Veiled Menace

by Deborah Blake

  Tatiana tapped one gnarled finger against her lips as she thought. “You know, I think I remember there being some kind of anti-dream spell in your great-grandmother’s book. Maybe she had the same problem at some point.” She heaved herself back off the stool and fetched the book from the brass-bound wooden chest it was kept in.

  “Although if I were a few years younger,” she added with a wink, “I’d do a spell to transfer the dreams to me. I haven’t had a good sex dream in ages.”

  “Sex dream!” repeated Luigi. “Sex dream!”

  Donata put her head down on her arms. Crap in a bushel. Me and my big mouth.

  Chapter Eleven

  Donata went back to her apartment to do the anti-nightmare spell her great-aunt had found in Henrietta’s book. She wanted to do it before she went on tonight’s date with Anton since she would probably be too tired by the time she got home. And she’d also wanted to get away from that damned parrot yelling “sex dreams” over and over.

  Once in the door, Donata hung up her jacket and helmet, then rolled up the braided rug in the middle of the room. Underneath was the permanent circle she used for rituals, with a pentagram drawn in the center and symbols for the four quarters painted along the outside. She grabbed the few supplies she would need for the spell out of a cabinet reserved for magical equipment, put her altar table in the middle of the circle, and pulled her newest acquisition out of a small brown paper bag from the local Pagan/New Age shop.

  “What’s in the bag, Missus?” a voice said from the area around her knees.

  As usual, she leaped about a foot in the air. Even after six months, she hadn’t gotten used to the Kobold appearing and disappearing.

  “Will you please stop doing that?” Donata said in a peeved tone. “One of these days you’re going to give me a heart attack.” She pulled the mass of string and leather out of the bag and set it on the altar table as she started putting the quarter candles around the circle.

  Ricky chuckled and showed himself. “Sorry, Donata. It’s just so much fun to watch you jump.” He smirked at her and poked the object on the altar with one gnarled finger. “What is this thing, anyway?”

  “Dreamcatcher,” she said, arranging the last few items. It was a simple spell and didn’t require much preparation, thank the goddess. She only had about a half an hour before she was supposed to go out. “Great-Great-Great-Grandmother Henrietta’s original spell called for a large cobweb, but Aunt Tatiana thought that a dreamcatcher would work as well. Kind of fitting too.”

  The Kobold looked interested. “Oh? What kind of a spell are you doing, then? Do you need any help?” He’d gotten rather proficient at being a kind of Witch’s assistant; said it gave him something useful to do. Kobolds were all about being useful. Or mischievous. Or both. They were flexible.

  Donata shook her head. “I don’t think so, thanks. It’s just a little charm to keep those weird dreams away so I can get a decent night’s sleep. I don’t even know if it will work, but I figured it was worth a try.”

  The tiny man tilted his head up to look at her. “Those dark circles under your eyes are getting a bit obvious,” he said. “People will think your boyfriend beats you or something.”

  They both laughed at the thought of the polite and dignified Eastman hitting anyone, and Grimalkin gave a short meow as he strolled into the circle.

  “Well, I guess that’s my cue to get started,” Donata said. “Are you staying to watch?”

  “Nah,” he shrugged. “Sounds boring. I think I’ll go into the kitchen and rustle up a snack, since I’m not going out to a fancy restaurant for dinner.” He sauntered off toward the apartment’s tiny kitchen, his pointy brown hat set at a jaunty angle.

  Donata gathered her focus into her ritual space, shutting out the city sounds from outside and tuning out Ricky’s clanking of pans in the other room. Once in the circle, everything else fell away. Grimalkin twined his lithe gray body around her ankles, adding his spiritual energy to hers as he did his job as familiar.

  Taking out her athame, the Witch’s ritual knife, she visualized a white light coming from its tip and drew a shining circle in the air above the line painted on the floor. As she closed the loop, she could feel the change in the atmosphere; the air within the circle became heavier and charged with potential.

