Veiled Menace

by Deborah Blake

  “The problem is, of course, with the high attrition rate, their race would be getting continually smaller if they actually followed their part of the agreement and limited themselves to only two children per couple.”

  “Huh.” Donata pondered that one for a minute, struggling to move the spoon through the thickening potion. “And is the Ulfhednar population getting smaller?”

  Tatiana’s faded blue eyes twinkled. “No one really seems to know for sure. They are a very insular culture, after all. They tend to live in small, rural enclaves or tiny towns where the population is predominately Ulfhednar. Only the most assertive members go out into society at large. So any attempts to get an accurate head count are less than reliable.”

  Donata thought that might make for an interesting conversation with Magnus when he came back. Assuming he did. “And what did the Dragons give up?” Great goddess, the potion was getting thick. Was it supposed to do that? Or turn blue? She was afraid to ask.

  Her aunt gave a short laugh. “Dragons don’t give things up, dear. Ever.” She gazed into the pot in silence. “In the Compact, the agreement was that they would stay out of Human affairs, and Humans would stay out of theirs. But since that was the way things had always been, it made very little difference to their existence.”

  “Oh. I see.” Donata tapped one forefinger thoughtfully on the front of her teeth, making a clicking noise that garnered her a glare from her elderly relative. “Sorry.” She gave up on trying to stir the now almost-solid lump. When she pulled the end of the spoon out, it had dissolved, leaving a ragged wooden stump that smoked slightly as it hit the air. Damn—that can’t be good.

  “So what does all this have to do with the lost sixth race, Aunt Tatiana?” she asked. Then hastily added, “Not that it isn’t fascinating.”

  Tatiana narrowed her eyes at the remains of the spoon, but moved on without further comment.

  “The Major Anemoi were the most powerful of us all. And therefore the greatest threat to the Church. In truth, they were so powerful, the only defense against them was magical—either Witchcraft or the sorcery practiced by the Church’s most feared Inquisitors.” Tatiana checked to make sure her niece was paying attention, but she needn’t have bothered; Donata was absolutely riveted.

  “How are the Major Anemoi related to the Minor Anemoi?” Donata asked. “Are they nature spirits too?”

  “They are,” Tatiana agreed. “But the Minor Anemoi are but the shadow of their much greater namesakes. The Greek culture, where the name originated, mistakenly identified them as wind spirits. In actuality, each of the Anemoi is associated with an element and a direction. For instance, the North Wind Anemoi are earth spirits, and they control the land. In the ancient days, Humans prayed to them for abundant crops.”

  “So the East Wind Anemoi would be air spirits, then?” Donata said. “And the West in charge of water?” The cauldron made an ominous creaking sound, but she was so caught up at finally learning about the lost race, she ignored it.

  Her aunt nodded. “Exactly. And the South Wind Anemoi are fire spirits. In the end, they just came to be called the Major Anemoi, to differentiate between them and the lesser, more innocuous Minor Anemoi.”

  Donata was puzzled. “If the Anemoi helped the crops to grow, why would the Church be afraid of them?” And they must have been pretty damned afraid, to have them wiped from memory entirely.

  The corners of Tatiana’s mouth drooped. “The Major Anemoi were not always so beneficent,” she said sadly. “When angered, they also caused earthquakes, tidal waves, hurricanes, and other destructive events. Why do you think such things were called ‘an act of god’? Because the Anemoi caused them, and as far as most Human cultures were concerned, the Anemoi were gods.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Donata said, catching on immediately. “Raphael was complaining about all sorts of freak weather problems that he claimed were aimed at him—and then he was killed by a lightning strike out of nowhere. Do you think—?”

  “That the Major Anemoi were responsible?” Her aunt gave a sharp, decisive nod. “It certainly sounds possible, dear. Although there is no way to be certain, of course. One can hardly drag a nature spirit into a court of law in handcuffs, can one?”

