Veiled Enchantments

by Deborah Blake

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” she said. “We’re not making much headway talking to the people who have had visitations, so maybe we need to take another approach.”

  “I thought you were going to try and summon one of the ghosts and talk to it,” Magnus said.

  “Yeah, that’s next up on the agenda,” Donata said. “But considering how your people feel about their beloved dead staying properly dead and in Valhalla where they belong, I’ve been putting it off as long as I could. The townspeople already don’t trust me. Summoning one of their ancestors isn’t likely to endear me any further. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  Magnus stifled a yawn and leaned back against the sofa behind them. “What, then?”

  “I was thinking about one of the classes I took at the academy. It covered some of the basic tenets of detective work; you know, stuff like motive and opportunity. Do your people have any theories as to what or who might be causing the ghosts to appear?”

  “Some folks accused another clan of doing it, but after no one could come up with a good reason for any of them to do so, or a way for them to have done it, that argument eventually got dropped. It was probably more about our competitive nature than any real belief in their guilt.”

  He rubbed his hand across his short beard. He shaved it off periodically, then it grew out for a few days when he got too busy with the training to bother with it. Donata thought she preferred him clean-shaven, but she had to admit that this rough-around-the-edges look had its own charm. Not that she was noticing.

  “Any other suspects?”

  A darkness crept into his eyes briefly before he blinked it away. “There are some who think that Odin himself is behind it. Since he stopped appearing to us during rituals or answering our prayers, a few of the more conservative elders have argued that the Ulfhednar have offended him by abandoning too many of the old traditions and practices, and this is his way of punishing us.”

  That possibility hadn’t even occurred to Donata. Of course, she worshipped Hecate, the matron goddess of Witches, and Hecate was rarely known for her subtlety. If she chose to punish someone for offending her, there would be very little doubt about it.

  “What do you think about that theory?” she asked.

  Magnus shook his head. “Somehow I can’t see it. But then, I don’t have any other ideas either. What about you?”

  “I think we should be looking at three factors,” Donata said. “Assuming that this isn’t somehow a spontaneous occurrence, and I doubt very much it is, then we need to consider who might be causing it, why they would be doing it, and how they would achieve it. After all, it isn’t enough to have a reason to want to send ghosts to haunt the Ulfhednar; you actually have to be able to do so, and that’s not exactly a simple task.”

  “I see what you mean,” Magnus said, chewing on his lower lip in a way that Donata found momentarily distracting. “What about the priest you mentioned? If he’s actually Cabal, would that be enough of a motive?”

  “Maybe,” Donata said. “The Cabal views all Paranormals as an affront to their God, but they don’t go around attacking them, as far as we know. But if they had the same idea as the Council—that the Ulfhednar are no longer adhering to the rules of the Compact—that might do it. As for the means, supposedly the Church had their own magic users, although they justified it by saying the power came from their God.”

  “Hmph.” Magnus frowned. “Speaking of the Council, could it be them? After all, you said that Clement Moore already knew you were here. Did he know because he had someone watching you? Or because he had someone watching us?”

  “Good question.” Donata wouldn’t put anything past Moore or the Council. They ostensibly existed to work for the benefit of all the Paranormal races, but the Council’s ideas of what was best for its people didn’t always mesh with Donata’s. They tended to rule with an iron fist, and shoot first and ask questions later.

  “I’m not sure what their motive would be. It seems to me that if they thought you were breaking the Compact rules, they’d come marching in here with their enforcers, not send in a bunch of ghosts to be vaguely ominous. On the other hand, I rarely understand the way the Council thinks, so who knows?”

  “Could they use another Witness Retrieval Specialist to call the ghosts?” Magnus asked.

  Donata shook her head. “They wouldn’t need one. Any Witch with talents that lie in that direction could do it. I’m sure they have one on retainer who could summon ghosts at the drop of a pointed hat. I’m still not convinced they would use this approach to punish your people for a transgression of this magnitude, but I don’t think we can cross them off the list.”

  Magnus nodded in agreement. “So we’ve got the Cabal and the Alliance Council so far, with Odin in small print at the end of the list. Anyone else?”

  Donata winced as she thought of another possibility, although she couldn’t think of any motive that made sense.

  “What?” Magnus said, his sharp eyes catching everything, as usual.

  “Nothing,” she said. “I can’t imagine how it would have anything to do with this situation.”

  His bushy blond brows drew together. “That’s why we’re going over this together, right? So we can bounce ideas off each other? Who else were you thinking of?”

  “Well, when I first got here, your mom took me to talk to Freddy at the spot where he’d seen his brother. On the way back, Astrid and I split up, and a man confronted me in the woods. He wanted to know where Anton Eastman was.” Donata held her breath.

  Sure enough, thunderclouds formed on Magnus’s normally placid face. “What? Was he another Major Anemoi? Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

  “You’d already told me how important it was that you weren’t distracted during your testing, and it was bad enough that you had to bring me here to investigate the haunting. I didn’t want to make things worse.” She rubbed one hand soothingly up and down his arm. “Seriously, it was no big deal. I think I convinced him that I didn’t know where Anton was, and I haven’t seen or heard from this guy West since.”

