The Tales of the Baba Yagas Guest Blog and Giveaway with Deborah Blake

Once upon a time, there was a Russian fairy tale witch named Baba Yaga. She lived in a wooden hut that moved about the forest on giant chicken legs, and flew through the air in a huge mortar steered by a pestle. Her companions were a dragon named Chudo-Yudo and three mysterious men on variously colored steeds known as the White Rider, the Red Rider, and the Black Rider. The Baba Yaga would occasionally help a worthy seeker, if that seeker could pass her tests. But you really didn’t want to get on her bad side. She ate small children who didn’t finish all their borscht, they say. That part they got wrong. Most of the rest of it, well, they got more right than not. But that was then.

This is now.

These days the Baba Yagas move far beyond the borders of Russia and its Slavic neighbors. What’s that? Yes, I said Baba Yagas, plural. You see, it was always more of a job title than a name. If you read the old tales, they often spoke of the Baba Yaga and her “sisters,” also called Baba Yaga (in case you weren’t confused enough). Not to worry, I can give you better names than that: Barbara, Beka, and Bella.

These three are the Baba Yagas who are charged with taking care of the lands of the United States. They guard the doorways between our world and the Otherworld, where the paranormal folk and their Queen retreated many years ago. They work to maintain the balance of the natural world (although Humans are making that more and more difficult these days). And sometimes, if it is absolutely unavoidable, they too will help a worthy seeker. Barbara hates that part.

The three Baba Yagas are all powerful witches and older than they look, but in most other ways they are very different. They have a few things in common, though, besides their affection for each other and their dedication to their tasks. All live in the huts they inherited from the Babas who trained them, magical homes whose appearance has been changed to better fit in with the modern world.

Barbara, the eldest, has a cloud of wild black hair, wears a lot of black leather, and travels the country in a silver Airstream trailer. Her mortar and pestle are now a classic royal blue BMW motorcycle, and her Chudo-Yudo is disguised as a gigantic white pit bull. People would probably notice a dragon if they met one, after all.

Beka, the youngest, and newest to her role, looks like a typical blond hippy surfer chick, which she mostly is when she isn’t calming storms at sea or rescuing Mer people. Her painted school bus and improbably well-preserved Karman Ghia are well suited to the California coast she loves so much, as is her pal Chewie, who is a large black Newfoundland dog. Except when he’s a water dragon, of course.

And then there is red-haired Bella. In some ways the most traditional of them all, she prefers the forests and the deserts, where she can travel in peace in her caravan with Koshka, who to all appearances is a humongous Norwegian Forest Cat. After all, most large cats are practically dragons anyway. Just ask one, if you don’t believe me.

What about the Riders, you ask? Oh yes, they’re still around too. Their magical steeds are now a white Yamaha, a red Ducati, and a black Harley, but still altogether enchanted. As for the Riders, well, they are even a greater mystery than the Baba Yagas, and that is really saying something. But each of the Babas has a story to tell, and each of the Riders too. Stories of magic and adventure, and yes, even love. But you’ll have to read them to find out what happens, won’t you? After all, who doesn’t love a good fairy tale? Even one set in a thoroughly modern world.

So pull up a chair next to the fire and help yourself to a bowl of borscht—or a glass of wine if that suits you better—and listen as I tell you the tales of the Baba Yagas. They’re probably not true. Unless, perhaps, they are. You will have to decide for yourself.

Wickedly Powerful

Known as the wicked witch of Russian fairy tales, Baba Yaga is not one woman, but rather a title carried by a chosen few. They keep the balance of nature and guard the borders of our world, but don’t make the mistake of crossing one of them…

The only thing more fiery than Bella Young’s red hair is her temper. She knows that a Baba Yaga’s power without strict control can leave the people she cares about burned, so to protect her heart—and everyone around her—the only company she keeps is her dragon-turned-Norwegian-Forest-cat, Koshka.

But when Bella is tasked with discovering who’s setting magical fires throughout Wyoming’s Black Hills, she finds herself working closely with former hotshots firefighter Sam Corbett—and falling hard for his quiet strength and charm.

Sam may bear the scars of his past, but Bella can see beyond them and would do anything to help him heal. Only before she can rescue her Prince Charming, she’ll have to overcome the mysterious foe setting the forest fires—a truly wicked witch who wields as much power and even more anger than Bella...

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Deborah Blake is the author of the Baba Yaga Series from Berkley (Wickedly Dangerous, Wickedly Wonderful, Wickedly Powerful) and has published nine books on modern witchcraft with Llewellyn Worldwide. When not writing, Deborah runs The Artisans’ Guild, a cooperative shop she founded with a friend in 1999, and also works as a jewelry maker, tarot reader, and energy healer. She lives in a 120-year-old farmhouse in rural upstate New York with five cats who supervise all her activities, both magical and mundane.

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Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/246753.Deborah_Blake

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Giveaway and Excerpt- Wickedly Wonderful by Deborah Blake

Fang-tastic Books has an exclusive excerpt of Deborah Blake's Wickedly Wonderful, Book Two in her fabulous Baba Yaga Series.

Romance, drama, magic, and a fresh spin on the urban fantasy genre- these books are amazing. I am currently reading Wickedly Wonderful. 

