Veiled Menace

by Deborah Blake

  The Chief huffed through his shaggy mustache. “I thought so initially. But now there’s this.” He plopped down another stack of files, all with bright green tags sticking out of them. That pile was larger than the other two put together.

  Donata raised an eyebrow in question.

  If anything, the Chief’s expression got grimmer. “These are the files for the last three weeks.” He tapped the top file with one stubby finger. “These include the suicide you thought was connected to a Fae, that mess in the alley, and two others you’ve dealt with just this week.”

  Donata felt the muscles in her neck tense. “You’re right. That is a problem.”

  He shook his head. “The increase in these cases isn’t the problem. Well, it’s a goddamn crisis, but not the one I called you in here to talk about.”

  The roiling sensation already in her stomach turned into a gnawing pain. Somehow she knew this was going to be bad. Worse bad than the bad she was already dealing with.

  The Chief leaned across the desk toward her. “The other cops are starting to notice,” he said, tapping the folders again. “There is just too much crazy stuff going on for them not to. And there’s beginning to be talk.”

  Donata’s mouth went dry. “What kind of talk?”

  “The kind where they’re looking for someone to blame,” he answered, concern coloring his voice. “And because the only Paranormal race they know about is Witches, that’s where they’re looking to place it.” He pushed back in his chair, making it creak under the strain. “If something doesn’t break soon, I think we may have an all-out Witch hunt on our hands.”

  Chapter Forty

  “Oh, that’s just grand,” Donata said. She thought back to the cold shoulder she’d gotten on the way into the building earlier, and a few other strange interactions with other officers that she’d been too preoccupied to pay much attention to. “So they’re starting to blame Witches for all the crimes that Paranormals are committing? That sucks.”

  The Chief gave her a strange look. “You’re not hearing me, Santori. It isn’t just the odd crimes they’re pinning on Witches. Or even the crimes that aren’t that much out of the ordinary. I’m talking about things like the bizarre weather we’ve been having, or Lieutenant Clark’s car not starting this morning.” He stared at her meaningfully as he waited for the scope of his words to sink in.

  Donata put her head in her hands, figuring that was slightly more dignified than banging her forehead repeatedly on her boss’s desk.

  “Argh,” she said through her fingers. “It’s dry cow udder syndrome all over again.”

  “Dry cow what?” The Chief clearly thought she’d lost her mind.

  “Dry cow udder syndrome,” she repeated, depressed beyond measure. She made herself pick up her head and look him in the eye. “Back in the days before the Inquisition drove us all underground, Witches lived openly among Humans. And every once in a while there would be a run of bad luck in a village: some farmer would break his leg, then his neighbor’s cow would stop giving milk, and the weather turned bad enough to threaten the crops. Sooner or later, somebody would point to the Witch in the neighborhood and say, ‘I saw her looking funny at my cow, now the cow’s udders are dry. Let’s burn the Witch, and everything will be better again.’”

  “Ah,” the Chief said, understanding. “Dry cow udder syndrome.”

  “Exactly.” Donata shook her head. “It was one of the reasons Witches agreed to downplay their powers and hide themselves away. Even before the Catholic Church made life impossible, our coexistence with the Human world was always tenuous.” She sighed. “I can’t believe we’re back to that again. Is it only within the precinct?”

  He put the stacks of files where they’d been before. “I’m not really sure, Santori. I’ve only just begun to notice the rumblings in the ranks in the last few days. But today, three different officers from three different departments went out of their way to come see me and ask if I was sure you could be trusted. They varied in subtlety, and only one of them put it that directly, but that’s what they were asking. I thought you needed to be aware of the situation.”

  Donata seriously reconsidered the head-desk option. It was that or crying, and she’d be damned if she’d burst into tears in front of one of the few people she respected enough to care what he thought of her.

  “So what did you tell them?” she asked, dreading the answer. On her lap, her hands curled into helpless fists.

  The Chief gave her another one of his patented “what the hell is wrong with you?” looks. “I told them to get their heads out of their butts, of course. What did you think, Santori?”

  He slammed one large hand down in front of him. “I informed them in no uncertain terms that I would trust you with my life—that in fact I had trusted you with my granddaughter’s life, and you’d come through for me with flying colors. And I told them that the next jackass who walked into my office spouting this kind of crap was going to get my size thirteen boot print on the bottom of his department issue pants.”

  Donata choked back a laugh. “Thanks, sir. I appreciate you standing up for me.”

  Chief O’Malley let a brief smile slide across his craggy face. “Hey, I owe you. And I always pay my debts. Besides, it’s true, and you know it.” His brow furrowed as he leaned closer. “But you also know that this kind of thing doesn’t stop just because the boss says so. It’s only going to get worse.”

  She gnawed on her lip, not really wanting the answer to her next question.

  “What do you want me to do, Chief? Do you want me to take a leave of absence until things die down a little?” She swallowed hard, knowing she had to make the offer for his sake, if not for hers. “Resign?”

  “Don’t be an ass, Santori,” he said, sitting back in his chair. “What good would that do me?”

