Veiled Magic (16 page)

Peter gave her a sympathetic look. “That's too bad. But I don't see how this Magnus can help us.”

“He knows a lot of people, including many of the Humans who know about and accept Paranormals. It just occurred to me that he might know someone who fits our parameters.” She shrugged. “It's worth a try, anyway. It isn't as though we have a lot of other options.”

He frowned. “I don't know; I'm not happy about entrusting this big a secret to someone who hangs out with the discontented fringes of two cultures. Are you sure it's safe?” His eyes darkened with remembered pain, obviously thinking of Antonio.

Donata started to reach out, but stopped herself when he moved away. It was clear he didn't want either her pity or her
compassion.

“Magnus has been helping me with odds and ends of things for work for a long time,” she said stiffly. “Mostly when something came up during a case that couldn't be handled through normal police channels. He can keep a secret.”

Peter raised one shoulder and dropped it. “Well, I suppose it's your secret, really. It's up to you.”

Damn right it was—nice of him to remember that. Donata flipped open her cell phone and checked to make sure she had a signal. She punched in the numbers from memory.

“Hey,” she said when Magnus picked up. “It's me.”

Peter scowled when something Magnus said on the other end made her laugh, and she stuck out her tongue across the plane aisle in response.

“Look, Magnus, I could use your help on something. Can you meet me and a friend tonight? At the usual place?” She glanced at her watch and tried to calculate time changes in her head. “It might be late—ten o'clock okay? Great. See you then.”

She closed the phone slowly, a pensive look on her face.

“So, I take it we're all set to meet your pal Magnus?” Peter asked. He didn't look thrilled by the prospect.

“Yup,” she answered. “He'll meet us at Gordo's—do you know it? It isn't that far from where you live.”

Peter nodded. “Small? Dark? Good Hungarian food?”

“That's the one.” She laughed. “At least you'll get to eat.” That perked him up.

He went back to translating the book, and Donata thumbed through a magazine she'd picked up at the airport shop, along with Ricky's promised treat. A burst of turbulence rocked the plane, but she hardly noticed. If anything, it seemed fitting, considering the turbulence that had hit her life lately.

A wry smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Now, on top of everything else, she would be having dinner with a half-Dragon forger and a disgraced Shapechanger. Both of them sexier than all get-out. Her life might not be as rock-steady as it used to be, but it was sure as hell more interesting.

Gordo's was dimly lit, mostly by candles and hanging lamps adorned with red-tasseled shades. Between the many tiny tables crowded close together and the fabric-draped walls, you had the feeling of being in a small gypsy caravan. With about fifty of your closest friends.

But the smells were heavenly, a mixture of paprika and sautéed onions, and various types of roasting meat. Donata cheered up as soon as they walked in the door. She
loved
Gordo's. Of course, she hadn't gotten back here much since she and Magnus had split, since it had been his hangout first. But she was happy for an excuse to return, no matter what the circumstances.

Across the room, Magnus waved at them from his favorite corner table. Huge and blond, he looked like a modern-day Viking. His hair was about shoulder length and pulled back with a leather thong, and his broad shoulders strained at his blue denim work shirt.

His expansive smile turned to into a frown when he saw Peter accompanying her, but he greeted her with his usual bone-cracking hug anyway. Donata winced as he jostled a couple of the sore spots left over from the fight in Rome.

“Hey, babe,” Magnus said, grinning at her gleefully, “nice to see you.” He eyed Peter. “Who's your friend?” As he spoke, he pulled a chair out for Donata to sit in and waved a waiter over.

“Magnus Torvald, meet Peter Casaventi. Peter is assisting me with a, um . . . case I'm working on.” Donata sat down between the two men. “We'd really appreciate your help on this one. It's important. Really important.”

The two men shook hands. They both clasped the other's hand hard enough to make their knuckles turn white, and Donata could hear their bones creak from the strain. She rolled her eyes.
Men.

Magnus raised his eyebrows. “Sounds serious. You know I'll help if I can.” He looked at her closely. “Have you been in a fight, 'Nata?”

“You know I hate that nickname,” Donata said automatically. She'd tried calling him “Mag” for a while in retribution, but unfortunately, he'd kind of enjoyed it. “And you should see the other guy.”

Peter chuckled. “Seriously. She kicked ass. If that one guy hadn't pulled a gun, I think she could have taken them all.” He gave a small, modest smile. “With a little help from me, of course.”

Magnus glared at him. “You were there? If you were so damn helpful, then why does she have that big bruise on her cheek?”

Damn.
She'd really hoped her makeup had covered that up. “Actually—” she started to say.

“Well, there were
six
of them and only two of us, for starters,” Peter snapped back. “And I'd already taken care of two of them when Donata ran into trouble.”

