Veiled Magic

by Deborah Blake

  Donata silently complied. She couldn’t believe the damned Cabal had actually kidnapped Peter’s mother. Shit. She held the phone between the two of them.

  “What do you want?” she asked through clenched teeth.

  “It is quite simple,” the voice said, as if he were ordering a cup of coffee instead of playing with people’s lives. “We have Mr. Casaventi’s mother. If you do not give us the painting, we will kill her.”

  “Some religious group you are,” Donata spat out. “What ever happened to believing that Human life was sacred? I could understand your callous attitude if she were a Paranormal, but she’s a Human! And she had nothing to do with this.” She reached out and put her hand over Peter’s rigid one, but he pulled away.

  “It is indeed unfortunate when an innocent has to suffer,” the man said with indifference. “But one life is nothing compared to the greater good.” He added, “In any case, she consorted with a Dragon. She is hardly unflawed.”

  Peter choked. “Hell’s bells—did everyone but me know about my real father?” His eyes glowed with fury. “You bastards let her go. We’ll get you the damned painting!”

  Donata looked at him with alarm. He put one finger to his lips, then resumed speaking.

  “We don’t have the painting here. It’s locked up someplace safe. You’ll have to give us a couple of days to get to it.” His voice sounded amazingly level, considering the rage she could see smoldering in his darkened eyes.

  “You’re bluffing,” the man said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Peter answered back. “I wouldn’t risk my mother’s life that way. Besides, would you keep a priceless painting in your apartment?”

  Despite the bleak situation, Donata felt a spark of admiration for her half-Dragon companion. Not only was he hanging on to his temper, something Dragons did with great difficulty, but he was also cleverly buying them some time. Of course most people wouldn’t keep anything as valuable as the painting in their own apartments—most of them didn’t have state-of-the-art security and a huge safe.

  There was a hesitation on the other end of the phone. “Fine,” the man said. “You have twenty-four hours. Get us the painting by then or Mr. Casaventi’s mother dies. Contact us at this number when you’re ready to make the trade.”

  Peter and Donata both stared at the phone as if it was somehow responsible for the bad news, and Donata reached out one trembling hand to turn it off.

  “You know, for a woman who doesn’t like deadlines, I’ve suddenly got an awful lot of them,” she said. Then she put her head in her hands. “Damn. I’ve really messed your life up good. I’m so sorry.”

  There was a snarling noise from across the room, and she looked up with a start. Peter had moved with his usual silent grace and was standing staring out the window onto the city far below.

  He made the strange rumbling noise again, and smoke seeped out of his mouth. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “They’ve really crossed the line now,” he said in a low, rough voice. “They should never have brought my mother into it.”

  Donata stared at him. “What are you planning to do? Are you going to turn over the painting to them?”

  He looked bleak. “And save my mother’s life at the expense of every Paranormal on the planet, including you?” He shook his head. “No. We can’t do it. Anyway, I seriously doubt they’d just let her go, even if we did hand over the painting.”

  “What, then?” Donata asked. “What do we do?”

  “We find them and get my mother back,” Peter said. “And then we kick their butts into the next century.” He looked into Donata’s eyes and gave her a savage smile that sent a chill down to her toes. “I don’t know how we’re going to do it, but that’s the plan. Are you with me?”

  Her heart beat faster and she felt a matching grin stretch across her face. If she could have, she would have growled too. “You bet your ass I am. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  * * *

  When going to war—call in a warrior. Once they’d decided to come up with a plan of action, Donata didn’t hesitate; she dialed Magnus’s number.

  “I don’t understand what you think he can do that we can’t,” Peter protested, jaws clenched.

  Donata rolled her eyes as she waited for Magnus to pick up. “Well, let’s see—I’m a cop who never leaves the precinct and you’re an art restorer. Magnus, on the other hand, is an Ulfhednar who spent most of his life training to plan, execute, and fight battles. Which one of us would you rather have masterminding your mother’s rescue attempt?”

