Veiled Magic

by Deborah Blake

  She clenched her fists until the nails bit into her palms. “It was.” Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to pick up her phone again and speak as calmly as possible. “Yeah, I see it, Lucia. Thanks for telling me. Do you know if anyone was hurt?”

  Her heart contracted at the thought of any of her neighbors ending up dead because of her involvement in this mess. Damn the Cabal for dragging innocents into it! Of course, they’d historically always made allowances for “collateral damages” in the pursuit of their cause: kill everyone and let God sort it out in Heaven.

  Her sister’s voice jolted her out of her guilt-ridden reverie. “No, they said everyone got out safely. But, Donata, you lost everything!”

  Donata spared a moment for an ironic acknowledgment that she didn’t really have much “everything” to lose. Other than a few treasured books and family photos, she hadn’t owned a lot that she’d cared about. She wasn’t looking forward to having to replace her entire wardrobe, but at least she and Grimalkin were safe.

  She talked to Lucia for a few more minutes and then planted herself in front of the television and watched her home burn to the ground. Peter stood beside her in silence for a bit, both of them caught up in horrified fascination by the sights and sounds before them. Donata almost felt as though she could feel the heat of the flames on her face.

  Eventually, Peter said in a quiet voice, “It wasn’t your fault, Donata.” He knew her too well, even after their short acquaintance.

  “That building would still be standing if it weren’t for me, Peter. I may not have had much of value, but all those other people just lost everything that mattered to them. Because I didn’t know when to quit.” She bit her lip, feeling the guilt settle onto her shoulders like a cloak of lead.

  “You’re not the one going around blowing things up,” he said harshly. “And you were never in a position where you could have quit. Not really.” He put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a rough hug. “But maybe the time has come to hand the Pentimento over to the Council after all. If the Cabal really does have contacts within the Alliance, they’d know you didn’t have it anymore and stop coming after you.”

  He looked at the screen, jaw set. “And has it occurred to you that they may have set your building on fire in retribution for my burning down their warehouse?” He turned to her. “In which case, this would be my fault, and not yours.”

  They exchanged bleak looks and Donata shrugged. “I guess there’s plenty of angst to go around, huh?” She started to say something else, but a shrill whistle interrupted her.

  “What the hell is that?” she asked, looking at the TV.

  Peter’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “That’s not on the set,” he said, slamming it off. “That’s my alarm system. Someone’s trying to break in through the front door!”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Oh, hell, no, Donata thought to herself as Peter rushed across the room to stab at a couple of buttons on a wall-mounted console. You have got to be kidding me.

  “Shit!” Peter muttered. “They’re on the roof too.” Donata peered over his shoulder at a bank of flashing lights surrounding a set of four small monitors. On three of them, groups of armed men wearing large crosses could be seen trying to either break in or crack the codes of Peter’s keypad entry system.

  “Can they get through the doors?” she asked nervously, glancing over her shoulder at the front entrance. The sound of banging resounded through the apartment, now that Peter had silenced the alarm.

  He looked grim. “Eventually. Although they’re going to find it a lot harder than they expected; those doors are steel an inch thick, with special recessed hinges.” He gave her an ironic smile. “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean that sooner or later someone won’t come try to knock down your door.”

  Donata grabbed her shoulder holster from the coat tree by the door and fastened it on, slinging her battered leather jacket on top of it. She felt better once she was armed, although they were clearly seriously outnumbered. Grimalkin jumped from the top of a shelf onto her shoulder and clung there, claws embedded in the leather.

  “I’ll bet burning down my apartment building was as much diversion as it was revenge,” she said, biting her lip and looking around for the best place for them to make a stand. “Now they’ve got us trapped.”

  Peter shook his head and pressed another button on the console. “Not likely. Never underestimate the sneakiness of the truly paranoid.” He grinned at her briefly before running into the back room to grab the Pentimento, shove it into a carry case with a few tools, and then run back out again.

