Veiled Magic (21 page)

Peter picked up a digital camera that had been lying on the table next to a pair of tweezers and a set of miniscule brushes.

“See for yourself,” he said, clicking it on and handing it to her. “We'll be able to get a better view once I download it to the computer, though.”

“Hmmm,” Donata said, gazing through the viewfinder. “It doesn't look like there's much more there.” She handed the camera back to him and bent back over the painting, moving the magnifier an inch to the left.

“I'm sorry,” Peter said, regret coloring his voice. “I guess it wasn't any help after all.”

Donata tore herself away from the picture, blinking a little. “Um, no, actually it's enough to give us a hint—at least I think it is.” Damn, she really needed to get some sleep. She was starting to sound even less coherent than usual.

Peter gave her a puzzled look. “It is?”

She reminded herself that he'd been raised as a Human, not a Witch, and therefore didn't always have the same frame of reference to fall back on when dealing with the Paranormal world.

“Well, I could be wrong, of course.” She smiled up at him. “I'm not exactly at my brilliant best at the moment. But look here.” She picked up the pencil again and used it to indicate the red area. “If that's Fire”—she moved the pencil over a fraction—“and that's Water”—she tilted the pencil a bit to the left—“and the feather represents Air, then we have three of the four symbols for the elements.” Standing up straight again, she placed the pencil gently down on the table. “How much do you want to bet that somewhere under that black splotchy bit, there's a symbol to represent Earth as well?”

Enlightenment dawned on Peter's face. “I see,” he said with enthusiasm. “So they're the symbols for Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. Of course!” He peered at the painting for a minute, and then his face fell. “But what does that tell us? Is there some Paranormal creature that is particularly associated with the four elements?”

Donata scratched her nose, prodding her tired brain to something that resembled thought. “Huh. Well, Witches are tied to the elements. But they're not exactly lost, are they? And there's the Minor Anemoi, but I don't see what they could have to do with this. They're definitely not a major race. More like a subset with a bunch of smaller races—you know: Dryads, Water Sprites, Kelpies, and the like.”

“Oh.” Peter sounded disappointed. He leaned over and turned off the spotlight, since he clearly wasn't going to be able to do any more work on the painting for the moment.

He picked up the camera and they started walking back toward the living room. Donata yawned again, looking forward to a couple of hours on Peter's comfortable sofa.

“Hey,” Peter said, suddenly struck by a question. “Donata, why do they call them the ‘Minor' Anemoi?”

“Huh?” Donata was too tired to grasp what he was getting at.

“I was just wondering,” he said, “why they call them ‘minor'—I mean, compared to what?”

Donata opened her mouth to answer, when Ricky suddenly appeared at their feet.

“We got company,” he said in his rough voice.

Peter and Donata shared an alarmed glance and looked in the direction of the front door.

“Cabal?” Peter asked the Kobold.

The small man shook his knobby head. “I don't think so. One guy, well dressed, looks too relaxed to be evil.” He snorted in disgust. “He's just standing there, knocking politely. Maybe he's an Avon lady.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Somehow I doubt it.”

“Who else knows you live here?” Donata asked, suddenly wide awake.

“Other than you, Magnus, and my mother?” Peter said. “Not a soul.”

“Crap,” she said, feeling the pit of her stomach drop. “Crap on toast with a side of phooey.”

*  *  *

Peter gave Donata a little shove in the direction of his bedroom.

“You'd better go get my mother up in case we have to make a run for it,” he said. “I'll see who's at the door.”

“I'll go with ya,” Ricky said, rolling up his sleeves over surprisingly muscular arms. “Just in case ya need a hand.” He aimed a fierce look at the front entrance, and Donata suppressed a grin. She'd bet on the little guy any day.

She headed toward the back of the apartment and roused a sleeping Lily Casaventi into anxious awareness.

“It's probably nothing,” Donata said as they walked back into the living room, “but there was someone at the door and we weren't sure if he was friend or foe, and he somehow made it through the downstairs entrance without setting off the alarms—”

She ground to a halt in the doorway as she was greeted by the sight of Peter conversing with an elegant silver-haired man who bore a startling resemblance to him.

