Veiled Menace

by Deborah Blake

  “Not who, dear. What.” Tatiana pressed her lips together, face still pale. “I can’t be sure, of course, without seeing the symbols you say are on his neck, but I believe the person you know as Anton Eastman is, in fact, a Major Anemoi.”

  “You mean a Minor Anemoi?” Donata asked, puzzled. “I didn’t think they had visible forms.”

  Her aunt shook her head again. “No, of course they don’t. I’m talking about the Major Anemoi—an entirely different race. You wouldn’t know about them, though, since they’ve been completely erased from the history books and the memory of almost all the Paranormals living today.”

  The other shoe dropped and all the pieces fell into place. Of course, Donata thought, mouth open, not Minor Anemoi—Major Anemoi. That must be the name of the mysterious lost sixth race. And wait . . . she’d been dating one? Holy crap.

  “I can’t believe I was going out with a member of the sixth race, and didn’t even know it. And how do you know about them, if everyone else has forgotten them?” she asked her aunt.

  Tatiana gave her a pointed look. “A better question might be: how do you know about the lost sixth race? The knowledge that there was such a race was supposed to have been erased along with their name.”

  Donata rubbed her forehead where a headache was threatening to manifest itself.

  “It’s a long story,” she said. “It has to do with the crisis that happened six months ago. And I promised Mother I wouldn’t tell you about it, because she thought it would put you in danger.”

  Great. Rock, meet hard place. If she told her aunt about the Pentimento, she’d be breaking her promise to her mother, and a Witch’s word was her bond. But there was clearly something big going on here, and it looked like it was all connected. What was she supposed to do?

  Her aunt didn’t seem to think it was an issue.

  “You need to tell me the truth about what happened, Donata,” she said. “I’ll explain to your mother that you had no choice.” The old woman put her second teacup down with a decisive click that threatened to render it into almost as many pieces as its companion on the floor. “I have a dreadful feeling that you and I have been keeping secrets from each other that we really should have been sharing all along. I only hope it isn’t too late to avert disaster by sharing what we know.”

  * * *

  It took close to an hour, but Donata eventually related all the wild events from the previous spring. By the time she’d finished, her great-aunt’s mouth was hanging open and Donata felt as though she had run a marathon.

  Reliving the entire nightmare brought back a tsunami of memories she’d carefully shut away, and she fought tears as she got to the end of the story.

  She took a swig of long-cold tea to wet her dry mouth. “Since the Chief admitted he’d already figured out that there were Paranormal races besides us Witches, and asked me if I wanted to help him on the occasional ‘unusual’ cases, I came to you to learn more magical skills so I could do my job better.”

  “And that brings us to now.”

  Tatiana narrowed her eyes. “Not quite, dear. You haven’t explained how this Eastman character came into the picture. Or where the painting ended up, if it wasn’t actually destroyed in the fire at the monastery.”

  She stood up from the table, taking Henrietta’s book with her. “And while you’re answering the rest of my questions, you might as well be working on something useful. Sitting around drinking tea isn’t going to teach you the skills you need now, is it?”

  Donata opened her mouth, and then closed it again. It wasn’t as if the tea break had been her idea. But there was no point in arguing. She followed her great-aunt over to the large spell cauldron where the older woman was assembling ingredients from a list in the book.

  “Why don’t you try this truth potion? The ingredients are fairly common and the potion might be useful for your work.” With a wave of her hand, she lit the fire under the cauldron, then lay the book on the workspace so they could both see the instructions.

  Show off. Donata fetched a pitcher of water from the sink and poured it into the cast iron pot. Then she carefully measured out a cup of rosemary from the group of assembled herbs. It probably wasn’t legal to use a truth serum on anyone in the line of duty, but you never knew when something like that might come in handy. Couldn’t hurt to learn how to make it. She reached out her hand for the next item on the list.

