Petru saw his discomfort. “Don’t try to talk. That will just make it worse. I’ll see if I can pull you out.”
What? Oh, no! Grace opened her mouth to discourage them, but Petru threw a sheet over her head. She wasn’t really sure how she felt about that.
Drawing the sheet down, she saw Petru wrapping his arms around Caspian’s waist. The big Russian pulled, but it was like her demon lover’s tongue had dropped anchor in her womb—or maybe grappling hooks. Petru huffed and puffed, heaved and hoved, but he got nowhere.
A new voice startled everyone. “I was going to knock, but the door was gone.” Ethelred leaned against the door frame, blasé as usual. “If I’d known there was this much fun to be had, I would have arrived sooner.”
He peered around Petru to meet Grace’s eyes. “You know what this looks like from behind.” Ethelred smirked.
Petru let go so fast that he tumbled backwards into Ethelred. The smart-alecky demon was knocked on his ass. “If you wanted me to join, all you had to do was ask.” The demon grumbled, straightening his clothing as he stood. “Peanuts, huh?”
“Does everyone know this but me?” Grace shrieked.
“Yeah, sweetcakes. ’Fraid so.”
Ethelred helped Petru up and tossed him a sheet to wrap around Caspian. Whether it was in the interests of grip or modesty, Petru didn’t know, but he was thankful nonetheless.
“Okay, let’s try this again.”
Petru grabbed Caspian’s waist, and Ethelred grabbed Petru’s. Caspian braced his arms on the couch, and Grace said prayers to the Powers That Be. One tug. Two tugs. Three!
Still nothing. Grace’s body was creeping toward numb from the waist down.
On the plus side, Caspian would be so traumatized after this that he’d never want to look at her again.
Grace wasn’t sure that she cared for the party going on in her living room. She especially didn’t care for it when Jill showed up.
“Hey, Grace! Your door’s open . . . er, gone.” The demonic ex-prostitute surveyed the scene much like her predecessor had, but she had more to say about it. “Shit on a shingle, girl. How
do
you get yourself into these things?”
Grace pursed her lips and wished she’d left the sheet over her head. “I don’t know.”
The men decided to try again. Without even being asked, Jill moved to stand behind Grace and got a good grip under her arms. Her hooker boots were braced against the couch, giving them some leverage as Jill pulled on Grace, Petru pulled on Caspian, and Ethelred brought up the rear. Though it would have been smarter to make Petru the anchor and have Ethelred in front, it had occurred to Ethelred that he preferred having his arms just where they were instead of pulled out of their sockets by the Russian mobster’s brute strength.
How in the name of Hell was Caspian still rooted inside Grace? Tongue or twat, something should have given up.
“Damn it,” Jill growled, huffing and puffing almost as much as Petru. “Seraphim protect us,” she muttered wishfully, as if she were talking about a saint.
The Universe does not take such mutterings casually—not speaking the name of the Baba Yaga. To call her name is to invoke power, especially with an impassioned utterance such as “Protect us!” The atmosphere crackled with kinetic energy. Lamps and knickknacks levitated into the air, and the very foundations of the building shook. Grace’s hair stood on end and so did Jill’s. Her pots and pans flew out of the cupboards, glasses crashed to the floor, and the entire world seemed to shiver. Not even the Devil had made this much of an entrance!
Ethelred turned his head to see what was coming. “What the hell is that?”
“The Baba Yaga,” Petru grunted, continuing to pull.
Jill stomped her foot. “I’ve done it now, haven’t I? Sorry, love.”
Grace was not happy with this new development, though she was excited at the most minimal prospect of seeing her grandmother again. The circumstances could have been better, of course. “Oh, what, like I’m going to be grounded or something? I’ll believe it when I see it.”
A woman appeared, rising up amid the horror show. But she was nothing like Grace’s grandmother. This woman was young. Those hands couldn’t possibly have made chocolate oat muffins. They couldn’t be the same that put bandages on all of Grace’s skinned knees. They certainly weren’t the hands that had trained Grace in the art of herbs and poultices. No, this woman was not her grandmother.