“Friend, surely, my dear,” the man said smoothly, executing a little half bow. “Lily. It has been a long time. You are just as lovely as ever.”

Donata glanced at her companion, who turned a becoming pink and clutched at Donata's arm as if it were a life raft in a tumultuous sea.

“Raphael,” Peter's mother said, lifting one palm in a vain attempt to cover her multicolored eye. “You came.”

Peter spun around to confront his mother. “
You
called him? Why?”

Lily fluttered her hands, suddenly nervous despite her relatively calm demeanor during the earlier crisis. “Sweetheart, there are things you don't know. Things I could never figure out how to tell you . . .” She indicated Raphael. “After what happened at the warehouse, I thought you needed . . . well, I thought someone should explain . . .”

Raphael took pity on her and interrupted. “Your mother thought you needed to know that your parentage was not exactly as you had always assumed. That you are, in fact, half Dragon.” He made another small bow, this time in Peter's direction. “Because of me, I'm afraid.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Old news. Donata told me days ago.” He gave her a halfhearted smile. “Of course, she didn't mention the whole spitting-fire bit, as it happens.”

Donata winced. “Sorry about that. Honestly, I didn't know you could do it. Most half-Dragon children can't.”

Raphael turned his patrician face toward Peter's mother, black eyes steely. “He can produce fire? You didn't tell me that.” He glowered at her. “In fact, you didn't tell me much, other than the fact that I had a son you'd never bothered to inform of my existence, and that he was in trouble. Perhaps you would be kind enough to fill in the blanks now that I am here?”

Ricky suddenly appeared in their midst, bearing a tray with a teapot almost larger than he was and a stack of cups. It was starting to become a habit.

“Why don't we all sit down and get better acquainted?” he said, obviously trying to defuse the tense atmosphere. “I have some nice strong Russian Caravan tea, just the thing for a predawn confab.” He put the tray down on the coffee table with a clatter and started pouring. The rest of the people in the room slowly moved into the seating area and sat down—Donata, Peter, and his mother on the sofa, and Raphael and Ricky on the chairs opposite. Ricky was so short, his legs swung an inch or two above the floor. But that didn't stop him from acting as “mother.”

“There's milk or lemon,” he said in a determinedly chipper voice. “Anyone?”

“Milk, if you please,” Raphael said. “I'm afraid I am still somewhat groggy from my long hibernation; a good strong cup of tea will go down rather a treat.” He spoke with a slight English accent that went well with his reserved, formal manner.

Peter accepted a cup absently, looking with bemusement from his mother to his newly discovered father.

“I don't understand what you're doing here,” he said. “How did you find me?”

Raphael gave Lily a wintery smile. “Your mother called me. I gave her a number years ago that she could use to reach me, anytime, should she have a need.” He frowned. “Of course, I would have expected her to use it to tell me she was pregnant with my child, rather than waiting until thirty-eight years later.”

Lily spoke at her shoes. “You were hibernating.” Then she pulled her head up and made herself look him in the eyes, in a show of courage that made Donata want to cheer. “Besides, you would have taken him. And he was
my
child, and I loved him.” She set her jaw defiantly. “Now he's all grown up and it's too late for that. But it isn't too late for you to teach him what he needs to know.”

Peter made a small sputtery sound, and Donata patted him on the thigh. This couldn't be easy.

Raphael scowled, his silvery brows drawing together. “That was not your decision to make. You should have informed me.”

Lily stared him down. “You told me about how Dragons regard children, how rare and treasured they are. Are you saying you wouldn't have taken him?”

A moment passed in silence. Then Raphael shook his head. “No. Of course I would have. No Dragon child should be raised by a mere Human.”

Peter choked on his tea. “Excuse me? That's my mother you're talking about. And she did a great job raising me!”

