Dipping her pinky into the brew, she then brought it to her mouth, smacking her lips as she tasted the magick. Almost there. It only needed a pinch of dragon tears.
Balthazar’s golden body coiled lazily along the bottom of her neck. He rubbed his sleepy little head into her collarbone sniffing at her flesh. She tasted like bat guano to her pet, which made their arrangement oddly perfect. He did not want to eat her, and she was rather fond of his beady red eyes.
Reaching over to her stack of shelved vials, she snatched up the one that glowed a fiery scarlet with threads of shimmering amethyst. Uncorking it, she tipped it over her cauldron. The twin tears sizzled, and the inside of her barren home glowed the strange hue of green hell flame.
She smiled. “All done.”
Feeling the Under Goblin’s eyes like a brand, she decided to humor him. She so rarely had company, and good or bad, she made the best out of what time she had. Baba still hadn’t quite decided what she was to do with her latest possession. The Goblin could possibly be useful. And so long as he remained so, he’d stay exactly as he was.
Standing slowly, she straightened her knobby knees, feeling the aches spread the length of her. She’d stayed in this form far too long. Baba was powerful, but in one thing she was a slave: her tie to the thrice-lunar cycle.
It was time to take up her next manifestation. But she’d been known to get the elements wrong before. It was her fault, really. If she’d only take the time to measure things properly as her spirits had taught her, it wouldn’t happen. If she were honest, she was lazy, but Baba was rarely prone to honesty with herself. Honesty was a maudlin affair.
“Are we ready for a drink then, goblin?”
He grunted, scrambling back on his heels until his back pressed tight up against the iron bars behind him, and there was no place else to go.
She frowned. “You are an untrustworthy fellow, are you not, my dear?” She tsked. Shaking her head, she waddled to his side. Her knobby knees creaked and ached with each step. Bloody, damn crone form, her very least favorite of her three-sided nature.
She snapped her arthritic fingers, and a cup carved from the skull bones of a Scarpiathian warlord suddenly appeared in her hand. Scarpathians were nasty little devils that lived in the Northern icelands of Kingdom—giants as tall as her roof with shaggy ice hair all over their bodies and teeth filed from iron.
Their bones made great stock.
His lip curled, and even caged as he was, the haughty goblin had yet to lose even a farthing of his raging hubris. She chuckled delicately, which in this form, sounded more like a winter avalanche.
“’Fraid it’ll taste bad, goblin? Used to your rich puddings and cakes? Drink up, you damn fool. It’s your own fault you’re here. I warned you. You did not listen, and now, you are here to serve my needs in whatever way I fancy.” Taunting him was just so easy.
His lips pulled back, revealing his sharpened incisors. Balthazar, who never took kindly to his mama getting accosted—even if done by a harmless male trapped in a cage like a rat—came suddenly to alertness. He sped down the arm she held out toward the cage, wrapped his glowing tail around the bar, and hissed malevolently.
The goblin, smart beast that he was, gulped, snatched the cup out of her hand, and swallowed the contents in two heaving swallows. He tossed the cup to the floor, no doubt expecting to shatter it.
But one could not simply shatter Scarpathian bone by throwing a tantrum.
Lifting a brow, Baba crossed her arms and waited. She didn’t have to wait long. He gave a bellow, clutched his middle, and fainted to the ground, head thwacking the concrete so hard she did not doubt that he had probably broken his skull.
The glow of magick encased him, pouring from out of his pores so brightly that it brought tears to her eyes. She squinted. A second later, the light dimmed.
For such a lot of magick, the effects of the potion were rather simple. Lying inside the cage was a squalling, mewling newborn with dusky-green skin and a shock of black hair standing up around his adorable little head.
“Hm.” She pursed her lips. “I would have sworn you’d have been older than that, goblin, or I’d not have given you such a high dose. Oh, well.” She shrugged. Slipping the key from around her neck, she unlocked the cage door and grinned.
With his smooth skin and pretty, starlit eyes, the Under Goblin was far more attractive as a child than he’d been as a malevolent, evil old man.
