Sample Chapter : BLACK DOG by Rachel Neumeier (part 2)

BLACK DOG
by Rachel Neumeier

CHAPTER ONE - part 2

Natividad shrugged. “Matón,” she said, but without heat. Then, remembering her rule about English, she corrected herself: “Bully.” Tucking back several wisps of hair that had worked out of her careful pins, she began to search through her light pack for something to eat. Miguel walked a little aside from the trail they’d been following, kicking knee-high snow out of his way, and swept more snow off a fallen tree so she could sit down. “I really don’t need to rest,” Natividad protested, but then shrugged. “But I suppose I wouldn’t mind coffee.” She followed him, peeling the wrapping away from one of her nut bars and handing her twin another.

“Well, look at this,” said a new voice, sharp and quick and nasally American. “Black pups trespassing. Do you know, when we got the call, I walked out in the middle of breakfast? If I’d realized it was a pack of puppies, I’d not have troubled myself.”

Natividad jumped and spun around fast. Miguel caught her arm to steady her and Alejandro took several quick steps to put himself between them and the newcomer. Natividad touched her pocket, but didn’t grab her maraña mágica, not yet: she didn’t want the newcomer to guess she had it. If they did have to run, she wanted it to take him by surprise.

Alejandro moved a step forward, toward the threat. He stared directly into the newcomer’s face for a breath, which between black dogs was a challenge. Then, with an effort Natividad could see, that she thought she could almost feel in her own body, he lowered his eyes.

The American was taller than Alejandro, but seemed hardly older at all. Surely he couldn’t be as young as he appeared, but the way he stood and moved and looked, no one would have dismissed him as a boy anyway. He stood with his weight forward, relaxed, but holding himself with the kind of balance that meant he could move fast in any direction.

His was a very American face: bony and narrow, with a thin, unsmiling mouth crooked now with disdain, as though nothing he looked at pleased him and he didn’t expect it to. His hard stare implied arrogance; the set of his mouth suggested impatience and an inflexible temper. Despite his youth, it was the face of someone already long experienced with killing and death, someone who would not be easily touched by anger or fear or grief. It was the face of the Dimilioc executioner, who killed without mercy or regret.

She knew his name. Everyone did – everyone who knew anything about black dogs. This was Ezekiel Korte, old Thos Korte’s nephew: the youngest man ever to be made Dimilioc’s executioner. Stray black dogs always feared the Dimilioc executioner. Even in Mexico, a thousand miles south, black dogs whispered his name and looked over their shoulders when they broke Dimilioc law, afraid that someday they would find the executioner behind them – and for the past six years, when they did, it was this face they had seen before they died.

The young Dimilioc executioner was dressed with a black dog’s indifference to cold: narrow black pants that tucked into boots, a blue shirt, a black leather jacket clearly chosen more for its looks than its warmth. Other than his shirt, there was no color to him. His hair was the color of bleached straw. His pale blue eyes, many shades lighter than the shirt, seemed to Natividad to be the color of the winter itself. She was immediately afraid of him, but she also found that she was sorry for him, which she hadn’t expected at all. He had drawn danger and disdain around himself as closely as that leather jacket, but what she thought was that she had never in her life seen anyone who seemed more alone.

Alejandro took another step forward and then dropped to one knee in the snow, but he did not reach for the knife he carried. Natividad was very glad of his restraint. She could see her brother was trying to strike a balance between respectful acknowledgement of the executioner’s superior strength and his own pride – black pup, the young executioner had said, and him only a few years older than Alejandro himself. She knew it would be harder for Alejandro to defer to Ezekiel Korte than to one of the older Dimilioc black dogs. Black wolves. Papá had said the Dimilioc black dogs called themselves wolves. She wished desperately that Papá was here now. Or Mamá, even more. Though if their parents had lived, none of them would have come here.

“Well,” said the Dimilioc executioner, looking them over with leisurely derision, “It’s a little late for courtesy, isn’t it? What is this? One black pup and a human boy and a girl Pure as the white snow? One doesn’t expect to find such a mixed pack of strays in the winter woods. Still less walking on foot straight into Dimilioc territory. There are quicker ways to find death, if that’s what you seek.”