  Donata got a mental image of what it would be like trying to arrest a being capable of causing an earthquake. Somehow, she didn’t think the Chief would be amused.

  “Aunt Tatiana,” Donata said. “Why would the Catholic Church even include the Major Anemoi in the Compact? Wouldn’t they have considered such beings to be beyond their reach?” The cast-iron pot creaked again.

  The older woman snorted, causing the parrot on her shoulder to rock back and forth. “My sweet girl, the Church didn’t consider anything to be beyond their reach. And of all the Paranormal races, they hated the Major Anemoi the most. The Church thought Paranormals were an aberration; an insult to their One God’s laws. But the Anemoi were an affront to God himself. They challenged His superiority, usurping roles that the Church believed should belong only to their deity, and no other.”

  “One god. One god,” the parrot cackled, then flew off to a corner in search of snacks. Or safety.

  Tatiana ignored him out of habit and continued her explanation. “Some in the Church thought the Anemoi were demons. Others thought they were angels. Either way, the Church hierarchy found them too threatening. The Anemoi worship Gaia, the mother spirit of the planet, and the Church elders apparently found that to be the most offensive thing of all.”

  Donata gnawed on one nail. “Yeah, I can see that. Paternalistic bunch, those Catholics. But how did they get the Major Anemoi to agree to the Compact? It doesn’t seem like there would be much they could use to threaten them with.”

  Tatiana shook her head. “Nobody knows. Nonetheless, the Anemoi did eventually sign the agreement, which called on them to give up their ability to manifest in permanent physical forms or be worshipped as gods in their own rights. But that caused a problem.”

  “How do you get people to stop worshipping a god they truly believe in?”

  “Exactly.” Her aunt tapped the book lying on the table in front of them. “According to your great-great-great-grandmother Henrietta, the Anemoi were venerated in too many cultures, under too many names. The only way to stop it was to erase them from the memory of every man, woman, and child on the planet.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  “How is that even possible?” Donata exclaimed. “It would take an incredible amount of power.” She checked the time the potion had been brewing and extinguished the flames under the pot. The contents were a mass at the bottom.

  “Indeed,” her aunt said. “The combined power of all the major Witches on the Alliance Council at the time and the strongest of the Church’s Inquisition sorcerers. Together, they bound the Anemoi to their non-corporeal state, unable to take physical form except for limited periods of time—and then, only in cooperation with others of their race. And they erased them from living memory. In the end, the only ones who still knew of their existence were those who had done the magical work. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, they had never been.”

  Donata thought that was the saddest thing she’d ever heard. An entire race, doomed to be forgotten. The rest of the Paranormals had been hunted and maligned, but even that was better than the alternative the Anemoi had faced.

  “Don’t look so downhearted, dear,” Tatiana said. “From everything Henrietta wrote, it is clear that the Anemoi did not think this any great sacrifice. It is doubtful that the Church would have been able to compel them, had they felt otherwise.”

  “Why wouldn’t they think it was a sacrifice, Aunt Tatiana?”

  Her aunt lifted one skinny shoulder. “Who knows, dear? Perhaps they tired of being worshipped, and wished for the freedom to simply commune with Gaia and the wonders of nature. Henrietta believed that they were happy just to be left alone
.” She gave a slight smile. “I do not flatter myself that I can know how a being of such power might think.”

  Donata could certainly agree with that. She barely understood how other normal people thought, most days. And she sure as hell didn’t understand what this stupid potion was doing. Now it was turning purple. Maybe that was an effect of the cooling process?

  Something occurred to her. “But if the Major Anemoi can’t take physical form, then how could Anton Eastman possibly be one?” She felt a wave of relief. “See, you must have been wrong about that, Aunt Tatiana. Maybe he is just a Dragon-Fae hybrid after all.”

  Tatiana held up one knotted finger. “Pay attention, dear. I didn’t say they couldn’t assume a form; merely that they could not hold it for long, and that it took more than one of them to bring about the transformation. That was probably another way the Church intended to limit their ability to do so, since the Anemoi seldom cooperated with each other.” She chuckled. “Gods so rarely play well with others.”

