She gazed around at her captive audience. Even John had put down his phone and was hanging over the back of the couch, listening avidly.
Celestina’s lips compressed into a thin line. She seemed to be debating whether or not to mention something, but finally said, “I’m afraid that Paranormal crime might, in fact, be on the increase.” The lines around her mouth tightened. “I’ve been told that the Council is concerned that more and more Paranormals are starting to break the rules of the Compact, putting us all at risk.”
Donata’s sisters looked shocked and their husbands wary.
“But, that’s just crazy!” Lucia said, casting a protective glance at her young daughter. “If that happens too many times, the Catholic Church will start calling for a hard-line response, and they might be able to justify it.”
“It’s worse than that, dear,” Celestina said with grim certainty. “Such actions will give those Cabal fanatics more leverage within the Church organization, where they are currently merely a disgraced and outlawed minority. If enough Paranormals break the Compact agreements, the Cabal could get the right-wing Church members on their side, and possibly convince them that the Cabal argument against continued coexistence with the Paranormal races has real merit. In a worst-case scenario, it could lead to another all-out war between the Church and the Alliance.”
Lucia gasped. “Surely not. No one would risk that.”
Her husband shook his head, his normally placid face suddenly harsh. “I didn’t want to say anything before, honey; I knew it would worry you. But I’ve been hearing rumors that there is a group of Paranormals agitating to get Paranormal races other than Witches to take back their rights and powers. And for Witches to stop hiding the extent of theirs.”
William scowled. “One of the Fae who works in advertising at my company mentioned something about that to me a couple of weeks ago. I threatened to fire him if he ever mentioned it again. But he was spouting some kind of rhetoric about how Witches had been able to come out of the broom closet and get away with it, so other races should be able to reclaim their proper places as well.”
Donata leaned forward. “Hell. That would certainly explain why there has been a sudden spike in crimes perpetrated by Paranormals against Humans. Did any of the people you talked to know who was behind this new movement?”
William and John both shook their heads.
“Sorry, Donata,” John said. “It never even occurred to me to ask. I thought it was just office gossip.”
“And I made it clear I wasn’t interested in listening to anything so dangerous,” William added, “so there was no way the guy who approached me would ever tell me anything, even if he knew. Although, to be honest, I didn’t get the impression he was in on any major secrets.”
Celestina straightened her shoulders and looked at Donata. “Well, dear, it looks like your new position may turn out to be more important than I thought.” She didn’t appear altogether happy about the possibility. “I assume you have been notifying your Council rep every time there has been an incident?”
“Absolutely,” Donata said decisively. She might not always agree with Council or their methods, but she wasn’t an idiot.
“Humph. That’s something, anyway.” Celestina said. She gave her youngest daughter a measured look. “You seem to be in a unique position to keep an eye on the situation, and give us some warning if it threatens to get worse.” She gave a deep sigh. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it may turn out to be a very good thing you insisted on becoming a police officer. The fate of all the Paranormal races could very well depend on you being good at your job.”
Well, great. So, no pressure then, Donata thought. Damn—I think I liked it better when my mother didn’t approve of my job. Now that really sucked.
Chapter Twenty-five
Donata arrived home at around six. The fall day was beginning to slide into dusk and the crisp, leaf-scented air was like a balm to her senses. The violent storm had passed as suddenly as it had arrived.
Stepping out of the cab, she thought longingly of a hot bath and a cold beer. The prospect of attaining both had been the only thing that had gotten her through the rest of the gathering; Santori Saturday dinner had never been so interesting—or so stressful.
On the bright side, she’d won the ill-considered bet with her mother and would be able to keep her job without the continuous pestering to change careers and be a Good Little Witch.
On the down side, apparently she was now expected to use that job to save the entire Paranormal world. Great. Just great.
She sighed, and then jumped, teetering on her high heels, when a shadow detached itself from the front of her building and moved toward her. As it got closer, the nebulous shape refined itself into a well-pressed business suit occupied by a clearly disgruntled middle-aged man.
Anton. Crap! She’d completely forgotten that she was supposed to meet him at five. Donata glanced at her watch: it said ten of six. Dinner rarely ran so late (they couldn’t all stand to be in the same room with each other that long, as a rule), but this had been an unusual get-together in more ways than one.
“Anton, I’m so sorry,” she said, pulling out her keys. “Dinner with my family took more time than usual. Have you been waiting long?”
His normally expressionless face drew down into a scowl as he glanced at his Rolex. “Since five, of course. You are usually more punctual than this.”
Donata suddenly remembered that she was mad at him. Ass. The guy who drugs his girlfriend doesn’t get to complain about tardiness. She scowled right back.
“Well, if you need to be somewhere else, feel free to go,” she said, a hint of acid in her voice as she turned the key in the front door lock. In this neighborhood, all the buildings had serious security on the entrance doors, as well as on each apartment. She turned in the doorway, waiting to see what he’d decide and not really caring much either way. She could hear that bath calling her name.
He was right on her heels.