  Stepping to the east, with its yellow candle placed on the painted feather symbol, she pointed her athame upward and said, “I invoke the power of Air to guard my circle. Blow in clarity of thought and help me to focus on my purpose here today.” She lit the candle, wishing as she always did that she had her sisters’ ability to do so with her mind rather than a match.

  Next came south, with a red candle on the symbol of flames. Raising her knife in that direction, she said, “I invoke the power of Fire to guard my circle. Burn away confusion and fear, so I might succeed at my task here today.” The rhythmic repetition of the quarter calls soothed her frazzled nerves and helped her to sink deeper into the altered state of consciousness required for magical work. She lit the candle and moved to the west.

  Standing next to the blue candle and the symbolic waves, she said, “I invoke the power of Water to guard my circle. Wash away all negativity, leaving only belief and the force of my will.” Kneeling, she lit that candle too, then moved finally to the north.

  “I invoke the power of the Earth,” she said, feeling herself grounded down through the floor, past the green candle and the stylized leaf next to it, down through the apartments below and into the earth itself. “I ask that you help me to stand firm in my resolve, and keep me centered as I work my magic here today.”

  She lit the candle and then moved to stand in front of the tall silver taper on the altar table. Raising both arms to shoulder height, palms turned up to the sky, she called upon Hecate, her matron goddess.

  “Hecate! I invoke thee and ask thy blessing upon this working. Join me in this circle if thou wilt, in perfect love and perfect trust. So mote it be.”

  Donata struck the final match and touched it to the wick in front of her. The glow of the flame soared for a minute and then returned to normal. Grimalkin gave a high-pitched cry, his tail lashing as the energy within the circle rose even higher.

  Crumpling bits of dried lavender, chamomile, and rosemary into a small cast-iron cauldron, she lit them on fire and dangled the woven dreamcatcher into the streamers of smoke. The sharp scent of the herbs floated through her like a balm.

  Finally, she took a deep breath and recited the spell written on a piece of parchment paper held in her other hand.

  Firmly and strongly, she spoke the words that would bind the magical energy of the circle into the webbed circlet bound with leather and decorated with feathers, beads, and ribbon.

  “Sleep a blessing, with this charm; keep dreams peaceful, safe from harm. Send my nightmares to webs of light, and keep my dreaming safe tonight.”

  For a moment, the dreamcatcher seemed to glow with light. Then Donata let out her breath and it was just leather and string again. She looked down at Grimalkin, who opened his mouth in a wide cat yawn.

  “Well, that’s that,” she said. “It took longer to cast the circle than it did to say the spell.” Of course, it was often that way, since preparing the ritual space was often as much a matter of gathering focus and energy as it was anything else. “Let’s thank the goddess and dismiss the quarters. I have a date to get ready for.”

  * * *

  Sitting at their usual table at the restaurant, Donata toyed idly with a breadstick and wished she’d stayed home. After she’d finished the ritual, hung the dreamcatcher up over her bed, and hastily thrown on a long-sleeved white shirt and a short black skirt, she’d practically had to run the eight blocks from her apartment to get here on time. At least she was wearing practical low boots instead of heels.

  Anton had gone through his usual routine of ordering their dinner and pouring
out the wine, but for some reason his smoothness and assumption of authority was getting on her nerves tonight. Just once, she would have liked to have ordered her own damn dinner, although she couldn’t complain since she always liked whatever she ended up with.

  “Is something wrong, Donata?” Anton asked, concern coloring his voice. “You’re not drinking your wine.” He put a piece of veal in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

  She pushed the offending glass away from her. For some reason, she just couldn’t tolerate the thought of the sour stuff tonight. No doubt a lingering after-effect of her overindulgence the night before.

  “Actually, I think I’d rather have a glass of water, if you don’t mind,” she said. “I went out with Doc Havens last night and had one too many drinks at Benders. I’m off alcohol for the moment.”

  Anton’s brow furrowed and his eyes darkened with ill-suppressed irritation. Donata wasn’t sure if it was her refusal of his beloved wine, or the mention of Doc—the one time she’d tried having them both to dinner, they’d taken an instant and mutual dislike to each other.

