Veiled Enchantments

by Deborah Blake

  And frankly, if she couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on with her magic, she was going to be out of a job anyway. Hard to be a Witness Retrieval Specialist if you couldn’t talk to the dead without things constantly going sideways.

  Man, she hoped her great-aunt had some idea what was going on.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Interesting,” Tatiana said. “So your protective circle just poofed out of existence without you taking it down?”

  “‘Poofed’? Is that the technical Witch term for ‘failed completely’? If so, yes, it poofed.”

  Her great-aunt hummed quietly under her breath, something she did when she was thinking. “We’d assumed when your spell didn’t work correctly during your first attempt to contact a ghost that whoever was sending the spirits had somehow blocked you. But I don’t see how that could have been true this time. A protective circle would only have been perceived by a Witch who was in the room with you at the time. Curious.”

  That was one word for it, although not the one Donata would have used.

  “Could another Witch be living in Gimle without you knowing it?” her great-aunt asked.

  “Not likely. It’s a very small place and everyone knows everyone. I am constantly bumping into someone I’ve never met and being greeted by name,” Donata said. “If there is a magic user who isn’t a Witch . . . someone like a shaman or a priestess of some kind, it would have to be one of the Ulfhednar themselves, and I certainly haven’t sensed anyone like that. They have a priest of Odin who leads their public rituals, but I think that position is more ceremonial than magical.”

  More humming. Donata waited patiently. Her great-aunt was probably running 117 years of experience through her mind; that couldn’t be rushed. Finally, Tatiana asked, “So how are you and Magnus getting along?”

  What the heck does that have to do with anything?

  “Um, okay. Good. You don’t think he has anything to do with my problems with magic, do you? Because he’s strong as an ox and I’d trust him with my life”—and had, in fact, just the other day—“but he doesn’t know squat about magic.”

  “Mmmm,” her great-aunt said. “I only ask because there is one other thing I can think of that can interfere with a Witch’s magic. It’s not that common, and I hadn’t considered that it might apply to you, which is why I didn’t think of it before, but it does happen.”

  Donata ground her teeth. “Could you explain what you’re talking about, please?”

  Her great-aunt did. Donata resisted the urge to throw the phone again. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll check into the possibility. But I don’t think that’s it.”

  Tatiana promised to do some more research and call a few of her friends who talked to the dead more than she did, and wished Donata luck. It might have been more touching if she hadn’t been cackling when she said it.

  Donata turned the phone off again, almost wishing she’d left it behind in Gimle. She sat there for a minute with her aching head in her hands, working up the energy to go join Astrid at the grocery store. Before she could get up, though, she felt someone sit down on the bench next to her.

  When she looked up, she wasn’t even surprised. It was shaping up to be that kind of day.

  “Hello, Mr. West,” she said with a resigned sigh. “What can I do for you?”

  “You can tell me where Anton Eastman is and why we have still been unable to contact him,” the being she knew as West said. He looked bland and innocuous, although Donata knew better.

  “I don’t know anything more than I did the last time you asked me,” she said in an even tone. That much is true, anyway. Anton was dead then, and he’s still dead now.

  “It seems very unlikely that Anton would just disappear,” West said, scowling. “We have begun to wonder if you have hidden him away somehow. Perhaps binding him with some kind of spell, although you, a mere Witch, should not have that kind of power over our kind.”

  “Maybe he just didn’t want to give up his physical body once he’d failed at his assignment, and he is hiding out on a tropical island somewhere drinking mai tais and ogling the native women to see if any of them would be suitable to serve as incubators for the next generation of Major Anemoi,” she suggested.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” West said. “Human women can’t bear our children. Even most Witch women weren’t strong enough.”

  Right. That was the ridiculous part of the previous statement. Plus, hello, the uncertainty of her ability to survive this experience was one reason why Donata wasn’t interested in being a part of this particular experiment, one which only her distant ancestor had lived through.

  Donata shrugged. “Maybe he is off playing tag with a hurricane, then. Either way, he’s not here with me. You’re going to have to look somewhere else.”

  “We have looked everywhere else,” West said. “We can find no sign of him. He was last seen in your company, at the house of the Dragon Raphael. You must know where he is, and you will tell us.”

  “I haven’t seen him since that day,” she said honestly. “Have you asked Peter, Raphael’s son?” She wasn’t trying to dump Peter into trouble; she was curious as to why they were only questioning her.

  West’s scowl deepened. “We have not been able to find the Dragon’s son. He has disappeared as well.”

  “Sorry,” Donata said. “I can’t help you there either. I haven’t heard from Peter since the day Anton attacked us at Raphael’s house. What can I tell you—I don’t have much luck with men.” More truth, alas.

  “But you were lovers with the Dragon’s son. You must be able to contact him.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But we’re not together anymore. I’m with Magnus now.”

  West shook his head. “I do not understand any of the other races. You seem to flit from one mate to another like bees in a field of flowers. The Major Anemoi form bonds between each other that last millennia.”

