The Chief nodded his grizzled head. “That’s what I thought. When the crime scene technicians got here, they couldn’t find any obvious signs of what caused the fire, so they called me.” He looked meaningfully at Donata. “And I called you.”
She glanced around the shop and then down at the corpse again. “No signs of forced entry?”
The Chief consulted his notes, more from habit than any necessity. The facts were remarkably simple.
“No. Whoever did this came in during open hours. The assistant manager said that the owner was usually here by himself until about eleven, when business would start to pick up.”
In a corner of the room, Donata could see the woman wringing her hands and sobbing into a tissue. Her neatly pressed pink suit clashed with both the décor and her bottle-red hair, but her distress seemed genuine enough.
“So the assistant manager called it in?” Donata said.
“That’s right,” the Chief affirmed. “She came in at ten after eleven and found him like this.” He inclined his head toward the victim. “Then she ran out onto the street and screamed her head off until someone called nine-one-one.”
Donata couldn’t blame the poor woman. She’d expected to be scolded for showing up late to work, but instead had walked in to find her boss cooked to a crisp.
“What about all these cameras?” Donata asked. “Did the beat cop think that was gasoline too?”
Doc snorted. “Oh, yeah. Figured the thief was high on something, ripped out all the cameras, piled them on the vic, and lit the whole thing on fire. Then ran out. Taking all the good diamonds without setting off any alarms.”
The Chief rolled his eyes. “Whoever it was used the manager’s keys to access the cases. Pretty good thinking for a thug on PCP.”
Donata gazed unhappily at the charred body heaped with blackened electronics. “Not just clever. Superior. Whoever did this was saying, ‘I know the police will be looking for evidence, but I’m not going to leave any. Neh neh.”
“You think the murderer said ‘neh neh’?” Doc asked with a smirk.
Donata glared at her friend. “You know what I mean.”
“Ladies.” The Chief crossed his arms across him massive chest, clearly running out of patience. “Would one of you like to tell me who”—he turned to Donata and gazed at her pointedly— “or what did this?”
He was going to love this one. “Dragon,” Donata answered tersely. “Probably a full-blooded one.” Honesty compelled her to add, with reluctance, “Or it could have been a half-breed, but that’s less likely. A pure-breed Dragon would explain both the concentrated super-hot fire and the desire for precious gems.” The Council was going to love this case. First a Fae, then a Ghoul, and now a Dragon. How lucky could one girl get?
“Dragon,” the Chief repeated, disbelief coloring his voice. “You’re telling me a Dragon did this. Wonderful. Just wonderful.” He tapped his pen against his notebook. “How the hell am I supposed to write that up?”
Doc gave a discreet cough. “Spontaneous combustion, maybe?”
The Chief rewarded that suggestion with the silence it deserved.
“People hardly pile cameras on themselves before bursting into spontaneous flames,” Donata said, saving her boss the trouble.
“Good point,” the coroner said. “Well, if you have everything you need, why don’t you let me take him back to my lair so I can see if I can come up with something more believable.”
“Fine,” the Chief said with a sigh. His gray mustache quivered; a sure sign of emotional distress.
Donata felt bad for him. He was such a straight arrow; she knew it pained him to put anything other than the absolute truth into a report. But who, outside of the three of them, was going to buy “death by Dragon fire” in the middle of downtown Central Bridge?
Her sympathy evaporated like the blood from the victim’s veins when he turned his gimlet gaze on her, however.
“Didn’t you mention that your friend Peter Casaventi was half-Dragon, Santori?” he asked, watching her closely. “Your friend the alleged criminal?”
Donata pressed her lips together to keep in the profanity. “Yes, sir. Although I might point out that forgery is a white-collar crime, hardly in the same league as cold-blooded murder. If there was a Picasso involved, I suppose there would be a possibility, however remote, that Peter had something to do with this. But under the circumstances, I find it highly doubtful.”