“We ask to speak to Grayson Lanning. We ask for a proper audience. Is it your place to refuse?” Alejandro said. Natividad could hear the edge of strain in his voice, but she hoped a stranger would not.

Ezekiel tilted his head to one side, smiling. “Oh, it is.”

Alejandro hesitated. Behind him, Miguel said, “Of course it is, but, Ezekiel Korte, would the Master of Dimilioc thank you for exercising your prerogative?”

The young man’s wintery eyes went to Miguel. “You know me, do you?”

“Everyone knows you.”

“Black dogs. Not humans, generally.” Ezekiel’s pale gaze shifted back to Alejandro. “Your brother, is he? And the girl’s your sister, I expect. She’s pretty.”

Alejandro stiffened at this provocation, delivered so indifferently it was almost an insult. Natividad shook off Miguel’s restraining hand and went forward to touch Alejandro’s shoulder, trying to calm him. She knew – they all knew – that no Dimilioc wolf would attack her. If Ezekiel Korte attacked anyone, it would certainly be Alejandro.

Ezekiel’s pale eyes remained steady on Alejandro’s face. He said softly, “You think you can fight me? Give your brother and sister time to run?”

“She’s Pure,” Alejandro said sharply. Too sharply, despite Natividad’s touch. He obviously knew it, because he took a breath, then, and lowered his head. “I don’t want to fight you, but why should she have to run? She is Pure.”

“I see she is. But she’s with you. And you’re trespassing. Aren’t you?” The young executioner’s gaze shifted to Natividad, then to Miguel and finally back to Alejandro. “You think she can run in this cold? The Pure are just as susceptible to cold as ordinary humans. You got your car stuck at the bottom of some hill, I suppose. It’s a long way back to Lewis from here. Too far for children on foot – especially children who don’t cast real shadows.”

“I’m fast,” Natividad said sharply. It was dangerous to show a black dog fear. She was sharp instead, so she might seem less like prey. “We’re not children, and I’m fast, and strong. You might be surprised.”

Ezekiel’s pale eyebrows rose. He laughed, briefly, but with real humor.

Alejandro’s muscles tightened under Natividad’s hand, but he kept a tight leash on his rising anger. “Fighting you is not my first choice. Usted eliges – it is your choice. What we want is to speak to Grayson Lanning. Not a challenge – not a challenge, or would we have walked openly into Dimilioc territory?”

“Perhaps not,” murmured Ezekiel. “No, perhaps not. And you’re not up to my weight – though perhaps you’re just old enough to think you are. You’re what – sixteen?”

“Eighteen,” Alejandro snapped, then visibly caught himself. Natividad tried not to wince. She could see Ezekiel had been deliberately insulting, and her brother had let his temper slip. Just a little, but enough to show that no, he was not up to Ezekiel’s weight. Which, of course, they had all already known.

Ezekiel’s cold gaze rested on Alejandro for a moment longer. Then he looked at Natividad. “You’re younger than he is, aren’t you? You are pretty. But can you run?” He shifted his weight, stepped forward, focused on her with clearly predatory intent.

Just that fast, Alejandro was on his feet, flinging Natividad back, his knife in his hand, his shadow rising behind him and around him in response to his sudden blaze of fear and anger. The cold air smelled of ash and burning.

Her brother couldn’t win a fight with the Dimilioc executioner. Natividad knew that. But if he could injure him with silver, there was a better chance she and Miguel could get away. They had all agreed to that, but she hadn’t thought they would have to actually fight – Miguel had been so sure they would not have to fight. Though her heart raced with sudden fear, she still thought Ezekiel didn’t mean it. But Alejandro was ready to fight, even if he knew he couldn’t win. The silver in the blade sparked against his fingers, but it did not burn him. If he cut Ezekiel, though, that cut would burn, and resist ordinary black dog healing.

“You would fight,” Ezekiel said, easing back. He was smiling again: a thin, dangerous smile. “I thought you would. But with a knife?”

“It is your choice,” Alejandro repeated. “If I must fight you, I will use a knife, yes. Because I would need the advantage. But I do not want to fight you.”

“Don’t you? Down, then. Down – and drop that knife.”

Alejandro did not move.

