Veiled Menace

by Deborah Blake

  “Ah, Donata,” said the smooth voice on the other end of the line. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you. Are you all right?”

  Ha. Was she all right? Well, if you didn’t count finding out your boyfriend was slipping potent herbs into your wine, letting a friend’s father get killed because you ignored his pleas for help, an awkward meeting with a guy you were once seriously attracted to, and oh—let’s not forget—the looming prospect of another fabulous Santori family dinner, well, yes, she was just dandy. Thanks so much for asking.

  She didn’t say any of that, of course. “I’m fine. Some things came up and I’ve been busy.”

  He sounded confused by her distinct coolness. “I see. Have I done something to offend you, Donata?”

  Well, there was an understatement. But she didn’t feel like getting into it on the phone; she wanted to be able to look him in the eyes when he explained to her why he’d put wormwood in her drink and why—and how—he’d sent her those bizarre dreams. Assuming the two things really were connected.

  “Yes, actually, you have,” she said slowly. “But I’m willing to give you a chance to enlighten me as to your motivation. If you promise to tell me the truth for a change.”

  There was a pause on his end as he thought through what she’d said. Donata noticed he didn’t ask her what he’d done wrong. Interesting, that.

  “I see,” he said at last. “Well, I appreciate your forbearance.”

  She could hear him tapping a nail against his teeth, the only nervous trait she’d ever seen him show. Gee, she must be making him anxious. Darn.

  “Why don’t I take you to dinner tonight?” he said. “I’m sure that once you hear what I have to say, you’ll understand why I did what I did.”

  Not bloody likely. “I doubt that,” Donata said, biting off the words. “I doubt that very much. And I am not going to your restaurant. Ever. Again.” Nor was she interested in making a scene in public. Something he probably thought meeting in the restaurant would avoid. Ha. Just went to show how little he knew her.

  She thought through her schedule for the rest of the day. “Look, I have to get some rest right now. I was up all night.” There, let him chew on that one. “And then I have to be at my parents’ condo at two for dinner. I should be home by five, if you want to come over then.”

  “Very well,” Anton said, sounding like he was speaking through clenched teeth. “I will be at your apartment at five o’clock. And Donata, I’m looking forward to talking to you.”

  “Right. Okay. See you later then.” She hung up the phone. She wasn’t looking forward to anything that was going to happen today, but the dinner with her family and a discussion with Anton were tied in a dead heat for last. “Just great.”

  Ricky looked at her incredulously. “You’re letting him come here? After what he did to you?” He crossed his burly arms and glared at her in disgust. “What were you thinking, Missus?”

  Donata sighed. She was way too tired to argue with him. With anyone, for that matter, although since she was going to family dinner in a few hours, there was little hope of that.

  “I figured that after going out for over a month, I owe him the courtesy of at least listening to what he has to say. If I don’t buy his explanation—and I can’t, at this point, think of anything he could say that I would buy—then he’s history.” She crossed her arms right back at him. If there was one thing she hated, it was being told what she could or couldn’t do.

  “Weeelll,” Ricky said, a doubtful cast to his homely face, “I suppose if you meet him here, at least you’ll have me to defend you. That’s something, anyway.”

  Donata stifled a laugh. She thought that fifteen years of martial arts training and a loaded gun would probably be more helpful than a three-foot Kobold, but it was still sweet of him to offer.

  “Thanks, Ricky,” she said in all seriousness. “I appreciate it.”

  Of course, right now, what she’d really appreciate would be about four hours of sleep. She glanced at her watch. Eight a.m. Maybe five, if she didn’t worry too much about how she was dressed for dinner. Right. Four it was.

  She yawned, the momentary burst of energy from the coffee wearing off already.

  “Aw, get yerself to bed, Missus,” the Kobold said. “I’ll wake you in plenty of time to go see your folks.” He glared at the phone. “And I’ll make sure that no one disturbs you before then.”

  Donata shook her head wearily as she headed toward the bedroom and its mounds of embroidered red, yellow, and green pillows atop a velveteen patchwork quilt. Damned Kobold decorator.