She didn’t even bother to argue that Peter wasn’t a criminal. The Chief had seen the same inconclusive but suggestive reports she had. Still, being a forger hardly made one an automatic suspect for a jewelry store robbery.
A skeptical expression crossed her superior’s craggy visage. “Do you know of any other Dragons in the area, Santori?” His demeanor suggested a strong desire to hear an answer in the negative. “And didn’t you tell me that he accidentally started the fire that burned down the warehouse you were in last spring?” Another incident that never made it into an official report. A tic started at the corner of one of his deep-set eyes.
Donata took a deep breath, hoping for patience but forgetting about the burnt-meat smell. Ugh. She shook her head, momentarily speechless.
Swallowing hard against the nausea, she answered his question. “No sir, I don’t. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t any. Dragons tend to be both solitary and secretive. I didn’t know Raphael lived in the area until he showed up on Peter’s doorstep.” Of course, Raphael had been in hibernation for over thirty years, but she didn’t see any point in adding that. “Besides, Peter is getting ready to bury his father; I hardly think he’d take a side trip to rob a jewelry store.”
The Chief nodded slowly, conceding her point. “All right, we’ll take him off the short list for now. But I want you to stay away from him until we can get this whole thing sorted out. Do you hear me, Santori? I don’t want to have to worry about one of my officers being compromised.” He gave her a stern look to reinforce the warning.
Donata didn’t think that would be much of an issue, since as far as she knew, she and Peter weren’t even speaking, much less doing anything that might be considered compromising.
“She can’t do that, Chief,” Doc put in from where she was standing, supposedly supervising the removal of the body. “She has to go to his father’s funeral tomorrow.”
Aw, crap.
Chapter Thirty-two
“What on earth is wrong with you today, Donata?” Her aunt grabbed the fire extinguisher off the wall and aimed a few careful squirts at the fire burning in the middle of the worktable. Putting the extinguisher down with a clang once the flames were out, she stood, hands on her hips, and glared at her niece.
“You have been doing that illumination spell successfully for weeks,” Tatiana said, irritation clear in her voice. “There’s no reason for it to backfire now. And so spectacularly, I might add.”
She tilted her head to one side as she looked at the mess, and the parrot perched on her shoulder chimed in, “Spectacularly. Spectacularly. Whoo-hoo.”
Donata ground her teeth.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Tatiana. Do you want me to try it again?” She started reassembling the supplies for the spell.
Tatiana threw up her hands in mock alarm. “Dear me, no. I’m not sure I have enough foam left to put out another fire.” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Besides, this is the third spell you’ve tried that’s gone sideways. Your focus is off for some reason. Do you want to tell me what’s going on, before you burn down what’s left of my sanctum?” She softened her acerbic tone a bit. “Is something wrong at work?”
Donata shook her head. “No. Well, things have been a little odd, but that’s not the problem.” She glanced toward her jacket and the cell phone lurking within one pocket. She’d turned it off before they’d started practicing magic, of course, so she didn’t know why she kept expect
ing it to ring.
She’d left a message for Anton at around one, but still hadn’t had an answer by the time she left work at five. Slightly miffed, since the man had been so insistent about speaking to her, she’d headed over to her great-aunt Tatiana’s to try and get in some practice instead. Unfortunately, that wasn’t turning out as well as she’d hoped. It probably didn’t help that she kept thinking about Peter. Who also hadn’t called.
Men.
“Donata?” The cranky edge to her aunt’s voice made her think this wasn’t the first time Tatiana had said her name.
“Um, sorry, Aunt Tatiana. I was just thinking about something.” She rolled her shoulders, trying to relieve some of the tension that was making them ache.
“I can see that, dear,” Tatiana said sharply. “The question is, what?” She walked over to the sink and started filling the kettle. “It’s clear we’re not going to accomplish anything useful until you get whatever it is off your chest.” She put Luigi down on the table with a bowl of seeds, and then put out cups and saucers.