“I am sorry if I sounded disgruntled,” he said contritely. “To be honest, I was becoming concerned that you had decided not to talk to me after all.” He held open the door in his usual gentlemanly fashion.
Donata wasn’t in the mood for gallantry. “Fine,” she said, starting up the stairs without him. “We might as well get this over with.”
They trudged up the three flights of narrow, dirty stairs to her apartment at the front of the building. She rattled the key in the lock as she let herself in, giving Ricky a chance to hide if he happened to be visible. There was no way he was going to miss out on this conversation—Donata knew that—but at least she wouldn’t have to try to explain the three-foot-tall man in the pointy hat to Anton. Only one of them was going to be doing some explaining, and it wasn’t going to be her, by golly.
Once inside, she pulled off her shoes and tossed them by the door, gesturing her guest to take a seat on the couch. He blinked a little at the bright colors and exotic patterns, but said nothing, and his attempt to pet the cat sitting on one arm of the sofa was greeted with a growl and an offended feline sneer.
Things were off to a great start.
He started to speak, and Donata held up one hand.
“Wait here,” she said, and disappeared into the kitchen, coming back with the empty wine bottle she’d rescued from the trash. She plunked it down on the coffee table in front of Anton hard enough to create a satisfying crash.
“Would you like to explain this?” she asked, standing in front of him with her arms crossed. One stocking-clad foot tapped the floor.
Anton stared up at her, his face carefully blank. “Do you think you could sit down, so we might have a civilized conversation?” He patted the couch next to him with one manicured hand.
Donata made a noise not unlike the one her cat had uttered. “There is nothing ‘civilized’ about drugging your girlfriend�
��s wine, Anton,” she said, still standing. “And we’re not having a conversation; you’re talking and I’m listening. If any of what you say is remotely acceptable, then maybe we’ll have a conversation.”
He let out the tiniest of sighs. “I understand that you’re upset with me, Donata. But I didn’t ‘drug’ you, as you so dramatically put it. I merely added a harmless herb to the wine you drank. The wine we both drank, I might add. And I did have a very good reason, which I will be very happy to share with you. But I really don’t wish to do so craning my neck while you tower over me like an Amazon.” He raised one eyebrow and waited.
“Fine,” Donata said, sitting as far away from him as she could on the relatively small sofa. “I’m sitting. Now please tell me why you were putting wormwood in the wine we drank every time we had dinner. And what was with the weird dreams? I assume they were connected somehow.”
She tapped her foot again and he twitched a little, obviously uncomfortable with her anger, but conspicuously unapologetic.
“I am sorry to have tricked you,” he said, his demeanor as calm and controlled as always. “But it was necessary—the lesser of two evils.”
“Oh, please,” Donata said, rolling her eyes. “I trusted you, and you did something completely underhanded. What could possibly justify such a thing?”
Anton gazed into her eyes. “The survival of my race.”
Chapter Twenty-six
“What the hell?” Donata said. She gaped at him, openmouthed. “What the fuck are you talking about? Your race? Are you telling me you aren’t Human?”
Like things weren’t already weird enough.
He shook his head, pushing impatiently at one lock of sandy hair that threatened to slide out of place. “No, Donata, I am not. I am simply wearing a Human form at the moment. It seemed easier that way.”
She resisted the impulse to stick him with a knife to see whether his blood ran red or not. Was he crazy? Or was he really not a Human? And if he was telling the truth, then what the hell was he? And what did he mean by “wearing a Human form”?
“This is your explanation?” she sputtered. “‘I doctored your wine because the survival of my race depends on it’? That’s the lamest thing I ever heard. What are you, then, Dragon? Fae?” He didn’t have the vibe of either, that she could tell. And he sure as hell wasn’t a Ghoul. Ugh.
Anton put one hand up to stem the tide of her tirade. “I can’t tell you any more, Donata. I’m sorry. But I’ve put you in danger by telling you as much as I already have. You will simply have to take my word for it that I am telling the truth, and that my intentions were honorable.” He reached out to touch her, but she shied away from him.
“Really?” she said. “I’m just supposed to trust you on this, am I?’ She scowled, her shoulders hunched defensively against the couch cushions behind her. “All right, let’s assume I accept what you say—and that’s still completely hypothetical at this point. But if I do, then tell me this: what did you want from me? What was the point in taking me out, dating me and giving me a powerful herb so I would somehow dream what you wanted me to dream?” Her voice rose. “What was the damned point, Anton?”
He took a deep breath, possibly sensing that his next words weren’t going to make the situation any better.
“We want you to be the mother of our children,” he said, looking at her in complete seriousness. “It is the only way to save our race.”
Donata was so stunned, for a minute she had no idea what to say.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You want me to what?” Her voice hit a note so high, she was surprised the ornate mirror on the wall didn’t crack.
“We need you to bear the next generation of our children,” Anton repeated patiently. It sounded as though he thought his words made perfect sense and he was simply waiting for Donata to agree.