“I wouldn't call having someone pull a gun on her ‘running into trouble,'” Magnus said, a little louder than before.
“You could have gotten her killed!”

“Well, actually—” Donata tried again.

Peter leaned over the table, his face close to the other man's. “On the contrary,” he said. “I saved her life. Not that anyone is counting.”

Donata dug her fingernails into her palms. A girl could die from testosterone poisoning just from breathing the damned air at this table.

“Maybe if you hadn't dragged her into trouble in the first place—”

Donata interrupted Magnus's rant by gesturing at the waiter standing silently by with his mouth hanging open. She turned to him and said, “Three orders of goulash, please, no tomatoes. And three beers. Anything in a bottle. Thank you.”

She waited until the waiter left, then turned to Magnus. In a low, furious voice, she said, “First of all, let's not air our dirty laundry in front of the waitstaff, if you don't mind. When I said important, I meant important like, ‘really secret, really dangerous' kind of important.”

Magnus started to speak, and she held up her right hand. “Second,
I
dragged
him
into trouble, not the other way around. And he did save my life—took a bullet that had my name on it, to be specific.”

Peter looked smug and began to say something that might just have been “I told you so,” but Donata held up her left hand and glared at them both.

“Third, there is a lot riding on this, and we don't have time for your stupid alpha-male posturing.” She put her hands down, but gave them equal shares of her best evil-eye look. “I freaking mean it. I realize that Ulfhednar and Dragons traditionally don't get along, but I need you both to solve this damn thing, and there is too much at stake for you to screw it up with a lot of chest beating and mine-is-bigger-than-yours-manship. So cut it the hell out.”

The waiter banged three beers down on the table and beat a hasty retreat. For a moment, silence reigned.

Then Magnus spoke to Peter. “She's pretty cute when she's riled, isn't she?”

Peter shrugged and toasted his rival with his drink. “Sure. If you like that kind of thing.”

Donata sighed and debated pouring their beers over their heads. But then the poor waiter would have to clean it up, and that hardly seemed fair. So she settled for kicking them both under the table. One at a time. Hard.

“Ow.”

“What he said. Ow.”

“Fine,” Donata said. “Are you done now?”

Magnus broke into laughter. “I have missed you, babe.” He looked across the table at Peter. “A Dragon, huh?”

“Half, apparently,” Peter said glumly. “I just found out, though, so don't expect me to know the rules.”

“Ah, family issues?” Magnus lifted his beer bottle in a mocking salute. “I'll drink to that.” Then a serious look settled on his face.

“So what's this all about, Donata? Your job can get you involved in some pretty strange shit, but as far as I know, none
of it has ever gotten you shot at before.” He pulled his chair a little closer to the table and spoke in a softer voice. “What in the name of all that's holy have you gotten yourself into?”

Donata and Peter exchanged glances.

“Funny you should put it that way, Magnus,” Donata said. “Since ‘holy' is why we came to you.”

Magnus looked appalled. “I beg your pardon?”

She snickered. “Not you, you doofus. Nobody who has ever met you would mistake you for a holy man, I assure you.”

Even Peter snorted at that one, then picked his head up in amazement as the waiter put three heaping platters of heavenly-smelling food down in front of them. “Oh, my god. Now that's divine. I don't think I've ever smelled anything this good in my entire life.” He stuck his fork in and started eating as if he hadn't just had a huge meal two hours before.

Magnus chuckled. “Gordo's goulash has another convert.” He dived into his own plate, talking with his mouth full in his eagerness to share his enthusiasm for the food. Donata sighed to herself and ate a little more slowly, but with equal relish. She'd almost missed Gordo's food more than she'd missed Magnus.

“Gordo makes two different kinds of goulash: the true, traditional Hungarian kind, and a version with tomatoes and peppers, for Americans who don't understand the difference.” He cast an affectionate look at Donata. “Of course, Donata hates tomatoes, so she'd order the traditional version even if it wasn't better.” He grinned at her. “Your tomato aversion still driving your Italian mother crazy, 'Nata?”

Peter scowled at this display of intimacy. “Look, we've been on a plane all day. And I haven't slept since Monday.” He paused. “Or was it Sunday?” He pointed at Donata. “Anyway, why don't you bring your Shapeshifter friend here up to speed so we can finish our food and get back to the animals. And see if Ricky has left anything standing in my apartment.”

Magnus glowered back. “On a plane all day? Animals, plural? I thought Donata just had a cat. And who the hell is Ricky?”

Donata raised her eyes to the ceiling and asked the goddess for patience. Of course, her matron goddess was Hecate, who was sometimes depicted wearing a necklace of testicles around her neck, so on second thought, maybe she wasn't the right one to be calling on under the current circumstances. Or maybe she was.

“Why do you have that evil grin, Donata?” Magnus asked. He knew her well enough to know when to get nervous.