  Ricky appeared, carrying Elmyr, a small bag jammed with whatever he could stuff into it, and a knife almost as large as he was, as Donata stood staring at a door that had suddenly opened up in the wall of the living room.

  “What the hell?” She gaped at him. “What is that, a safe room?”

  “Nope,” he grunted, shoving her toward the entrance, “even better. It’s a bolt-hole. No good secret apartment is complete without one. It leads down an insane amount of stairs and comes out into an alley behind the building.”

  They tramped into the stairwell, and the door slid shut behind them. Donata shifted the cat to a more comfortable position as the motley band hurried down the dimly lit and narrow risers, making as little noise as possible.

  “Well, that ought to confuse the shit out of them,” Ricky said smugly, right at home in a dark tunnel. “It’ll drive them mad, trying to figure out where we went.” He chortled quietly.

  “More likely, it’ll just piss them off even more,” Donata worried. “Peter, they’re going to trash your beautiful apartment! And unlike mine, you’ll actually be able to see the difference.” She rattled down the stairs at his heels. “Crap in a blender!”

  Peter glanced back over his shoulder at her as he led the way down. “On the bright side, they probably won’t burn the place down since they can’t be sure we haven’t hidden the painting in there somewhere.”

  “Maybe we should have just stuck the painting in the safe,” she said. “And gone back for it later. This way we risk them catching us with it, if we can’t sneak out without them seeing.”

  “There’s no such thing as a safe that can’t be opened,” Peter disagreed. “And there’s no guarantee that we’d be able to get back in. We had to take it with us.”

  He gave a short laugh. “And I wouldn’t worry about them wrecking the place; now that so many people know about it, I was going to have to move anyway.”

  “How do you think they found us?” Donata asked, breathing hard as they hit the next floor. “I was so careful whenever I came.”

  Peter thought about it as they ran down another flight. “I’m guessing they followed my father. My mother probably didn’t think to tell him to cover his tracks, and if the Alliance Council knew enough about him to be watching his hibernation den, as you said they were, maybe the Cabal did too. Or they really do have a mole inside the Council, which would be even worse.”

  They reached the bottom of the staircase and crowded together by the exit door. The bulldog whimpered softly and Ricky leaned down to shush him.

  “Can you tell if they’re out there?” Donata whispered.

  Peter shook his head. “There was no one in the alley when I looked at the monitor before we left the apartment, but there’s no way to tell if they’re out there now.”

  Ricky tugged on Donata’s jacket. “I can go check,” he said, and disappeared.

  She tried not to jump. “Hecate! I will never get used to that.” Then they waited in silence for a few minutes until the Kobold reappeared as suddenly as he’d vanished.

  “Looks like we’re clear,” he said softly. “But they’ve got some guys right around the corner of the building, so try and be quiet.”

  Donata drew her gun and slipped out in front of the others. Once in
the alley, they paused, breathing in air redolent of garbage and decay. She thought she could hear the muffled thumps of the Cabal’s invasion efforts, but that might have been her imagination.

  She gestured to Peter and Ricky to stay behind her and handed the cat to the Kobold to carry so she’d have both hands free. He grinned at her fiercely and brandished the knife with the hand not holding Grimalkin. Elmyr crouched at his feet, growling softly. Peter winked at her, and a trick of the morning light made his eyes spark like fireflies.

  Together, they crept down the alleyway, staying to the sides as much as possible. They’d gotten about halfway without being spotted, when suddenly Donata’s phone rang. Loudly.

  “Crap!” she hissed, hauling it out of her coat and switching it belatedly to vibrate. Idiot!

  They all stopped in their tracks and waited to see if any of the Cabal goons had noticed the sound.

  “Hello,” she whispered, checking the caller ID. “Magnus, not a good time. I’ll have to call you back.”

  Still nothing from the end of the alley.

  “But, Donata,” Magnus protested, “I think I found the solution to the curse on the painting!”