“Do it,” muttered Miguel, his voice low. The executioner had frightened him, too, Natividad could hear it in his voice. But he whispered to their brother, urgently, “It’s a test, I’m sure it’s a test. Do what he says.”

Alejandro’s mouth tightened. But after a moment, he turned and threw the knife, a sharp motion that left the slender blade buried in the smooth bark of a tree twenty feet away, chest high. Natividad understood: if he had to fight the Dimilioc executioner now, maybe he could recover it, use it. Ezekiel couldn’t: it wasn’t blooded for him.

Then Alejandro turned back to face Ezekiel and dropped again to one knee.

Ezekiel smiled, a mocking expression. His own shadow had gathered around him, heavy and dense, clinging to his pale skin, almost as obvious to her as it would be to another black dog. It smelled of ozone and bitter ash and burnt clay. But he did not go into the cambio de cuerpo, and after a lingering moment, his shadow ebbed back down to lie again on the white snow.

Ezekiel took a step forward. Another step, wary. That was a compliment, sort of: that Dimilioc’s executioner approached Alejandro with caution. The American eased forward a third step. Alejandro shuddered. Natividad knew her brother was on the edge of leaping up, backing away, letting his shadow bring the cambio de cuerpo. Miguel caught Natividad’s arm, pulling her back, leaving Alejandro alone. She yielded, reluctantly, and only because she knew that their presence would only make Ezekiel’s close approach harder for Alejandro to bear.

He did not move. Natividad was so proud of him. Her brother stayed still, even when Ezekiel reached out slowly and set one hand on his shoulder, close to his throat. Black-shadow claws tipped the young man’s fingers. It was naked aggression, that touch. It was a threat, and an arrogant show of control over his own shadow.

“I could tear out your throat right now,” Ezekiel said softly. “Could you stop me?”

Alejandro said, harshly, “No.”

“You’re in a bad position. Why did you let me put you in such a bad position?”

“Because the only choice I saw was fighting you, now. We didn’t come here to fight.”

“No. Of course not. You want to talk to Grayson.” Ezekiel stood for a moment, staring down at him, and then lifted his hand and eased back a step. “You have something resembling control, it seems. Maybe he’ll want to talk to you.” He backed another step, glanced past Alejandro toward Natividad, and added, “It’s another few miles to the house. Can your sister walk so far?”

“Of course I can!” snapped Natividad, insulted. She strode forward again, laying her own hand on Alejandro’s shoulder, exactly where Ezekiel had touched him. His black dog shadow did not take her touch as a threat. Their mother had worked the Aplacando on her black dog son as soon as he was born. To him, the touch of the Pure, especially Natividad’s touch, was strengthening, reassuring… calming.

Alejandro took a long breath, glanced up warily, and got to his feet.

There was no sign that Ezekiel took that movement as a challenge. The young American only raked his wintery gaze across them all. Then he turned his back and walked away, leaving the road to walk directly into the stark forest. He did not turn his head to see Natividad detour briefly to recover the knife, but she thought he must know she had. Probably he didn’t mind if she had it. She kept it – that was probably best, because Ezekiel would no doubt care a lot more if Alejandro took it again.

The countryside was rugged. The snow, mostly knee high, was in places up to Natividad’s hips. It was hard to wade through. Natividad had discovered long since that snow was not as light and fluffy as she had always imagined: it was brittle and hard on the top, so one broke through with every step; and it was heavy to push aside. A black dog like Alejandro or Ezekiel could wrap himself in his shadow and walk, weightless, along the top of the snow. But they didn’t. Alejandro walked in front, and then Miguel, breaking a trail for Natividad. They had done that all along, but she was surprised to find that Ezekiel Korte also, without comment, walked heavily through the snow, helping make a trail.

Another red bird clung to a branch overhead, scolding them in sharp little chirps. Its mate, brown touched only lightly with red, joined it. Farther away, a trio of deer stood motionless and watched them pass. There was far less clamor of life than in the oak forest near Potosi, or even the dry scrub around Hualahuises where the coyotes and javalinas lived. But at least the frozen forest no longer seemed completely barren. This seemed, in an odd way, a sort of reassurance. An omen – as though life might be possible here also for black dogs out of the south and their human kin. She wanted to point the deer out to Miguel, but none of them could say anything that Ezekiel would not overhear, and she was afraid he might think her silly. So they walked in silence.