  “You were telling me about Anton Eastman?” her great-aunt reminded her. “And you should probably crumble that mint a little more finely, dear.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry.” Donata took a deep breath. “I kept waiting for Peter and Magnus to get in touch, but I guess they were both too busy dealing with their own issues.” She didn’t feel up to going into the whole “and Raphael didn’t think I was good enough for his son” debacle. “Anyway, about three months ago I bumped into Anton at a fundraiser and eventually we started going out. It just kind of happened.”

  One delicately arched gray eyebrow told her what her aunt thought of that statement.

  “Oh, I sincerely doubt it, dear,” Tatiana said with pursed lips. “I can almost guarantee you that Anton Eastman sought you out in such a way that it would look accidental.” She gave a quiet laugh under her breath. “Eastman. East man. Oh, clever.”

  “What?” Donata was baffled.

  “Never mind,” her aunt said. “You’ll understand in a minute. Now, what about the Pentimento? Oh, my—I can’t believe one of those things still exists.”

  Donata gave her an alarmed look. “Whatever you do, don’t tell anyone else that it does! That damned painting has already cost too much, and nearly gotten me killed in the bargain.” She scowled, as a thought hit her. “Do you think that’s why Anton started dating me? To find the painting?” The handful of lemon balm she was adding to the mixture got a little more pulverized than she’d intended.

  Tatiana shook her head. “No dear, I’m sure he had something entirely different in mind. Although if he does know the Pentimento exists, that might pose a problem as well.” She looked dubiously at the pile of herbs Donata was currently crushing into dust in a black marble mortar and pestle, but restrained herself from saying anything.

  “As far as I can tell,” Donata said, “the only ones who know about the painting’s continued existence are me, Peter, and now you. Oh, and Ricky, but he’s not going to tell anyone. Raphael knew, of course, but now he’s dead.”

  She threw the herbs into the cauldron and stirred three times clockwise, or deosil. “Don’t you think it’s time you told me your half of the story, Aunt Tatiana? What do you know about the Major Anemoi, and why—especially why—would sleeping with Anton Eastman have led to my death?” She really wanted the answer to that one!

  Tatiana cleared her throat as though preparing to make a speech. “Well, by all rights, it isn’t really my story at all. It is Henrietta’s.” She tapped the book.

  “I don’t understand,” Donata said to her aunt. “What does Great-Great-Great-Grandmother Henrietta have to do with any of this? And where do you keep the salamander’s tears?”

  Tatiana pointed to the cupboard overhead, and then patted the cover of the book with one gnarled hand. “You’ve only seen a small portion of what lies within the pages of this book, dear. Even your mother and father have barely bothered with anything other than the spells and recipes; I am probably the only one alive who has read it in its entirety.” She gave it a fond and somewhat possessive glance. “This book is much more than simply a spell book or a Book of Shadows. It was also Henrietta’s journal, and in it she wrote down the truth about the Compact, and all that accompanied it.”

  “The Compact?” Donata’s head was spinning. “Why would Grandmother Henrietta know anything special about the Compact?” Her hand shook and three drops of the tears went into the cauldron instead of two. Oops.

  Tatiana looked smug. “Becaus
e she was there when it was signed, dear. That’s why. Your great-great-great-grandmother was one of the original Alliance Council members who crafted the agreement with the Catholic Church back in 1834.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Donata thought she was going to fall over. “Are you serious? Does my mother know about this? Great Hecate, she’d never stop bragging.” Celestina Santori was extremely proud of the family’s lofty position in the Witch community.

  Tatiana gave a sharp gesture of negation. “No, she doesn’t know. And you mustn’t tell her either. The Council members who signed the Compact kept themselves purposely anonymous, for reasons you’ll understand when I explain the rest of the story.”

  “Um, okay. But what does all this have to do with the Major Anemoi?” She peered at the contents of the cauldron. Was it really supposed to be that strange yellowish-green color? It looked like iridescent urine. She stirred a little faster.

