Wickedly Spirited by Deborah Blake

Author:Deborah Blake [Blake, Deborah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: InterMix
Published: 2017-09-18T18:30:00+00:00

* * *

Jazz could see the Kalpataru tree long before they got to it. It rose up into the sky higher than any of the surrounding vegetation, and unlike most of the Otherworld plants, which were colorful and strange, its arching branches and gnarled roots were brown, and the heart-shaped leaves, larger than Jazz’s palm, were a mundane green. As they drew closer, she could hear a murmuring sound, as if a hundred different voices were talking quietly all at once.

They walked underneath the wide spread of the tree’s limbs, which formed a canopy so dense, you could barely see the sky through it, and came to a stop near the knobby and twisted trunk. Koshka plopped his butt on the ground decisively, wordlessly indicating that she was on her own. Great.

“Er, hello?” she said. “Um, tree? My name is Jazz and I’m here to ask for one of your leaves. Please.”

Good grief. She was talking to a tree. Thank goodness no one was around to see her. She felt like an idiot.

Then one of the larger knots opened up and a voice issued from it, sounding deep and wise, kind of like James Earl Jones.

“Greetings, Human.” There was a small pause and a creaking noise, as if a section of the tree had bent down for a closer look. “Greetings, dragon. How small you are today.”

“But still as handsome as ever,” Jazz said hurriedly as Koshka’s fur ruffled up and he shook himself as though getting ready to transform into his original form. She already had all the distractions she could handle, frankly.

The dragon-cat settled on his haunches, glaring up at the tree. She wasn’t going to get any help from that quarter. She would have to handle this herself. That was one of the things she loved about being a Baba Yaga in training—there were endless tests, most of them unofficial but all of them crucial. Yeesh.

“So,” the tree said in its rumbly voice, “you have come to ask for the boon of one of our leaves. We suppose this means you have a wish you believe is worthy.” It made a noise like a garbage disposal. She couldn’t tell if it was laughing at her, growling, or just clearing whatever passed as its throat. “We find the prospect highly unlikely.”

Jazz bit back her first response, which probably wouldn’t have helped her cause any. But, man, she got so tired of people—even tree people—doubting her. If she were here making a wish for herself, it would be that she could skip these annoying teenage years and go instantly to being an actual adult, so everyone would take her seriously.

She stood as straight as she could and stared the tree in the . . . knot. Whatever. “Do you know the Riders?” she asked.

The leaves whispered above her for a moment. “All in the Otherworld know the Baba Yagas’ companions,” the tree said.

“Then you probably know what happened to them.”

“We do.” There was a pause. “If you want a leaf so you might wish them cured, we regret to inform you that they do not work in such a fashion.

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