* * * * *

The Dimilioc house was a great sprawling mansion of white stone and red brick, nothing that invited burning, which was a sensible precaution for a black dog’s house. Natividad thought that three of their mother’s house could have tucked themselves into just the first floor of one wing of this house, and there were two wings and three stories. There was no landscaped garden, only a sweep of clear snow-covered ground that ran out to the edge of the forest. Near the house, low stone walls edged the road. There were no tracks through the snow, but here and there were light scuff marks that might have been made by the weightless steps of black dogs.

Four men waited on the wide porch of the house, framed by red brick pillars and the leafless stems of some tough vine that clung to the brickwork. Natividad clung tightly to Alejandro, not for her own reassurance, but to help him keep his temper. She held Miguel’s hand, too, but that was for herself.

Ezekiel Korte lengthened his stride and went up the stairs onto the porch, with a short, ironic nod for one of the men there, unmistakably disclaiming any continuing responsibility. He might as well have said aloud, “That’s my part done; now this is your problem.”

Natividad knew the man to whom Ezekiel nodded must be the Master of Dimilioc. Grayson Lanning. She would have known him anyway by the density and strength of his shadow, by the way it had eyes that flickered with fire. She had thought Papá strong, but even Papá’s shadow had not had eyes like that, through which one could glimpse smoke and burning.

Grayson Lanning was not as tall as Ezekiel, but broader. Not as old as Natividad had expected: probably not yet even forty. But authoritative, even so. To a merely human eye, he would have looked like… a banker, maybe, or the director of a wealthy company, or maybe – and this was a little more accurate – the head of a ruthless drug cartel. Natividad knew exactly what he was: an extremely dominant black dog with a dangerous temper and a murderously strong shadow.

The Dimilioc Master’s eyes were deep-set and dark, his brows heavy, his mouth straight and humorless as an axe cut. Where Ezekiel Korte was lithe and light as a dancer, Grayson Lanning was rugged, broad, strong-boned, and powerful. Natividad didn’t have to remind herself to drop her eyes when he stared at her. The scent of charred wood and smoldering coal that surrounded him was, to her senses, very strong. It enshrouded the entire house. If any ordinary humans were in that house, she could not tell. She was almost sure no one else Pure was in there. She already knew that all the men on the porch were black dogs. No. Not black dogs at all. Dimilioc black wolves.

Alejandro glanced sideways at her. She pressed his hand hard, trying to steady him. Then she let go, because her brother would have to face the Dimilioc wolves without her help. She was sure he could. She could feel her own heart beating quickly and lightly, like the heart of a bird. Her brother would be able to hear it, probably. She smiled at him anyway, a bright, brave smile that denied fear. On her other side, Miguel did not smile. He looked very solemn.

Alejandro took one step forward, putting himself out in front of Natividad and Miguel, and went to his knees. To both knees. Natividad knew why: he was acknowledging that now it was impossible either to run or to fight. She dropped to her knees as well, knowing the Dimilioc wolves would expect that from all of them. Beside her, Miguel swung the pack down to the ground and also knelt. Alejandro did not glance back at them, but lifted his eyes and looked into Grayson Lanning’s face. Then he deliberately lowered his gaze to the ground.

“Well,” said the Dimilioc Master, speaking to Ezekiel Korte, “When I sent you out after our trespassers, I did not expect you to bring them to back to our very doorstep. Certainly not alive. I gather you believed I would benefit from meeting them personally?” His voice was heavy, a deep gritty bass that was almost a growl.

“They thought so,” Ezekiel answered, his tone faintly amused. “They’d left their car stuck someplace and were walking in on foot. Along the road, obvious as you please. Asked for you by name.” He leaned his hip on the porch rail and crossed his arms over his chest, looking cool and not very much concerned, for all the world like any posturing teenager. But he was not just any teenager, and he was not posturing.