“Balthazar.” She looked at her golden adder, whose tongue was flicking in and out as he tasted the essence of the babe in the air. She read the confusion in her familiar’s ruby eyes. “I do believe we find ourselves in a bit of a conundrum here.”
Even Balthazar was often astonished her magickal skill. An adorable, little frown marred his scaly hide.
She shrugged. “I didn’t do it on purpose. He said he was tens of thousands of years old. How was I to know he’d lied?” She tossed out her hands. “And no, before you ask, this is not reversible. He’ll simply have to grow up all over again.”
A sound awfully like a groan spilled from her adder’s mouth. Balthazar wasn’t overly fond of squawking children. He tended to want to eat them, not care for them. His tongue flicked out grumpily, and Baba rolled her eyes.
“No, you may not eat him. Bloody damn me. I should have trusted my gut. I knew I hadn’t heard of the Under Goblin during the Dark Ages, but that’s what I get for being so gullible. Ach, well, my beloved. We’ve no choice now. We’re parents. Maybe this time we can raise that green bastard better. What do you say?”
Balthazar curled his lip, and she smiled proudly down at him.
“Yes, I love you too, you slippery eel.”
His tongue flicked violently. Her pet was always so touchy when she called him that, which was exactly why did it. She smiled sweetly, which made her look like a mummified zombie stretching atrophied lips. She truly was hideous in this form.
“I do so hate to do this, B, but they will soon arrive, and I’ll have to go. Manage him. Feed him—”
His tongue flicked out in a question.
“How should I know?” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve never been a parent before. Give him beets or something. Chicken bones. Worms?” She imagined that would taste foul, but he was a goblin. What did they eat anyway? She shook her head to clear the marbles. No sense in falling down that rabbit hole. Time was of the essence.
Turning, she grabbed the fallen cup. Scarpathian bones were the only things strong enough to hold dragon’s tears and not disintegrate. It was why she drank most potions from these bones. Holding the cup by its handle, she dipped it into the cauldron of brew and ladled out a good half cup. Too much and she’d run into the same problem as the goblin.
“You know, we really do need to give him a name. The goblin just sounds silly. What should we call him, B?”
She glanced at her adder with brow raised. Balthazar, who was accustoming himself to the Goblin’s new scent, slithered up his face. His tongue flicked out.
“Balthazar,” she grumped, “I do hope you can contain your excitement and not eat the boy. You know we’ve turned over a new leaf.”
His coils shuddered as he hung his head in shame.
Moving off the babe, B was the epitome of kindness and fatherly kindness until he flicked the end of his tail at the child’s cheek with a stinging crack, causing the goblin to squall and raise his tiny fists up in the air.
“Oh, dear.” She sighed. “I’m not sure I can trust you with him. You’ve quite the nasty temper this morning.”
Of course, she also understood that it would take Balthazar some time get used to the fact that the hateful Under Goblin was now nothing more than a harmless babe, not the man who’d very nearly ruined the happiness of tens of thousands of inhabitants of Kingdom.
Not that B cared about the inhabitants of Kingdom. Balthazar only truly loved her. But the goblin had been almost directly responsible for the destruction of B’s family nest, and that was a hard sin to forget and
forgive.
“He is not the same man. In fact, he is not a man at all. We can raise him better this time, beloved. Does that not mollify you at least a little?”
Balthazar’s deadly ruby tongue flickered, but it no longer pointed at the boy’s head. Her familiar had acquiesced, which was good. The goblin could become a powerful ally someday. No sense in killing him now.
The child still hadn’t stopped crying. The potion had given him back his tongue. She shuddered. She really did hate the sound of children crying. In the good ol’ days—or at least that’s how the stories went—there had been ways to make them stop. The stories typically involved a fire, a hearth, and well...maybe there was something to the stories after all because she was pretty sure that method would work wonderfully right about now.
She sighed and shook her head regretfully. Killing the babe was not the answer.
She needed to finalize things, but she could hardly leave B with that squawking thing all by himself.
