Now she planned to hang up her ornamental sword, take off this lovely but impractical outfit, slip into some jeans, and pour herself a glass of wine. She’d had enough tea to last her a month.
Humming some haunting but catchy tune the court musicians had played during tea, Beka meandered out into the main area of the bus to put the pure silver sword back onto its empty rack before changing her clothes. Always take care of your weapon first, even if it was never used for anything more lethal than attending a fancy dress ball, so she’d been taught.
“Hey, Beka, look who’s here,” Chewie said cheerfully as she entered the living room. “It’s Marcus.”
She dropped the sword on the floor with a melodious clang. Stooping to pick it up, she hoped the dim interior would hide her burning cheeks. While she’d been gone, the storm had hit in earnest, and the sky outside was almost as dark as night. Inside the bus, only a few lamps glowed warm against the fury of the gusting winds and driving rain.
Marcus had been lounging on the futon, drinking a beer and looking way too at home for Beka’s peace of mind. His hair was damp from the rain, and the rumpled forest-colored shirt he wore brought out the green in his eyes, which glinted when he saw her.
“Wow,” he said, standing up so fast he almost spilled his beer. He set it down on the floor with a thump. “You look incredible.”
The open admiration on his face made her heart beat even faster. “Thanks,” she said. “I was at court, visiting the Queen. She isn’t a big fan of hippie-dippy tie-dyed skirts and tank tops.”
One corner of Marcus’s mouth curved up. “Neither am I. Unless you’re the one wearing them.”
“I’ll just, um, go for a walk in this nice rain, shall I?” Chewie said, heading for the door. Beka barely heard him go.
“What are you doing here?” she asked Marcus quietly, putting the sword down on the counter and taking a couple of hesitant steps forward. “I would have thought you’d be spending the rest of the day with your father. Or has he chosen not to take the Selkies up on their offer?”
He shook his head. “As far as I know, he hasn’t made the decision yet. I tried to talk to him about it and he just muttered something about having important errands to run and bolted for the door.” He gave a short laugh. “I suspect he was headed straight for the Cranky Seagull, where men are men and emotions aren’t allowed.”
“Ah,” Beka said. “None of that namby-pamby communication crap for you stalwart fishermen types, is that it?”
“Something like that, yeah,” Marcus said. He stared at her across the foot or more of wooden floorboards that separated them, but made no move to get any closer. Of course, a lot more separated them than physical space, and they both knew it.
“So what are you doing here?” she asked, suddenly too tired to play their usual games. If he’d come to say good-bye, she wanted to get it over with as fast as possible—like pulling a Band-Aid off of a cut. Only multiplied by a power of a hundred.
Figuring there wasn’t much point to pretending to be normal anymore, she snapped her fingers and a glass of wine manifested out of the air. She took a long swallow.
“Neat trick,” Marcus said, not even fazed. “And I came to say thank you.”
Beka blinked and took another drink. “Thank you for what?” she asked. “I’m the one who should be thanking you. I never could have done all this without your help. You know, even without the part where you saved my life and beat the crap out of the evil prince.” She mustered up a grin. “That was my favorite bit, by the way.”
“Mine too,” Marcus said with sincerity. “It was my freaking pleasure.” He scowled at her glass. “That isn’t champagne, is it?”
Beka shuddered. “Goddess, no. I may never drink the stuff again. Although it was really sweet of your father to bring some out today to celebrate my success. I can’t believe he did that.”
“Me either,” Marcus said. “That’s part of what I came to thank you for. He’s really changed since you’ve been around, and no matter what happens, I’m grateful for the chance to have made my peace with him.”
“That would have happened anyway,” she said, making her nearly empty glass vanish back to where it had come from. The conversation was making her head spin enough all by itself.
“I don’t think so, Beka,” he said, taking a step forward and gazing into her eyes. “I don’t think you understand the power you have.”
“What? Of course I do. I’m a Baba Yaga; I’m all about the power.” She wondered if she should pop in an entire vineyard, if the single glass wasn’t enough to impress him.