Ha!
She snickered to herself. “Never mind. Let me bring you up to speed. As Peter said, it's been a long few days, and we need to get back to his apartment and make sure nothing else has gone wrong while we've been gone.”

Magnus stared at them. “Are you two living together?”

She shook her head. “It's just temporary, until I can get the Cabal off of my butt.”

His eyes widened. “Did you say the Cabal?”

Donata nodded. “It's a long story. Eat your goulash, and I'll fill you in.”

*  *  *

An hour and a half later, they'd finished eating, had a few more beers, and Magnus had been brought up to speed on the entire story. Donata was starting to long for her own bed in a way she'd never experienced before. Too bad she couldn't go back to her apartment until this mess was cleared up.
Damn it.

Magnus had listened to the entire saga with open eyes and a closed mouth, not asking any questions or volunteering any information. Donata kept expecting him to express some form of doubt or disbelief, but other than the occasional grunt of admiration or agreement, he'd been completely silent.

Finally, Donata got to the part where they told Magnus why they'd come to him. He looked thoughtful, toying with his fork.

“Well?” Donata demanded. “Don't you have anything to say after all that?”

Magnus gave a small frown, then shrugged. “I'd say you're in way over your head, for one thing.”

“Well, shit, Magnus, I could have told you that,” she said. “But what about finding us someone who can help take the curse off the—” She looked over her shoulder. They'd been talking in low voices, and the ambient noise of the crowded room should have made their conversation impossible to make out, but plenty of Paranormals frequented Gordo's, so she didn't want to take the chance of referring to the painting by name. They'd done that once already during the explanation process, and that was more than enough. “The thing. You know.”

The Shapechanger scratched his blond stubble. He was normally clean-shaven, but he'd apparently dropped everything when she'd called and so looked a bit rougher around the edges than he usually did.

“I'll look into it. I think I might know someone. But I have to check a couple of things.” He gave Donata a fierce look. “In the meantime, I think you should come home with me. You're not safe as long as everyone is after the you-know-what.”

“Hey,” Peter said indignantly. “She'll be perfectly safe at my condo. The Cabal has no idea where it is.”

“But the Council might find you there,” Magnus rebutted. “Besides, I have more combat training than you do. You're a damned painter, for Odin's sake. She'll be safer with me.”

Peter started to stand up, his chair creaking ominously. “Who the hell do you think you are, you arrogant furball—”

Donata kicked them both again, grateful for the steel toes she'd had built into her motorcycle boots. They subsided, reluctantly, clutching their shins.

She turned to Magnus. “Look, I appreciate the offer, I really do. But I'd rather have you focused on finding our curse-remover than worrying about watching over me. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And Peter's right, his apartment is probably the safest place for us now.” She sighed with exhaustion. “Besides, I want to see my cat.”

Magnus scowled. “Okay, if you say so. But I'm going to worry anyway. Keep your head down, and I'll find someone to help as fast as I can.” He turned a blue-eyed, steely gaze on Peter. “And you, you'd better keep her safe, Casaventi. Or all the Dragon skin in the world won't keep me from tearing you apart with my bare hands.”

Peter looked back with calm disdain. “You just find our guy so we can put an end to this. Then we can all just go back to our normal lives.”

Donata choked back a laugh. Things had gotten so odd, she wasn't sure she'd recognize a normal life if it came up and bit her on the butt. Besides, after all the excitement of the last few days, she was no longer convinced she could just go back to sitting in the basement talking to dead people. Not that anyone but her would consider that normal.

She got up and gave Magnus a big hug. “I really appreciate you helping me out with this, Magnus. You know if there's anything I can ever do for you, all you have to do is ask.”

For a minute, sadness crept into his ocean-colored eyes. Then he forced a smile back onto his face. “You know me, Donata; I've got everything I need. At least, everything that is possible for me to have. I'm good.”

“Ha. As if.” She smiled back sympathetically. “Your mom still calling you behind your father's back?”

His denim-clad shoulders shifted. “Yup. Once every couple of months, whenever she can get away from Dad, the aunts, the cousins, and everyone else, and find one of the few remaining pay phones.” Bitterness etched deep grooves in his otherwise youthful face. “I don't know what good she thinks it is going to do. I can't go back. But as painful as it is, I still like to hear the sound of her voice, so I don't have the heart to tell her not to call anymore.”

Even Peter winced at this. “Man, and I thought my family issues were bad.”

Magnus clapped him on the back. “Tell you what, Dragon dude; when this is all over, we can sit down and compare stories.” He grabbed the bill off the table as the waiter plopped it down. “I've got this. You just keep our girl safe until I can come up with an answer.”

As Peter and Donata headed out of the restaurant, Donata glanced back at Magnus. She caught a glimpse of something naked and hungry on his face. Then he turned away and was gone.