“Why hast thou summoned me?”
Her voice echoed with power, and things continued to fall off the wall. Grace had to admit that her windowpane rattling was a bit more impressive than Caspian’s. Then the Baba Yaga looked at her and winked.
Perfect. It
was
her grandmother. All it would take was one more person and her humiliation would be complete. Perhaps Hades—
Seraphim screeched like a hyena in labor. “Don’t even think it! You already did, didn’t you?” She glanced frantically around the apartment. “Don’t you do it, Hades! I’m warning you!” The woman narrowed her eyes on a small statue of a dog that Grace hadn’t known she owned. A moment later, it disappeared.
“Did she just punk out the Big Boss?” Ethelred asked, releasing Petru’s bulk.
“I told you the Baba Yaga was nothing to mess with, but no one listens to poor, slow Petru, who still believes in children’s tales.” The Russian shrugged massive shoulders and sighed.
“Um,” Grace said, in the sweetest voice she could manage. “Excuse me, but could you all please get the hell out? Hmm? I’m naked, and my boyfriend is suffocating in my . . . well, if he were human he would be. My grandmother is here to bear witness to my humiliation, and that’s more than enough. She can help clean up the mess, so, thank you all for coming. Can I die now?” she added to Jill.
The redhead looked surprised. “Sorry?”
Grace shook her head. “Your bag of tricks is by the gaping hole in the wall that used to be my door.”
“We’ll go shoe shopping later this week.” Jill patted her on the head, grabbed Ethelred’s hand, even though he looked as if he had no intention of leaving, and headed for the door. He’d either go with her or have his fingers reset. He chose to leave with her.
Petru was tempted to beg Grace to remain silent regarding his mishap with Seraphim’s picture, but he decided she already knew. He bowed and kissed her hand.
She eyed him kindly, pressing a small charm into his hand. “Petru, your Miss Katerina needs you. Now,” she added. “But wear this. Nadja walks again.”
Nadja? Such talk scared the faith and begorra right out of Grace. She’d heard Michael talk about his mother quite often; she’d been the one who shaped him into a monster. Willingly, wantonly. Nadja was everything that went bump in the dark. She was evil through and through.
Her legs tensed, and Caspian had to put his elbows on her thighs to keep her from clamping them shut. “Sorry, Caspian.” Grace’s shoulders slumped unhappily.
A light came from Seraphim, and there was an audible exhalation from Caspian as his tongue shrank back down to a size that he could fit into his mouth.
“Feelths like iths wearing socks,” he muttered, still trying to get the thing to lie properly in his mouth. The effort made him look a bit like a Saint Bernard who’d gotten into a vat of peanut butter.
“Okay, you two geniuses,” Seraphim demanded, a hand on her hip. “What was with the peanuts?”
“I didn’t know demons could have food allergies.” Grace pulled her sheet up to her chin. “Next thing you know they’ll be getting swine flu.”
Caspian shook his head, clearly just as surprised.
Seraphim sighed. “Grace, no more peanut noodles for you. Since you’ve tapped into your demon heritage, you’re susceptible, too. You’ll have to pay more attention.”
“No more peanut butter?” Grace asked, horrified.
“Nope. No more peanut butter cups, no more PB&J’s, no more anything processed with the same machinery as nuts. It’s all out. You’re lucky that you just lost your powers. It could have been much worse.”
“It gets worse than what just happened? I really don’t see how it could.”
Seraphim glanced at her, scandalized. “Merlin’s Cookie Dough, child! Haven’t you learned that lesson in an all of your years? Never, ever, should you challenge the Universe like that. It will always show you how it can get worse. I think it wants to make you thankful for the blessings you do have.”
“Worse?” Grace was growling. “Name someone who’s had it worse—and no naming random starving kids in the Congo.”
“I didn’t say your life was sunshine and fairies, you little smarty bug. Maybe those
are
the only people who have it worse than you, but that still means things can get worse. Did you think of that?”
The woman definitely sounded like her grandmother, even if she didn’t look like her. Grace studied her again.
