'You have the instructions?' he asked softly. 'There are others that I know of, men and women who have been too-long imprisoned…'
'Of course,' Martinez replied. 'I have them with me, and more. I've brought you something — not that a gift can make up for years of silence — but I've also come to ask for your help. I have another boy under my care now and a war on my doorstep.'
'I tend to stay out of wars,' Donovan said, 'particularly in the Barrio. I've heard rumors, though, disturbing rumors. I'm told the Anya Cabrera is walking a very fine line.'
'She has long since crossed that line,' Martinez said. He caught himself before he spat, realizing he was not on the street. He sipped his drink in an effort to cover the motion.
'You have information?' Donovan asked?
'I… believe that I can handle it,' Martinez said. It didn't sound as though he believed the words himself.
'This is too big,' Donovan said. 'The stakes are too high. It won't be just the Barrio in danger if she goes too far, and my information says that is exactly what she intends. I need to know that I can trust you this time, Martinez. I'm going to look into this…it would be a great help to me If I knew that I didn't have to worry about you blocking my efforts.'
Martinez studied his drink. He took another, longer sip, and then, very slowly, he nodded.
'There are things that I must do,' he said. 'I have protected those in the Barrio for a very long time. They have come to me already — and they are frightened. I must do what I can.'
'And I will help you, if I can,' Donovan replied. 'I have my own methods, though, and I believe we'll work better apart than together. A truce, then?'
Martinez glanced up and smiled. It was a crooked expression, and difficult to read, but Donovan had seen it before, and he returned it.
'What is it you have come for?' he asked.
'There is a boy, Salvatore Domingo Sanchez. He lives in a shack near my home, and he is an artist. The boy is truly brilliant — what he can do with chalk, or pencils, or paint… it is powerful. He has formed connections in the Barrio, but he is not ready for the challenge. He needs an edge. I need to make paints for him — special paints — born of the prime colors. There is only one thing I need. In all my years, I've never been able to find the formula for Rojo Fuego.'
Donovan stared at the old man. He hadn't heard those words in decades. Fire Red. The color of dragon's fire. The formula in question was very old. There couldn't have been more than four or five copies of it in existence. One of them resided in an encrypted file in a folder on Donovan's hard drive. He'd destroyed the original.
'That is a very powerful formula,' he said.
Martinez eyed him, taking a drink, but not dropping his gaze.
'I know what it is…young man.'
They stood like that in silence for several breaths, and then, very suddenly, Donovan laughed.
'I cannot tell you how long it has been since someone called me that — and it was true. Okay, you have a deal. I will trust you with this formula, and you will trust me within your Barrio.'
Martinez smiled again. 'That is fair.'
Donovan stepped around his desk and started tapping keys on the computer terminal. A moment later the printer in the corner beeped, and a single sheet of paper rolled slowly out. Martinez waited respectfully until Donovan walked to the machine and retrieved the paper.
'You mentioned a gift…' Donovan said.
Martinez grinned. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a very old, tightly folded sheet of parchment.
'It is brittle,' he said. 'Have a care with it.'
'What is it?' Donovan asked.
'It is the instructions for creating the collar,' Martinez said softly. 'The cure for lycanthrope, such as it is. I didn't know for certain that you would ask about Louis. I did not know, for sure, that I would tell you the story if you did. I knew you would find this of value.'
Donovan reached out and took the ancient paper carefully from Martinez's grip. In its place, he handed off the freshly printed formula.
'Be careful,' he said. 'You know what you hold, and I will not ask you why you need it, but there are a great number of others depending on the two of us. We must tread carefully.'
Martinez tucked the paper into his pocket and held out his hand. Donovan took it, and they shook warmly.
'When this is over,' Martinez said, 'You must come to the Barrio. I will introduce you to Louis…and we will share another drink.'
'I will look forward to it,' Donovan said.
They both emptied their glasses, and Martinez turned toward the door.
'I haven't much time,' he said.
Donovan nodded and stepped past him, opening the door.
'Be safe,' he said.
Martinez turned, and one last time, he smiled.
'And you, my friend. And you…go with all the Gods at your back.'
Martinez disappeared into the hall, and Donovan closed the door. He turned to his desk with the parchment still unopened in his hand. He knew there was a chance that when he opened it, there would be nothing there — or that whatever was written on it would be a fabrication. He didn't believe it. What he believed was that a burned bridge had been brought back from the ashes. He placed the folded paper on his desk. He wasn't quite ready to test his intuition, and he had a lot of work to do.
As if understanding, Cleo walked over and plopped down on top of the parchment, pinning it to the desk. She began washing her paw again, and Donovan laughed. He poured bourbon and scratched Cleo's ears. He raised his drink in a silent toast to Martinez, and to Louis. It was shaping up to be an interesting night.
Chapter Eight
After Martinez was gone, Donovan reached for the phone. Even though he now had a somewhat safer time ahead of him in regard to the Barrio, he thought it might be best to bring in an ally. Martinez had seemed sincere, and if it proved genuine, the gift he'd brought would do a great deal of good, but Donovan wasn't quite ready to invest his complete confidence. The old man had his own agenda, now and always, and it was best not to assume that it ran parallel to his own.
On the second ring a bright, cheerful voice answered.
'Hello?'
'Amethyst?' he asked.
'Who else would I be, love?' was the quick reply. 'You did dial my number.'
Donovan chuckled. 'Some things have come up — some rather odd things. I was wondering if you might be free for dinner? While we eat, we could talk…'
'It sounds wonderful,' she said, 'but you come here. I've been out twice this week, and from the tone of your voice you aren't coming over to talk about old times or plan that vacation you keep promising me.'
'You're going to cook, or should I bring something?'
'I'll cook. I'll surprise you.'
'You never fail to do that,' he said. 'I'll be over about eight, then. I've had an interesting visitor, someone you know. There's trouble brewing in the Barrio. Coil came to me yesterday with reports.'
'Anya Cabrera?' she asked.
'You've heard then?'
'I heard some disturbing things, but none that I've been able to cobble together into anything coherent.'
'We'll compare notes then, and put together a battle plan.'
'You expect a battle, do you?' she asked