  “You still should have told me,” Magnus growled. “You’re here because of me, and you’re on our land. How am I supposed to protect you if I don’t know there is something to protect you from?”

  “You’re not,” Donata said in a mild tone. “I can protect myself. Plus, I don’t think the Major Anemoi could be behind this. If they somehow figured out that I killed Anton—which, incidentally, I don’t think they’ve even considered—they would come after me, not the Ulfhednar. You weren’t even around when that mess was all happening.”

  “That’s true,” Magnus said. “Besides, you told me that the Major Anemoi have been attacking Humans because of their abuse of the natural world, and the Ulfhednar could never be accused of that.” She could feel his muscles relax under her hand. “But if this guy shows up again, you tell me, okay? It’s a lot more distracting worrying that you might be keeping things from me than it is actually knowing.”

  “Fair enough,” Donata said. She yawned. “I don’t know if this got us anywhere at all. We’ve still got a few vague possibilities and no real leads.”

  Magnus stifled a matching yawn behind one huge hand. “And I have to be up in a few hours.” He stood up, pulling Donata with him. “My father will be coming in soon to bank the fire for the night anyway.”

  They walked companionably down the hallway to their rooms, and Magnus gave her a big hug when they stopped outside her door. As always, the warmth and strength she experienced within the circle of his arms made her feel safe and loved, and she breathed in the deep, masculine scent of him for a minute before stepping out of his embrace.

  “Good night, Magnus. Sleep well and stay safe tomorrow,” she said.

  He caressed her face gently, then leaned in to place the barest brush of a kiss on her lips before turning away reluctant
ly. For a moment, she wavered, opening her mouth to invite him back. But then she closed it again without saying a word. It was better this way and they both knew it.

  Besides, she needed to get her sleep too. Tomorrow she was going to have to call up a ghost of her own.

  Chapter Eleven

  The sound of a door closing woke Donata from a dream that involved Magnus, a shower, a lot of soap, and some giggling. It took her a moment to realize that reality wasn’t nearly as entertaining—that door was him leaving for a long day, she was alone in her comfortable bed, and the first rays of the sun were just beginning to show through the space between the curtains.

  Drat.

  Donata lay there for a few minutes, hoping sleep would reclaim her. Once it became clear that there was no chance of that happening, she decided to take advantage of the early hour and get the most difficult task of the day out of the way before anyone else was up and around to interrupt her.

  She threw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved cotton top, pulled on her boots, grabbed her leather jacket and a box of supplies, and headed down the hallway to the kitchen. Once there, she cast a wistful look in the direction of the empty coffeepot but kept moving out the back door and through the yard.

  The grass was brittle under her boots, and the dawn air was cold and foggy. Late fall in Maine could segue into winter at a moment’s notice, and this morning it felt as though the weather hovered on the cusp. Donata hugged her jacket closer around her and thought that if she was really going to be there until Thanksgiving, she might need to borrow a warmer coat. She had a brief vision of Magnus and her playing with his niece and nephew in front of the fire while a gigantic turkey sent mouthwatering aromas out from the kitchen, but she shrugged off the pleasant notion for the fantasy it was.

  For one thing, she hoped to have this situation dealt with long before the holiday. For another, her own mother would have her stuffed and served on a platter if Donata missed the Santori family celebration.

  The area behind the sprawling main house was divided up between large patches of garden, now bedded down for the winter; a chicken pen, where a few drowsy hens clucked at her as she walked past; and a number of outbuildings of assorted shapes and sizes. There was a medium-sized barn, used mostly to house vehicles instead of the horses it used to hold, some storage sheds, and a small structure that was sometimes used for rituals and celebrations. When Donata had asked where she might do her magical work without worrying about interruptions, prying eyes, or offending anyone, Astrid had suggested that building.

  Pushing open the door with its slightly creaky hinges, Donata saw a mostly empty space with a dirt floor and a fire pit dug in the middle. A few stools were pushed back against the walls along with a couple of long, narrow tables, and a small, cleverly designed hole in the ceiling would allow smoke to escape without letting in too much weather from the outside. There were blackened torches in holders on the walls, but the windows let in enough light she thought she could do without them. The room was chilly but not unbearably so, and once she got a fire going using the logs and kindling stacked against the far wall, it was almost warm. Almost.

  Donata unpacked her few supplies with the efficiency of long practice, and arranged them in a circle around the fire pit. She used a compass to tell her which way north was, then placed candles at that spot and the other three cardinal points: east, south, and west. A candle for the goddess went at the space near her feet, along with a vial of purified water, a leather pouch filled with salt, and a sage smudge stick in a miniature cast-iron cauldron. A box of wooden matches, and she was all set. Witchcraft was more about focus and intent than it was about props, although the few tools she used helped her to direct her energy where she needed it.

  Walking clockwise around the circle, she sprinkled water to cleanse the space and salt to set the boundaries of the circle and ground her. Then she lit each candle in turn and called in the elemental powers associated with each direction: air for east, fire for south, water for west, and finally earth for north. Then she lit the large black candle that symbolized Hecate, and invoked the goddess.