“Indeed, so it would seem,” Raphael allowed graciously, casting a glance around Peter's beautifully appointed penthouse. “You seem to have turned out rather well, all things considered.”

Donata interrupted before Peter could explode. “Look, I appreciate how awkward this is for all of you. And I realize that Raphael has had quite a shock, being awakened from hibernation to find out he has a child he didn't know about. But we're in the middle of a crisis here—maybe you should leave the recriminations and catching up for another time, when we don't have the Cabal breathing down our necks?” She took a sip of too-hot tea and burned her tongue. “Ow.”

“Ow, indeed,” Raphael said with a tiny smile. “I agree, there is plenty of time for Lily and me to discuss our . . . past interactions. In the meanwhile, perhaps one of you would be so good as to explain her somewhat less-than-coherent phone call. I believe she mentioned kidnapping and threats?”

He looked dubious, in a sophisticated and restrained way, as though he were stopping just short of accusing Lily of having “the vapors.” “Are you quite certain that the Cabal are involved? When I went into hibernation, they hadn't been heard from in years. Many in the Paranormal world believed they no longer existed.”

“I wish,” Donata muttered. “I'm sorry, sir, but the Cabal is most definitely involved. They kidnapped Lily, and we just barely got her back. And it's only a matter of time until they figure out another way to get at us.”

Between Donata, Peter, and the occasional interjection from Ricky, they managed to explain the entire situation, starting with Donata's discussion with the dead thief at the museum and ending with the daring rescue of Peter's mother. When they were done, Raphael gazed at them all with something akin to admiration.

“Goodness,” he said. “I take a little nap and the entire world goes insane.”

Peter snorted at the “little nap” but wisely refrained from comment.

“You can see why I called you,” Lily said, leaning forward earnestly. “Your son needs your help.”

“Mother!” Peter sputtered. “I've been doing just fine without him! I don't need his help now!”

Raphael shook his white head. “Perhaps not, Peter. But there are areas in which I might be useful—besides teaching you of your Dragon heritage, of which you are clearly woefully ignorant.” He held up one graceful hand to stop the protest he knew was coming. “Not your fault, I realize.”

Peter scowled. “What can you do that I can't manage without your so-called help?” He glared at Raphael and then at his mother, for good measure. Lily turned pink again, but refused to look away.

“I can take your mother to a safe house, for one thing,” Raphael rebutted, his calm untouched by Peter's uncooperative attitude. “And the rest of your family, too, if that is what you wish.” He turned to Lily. “I assume you are still married to that artist, is that right?”

Lily blushed at the mention of her husband, the man she'd deceived during the few short years she'd had her affair with Raphael. “Yes, Herman and I are still together. And Peter has two younger sisters and a brother, all of them quite accomplished artists as well.”

Raphael looked impressed, and Donata remembered how much Dragons appreciated original art, since they couldn't create it themselves.

“Indeed. Very well, then. We shall just have to gather them all and take them to a safe place until this crisis is over.” He cast a wintery glance at Donata. “I trust that will not take overly long.”

She suppressed a sigh. Great gods above; if it were up to her, it would be over already.

“I'll do my best to get things cleared up as fast as possible,” she said in an acerbic tone.

It went right over the older Dragon's head. “Very good,” he said crisply, and held out one hand to Lily. “We should be going, then, and let you get on with it.” He nodded at Peter. “Get whatever you'll need for a week or two. We should be on our way as soon as possible.”

Donata watched Peter's face turn red, then white, then red again. This should be interesting. Ricky poured her a little more tea and they both watched to see what would happen next.

“You're being a little high-handed, don't you think?” Peter said through stiff lips. “What if my entire family doesn't want to be collected and stuck into some safe house? And why would you do such a thing, anyway? They're nothing to you.”

His father shook his head. “Someday when we have more time, I will have to explain the Dragon view on families to you. For now, suffice it to say that my debt to Lily—as the mother of my child—is beyond measure. Keeping those she values safe is but a small down payment on what I owe her.” He glared at Peter's mother. “Despite the years I missed.”