“Looking for an old hag? Well, I’ve been wearing the maidenly form these past few days. Seems I can’t let myself be old whenever Hades is around.” She looked a bit embarrassed.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“About which?”
In that smile, Grace saw a glimpse of the woman she’d known. “About all of it, but especially the part where, you know, you aren’t really dead.”
The maiden was suddenly gone. In her place stood Gran. There were apple cookies on a plate in her hands, and piping hot tea sat in familiar china atop what was left of Grace’s table.
“Gran!” Grace wrapped her sheet around herself like a toga and hugged Seraphim tightly.
“Goodness, child. If I wasn’t the Baba Yaga, you would have crushed these old bones like eggshells.”
“I missed you!”
“I know, and I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before; it broke my heart to hear you crying for me. You had to grow on your own, however, or you never would have become strong.”
Grace sniffled. “I thought Petru and Sasha had both lost their minds.”
“You’ve had quite the day today, huh? There’s still the final revelation, but that’s the one you must figure out on your own. I can’t help you, and neither can Hades.”
“It’s always cryptic answers with you.” Grace hugged her grandmother again. “Is that something contagious from demonkind as well?”
Her gran smiled. “Eat your cookies and drink your tea, dear. Every last drop, if you please. It will help you heal. That goober sleeping on your couch, too.” She indicated Caspian, who was very much dead to the world. “I think he’s going to be very unhappy when he wakes up.”
“Why?” Grace asked.
“He’s fallen asleep with his cheek on his belt buckle. There will be an imprint in his cheek for days.”
Grace shrugged. “He can just use his power. He’ll be fine.”
“No,”
her gran snapped, “and this is very important. Even though the tea will help, it will take a few days for his powers and yours to come back. You will be extremely vulnerable. Don’t leave this apartment unless you absolutely must. And no takeout! Remember the peanut thing.”
“Are you kidding me?” Grace pouted.
“See? I told you it could get worse. Now, I have to go. Be good, Gracie.” And her grandmother was gone.
On the plus side, her door was fixed. In fact, it looked like a brand-new steel door. There were hex bags hanging at all of the entrances, and her apartment was completely clean. Her grandmother had handled everything—which was wonderful. Fine and dandy. Brilliant, of course, but the problem was: She and Caspian were trapped together in her apartment. And after what had just happened, she’d be surprised if he didn’t run away screaming without giving a single fuck about his peanut-induced vulnerability.
Poor Caspian. Not even a demon deserved this, did he?
Poor her. Grace knew
she
didn’t.
C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-ONE
She Walks in Death
N
adja Grigorovich was not what you would call a happy camper. In fact, she was like the bear who couldn’t quite figure out how to get that picnic basket without having Ranger Rick up her ass. Every act she could devise at this juncture destroyed the best thing she had in her arsenal: the element of surprise. If only Sasha were here, he’d know what to do.
None of this would be a problem without Seraphim Stregaria. Just thinking about the old witch made Nadja’s knuckles swell, warping her fingers into twisted, useless, arthritic sausages. How she hated the woman! Seraphim didn’t deserve what she had. What was the point of having power if you weren’t going to wield it? Nadja would remake the world in her image, and angels and demons alike would quake before her. Perhaps she would even unseat that bastard Hades while she was at it and take over Hell. Michael would certainly have his demonhood then, and he would be subservient to her forever.
Her son had other plans for her, of course. Less pleasant plans, if he found her before she came fully back into her power. She’d sown the seeds of depravity inside him, so she wasn’t surprised. She knew what lurked in those dark little corners of his mind, and she could only be prouder if he’d actually gotten rid of Seraphim’s brat of a granddaughter on schedule. But, Grace? That little witch was more irritating than poison ivy. If Nadja could strangle her and her grandmother together, at the same time, it might just be the happiest moment in all of her existence.
Well, that was her goal. And to achieve her goal, Nadja needed minions. And she knew just where to start: Katerina.