  He conceded her point with a scowl as a masculine voice answered, “Yo, ’Nata. Twice in twenty-four hours; to what do I owe the honor?”

  “I need your help, Magnus. Can you meet me and Peter at my apartment in an hour?” She tersely explained the situation, and then added, “I wouldn’t expect you to go with us, if we get a lead on where Peter’s mother is. I know you don’t fight anymore. We just need help coming up with a plan.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “Let’s just take it one step at a time, Donata. We have to find the woman first.” He hesitated, knowing she wasn’t going to like what he had to say next. “I think you’d better call your mother.”

  Donata seriously considered “accidentally” dropping her phone on the floor and jumping up and down on it a few times. “Are you serious? I can’t call my mother! For one thing, she wouldn’t help us. She’s not exactly known for her altruism. For another, if she did help, she’d never let me live it down. Argghhh.” She settled for banging her fist against her forehead instead.

  Magnus laughed at her. “Sorry, ’Nata; I know you and the old lady have issues. But you said the Council was putting pressure on her to get you to hand over the picture. You can use that to get her to agree to help. Have her bring your sisters too. We need all the resources we can get working on this, but we don’t dare involve anyone who isn’t already in the mix.”

  “But we don’t want to give the painting to the Council yet either,” Donata protested.

  “I told you,” he said, “one step at a time. Get them to meet us at your place, and we’ll figure something out. Oh, and tell Peter to bring something of his mother’s if he has such a thing. It might come in handy. See ya in a bit, toots.” He chuckled again and hung up.

  Donata glared at the phone. “Great. Just great,” she muttered.

  “What did he say?” Peter asked, pacing back and forth. Elmyr trotted at his heels, whining softly.

  “He said to see if you could find something that belongs to your mother. Maybe he wants it for scent or something, I’m not sure.” Then she added in a lower tone, “And he suggested I ask my mother and sisters to help.”

  “Ah, that would explain the head banging,” Peter said with a hint of a smile. “Are you going to do it?”

  Donata grimaced. “I can’t very well ask Magnus for advice and then not do what he suggests, can I?” Tempting though it was. She dialed the phone again.

  “Ah . . . bummer . . . voicemail.” Her expression couldn’t quite hide the relief her voice denied. “Hi, Mother, it’s Donata. We have a situation with the painting. The Cabal have snatched my friend Peter’s mom and are threatening to kill her if we don’t hand over the Pentimento. We’re trying to come up with a plan to get her back without doing that, and we could use your help. I know you would much rather I give the painting to the Council. If you, Lucia, and Gabriella could come to my apartment, maybe we can all come up with a solution that will satisfy all our goals. Bring your tools, just in case. Thanks. Bye.”

  She clicked the phone shut with a decisive snap of her wrist.

  Peter stared at her in amazement. “Nice job of summing up. I notice you didn’t exactly promise to hand over the picture to the Council either.” He snorted. “But do you really think they’ll come?”

  Donata nod
ded. “As fast as their little broomsticks can carry them. The Council has really been breathing down their necks. Besides, I guarantee you my mother and sisters will adore an opportunity to come to my rescue. I’ve been insisting on doing things my way—without any support from the family influence or power—for too many years. They’re going to love the fact that I’ve had to come crawling to them for help. Believe me; they wouldn’t miss it.” She sighed.

  “I’m sorry you had to call them in on this,” Peter said. “I know you’re calling in a lot of markers to try and rescue my mother.”

  “Hell, I should be the one apologizing. Your mother wouldn’t need rescuing if it weren’t for me.” She bit her lip. “If I hadn’t brought the painting to you in the first place, your mother would be safe at home.”

  To her surprise, Peter let out a laugh. “Seriously, Donata, this is the most fun I’ve had in years. As long as everything works out okay, I’m happy to be involved.”

  Donata stared at him in amazement. Then his eyes darkened, along with his mood, in typical volatile Dragon fashion.