  “I don’t think we need to worry about Anton calling back,” she said. “Frankly, I’m not even sure he’ll show up tonight, now that he realizes I know he was slipping something into my wine.” She shut the door behind her so Grimalkin wouldn’t come in and walk on her head while she was trying to catch up on her sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “Hello, Donata,” her mother said coolly, giving her a kiss on both cheeks and then standing back to look at her outfit with a critical eye. The smell of Chanel No. 5 and High John incense lingered in Donata’s nostrils.

  Apparently the boring mid-length blue skirt and tan long-sleeved shirt passed muster, since Celestina said, “Well, you look very nice, dear,” before leading her into the living room. Like the rest of the condo, it was elegant, expensive, and spotlessly clean.

  Donata thought it was probably best not to tell her mother that Ricky had picked out the ensemble. And then ironed it.

  She ran one hand down her French braid to make sure that it was still neat; no matter what she did, she always seemed to be the messiest one in the room. As it was, she’d left the motorcycle at home and taken a cab in an effort to still look as nice as possible when she got there. She didn’t know why it felt perfectly normal to put on makeup and pretty clothes to go out to dinner with Anton, but when she was visiting the family she still felt like a little girl playing dress up.

  Her middle sister Gabriella looked up from typing something into her complicated phone and sneered as Donata walked into the room. Oh right—that’s why.

  “Shopping at the thrift store again, Donata?” Gabriella asked, turning off the phone with a decisive click. “I’m sure I have a few nice pieces I’ve gotten tired of wearing; I’ll be happy to send them over to you if you like.”

  Donata’s fingers twitched. Such a pity she’d left her gun at home.

  “Thanks, Gaby,” she said sweetly instead. “But I’m afraid I’m about ten pounds too light to really fit into your clothes.”

  Lucia snickered from her seat on the far end of the three-sided white leather couch. As the oldest sister, she took her obligation to play both sisters off each other seriously.

  “You know,” she said looking from one to the other, “I think Donata may have a point, Gabriella. Have you gained weight?” The sisters snarled at each other politely. Their husbands ignored the bickering out of old habit and continued a quiet game of chess in the corner.

  Ah, the joy of a Santori family get-together. Such a pity they didn’t do it more often.

  “Is Dad here?” Donata asked Lucia. She actually got along fairly well with her father; as long as she ignored the perpetual feeling of disappointment he gave off whenever she entered a room.

  Her sister shook her head, short dark curls bouncing on her shoulders. “What do you think?” They shared a long ironic look from identical dark brown eyes.

  Their father ran a multinational billion-dollar company, having inherited the Santori Witches’ flare for prosperity magic. He was out of town more than he was home, but it was interesting how often his trips coincided with the third Saturday of every month.

  Of his three children, Gabriella was the only one who had inherited the family financial gifts, although hers took the form of an uncanny ability to predict the stock market. She’d d
one everything expected of a Santori daughter: gotten a job with a top Wall Street firm, married one of the vice presidents at her father’s company, and eventually given birth to two lovely and well-behaved purebred Witch children.

  These days she telecommuted from home (or wherever else she happened to be) so she could focus more of her attention on the ten-year-old twins, Katrina and Francesca. But she was still perfectly groomed and manicured at all times, in case she happened to run into someone important. Their parents couldn’t be more proud.

  Celestina and Marco were almost as happy with Lucia. True, she had no skill with money magic, but she was a gifted healer, a respected and traditional Witch talent. She didn’t need to work, since her husband was a wealthy Witch businessman in his own right, but she loved her job at the hospital, and only went to part-time hours after the birth of little Sophia Gaia three years before.

  Donata, of course, was the black sheep of the family. With a job her parents disapproved of, no husband, and little money, she was constantly being prevailed upon to change her lifestyle into something that was more in keeping with the lofty Santori family image. No wonder she hated these dinners. Other than her Great-Aunt Tatiana, there was only one person here who was always genuinely happy to see her walk in the door.