Having decided this was the best course of action, Nadja transported herself to Katerina’s door. The act left her so winded that she almost threw up. It was like she’d run up several staircases after eating a hearty dinner. Her magick was rusty and sleepy. Sasha’s heart was all that was keeping her alive, so she had to find a magickal creature to feed on and soon. It would be some time before this body could sustain its own power. It would take considerably less power if she’d let this body exist in its natural state, which was dead, or if she let it appear as it originally had. But Nadja wanted to look like herself, not this homely body Sasha had procured for her. She liked looking in the mirror and seeing blond hair and—
Katerina was blond. Why hadn’t Sasha just given
her
to Nadja? She had a lovely figure—all but those hideous scars, but Nadja could have taken care of that. Why hadn’t—?
Nadja remembered the two brats Katerina had clinging to her skirts. They were inconvenient. She didn’t see how it was possible a woman could be tricked into taking care of not one but
two
bits of street trash that hadn’t come from her own body. Then again, Nadja hadn’t even wanted her biological son. And if Katerina was an odd woman, at least the brats were another ax to hang over her head.
She finally caught her breath. She couldn’t have her victim seeing any of her weakness; that might give Katerina the impression she had something to say about her situation, that she had some control. It would take too much work to disabuse her of that notion, so Nadja meant to avoid it.
She knocked on the door. When Katerina opened it, the look on her face was almost worth the years Nadja had spent in the horror of suspended animation.
The blonde’s delicate little features sagged like she’d aged twenty years in the second recognition hit. She turned and walked to the kitchen table, sank into a chair. She didn’t invite Nadja in, but Nadja wasn’t a vampire so she didn’t need an invitation. Nadja crossed the threshold and sat in the chair across from Katerina, as if she were there for morning coffee and a raspberry tart. The remains of just such a breakfast were scattered about the table.
“Cozy digs you’ve got here,” Nadja said, taking Katerina’s coffee cup. She took a sip and pulled Katerina’s plate over to her side of the table. As far as Nadja was concerned, it was all her side.
“What do you want?” the little blonde asked.
“Want? Why do I have to want anything?” Nadja asked, chewing and giving her a cold smile.
“Don’t do that, Nadja. We both know you want something,” Katerina snapped, defeated.
“Maybe I wanted to visit a friend. We are friends, aren’t we?”
“Sure, whatever you say.”
Katerina had clearly learned not to contradict her. Good.
“Perhaps I need one little favor. This tart is really tasty. Too bad that brute Petru ate most of them before he left.” Katerina’s apartment smelled of men and sex; when Nadja focused, it was Petru who came to her mind’s eye. She shuddered.
“Yes, too bad,” Katerina echoed.
“You need to find me a magickal being. It doesn’t really matter what kind. See, since I’ve come back there’s a darkness inside that’s burning me with a hunger I’ve never before known.” She grabbed Katerina’s hand, which was wrapped around a fork. “But if you’re thinking of killing me before I get any stronger, you’re too late.”
Katerina sighed. “No, Nadja. I’ve just learned to keep a clean house. The way Ivan taught me.” She picked up several other dishes and walked to the sink.
If Nadja didn’t know any better, she’d swear that was a jab, an outright rebellion. But she forced herself to ignore it and said, “Good. Because if you fail me, I won’t kill you. I won’t even kill your children, but you’ll wish I had. I’ll flay the flesh from their bones and eat it in front of them.”
Katerina eased the dishes into the sink, moving very slowly, as if the weight of the world had come to rest on her shoulders. “You are all the bad things that are whispered in the night about the Baba Yaga,” she murmured. “Every single one of them.”
“Thank you, Katerina,” Nadja replied. “You really are very sweet. Perhaps our relationship will be more fun for both of us this time around.”
She rose from her chair and made a show of bringing her coffee cup to the sink where she put an arm around Katerina and hugged her. Then she drew back and struck her with the coffee mug, just hard enough to make an impression but not break the cup.
“I want my magickal being tonight, Katerina. If I don’t get it, I shall be very upset with you. Even more upset than this.”
“I understand.” Katerina bit her lip.
“And don’t tell anyone else about me. Do you understand?”
Katerina nodded. There wasn’t much else she could do.