  “Of course,” he added, “if anything happens to my mother, they’re going to wish this half Dragon had never awoken to his Paranormal heritage.” A thin wisp of smoke curled from one nostril and drifted toward the window. “I guarantee you that too.”

  Chapter Twenty

  If this keeps up, Donata thought to herself as she looked around her living room, I’m going to need to get a bigger place. And maybe a Taser, the way everyone is glaring at each other.

  Celestina and her two elder daughters were sneering at Donata’s apartment (which admittedly hadn’t been improved by the trashing it got at the hands of the Cabal). Ricky the Kobold was perched on a bookshelf, a sour look on his wrinkled face as they criticized “his” Witch. The two men sat on opposite ends of the couch, metaphorical hackles raised in instinctive competition. Donata felt like she was the ringmaster of a dysfunctional Paranormal three-ring circus.

  She cleared her throat and placed a tray of drinks down on the coffee table with a little more force than necessary. Everyone shut up and looked at her, which was the intended outcome.

  “Let’s make sure we’re all on the same page here,” she said. “The goal is to get Peter’s mother back unharmed. And we don’t have much time before the Cabal calls back, or someone decides to check back here just in case I’ve decided to return. For the moment, Ricky assures me the place is clear. So, suggestions, anyone?” She looked around the motley circle.

  “What about handing over the painting in exchange for Peter’s mother, then using a tracking spell to follow it so we can steal it back?” suggested Magnus.

  Donata shook her head. “Too dangerous,” she said with regret. “We can’t risk losing the painting, even for Peter’s mother, and there are too many things that could go wrong with that plan.” She looked at the forger across the table. “Sorry.”

  He shrugged. “No, I agree. We can’t risk the painting falling into their hands.” One corner of his mouth lifted in an imitation of a smile. “I never got along all that well with my mother anyway.”

  Donata and her mother exchanged glances, neither of them fooled for a minute. They had their issues, but Donata would walk through fire for her mother and the woman knew it.

  The Santori matriarch pursed her lips. “What about substituting another painting for the real Pentacle Pentimento? After all, they’ve never seen the original.”

  Peter frowned. “Too chancy. Donata said she thought they had a source at the precinct, so they probably have a reasonable description of the thing. And I’m good, but not even I could paint a substitute fast enough for that plan to work.” His eyes gleamed with the temptation to try it anyway. Donata suppressed a grin. You had to admire the man’s style.

  The Kobold piped up from his seat atop the bookshelf. “What about a finding spell?”

  “The idea occurred to me,” Donata said, “but wouldn’t the Cabal have done something to prevent a finding spell from working? I mean, they know I’m a Witch. They’d have to figure I’d try something like that.”

  Her mother looked thoughtful. “They might have prepared for such a contingency, but I doubt they would have anticipated you working with three other powerful Witches.” She looked at her eldest daughters with justifiable pride, then surprised her youngest with a wink. “There is something to be said for being publicly at odds with your family; no one could have anticipated our coming to your aid.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Donata admitted, slightly stunned by her mother’s unexpected glimmer of humor. “It’s worth a try, anyway.”

  Magnus smirked. “That’s what I thought. Peter, did you bring something of your mother’s for them to use?”

  “Wait—that’s what you had in mind all along?” Donata glared at him. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  He lifted one shoulder carelessly. “Honestly—I don’t know enough about Witchcraft to be sure you could pull it off. I was willing to wait and see if anyone had any better ideas before suggesting it.”

  “Hmph,” Celestina Santori said, clearly unimpressed. “I can see your manners haven’t improved since you and Donata dated. A pity.” She reached down at her feet and picked up the large old-fashioned carpetbag she used to transport her spellworking tools. Donata always thought it made her look a bit like an upscale Mary Poppins, but she’d never been foolish enough to say so out loud.

  “We need to clear a space for the Working,” her mother said, taking charge. “And anyone not taking part”—she aimed a chilly glance at Magnus and Peter—“needs to get out of the way and stay out of the way.”

