Veiled Menace

by Deborah Blake

  Donata tried to placate him. “I won’t be alone; Ricky will be there. Besides, I think it’s more important that you take the Pentimento and find a better hiding place for it. I’m still concerned that the attempted break-in at Raphael’s might have been someone trying to get at the painting. For all we know, the Cabal is back. We have to keep the Pentacle Pentimento safe.”

  “What about keeping you safe?” Peter said. “I’m more worried about you than some damn painting, no matter how rare it is.”

  She flushed with pleasure at his words. “That’s sweet, Peter, but honestly, you don’t have to worry about Anton trying to hurt me. He wants me to have his babies; he’s not going to do anything to harm me.”

  Shit. She hadn’t meant to mention that part.

  “He wants you to what?” Peter thundered.

  Donata winced, and Doc’s eyes widened in shock.

  “When were you going to mention that little tidbit, Donata?” her friend asked. “Is that what all those dreams about sex and children were about?”

  Donata tried to shush her, but it was too late.

  “You were dreaming about sex because of this guy? And he wants you to have a baby with him? Is he insane? Are you?” A vein pulsed on Peter’s forehead.

  Oh, for the love of goddess . . . “It’s not that crazy an idea,” Donata said defensively. “Why wouldn’t someone want to have a baby with me?”

  “That’s not my point and you know it,” Peter shot back. “I don’t know what the hell this guy is up to, and I don’t care. Find out what you need to know about the Major Anemoi some other way—I forbid you to see Anton Eastman again.”

  Donata bounced out of her seat like she was on springs. “You forbid me? You forbid me?” Across the desk, Doc watched the two of them with her mouth open, as fascinated as if she were watching some new form of full-contact tennis.

  “You heard me,” Peter said. “Stay away from Eastman. I mean it, Donata.” He glared at her in Dragon-fueled jealousy and fury.

  “The hell I will,” Donata fumed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You can’t tell me what to do, damn it. Just because we slept together a few times doesn’t mean you own me.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Is that all it was to you? Just a couple of nights in the sack? Because it was a lot more than that to me.” He paused, steam literally coming out of his nostrils. “Or at least I thought it was. Maybe I was just kidding myself.”

  Donata could feel panic rising in her breast. How had this become about the two of them? What the hell was she supposed to say now? She didn’t even know for sure how she felt about him. She liked him, was attracted to him, valued his friendship . . . beyond that, she didn’t know. Not yet. Besides, no matter what she felt for him, nobody got to tell her what to do. Nobody.

  “Look,” she said, slightly hysterically, “this isn’t about us. It has nothing to do with us. I just think it is important that I talk to him, that’s all.” She held out one hand, imploring him to understand.

  “Of course it is about us, Donata,” Peter said. “And if you can’t see that, I don’t know what else there is to say. Go off and see your Major Anemoi boyfriend. Hell, why don’t you just agree to have the baby he wants and help him save his race. You’ll be a big hero—they’ll write all about you in the Paranormal history books. But don’t come crying to me if it all goes wrong.”

  He stomped across the room and out the door, slamming it behind him. Where he’d touched it, the wood smoldered briefly.

  Doc stared at Donata in mute astonishment as Donata fought back tears. Whether they were tears of sorrow or tears of rage, she couldn’t tell.

  “What the hell just happened?” she asked Doc.

  The coroner blinked at her. “I have no idea. Seriously. We were sitting here talking about you finding out the identity of the sixth race from your aunt—which is kind of a big deal, if you ask me. I mean, isn’t this what you and Peter have been trying to uncover since you stumbled across that damned painting? And all of a sudden you and Peter were yelling at each other about Anton. And bam, he was gone. Wow.”

  Donata slumped back into her chair, depressed. “I can’t believe he was so upset about Anton that he didn’t even care that I’d learned about the Major Anemoi. After all, they might have had something to do with Raphael’s death; you’d think my finding out about that would be more important than whether or not Anton wanted me to have a baby with him. It’s not like I was going to do it!” She put her head down on the desk, heedless of the chips an inch away from her hair.

  Doc got up and came around the piece of furniture, putting one arm around Donata’s shoulders. “Well, you did kind of spring that baby thing on him, Donata. Men are weird about stuff like that. And you told me that Dragons are notorious for their bad tempers. Maybe he’s being overly emotional because his father just died. Or, I don’t know, he could be a controlling ass. I haven’t made up my mind yet. But I’m sure he’ll calm down soon. Either way, it’s not your fault.”

  She shoved the remains of their lunch away and perched on the scarred wooden surface. “I guess you’re right about needing to get more information from Anton; it’s not like you know any other Major Anemoi to ask. And if he knows something that leads to whoever killed Raphael, Peter will forgive you for seeing him. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

  Donata lifted her head and gazed at her best friend. “I promise. I’ll cast a protection spell before he comes over, to be on the safe side. And I have my gun. But I have to do this, Doc. We need to know if the Major Anemoi have anything to do with what’s riling up the Paranormal community, not to mention finding out about Raphael.” She gave Doc a watery smile. “Besides, I still owe him an ass kicking for messing with my head.”