  “We have more immediate problems,” Donata said in a low voice. “The Cabal tracked us to Peter’s apartment and we were trying to sneak out the back way when my phone went off.”

  “Shit!” Magnus said with a growl. “Sorry. Hang on. I’m almost there anyway.” He hung up and Donata glared at the phone.

  “Then why did you call me in the first place?” she muttered. But the damage was already done.

  From around the corner, two impossibly large men entered the alley, pulling equally outsized guns out from underneath their gray trench coats as they came. The one on the left chuckled out loud as he spotted them.

  “Excellent,” he said with a smug smile. “We find the rats in an alley.” He gave them an unpleasant once-over, beady eyes lingering a little longer on Donata.

  “Put down your weapons and hand over the painting,” the other thug said, fingering the cross around his neck nervously. He clearly wasn’t as overjoyed with the situation as his companion was. “None of those Paranormal tricks, now, and maybe you’ll even walk away from this.”

  “Right,” Smiley said. “Just give us the painting and we’ll let you go. And your little dog too.” He roared with laughter at his own joke.

  Peter and Donata exchanged glances. Sure. These guys were just going to let them walk away. Uh-huh. But what choice did they have?

  Donata gripped the butt of her gun tighter as a bead of sweat ran down the back of her neck. She could see Peter’s muscles tense as he prepared to leap.

  Rustling noises came from the end of the alley behind the men, and the jolly one smiled even wider as he gloated. Then his grin disappeared, lost in the resounding thud that resulted from the impact of his head bouncing off that of his compatriot, as Magnus stepped behind them and knocked their skulls together.

  “Hey,” the Shapechanger said. “Someone call for a taxi?”

  * * *

  Donata breathed a sigh of relief once they had all piled into the back of Magnus’s van and peeled off down the street. They must have caught the Cabal off guard, since there was no sign of anyone following them as Magnus took a circuitous route toward the freeway leading away from the city.

  Even Peter took a few minutes to collect himself, absently petting Elmyr until they were both more relaxed. Donata tucked her gun back into its holster, gave her own animal companion a pat or two, and then leaned over the backseat to talk to their driver.

  “Nice timing, Magnus,” she said with gratitude. “I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life.”

  He took his eyes off the road for a minute, long enough to give her his big grin, complete with dimples. “Anytime, ’Nata. Anytime at all.”

  He slid the van into the stream of traffic on a roundabout, never taking his foot off the gas pedal. They were all eager to put as much distance between themselves and the Cabal as possible.

  Donata sat back and took a few deep breaths, running through the post-confrontation exercises she’d been taught to bring her pulse back to normal. No point in wasting adrenaline you might very well need later. Speaking of which . . .

  She leaned forward again and looked out the windshield as Magnus took the next exit. None of the town names sounded familiar, but she didn’t get out of the city much. Hecate, she didn’t even get out of her own precinct much, come to think of it.

  “Hey, Magnus,” she said, “where the hell are we going? Do you have someplace in mind, or are we just driving around until we come up with some kind of a plan?” She hoped it was the former, since she didn’t even have a glimmer of an idea of what to do next.

  “No worries,” Magnus said cheerfully. “I’m taking you to the last place the Cabal will look for you.” He gave a little snort of laughter that made Donata suspicious.

  “Want to let us in on the joke?” she asked. Why did she have the feeling she wasn’t going to think it was as funny as he obviously did?

  “Sure,” Magnus said, and reached one long arm down to the floor of the passenger seat without ever taking his gaze off the road. He picked up what looked like a bundle of black cloth and threw it over the back of the seat at her. “Here—put these on. My contact got me a couple of different sizes, so hopefully there’ll be one that’ll fit.”

  Donata looked at the garments in bafflement. “What the hell are these, bathrobes?”

  Peter put the dog down gently on the seat beside him and pulled one of the black masses toward himself. As he opened it up to see it better, he started to chuckle. The chuckle turned into a full-out guffaw, and eventually he was laughing so hard, tears were streaming down his cheeks.