“The boy’s human, but that girl’s Pure,” one of the older men said. Dark and heavyset. Old, at least fifty, but still strong. That would be Harrison Lanning, Grayson’s older brother. He was frowning, but did not look actually hostile. The other dark one, about Ezekiel’s age, that one must be Harrison’s son, Ethan Lanning. He had the look of the Lannings and he was the right age. He looked hostile – the only Dimilioc wolf to seem truly antagonistic rather than merely scornful. Natividad wasn’t sure she blamed him, though. It must be hard to be just ordinary when you lived in the same house as Ezekiel Korte.

“Yes, Harrison, we all know she is Pure,” said the oldest of the men, fair and light boned. That would be Zachariah Korte, Ezekiel’s uncle. He certainly had the same supercilious tilt to his head.

Grayson studied Natividad. “She may be Pure, but she’s a child.”

Natividad looked the leader of the Dimilioc in the face. As he had addressed her, she could answer. She said, as meekly as she knew how, “Fifteen, sir, though I have cousins my age who are married, so I don’t think I’m a child.”

Heavy brows lifted. “No? Well, perhaps you are right. And you believe your Purity will protect you. What do you think will protect your brothers? Especially that one?” He nodded toward Alejandro. “A black dog openly trespassing on our very doorstep.”

Natividad’s brows drew together. She opened her mouth to say, “We came in right along your road, didn’t we? You didn’t exactly plaster “No Trespassing” signs along the way, did you?” But Alejandro put in quickly, before she could say anything, “We all thought at least Natividad would be safe, and probably Miguel, and if we were wrong, sir, it’s my fault. I argued them into coming to you, so it’s my fault and not theirs.”

Grayson lifted a skeptical eyebrow.

Alejandro said as sharply as he dared, “It is! Because of what our father said about Dimilioc and about you. He said Dimilioc was lucky you were Master, he said Thos Korte might have started the war, but you could finish it; he said you would fight the war cueste lo que cueste. He said, when the vampire miasma failed, Thos Korte would have failed too; he would have let the vampires regain their strength, he would have been afraid to lose the miasma, afraid of what ordinary human people would do when they became able to see us all. But you would pursue the war to the end, no matter what it cost…” He faltered and stopped.

Natividad knew her brother had been silenced by the stark memory of exactly what the true cost of Dimilioc’s war had been: emboldened strays hunting as they pleased; and worse, far worse, Papá’s own bitterest enemy tracking him down at last. She wanted to touch Alejandro’s hand, say something to help him, but she could think of nothing to say.

Then Alejandro drew a hard breath and said, “Papá said you were a good Master and an honorable man. So, I said we should come. So, our offense is my fault, sir, and if you punish our insolence, you should punish me and not my brother and sister. No matter how many of our cousins married young, Natividad is only fifteen and that’s a child. And Miguel – he’s not a black dog and he’s no older than she is, and anyway, what would she do without a brother to protect her? You must not punish them.”

“Your father?”

Alejandro had, of course, deliberately provoked Grayson to ask that question, but now he wasn’t quick to answer. A whole lifetime of silence was hard to overcome.

“Edward Toland, sir,” Miguel said. Very respectfully.

Grayson’s heavy brows rose. “Edward. Well. I wouldn’t have guessed that at all.” He paused, studying Miguel, and then went on, “Though perhaps I see a similarity. A subtle likeness, but now I look for it, I might believe that you come from the Toland bloodline.”

“Yes, sir. We do,” Miguel assured him.

Grayson examined them all, one after another. “You all have the same mother? A Pure woman? Do I understand that correctly?”

“Yes. Yes, sir.”

“How very imprudent of Edward. Thos would not have liked that at all. No wonder he hid himself and his family so carefully. Well… Well, he is now dead, I imagine? During the war?”

Natividad looked down, swallowing. Her dark grief was nothing she wanted to show strangers; it was too ready to tear open, a chasm that could swallow her whole. She was grateful when Miguel answered because that meant she didn’t have to. “After the war, when the black dogs began hunting so boldly,” her twin explained. “Papá hid from Dimilioc well enough before, but not… after the war…” Miguel stopped, taking a hard breath, not as unaffected as he tried to seem.