  He reached out across the table and nudged the glass back in her direction. “Don’t be foolish. You can’t possibly have had that much to drink. Besides, a fine wine is hardly the same thing as some rotgut mixture you had in that dive of a bar you insist on frequenting.” He gave her a frosty smile. “Maybe a little wine would put you in a better mood.”

  She resisted the temptation to kick him under the table. Maybe not being addressed in that patronizing tone would put her in a better mood. The back of her neck tightened and one hand fisted in the napkin lying on her lap.

  Trying to be civil, Donata shook her head. “No, really, Anton. I’m still not feeling like myself and I have an early morning assignment at work. Water will be fine.” She took a bite of her fish. “This salmon is delightful. Would you like to try a bite?”

  He gave her an unreadable look, then gestured for the waiter and asked for a pitcher of water. They ate in uncomfortable silence for a while. Donata tried not to fidget in her seat.

  Eventually, Anton cleared his throat and laid his neatly folded napkin by the side of his plate. “You’re looking a bit tired, my dear. Perhaps we should call it an early night?”

  Donata sighed with relief. All she wanted was to go home and go to bed. Alone.

  “In fact, I’ve been thinking you needed a vacation,” he added. “You’re clearly working too hard, and you’re exhausted. I have a lovely house on the beach, about two hours from here. We should go away for a few days and relax.”

  Donata’s head jerked up in surprise. She hadn’t been expecting the invitation. At least not yet.

  “Um, that’s very tempting, Anton,” she stuttered, not quite sure how to respond. “I love the beach. But things are pretty crazy at work right now; it’s not really a good time for me to leave.”

  His smile turned into a scowl and she talked even faster, not wanting to upset him. But she was not ready to go away with him either. “I think it’s lovely of you to offer, really. I’m sure we can do it sometime. But I can’t just take off—we have to put in for vacations well ahead of time at the precinct.” She pushed her chair back from the table and stood up, suddenly in a hurry to leave.

  Anton leapt to his feet with his usual grace and finished pulling her chair out for her. He slipped the shawl she’d worn over her shoulders and brushed back her hair with one long-fingered hand. As he bent down to pick up the napkin that had fallen from her lap, she noticed again the strange symbols tattooed on his neck, usually hidden by his hair. She was tempted to ask him what they signified, but figured this wasn’t the time.

  “Very well,” he said as he straightened up, back to his usual pleasant self. “Whenever you’re ready. I don’t mean to rush you.”

  He gave her an affectionate smile and she found herself wondering why she had been so grumpy. He really was quite charming. She was probably just grouchy and out of sorts from lack of sleep and too much stress. Hopefully she hadn’t been too horrible to be around tonight. Normally she enjoyed their time together.

  “Okay,” she said, stifling a yawn. “I’m sorry I wasn’t better company.”

  He lifted one of her hands to his lips and kissed it gently. “Not at all, my dear. You are just tired. I understand completely.” He reached over and pushed the cork back into the top of the half-full wine bottle and handed it to her. “Here, why don’t you take this home with you? A glass before bed will have you sleeping like a baby.”

  Donata suppressed a grimace, but took the bottle rather than continue her streak of rudeness. She could always tuck it in the fridge and give it to Doc the next time she came over. As long as she didn’t tell her friend where it came from, Doc would probably love it.

  “Thanks,” she said, happy that he seemed to have gotten over his initial anger at her refusal to go away with him. “That’s very sweet of you.”

  He drove her the short distance back to her apartment and dropped her off with a brief kiss and a “sleep tight.” Once inside, she closed the door behind her with a sigh of relief. Sometimes there really was no place like home.

  With a shudder, she tucked the bottle into the refrigerator next to the two-day-old Chinese food and a slightly shriveled hunk of cheese. Ugh. One of these days she was going to have to work up the courage to tell him she just didn’t like the stuff. Even if it did reveal a lack of sophistication on her part. After all, he’d been dating her for long enough now—if he hadn’t figured out she lacked sophistication, he just hadn’t been paying attention.