  “Well, it helps if you live for millennia,” Donata pointed out. “So are you in such a bond?”

  “I am. With the one who took the form you knew as Anton Eastman.”

  CRAP.

  His seemingly benign visage took on a more threatening aspect. “Which is why you will tell me where he is or suffer the consequences.”

  “I’m sorry,” Donata said, actually meaning it this time, despite the fact that West’s significant whatever had tried to kill Peter and force himself on her. “But I still can’t help you.”

  “I believe you can. If you are sufficiently motivated. You have until the full moon to tell me what you know about Anton Eastman’s whereabouts, or things will get very unpleasant for you and yours.”

  Okay, less sorry now. The full moon was less than two weeks away, and there was nothing she could tell him that would make him any happier.

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Not just you,” West said, electricity practically snapping from his fingertips. “You are living with the Ulfhednar nearby, are you not? I believe there is much woodland surrounding their town. A forest fire could prove quite deadly. Or it might rain so hard that the river could flood. A previously undiscovered fault line might be found to run right underneath their land. The Major Anemoi have power over the elements, Ms. Santori. We can be most unpleasant enemies. You might want to keep that in mind while you are deciding whether or not to give me the information I seek.”

  He paused, as if waiting for her to speak out then and there. When she didn’t, he rose from the bench and strode off without a word.

  Crap, crap, crap, and crap with a side of more crap.

  Donata made a couple of quick stops on the way to the grocery store and bumped into Astrid just as the older woman was pushing a fully laden cart out of the shop. The Ulfhednar grew or made most of their own food and hunted nearby for meat, but they apparently drew the line at making toilet paper or a nu
mber of other practical items, and sometimes indulged themselves in produce that couldn’t be found in Maine. A large pineapple was perched on top of one bag.

  “Did you manage to get in touch with your aunt, dear?” Astrid said, steering a course toward her truck. “I was beginning to worry about you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Donata said, helping Astrid load the heavy bags into the vehicle. “It was a more complicated conversation than I’d anticipated, plus I had another call from the charming Clayton Moore.”

  Astrid made a growling noise. “That man is a nuisance. Someone should eat him. It would save the rest of us a lot of trouble.”

  “No argument here,” Donata said. “He’s a pain in my, er, derriere.”

  “You can say ‘ass,’ dear. He certainly is one,” Astrid said. “So what did your friend from the Alliance Council want? The same as always?”

  “He’s not my friend,” Donata said, sliding into the passenger seat and putting her small bags on the floor in front of her. “And he threatened my job if I didn’t spy on your people for him.”

  “Ah.” Astrid peeled out of the lot, nearly taking out a small sedan with her truck. “I know you are quite fond of your job. What did you tell him?”

  “I told him I’d keep my eyes open.”

  “Hard to walk around with them closed,” Astrid said in a neutral tone.

  “Exactly,” Donata said.

  The women smiled at each other and laughed. Astrid tilted her head toward Donata’s packages. “I see you went to the pharmacy. If you were stocking up on bandages and things, I already picked some up at the grocery store.”

  Donata’s smile slipped away. “Between Magnus’s training and my mishaps, we’re going through them fast enough we’ll probably need more before this is over.”

  “True enough. I will be very happy when we get to the bottom of whatever is causing these disturbances.”

  “Me too,” Donata said fervently. And not just because that would mean she could leave Gimle, and the Ulfhednar would no longer be a target of whatever revenge the Major Anemoi aimed at her.

  When they got back to the house, Donata helped Astrid carry the bags of groceries into the kitchen. To their surprise, Magnus was already there, seated at the table with an ice pack pressed against his left temple.

  “Bad day, dear?” Astrid asked in a calmer tone than Donata could have mustered at that moment. It was all she could do to set the groceries down on the counter before going over to take a closer look. A colorful green and purple welt was forming under the dripping pack, but otherwise he seemed unharmed.

  “Uh-huh,” Magnus grunted. “I’ve had better.” He plopped the ice pack down with a disgusted sound and looked up at Donata. “I was surprised to find you gone. I hope that means you are feeling better.”

  “Better than you, it looks like,” Donata said, sitting down next to him. “At least we match now. I’m black-and-blue, you’re black-and-blue . . . People are going to start thinking we are in an abusive relationship.”

  Magnus rolled his eyes and put his hand out for the cup of coffee his mother handed him along with a fresh ice pack. “You’re a Witch. I’m pretty sure people are already thinking things way worse than that.”

  Funny. “So, what happened? Did you have an accident during a sparring match?”

  He held the new pack up to his forehead. “I wish. I’m afraid I’ve joined the ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost’ group. I saw one today and it distracted me enough that Gunnar landed a kick he shouldn’t have.”

  “Shit,” Donata said, then looked at his mother. “Sorry.” Without any conscious intent, she reached out and put a hand on his arm. “Who was it? The ghost, I mean.”

  “An old friend,” Magnus said. “We grew up together. He went through his Ulf training when I did, except he stayed and finished his when I left. Joined the Special Forces and died in Iraq. I never saw him again.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “What was his name?”