  Donata smiled back at her irrepressible aunt. “Maybe not. But what makes you think that Anton is an Anemoi in a Human form?”

  Tatiana opened the book to one of the thin secret pages. “Look here,” she pointed. “See these symbols? Are they the ones you saw on the painting and on your new boyfriend’s neck?”

  “Ex-boyfriend.” Donata muttered. But she leaned forward to peer at the place her aunt indicated. “Hecate’s tits,” she muttered. The symbols were a perfect match.

  “Language, dear,” Tatiana said automatically.

  Donata said, “But what do they mean?”

  “They’re Hebrew letters,” Tatiana explained. “Ancient texts say that they are used to animate a golem—a manlike construct built out of clay and then given life. These stories must be based somehow on the Major Anemoi, since in essence this is how they take on a temporary form.”

  Donata’s stomach flipped over. She’d been kissing a lump of clay? Ugh. That was almost as disgusting as the smell of her truth serum.

  “But he was warm. He breathed. How could he have been a golem?” She shuddered involuntarily. Who knew there was something that could creep out the girl who talked to dead people for a living?

  Tatiana gave her a sympathetic look. “Once the golem is created, it would seem as much like a living being as you or I. You can’t blame yourself for being fooled.”

  She bent back over the tiny writing in the book, pulling a pair of reading glasses from her skirt pocket and perching them on the end of her long nose as she brought the book closer to her face.

  “According to what Henrietta wrote here, it took four Major Anemoi—one of each kind—to create a golem. The North Anemoi provided the clay for the body, the West Anemoi bound it together with water, the East Anemoi breathed life into it, and then the South Anemoi used the fire of its spirit to animate it. The temporary body is bound together with the Hebrew symbols.” She tapped the book. “Quite an interesting system, really.”

  “Ha—Eastman. I get it! Anton is an East Anemoi, so the name is some kind of weird Major Anemoi joke.” Donata hated it when she was the last one to get a joke. She especially hated being the butt of one. She was also starting to really hate this thrice-damned potion. Why was it making that hissing noise?

  Her aunt smirked. “Well, technically, I believe he has to be a South Anemoi, since the force behind the golem comes from the spirit that animates it. But yes, the principle remains the same.”

  Donata didn’t care what the heck he called himself, or why. She just wanted to know what the mysterious symbols meant.

  “What about those Hebrew letters, Aunt Tatiana? If they’re on the painting, they must be important.”

  Her aunt made a tsking sound. “I don’t know, dear. I’m afraid that Henrietta only mentions them in passing as a way of identifying the Major Anemoi when they take Human form. I would assume that their presence on the Pentacle Pentimento indicates that they are also a means of destroying the Anemoi inhabiting the body, but I couldn’t tell you how.”

  Her eyes twinkled at the frustration on Donata’s face.

  “I’m sorry, but it looks like you will have to do some research of your own,” Tatiana said.

  Donata thought she detected an element of glee in her aunt’s voice. As a teacher, she’d been famous for giving more homework than anyone else at Witch School. Apparently, some things never changed.

  Donata rolled her eyes in response. “Fine. I’ll go look up golems in the library. That should be fun. But in the meanwhile, there is still one question you haven’t answered.”

  Tatiana perked up. “Yes, dear? And what would that be?”

  “Why would Anton—the Major Anemoi, that is—need a golem anyway? Why take physical form when you can float around being non-corporeal and invisible?”

  Her aunt pursed her thin lips. “I would have thought that much was obvious. The Anemoi needed a body because that was the only way he could mate with a Witch. In this case, you.”

  Donata opened her mouth to protest and the substance in the cauldron exploded, peppering them both with purple goo.

  This was really not her day.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  After a shower in her great-aunt’s antique claw-foot tub with the flowered curtain hung around it, Donata wrapped her damp body in Tatiana’s spare robe and stomped out to the living room to get the truth out of her favorite relative. She was determined to find out what Anton Eastman had been up to, even if she had to try making that stupid potion all over again.