“Goddess, how do we make it stop?” She set her cup down midair so that she could clap her hands over her ears. Baba had never mothered a child. They always seemed too ugly and obnoxious. But this phlegm-colored thing was now hers.
Balthazar proved yet again what a wonderful creature he was when he slithered around the child’s neck and squeezed a little—just enough to make the goblin’s green cheeks bulge and turn a rather pretty shade of light blue. The crying ceased.
“You’re bloody brilliant, my beastie.” She grinned, revealing several missing teeth.
He inclined his head in acceptance of her gratitude.
But now that pretty shade of blue was turning a ghastly shade of purple. “Um, my dear, should you not uncoil yourself a little? I’m no expert, but I do believe he might be suffocating.”
As though shocked to discover that he was in fact choking the life from the babe, Balthazar unwound himself. The goblin took in a shuddery breath. And like magic, the crying stopped.
“Well, that was surprisingly effective.” She grinned at her familiar, who winked back proudly.
Gods, the goblin child really was ugly and cute. All green and purple and blue.
She curled her lips. “Phlegm. That’s what we shall call him. What do you think?”
Balthazar nodded in agreement, and she smiled. She could actually be motherly. Who knew?
With a happy shrug, she snatched up the cup and tipped the green contents back. It tasted of horse piss and dragon scat. Her insides turned warm then hot then scalding, and exactly as it had with Phlegm, light flowed from her pores. Like heated wax in a sculptor’s hands, she felt herself take shape. Things were pushed up, out, in, and erased. Her hair grew out long and shone with a healthy light. Her liver-spotted hands became lily-white with nary a mark upon them. And her breasts no longer fell to her knees but were perky little globes that bounced when she moved.
She was about to cry out in agony when it was over.
“Oh, my. I shall never grow used to that, my dear,” she said in a voice no longer rusted and ancient sounding, but in one that rang like divine church bells on a clear Sunday morning. Glancing down at her arms, she smiled. She was the personification of youth and beauty once more.
She had the body of a nubile eighteen-year-old. Thankfully, her brain remained intact. It would have been hell if she’d lost all her wits just because she’d grown a pair of perky breasts.
“Well, how do I look, B?”
True to his word, he was taking great care of their new ward, gently rubbing the tip of his tail along Phlegm’s cheek. The pudgy pile of flesh now slept as peacefully as...well, a babe, she supposed.
He snuffled, grunted, and smacked his lips, and the region in her heart that had always been slightly empty seemed to expand and melt just a little.
“Oh, look at him grunting like a wee piglet. Does he require food, do you think?” she asked her pet.
“I would rather think so.” A dulcet, feminine voice ringing with authority snagged Baba’s attention, making her twirl prettily on her heels. Everything from here on out was going to be pretty. She simply couldn’t help herself. Standing before her were two Goddesses—one of Love, and one so ancient and elemental she made Baba seem a baby by comparison.
Aphrodite, dressed in her traditional Grecian snow-white robes threaded with veins of gold, stepped forward. She held out her hand, and a flash of light radiated from her palm. When it faded, only a bottle full of golden fluid remained. She moved like poetry in motion as she walked toward Balthazar and Phlegm. Her long golden hair trailed down to her ankles as she knelt beside them.
“Hello, little goblin. What has that mean ol’ witch done to you this time?” she cooed.
Baba snorted. “Mean ol’ witch.” Her words moved like music through the room, causing Calypso to shudder with apparent pleasure.
“Thank the stars you were not in crone form for this, dear witch. Your mate doesn’t stand a chance now.” Caly smiled.
“Oh, please,” Baba grumped. “You know I do not go with you because I wish a mate.”
Caly, who was in her elemental form—that is to say, a woman built of water with aquamarine blue hair that rippled down her back like a wave and was threaded through with giant, gleaming pearls—smiled prettily. But one would be a fool to see the pretty woman and believe her weak. Calypso had killed just as many as Baba had, perhaps even more. She was an elemental and to be feared by all, even Baba herself.
“So you do not wish to come?” Caly asked sweetly, but with a hint of fire.