Once the tea things were assembled and the pot was steeping aromatically in front of them, perfuming the air with the smell of jasmine, she propped her pointed chin on her hand and said, “All right, dear, spill it.”
Donata sighed. “It’s complicated.”
Tatiana snorted, making the wisps of white hair fringing her face dance. “Of course it is, dear. All the good stories are. Just start at the beginning and proceed from there.” An ironic smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. “I’ll try my best to keep up.”
“Right.” Donata smiled back at her favorite relative. “The day you can’t keep up, I’ll stand on my head and recite the laws of Witchcraft backward. In French.”
Her great-aunt chuckled. “Well, it might almost be worth going senile to see that, but never mind. So tell me what has you wound so tight you can’t manage a simple illumination spell without having the candle burst into flames.” She took a loud slurp of her tea.
Donata didn’t even know where to begin. She couldn’t tell her aunt about the Pentimento, at least by name, without opening an entirely new—and even more complicated—can of worms.
Her mother had made her promise not to tell Tatiana about the painting’s existence, for fear of putting her in danger along with the rest of them. They’d come up with a cover story about political upheaval during the brief period when the rest of the Santori clan had been forced to take special precautions to protect them from the Cabal’s threats. Tatiana hadn’t questioned it at the time, since Paranormal politics could be particularly vicious, although she’d grumbled mightily about having to hide out at the family’s condo until the danger had been over.
“Um, remember six months ago, when I got mixed up in that problem with the Alliance Council?” Donata asked.
Her aunt made a face. She didn’t have a much better opinion of the Council than Donata did.
“Yes, I remember. You and that nice Magnus somehow got involved in some sort of mysterious confrontation with those officious bastards, and ended up having to go underground until it was all resolved.” She shook her head, eyes bright with amusement. “Your mother was beside herself, but I told her you could handle the situation, whatever it was, and not to worry so much. Hecate, that woman was as twitchy as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. It was annoying as all get-out.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t all that much fun on my end either,” Donata said, shuddering at the memory. “Anyway, there was this, um, artifact I came across while I was on the job. That was what had the Council’s knickers in such a twist; they wanted it, and I wouldn’t hand it over.” That was the short version, but it ought to do.
Tatiana sipped tea calmly. “Good for you, dear. But what does that have to do with whatever’s upsetting you today? Your mother told me that other problem had been resolved.”
Sure it had—as long as everyone continued to believe the Pentacle Pentimento had been destroyed. But how long would that last? Donata gnawed on the end of her braid.
“Theoretically, yes. But the thing is, there were these strange markings on the p—er, the artifact, and Peter and his father Raphael had been trying to figure out what they meant. Raphael was sure they were important, so after he died, I went over to see if I could help Peter.”
Tatiana raised one eyebrow questioningly. “I see,” she said with a sly smile. “And did you? Help, I mean?”
“Did you help? Did you help?” the parrot squawked, fluttering his wings in a show of color. “Whoo-hoo!”
Donata blushed and tried to cover it by pouring herself more tea. “Well, maybe. But then when I remembered where I thought I’d seen the symbols before, Peter and I got into a huge fight. Over nothing, really.”
“Nothing? People rarely argue over nothing, dear. Even if the disagreement isn’t about the topic at hand, there is usually a reason why that particular discussion sparked the argument.” Her aunt looked dubious, as well she might. “Don’t you have any idea what the issue was?”
“It was because I thought the symbols could be the tattoo my now-ex-boyfriend, Anton Eastman, has on his neck,” Donata admitted. “I guess Peter was jealous.”
There was a loud crack as Tatiana’s teacup slipped out of her hand and hit the floor. Brown tea formed a map of India under her feet, but she paid it no attention, her gaze riveted on Donata and her face filled with horror.
“Aunt Tatiana?” Donata said, jumping up in alarm. Was the old woman having a stroke or a heart attack? “Are you all right?”
