Babayaga

Zoya walked up from the metro to her hotel. It was too warm. Over the years she had become accustomed to most things being within her control, but the weather was always mysterious. She had heard of women who could make it hail or draw thunder, but despite many attempts, those spells had always eluded her, the same way that some children cannot master the violin or a foreign language.

She entered the lobby and went to check in with the desk clerk. It was a different man from the one she had met when she had first moved in. This one was a thin man with yellowed skin who always seemed a little worried.

“I’d like to know if I have had any visitors or mail,” she said.

“No, mademoiselle, none, but there is a note here saying that you are late with your rent.”

She nodded. Then she started whispering. Confused, he leaned in close to try to understand what she was saying and then she reached out and softly touched his clean-shaven cheek. Immediately he fell fast asleep. She laid his head down on the counter and whispered some more, feeding his dreams and confusing them with reality. With that, she had paid the rent.

As she walked up the stairs she got her key out. Later she would remember the scent of cinnamon, but at the time it had barely registered. She was distracted, worried that the owls might not have left any pellets, and wondering if Max had found her yet.

Upon entering the apartment, she noticed the girl first, seated there, holding a red chicken in her arms. It was a confusing sight and she dropped her guard for a moment. It wasn’t until the girl started chanting that Zoya realized it was too late. “Knife light, knife light, knife light…” Zoya turned to flee, but the door slammed in her face. Then she heard a familiar voice speaking to her in Russian.

“You cannot leave,” said Elga.

“Knife light, knife light, knife light…”

Zoya looked back and saw the old woman sitting on the floor, surrounded by small pieces of metal. It was a curious sight, even for someone as odd as Elga. “Why are you here?”

“Because Max said you would be here,” said the old woman.

“Knife light, knife light, knife light…”

“But, Elga, why did you want to come find me?”

“Because,” said the old woman, “you betrayed me. You sent the police to my house.”

Zoya shook her head. “I did not.”

“Knife light, knife light, knife light…”

The old woman shrugged. “So you say. You lie a lot. But it does not matter. I have reached my decision. I brought you in, I can take you out, and it is time for you to go.”

“To go.” Zoya nodded. “You mean to die?”

The old woman did not answer.

Zoya started trying to think, but no ideas were coming to her. She knew without even trying that the little girl’s chant was a trick that kept her from employing her own. “I see, yes, every journey has an end and this has certainly been a long journey. So”—she put her hands on her hips, trying to look resigned—“how would you like me to die?”

Elga grinned her old wicked grin. “I am going to feed you this clock.”

“Knife light, knife light, knife light…”

Zoya knew her options were very limited. Elga would have thought of as many angles as she could come up with herself. Zoya felt like a bug crawling across the dusty floor and her two uninvited guests were the curious chickens about to peck her to death. There was a movement in the far corner and she looked across and saw the rat sitting there, watching. Ah, yes, she thought, my old friend Max. Maybe he can help. She looked at the old woman. “If you would let me smoke some pellets, I could go out in a dream. That would be kind, Elga.”

The old woman shook her head. “No, that won’t work, I don’t know where you go in a dream.”

“Knife light, knife light, knife light…”

Zoya wanted to smash that chanting child’s face. “I see. Then, perhaps I can have one last glass of water?”

The old woman studied her for a moment, weighing this indulgence. Zoya knew that Elga was not, by nature, merciful. But they had crisscrossed the borders of countless countries in the span of more than two centuries. They had ridden in private locomotive cars to aid in the looting of conquered cities, and they had trailed dying asses in retreating caravans, trudging past corpses through snowbound passes. There had been exotic palaces, expansive suites, and countless garbage pits where they were forced to dig for mildewed scraps of sustenance. They had been through enough together that she was sure she should be granted this small, last request.