  “Calder,” Magnus said, the echo of long-ago losses shadowing his bright blue eyes. “His name was Calder.”

  “Shit,” Donata said again, and didn’t even bother to apologize. The ghost had tried to warn her, and she hadn’t listened. Now she wondered what else she’d missed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Problem?” Magnus asked, crooking an eyebrow and then wincing when the action tugged at his sore temple.

  Donata sighed. “I think I talked to him earlier today.”

  That got both Magnus’s and Astrid’s attention, as the older woman swiveled around holding a can of tuna. “What?” Astrid said. “I thought you couldn’t talk to our ghosts.”

  “I can’t,” Donata said. “At least not in the way I usually do. My great-aunt sent me her Ouija board to try, and I used it this morning before we went into town.”

  “A Ouija board?” Magnus sounded dubious. “I thought those things were just toys.”

  “Oh, they work, more or less,” Donata said. “They’re just not very reliable, because the people who use them either don’t know what they’re doing or treat them like a game, or both. Also, they can’t call up the spirit of Cleopatra, or whoever it is most folks attempt to call on, and they can be dangerous in the hands of amateurs, which are pretty much the only ones who use them regularly.” She shrugged. “But a talented Human, or a Witch like my great-aunt Tatiana, whose magical gifts lie in other areas, can sometimes make one work the way they were designed to. I’d never used one before today, because I never had the need.”

  “I’m curious as to why you didn’t mention it,” Astrid said, giving her a look that stopped just short of disapproving.

  “Honestly, what I got was so muddled and incoherent, I wasn’t really sure I’d succeeded at all,” Donata said. “Mostly what looked like babbling about being called home or wanting to go home or something to that effect. And at the end, one name, Calder.” She gazed at Magnus. “I’m sorry. I had no idea it had anything to do with you. When I saw you this evening, I was going to ask if you knew anyone in the area with that name who had died.”

  “That would be a yes,” he said, tossing the ice pack over his shoulder and into the sink without looking.

  “I got that.”

  Astrid handed Magnus a towel to dry his face with and patted him on the arm. “Why don’t you and Donata go to your room and talk? You can tell her about Calder, and she can tell you about her phone call from Clayton Moore.”

  And her visit from West. After Magnus’s reaction the last time she didn’t mention the Major Anemoi, she knew better than to keep the information to herself for one more minute than she had to. She stood up to go with him.

  Magnus rose, towering over Donata as usual. She was going to have to get boots with higher heels. Or stilts. “Moore called you again? That man is more persistent than a heat rash in the desert.”

  “And about as pleasant,” Donata said, following him out of the room.

  Magnus leaned back against his headboard, a solid piece of walnut carved with fanciful creatures and wild animals that looked as though they were peeking out from behind trees in a forest. He’d told her when she first saw it that he’d carved it himself as a teenager. Naturally. Sometimes she thought there was nothing he couldn’t do if he put his mind to it. Hopefully, keeping his temper when she told him about her visit to town would be one of those things he’d put his mind to.

  She was perched on the end of the bed, as far away from him as she could get; it was going to be hard enough to talk about this stuff without being distracted by his scent and his sheer physicality. “Sixteen missed calls?” he said. “I’ll give it to the man; he’s persistent.”

  “He’s a pain in my ass,” Donata said. “Persistently.”

  “What did he want this time?”

  “Oh, the same thing as the last time. For me to tell him if the Ulfhednar are
breaking the rules of the Compact and having more than two children each.”

  Magnus scowled. “And what did you tell him?”

  “What do you think I told him? That you all had huge families and walked them down Main Street in parades every Sunday?” She rolled her eyes. “I’d already told him that I hadn’t seen anything that would indicate that the Ulfhednar have broken any rules, barring the crimes against fashion you people commit with all that flannel. But I think that’s more of a rural-Maine thing than an Ulfhednar thing.”

  Magnus snorted, looking down at the flannel shirt he was wearing. “I’m assuming that went over well.”

  “Sure,” she said. “If by ‘well’ you mean ‘threatened to revoke my certification as a Witness Retrieval Specialist so I couldn’t work my job anymore.’ Then yes, he took it just fine.”

  Thunderclouds formed on Magnus’s brow, almost eclipsing his new bruise. “He threatened your job? The son of a bitch!”

  “Your mother and I had agreed on ‘ass,’” Donata said mildly. “But sure, ‘son of a bitch’ works too.”

  “Why aren’t you more upset?” Magnus asked, the fury slowly ebbing out of his eyes. “You love your job. Can’t he do what he’s threatening you with?”

  “Oh, he can do it all right. Probably with one well-placed phone call,” Donata said. “But (a) I stalled him, and (b) the threat I got next was much worse, so I don’t really have the energy to waste worrying about Clayton Moore.” Okay, that was almost a lie. She was plenty worried about him. But she had some chance of persuading him to see reason and, as far as she could tell, no chance at all of stalling the Major Anemoi forever.