  Of course, if she kicked the ass of every guy who’d messed with her head lately, she’d never get anything else done. Men. Just crap.

  Chapter Forty-three

  Glancing around her spartan but colorful living room, Donata went over her preparations again while waiting for her guest to arrive.

  Protection spell done—check. If she looked closely, she could still see the grains of sea salt she’d used in the spell strewn around the edges of the room, and the odor of sage hung heavy in the air. She hoped Anton wasn’t allergic. On second thought, she didn’t really care. The bastard hadn’t checked to make sure she wasn’t allergic to wormwood, after all.

  Gun loaded and ready—check. She didn’t mind that it clashed with the brightly embroidered and tasseled cushions on the sofa, or that it sent an unfriendly message. She’d promised Doc she would be careful, and she’d meant it. The gun sat on the battered wooden table in front of the couch, its dull black surface gleaming and dangerous, close enough to grab in a heartbeat if Anton did anything threatening. Like breathing wrong.

  She wasn’t completely sure what effect a bullet would have on a Major Anemoi; from what her aunt said, they were next to impossible to kill. But she was betting that as long as he was inhabiting a physical body, a gunshot would at least slow him down. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to find out. But better to be ready and not need it than to need it and not be ready. That was the first thing they were taught in the police academy, and she’d never forgotten it.

  Room neatened and tea prepared—check. Just because she didn’t trust the guy, it didn’t mean she was going to be a bad hostess. She’d just make sure he didn’t get close enough to her cup to slip something into it.

  Not that he’d be able to do such a thing without Ricky noticing. One suspicious Kobold—check.

  The little man sat on a red tufted hassock exactly equidistant from both the sofa and the two overstuffed chairs opposite it, the better to watch every move anyone made. He wasn’t any happier than Donata’s other friends about her meeting with Anton, but at least he would be able to sit there and glare at the man openly. He’d been practicing his intimidating glower all e
vening, and Donata had to admit that he looked pretty fierce for a guy who was only three feet tall and wore a pointy hat.

  A brisk knock on the front door made her jump, but she steeled herself to appear calm and collected before going to open it. Never let them see you sweat, that was her motto. She glanced at the secondhand baroque clock on the wall: eight o’clock on the dot. The man might be an untrustworthy weasel, but he was punctual.

  Anton looked as handsome, polished, and sophisticated as always in a neat gray suit and striped tie. His hair was brushed back and his chin smooth, despite the lateness of the hour. Either he’d shaved before coming over, or the created body he was using didn’t get five o’clock shadow. To Donata’s critical eyes and senses, he still appeared as Human as ever. It kind of creeped her out.

  “Come on in,” she said, polite but cool. “There’s tea if you want it.”

  She shut the door behind him and reclaimed her seat on the couch, feeling the skin on her neck crawl for the short period she had to have her back turned to him.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Donata,” Anton said, sitting in the chair farthest away from Ricky. “I didn’t expect you to have company.” His brow knit in the tiniest of frowns; she guessed he wasn’t happy to have a third party present. Tough noogies.

  “Ricky isn’t company,” Donata explained. “He lives here. And I feel better having someone else here, under the circumstances.”

  Ricky just glowered.

  Anton eyed the gun sitting openly on the table in front of her, next to the teapot on its hot pad. “I realize that you have reasons to doubt my veracity,” he said, sounding hurt. “But is that”—he inclined his head toward the weapon—“really necessary?”

  Donata ignored his tone; she already knew he was a convincing liar. And hurt feelings were nothing compared to drugging an unsuspecting date.

  “Better safe than sorry,” she said cheerfully. “If you don’t provoke me, I promise I won’t shoot you. Tea?” She held the pot over his mug.

  With a sigh, he nodded. “Yes, please, let’s do try to act civil.” He accepted the filled cup gracefully. “As I was saying, I am pleased you agreed to see me. There is much I need to tell you, but once you know the truth, I’m sure you will understand why I did what I did.”

  Ricky slurped hot tea loudly and muttered something that sounded like “You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you on the ass” under his breath. Donata choked back a laugh.

  “I may understand,” she said more seriously, “but that doesn’t mean I will consider what you did in any way acceptable. No matter how good your motives were, your actions were reprehensible. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out that you were slipping a potent clairvoyance-boosting herb into my wine?”

  Ricky cleared his throat meaningfully, reminding her that he was the one who had made the actual discovery. Without his interference, she might still be haunted by the strange and erotic dreams. She gave him a wink that made him sit up straighter with pride.

  Anton started to speak, but Donata interrupted him. “I am curious about one thing, though—how did you keep the wormwood from affecting you too? After all, we both drank the wine.”

  “Ah,” he said, putting his mug down with a click. “I am sorry about that, Donata. It was a miscalculation on my part. If it is any consolation, the herb did influence me as well; it connected us on a psychic level, so that I could send you the dreams you experienced. I realize that you consider my actions to have been an invasion of your privacy, but in my culture, this was a traditional component of courtship.” His proper way of speaking made the word privacy come out as priv-is-ee.

  Oh, yeah, she thought. Your miscalculation was in getting caught, you son of a bitch.