  “Join me in this sacred space, Hecate, goddess of Witches, and lend me your strength and protection.” The candle sputtered and then flared up, as if in answer.

  After the circle was cast and all else was in readiness, Donata lit the sage wand and set it inside its iron container in front of the fire. Smoke from the sage mixed with that from the fire pit to create a column of haze that swirled and danced in the air.

  Donata raised her hands and focused all her will on summoning the ghost of Freddy’s brother. She had decided on him because she knew he had already appeared once, and she hoped he would still be in the area, caught by whatever had brought him there in the first place.

  “Samuel Nordstrom, I summon you. Attend me here in this sacred circle. In the name of Odin, who you worship, I call on you to come in peace and tell me what I need to know.”

  The smoke from the sage billowed up, becoming white and thick and scenting the air with its sweet, acrid odor. Normally, this would be the point in the ritual where the ghost would manifest, an echo of the physical body taking temporary form in the swirls of smoke. But something wasn’t right.

  First the white smoke turned gray, then black, then back to gray again. Then it flew up to the ceiling and out toward the windows, as if trying to escape. Donata thought she heard the faint sound of screams, or maybe calls for help, and then the sage wand simply went out, leaving her standing in front of a slowly diminishing fire whose flames told her nothing at all.

  Head spinning and stomach roiling, Donata quenched the remains of the fire and then gathered up her supplies with clumsy fingers, dropping the vial of water three times before she finally was able to stuff it back into the box she’d brought it in. The last time she’d almost left it lying there, and only the thought that it wasn’t her space made her reach for the tiny bottle again.

  Something had clearly gone wrong with her spell, but she had no idea what. She’d never had magical work rebound on her this way, although she’d had her fair share of spectacular failures when she was practicing new spells.

  This was different, though. Her body felt discombobulated, as if bits and pieces of her might go floating off in different directions at any time. Stumbling down the pathway back to the house, her stomach heaved and she had to stop abruptly and vomit into some bushes. She knelt there for a minute, sweaty and shaking, before pushing herself to her feet and making her way to the back door and into the warm kitchen.

  Grateful that the room was abandoned for the moment, she rinsed out her mouth at the sink and patted her face with a dish towel. Only when she began to feel somewhat normal again did she notice the signs of breakfast preparations that seemed to have been disrupted before they could be finished. A bowl of eggs only partially scrambled, with a still-dripping fork lying on the counter next to it. The coffeepot on the stove, starting to boil over. Bread sliced for toast, sitting abandoned next to a crock of butter. Donata grabbed an oven mitt and rescued the coffee, then looked around for signs of life. She couldn’t imagine Astrid leaving the kitchen like this unless something had gone seriously wrong. Was one of the kids hurt? Had something happened to Magnus?

  Donata’s heart, which had finally started to resume its regular rhythm after her magical misadventures, skipped a beat.

  The sound of voices made her straighten up and do her best to appear normal. The effort was wasted, though, since when Astrid entered the kitchen, she barely glanced at Donata, other than to nod gratefully at the coffeepot.

  “I’m sorry,” Astrid said, fumbling with the strings of the apron around her waist. “There’s been an accident. I need to go into Masonville, to the hospital. Help yourself to whatever you want for breakfast. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” The normally composed woman was pale, and her fingers shook a little as she tossed the apron onto a nearby stool.
>
  “Is it Magnus?” Donata said through lips that had gone numb. “Is he going to be okay?”

  Astrid looked up, seeming to take in Donata’s presence fully for the first time. “Oh, honey, Magnus is just fine. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to panic you.” She closed the distance between them and gave Donata a brief, strong hug.

  “Oh. That’s good.” All the air whooshed out of Donata’s lungs, leaving her light-headed. “I mean, it’s good that he’s okay. Who is hurt then?”

  “One of the other Ulf candidates,” Astrid said. “A girl—woman, really—named Lora. I assisted at her birth, babysat her when she was little. Her father is in the military and her mother was a firefighter before we lost her, about five years back. Lora spent almost as much time eating at this table as she did at home. She’s practically part of the family.” Astrid bit her lip, fighting back tears. “I just got a message from one of the other trainees that Lora was hurt in today’s testing. He didn’t have a lot of details. Just said she was distracted by something while they were moving through the treetops, and fell. Said she landed badly, and they had to take her into Masonville. I’m heading there now.”

  Donata thought quickly. She needed to go into town to call her great-aunt Tatiana for some magical advice. And although Astrid could usually have arm-wrestled a giant in the middle of a tornado, Donata could see that the older woman was really rattled.

  “Would you like me to drive?” she asked. “I was going to ask for a ride into Masonville at some point today anyway.”

  Astrid didn’t even ask why. “That would be lovely, dear, although I could do it myself. Kari was going to come back after taking the children to school, but I’d just as soon not wait.”

  “Of course not,” Donata said, and went to grab her bag.

  The hospital stank of astringent cleansers and the sour scent of illness. Its pale green walls and linoleum floors could have belonged to a medical facility anywhere, although its small size set it apart from any hospital Donata had ever been in before. A tired-looking nurse with a pen stuck through her graying bun pointed them in the direction of a curtained section of the emergency room after Astrid said they were family.