  Donata let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

  “No,” he continued, seemingly unaware of her relief. “I want you to set aside as many of your Witness Retrieval cases as can wait and put the bulk of your time and attention to getting to the root of this Paranormal crime wave. The only way we’re going to keep this from spiraling even further out of control is to get to the source of the problem.”

  “Actually, Chief, I’ve already been working on that,” Donata said. “I think I might have some leads, but I’m not sure where they’re going yet.”

  “Excellent,” he said. “Let me know what you come up with.” He opened a folder, the interview clearly over.

  “Um, Chief?” she said hesitantly as she stood up to leave.

  “What, Santori?” The “We’re done here, why are you still bothering me?” was unspoken.

  “Aren’t the other officers going to be annoyed with me if I don’t get to their cases in a reasonable amount of time?” She didn’t want anyone more pissed off at her than they already were. It was bad enough being the spooky Witch-cop who talked to the dead. She didn’t want to be the spooky Witch-cop who talked to the dead that nobody liked anymore.

  The Chief answered without looking up. “Just tell them I’ve got you working on a special case for me. They can come to me if they have a problem with that.”

  Oh, yeah. That was going to make her popular, all right.

  “Okay.” She started to open the door, only to come to a temporary halt when he cleared his throat.

  “Santori?”

  “Yes, Chief?”

  “Watch your back. This could get ugly.”

  Donata thought about the Major Anemoi, Peter’s dead father, and the rabble-rouser she’d left in the Council building’s basement in the tender care of Clement Moore.

  “It’s already ugly, Chief,” she said with grim certainty. “I’m just afraid it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

  * * *

  The huge, white marble mausoleum at the rear of Raphael
’s extensive estate was chilly and damp. And mostly empty.

  A small group had walked the long gravel path from the house through howling winds and lashing rain to say their final good-byes. Most of those gathered around the large raised stone coffin seemed to be other Dragons or Paranormals; more in the nature of business colleagues of long standing than friends. Raphael’s student, the beautiful Natalie, was there with a man who was clearly her father. Donata hadn’t seen them exchange a word since they’d arrived. And after several tries at talking to Peter, Natalie had given up, resorting eventually to a silent pout. On her, it looked good. Damn it.

  Peter’s mother, Lily, and Doc Havens were the only Humans present. Lily stood on one side of Peter, holding on to his hand with a white-knuckled grip. Dainty and wan in a pale pink pantsuit, only her red, swollen eyes bore witness to the grief she felt at the death of her long-ago lover.

  Donata had taken the spot at Peter’s other side. He might be angry at her, but she was still his friend. Next to her, Doc was nearly sedate in a tailored black suit jacket, short black skirt, and her ever-present stilettos. Only the lace at the edges of the plunging neckline hinted at her true personality. She’d come in part to be supportive of Donata, but she also felt sorry for Peter. Donata was simply grateful to have her there.

  The mausoleum matched the house; starkly elegant and breathtakingly beautiful, and yet impersonal and cold. It seemed to Donata like a strange place to choose to spend eternity, but since Raphael had designed it himself, she could only assume it was what he had wanted. Alone among the Paranormal races, Dragons believed in no god, and had no anticipation of an afterlife. For his sake, she hoped they were wrong.

  There was no minister or high priest to lead a ceremony, but after the last person joined the others in a circle around the coffin, Peter stepped forward to speak. He clutched a pure white rose, like the one each person had taken from a vase by the door as they’d entered.

  His face was strained but calm as he placed the flower on his father’s stone sarcophagus.

  “Most of you have known Raphael for much longer than I have,” he said in a low voice. He cleared his throat and continued on a little more strongly. “I am grateful beyond measure that I got the chance to be with him for the time we had and I thank him for showing me my heritage. I carry his blood within me and hope to make him proud as I move forward with my life.” He paused, then added brokenly. “I sincerely wish he was here to share it with me.”

  Donata blinked back sudden hot tears, feeling a jagged pain in her heart. It all seemed so unfair. The marble walls closed in on her, their weight echoing her heavy burden of guilt. If only she had listened to Raphael. They might not have been standing in his crypt if she had. She couldn’t even look at Peter. His loss was all her fault. No matter what he said about not holding it against her, she suspected it was at the heart of his sudden anger the last time she’d seen him. How could she expect him to forgive her, when she couldn’t forgive herself?

  As Peter stepped back from the coffin, Lily moved up to take his place. With tenderness, she laid her rose down next to the one already there. Silent tears ran down her delicate face, but when she spoke, her voice rang like a bell in the dimly lit tomb.

  “Many years ago, I loved Raphael with a passion I have never felt before or since.” She patted the lid softly, as though she could touch the man inside. “He loved me too, to the extent that he was capable of such a thing. And he gave me the gift of a son. For this, I will always treasure him.” She stepped back again, leaning into Peter’s embrace.

  Natalie glided forward, her movements like a dance. “Raphael was a good teacher. He helped me to know my place in the world.” Her flower drifted down to lie with the other two.

  The man next to her stepped forward, his face a shadow under a broad-brimmed hat he hadn’t bothered to remove.

  “Raphael was one of the best of us. He gathered many treasures over the course of his long life, and held on to them well. And he fathered a child to carry on his line. His death is a loss to the Dragon race.” Another rose joined the others.

