of some kind of stained glass.  It was actually quite pretty, now that it wasn’t searing my retinas and I wasn’t tied to a chair.  The voices were back, too; to my surprise, their conversation made me suspect they were the voices of tourists.
“Come look at this!”
“How long do you think it took them to make that?”
“Derek!  Come back here!”
“I’m bored…”
“Do you know if we can take pictures?  All the signs are in Russian.”
And those were just in the languages I could understand.


My sense of smell was cut off by the glass, so I couldn’t tell if it was all an illusion or not.  So I began looking around the room, trying to find any other potential spells or curses that might be set up.  Eventually, in the far corner I found what looked like an alarm spell-probably set to go off if I broke the glass, since it hadn’t been triggered by my freeing myself from the chair.
Unless I just didn’t notice it went off, and he’s now watching me, waiting to see what I’ll do…
I’ve got to take that chance.
Quickly I found the loophole in the spell, and unraveled it.  A very big risk, but it might buy me some time.  Then I crouched down, and smashed a hole in the floor with my uninjured claw.


It turned out that I was forced to break a few more holes before it was big enough for me to squeeze out.  But once I did so, I leaned my head and shoulders out, bracing my arms against the sides.  Beneath me there appeared to be an entire horde of giant people walking around, examining Russian artwork.  This startled me, before I realized: They aren’t giants.  I’ve been shrunk!


One of the people had noticed the little shards of broken glass that had fallen, and had gone to a security guard; he was pointing at where I was, and I could make out the words, “...think the bulb burst...might want to get that fixed…”
I’m in a lightbulb?  Must be something like that-those fancy stained glass light fixtures up top would do the trick, if Mr. the Deathless kept a tiny dimension or something inside one, like a genie bottle...Well, better get out of here before they come to investigate.


I jumped out of the hole I’d made in the glass, and glided down to the ground, ignoring the wave of dizziness that overcame me as a result.  I landed in a corner of the room, by the doorway; a good thing, too, because a few seconds later I found myself growing back to normal size (thankfully along with my clothes).
That makes things a bit easier.  Now, question: am I still in the right place?
I suddenly heard a voice call, “Stop that man!” and saw two frog-headed men* in Russian guardsman’s uniforms running toward me.
Yup, I’m in the right place.
Barely taking time to look at my surroundings, I turned into the first corridor I could find and ran.

*Disguised to any humans, of course.

Season of the Witch part 12

Meanwhile, back in my prison, my luck had started to change for the better.  Not that I had gotten free, or anything as serendipitous as that.  That was too much to hope for.  It also appeared to be too much to hope for that Koschei would ever think to feed me.  And even though I started hearing voices (from down below my prison, somehow-maybe I was on the upper floor of wherever I was), I was unable to call out to them due to the spell on my voice, or in any way make noise that would attract their attention.  And even if I could, who was to say that they weren’t minions of Mr. the Deathless, or something like that?
However, I had at least gotten started on getting free from this chair.


When I’d been captured, my pack and all the contents therein, along with a few odds and ends hidden on my person, had been confiscated.  However, Mr. the Deathless had not checked my insides for anything, a fact I was now using to my advantage.  And yes, I am aware of how weird that sounds.  But it makes sense if you understand that before I left, Baba Yaga brewed a special potion that I then drank, and therefore it was now inside of me.  And it was my secret weapon.


See, something people mostly already know about gargoyle blood is that it’s really, really hot.  It makes it difficult for non-gargoyles to treat us when we’re injured.  What many people don’t know, and which is mostly a deeply-kept secret,* is that when we’re under extreme physical and/or mental stress, it sort of boils.  That is to say, it gets hotter.  It doesn’t hurt us, but it goes from burning to scorching for almost anyone or anything else.  And Baba Yaga had given me a potion that would amplify that in such a way that I could use it to my advantage now.