Hopping hell on a pogo stick. “Look, Anton,” she said slowly and carefully. “I don’t know what in the world you are talking about. But I’m not going to be the mother to anyone’s children anytime soon. And I’m sure as Hades not going to have a baby with someone who feels it is necessary to trick me into it.”
She stood up, eyeing the distance between the couch and her service pistol hanging in its holster by the front door, just in case he turned violent.
“I need you to leave now,” she said.
Anton held up both hands in protest. “Donata, you don’t understand. You must give me a chance to explain.” He looked at her beseechingly, for the first time appearing less than confident. “I beg of you, do not do this. You have no idea how much depends upon your cooperation.” A hint of desperation slid into his voice.
She pointed at the door, unmoved by his sudden show of emotion. “I have had a really long day, Anton. And I already have more people depending on me than I am comfortable with—by about a power of ten.” The finger she held out trembled. “I don’t know what the hell you think you need from me, but whatever it is, I’m not your girl. You’re going to have to find someone else.”
He rose slowly but made no move to leave. “There is no other, Donata. You are our best chance. Maybe our only chance. You must help us. Or the consequences will be catastrophic, beyond your wildest imaginings.”
Donata shook her head, edging away from him. “No. No, Anton. I don’t know where you got the idea that I would be a good choice for this . . . um . . . role. But I’m not having a baby with you or anyone.” She moved over to the door and opened it. “You need to go. Right now. And I don’t want you to come back. I’m sorry, but I can’t be what you want.”
Anton gave her a sorrowful look. “You don’t understand. It isn’t up to me. This goes far beyond my wishes, or even yours.” He took a step toward her, then suddenly rocked on his feet as he seemed to trip over nothing.
“What?” he said, startled. He moved forward again, only to find his direction changing and his body aimed toward the doorway. “What on earth?”
Donata took advantage of his lack of balance and shoved him the rest of the way out the door. She slammed it shut on his heels and shot the deadbolt into place before turning both locks. Her shoulders slumped in relief until a loud banging from the other side made her jump.
“Donata,” Anton said, “let me back in. I need to explain.”
Hecate! She swore as the noise echoed through the apartment.
“Cut it out!” she yelled through the door. “I’ll call the police! Hell—I am the police. Stop banging on that door and go away, or I swear, I’ll come out there and freaking arrest you. Do you hear me?”
The banging stopped. She put her ear up against the door, but didn’t hear anything. Looking out through the peephole, she could see the distorted shape of a man walking away, body slumped in an attitude of defeat.
Thank the goddess that was over. She let out a gusty breath.
“You okay, Missus?” Ricky asked from underneath her.
She jumped, of course, but then bent down and gave him a big hug. The Kobold blushed as red as her velvet couch.
“Thanks for helping to shove him out the door,” she said with heartfelt gratitude. “For a minute there, I was afraid I was going to have to shoot him in order to get him to leave.”
Ricky grinned at her. “Why do you think I pushed him?” he said. “I was afraid you were going to shoot him too.”
Donata staggered over and plopped down on the sofa, taking comfort in its plush embrace as the adrenaline rush washed out of her.
“I can’t believe he turned out to be such a nutcase,” she said, clutching a beaded pillow to her chest. “He seemed so normal.” She sighed. “Man, I sure can pick ’em, can’t I? First a disgraced Shapechanger with family issues, then a half-Dragon forger whose father hated me, and now this.”
Ricky chuckled from the kitchen and came out holding a beer in each hand. Hopping on the couch next to her, he handed one to Donata an
d then took a big swig out of his own bottle.
“Well, I’ll admit that Magnus and Peter were a little problematic,” he said, his gruff voice kind. “But that Anton, he was something else.”
“Yeah,” Donata sighed. “Butt-humping nuts, that’s what he was. Completely and totally bananas.”
The Kobold shook his head, a concerned look on his homely face. “I don’t know, Donata. I’m not sure if he was crazy. But one thing I am sure of—the guy is bad news.” He took another long swallow of his beer, Adam’s apple bobbing, before adding glumly, “And I have a feeling we haven’t seen the last of him either.”
* * *
She walked through a desolate city. Empty streets echoed with the sound of her footsteps, an unceasing wind her only companion. There were no signs of life. Abandoned cars littered the roads like a giant’s discarded playthings. Open doorways revealed glimpses into lives interrupted without warning.
A thready sound caught her ear; an intermittent siren call that reached into a place deep within her and would not be ignored. She followed it through alleys choked with garbage, across overgrown parks with shattered trees growing bent and deformed against the setting sun. No birds sang to greet the dusk.
For miles she trudged through the barren landscape. The carcasses of fallen leaves crunched under her boots, testament to an autumn that had never turned to winter. The ground was parched and seared. And still she walked, following the faint melody of a wailing child.
Mama. . . . mama. . . . mama . . .
* * *
Donata bolted upright in her bed, gasping for breath as though she had run a marathon. Hot tears burned her cheeks like acid and sweat drenched her tee shirt. The sheets were twisted in knots around her legs. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could still hear the haunting cry of a child that wept without hope of consolation.
Veiled Menace Page 14