  Yawning, she staggered off to bed, shedding her clothes as she went. A few minutes later, the light went out in her room. She lay there for a few minutes, listening to the comforting sounds of Ricky rummaging around in the kitchen, then fell asleep with a lightness she hadn’t felt in weeks.

  Chapter Twelve

  Donata looked out the living room window at the early morning sky and smiled as she drank her tea. A few restless birds twittered in the tree next to the street and muted traffic noises sang along in a subtle counterpoint. The sun was shining. It was a wonderful morning.

  Satisfaction lifted one corner of her mouth. She couldn’t believe the spell had actually worked. But she’d slept like a log—no dreams, no weirdness—just eight hours of restful, drama-free sleep. She had a feeling that everything was going to go her way today.

  “Are you out of your damned mind?” Ricky said, appearing abruptly at her feet. “What in Hades were you thinking?”

  Oh, for the love of goddess. Couldn’t she have five minutes of calm and happiness? Donata sighed. Apparently not.

  “What are you blathering about now, Ricky? Can’t whatever it is wait until I’ve had my tea?” She scowled at him, without noticeable effect.

  The little Kobold hauled himself up on the window seat so he could look her in the eyes. His expression was a comical mixture of concern and indignation, and he was so upset, he’d crushed his hat in one gnarled hand.

  “I just want to know why you would go and do something so stupid,” he said with a growl. “You’re a Witch—you should know better than to be using wormwood. Especially when you’re already having bad dreams.” He shook the hat in her face. “Don’t you know that stuff is dangerous? It lowers your defenses against psychic attack and opens up your subconscious. It’s the worst possible thing you could be doing right now!”

  Donata blinked a couple of times. “What the hell are you talking about?” she asked. “I’m not taking wormwood. I’m not taking any herbs.” She shoved the hat out of her face. “And for your information, I didn’t have any dreams at all last night. Grandmother Henrietta’s spell actually worked. So calm down, will you?”

  She walked over and sat down on the colorful couch, shaking her head. What had gotten into him?

  The Kobold followed her and perched on the secondhand coffee table in front of her. The
battered wood surface had so many dings in it, it wouldn’t matter if he added a couple more. Grimalkin jumped up to sit beside him, as if taking Ricky’s side.

  “Are you trying to tell me you don’t know about the wormwood, then, Missus?” Ricky said, doubt coloring his voice.

  Donata took a sip of tea and rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to tell you I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, Ricky. And you’re ruining my moment. Can we talk about this later, whatever it is?”

  If possible, the Kobold looked more worried. “No, I don’t think this should wait, Donata.” He pulled his hat back onto his head, where it sat looking crumpled and a little crooked. Considering how neat the little man always was, this wasn’t a good sign.

  “So you didn’t know about the wormwood in the wine?” he asked again.

  She opened her mouth to protest, and then closed it again with a snap. Closed her eyes too, for a moment. Then reopened them to look at her companion. “Are you saying there was wormwood in the wine Anton gave me last night?” She stopped and thought about it. “Son of a bitch! I’ll bet there was wormwood in the wine he gave me every night. Son of a bitch!”

  Ricky grimaced. “I’m sorry. I should have known you wouldn’t be that stupid.” He looked down at his boots for a minute. “I was going to have a little nip last night after you went to bed. I figured you wouldn’t miss it. But I tasted the wormwood right away, and just poured it all down the drain.” He looked back up at her. “Sorry.”

  Donata put her almost-empty mug down on the table with a thud and leaned back on the couch. “Sorry you poured out the wine, or sorry it turns out my boyfriend has been drugging me?”

  It just didn’t make sense. Why would Anton do such a thing?

  Ricky shrugged. “Either. Both, I guess.” He gave her a thoughtful look, his brown eyes bright in his wrinkled face. “Do you think he did it on purpose? He’s not a Witch, after all. Maybe he just puts wormwood in the wine he makes because he thinks it makes the flavor better?”