Most doctors would probably advise against purposely making yourself bleed, especially when your blood sugar is low because you haven’t eaten or drank anything for what is probably more than twenty-four hours.  But this was an emergency, so I dug one of the claws of my right hand into my palm (because I am ambidextrous, it didn’t matter which one I used).  Soon enough I felt the sting of pain as I pierced my own skin, and after pressing a little harder, I felt the blood start to leak out.  The pain caused a bit of an adrenaline rush, and I augmented it by thinking about all the consequences of failure: losing Calla forever, dying here, leaving Xen and Phil alone, never getting to see my family again-well, maybe not that one.  Except my mother. And my little brother Elijah.  And Morty, who was more or less family.  I encouraged all my anger and fear and worry to rise to a fever pitch, and could actually feel my blood temperature rising.  I heard more voices somewhere outside my prison now, but ignored them.  Getting out was far more important.


The chair I was sitting in was solid steel, magically reinforced.  However, my bleeding palm began to burn through it like the third eye of Shiva through Ganesha’s head.  Eagerly, I wiggled it back and forth, feeling the metal dissolving under my hand.  It took longer to eat through than I would have liked, but I doggedly continued on.  Even when I started to see black spots before my eyes, and my ears started ringing, and I started having that light-headed feeling like I’d been out in the sun for far too long.
Wonder how much I’ve lost?  I’ll die if I lose more than six pints.  Let’s see, if one drop can dissolve up to two centimeters of metal, and the arm of this chair is about three inches thick, and if it takes .38 seconds to dissolve the steel-
I was distracted from my inane calculations by the fact that that part of the chair was starting to wobble and bend a bit.  Deciding I didn’t want to waste anymore time waiting, I pushed down as hard as I could.  If I’d been at full strength, I could have done it with much less trouble.  As it was, I had to shove and strain and push several times, before finally, with a satisfying snap! the part of the chair broke, giving me a chance to slide my arm free, albeit with the spell attached.  And as I’d feared, it then shrank to fit snugly around my wrist, like the world’s worst bracelet.  But when I dripped a bit of my blood on it, it actually dissolved the part it touched, allowing me to peel it off and toss it away.  Baba Yaga’s magic is pretty potent stuff.


I dissolved my other bonds, and then pressed my now-numb claw to my chest, in an effort to stop the bleeding.  It ate right through my shirt, so I had to press it against my bare fur and flesh (which, luckily, it didn’t appear to be hurting).  I was still trapped in this hellish place of light.  I still had no voice.  I was also starving, thirsty, and possibly suffering from self-inflicted anemia.  But at least now I was partially free.  I just needed to take a rest, just close my eyes for a moment, and then I could find a method of getting out of here…

*So be grateful that I trust you enough to tell you about it.

Season of the Witch part 7

My mirror opened up in the corner of the Red Square, and I collapsed out onto the cobblestones, holding my gut in pain and waiting for it to subside.  Thankfully, I managed not to even dry heave, and after the shaking and agony and feeling like my insides had been mercilessly played tug-of-war with had dissipated somewhat, I found myself being helped to my feet by what appeared surprisingly to be a human tourist of some kind.
“S toboy vse vporyadke?”* she asked, looking at me with concern.
“Da.  Bolshoe spasibo,”** I reassured her, raising a claw and nodding.  She looked me up and down, not convinced, and commented that I looked terrible.  I just said that travelling made me nauseous sometimes.  The tourist laughed, and said that she understood how I felt, before asking if I was sure she couldn’t take me to my hotel or something.  I said that no, I’d be fine in a moment, but thanked her again for her time.  She walked off with a smile over one shoulder and a parting “Dasvidaniya!”***

***

St. Basil’s Cathedral was just across the way.  And since it was a Monday in June, and therefore not the tourist season, it was relatively easy for me to walk towards it, and buy an admission ticket at the western church.  So far, so good.


Once inside the cathedral, I went to the basement (not bothering with a tour guide), admiring the art and architecture as I went.  It really is a beautiful place; despite the direness of my reason for being there, I couldn’t help noticing the fake brick paint job (also known as pod kirpich), the places with the genuine brick walls, the gold-covered artwork, and the walls decorated with fancy flowers.  But I didn’t have time to admire it long-I had a sword to find.


Baba Yaga had instructed me to examine anything with a possible aura on it.  She also knew about my ability to see magic, and had cooked up (almost literally) a spell to make it even better for this situation.  It came in the shape of a pair of fake eyeglasses; when I put them on, they allowed me to distinguish what different magical auras meant, and would light up accordingly.  Red meant a trap, green was just a concealment or enchantment, blue was a little bit of both red and green-type spells, and yellow sparks me showed where the spell could be disabled, if possible.  It made me question whether she really hadn’t seen Mission: Impossible.


