Babayaga

“But what if I get hungry. How will I get food?”

“Oh, that’s easy.” Elga snapped out of her gloom and pointed at the bird. “You can always sell the chicken.”

Noelle held the bird tight to her chest. “Oh, but I don’t want to give up my chicken.”

Elga chuckled, her eyes were still glassy and wet from weeping but they sparkled now. “Don’t worry, that chicken is smart, it will always find its way back to you.”

Noelle looked at the bird. “Really?”

The old woman nodded. “Yes. Believe me, child, you’re going to be selling that chicken for a very long time.”

III

Slowly coming to, Will reached clumsily across the bed to where she should have been. Finding only the empty pillow, he got up fast, leaping out from the sheets and shouting Zoya’s name with an urgency that shocked him. Nobody answered, the room was empty. On the small table he spotted an envelope with his name written on it. Inside, the message was short.

Dear friend,

Good day to you! I have asked your friend Zoya Polyakov to come to the police station on rue St. Denis for some questioning. She is technically “under arrest.” Please excuse me for not waking you. There was too much to explain. A desk officer should be able to help you with any questions once you arrive. I may be out of the station on an errand but I hope you will await my return.

Sincerely,

Detective Charles Vidot

Will was out the door in a shot. Tumbling down the hotel staircase as he buttoned his shirt, he tore through the lobby and out onto the street. There was no taxi in sight so he started running down the sidewalk. Cars flew by and he craned his neck over the automobile hoods, desperate for a cab. Finally he spotted one coming around the corner of rue Blanche. Will dashed across the street and threw himself in front of it, causing a shriek of brakes.

He jumped in and rattled off the address to the driver. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was almost five o’clock. As the driver’s radio played a Polish polka, Will tried to piece together what must have happened. He remembered carrying Zoya to the room with the other fellow, the one he had seen in the dream world. Was that man this Vidot? The letter referred to him as a “friend,” so presumably they knew one another. And where was Oliver? The taxicab jolted, braked, and barked its horn through the traffic, the Place de l’Opéra was bumper to bumper. Will rubbed his face with both hands in frustration. His memory was cloudy. He remembered smoking the owl pellet as the priest had instructed. Then he must have passed out. He did not remember any dreams or visions, only a deep, soulful rest. He tried to remember what day it was, Friday? Saturday? The traffic on the street was busier than it would have been on a weekend. It must be Friday. At the thought of work, Will shook his head. He had not called in sick, left any sort of message with his assistant, or even checked in. At this rate, his job probably wouldn’t be waiting for him.

He leaned toward the driver, “Je te donnerai cinquante francs de supplémentaire si vous pouvez m’amener au commissariat de police en dix minutes.”

The driver’s eyebrows went up and a broad smile broke out on his face. “Okay!” he said in English and they were off. Through a combination of blaring horns, bravado, and inspired sidewalk driving, the cab zoomed, lurched, cut, swerved, and sped down the Boulevard des Capucines, along rue de la Paix, then turned up the Right Bank until it crossed the Pont Notre-Dame and pulled up in front of the police station.

Will threw a fistful of francs at the self-satisfied cabbie and, leaping out, ran up the steps. Inside, he found a desk clerk. Yes, yes, she said, a woman matching that description had been brought in early that morning. The clerk began leafing through the ledger in front of him.

“Well, hello!” said a voice behind him. Will turned and saw the man from the barn, no longer naked or wearing the priest’s borrowed clothes but now clothed in what appeared to be a smartly tailored suit. “We never had time for a proper introduction. I am Detective Vidot.” He looked down at his clothes. “I am not usually this formal, but I will be reuniting with my wife soon after some time away and I would like to look my best.” He offered a tight smile. “I trust you had a good rest.”

“Where is Zoya?” Will said.