“It’s not him,” Chewie said with quiet compassion. He stood on his hind legs to peer out the window. “Whoever it is doesn’t smell Human.”
“Oh.” Beka scrubbed at her face and straightened her clothes before walking over to the door with Chewie on her heels. She thought about grabbing one of her knives, but no paranormal creature would be foolish enough to try and harm a Baba Yaga inside her own hut. Er, bus.
When she pulled the door open the rest of the way, she could see their visitor standing just out of the sunshine; the shade from the bus seemed to cause his form to flicker and change. One moment he looked like a skinny Human of indiscriminate age and medium height, with sandy brown hair and no notable features. The next, the light shifted into a suggestion of pointed ears and something that resembled a lashing tail. And possibly an extra arm or two.
The not-quite-a-man gave a low bow, holding out a curled-up parchment in pale twiggy fingers. The antique paper bore a few thin scores that might have been made by claws clutching it a bit too tightly as its bearer traveled between two worlds.
“Baba Yaga,” the messenger said in a scratchy voice like wind creaking through gnarled tree limbs. “I bring you greetings and solicitations from my mistress, the Queen, and deliver to you this summons to her most August Presence.” He bowed again, so deeply that the invisible points on his seemingly Human ears scraped twin lines in the sand and gravel surface of the lot.
Beka swallowed hard. “Uh, when you say the Queen, I don’t suppose you mean the Queen of the Merpeople.”
The messenger blinked too-large, wide-set eyes. “No, Baba Yaga. The High Queen of the Otherworld is She who requests and requires your attendance.” He placed the parchment into Beka’s outstretched palm. Which, she was happy to see, hardly shook at all.
Chewie whined deep in his throat as she unrolled the heavy paper and read the elegant scrawl of ink etched into its surface with a quill-tipped pen. The ink itself was bright red, as ominous as the summons it inscribed.
My dearest Baba Yaga,
It is Our wish that you attend Us at a meeting in the Otherworld, wherein the King of the Selkies and the Queen of the Mer will discuss their continuing difficulties and seek solutions to the same. Please come prepared to explain your lack of success so far in ameliorating this problem. We expect to be given a positive report of your progress. Or We shall be Most Unhappy.
There is also an additional issue that requires your attention and to which We shall expect an immediate solution, without fail.
Come to Tir fo Thuinn at the hour of midnight, traveling by the usual way.
Affectionately,
Queen Morena Aine Titania Argante Rhiannon
Beka looked up from the missive to ask the messenger a question, but he was already gone, his errand completed. Only the dust of his passage hung in the air like a harbinger of rapidly oncoming doom. She sighed and showed the letter to Chewie, who read it through and then said, with feeling, “Shit.”
Her sentiments exactly.
EIGHTEEN
BEKA NERVOUSLY ADJUSTED the draped neckline of her outfit, tweaking it so it lay just right. It didn’t do to look less than perfect when you went before the Queen of the Otherworld. Very big on pomp and circumstance, was the Queen. And woe betide the person who didn’t live up to her idea of proper attire. Members of the court still talked in whispers of the lady-in-waiting who had accidentally worn mismatched stockings to an afternoon tea. They said she made a lovely rosebush, always festooned with stunning flowers in two slightly different colors of peach.
Beka didn’t aspire to be a rosebush.
She checked the mirror one more time, just to be certain she wasn’t missing anything. Her skirt was made from raw silk, purchased from a woman at the Renaissance Faire who hand-dyed it in various shades of blue and green and then embroidered the hem with scenes of undersea life, so when Beka walked, the skirt swirled around her ankles and fish seemed to dart behind coral reefs and in between waving fronds of emerald seaweed.