She couldn’t help but smile back. “Yes, he is something of a miracle, isn’t he?” She was rewarded by the sight of a slight blush creeping across Peter’s face. “So—you were in boarding school? In Switzerland?”
Peter nodded, happy to change the subject. “Yes, my mother insisted I would get the best education there.” His eyes darkened momentarily when he realized the significance of her sending him to a faraway school—where his father the Dragon wouldn’t find him.
Donata watched as he dealt with this newest revelation and flailed around for something to distract him.
“Um, Peter, didn’t you want to ask Antonio something about obscure Witch art?” she interjected. Peter had told her that his friend was the ultimate expert on such things and the source of most of what he himself had learned over the years. Antonio raised his face from the crumbs of his pastry, looking interested.
“Ah, right, yes,” Peter said, regaining his focus. “Antonio, I was wondering if you knew anything about the Pentacle Pentimentos and the tale of some kind of curse attached to them.” He sounded so casual, even Donata was almost fooled.
Antonio’s innocent countenance merely looked pensive as he thought about the question. “Well, I’ve heard of the paintings, of course; they’re a famous Catholic legend. But I have always assumed they were a myth.” His eyes lit up. “You haven’t actually found one, have you?”
Peter shook his head. After all, technically, someone else had found it. So it wasn’t as if he was actually lying to his friend. The priest. “I’m just following up on something I heard about,” he said, more or less truthfully. “And since we were seeing you anyway, I thought I’d ask. I know you work with all kinds of old Church documents; I had the notion you might have come across some sort of reference to the Pentimentos.”
Antonio brushed the last few crumbs of pastry from the front of his black shirt. “Nothing comes to mind, my friend, but let me get back to work and I’ll poke around a bit and see if I can turn something up. Potrebbe succedere qualunque cosa. Anything can happen, yes?” He rose from the table, and he and Peter hugged again. “For how long are you in town?”
Peter looked at Donata with one eyebrow raised in question, and she shrugged. They needed to get back as soon as possible, but they also needed more information about the curse if they were going to make any progress.
“We can’t stay long,” Peter said. “A day or two, maybe. But I’d really be interested to see if you could dig up anything about this curse and how to remove it. If it’s not too much trouble for you to do the research.”
The priest gave another one of his saintly smiles. “Ah, you know I love the research. It is almost as dear to my heart as our holy Mother Church. Give me a bit of time; if there is anything to be found, I will find it for you.” He nodded toward Donata one more time and then made his gently weaving way toward the front door.
Donata turned to Peter. “He’s very sweet, your Antonio.”
Peter looked after his friend fondly. “He is, isn’t he? He was exactly like that, even as a child. There isn’t a mean bone in his body.”
She tried not to look doubtful. “I don’t know, Peter. After all, we’ve as good as told him we’ve got a Pentacle Pentimento. And remember what the de Medici family was known for in the past: treachery and backstabbing. Are you sure you can trust him?”
“I would trust Antonio with my life,” Peter said firmly.
Donata felt a shiver run down her spine. “I hope so,” she said. “I think we might have done just that.”
* * *
They ended up in a room at a picturesque but anonymous guesthouse, tucked up against the edge of the city. Their diminutive suite included a bedroom with two beds, a small sitting room, and an even tinier bathroom, all of it decorated in chintz. It was clean and pleasant, but not exactly the Ritz.
Donata teased Peter, saying she’d expected something a bit more luxurious, but he explained that the habit of staying hidden was too strong. Under the circumstances, she’d had to agree that they were better off keeping a low profile; they hadn’t spotted anyone watching them, but they wanted to keep it that way. She couldn’t help wondering to herself how often he traveled to Europe on forgery-related business, but tried to put it out of her mind. After all, it wasn’t as though she was going to arrest him.
She looked at him from under lowered eyelashes, trying to study him without being obvious. He lounged across the room’s miniature sofa, legs dangling over one end as he flipped through a newspaper he’d picked up at the airport. Rumpled and starting to show signs of five-o’clock shadow, he looked more attractive than ever. If he’d been part Fae, she would have blamed her fascination on Paranormal glamour, but as it was, she could only think it had been too long between relationships.
Not that there was any chance of a relationship between the two of them—goddess, no. After all, she was a cop and he was a criminal, although certainly a nonviolent, high-class one. She thought about Cary Grant and Grace Kelly in To Catch a Thief. Right. Well, she was no Grace Kelly, that’s for sure.
The muted buzz of her cell phone interrupted her unproductive musings. Peter looked up as she dug it out of her jacket and looked at the number; not one she recognized off the top of her head. She shrugged at him and flipped it open.
“Hello?” she said.
A smooth voice spoke from the other end. “Ah, Officer Santori, you are still in one piece, I see. We were starting to get concerned, since there has been some, er . . . unusual activity around your apartment, and we hadn’t heard from you.”
Donata suppressed a groan and mouthed at Peter, The Council, before turning her attention back to the phone. Why on earth had she thought it was a good idea to arrange to have her phone work internationally while she was in Rome?
