Donovan smiled. He could almost see her impish grin as her words shifted up in tone.
'I do. It is best to always expect a battle. That way, when you find peace, you enjoy it all the more. I'll see you this evening.'
'Bring wine.'
The phone went dead and Donovan hung his up more slowly, staring at it and shaking his head. He turned and stroked Cleo, who rubbed eagerly up into his hand.
'More and more interesting,' he said. 'What do you think, Cleo? Is that paper what he says it is?'
The cat actually seemed to think about it before turning, folding in half, and washing her back foot. Donovan picked up the folded parchment, fingered it gently, and then carried it to his shelves. He tucked it carefully into the front cover of a large leather volume on the end of the shelf.
'There will be time enough to test it later,' he said.
Cleo paid no attention to him at all. Donovan strode to the door, opened it and stepped into the hallway beyond. A moment later, he was gone.
~* ~
When Donovan reached Amethyst's door, he held a paper bag with a bottle of wine in one hand, and a single rose in the other. He was there on business, but he never visited empty handed. They'd known one another a very long time, but he still liked to surprise her.
The door opened, and Donovan stepped inside. It closed behind him with a soft click. The hallway was dimly lit. The air was scented with Jasmine. Everything was deep earth tones, soft satin and dark velvet. Amethyst stepped in from her den and smiled at him.
She was a tall woman with flame-red hair. Currently, that hair was adorned with cascades of dark, smoky crystals that winked at him with soft glimmers of light. She wore a floor length gown, slit up the side, and he could not help glancing at the flash of leg it revealed as he stepped closer.
'You dressed for the occasion?' he said.
'No,' she laughed. 'I had business earlier. I haven't had a chance to change. You like it?'
Donovan took the invitation to inspect her and smiled his appreciation.
'Very much so.'
He handed her the rose, and then slid the wine out of its bag. Amethyst smelled the rose and then trailed it down her cheek and under her chin, obviously enjoying to the soft petals against her skin.
'I love roses,' she said. 'But you knew that.'
'The wine is from Spain,' he said. 'Marques de Riscal.'
'Red wine and red roses,' she said, laughing. 'If I didn't already know better, I'd think you had something in mind other than strange visitors and the Barrio.'
'I wish that were true,' he said. 'Today Old Martinez came to visit. He brought me a gift.'
'What did he want?' she asked, suddenly interested. 'The two of you haven't spoken since…'
'That is done, too, I think,' Donovan cut her off. 'The lycanthrope was Martinez' son. His name is Louis. If what I'm led to believe is true, the gift Martinez brought me contains the instructions for creating a collar that prevents the change.'
'A cure? He brought you a cure? What's he been doing with that all these years? Do you trust him?'
'I don't know. He seemed sincere, and there is no doubt that there is trouble in the Barrio. It wouldn't serve his interests to start trouble on a new front if he already has a war brewing on his doorstep. He came in search of the formula for a particular pigment of paint — Rojo Fuego.'
Amethyst took a deep breath.
'You'd better pour that wine, then,' she said, 'because Martinez was here too. He didn't tell me any interesting tales of his son. He brought me a particularly powerful pair of 'Apache Tears' from the desert. It's why I'm wearing these now.' She brushed her fingers through her hair and the obsidian crystals tinkled. 'I was celebrating.'
'I take it that he needed something from you as well, then?' Donovan asked. 'Something he didn't bother mentioning to me. He must have known I'd find out.'
'I traded him three crystals,' she said. 'Prime crystals…red, blue, and yellow. They were concentrators.'
'And he asked for all three?' Donovan frowned.
'No, he only asked for the red. I keep them in sets — I don't break them up. The other two alone would be of no use to me, and the one in imbalance would have been too powerful for any normal use. I explained that to him, and he was as patient as he was condescending.'
'He doesn't have a normal use in mind,' Donovan said.
He told her quickly about the young artist, Salvatore Domingo Sanchez.
'I don't know what Martinez is planning, but it involves the boy. There is something about the 'Fire Red' that is important to him…important enough that he doesn't trust the formula alone. I can't think of another reason he'd want your concentrator. He intends to use it to enhance the mixture.'
'But why?' Amethyst asked. 'If he's making paint for this boy…'
'We'll have to figure that out,' Donovan said, 'and soon. There's a more immediate problem, though. According to what I heard from Cord, and from comments that Martinez made, Anya Cabrera is meddling with powers that she will not long be able to control. She is trying to run Martinez, and anyone else who stands against her, out of the Barrio. Unfortunately, what she is unleashing will not stay bottled up for long. If she isn't stopped, we're going to have a problem leaking out into the city that we might not be able to solve.'
'I heard that she was spending time with one of the local gangs,' Amethyst said. 'They're called Los Escorpiones, and even before Anya Cabrera, they were trouble.'
'There is a gang near Martinez, as well,' Donovan said thoughtfully. 'If my memory serves me, they are called 'The Dragons.''
'Dragon Red,' Amethyst said. 'Coincidence?'
'Never,' Donovan replied. He stepped past her to her bar and grabbed a corkscrew. 'There's no such thing as coincidence — only controlled bursts of fate. We need to gather more information.'
'Not tonight, I hope?' she asked.
'No,' Donovan replied. 'There's nothing we can do until morning. Well, almost nothing.'
They both laughed, and he poured the wine. As Donovan swirled his before the first taste, it caught the light, deep and red. Like blood — or paint. Something was bothering him, but he couldn't put a finger on it.
Then Amethyst stepped closer and wound her arms around him, licking the rich red wine from his lips, and whatever thought he'd been about to have melted away.
Chapter Nine
Salvatore sat on the sidewalk outside of his shack. Much of the surface was covered in brightly colored drawings, soaring eagles and ocean waves breaking against stones on the beach. Where he sat there was a plain, white square of concrete, and in the center of that square, Salvatore drew.
He started with a black piece of charcoal, rough and sharpened to a point on one corner. He didn't see concrete, or even a blank slate. His mind was trapped in the dream that had driven him from sleep. The morning breeze riffled his hair, but sweat trickled down his neck and under his dirty t-shirt. He'd slept only a couple of hours, spent the rest of the night huddled on the corner of his bed, shivering and waiting for the light.
Now he worked. He struggled to force the images from his mind. He thought that maybe, if he recreated the dream, he could be free of it. Barring that, he could share it, and maybe someone could help him find his way through to a place where he could rest again. The moment the sun had broken across the city skyline, Salvatore had stumbled out into the light.
In the night, he'd dreamed. He'd walked again on that beach, a beach that could not exist. The dragons hadn't seen him — they had soared against the dark backdrop of the sky, winding and whirling around one another and screaming their defiance. Salvatore had found a place on an outcropping of stone to sit. The dragons were beautiful. He sat and watched them for hours, powerful and free. In the distance there was darkness deeper than anything he'd ever experienced. It didn't move closer, but it loomed like storm clouds on the horizon.