Most of the spells I found, around certain objects, and even on some of the cobblestones, were red.  None of the green ones that I’d tried so far was what I was looking for.  If this were any other case, I would probably have given up in frustration, and tried again tomorrow.  But the freedom of someone that mattered a lot to me was at stake; I couldn’t afford to waste even a second trying to find the entrance to wherever Mr. the Deathless kept that sword.


And then, finally, it appeared that I had found something.  In a corner of one of the rooms, under a window, there was a set of brick stairs.  That was already strange enough, unless they opened and closed the window with the benefit of gnomes; however, there was the added peculiarity that the stairs were glowing blue.  Just in case it was a fluke of some kind, I peered over the tops of my glasses at them.  Without the glasses, I could still see that there was a spell.  Put them back on, and the blue color showed up again.  On a wild hunch, I decided to see if this was the opening I needed.  I didn’t know how it was possible, but it was worth a shot.  Reaching into my pack, I pulled out a few of my supplies: a skeleton key (literally made out of bone), a ball of pure white, unblemished yarn, four silver thumbtacks, and a black-and-white PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH sign (in several languages).  Then I set to work.


The trick here, which could play an instrumental part in my getting out of here alive, was getting past the spell without Koschei ever finding out I was there.  If his spells were disturbed, then he would definitely know someone was messing with them, and even with my little bag of tricks, I would probably end up a gone goose.  As it was, I had to be careful how I touched the thing while I worked.


First of all, I hung the PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH sign on a convenient peg on the wall; even though those things mainly seem to tempt people to do just that, they are still useful in their own right.  Besides, this one was enchanted to automatically encourage people to obey it.  Then I pulled out one of the thumbtacks, and gingerly, trying to keep my claw from trembling, I set it down in the upper right hand corner of the stairs.  Where it touched the spell, it hissed and fizzled, causing a few more yellow sparks to appear.  I froze in alarm; I didn’t want it to disintegrate the spell entirely, no no no…
After a tense second, the rest of the spell sort of bubbled up around the needle part of the tack, leaving just the plastic sticking out.  I exhaled slowly, and then completed the process with the other tacks in the other corners.  I then unwound some of the yarn, enough to leave a long tail, and then wound the beginning of it around one of the tacks.  Once I felt it was secure, I pulled it out to the tack opposite, and wound it around that tack, etc.


Once I had finished, I had what appeared to be a square laying on top of the spell and stairs, just big enough for me to go through if I tucked in my wings a little bit.  Now for the last stage.  Using one of my claws to cut the yarn, I stowed the remainder of the ball in my pack, and produced the skeleton key.  Looking around, I decided to insert it in the left side; as I brought the key close, a keyhole appeared in the spell.  I inserted the key, and turned it until I heard a click, before pulling it up.  And lo and behold, the spell moved up with it, having turned into a sort of trapdoor.  Mission partway accomplished.


I glanced over my shoulder, to see if anyone was watching me.  Fortunately, there was nobody visibly paying attention to me.  And if they were, well, too late to do anything now.  It was now or never.  So I reached under the new door, being careful not to touch the upper side, feeling some relief when my claws touched brick, and lowered myself inside feet first.  Unfortunately, I had to let it close over me, and could only hope that either it lasted long enough for me to get out, or if the spell absorbed it, then I could find a new exit.

*Are you all right?
**Yes, I’m fine.

***Now I hear you wondering what is wrong with this picture: why would a human woman not be alarmed at the fact that she was suddenly talking to a gargoyle?  The answer, again: a highly useful spell Calla created that I keep in my pocket for special occasions.  It means that humans see me as just another roguishly handsome human.  Even if I am rather scruffy. Very useful for these kind of situations.  Every non-humanoid monster should get one.

Season of the Witch part 5

I could understand the logic behind her wanting me to be her champion.  Koschei’s home was probably heavily fortified against her and any other powerful magic user.  I’m not a magic user, so it would possibly be easier for me to slip inside somewhere.  I am also a detective from another country, with experience in sneaking in and out of tight places, so it might throw Koschei off a bit; since I was unfamiliar to him, it might be harder for him to trace me back to his rival.  He might even mistake me for a hero of some kind; they and Baba Yaga are the only ones who might be powerful (or stupid) enough to steal from him.  I could go off on a long rant about my opinion of heroes, but you’re probably not interested.  So back to the story.