  Her aunt opened the book to a section at the back that was covered with her great-great-great-grandmother’s tiny, precise cursive writing. Then very, very carefully, muttering under her breath, Tatiana slid one long fingernail between two of the pages to reveal a set of thin onionskin pages attached to the inside. They hadn’t been hidden, precisely, but it was unlikely a casual reader would have noticed them if he or she hadn’t already known they were there. Or, more likely, had the proper spell to reveal their existence.

  “Hey!” Donata said. She leaned nearer to get a better view. “What holds those pages together so the thinner ones don’t fall out?”

  “Magic, of course,” Tatiana said as if it should have been obvious.

  And it probably should have been. Donata kicked herself.

  “So what do they say? Something about the lost sixth race or the Compact?” she asked. She was half afraid to hear the answer.

  “Both, as it happens,” Tatiana responded. “You see, the sixth race was one of the most hotly debated aspects of the Compact agreement. That one issue almost caused the agreement to fall through and the Inquisition to continue.” She took a deep breath. “In which case, the Paranormal races would almost certainly have been wiped out altogether, instead of just being forced to go underground.”

  Donata felt all the blood drain out of her face. “What ended up happening, then?”

  Tatiana looked grim. “The Alliance Council made a difficult decision—probably the most difficult one they ever had to make. And the sixth race, the Major Anemoi, made a dreadful sacrifice; one which was rendered even worse by the fact that almost no one would ever know of it, or be able to appreciate what they had done to save the rest of us.” Her aunt scowled at the container Donata was holding.

  “Watch the dragon’s tongue,” she said warningly. “Too much and you’ll end up with something so potent you’ll never get your subject to stop talking again.”

  Donata rapidly put back half of what she was going to use. Tatiana nodded, so she added what she had and stirred some more. Acrid steam rose from the cauldron, making her eyes water.

  Her aunt sighed. “Let’s start at the beginning, then. You know that in the Compact, each Paranormal race agreed to certain restrictions imposed by the Church.”

  Donata nodded. That part of their history was one of the first things taught in Witch School.

  “Witches were allowed to retain their magical abilities, but had to go underground and practice in secret; essentially handing over all of their real-world power to the Church, giving up wealth, influence, and political power, and being publicly discredited and shunned. In return, the Catholic Church stopped killing them and allowed them to live in peace.” Tatiana peered into the pot and shook her head.

  “It doesn’t seem like Witches got a very good deal,” Donata said grumpily.

  “Hmph. No, they didn’t,” Tatiana said, the corners of her mouth turned down. “On the other hand, they stopped being burned, hanged, and stoned to death in town squares across Europe, so that was a plus.”

  She breathed deeply and went on. “The Fae, as you know, gave up much of their ability to manipulate Humans. They were cut off from their ancestral lands where they had the most power, and forbidden to kidnap or enchant Humans into becoming their thralls. They were most especially prohibited from stealing Human children, their favorite prey. Instead, they were allowed to live among Humans—hiding in plain sight, as it were—feeding off the adoration of any they could convince to give it willingly.”

  “Did they mind?” Donata asked. “I mean, it doesn’t seem like they have it all that bad. There are always plenty of Humans ready to be charmed by a beautiful face and a perfect body.” Large bubbles started forming on the surface of the potion. Periodically one would pop with a startlingly loud noise and a putrid stench.

  Tatiana lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “According to Henrietta’s journal, the Fae were unhappy about losing their ancient homes, but they seemed to adjust rather well. Apparently the development of the theater owed quite a bit to their influence. Not to mention Hollywood.”

  “What about the Ghouls?” Donata wanted to know. “What did they have to give up in the agreement?” She thought for a minute. “I don’t remember any of this being discussed in Witch School; was I out the day they covered it?”

  “Covered it! Covered up!” the parrot squawked, startling Donata into dropping her spoon into the cauldron. She thought about fishing it out with her fingers but reconsidered when she looked at the churning mess. Eventually she managed to grab the utensil with a pair of tongs, then dried it off with a cloth before using it again. Damned bird.

  Tatiana smiled and fed him a scrap of cookie, and Luigi tugged at her wispy white hair affectionately in return.

