Veiled Magic (22 page)

Lily winced, but didn't back down. “I appreciate that. And I appreciate your offer to keep the rest of my family safe. But I really don't want to have to explain . . . well—” She tapered off with a hand wave that spoke the rest of the sentence for her.

“Hmph.” White eyebrows met in a frown, but Raphael gave a short nod of agreement. “Very well. We will tell them you have been receiving threats from a deranged collector. Or something to that effect.” He shrugged, clearly uninterested in the petty issue of how she explained him or the current situation to her husband and other children. “Come up with whatever story you like, and I will go along with it.”

He looked pointedly at Peter. “Satisfied?”

Lily put one hand on Peter's arm. “Please, Peter. I don't want anyone else to have to go through what I did.” She looked pleadingly at him, and he melted. “It was terrifying!”

He gave her a big hug. “Of course, you must stay safe,” he said. “Go with—” He paused, not quite knowing how to refer to the man he now knew was his father, but had never met before that night. “Just go with him, and let me know that you're okay.”

His mother gazed at him through wide eyes. “But, Peter, aren't you coming with us?”

Peter shook his head, and Donata let go of a breath she hadn't known she was holding.

“No, I'm sorry, Mother,” he said. “I promised Donata I'd help, and I intend to honor that promise.”

Lily started to protest, but Raphael nodded in agreement. “Lily, let your son be. A Dragon's word is his bond. He must follow through on what he has started.” He looked at Peter with pride, tinged by a hint of regret. “Try not to get killed before I can get to know you, if you don't mind.”

Peter seemed startled, and Donata tried to stifle a laugh. Raphael sent her a steely glance, then looked thoughtful.

“Before we leave,” he said to Peter, “might it be possible for me to have a look at the Pentimento?” Curiosity colored his stern features, adding animation to his otherwise stiff demeanor. “My father spoke of their use during the Inquisition, although he himself had never seen one. Many Dragons went into hibernation to wait out the Burning Times, but those years lasted much longer than anyone expected.”

His harshness softened for a moment, offering a fleeting glimpse into the man that Lily once fell in love with. And when he spoke again, it was barely above a whisper. “Some slept so deeply, they never awoke again. And the trial of fire—which affected Dragons not at all—revealed the truth of many more. More than half of our race died during that time.”

The room fell silent for a moment in retrospective mourning. Even Peter looked at his father with sympathy, although it didn't come easily.

“I certainly would not wish to see those days return again,” Raphael said, shaking himself back to reality. “You are quite right to do whatever is necessary to keep the Pentacle Pentimento from falling into the hands of the Cabal.” He looked
at Peter severely. “It is good to know that the future of the Paranormal races is in such good hands.”

Donata swallowed hard.
Great. No pressure.

“So, did you want to see the painting, sir?” she asked, gesturing toward the workroom. “It's back through here.”

They all walked through to the back room, Peter holding himself stiffly until his father surveyed the area and nodded in approval.

“Interesting,” Raphael said, standing over the painting. “It clearly represents the major races of Witch, Dragon, Fae, Ulfhednar, and Ghoul.” He leaned over and peered at the black blotch. “But what in all the worlds is this?”

“According to Clive Farmingham, it covers the picture of a sixth major race,” Donata explained. “One that poses a threat to both Humans and Paranormals alike.” She turned to Peter's father and asked with eagerness, “Do you know anything about a lost sixth race?”

Raphael shook his head. “A sixth race? Don't be absurd. There is no such thing.” Mostly ignoring her, he stared at the remains of the symbols revealed by Peter's work. “Air, Fire, and Water?”

Donata nodded in agreement. “I thought they probably symbolized the four elements. But the only races I could think of that might be referred to that way would be the Minor Anemoi. And I don't know why they'd be on a painting like this.”

The Dragon looked baffled. “I concur. It makes no sense at all.”

Peter asked his father the question he'd been posing to Donata right before they'd been interrupted.

“Do
you
know why they're called the ‘Minor' Anemoi?” He waited for wisdom from the long-lived elder.

But if anything, Raphael seemed even more perplexed than he'd been before.

“Impossible,” he whispered to himself. “It cannot be.”

Lily was concerned. “What's the matter, Raphael?”

He shook his dignified white head. “I do not know the answer to the question.” He paused, and then clarified. “I cannot
remember
the answer to the question.”

Peter's mother shrugged. “Don't feel so bad,” she said. “I forget lots of things now that I'm getting older. It's not unusual.” She patted him sympathetically on the arm.

Raphael shrugged off both her hand and her attempts to console him.