  Gasping for breath, he said to Magnus, “Man, I could really get to like you. You are a sick son of a bitch.” Then he laughed some more.

  Donata swung her head from one to the other, inadvertently thwacking Grimalkin with the end of her braid. “What on all the planes of existence is so damned funny? Would someone like to fill me in on the gag?” Ricky looked completely lost as well.

  Peter wiped his eyes and finally got a grip on himself. “They’re monk’s robes, Donata.” He grinned. “It looks like your pal Magnus is planning on hiding us from the Cabal inside a Franciscan friary. I’m not sure why he thinks that will work, but if it does, it’s pretty clever.”

  “A friary?” Donata said. “You mean a monastery?” She shook out the hooded black robe. “You expect me to dress up like a monk?” Muttering to herself, she added, “Is it Halloween, and I forgot to mark my calendar?”

  Magnus chortled at the look on her face. “Just think about how pissed off your mother would be if she knew; that by itself ought to make it worth doing.”

  Peter looked puzzled. “I know Witches aren’t exactly fond of the Catholic Church, but why would dressing up as a Franciscan monk make your mother mad?” He paused. “Well, any madder than she already is, anyway.”

  “The Franciscans and the Dominicans have reputations these days as being ‘good guys’: helping the poor, feeding the birds, whatever.” Donata’s mouth turned down in a grimace. “Most people have forgotten the role they played in the Inquisition. Both the Franciscan and the Dominican orders were used as Inquisitors and enforcers. The sight of these black robes would have once meant disaster to a Paranormal.”

  Peter raised an eyebrow and met Magnus’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Really? I had no idea. Then why exactly are we going to a Franciscan monastery?” He looked at a sign that marked a turnoff up ahead. “That is where we’re going, right?”

  Magnus slowed down for the exit. “Yup. And partially, it’s because the Cabal would never think to look for you two there. You ought to be safe for a while, at least until we come up with a plan B.”

  He steered them onto a bumpy dirt
road barely wide enough for the van and any other vehicle. Donata hoped wildly that they didn’t meet a delivery truck coming from the other direction.

  “But mostly,” Magnus continued, “we’re here because this is where I think we’ll find the answer to your pesky ‘curse on the painting’ problem.” He glanced back over his shoulder at Peter and Donata. “I’m taking you to meet my friend, Friar Matthew. He’s a monk who specializes in Church history and old manuscripts. I’ve talked to him about the Pentimento, and he’s pretty sure he can remove the curse for you, using that book you got in Rome. If we’re lucky, Friar Matthew may be the solution to all of our problems.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “You told him about the Pentimento?” Donata sputtered. “Are you out of your furry mind?” Next to her, Peter looked like he wanted to reach out and strangle the Shapechanger.

  “Stop the car,” Peter said through gritted teeth. “If I kill you while we’re driving, we might crash.”

  Magnus waved one hand languidly over the back of his seat in their direction and kept driving.

  “Keep your robes on,” he said with a chuckle. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

  Peter and Donata both started yelling at him at once, and Elmyr woke up from his nap and started barking. Magnus sighed and slowed the van to a halt on the edge of the narrow road so he could turn around and talk to them.

  “Look, not everyone in the Catholic Church is a crazy fanatic,” he said, a little crossly. “That’s why the Cabal is a secret fringe organization. They may have connections throughout the Church, but that doesn’t mean that everyone Catholic is out to get you.”

  Donata gritted her teeth. “You still shouldn’t have told him about the painting. Your little monk friend probably doesn’t even know Paranormals exist. How could you possibly explain the significance of the painting, not to mention what we want to try and do with it?”

  Magnus leaned his arm on the back of his seat and scowled at her. “Remember when I said Matthew was an expert on Church history? He’s known about the real story behind the Inquisition for years. The Inquisition—the real Inquisition—is his specialty. That’s exactly why I called him.” He subsided, arms crossed over his chest, obviously miffed that they were yelling at him instead of congratulating him for a job well done.