“Yes, I understand. There are many more stray black dogs in Mexico than here, of course.” Grayson’s hard gaze moved to Natividad, then to Alejandro. He said to Alejandro, “Thus, your decision to cross the border.”

“Yes, sir,” said Alejandro. He didn’t look at Miguel. He said, “We needed to get Natividad somewhere safe. We couldn’t protect her – I could not. Our father’s enemies, they would not stop.”

“Your father’s enemies,” Grayson Lanning repeated, his voice expressionless.

Alejandro had argued that they shouldn’t explain the real reason they’d had to leave Mexico, in case the Dimilioc Master wondered whether he really needed another enemy. But Miguel had said they had better not start at Dimilioc with a lie and Natividad had sided with her twin. So now Alejandro said, still not looking at Miguel, pretending everything had always been his idea, “Vonhausel.”

“That old enmity,” said Zachariah. His tone was dry and unamused. “Yes, I recall that quarrel vividly. So, it did not die even after both Edward and Malvern Vonhausel were cast out.”

“No, sir,” said Alejandro. He started to say something else, but Miguel, interrupting, said quickly and earnestly, “At first I think Papá thought he might track Vonhausel down and kill him, but then I guess Vonhausel got too strong, and Papá met Mamá, and after that Mamá kept us hidden, but I guess maybe there was a lot of magic loose during the war, and somehow Vonhausel learned where we were-”

Alejandro said, overriding Miguel’s lighter voice, “I cannot protect my sister from Malvern Vonhausel. But Dimilioc can surely protect her. If you will. Master.”

Grayson regarded him thoughtfully. “Well, that is likely true. But am I seriously meant to believe that at some point before he died, Edward Toland actually advised you to appeal to Dimilioc for protection?” A slight incredulity had come into the Master’s voice.

Alejandro answered, “Yes, sir. He told… He told us about Dimilioc. He said that the only black dogs who do not live in fear belong to Dimilioc and call themselves wolves. He told us that Dimilioc black wolves live together with humans and with the Pure. That Dimilioc wolves use the Aplacando, the Calming, and cherish the Pure. We know… Everyone knows Dimilioc has always killed any black dog who dares hunt the Pure.” Alejandro paused, then went on, “And then we heard that Thos Korte was dead and you were Master. Papá said if we had to… to leave Mexico, we should come to you.”

What Papá had actually said was, “Don’t stand and fight, hear me?”

He had been speaking to Alejandro; it would not have occurred to Natividad or even Miguel to stand and fight. And he had not exactly been speaking. He had been snarling, the change half on him. They had known by then that Vonhausel had come, that he was close. That they would not be able to fight. The dry forest around Potosi was already burning, the oaks smoldering into slow flames and the pines going up like torches. Black smoke had veiled the whole sky.

Mamá had been trying to show Natividad a special way to hide, always hard for the Pure. Natividad had been trying to learn it, crying with fear and trying not to beg to stay with Miguel. She had known if she stayed too close to her brother, she might draw black dogs to them both. She had had to hide by herself, at the base of the live oak, concealed by its living shadow, and Mamá… Natividad wouldn’t think about that.

But she couldn’t help but remember how desperate and furious Papá had sounded when he’d ordered Alejandro: “Get clear of this, don’t fight, lead those bastards off of us, as many as you can get to follow you. Come back if you can, find your brother and sister, take them north. Dimilioc’s the only chance you’ll have, understand me? You’ll have to throw the dice. Grayson Lanning has got to be better than old Thos, he could hardly be worse, and Toland is a name he’ll recognize.”

Alejandro said only, “He told me Dimilioc would remember his name. He said you might take us in.”

“Is that what your father told you?” Grayson was silent for a moment. He did not seem to expect a response, but at length went on, quietly, his deep voice dropping into a still lower register, “It’s been, what? Twenty years, since your father quarreled with Vonhausel and then, like a lunatic, with Thos Korte. At least twenty years. I find it interesting that your father, though exiled from Dimilioc, nevertheless found himself a Pure woman. That he even married her. I find it incredible that he lived long enough to have children your age and yet never once brought himself to our attention.”

Alejandro apparently could think of no response to make to this. Natividad certainly couldn’t. Not even Miguel seemed to have anything to say.