The witch’s nostrils flared, and I saw her fingertips start to tingle with magical aura.  I realized that she was about to cast a spell of some kind, or at least contemplating it; I glanced at Calla, and inclined my head toward the door.
Time to go.
Even without reading my thoughts, she understood them.  I began mentally calculating how far we’d have to run until we could reach the nearest town; we were somewhere up in the Ural Mountains, so it would be easier if we flew.  Hopefully there’d be a place with public teleportation mirrors readily available.  I had a few universal tokens left in my wallet, so if we moved quickly...she was pretty fast in that mortar and pestle, I didn’t know if I could outfly her...maybe if we started out high, and then dived through the trees, it would be harder for her to follow...there was also the problem of how to get out of here alive, now that we’d snubbed her…


“Well,” I said, getting up with false cheerfulness, and pushing in my chair, “it’s been nice chatting with you, but we’d better get back home and not waste anymore of your time, so-”
A bright orange light burst from her fingers, splatting over the door and the windows.
“You are not going anywhere, Chernobyl,” said Baba Yaga through her iron teeth.
I glanced at Calla; to my relief, she had leaped up and was already trying to break open the seal that had surrounded the door.
“Ma’am, please,” I said, getting up myself and moving to shield her, “this isn’t a part of my job description.  I’m a detective, not a thief.  If you really want someone to steal the sword, I’d advise finding someone like that.  I can think a few people who’d be perfect for the job, even though they’re in prison at the moment-”
“I want you to do it.  And you are going to do it, unless you want me to keep your assistant instead.”
D___.


She smiled grimly at my expression.
“It’s a simple decision for you, Chernobyl.  The sword, or the girl?”
Even for Baba Yaga, this seemed a little ludicrous.  Calla, I saw in my peripheral vision, had paused in her work for a second when she heard what we said, but was now trying even more frantically to undo the spell.  The witch watched her work with a placid smile, making no attempt to stop her.  I knew she wasn’t worried; Calla and I could probably make a new way out of here, by smashing through the wall or something, but she would just follow us, or have a new spell set up to stop us already.  Even if we did get away, it would cost a lot of time and effort…
“Let me talk with Calla for a moment,” I said.  “In private.”


Baba Yaga allowed me to draw my assistant into a corner.
“Thoughts?” I whispered.
Calla created a small bubble spell so the witch couldn’t listen in, and answered, “I don’t want her to take me.”
“I know.  Any ideas about how to get out of this one?”
Her eyes widened.  “You don’t have any?”
“I have a few thoughts, I just wanted to know if you have any input.  I’m not the only one capable of thinking up brilliant schemes at a moment’s notice.”


Looking mollified, Calla glanced over at Baba Yaga.  The witch waved.  She turned back to me.
“Do you think you could find Koschei’s home and get the sword from him?”
“How do I know?  I know nothing about his hideout or what guardians he might have surrounding it.  Besides, are you willing to take that risk?  If I fail, she’ll probably use it as an excuse to keep you here forever.”
“Ask her about it first.  Maybe she’ll let you take three items or something like that to help you.  If so, I think you should do it.  Because honestly-” she paused- “I want to find out why she wants me.  It seems a bit deeper than just wanting to add me to her collection; maybe I can figure out what she has in mind.”


That attitude really surprised me for a second.  Seeing it in my face, Calla added, “It might be handy to understand what she wants.  You’d probably want to find out if it were you.”
Well, yes, I would...it was just that, in my experience, Calla wouldn’t.  She was the slightly-more-sensible one, the one who worked with Xen to warn me when I was getting a little out of control and doing something stupidly daring.  Of course, there was that time when she had attacked the leader of a pack of Ghuls to get them to let us go free, but that level of boldness didn’t happen very often with Calla…
Maybe it was a bizarre time for me to see it, but I suddenly had a glimpse of how very grown-up Calla was becoming.  I mean, yeah, she was almost twenty, so she was already grown-up, but I mean in the emotional sense.  She was no longer just the terrified, traumatized girl I’d rescued from the remains of her house.  To an extent, that girl was still there, but she had become more independent, and with her own brand of courage.  And I felt a warmth in my heart to see how strong she had become.
So it was that I gave Calla the signal to dissipate the bubble, and then stepped forward, asking Baba Yaga, “Where does Koschei live?”

