Chapter Sixteen

“Interesting,” Tatiana said. “So your protective circle just poofed out of existence without you taking it down?”

“‘Poofed’? Is that the technical Witch term for ‘failed completely’? If so, yes, it poofed.”

Her great-aunt hummed quietly under her breath, something she did when she was thinking. “We’d assumed when your spell didn’t work correctly during your first attempt to contact a ghost that whoever was sending the spirits had somehow blocked you. But I don’t see how that could have been true this time. A protective circle would only have been perceived by a Witch who was in the room with you at the time. Curious.”

That was one word for it, although not the one Donata would have used.

“Could another Witch be living in Gimle without you knowing it?” her great-aunt asked.

“Not likely. It’s a very small place and everyone knows everyone. I am constantly bumping into someone I’ve never met and being greeted by name,” Donata said. “If there is a magic user who isn’t a Witch . . . someone like a shaman or a priestess of some kind, it would have to be one of the Ulfhednar themselves, and I certainly haven’t sensed anyone like that. They have a priest of Odin who leads their public rituals, but I think that position is more ceremonial than magical.”

More humming. Donata waited patiently. Her great-aunt was probably running 117 years of experience through her mind; that couldn’t be rushed. Finally, Tatiana asked, “So how are you and Magnus getting along?”

What the heck does that have to do with anything?

“Um, okay. Good. You don’t think he has anything to do with my problems with magic, do you? Because he’s strong as an ox and I’d trust him with my life”—and had, in fact, just the other day—“but he doesn’t know squat about magic.”

“Mmmm,” her great-aunt said. “I only ask because there is one other thing I can think of that can interfere with a Witch’s magic. It’s not that common, and I hadn’t considered that it might apply to you, which is why I didn’t think of it before, but it does happen.”

Donata ground her teeth. “Could you explain what you’re talking about, please?”

Her great-aunt did. Donata resisted the urge to throw the phone again. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll check into the possibility. But I don’t think that’s it.”

Tatiana promised to do some more research and call a few of her friends who talked to the dead more than she did, and wished Donata luck. It might have been more touching if she hadn’t been cackling when she said it.

Donata turned the phone off again, almost wishing she’d left it behind in Gimle. She sat there for a minute with her aching head in her hands, working up the energy to go join Astrid at the grocery store. Before she could get up, though, she felt someone sit down on the bench next to her.

When she looked up, she wasn’t even surprised. It was shaping up to be that kind of day.

“Hello, Mr. West,” she said with a resigned sigh. “What can I do for you?”

“You can tell me where Anton Eastman is and why we have still been unable to contact him,” the being she knew as West said. He looked bland and innocuous, although Donata knew better.

“I don’t know anything more than I did the last time you asked me,” she said in an even tone. That much is true, anyway. Anton was dead then, and he’s still dead now.

“It seems very unlikely that Anton would just disappear,” West said, scowling. “We have begun to wonder if you have hidden him away somehow. Perhaps binding him with some kind of spell, although you, a mere Witch, should not have that kind of power over our kind.”

“Maybe he just didn’t want to give up his physical body once he’d failed at his assignment, and he is hiding out on a tropical island somewhere drinking mai tais and ogling the native women to see if any of them would be suitable to serve as incubators for the next generation of Major Anemoi,” she suggested.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” West said. “Human women can’t bear our children. Even most Witch women weren’t strong enough.”

Right. That was the ridiculous part of the previous statement. Plus, hello, the uncertainty of her ability to survive this experience was one reason why Donata wasn’t interested in being a part of this particular experiment, one which only her distant ancestor had lived through.

Donata shrugged. “Maybe he is off playing tag with a hurricane, then. Either way, he’s not here with me. You’re going to have to look somewhere else.”

“We have looked everywhere else,” West said. “We can find no sign of him. He was last seen in your company, at the house of the Dragon Raphael. You must know where he is, and you will tell us.”

“I haven’t seen him since that day,” she said honestly. “Have you asked Peter, Raphael’s son?” She wasn’t trying to dump Peter into trouble; she was curious as to why they were only questioning her.

West’s scowl deepened. “We have not been able to find the Dragon’s son. He has disappeared as well.”

“Sorry,” Donata said. “I can’t help you there either. I haven’t heard from Peter since the day Anton attacked us at Raphael’s house. What can I tell you—I don’t have much luck with men.” More truth, alas.

“But you were lovers with the Dragon’s son. You must be able to contact him.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But we’re not together anymore. I’m with Magnus now.”

West shook his head. “I do not understand any of the other races. You seem to flit from one mate to another like bees in a field of flowers. The Major Anemoi form bonds between each other that last millennia.”

“Well, it helps if you live for millennia,” Donata pointed out. “So are you in such a bond?”

“I am. With the one who took the form you knew as Anton Eastman.”

CRAP.

His seemingly benign visage took on a more threatening aspect. “Which is why you will tell me where he is or suffer the consequences.”