  Looking down at the purple blotches on her hand—which her aunt had assured her would fade within a few hours—she definitely hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  Tatiana hid a smirk behind long thin fingers when Donata plopped down on the couch opposite her.

  “I thought you might need a little pick-me-up, dear,” she said, offering her niece a glass of sherry and trying not to laugh. “I must say, the lavender freckles are quite becoming. Perhaps you’ll start a new trend.”

  Donata hated sherry, but she wasn’t in the mood to be picky. “I wouldn’t talk if I were you, Aunt Tatiana. Wait until my mother gets a look at your hair.” They both had purple highlights now, but they were much more obvious in Tatiana’s white mane.

  “I rather like it,” her aunt said, patting her head complacently. “I think it makes me look quite dashing.”

  Donata rolled her eyes. “It makes you look like you have a niece who can’t mix potions.” She took a swig of her sherry and made a face at the teeth-aching sweetness. “Now are you going to tell me why you think a member of a long-lost, all-powerful race was trying to get me knocked up, or do I have to go back to the basement and try that truth potion again?”

  Tatiana waved her hands in surrender.

  “Anything but that. It is going to take me days to get that mess out of my best cauldron as it is.”

  Donata just scowled.

  “It is all written down in Henrietta’s journal,” her aunt said. “It’s rather a fascinating story, in fact. Apparently, the Major Anemoi are slowly becoming extinct.”

  “How is that possible? They’re gods.”

  Tatiana sniffed. “Godlike, dear. It is hardly the same thing. They are just another Paranormal race, no matter what primitive cultures might have thought of them. And they still have to reproduce in order to propagate the species.”

  The thought boggled Donata’s mind. “How do godlike, non-corporeal creatures mate, Aunt Tatiana?” She got the mental image of two misty clouds bumping up against each other in the sky and then having a cigarette, and shook her head to clear it.

  “How would I know?” her maiden aunt said. “Do I look like an expert on the mating habits of any species? All I can tell you is that, for whatever reason, the Major Anemoi were having fewer and fewer children. And apparently some of them got together and came up with the bright idea t
hat mating with Witches might solve the problem. Since Witches are very close to nature, and the Anemoi are nature beings, it wasn’t as great a stretch as it seems.”

  She looked at Donata and rolled her eyes. “Close your mouth, dear. You look like a guppy. Now where was I?” She took a sip of her own sherry and made an appreciative noise. “Oh, yes, the great experiment.”

  “What was so great about it?” Donata asked. “Did it work?”

  “No. In fact, it was a dreadful failure. None of the babies conceived by Witch women who mated with Major Anemoi lived long enough to draw breath. Most of the women miscarried, and the few that survived to carry a child to term gave birth to stillborn babies.”

  A knot formed in Donata’s stomach. “The few that survived?”

  Tatiana’s face fell into a pattern of wrinkles that spoke of sorrow long unshared. “Many of the women died during the attempts to create an Anemoi-Witch hybrid. Your great-great-great-grandmother thought that the strain of carrying such a powerful fetus was too much for their bodies to handle. Remember that this was before the time of modern medicine. Many women died in childbirth even without the unusual challenges such a pregnancy brought with it.”

  Donata blanched at the thought that she could have been one of these women. “Then why would the Major Anemoi—Anton—want to try again? What would be the point if the experiment was never successful?”

  “Ah, but it was,” Tatiana said gravely. “Just once. But it happened right around the time of the signing of the Compact, and the Anemoi never knew that the pregnancy had resulted in a living child. One can only assume they somehow found out recently that their final attempt had been a success after all.”

  “So what happened?” Donata asked. “The Compact was signed and the Witch who was involved just forgot that a Major Anemoi had gotten her pregnant?” Man, that gave a whole new meaning to “not knowing who the father was.”