  “You don’t really expect the Council to admit the depth of our defeat, do you, dear? The Compact is discussed, of course—there is no way to avoid that—but the scope of the agreement is downplayed and only the effects on Witches are really ever addressed.” She shook her head ruefully. “The truth is, Witches never much cared about the Compact’s impact on any race except their own. Very insular, most of us.”

  Tatiana shrugged. “Right, where were we? Oh, yes, the Ghouls.” She gave a small, ladylike chuckle. “In some ways, the Concord settlement affected the Ghouls least of all. They were forbidden to intentionally cause disagreements or wars, which they had previously done in order to feed on the resulting sorrow and fear. But since Humans are so good at producing their own misery without help, it must not have seemed like much of a sacrifice at the time.”

  She peered inside the cauldron and frowned. “How much yeast did you add, dear?” She gave a delicate sniff, and then added, “Lately the Ghouls seem to have become somewhat bitter about the entire thing, but frankly, I don’t know how one would tell the difference.”

  She and Donata shared a glance that spoke of their shared dislike of the unpleasant gray people, and shuddered in unison.

  Donata had a sudden vision of Magnus and almost dropped the spoon again. The fumes coming off the cauldron were starting to make her a little woozy.

  “What about the Ulfhednar?” she asked. “Did they have to give up anything important when the Compact was signed?”

  Her aunt gave her a sideways glance. “How much do you know about the Ulfhednar clan system and their ability to shapechange? Did your friend Magnus tell you much about his family?”

  Donata nodded. “Well, I know that the clan is very important; family needs are put before individual desires. And Ulfhednar who don’t live by clan rules can be kicked out and forbidden to contact their families or any other clan members. That happened to Magnus, and it just about killed him. He had a really hard time living without the family connection.” A large bubble popped with a sound like a gunshot, and she jumped.

  Tatiana tilted her head in curiosity. “That particular punishment is saved for only the most drastic transgressions; as you say, to be without c
lan is almost unbearable for an Ulfhednar. Magnus seemed like a very nice young man the few times you brought him to dinner. What on earth did he do to anger the clan elders to the point where they would call down a shunning upon him?”

  Donata flashed back to the uncomfortable evenings to which her aunt was referring. Magnus had been at his charming best, but even so, she’d decided never to bring a man home for dinner again. The Inquisition was a cakewalk compared to her mother’s “so you’re interested in my daughter” line of questions. Donata shook her head and brought her focus back to the matter at hand, stirring faster to try to break up the roiling froth forming on the surface of the potion.

  She bit her lip. “Magnus was part of the way through his special Ulf training, and he walked away, because he couldn’t reconcile the violence inherent to the Ulf state with his pacifist beliefs. Of course, now he’s gone back—on his terms, he says.”

  Tatiana backed away from the worktable slightly, pulling out a lace-edged handkerchief and waving it in front of her nose. “Well, if you know about the Ulf, then you know how important what having a member of the family achieve that status is to the Ulfhednar. It brings great honor not just to the family but to the entire clan. Whichever clan has the most Ulf when the Ulfhednar meet up at their yearly Gathering becomes the head of all the others for the next twelve months.”

  She looked thoughtful as she continued her explanation. “The Ulfhednar are the most traditional of all the Paranormal races, and the most resistant to change. And in the old days, they had very large families, both to increase the odds of having a child that would bear the Ulf gene, and to replace the many members of the clan who would inevitably perish in battle.”

  “Really?” Donata said. “I think Magnus told me once he only had a sister.” The pot seemed to be calming down somewhat; maybe she’d gotten it right after all. It was hardly bubbling at all now.

  “Yes, well that was what the Ulfhednar were required to sacrifice when they signed the Compact,” Tatiana said. “They were forbidden to have more than two children, so their numbers would remain manageable, and they also had to agree to use their abilities to serve society. These days, most Ulf can be found in the military or the police, usually in the most dangerous positions available.