Chapter Seven

This was bad. Really, really bad.

Anton Eastman didn’t exist. That name was the identity given to the man Donata had dated for months, only to find out that he was actually one of the lost sixth race, the Major Anemoi—incredibly powerful beings who drew their energy from the natural forces of earth, air, fire, and water. The Compact had essentially erased them from the memory of all the other Paranormal races and taken away their ability to manifest in physical form.

Only with four Major Anemoi working together—a rare occurrence—could they create a temporary body, much like the golems of Jewish legend, to house the spirit of one of their kind. Anton had taken form for the express purpose of seducing Donata and then persuading—or tricking or coercing (it had never been quite clear what either his intentions or his limits were)—her into having a child with him, in an attempt to save the dying race.

In the end, he’d refused to take no for an answer and, with the arrogance of a being whose very existence was far beyond what most people could imagine, attempted to take what he wanted by force. Luckily for her, if not for him, Donata had figured out what the code embedded in the Pentacle Pentimento painting meant and, with it, obtained the means to destroy the body the Major Anemoi had created, along with the being who animated it.

In short, she’d killed Anton Eastman. Turned him into a pile of dirt and water by slicing through one of the Hebrew words that appeared as a tattoo on the back of his neck.

And now there was a man standing in front of her in the middle of the Maine woods, asking her where Anton was. Or something that looked like a man, because she couldn’t think of any reason why anyone except another of Anton’s kind would be looking for him. Swell. A year ago, she hadn’t even known of the existence of this mysterious lost race. Now she might be in the presence of her second one. She’d liked it better when she was blissfully ignorant.

“I haven’t seen Anton,” she said truthfully. Witches believed in the power of words and tried not to lie when they could avoid it. Which didn’t mean they couldn’t dance a mean mambo around the truth when necessary. “We broke up some time ago, not that it is any of your business.” Also true. “Are you a friend of his? He didn’t mention knowing anyone in Maine. For that matter, how did you know where to find me?”

The man’s somber visage made a not terribly successful attempt at a smile. Either he didn’t have as much practice animating a body as Anton had, or he simply wasn’t as smooth. Anton had taken on the persona of a reclusive millionaire businessman, probably originally created to represent the interests of the Major Anemoi, so it made sense that he’d had more experience.

“I am an associate of Mr. Eastman’s,” he said. “He seems to have disappeared, and a number of us have grown concerned. You were his last known contact, so I tracked you down. You didn’t make it easy.” He made it sound as though she had avoided him on purpose rather than simply headed out of her usual stomping grounds to help a friend.

“I suppose your name is West,” she said, suddenly tired of playing games. “Or maybe North?” The elements had long been associated with the different directions, and the Minor Anemoi, a lesser race, were still known by them. When Anton had shown up using the name “Eastman,” it was clear that was trait the Major Anemoi shared with their less powerful brethren.

“Ah.” There was a glint of intelligence that had been hiding behind an otherwise bland exterior. “So it is true. You are aware of our existence. Anton said as much, but when there was not so much as a whisper about us in the Paranormal community, we thought perhaps he had misled us.”

“It wasn’t my secret to share. Publicly, anyway. The Alliance Council knows, of course,” Donata said, not mentioning that there were a few people besides her and the Council who also knew. “I saw no benefit in breaking centuries of silence, as long as Anton left me alone and the Major Anemoi stopped attacking people with destructive natural disasters. I trust he passed that word along as well.”

“He did,” the man said, not sounding impressed. “You may call me Mr. West, if you choose. It is a convenient enough name. And you can hardly expect us to be intimidated by one Witch female. We do as we wish, and the Humans have wreaked enough havoc in the natural world. They deserve to be punished.”

“Maybe they do; maybe they don’t,” Donata said. She didn’t much approve of the way the dominant race had treated the world either. But that didn’t mean she thought that innocents deserved to die in earthquakes, hurricanes, floods, wildfires, and tsunamis. “But that’s not up to you. And while I agree that there is nothing I, personally, can do to stop you, the Alliance Council can be a force to be reckoned with.” She gave him a wry smile. “Believe me, I know.”

West sneered at her but didn’t disagree.