  “Auntie Dona,” Sophia shouted, running across the room to jump into Donata’s arms. “You came! You came!”

  “Indoor voice, Sophia Gaia,” her mother reminded on her way into the kitchen. “And no running in Grandmother Santori’s apartment, please.”

  Donata squeezed her niece tight, tickling her ribs with the fingers of one hand and making her giggle. She inhaled deeply, breathing in that wonderful little girl smell; some magical mixture of baby shampoo, crayon wax, and milk breath that always went right to her heart.

  Today she seemed to feel an extra pang when she finally put Sophia down, but she decided to blame it on that damned Anton and his strange dreams, rather than the fact that, at thirty-five, she was reaching the age when most Witches (longer-lived than Humans) finally got around to marrying and having children.

  After all, she wasn’t interested in either of those options. Not that she had any hot prospects, unless you counted Anton. Which she didn’t, at least not anymore. Damn it.

  “Will you read me a story, Auntie Dona?” Sophia piped in her high voice, tugging Donata in the direction of the play mat that had been carefully laid down over the pristine white rug.

  “Not now, Sophia Gaia,” Celestina said, coming out of the kitchen with a large pan of lasagna and placing it on the long table in the section of the room that transitioned into the dining area. “It’s two o’clock. Time for dinner. Go wash your hands, please.” She looked at Donata, obviously barely resisting the impulse to give her youngest daughter the same instructions.

  Tatiana followed Celestina out of the kitchen and gave Donata a one-armed hug, then handed her a large bowl of salad to carry over to the table.

  “Hello, dear,” she said. “Make yourself useful, won’t you?” Then in a lower voice, she said conspiratorially, “I made a lovely lamb roast to go with the lasagna, dear, since I know how much you hate tomato sauce.” Tatiana winked and went back into the kitchen to get more food. There was never any chance of going hungry at a Santori Saturday dinner.

  Donata smiled at her great-aunt’s receding back. She knew there was a reason she loved that woman. The old lady was the only one in the family who accepted and loved Donata just the way she was.

  “Are you going to eat that entire bowl of salad, or were you planning on bringing it over here to share with the rest of us?” Celestina asked acerbically, as she directed Lucia, Gabriella, their boringly proper husbands, and their perfect children into their seats.

  Donata sighed. It was going to be a very long afternoon.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “So, Donata,” Gabriella’s husband, William, said in a carefully neutral tone, “I hear you’re spending a great deal of time over at Great-Aunt Tatiana’s house, studying the famous Santori family book of spells.” He smiled at her pleasantly, clearly unaware that he was treading on dangerous ground. Although boring enough to suck all the air out of a room, he had always been very nice to Donata. “Are you making any progress?”

  There was a distinct thud as his wife kicked him under the table. The poor man just looked puzzled, smoothing his receding hair back with one thin hand.

  “What?” he said. But it was too late.

  “Are you still wasting your time with that archaic thing?” Celestina asked, peering down the table at her youngest daughter with disapproval. Donata felt the delicious lamb roast turn to cinders in her stomach.

  “Well, actually—” she started to say.

  “Really, Tatiana,” her mother said, turning to the older woman. “I don’t know why you encourage her. The poor girl has never had much in the way of traditional magical power, as you are well aware. And that book—while it is a fabulous and precious piece of family history, and a valuable antique—is not exactly a reliable teaching tool, now is it?’

  “Well, actually,” Tatiana said, “Donata is—”

  Celestina sniffed. “I think I know what my daughter is, Tatiana.” She had never particularly gotten on with her husband’s spinster aunt and only tolerated her at the family dinners because Marco gave her little choice. “And what she’s not.”

  She turned her gray eyes on Donata. “Darling, we’ve talked about this before. Don’t you think it is time to stop playing at cops and robbers and get a real, adult job? You’re not a child anymore. You need to take your proper place in Witch society, find a good man, settle down, and have a family. And that’s not going to happen as long as you continue in your current line of work.” Celestina took a measured sip of wine to keep her strength up, no doubt shuddering at the thought of the kind of men Donata might meet in the line of duty.