  “I see,” she said in a nonconfrontational tone. “And in your culture were both parties aware of this component? Traditionally?” She gazed at him benignly over her steaming cup, the slight smile on her lips hidden by the porcelain.

  He had the grace to look abashed, staring down at his perfectly polished shoes. “Well, yes, as it happens, they usually were.”

  Point made, she moved on to the next sally. “Right, so we’ve established that you drugged me without my permission or knowledge. Would you like to tell me what exactly this was supposed to accomplish?” Now that she had a better idea of what he’d really been after, she wanted to test his willingness to finally be honest with her. Ricky practiced his scowl some more, to negligible effect.

  Anton took another sip of his tea and then set the cup down again, handle at a perfect right angle with the table. “Since we are bringing this all out into the open, I might as well admit that I was trying to create a deeper bond between the two of us than might otherwise have been formed in such a limited amount of time.” He gazed into her eyes as if trying to impress her with his earnestness. “I had my reasons, and I assure you, they were good ones.”

  Donata didn’t think there was anything that was a good enough reason to excuse his actions, but if there was one thing she had learned over the years, it was that different Paranormal races looked at the world in very different ways. Who knew what a Major Anemoi considered to be the boundaries of right and wrong?

  She took a deep breath. “You mean the fact that you are a Major Anemoi and your race is dying out? That kind of good reason?”

  The stunned look on his face was almost worth everything she’d been through. It was the first time she’d ever seen Anton less than cool, calm, and collected. Ricky snickered, then resumed giving their guest the evil eye.

  Anton ignored the Kobold, staring across the scarred table at Donata in horrified amazement. “How long have you known?” he asked. “And how in Gaia’s name did you find out? It isn’t possible.”

  Donata shook her head ruefully. “Never underestimate a Santori, Anton. You’d be astounded by the things I know.” There—let him chew on that for a minute. “As for how long I’ve known, just a couple of days. I found out after the last time we talked. It explained a lot, to say the least.”

  Once he recovered from his initial shock, Anton looked, if anything, relieved. “I don’t know how you discovered the truth, but it does make my task easier.” He gave her a wry smile. “I had not been looking forward to trying to make you believe I was the member of a long-forgotten race.”

  “Or that I was, to a small degree,” added Donata. “I have to admit, that one was quite the kicker.”

  “Ah,” Anton said, the light dawning. “You have been reading your Great-Great-Great-Grandmother Henrietta’s journal. We weren’t certain the book still existed.” His well-formed lips twisted. “We had been hopeful that the information in it had been lost forever.”

  She just bet they had been. Too bad. “Sorry to disappoint you, but your existence isn’t as big a secret as you thought it was.”

  He shrugged. “It is of little consequence to me, but there are others who will not be so complacent about you having such knowledge. It might be wise to keep it to yourself.”

  Ricky finally spoke up. “What others? Are you saying these people would be a threat to Donata?”

  He shifted as if he would rise up and defend her, but Donata waved him back down. She wanted the answer to that question too.

  Anton narrowed his eyes. “How much do you know about the Major Anemoi?” When she gave him a wary glance, he added, “I simply need to find out how much I need to tell you.”

  Hmph. She couldn’t think of any reason not to share what she’d learned.

  “I know that the Major Anemoi are the most powerful of all the Paranormal races,” she said. “And that they were once considered to be gods in many parts of the world. I know that they gave up the ability to take permanent corporeal form as their part of the Compact, although clearly you can still do it on a temporary basis.” She gestured at his very physical presence.

  “I know that the Major Anemoi are closely co
nnected to nature and worship Gaia. And I’ve been told that you can manipulate the elements to create natural disasters.” She glanced over at the window, currently rattling with the fury of the storm outside, and then back at Anton doubtfully. “Are you doing that now?”

  He shook his head. “Not me. But some of us, yes.” A serious expression settled onto his face. “We don’t all agree on how to handle our current situation, you see.”

  “You mean the fact that your race is dying out?” Donata asked. It was hard to imagine that such a thing could happen to a species that were once worshipped as gods.

  Sadness gleamed from his soft brown eyes. “Yes, that. There are two factions among the Major Anemoi: the Cleansers and the Melders. The Cleansers want to wipe out everyone who isn’t Anemoi; starting with the Humans, who they consider to be an infestation on the planet, destroying the Earth with their shortsighted greed. The Cleansers believe that our infertility is a punishment from Gaia, and that if we cleanse the Earth, she will reward us by allowing us to reproduce again.”

  Donata swallowed hard, one hand edging toward her gun involuntarily. “Holy crap. They can’t actually do that, can they?”

  Anton shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Have you not noticed the dramatic increase in hurricanes, earthquakes and the like over the last few years? How many Humans have died in these disasters? Quite a few, I think.” He didn’t seem concerned by the matter.

  “More than just Humans,” Donata said hotly. “Paranormals died too. And if the Anemoi are doing it on purpose, it’s murder!”

  He held up one hand. “I didn’t say I agreed with this approach, Donata. I was merely explaining the Cleansers’ plan.” He held out his cup for more tea and Donata filled it carelessly, her shaky grip spilling a few drops on the table underneath.

  “So you’re not a member of that faction?” she asked, holding her breath.