“Mr. Moore, how nice to hear from you,” she said, violating her rule against lying. “Yes, I saw the lovely Cabal folks and decided to lay low for a while. I hadn’t realized I was supposed to be reporting in.” When hell freezes over. “Don’t worry; I’m still working on the situation.”
“Indeed, I should hope so,” Clement Moore said stiffly. “There are a great many people depending on you.” He paused, and then added not quite casually, “So, is Mr. Casaventi with you? He didn’t show up at an expected engagement. You do remember I told you not to contact him?”
“Yes, he’s here.” And no, you are not the boss of me.
“And he is assisting you with your task?” Moore pushed. “Despite my instructions otherwise?”
Donata took a deep breath to keep from losing her temper. “Yes, Mr. Moore. Despite that. You gave me a task, and I’m fulfilling it the best I can. You’re going to have to trust me on this.”
Moore made an indeterminate sound, obviously not satisfied by her answer. “And where exactly are you two right now?”
Donata had a moment’s gratitude for cell phones. The Council obviously had no idea they’d left the city, let alone the country. “I’m around, Mr. Moore. And I’m working on the problem. That’s really all you need to know.” So there.
The man on the other end of the phone was less than pleased by her lack of cooperative spirit. “I’m not sure you are taking our interest in this matter seriously enough, Ms. Santori.”
No polite “Officer” now, she noted.
“We are in a position to make life quite uncomfortable for you and those you care about. For instance, your sister Lucia works as a healer at the county hospital. I hear she’s very good at her job. It would be a pity if budget cuts were to eliminate her position, don’t you think?” Moore paused to let that sink in.
Donata’s fingers curled tightly around the phone. It wasn’t as though her sister needed the job—she and her husband were very well off, like the rest of the family. But Lucia loved her work as a healer; she’d made all kinds of connections at the hospital with patients and the other staf
f. If she lost her position because of something her scapegrace younger sister did, it would break her heart—and put another nail in the coffin of their already tenuous relationship.
Nor was it an idle threat. It wasn’t common knowledge, of course, but the Alliance Council provided behind-the-scenes funding for many of the Paranormal positions. It was well within their abilities to create or dissolve a job like the one Donata’s sister held. Damn them.
She gritted her teeth and tried to stay polite. She wasn’t going to give Moore the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten to her with his not-so-subtle threats.
“I hear you, Mr. Moore. And believe me, I want to get this painting fixed and off my hands as soon as I possibly can.” She took a deep breath. “So why don’t you let me get back to trying to do that. I promise I’ll call you as soon as I have any news.”
Moore grunted. “Very well, Officer Santori. But remember that the Cabal is also interested in getting their hands on that painting. And they won’t be nearly as nice about it as we are.” With that final shot, he hung up, leaving Donata listening to emptiness and her own racing thoughts.
“Council checking in on you?” Peter asked, making her jump.
“Yeah. Lovely people,” she said. “I’m so proud to be a part of their constituency.”
Peter handed her a glass of wine from the bottle they’d picked up at a neighborhood shop on their way in. “Here, maybe this will get some of the bad taste out of your mouth.” He poured another glass for himself into one of the cobalt goblets considerately provided by their temporary landlady.
Donata took a big swallow, then put the rest of the glass down reluctantly. “Shouldn’t we be keeping our heads clear in case your friend Antonio calls us with news?”
Peter gave her a big grin and drank. “Nice to see that being part Dragon is good for something,” he said. He took the rest of the bottle back over to the couch and looked at her smugly. Donata was about to say something snarky in return when her phone rang again.
She looked at the number on the display and took another swig of wine, in complete disregard of her previous statement. Peter looked at her curiously.
“Uh, hi, Chief,” she said in a perky tone. “What’s up?”
Peter could probably hear the Chief’s thundering rumble from where he sat across the room.
“That’s what I’d like to know, Donata,” the stern voice said.
Donata winced. “I, um, just took a couple of days off to deal with some family issues,” she said to her boss. “Is there a problem?”
“Damn right there’s a problem,” he said. “You don’t take a personal day in over five years, and I give you the opportunity of a lifetime and two days later you’re just gone? What the hell is that?”
Peter made a face in sympathy as Donata bit her lip. He held up the wine bottle but she shook her head. She was pretty sure he could pour the whole thing down her throat and it wouldn’t help at all.
“Look, Chief, I’m sorry I had to disappear on you,” she said. “I swear it was unavoidable, and I’ll be back as soon as I can. Was there something in particular you needed me to work on right now?” She crossed her fingers and prayed there wasn’t, since she really didn’t want to have to explain the whole “I’m in Rome” thing.
He grumbled a negative. “That’s not the point, Donata. I know you’re up to something.”
She tried to sound less guilty than she felt. “What do you mean?”
“I was down at the morgue earlier, and Doc Havens told me you’d been asking questions about the DB from the museum. I have a clear memory of telling you to stay away from that case, Donata. I’d better not find out you’re off on some lone-wolf investigation.”
Donata took a big gulp of her wine without thinking, and then tried not to choke on it. “No lone wolf.” Not exactly, anyway. After all, she was working with a forger and a Kobold now. “I just had a thought about the case and figured I’d run it by Doc. You know, tie up a few loose ends.”