“You do not understand my point,” he said with the hint of a sneer. “Unlike Humans,
Dragons
do not forget anything. Ever. No matter our age or condition, we remember every conversation we have had, every book we ever read. If I wished, I could tell you what I had for breakfast on the day we first met.”

“But you can't remember why the Anemoi are called ‘minor,'” Peter said with interest. “Is that important? I mean, I was curious, but it doesn't really matter, does it?”

Raphael's eyes darkened and steam seeped slowly out of his nostrils. Suddenly, he no longer appeared to be a polite, dapper, and harmless man. Donata felt a chill run down her spine.

“I do not know
why
it matters,” Raphael said, the coldness in his voice a counterpoint to the heat of his anger. “But the
fact that I have forgotten at all matters very much.” He gathered himself together and attempted to explain.

“If I have forgotten, it can only be because someone, somehow, has taken the information from my mind. That should not be possible.” He clenched his fists, and a red glow seeped through his fingers. “And yet, it clearly is.”

Donata gulped. “What will you do, now that you know something is gone from your memory? Can you get it back somehow?” Suddenly, she found herself much more interested in the question than she had been before.

Raphael took a deep breath, puffing out more smoke, and then gathered himself with an obvious effort. Donata was relieved—Dragon tempers were the things that legends were built on.

“First and foremost,” he said, having recovered his former poise, “I will take Lily and her family to safety. Once that is achieved, I will contact some of the remaining Dragons to see if any of them know the answer. Perhaps they will have an explanation I am missing, having slept so long.”

He paused for a long moment, then added, “And if I discover someone has indeed stolen my memories, that person will find out the hard way that Dragons do not deal kindly with thieves.”

“You know,” Peter said thoughtfully as he closed the door behind his parents, “for a place that's supposed to be a secret, this apartment is beginning to feel like Grand Central Station.”

Donata acknowledged the truth of this with a grimace.

“Allow me to apologize again for the shambles I have made out of your previously orderly life,” she said.

He laughed. “Well, it may have been orderly, but it was also just a tad boring. And say what you will, but my life certainly hasn't been
that
since you came into it!”

Donata walked over and flopped down on the couch with a sigh.

“Oh, please. Are you trying to tell me you're better off now that you're dealing with power-hungry Paranormals, a fanatical secret religious organization, a new father, and the discovery that you're half Dragon?”

“Gee, when you put it
that
way, it sounds so bad.” He snorted. “And you left out being shot and accidentally setting a building on fire.”

Donata put her head in her hands. “I don't know how you can laugh about it. You must wish you'd never met me.”

Fabric rustled as he sat down beside her. He didn't say anything for a minute, then reached over and gently lifted her chin with strong fingers.

“Donata, I wouldn't have missed meeting you for all the bourbon at the Abyss,” he said, suddenly serious. “Not only have you opened up my eyes to an entire world I didn't know existed, but you also showed me the truth about who I am. Now that I know why I am the way I am, maybe I'll be able to find a way to make my peace with it.”

He gazed into her eyes. “For that alone, I'll be forever thankful that you walked into my favorite dive bar.”

He cupped her face with both hands so she was forced to look at him. “But on top of that, you are the most beautiful, dynamic, intriguing, annoying, and frustrating woman I have ever known.” He grinned at her. “My life was a far emptier place before you came into it.”

Donata rolled her eyes at him. “I don't know if that is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me, or the most insulting.” She yanked her head away and banged one fist on his shoulder for good measure. “Did you just call me annoying and frustrating?”

He nodded, grin even wider. “Yup. Lucky for you, I like annoying and frustrating women. There's something very sexy about a woman who insists on doing everything her own way.” His eyebrows waggled up and down suggestively, making Donata laugh despite herself.

“Jerk,” she rebutted. “Like you're any great prize.”

“Hey,” he said, with mock hurt. “I have it on the best authority that Dragon men are the catch of the Paranormal social scene. You should consider yourself lucky I'm even talking to you.”

“I'd be lucky if you ever shut up,” Donata muttered to herself. “What ever happened to the cold, aloof guy I met in that bar?” She smiled at him to take the sting out of her words.

Peter stopped and thought about it for a minute. “I guess I've gotten used to having you around,” he said, a bit bemused. “I'm surprisingly comfortable with you, you crazy Witch.”

She shifted her head to his shoulder and relaxed a little despite herself. “Yeah, right back at ya, you snotty Dragon. I guess in some ways, we have a lot in common.” She sighed. “Neither of us fit into our family expectations, and we both shut ourselves off from the lives we were raised with and the people who went with them. Out of choice,” she added, “unlike poor Magnus.”

