Page 55 of Into The Green

Anything but a goddamn Will-o'-the-Wisp.

"I told her never to..." I started.

"She wouldn't have been able to control it," Doyle reminded me, reaching to grab his backpack.

I sighed. I should have told her about Will-o'-the-Wisps. Maybe if she knew what to look out for, she would have fought it harder, would have tried to grab our attention before she got led off.

"Where would it have taken her?" I asked, looking around, trying to remember the geography of the land, but the years made it blur the specifics a bit.

"That's the worst part," Doyle said, hanging his head. "In this part of the woods, there's only one place it would have led her."

"Where?" I asked, spine going pin straight, shoulders strained. If carefree Doyle was freaked, it had to be bad.

"Baba Yaga."

"No," I hissed, shaking my head. Fuck to the no. I refused to accept that. There was no way we were anywhere near her cottage.

"The cottage is about a half an hour walk that way," Doyle said, waving his hand out to the right.

"Fuck," I said, rubbing a hand across my brow.

"I can't go there, Jasp."

"It's Cece..." I tried to reason.

"I know," he said, tone sad. "I know it is. And I know she saved you and you owe her. And I know that she would have gone back into your parents' dungeons to get me back out too if I was down there. She's braver than she realizes. I just... it's Baba Yaga, Jasp. I can't. It's too dangerous."

It was dangerous. It was the most dangerous place a male fae could ever cross into. The old crone witch was known for taking in scorned women and casting all kinds of unconscionable spells on the men who had disappointed them. There were endless tales of castration in new, imaginatively awful ways. Then there was impotence, paralysis, nightmare-inducing flesh eating viruses.

Uninvited men (and all men were uninvited) who happened onto her land, no matter how innocently, were strung up and torn to pieces. The limbs were left hanging, rotting until the birds and bugs and animals got to them, as a warning to all others.

Baba Yaga was one of the very few that my father had taught me to stay away from. He told me that all others could be reasoned with, bribed, blackmailed, or killed. But there was no way for a man to one-up Baba Yaga.

Doyle's fear was reasonable. I felt it myself, settling into my bones and splintering outward. It was a suicide mission. There wasn't one historical tale of a man living through an encounter with the witch.

I didn't blame Doyle for backing out. The biggest part of me wanted to as well.

But I couldn't. It was all my fault in the first place. If I hadn't been treating her so badly, it never would have happened.

"I have to save her," I said, the words heavy.

Doyle nodded. "I know. I'm sorry I can't go," he added, sounding ashamed. "I'll go on," he said, as if the deal was already sealed, as if I was already a dead man. "I'll find Jade. I'll do whatever it takes to get her out and back to safety."

I looked at Doyle, his face earnest and determined. I knew that if there was anyone I could trust with that task, it was him.

Doyle walked over, extending his hand to me and shook mine roughly. "Take care of yourself," he said in a heavy tone that suggested we would never see each other again.

"You too," I nodded, moving to walk away, my feet feeling like lead.

"Jasp..."

"Yeah?" I asked, looking over my shoulder.

"Maybe Baba Yaga won't want her," he reasoned, sounding hopelessly hopeful. "She only takes in scorned women. Cece isn't scorned."

I gave him a curt nod and turned back, walking away, faster, more determined.

Doyle was right. Baba Yaga preferred women who were scorned. She liked women who had been cheated on by lovers, who had been beaten by husbands, women who had their fortunes stolen from them, or just plain old women who had been hurt or disappointed by men they had trusted.