  Donata sat silently in her chair, holding onto her temper with both hands. They went through this at every dinner. Every month. Like clockwork. It was nothing new. There was no point in arguing.

  “In fact, I’ve made things easy for you,” Celestina said, satisfaction bringing a glimmer of color to her pale cheeks. “I’ve found you a job.”

  Lucia dropped her fork on the floor, the clatter loud in the sudden vacuum of conversation.

  Well, okay. That was new. Donata stiffened. “I have a job, Mother. One I like. And I’m good at it.”

  “Of course you are, dear, you’re a Santori,” her mother said dismissively. “But this position is much better than the one you have, and you’ll still be able to use your talent for speaking to the dead.” She ate a tiny piece of lasagna in small, neat bites.

  “Mother—”

  Celestina held up one graceful hand. “Hear me out, Donata. It is perfect for you. I was talking to Ezra Phelps the other day; you remember him, he works at the law firm your father and I used a few years ago. They specialize in wills, trusts, and other end-of-life paperwork for families in our social strata.” She meant rich, of course, but would never be gauche enough to use the word. “He told me they can always use someone with a gift for summoning ghosts. Apparently it is the simplest way to clear up any post-demise questions. Really cuts back on arguments and litigation.” She favored the table with a beaming smile, proud to be the bearer of such good news.

  Gabriella applauded softly. “Brilliant, mother. That’s a very respectable firm. It’s the perfect solution.” Next to her, William still looked baffled, but smiled at his mother-in-law anyway. It was always safer to keep on her good side.

  Of course, Donata was a cop—what did she care about safer?

  “Mother,” she said firmly. “I am not going to work for some greedy bunch of lawyers. I like the job I have. And I’ve been given a lot more responsibility lately, which is why I’ve been studying with Aunt Tatiana. I may really be able to do some good, for both the
Humans and for the Paranormal community. I could be leading the way for other Witches who want to work in law enforcement. We could make a positive difference for a lot of Humans if we can use our powers openly.”

  Celestina gave her a steely look. “I have very little concern for Humans; they can take care of themselves. There are, after all, many more of them than there are of us. We need to focus our efforts on taking care of our fellow Witches. And all this new responsibility . . . does it mean you have a better title and a raise in pay?”

  Donata cringed, shrinking down a little in her seat. “No . . . it’s complicated.”

  Her mother shook her head and tapped one manicured fingernail on her crystal wineglass, making it sing. “Don’t be ridiculous, Donata. There is nothing complicated about it. In a real job, if you are given more responsibility, you are also compensated in some way. And I don’t see what any of this has to do with you wasting your time studying that moldy old book.”

  “I’m working on expanding my magical repertoire.” Donata tried to explain, straightening up and sticking her chin out. “I want to be able to use magic in more useful ways on the job, beyond simply being a Witness Retrieval Specialist.”

  Gabriella rolled her eyes. “And you think Great-Great-Great-Grandmother Henrietta’s book is going to help with that?” She tossed her hair, making her curls bounce. “I don’t think any of the stuff in that old relic actually works.”

  Tatiana gazed sternly down the length of the table, pale blue eyes fierce. “Just because the spells in that book rarely worked for you or your older sister doesn’t mean they’re worthless. They may just require a certain bent for spellwork that neither of you has.”

  Celestina gave a tinkling laugh, dismissing the idea as absurd. “Seriously, Tatiana, you expect us to believe Donata can learn things from that book her sisters couldn’t? I find that hard to accept.”

  “Hmph,” Tatiana said, laying her fork down next to her empty plate. She had a truly impressive appetite for a woman of her advanced age. And she never gained a pound. “Actually, Celestina, Donata is making very good progress. I have been quite impressed by her ability to master magical skills that were out of her range when she was younger. I think we’ve always underestimated her abilities. Or perhaps she is just a late bloomer.” She looked down her long nose. “Not all of us come into our powers when we are teenagers, you know.”