“You were dating a man who had symbols tattooed on the back of his neck?” Tatiana whispered, her voice pitched high in alarm. “Great Goddess Hecate, please tell me you didn’t sleep with him!”
It was Donata’s turn to look horrified. She couldn’t believe her elderly aunt had just asked her about her sex life. Embarrassed, she grabbed a rag and started cleaning up the spilled tea and collecting the shards of shattered pottery.
“Don’t bother with that now, Donata,” her aunt said sharply, slipping out of her chair to kneel on the floor next to Donata. “You must tell me—did you sleep with this man?”
Donata was starting to get a little irate. First the old woman scares the hell out of her, and then she pesters her about intimate details of her relationship? What the heck was going on? She dropped the now-sodden rag and sat back on her heels.
“I’m really not comfortable talking to you about this, Aunt Tatiana,” she said slowly. “Can you tell me why you want to know?”
Tatiana took a deep breath and visibly collected herself. Putting one liver-spotted hand on the table, she pulled her thin body back up with an effort and returned to her seat.
“You’re right, dear, of course. Come back and sit down and I’ll try to explain. You just startled me, that’s all.”
Donata blinked rapidly. I startled her? More like the other way around.
She slid back into the chair opposite her aunt and looked at her steadily. “Okay, I’m sitting. Now do you want to tell me what it is I said that has you so worked up?”
Tatiana got up and fetched another cup for her tea, still ignoring the broken one beneath her feet. She tilted the teapot with a hand that shook slightly, but otherwise seemed to have returned to her usual calm self. Donata wasn’t buying it.
“Well?” she said. “Why are you suddenly so interested in who I did or didn’t sleep with? You never cared before.” Thank the gods.
The old woman took a sip of tea before answering. “You never told me you were dating a man with a strange tattoo on the back of his neck before. That changes everything.”
Huh? “Why on earth should that matter?” Donata was completely baffled by this entire conversation. “Lots of people have tattoos these days.”
Tatiana nodded. “Yes, dear, I know. Silly fad, if you ask me. I’d much rather have a pretty pair of pearl earri
ngs. But still, a man with symbols on the back of his neck—well, let’s just say that means something to me that it doesn’t mean to you. I’ll explain it all in a minute, I promise, but first please answer my question, I beg of you.”
Her aunt was clearly still upset, although she was attempting to control it. Donata couldn’t see any real reason not to tell her, although she was going to hold Tatiana to her promise.
“No, Aunt Tatiana, I did not sleep with Anton Eastman,” she said firmly. “All we ever did was kiss. And I found out recently that he was doing something sneaky and inappropriate, so I broke up with him. You don’t have to worry about me seeing him anymore. We’re done. Finito. Caput. Okay? Are you happy now?”
The older woman let out a long ragged breath, her normally straight spine sagging with obvious relief. For a moment, she suddenly looked her age, wrinkles folding in on themselves and deep eyes shadowed. Then she inhaled and sat up taller.
“Yes, thank you, dear. Very happy, in fact.” Her aunt took a long drink of her tea. “If you’d answered otherwise, there is a very good chance that nine months from now you’d be dead.”
Chapter Thirty-three
It was Donata’s turn to drop her cup, although luckily she’d been holding it right above the table, so it didn’t go far. A puddle of tea ran across the space to match the one on the floor below.
“I’m sorry—what did you just say?” She stared at her aunt in disbelief.
“You heard me,” Tatiana said, suddenly back to her usual acerbic self. “If you had slept with that man—and he had turned out to be what I suppose him to be—it could very well have resulted in your death.” She shook her white head. “I thank the gods we’ve been spared the necessity of finding out.”
Donata’s hands clenched into fists. “Aunt Tatiana, if you don’t explain yourself, I think things are going to start bursting into flame again. Seriously, this is just crazy. Who do you think Anton is?”
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