TANSTAV part 32

Chapter 9 part 3

I think he expected us to gasp in horror, or applaud him (though how we could do so tied up was beyond me), or something like that.  Instead, Xen asked incredulously, "What?", Calla inquired, "Do they not exist?", and I said, "Dude, you are even crazier than Colin Newman."

(Colin Newman: our fourteenth president, and an alchemist.  Was in charge at the same time as Abraham Lincoln was for the humans, though lasted a great deal longer than he.  Nearly impeached in 1865 for trying to create zombies using the corpses of Civil War soldiers.  Though in the name of science, his actions were voted to be unethical, as people thought it best to let the dead rest in peace.  His wife finally persuaded him that what he was doing was a really bad idea.  That, combined with the fact that his experiments nearly resulted in two of his children being electrocuted to death, caused him to suffer a nervous breakdown, and retire before he could begin his second term.  Also passed two bills before leaving the presidency: one making necromancy illegal, the other allowing any monsters to do experiments with science and magic, as long as they were not harmful to other creatures.  All in all, not a bad guy, but maybe too obsessed with dabbling in the secrets of life and death. Has his face on our five-dollar bill and penny.)

Fleming flushed with anger at my slight to his sanity.

"Newman was a coward and a failure!  He didn't have the courage to press on with his work!  I, however, shall succeed where he failed!  For I have actually discovered the secret of instilling life in a dead man, and creating a vampire!"

Like any really psycho villain, Fleming could not resist the opportunity to tell us his evil plan, and how he had come to think of it, in complete graphic detail.  Despite the precariousness of the situation, I found myself rolling my eyes.  He continued, "It is fitting that you should mention him, actually.  About a year ago, I was visiting his old house, and by chance, wound up in the attic.  It was there, amongst the exhibits, that I discovered the original spell he had been using to try and give his creations life!"

He reached behind the altar, and withdrew a large, glowing ball of light.  It was definitely magic, but it was the sorriest piece of magic I'd ever seen; a sickly shade of green, going black and white in some places, and barely with any glow to it at all.

"You'd think he'd want to reabsorb the energy he'd emitted doing that," I murmured.

"No," called Xen, "He didn't want that back in his body, he felt so guilty about what he'd done.  It was part of the reason why it took him so long to recover from his breakdown."

"Huh.  Wonder why he never destroyed it, then.  And nobody noticed that you'd taken it?"

"Nobody.  I used many concealment spells; you may have realized my great skill with them, Wormwood."

"Yeah, I did.  But wasn't Newman trying to create zombies?  Won't that mess with your idea?"

"Not at all!  I'm going to adjust it to accommodate with my desires!"

It seemed like this guy had an answer for everything.  He was still in a talking mood, which also seemed to be stalling him from his goal, so I finally asked the big question that had been gnawing at me: "Why, Fleming?  What are you trying to prove?"

"Haven't you realized, Wormwood?"  Fleming stared at me, his eyes protruding even more than usual.  "I'm doing this for the benefit of monster kind!  After this, we won't have to hide anymore, because the world will be populated by nothing but monsters!"

"Oh?"  I glanced over at my comrades, who looked as shocked as I was.  Even without looking in Calla's eyes, I could read her thoughts: this guy was a loony.

"Yes!  When my vampire comes alive, he will feel a raging thirst for blood, and will go out into the world, drinking that of any human he sees; either they will die, or they will become vampires like himself.  Then they will make more of their kind, and more, until soon, the entire world will be covered with vampires!  Don't you see?" he pleaded (yes, that was the right word for it, oddly enough), "We won't need to hide!  No more concealing ourselves from humans, because there will be no humans left!  We shall be free!"

"Except for me, Xen, Calla, and these other nice people you're holding prisoner," I pointed out.

"Well, yes.  In fact, because this spell is going to drain your life force to contribute to the creation of the vampire, it will undoubtedly kill you.  But your cooperation will be duly noted, after I become supreme ruler of the world!"