“Maybe you should go and see them,” she suggested. “Perhaps it is time for you to come out of hiding, at least among the Paranormal people, now that the knowledge of your race has been rediscovered.”

He shrugged. “The possibility is being discussed. But it is no concern of yours. I have sought you out to ascertain the whereabouts of the one you know as Anton Eastman. You will tell me where he is. Now.”

“I told you already,” Donata said. “I haven’t seen him. I can’t help you.”

“I do not believe you,” West said. “He would not have just disappeared without a word.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I mean, if I was used to being a disembodied spirit, albeit a powerful one, having a physical form might prove quite tempting.”

West raised a disdainful eyebrow. “Are you suggesting that Anton is out cavorting in brothels or bars? Don’t be ridiculous.”

Donata gestured at the trees surrounding them. “Well, he’s not roaming around the woods, that’s for sure. If you followed me here, then you already know I am staying with my friend Magnus at his family’s house. I’ve moved on. I assume Anton did, too, when I told him I wouldn’t give him what he wanted. Sorry, but I can’t help you.”

She couldn’t either. She could have told him where Anton was, swept into a dustpan at Peter’s father’s house, but that wouldn’t have helped him at all. And she was pretty sure admitting she’d killed Anton wouldn’t help her, for that matter.

The Major Anemoi stared at her silently for a moment. “This is not the end of our discussion, Witch. If we do not find the one you knew as Anton Eastman, I shall return to speak to you again.”

“Yippee,” she said. “Something to look forward to.”

Apparently the Major Anemoi had no sense of humor or little tolerance for sarcasm, because West turned on his heel and walked away without another word.

Great. Things were getting interesting. Donata so preferred it when they didn’t.

Donata thought about telling Magnus about the meeting with West when she saw the Ulfhednar later, but she was pretty sure that would fall into the category of “distractions he wasn’t supposed to have.” Besides, as it turned out, he didn’t show until long after dinner, coming in filthy and terse and staying in the kitchen just long enough to bolt some reheated dinner before staggering down the hallway to fall into bed. His own, not hers, which she told herself sternly was all for the best, although when she was curled up alone in the chilly sheets, she wasn’t sure she was completely convinced.

The next morning, he was gone before she got up, so that was that.

In fact, he was gone every morning for the rest of the week and rarely came in before the household had retired for the night. When she did see him, it was usually on his way into the kitchen to refuel before going to sleep to do it all over again.

It wasn’t until Friday night that he actually made it back in time for dinner, although everyone else was already seated at the table when he come through the back door and went to wash up at the sink. He greeted the family cheerfully enough, tickling the kids and hugging his mother before taking his place at the table. But Donata thought he looked tired and thinner than the last time she’d seen him, and there was a streak of blood down the side of his face that he’d obviously missed when he’d cleaned up.

“Hey, stranger,” she said, heaping extra mashed potatoes onto his plate. “Rough week?”

Magnus leaned over and gave her a big smack on the lips, making Jerrik and Iona giggle and his sister scowl. “Rough enough. But I survived it. Put another couple slices of that roast on there while you’re at it, will you?” He smiled down the table at his mother. “Nobody makes roast beef like my mom.”

Astrid smiled warmly and sent the gravy boat and a bowl of peas in his direction. As far as Donata could tell, no one else seemed to be alarmed at Magnus’s condition, so she tried not to be either, with limited success.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around more,” he said. “I hope everyone has been treating you well.” He narrowed his eyes at Kari, who ignored him, absorbed instead in the antics of her children, who seemed more interested in decorating each other with the food than in eating it. “Have you made any progress looking into the haunting?”

Donata glowered at her plate, pushing the tasty food around with her fork. “Not since my conversation with Freddy earlier in the week. I haven’t been able to get any of your fellow Ulf trainees to sit still long enough to discuss their experiences, and no one else in town wants to talk to me. Apparently everyone thinks I am a Council spy.”

“Not everyone,” Magnus said, squeezing her hand. “I’m sorry folks have been so uncooperative. I’ve got the weekend off, so maybe I can persuade a few people to get their heads out of their butts. The Ulfhednar tend to make up their minds about things and then stick to their positions as if they’d been set in stone, but I’d hoped that the fact that I’d brought you here would have made a difference.”