“Have I a choice?” Baba shot right back.
“Well, no,” Calypso grinned as she glanced quickly at Aphrodite, who was now bottle-feeding the child with delight in her sapphire eyes. “If you hadn’t come willingly, I’d have drowned you and then made you come.”
Baba rolled her eyes, having no doubt that threat was true. “Then I come.”
“Oh, come on.” Dite smiled good-naturedly. “It’s not all that bad. You’ll have a male to sex you up on the cold, cold nights of—”
“Dite, shush—” Caly warned, and for a moment, the pretty façade wavered, revealing the woman of legend beneath, the one who was all things...
But Aphrodite didn’t seem afraid. She laughed and lifting up Phlegm, burped him over her shoulder with two hard thwacks to his back. Balthazar, traitor that he was, curled up around Dite’s neck, nuzzling her with his tongue. As a Goddess, she was immune to his deadly touch.
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot. Anyway, lots of sex, witch. Lots and lots of it with a hot piece of man meat.” Aphrodite grinned.
It hadn’t escaped Baba’s notice that the two conspired right in front of her. The summons she’d received this morning had been sparse on the details. She only knew that she was to be ready for their arrival this afternoon, to pack lightly, and to make sure she was out of crone form.
It’d been the very last thing she’d wanted to do, of course, but one did not say no to a goddess for no reason.
“Traitor,” Baba hissed playfully at Balthazar, who was still tonguing his favorite goddess. B opened his eyes lazily, grinned, and continued to lick her neck. “And I don’t wish man meat. I find them repugnant.” She directed the last to Calypso.
“Well, it’s only because you haven’t met the man we kidnapped for you,” Caly said innocently.
Baba realized that the goddess of the primal seas truly had no idea that kidnapping was wrong. Of course, not that Baba was one to judge. She had a few kidnappings under her belt too.
Apparently, this entire thing was a set up—a date, as it were—which was rather, well, odd. Why would the goddesses go to such lengths to set her up with a man? Why would they care about something so inconsequential?
Baba did not want for men. True, she’d gone through a bit of a dry spell lately. She always did when in crone form, but now she was maiden and could get any man, woman, or beast she wanted with a mere crook of her finger.
She’d had her fill of lust eons ago, and she f
ound she rarely missed it and had never craved the intimacy of anything longer than a quick, fierce tussle now and again. There wasn’t a man alive who could change her mind at this stage in the game. So why bother?
She narrowed her eyes. “And why has this honor been thrust upon me?”
Judging by Caly’s pursed lips, she’d caught the sarcasm. Baba lifted a brow, waiting. She might not have the power of a goddess, but she was a mighty adversary in her own right, and the goddesses knew it.
“You’ll learn more when the time comes. Suffice it to say, your skills were required for the others to succeed. In the end, it was only fair to reward you in kind.” Caly shrugged.
If Baba could have laughed in derision, she would have. But she had a feeling that laughing in Calypso’s presence might be the very last thing she ever did. So she swallowed her groan of disgust and pretended not to be choking on a gag.
A man.
For her.
Good heavens above, what was this world coming to if the great and powerful Baba Yaga settled down to cook and clean? Just the thought caused a sliver of black ice to skate down her spine. She shuddered, thinking of allowing any male to come into her home and muck up her life.
Goddess forbid. Though a tendril of curiosity was getting the best of her. She could not deny it.
“And who is worthy of my hand?” she asked with laughing scorn. There was certainly no one of Kingdom who could qualify. If she’d been pushed to name one, she might have said Rumpel, but now, he was said to be married and disgustingly happy.
“A god. Of course.” Dite grinned as she danced around the room with a snoring Phlegm, which caused Baba to chuckle. She could appreciate a woman not cowed by the strength of men. Which god? Well, that remained to be seen. There were none in the Greek pantheon she’d allow to lay a hand on her.
“Dear gods,” she mumbled, knowing this was going to be a long couple of weeks. She’d probably kill her “mate” before ten days were up, and it would be all his fault.