  Donata had the guys move her battered furniture against the walls (which, in her tiny apartment, only bought them a little more space) and rolled up the rug in the middle of the room to reveal a pentagram painted onto the wooden floor underneath. Even her unusual job occasionally required working from home, so she was always prepared for a serious ritual.

  Celestina looked pleasantly surprised as the five-pointed star within a circle was exposed, complete with arcane symbols drawn around the edges at each of the four cardinal points.

  She raised one elegant eyebrow at her youngest daughter. “Very nice. I’m happy to see you’ve been keeping up with your practice.” Under her breath, she added, “We might actually pull this off after all.” Having a frequently used sacred space to work in made spellcasting both easier and more powerful.

  Donata hid her smile, knowing it would only aggravate the rest of the family. Her middle sister, Gabriella, came over to stand by her shoulder, her own small grin fighting to stay veiled from their mother’s observant eye. Gabriella nodded in Peter’s direction as he crossed the room to hand a scarf of his mother’s to Celestina, who placed it on the altar table.

  “He might be inappropriate, being half Dragon and all,” she whispered to Donata, “but he sure is cute.” She gave her sister a brief one-armed hug.

  Magnus, standing next to them, overheard and gave a low growl. Donata’s grin grew a little wider. The situation was undoubtedly serious; Peter’s mother was in enemy hands and they were all facing a very real danger. And she still had to figure out what the hell she was going to do with that damned painting.

  But she had to confess, if only to herself, that it was nice to be practicing Witchcraft with her family again, as she had been brought up to do. And having two good-looking guys contending for her attention—even if neither of them was an acceptable mate and they were both acting more out of instinct than any real attraction to her—well, a girl could get used to that. Yes, indeed she could.

  “We’re ready,” her mother said, breaking into her pleasant daydream and snapping her brutally back to reality. “Girls?”

  Donata and her sisters went to stand before candles placed at each of the four quarter points. They had practiced so much magic together while growing up, they easily fell
back into their old patterns: Lucia at east, Gabriella at south, Donata at west, and their mother at north, in front of the altar. As the last Witch stepped into position, a subtle humming began—more felt than heard at this juncture. Magnus and Peter looked at each other and hurriedly went to stand by the kitchen door, temporarily united by their shared exclusion and discomfort.

  Ricky, on the other hand, seemed to almost glow with excitement and went to stand next to Celestina, ready to hand her any tools she might need. As the senior and most powerful Witch present, she would act as high priestess, despite the fact that it was Donata’s ritual space. This was just fine with Donata, who was content to play her lesser role with Grimalkin sitting at her feet. She had no illusions about her magical ability compared to that of her mother or sisters. She’d be happy just not to screw the whole thing up. This sort of Working was a lot different from the smaller magics she normally practiced, and the power raised by four Witches working in concert could be tricky to contain and control.

  Celestina lit a stick of pungent jasmine incense and placed it in a holder on the altar table. Then she walked slowly around the outside of the circle, sprinkling salt from a small bowl.

  “Earth to sky, sky to ground, I cast this circle, round and round. I conjure now this sacred space, outside of time, outside of place.” She stopped at the spot where she’d started, and sifted the last few grains down to complete the faint white outline. “The circle is cast. We are between the worlds.”

  The incense swirled around the four women, eddying in an invisible wind. None of it drifted outside the confines of the circle.

  Lucia lit the yellow candle in front of her and pointed her athame toward the east. The other three swiveled in the same direction and pointed their own tools.

  “I call the powers of the east, the element of Air, to blow in clarity and guard us in our circle. So mote it be!” Lucia’s green eyes glowed like emeralds for a moment, then subsided as she turned to face the south.

  Gabriella pointed the wand she used instead of the traditional Witch’s knife and spoke her part. “I call the powers of the south, the element of Fire. Light our way and guard our circle. So mote it be!” Her red candle flared into life without her having to touch it. The others echoed the last sentence and turned to face the west.