Chapter 31
“Absolutely not.”
Baba Yaga slapped a handful of glittering pirate streamers away from the market stall in disgust.
“You cannot put decorative bunting next to open flame torches. That is how festivals become insurance claims.”
The ghost pirate running the stall looked offended.
“It’s thematic.”
“It’s flammable.”
“It’s festive.”
“It’s arson with decorations.”
The ghost muttered something rude under his breath.
Baba Yaga ignored him and continued her slow stroll through the centre of Krakens Hole, bright gold leotard gleaming painfully in the sunlight while her pink leg warmers made several tourists visibly nervous.
Good.
Tourists should fear her.
The annual pirate festival preparations had swallowed the town whole already. Colourful banners stretched between buildings, enchanted lanterns bobbed lazily overhead, and somewhere near the harbour, someone had begun testing fireworks despite it still being daylight.
Idiots.
Absolute idiots.
A group of local children sprinted past her dressed as pirates.
One pointed excitedly at her outfit.
“Mum! Look! It’s disco death!”
Baba Yaga considered this.
“I accept that title.”
Near the docks, Blackbeard himself drifted proudly across the harbour, shirtless again, spectral chest gleaming in the morning light while he loudly argued with a fisherman about “authentic pirate aesthetics.”
“Put a shirt on!” Baba Yaga yelled.
“THE SEA IS MY SHIRT,” Blackbeard shouted back dramatically.
“The sea has failed you.”
Several nearby locals snorted into their drinks.
Blackbeard ignored them completely, climbing onto a stack of crates and striking a heroic pose.
Baba Yaga rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw another dimension.
Honestly.
Men.
A local witch passed her carrying several crates of magical lanterns.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
The witch hesitated briefly before lowering her voice.
“Did you hear about the kidnapping?”
Baba Yaga stopped walking. Interesting.
“No,” she said calmly. “But I’m about to.”
Which was how, over the next twenty minutes, she collected the story piece by piece from increasingly dramatic locals.
Edith gone.
Taken before dawn.
A forged note.
One of the bounty hunters involved.
The gold-eyed fiancé.
Boats leaving the harbour.
Kraken sightings near the cliffs.
By the time she reached the harbour wall overlooking the sea, half the town was buzzing with outrage.
One fisherman loudly offered harpoons.
Three elderly witches discussed curses over pastries.
Someone had apparently already started a betting pool on whether the fiancé would survive the week.
Baba Yaga approved deeply of community traditions.
She settled herself onto the stone harbour wall with a sigh, adjusting her aggressively shiny leg warmers while seagulls screamed overhead.
The sea stretched endlessly before her, calm on the surface.
But beneath
Magic churned.
Ancient.
Restless.
Awake.
Baba Yaga smiled slowly.
Because unlike the panicked locals rushing around the town, she wasn’t worried.
Not really.
Things always worked out eventually in Krakens Hole. That was the thing outsiders never understood. The town chose people. Claimed them. And once it did, the sea itself tended to become very protective.
Edith belonged now.
The Hollow had accepted her long before she grew purple hair and panic attacks in human form.
The witches liked her.
The familiars adored her, despite the complaining.
The guardians had allowed her to stay.
And apparently, one emotionally compromised Kraken bounty hunter had fallen headfirst into feelings about her.
Messy.
Very messy.
But Fate did so enjoy a dramatic romance.
Baba Yaga leaned back slightly, watching waves crash against the cliffs below.
Somewhere out there, a very stupid fiancé and an even stupider twin were sailing away from the one place in the world where they might have remained safe.
And Spencer… oh, Spencer.
That male was going to become feral.
Baba Yaga cackled softly to herself.
A passing tourist immediately crossed the street.
Wise choice.
Behind her, the town buzzed louder as more gossip spread through the streets.
“Apparently, the Kraken hunter’s gone mad!”
“I heard the witches threatened to hex someone’s organs.”
“I heard Blackbeard challenged a ghost ship to combat!”
“That one’s true!” someone yelled.
Baba Yaga smiled wider.
Chaos.
Always chaos.
And yet, somehow, Krakens Hole survived it every single time.
Because beneath the gossip and madness and pirate festivals, the town protected its own.
And Edith?
Edith was one of theirs now.
Which meant, sooner or later, the sea would answer.