  Donata winced. She knew full-blooded Dragons weren’t the most sentimental of creatures, but she really hoped that the rest of the mourners expressed more personal and heartfelt feelings than that.

  They didn’t.

  By the time the circle came around to Doc, five more roses had joined their mates on the top of the sarcophagus, and not one person had said anything meaningful about Raphael the person. They’d commended his business acumen and praised his strength, but no one said they’d miss him. It depressed Donata down to the toes of her sensible black flats.

  Doc hadn’t known Raphael, so she just walked forward, put her flower down, and moved back.

  It was Donata’s turn.

  She placed her rose on the sarcophagus with the others and took a deep breath.

  “I didn’t know Raphael well; but I do know this—he loved his son.” She turned and smiled briefly at Peter before swinging back to face the coffin. “And he gave his all to find out the truth. Today, I vow that I will take up his mission. I will not rest until I have revealed the secrets he died to uncover and find those who killed him. In the name of Hecate, I so swear.”

  There was a sharp intake of air from where Doc stood behind her, but Donata’s attention was captured by the image of Raphael that suddenly appeared above the stone casket in which his body lay. By the lack of excitement around her, Donata could tell she was the only one who could see the Dragon’s spirit or hear him speak.

  “It is a good vow, Witch,” he said, expression solemn. “I will hold you to it.”

  She nodded.

  “Tell him I am proud of him. Tell him I love him. And that I was so pleased to find out he existed. He was my greatest treasure. You will tell him?”

  Again, she nodded, tears in her eyes.

  “I must ask one other thing of you,” the spirit said, unwavering in the cool air of the tomb. “Watch over my son, now that I can no longer do so.” The dead Dragon captured her with his dark gaze. “Swear to me that you will keep him safe.”

  Donata lay one hand on the coffin next to the flower she had put there. “To the best of my ability, I swear I will do so.” She stepped back, ignoring the curious or confused looks of those around her.

  Peter cast a questioning gaze in her direction, but went on with the rest of the ceremony, which involved lighting an eternal flame in a holder toward the back of the mausoleum; magic would keep it burning for as long as the marble walls still stood.

  Eventually all the mourners trooped back through the drizzle in the fading light of dusk, gathering at the house for the traditional post-funeral feast. Peter spent most of the time sitting on the leather sofa next to his mother, speaking briefly and politely to each of his father’s business acquaintances and pointedly ignoring the lovely Natalie, to Donata’s ill-suppressed delight.

  After a socially acceptable amount of time had passed, they all left; Natalie and her father first, followed by the others. Lily Casaventi was the last to go, embracing her son warmly and murmuring in his ear. She came through the kitchen on her way out; Doc and Donata had put the extra food away in the refrigerator and were finishing up the dishes. Donata had popped into the living room to collect the last glasses, but retreated to the kitchen to give Peter and his mother a moment together.

  Lily settled the pair of wineglasses on the countertop with a clink, favoring both women with her sweet smile.

  “I think this is the end of it,” she said. “Who would have thought that so few people could have made such a big mess?”

  Donata smiled back; she hadn’t spent much time with Lily after they’d rescued her from the Cabal last spring, but she’d felt an instant affection for Peter’s mother. Lily was beautiful and genuinely kind; it was easy to see why Raphael had fallen for her, even though she was married to another man at the time
. The fact that she was a gifted artist was only the cherry on the top of the cake. Dragons were attracted to creativity and originality, since they had none of their own.

  “Are you leaving?” Donata asked.

  Lily’s pretty face creased with sadness and a hint of shame. “I told my husband I was going out with a couple of my girlfriends. I couldn’t very well tell him I was going to the funeral for my long-lost lover and Peter’s real father, after all.” She sighed, having made her peace with the situation long ago. “I have to get back or he’ll start to worry. But I wondered if you would stay and keep Peter company?”

  Donata flinched at Lily’s hopeful glance. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m afraid he’s not too happy with me at the moment.”

  Lily gave a tinkling laugh. “My dear Donata, Dragons have the most dreadful tempers. Peter isn’t nearly as bad as his father was, I assure you, but I know that he can still be quite snippy at times.” She put her coat on and pulled out her car keys. “I do wish you would stay. He shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

  After Lily left, trailing the faint aroma of jasmine behind her, Doc tossed her dishrag down on the counter with an air of finality.

  “I’m going too,” she said, giving Donata a one-armed squeeze. “I’ve got a hot date with a cold corpse.” Her eager expression made Donata a little queasy.

  “Aw, come on,” Donata pleaded. “Why don’t you hang out for a little while longer? Maybe we can all watch a movie.”

  Doc rolled her eyes. “Somehow I don’t think Peter is in the mood for a showing of Casablanca. Just go be with him. You’ll do fine.” She blew an air kiss in Donata’s general direction and wandered out into the living room to say good-bye to their host.

  A few minutes later, Donata gathered her courage and followed.

  Peter stood with his back to her, gazing out the large picture window at the bleak rain-swept lawn outside. The wind howled in mournful counterpoint to the water’s rhythmic beat upon the glass panes; it was a proper setting for such a sad day.