“And now you are here. Possibly with Malvern Vonhausel snapping at your heels. Well. And you think Dimilioc should lay claim to your father’s old quarrel?”

Here it was, this moment, which held either life or death, which held their futures and all their lives. Natividad wished she could answer. Or Miguel, who could always find words that were smooth and polite and persuasive. But the Dimilioc Master would expect Alejandro to answer before his younger human brother or Pure sister.

So it was Alejandro who took a breath, met Grayson’s eyes, and answered, “Dimilioc hunts down descontrolados black dogs and sends them into the fell dark; Dimilioc clears moon-bound shifters out of the sunlit world and protects the Pure. Twenty years ago, Vonhausel did not dare challenge Dimilioc. Now the war is done, if there still exists any civilized House of black wolves he will not dare challenge, it is this one. So, I brought my sister here. Will you not take her in?”

The Dimilioc Master did not answer. He regarded Alejandro with narrow-eyed intensity.

Alejandro lowered his gaze, but from the angle of his head, Natividad knew he continued to watch Grayson covertly. He said suddenly, “Was the cost of the war with the vampires so high?” Alejandro looked from man to man on the porch: Grayson and Harrison and Ethan Lanning; Zachariah and Ezekiel Korte. “Is this all your strength?”

Grayson said nothing.

“You are weak,” Alejandro said harshly. “Dimilioc is weak. All the callejeros were hiding before, they were quiet, but now why should they hide their shadows? Never mind Vonhausel: if even ordinary stray black dogs look north now, who is here to stop them?”

“I expect we’d manage somehow,” murmured Ezekiel, cool and mocking and totally unimpressed.

“Oh, yes, will you? Should black dogs fear the Dimilioc verdugo?” Alejandro asked him. “The Dimilioc executioner, who can find you anywhere and will step silently out of the night to tear out your heart – every black dog fears the verdugo! But even the executioner himself cannot fight ten black dogs at once… or twenty… or fifty.”

“You might be surprised,” said Ezekiel, smiling a little.

Alejandro shook his head. “It’s fear that defended Dimilioc. It was fear of you that kept the callejeros quiet in the world. But now Gehorsam is gone from Germany, and nearly all the Lumondiere wolves dead in France, so we hear, and who knows about the Dacha? Or the cartels in Syria and Saudi Arabia; not that they are a loss, but they were strong and now they are gone. If not even Dimilioc remains strong enough to make all the norteamericano black dogs afraid, then the callejeros will hunt the Pure, and never mind what Malvern Vonhausel will do! Any black dog with strength enough to force another to follow him will come to pull you down. If you have only five wolves to meet them, they will do it-”

Grayson gave Alejandro a burning look, and Alejandro stopped. The Dimilioc Master said, his tone harsh, “I assure you, pup, black dogs everywhere are still wise to fear Dimilioc.”

Alejandro lowered his eyes, but Miguel, less impressed by black dog aggression, said, “If Dimilioc can’t hold against stray black dogs, that would be… Look, you have to hold. If Dimilioc was gone, even the weakest of the black dogs would hunt as they please. There would be another war, this one between black dogs and humans, and no one would win that one either, but black dogs would lose it.”

Grayson transferred his burning look to Miguel.

Miguel didn’t seem to notice. He said earnestly, “Dimilioc needs to be stronger, whether Vonhausel comes or does not come. You don’t have time to breed more black wolves of Dimilioc bloodlines. You need us as much as we need you! Toland used to be Dimilioc. We could be again. Alejandro is strong right now – Papá trained him all his life-”

“Enough!” snapped Alejandro. But he said to Grayson, “But that is true. That is all true. We came to ask Dimilioc to take us in. If you can protect my sister and brother, then we will strengthen Dimilioc.”

Grayson Lanning tilted his head, amusement and something else in his hard face. “You amaze me.”

“I will be loyal to Dimilioc,” Alejandro insisted. “We all will be. Six wolves would be stronger than five. Enough, maybe. Miguel will make himself useful to you – and, after all, our sister is Pure.”

Ethan Lanning said with contempt, “Pimping your sister, are you, pup?”