Peter grunted. “Well, he made his choice too. It's unfortunate that with his people there doesn't seem to be any middle ground. Apparently you can't leave the lifestyle but still come back for the occasional visit, the way we can.”

He frowned in the direction of the front door. “Mind you, I don't usually see nearly as much of my family as I seem to have been doing lately.”

Donata laughed. “I know exactly what you mean. Normally I don't see my mother or sisters for months on end, and now—” As if on cue, her phone rang. She looked down at it and said, “Speak of the devil; it's my sister Lucia.”

She flipped the phone open and answered it. “Hey, Luce, isn't it a little early for—”

Her sister cut her off abruptly, her voice pitched high with fear. “Oh, goddess, Donata, tell me you're not there!”

Donata looked at the phone in bafflement.
Not where?
And what had her normally unflappable sister in such a tizzy? “What are you talking about, Luce? Are you all okay?”

If anything, her sister sounded more upset. “You mean you don't know? Hecate, I'm sorry! But you're safe, right?”

Peter mouthed,
What's wrong?
at her, but she didn't know what to tell him. It was clear enough that
something
had gone badly awry, though.

“Lucia, I'm fine,” she said, talking slowly and calmly in the hope that her sister would follow suit. “What's happened? Is Mom in trouble?”

Lucia choked back a sob. “We're fine. But your apartment—” She made an effort to be more coherent, now that she knew Donata was in no danger. “Sis, turn on the TV. It's on the local news.”

Donata put the phone on the counter, walked over, and turned on Peter's big flat-screen with shaking fingers. The image it displayed immediately explained her sister's hysteria. A familiar building filled most of the screen, almost completely engulfed in the flames that were rapidly devouring the little that was left untouched. Red fire trucks swarmed at its feet like insects, although it was clear that the firefighters were doing more to protect the adjacent buildings than to try and save Donata's.

From the speakers, a muted voice said something about sudden onset and evidence of firebombs, and the wail of sirens competed with the animalistic roar of the flames in the background. The reporter took a few sudden steps away from the fire as part of the roof caved in with a crash.

Peter looked from Donata to the television. “Isn't that your apartment building?” he said in shock. “Oh, my god!”

She clenched her fists until the nails bit into her palms. “It was.” Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to pick up her phone again and speak as calmly as possible. “Yeah, I see it, Lucia. Thanks for telling me. Do you know if anyone was hurt?”

Her heart contracted at the thought of any of her neighbors ending up dead because of her involvement in this mess.
Damn the Cabal for dragging innocents into it!
Of course, they'd historically always made allowances for “collateral damages” in the pursuit of their cause: kill everyone and let God sort it out in Heaven.

Her sister's voice jolted her out of her guilt-ridden reverie. “No, they said everyone got out safely. But, Donata, you lost everything!”

Donata spared a moment for an ironic acknowledgment that she didn't really have much “everything” to lose. Other than a few treasured books and family photos, she hadn't owned a lot that she'd cared about. She wasn't looking forward to having to replace her entire wardrobe, but at least she and Grimalkin were safe.

She talked to Lucia for a few more minutes and then planted herself in front of the television and watched her home burn to the ground. Peter stood beside her in silence for a bit, both of them caught up in horrified fascination by the sights and sounds before them. Donata almost felt as though she could feel the heat of the flames on her face.

Eventually, Peter said in a quiet voice, “It wasn't your fault, Donata.” He knew her too well, even after their short acquaintance.

“That building would still be standing if it weren't for me, Peter. I may not have had much of value, but all those other people just lost everything that mattered to them. Because I didn't know when to quit.” She bit her lip, feeling the guilt settle onto her shoulders like a cloak of lead.

“You're not the one going around blowing things up,” he said harshly. “And you were never in a position where you could have quit. Not really.” He put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a rough hug. “But maybe the time has come to hand the Pentimento over to the Council after all. If the Cabal really does have contacts within the Alliance, they'd know you didn't have it anymore and stop coming after you.”

He looked at the screen, jaw set. “And has it occurred to you that they may have set your building on fire in retribution for my burning down their warehouse?” He turned to her. “In which case, this would be
my
fault, and not yours.”

They exchanged bleak looks and Donata shrugged. “I guess there's plenty of angst to go around, huh?” She started to say something else, but a shrill whistle interrupted her.

“What the hell is that?” she asked, looking at the TV.

Peter's eyes widened and he shook his head. “That's not on the set,” he said, slamming it off. “That's my alarm system. Someone's trying to break in through the front door!”