Astrid gazed thoughtfully at their joined hands where they rested on top of the table.

“I have an idea that might help,” she said. “Although you may think it is a bit out there.”

Donata looked at her gratefully. “I’m open to any suggestions that would get the townspeople to trust me more. Otherwise I might as well just head back to the city now, for all the use I’m going to be.”

“You and Magnus should get engaged,” Astrid said with a perfectly straight face. “Could you pass the bread, please?”

Magnus handed the bread plate down the table. “Say what now?”

“Maybe I should have specified ‘any suggestions that aren’t crazy,’” Donata added.

A benign smile curved Astrid’s lips. “Thank you,” she said. “For the bread, I mean, not for calling me crazy. Besides, it makes sense.”

“How, exactly?” Magnus asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The problem is that everyone thinks that the only reason a Witch would come to our little town is to spy on us for the Council, right?” Astrid said, spreading butter with an abandon that made Donata envy the woman’s Ulfhednar metabolism. “So we give them another reason. If they all think you two are engaged, then it makes sense that Magnus would bring you home to get to know his family. Plus there is the bonus that if they realize Magnus trusts you enough to marry you, they’ll trust you more because of that too.”

“Huh,” Magnus said, brow creased as he shoveled in a huge mouthful of potatoes.

Donata looked from him to his mother. “You’re seriously considering this?”

He chewed and swallowed. “It’s an interesting plan.”

“It’s out of the question!” Halvor bellowed from the other end of the table, smacking his fist down hard enough to rattle the glasses. Donata grabbed hers before it could fall over, then drank down about a third of its contents. If they were going to have this discussion, she was definitely going to need more wine.

Magnus’s face took on a mulish cast that Donata recognized from the days when they’d been dating. The fastest way to get him to do anything had always been to tell him he couldn’t. Donata thought his father probably should have learned that by now.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Magnus said. “I’m starting to warm up to the idea.” He gave Donata’s hand a squeeze. Thankfully, not the one holding the wineglass.

“Ulfhednar don’t marry Witches,” Kari said.

“Why not, Mama?” her daughter asked. “Is there a rule?”

“No, there isn’t,” Astrid said. Her countenance was remarkably serene for someone who had practically lobbed a live hornet’s nest into the middle of the dinner table. “Some of the races aren’t allowed to mate, like the Dragons and the Fae. That one often doesn’t end well, alas. But there is no rule against Ulfhednar and Witches marrying. It simply isn’t done.”

“Exactly,” Halvor said sternly. “It isn’t done. Ulfhednar marry Ulfhednar. That is all there is to it.”

“But Torben down the road married a Human, didn’t he?” Erik said, mischief sparkling in his bright blue eyes. “We all went to the wedding.”

“That’s different,” Kari said. “For one thing, a Human isn’t the same as a Witch, although really, no one approved of that marriage either. For another, Torben is in his sixties and his wife was just as old. They weren’t going to have children. That changes things.”

Donata cleared her throat. “I don’t think your mother was actually suggesting we go through with it,” she said.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Astrid said with a barely suppressed grin. “I quite like you. He could do worse.”

Donata choked on a mouthful of wine, and Magnus smacked her on the back.

“Absolutely not,” Halvor said in a firm tone. “We’d be the laughingstock of the town. I forbid it.”

Astrid shook her head, hiding her smile behind her raised napkin.

“I hardly think that people will be laughing at us, Father,” Magnus said. “And you’ve been saying ever since I got home that it was time for me to find a nice girl and settle down. Donata’s a nice girl.”

“I am not!” Donata protested. “I’m a cop!”

“Good point,” Magnus said. “Luckily for you, nice girls have never appealed to me. Besides, being with a cop always makes me feel safer. That settles it. We’re engaged.” He put one muscular arm around her waist, practically dragging her into his lap, and kissed her soundly before easing her back down into her own chair.

Donata had a feeling she should have been protesting, but she seemed to have temporarily lost the power of speech. Damn that man and his kisses.

“Congratulations,” Astrid said. “Now, who wants dessert? I made pie.”