“Leave the loose ends to the officer in charge of the case, Santori,” the Chief said. But he sounded a little calmer. “And by the way, did you know your neighbors reported a break-in at your apartment? The desk clerk that took the report passed it on to me, since you were out of the office.”
Crap. Someone must have seen the guys from the Cabal and called to report it. Nice to know her neighbors were keeping an eye on the place—but their timing sucked.
“Uh, no, I didn’t know that, Chief. I’ve been staying with a friend.” She made the mistake of glancing over at Peter, and he winked at her. She fought down a completely inappropriate laugh. “Was anything taken?”
“Not that the responding officer could tell,” her boss said. “Although he did mention that the apartment looked unusually bare.”
Double crap. Now everyone at the station was going to know she couldn’t decorate for shit. “That’s okay, Chief,” she said. “It always looks that way.”
It finally occurred to her that he hadn’t called just to ream her out; he’d actually been worried about her. She was touched, but their new relationship made her feel even more pressured to clean up this mess and get back to work. Before he gave up on her and decided to let her stay in the basement forever.
“I’m sorry to be a problem,” she said. “And I’ll be back at the precinct in a day or two. Maybe three, if this family thing gets any more complicated.” She hoped against hope that it wouldn’t take any longer than that. She wasn’t sure how long she could stall and get away with it.
The Chief grunted. “See that you are, Santori,” he said gruffly. “I’m giving you plenty of rope here. Make sure you don’t hang yourself with it.” With that parting encouragement, he ended the call.
What was it with people hanging up on her tonight? Didn’t any of them have mothers who taught them manners? Donata put her head down on the table. Then, after thinking about it, she lifted her head up, clicked the phone off, and put her head back down again. She wished she’d thought of that two phone calls ago.
“I take it the conversation didn’t go well?” Peter’s sympathetic voice said next to her ear. She heard the scrape of a chair as he came over to sit by her in the minuscule dining area. His glass clicked as he set it down.
“Not great,” she said, her voice muffled by her arms.
“Did he fire you?”
“Not yet,” she muttered. “Maybe next week.”
Peter rubbed her shoulders, and she could feel the tight muscles starting to relax. He might be a criminal, she thought, but he could be damned handy to have around. Then the phone rang again.
She picked her head up off the table. “I thought I shut that thing off!”
Peter gave her a conciliatory pat as he walked over to where his coat was hanging on a hook on the chintz-covered wall. “Sorry, this time it’s mine. Maybe it’s Antonio.”
Donata perked up. If Antonio had found a solution to the curse, they could go home, fix the painting, and her life could get back to normal. Or something resembling normal. She listened with interest to the side of the conversation she could hear.
“Ciao, Antonio,” Peter said, in the happy tone of voice he seemed to reserve for his old schoolmate. “Really? Already? That’s great.” He grabbed a pad of paper and a pen and started to scribble down what looked like an address. “Sure, we can meet you there. When? Right away? Sure, no problem. See you in a few, then.” He hung up his phone and looked at what he’d written. A scowl replaced the grin.
“What’s wrong?” Donata asked. “That was Antonio, right? Did he say whether he’d found something?” She couldn’t understand why Peter didn’t look more pleased, if it was good news.
“Yes, that was Antonio. He said he thought he’d gotten the information I wanted, and told us to meet him at a bar called Il Sporco Maschilista. It’s a couple of miles from here, an easy ride by taxi.”
He turned the piece of paper the address was written on around and around in his hands.
“So what’s the problem?” Donata asked. “And don’t tell me there isn’t one. You’re fidgeting. I’ve never seen you fidget.”
Peter shrugged and stuffed the paper in his pocket. “It’s probably nothing. Just not the part of town I’d expect Antonio to be familiar with. Or the kind of bar, for that matter.” He gave a short laugh. “The name means ‘male chauvinist pig’ more or less.”
That did seem like an odd choice for a priest. Donata shrugged back. It wasn’t as though they weren’t going to go, after all. But she missed her gun, left back at Peter’s place for the sake of not alarming customs. At least she had her lucky knife, currently tucked into one boot.
“Do you think we should be worried?” she asked as they headed out.
“Would it stop you from worrying if I told you no?” Peter responded, holding the door open for her.
Donata laughed. “Probably not,” she admitted.
“That’s what I thought.” He bowed as he waved her in front of him. “Let’s go find out how to break a curse, Witch.”
“After you, Dragon,” she said, then watched his butt as he walked out the door.
Chapter Fifteen
Il Sporco Maschilista was about as charming a place as the name suggested: full of rough-looking men and their short-skirted companions, all of them complete with tattoos and leather jackets. Donata felt right at home. Although she wished she was wearing her usual jeans instead of a pair of nice pants and a top Peter had bought her. Still, her jacket, boots, and her tough-girl attitude helped her blend in just fine.
Peter’s friend Antonio, on the other hand, stuck out like a sore thumb.
He’d left off the white collar, but he still had “priest” written all over him. In Rome, within a mile of the Vatican, that might not have mattered, but his air of innocence and intelligence made him stand out from the crowd, even in the dark corner he’d chosen to sit in.
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