Wickedly Magical (Baba Yaga, #0.5)

About seventy-five people were gathered at the event advertised in the paper as “Tuning In—Tuning Up.” Whatever that was supposed to mean. Some kind of consciousness raising thing, as far as she could tell. All Barbara cared about was that it would give her a chance to see her mystery man in action, and possibly get some idea of whether or not he was using magic.

She’d hoped that Ivan’s wife Grace might be in evidence, but the only person on the pavilion stage at the local park was a slim blond man with wavy hair and an aw-shucks smile. Jonathan Bellingwood’s charisma was clear as soon as he started speaking, and he soon had the crowd in the palm of his hand. But as far as Barbara could tell, he was just clever, articulate, and good at manipulating people’s emotions—nothing supernatural involved.

The so-called guru talked for a while about the usual stuff: paths to enlightenment, becoming your own best self, the healing power of the mind, and all that. He led the group in a powerful guided meditation that ended up filling the area with a low-level hum of energetic potential that even Barbara could feel in her bones as a soothing balm. For a moment, she almost began to think that Ivan was simply involved in an unpleasant custody battle. Not nice, but also not her area of expertise.

And then something shifted. It was subtle at first. As Bellingwood finished up the meditation, he sent a few young women out into the crowd with collection baskets for donations. Nothing all that unusual there (as long as he had the proper permits, Barbara assumed), but then, as he started talking about how grateful he was for any donation, no matter how large or small, and how good it felt to contribute to the work, Barbara began to feel a tugging sensation. It was faint, but forceful all the same. Even she almost reached for her wallet, and she didn’t carry one.

All around her, people were smiling and putting bills into the baskets. Little children were searching their pockets for coins, and an old bag lady who had just been resting on a bench nearby glanced around furtively and thrust one grimy hand into her sagging bosom and pulled out a ragged dollar.

Barbara growled quietly to herself and moved over to stand next to the woman, regardless of the smell that arose indelicately from her clothes and belongings. Barbara laid one unusually gentle hand on the bag lady’s dirt-encrusted sleeve.

“You’d better keep that for yourself,” Barbara said quietly. “I expect you need it more than he does.”

The woman blinked as if waking from a dream, scowled at Barbara, and walked away at a rapid, if somewhat lopsided, trot, tucking her precious hoard back inside its formidable hiding place.

Barbara tucked her hands under her arms, less to restrain herself from donating, since once she’d recognized the uncanny “push,” it no longer had any effect on her, but mostly so she wouldn’t give in to her normal impulse to stop the magic cold and send it back to the one who used it to take advantage of all these people. With interest.

She didn’t want to reveal herself yet; not until she could figure out how exactly he was doing it. This close to Bellingwood, it was clear to her that he was a Human. She’d thought it was possible he was some kind of paranormal creature using magic from the Otherworld in defiance of the Queen’s edict to keep a low profile. It was not a good idea to defy the High Queen of the Otherworld. Not if you wanted to keep your head attached to your body, and your form looking like the one you’d been born with. Even Baba Yagas didn’t mess with the Queen.

But if Jonathan Bellingwood was Human, how was he affecting all these people? Barbara couldn’t see anything obvious, but clearly there was something Not Right here. And she was going to have to find out what it was if she was going to have any hope of getting Ivan’s little girls back to him as she’d promised.

It looked like she was going to have to go into the belly of the beast—the commune itself. Drat. That meant she was going to have to play nice with others. Not her best talent, even on a good day. There’d better be chocolate.

***

Back at the Airstream, Barbara told Chudo-Yudo what little she’d discovered, and what she thought her next step would have to be. Her companion wasn’t too happy about it.

“I wish I could go with you,” he grumbled. “You know I hate waiting around here all by myself while you are off having all the fun. But I have to stay and guard the Water of Life and Death.”

Barbara patted him roughly on his broad white head. “At least you can magic up your own food whenever you’re hungry. You’re a lot easier to deal with than a normal dog. Not that anyone would refer to you as normal.”

“Don’t be insulting,” Chudo-Yudo said. “But do be careful. After all, you don’t have any idea what tricks this guy has up his sleeve.”

“Now you’re being insulting,” Barbara said, somewhat miffed. “I’m a Baba Yaga. I have yet to meet a Human who can best me.”

“You were born Human too, you know,” the dragon-dog reminded her. “You’re not invincible.”

“True,” said Barbara. “But I am really, really cranky. It’s my superpower.”