Book One of the Series, Wickedly Dangerous was so very good, check out my review here. It's a must read- and so is this one. Enjoy the excerpt below. :-)

Wickedly Wonderful 
A Baba Yaga Novel
Deborah Blake 

Known as the wicked witch of Russian fairy tales, Baba Yaga is not one woman, but rather a title carried by a chosen few. They keep the balance of nature and guard the borders of our world, but don’t make the mistake of crossing one of them…

Though she looks like a typical California surfer girl, Beka Yancy is in fact a powerful yet inexperienced witch who’s struggling with her duties as a Baba Yaga. Luckily she has her faithful dragon-turned-dog for moral support, especially when faced with her biggest job yet…

A mysterious toxin is driving the Selkie and Mer from their homes deep in the trenches of Monterey Bay. To investigate, Beka buys her way onto the boat of Marcus Dermott, a battle-scarred former U.S. Marine, and his ailing fisherman father.

While diving for clues, Beka drives Marcus crazy with her flaky New Age ideas and dazzling blue eyes. She thinks he’s rigid and cranky (and way too attractive). Meanwhile, a charming Selkie prince has plans that include Beka. Only by trusting her powers can Beka save the underwater races, pick the right man, and choose the path she’ll follow for the rest of her life…

Excerpt

The red-gold glow of the rising sun turned the sea into a fire of molten lava that belied the cold Pacific waters of Monterey Bay. Beka Yancy didn’t mind, though; her wetsuit kept her mostly warm, and it was worth braving the morning chill to have the waves mostly to herself.

Soon enough there would be plenty of people around, but for now, she reveled in her solitary enjoyment of the frothy white lace overlaying blue-green depths, accompanied only by the sound of the wind and the hooting laughter of a nearby pod of dolphins. She gave a chortling greeting in dolphin-speak as she went by.

Beka paddled her surfboard out until the pull of the ocean overruled the calm of the shore, feeling herself settle into that peaceful space she only found when there was endless water below her and infinite sky above. On land, there were human beings and all their attendant noise and commotion; here, there was only the challenge that came from pitting herself against the crushing power of the rolling waves.

The fresh scent of the sea filled her nostrils and a light breeze tugged playfully on a strand of her long blonde hair as she steered in the direction of a promising incoming swell. But before she could angle herself towards it, her board jerked underneath her as if it had suddenly come to life, and she had to grab on tightly with both hands as it accelerated through the water at impossible speeds, cutting through the whitecaps as if they weren’t even there.

What the hell? Beka held on tighter, ducking her head against the biting teeth of the icy spray that washed over her. Through squinted eyes, she could barely make out what looked like a pale green hand grasping the end of her surfboard, gossamer webbing pressed against the bright red surface of the board. A powerful tail with iridescent feathery ends undulated just beneath the water, only occasionally breaking through the surface as it stroked forcefully through the ocean.

Mermaid! Beka thought to herself. But the identification of her mysterious hijacker raised more questions than it solved. She doubted the water creature meant her any harm; they normally stayed far away from human civilization, preferring to hide in their own territory concealed by ancient magic within a two-mile deep underwater trench. And Beka was friendly with most of the local non-human residents, on the rare occasions that she saw them.

Still, she was glad of the small knife she wore in a waterproof sheath strapped to her calf, carefully disguised from sight with a tiny glamour that kept the other surfers from noticing it. Not that she really expected to need it, as she had other defenses much more powerful than cold steel, but she’d discovered long ago that it paid to be prepared for the unexpected. It came with the territory, when you were a Baba Yaga.

Most people had never heard of Baba Yaga. Those who recognized the name were usually only familiar with the legendary witch from Russian fairy tales; a curved-chin, beaky-nosed crone with iron teeth who lived in a hut that ran around the forest on giant chicken legs, flew through the air in an enchanted mortar and pestle, and ate small children when they misbehaved.

Some of that had even been true, once upon a time. Certainly, the Baba Yagas were powerful witches, gifted with the ability to manipulate the elemental forces of nature. Even the tales about the huts and the odd form of transportation had been true, back when the Babas had  been found only in Russia and its Slavic neighbors. Things were done a little differently these days though

Beka might have been the youngest and most inexperienced of the three Babas who lived in the United States, but she was still more than a match for a single mermaid. So it was with more curiosity than trepidation that she sat up straight on her board when they finally reached their destination.

A swift glance around showed her that the mermaid had brought her  quite some distance from the shore, only barely visible as an ochre-colored smudge on the horizon behind her. Two or three miles out at least then, a guess  reinforced by the sight of a commercial fishing boat moving ponderously through the steely blue sea, dragging its gnarly mesh of nets behind it like a stout wooden bride with a too-long train. Red and blue buoys bobbed on the surface, giving the nets a festive look. Up on the bow of the boat, two men argued about something she was too far away to overhear; luckily, they were looking at each other, and not at her.

Beka jumped as the mermaid surfaced without a sound; her auburn hair turned almost black by the wetness that slicked it back from her face, green eyes bright with fear as she started speaking almost before her lips reached the open air. The now-risen sun glittered off shimmering scales and glinted on sharply pointed teeth.

“Baba Yaga, you have to help me!” The merwoman’s head swiveled anxiously between the boat and Beka. Beka was about to reply; something about it being good manners to ask first before dragging someone out into the middle of the ocean, when a large cerulean tear rolled down the woman’s sharp cheekbone and she added, “My baby—my baby is caught in the net!”

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