Only Natividad’s grab at his arm kept Alejandro in his place. She was furious and didn’t mind letting it show, because meekness was all very well, but there were limits. She said sharply to Grayson, ignoring Ethan, “I told Alejandro he should say that. It’s obvious anyway. Did you think it was an accident I said that about my married cousins? I’m not a puta; I won’t lie down with them all. But if you take us into Dimilioc, I’ll take any one of your wolves you say.” She jerked her head scornfully at Ethan. “Even him.”

Ethan Lanning flushed and snarled, his shadow rising fast through him so that his jaw distorted and his claws slid out of his hands, which Natividad affected not to notice. But, with impressive control, he stopped the change there, his shadow subsiding, at no more than a look from his father.

“If we kill your brothers and keep you?” Harrison said to Natividad. He glowered at her, though she couldn’t tell whether that was because he was angry with her, or irritated with his son, or whether that was only his normal manner.

She tossed her head, glaring back at him. “Then I’ll hate you all. You don’t want that.”

“We don’t,” Grayson agreed, his rough voice cutting across Harrison’s response. The Dimilioc Master walked down the steps and put one thick finger under Natividad’s chin, tipping her face up. She met his eyes, though she knew perfectly well how dangerous that was. She could see Alejandro staring at her, willing her to be meek and submissive. But she wasn’t a black dog. She didn’t have to drop her gaze. Nor did the Master of the Dimilioc wolves seem offended. After a moment, he let her go.

He looked carefully at Alejandro, and then at Miguel. To Miguel, Grayson said, “You also want to come into Dimilioc? Human as you are?”

Miguel gave Alejandro a wary glance. “It was the only thing any of us could think of to do, after Vonhausel killed our parents. We… We hid. Papá wouldn’t let us fight…” he cut that thought off.

“If you had fought, you would be dead, too,” Grayson said, his deep voice quiet. “Especially you, boy. Our human kin don’t belong in black dog battles.” He paused. Then he said to Ezekiel, much more curtly, “Take them downstairs. When they have been secured, come up, and we will talk about this. Ethan, go get their car. If you can’t get it up the road, at least get it out of sight.” The Master himself went back into the house without a backward look. Zachariah Korte and Harrison Lanning followed him, and Ethan shot them a contemptuous look and strode away toward the forest. Then only Ezekiel remained, watching them where they still knelt. He was smiling, but his pale eyes were cool and watchful.

“That was not precisely what I expected, when I brought you here,” he commented.

Miguel looked Ezekiel in the face as he got to his feet. “Why not?” he asked. “I’d have thought it was obvious.”

Even if Miguel had been careful not to meet the young executioner’s eyes, he might have put that better. There was no challenge in his tone: as always, he was simply curious. Nevertheless, Natividad wasn’t surprised when Alejandro stood up quickly, in case the Dimilioc executioner took offense at Miguel’s familiarity.

But Ezekiel showed no sign of affront. He said merely, his tone dry, “Perhaps it should have been.” Then he offered Natividad a hand to help her rise. Alejandro moved to stop her taking it, then caught himself. She smiled tiredly at her brother, but she took Ezekiel’s hand without hesitation. His thin smile as he offered it told her that he expected her to be afraid of him and she wanted to show him she wasn’t. And she wasn’t, really. Not really.

Ezekiel’s hand was warm and firm, his grip strong. He met her gaze as he lifted her to her feet. He was not smiling now. She could not read the expression in his eyes.

Alejandro put a hand under her elbow, easing her back, away from the Dimilioc executioner. “You’re tired…”

Natividad let go of Ezekiel’s hand, allowing her brother to draw her back. She knew Alejandro had been pushed far enough already, so she agreed cheerfully, “Tired and stiff! I think every muscle I own is going to be stiff.” But then she looked straight up into Ezekiel’s eyes, not smiling, and asked, because she thought he might answer, “What’s downstairs?”

“Nothing too alarming,” Ezekiel said, still dry. “You can relax.” She could tell he was telling the truth, though there was a slight emphasis on the you that she wasn’t sure she liked. But when he stepped back, waving them all up the porch stairs so they had to go past him and let him come at their backs, she went. Especially because, under the circumstances, she didn’t think they had much choice.

End~

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BLACK DOG
by Rachel Neumeier