“I’m sorry,” Donata said, actually meaning it this time, despite the fact that West’s significant whatever had tried to kill Peter and force himself on her. “But I still can’t help you.”

“I believe you can. If you are sufficiently motivated. You have until the full moon to tell me what you know about Anton Eastman’s whereabouts, or things will get very unpleasant for you and yours.”

Okay, less sorry now. The full moon was less than two weeks away, and there was nothing she could tell him that would make him any happier.

“Are you threatening me?”

“Not just you,” West said, electricity practically snapping from his fingertips. “You are living with the Ulfhednar nearby, are you not? I believe there is much woodland surrounding their town. A forest fire could prove quite deadly. Or it might rain so hard that the river could flood. A previously undiscovered fault line might be found to run right underneath their land. The Major Anemoi have power over the elements, Ms. Santori. We can be most unpleasant enemies. You might want to keep that in mind while you are deciding whether or not to give me the information I seek.”

He paused, as if waiting for her to speak out then and there. When she didn’t, he rose from the bench and strode off without a word.

Crap, crap, crap, and crap with a side of more crap.

Donata made a couple of quick stops on the way to the grocery store and bumped into Astrid just as the older woman was pushing a fully laden cart out of the shop. The Ulfhednar grew or made most of their own food and hunted nearby for meat, but they apparently drew the line at making toilet paper or a number of other practical items, and sometimes indulged themselves in produce that couldn’t be found in Maine. A large pineapple was perched on top of one bag.

“Did you manage to get in touch with your aunt, dear?” Astrid said, steering a course toward her truck. “I was beginning to worry about you.”

“I’m sorry,” Donata said, helping Astrid load the heavy bags into the vehicle. “It was a more complicated conversation than I’d anticipated, plus I had another call from the charming Clayton Moore.”

Astrid made a growling noise. “That man is a nuisance. Someone should eat him. It would save the rest of us a lot of trouble.”

“No argument here,” Donata said. “He’s a pain in my, er, derriere.”

“You can say ‘ass,’ dear. He certainly is one,” Astrid said. “So what did your friend from the Alliance Council want? The same as always?”

“He’s not my friend,” Donata said, sliding into the passenger seat and putting her small bags on the floor in front of her. “And he threatened my job if I didn’t spy on your people for him.”

“Ah.” Astrid peeled out of the lot, nearly taking out a small sedan with her truck. “I know you are quite fond of your job. What did you tell him?”

“I told him I’d keep my eyes open.”

“Hard to walk around with them closed,” Astrid said in a neutral tone.

“Exactly,” Donata said.

The women smiled at each other and laughed. Astrid tilted her head toward Donata’s packages. “I see you went to the pharmacy. If you were stocking up on bandages and things, I already picked some up at the grocery store.”

Donata’s smile slipped away. “Between Magnus’s training and my mishaps, we’re going through them fast enough we’ll probably need more before this is over.”

“True enough. I will be very happy when we get to the bottom of whatever is causing these disturbances.”

“Me too,” Donata said fervently. And not just because that would mean she could leave Gimle, and the Ulfhednar would no longer be a target of whatever revenge the Major Anemoi aimed at her.

When they got back to the house, Donata helped Astrid carry the bags of groceries into the kitchen. To their surprise, Magnus was already there, seated at the table with an ice pack pressed against his left temple.

“Bad day, dear?” Astrid asked in a calmer tone than Donata could have mustered at that moment. It was all she could do to set the groceries down on the counter before going over to take a closer look. A colorful green and purple welt was forming under the dripping pack, but otherwise he seemed unharmed.

“Uh-huh,” Magnus grunted. “I’ve had better.” He plopped the ice pack down with a disgusted sound and looked up at Donata. “I was surprised to find you gone. I hope that means you are feeling better.”

“Better than you, it looks like,” Donata said, sitting down next to him. “At least we match now. I’m black-and-blue, you’re black-and-blue . . . People are going to start thinking we are in an abusive relationship.”

Magnus rolled his eyes and put his hand out for the cup of coffee his mother handed him along with a fresh ice pack. “You’re a Witch. I’m pretty sure people are already thinking things way worse than that.”

Funny. “So, what happened? Did you have an accident during a sparring match?”

He held the new pack up to his forehead. “I wish. I’m afraid I’ve joined the ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost’ group. I saw one today and it distracted me enough that Gunnar landed a kick he shouldn’t have.”

“Shit,” Donata said, then looked at his mother. “Sorry.” Without any conscious intent, she reached out and put a hand on his arm. “Who was it? The ghost, I mean.”

“An old friend,” Magnus said. “We grew up together. He went through his Ulf training when I did, except he stayed and finished his when I left. Joined the Special Forces and died in Iraq. I never saw him again.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “What was his name?”

“Calder,” Magnus said, the echo of long-ago losses shadowing his bright blue eyes. “His name was Calder.”

“Shit,” Donata said again, and didn’t even bother to apologize. The ghost had tried to warn her, and she hadn’t listened. Now she wondered what else she’d missed.