Pure Magic (Black Dog Book 3)

by Rachel Neumeier

  Ezekiel put out one hand and touched the silver head of the harpoon very carefully with the tip of one finger. Then he shook his hand, as though even that light touch had burned a little. “Not really,” he murmured. “No.” He looked carefully at the Hispanic girl. “But I certainly shall not forget that bruise on your face, either.” Then he glanced swiftly at Alejandro, at the Middle-Eastern girl. He said in a harder, sharper tone, “Where is Amira?”

  The girl smiled, a slow, dangerous smile. “Oh, she is well. You are so kind to inquire. No, that so-clever trap went awry. Natividad was also clever. And I think our enemies did not expect three black dogs. So we know now that Dimilioc has an enemy in Boston, and they know they should not regard us lightly. You will no doubt be pleased to know that we have claimed another Pure girl. Amira is with the little one. The child is very much afraid of black dogs, but not of Amira.”

  Ezekiel listened to all this attentively. Then he nodded and looked at Grayson, lifting one pale eyebrow.

  “A strong black dog,” Grayson Lanning told him grimly. “A woman. Someone able to draw and control strays, or possibly able to form and hold a true pack. A black dog able to control her black dogs well enough that they may work with ordinary human people. I can think of one woman this might be.”

  “The Chernaya Volchitza,” said Ezekiel, not a question. “The Black Wolf of Russia.”

  “Just so. Zinaida Alexandrovna Kologrivova,” Grayson added, glancing around at the rest of them. “Anatoliy Ivanovich Kologrivov was Master of The Dacha, before the war. Zinaida Alexandrovna was his aunt. She and Anatoliy Ivanovich were never anything but enemies, but even twenty years ago, she was strong enough to force her nephew to leave her alone.”

  “Thos made certain I knew her name,” Ezekiel said. “He said she was subtle and clever, a dangerous enemy, but in some ways an even more dangerous ally. I imagine she would have had close connections to a good handful of the oldest and strongest Dacha wolves. Valentin Nikitich Kologrivov was her cousin, I believe.”

  Grayson inclined his head. “Her uncle. When the situation in Russia became untenable for black dogs, she might very well have been able to persuade not only Valentin but others as well to abandon a losing battle. She would have known that we had secured our position here—and she would have guessed our victory had been rather Pyrrhic.”

  “Which means it was a trap for us,” Natividad broke in, anxiously. Justin was more and more convinced she and Ezekiel were together, and more and more certain he didn’t like the idea. But he was trying to make sense of all this, remember all these names, sort out who was who. He wondered whom he should be rooting for, if it came to a fight between werewolf factions. Though, all else aside, he kind of thought he might root for the side that the Hispanic girl belonged to, and not the side that had left that bruise on her face.

  Natividad was saying, “We only got out of it by luck! And maybe a little because I don’t think they really expected me to use Pure magic the way I did.”

  Ezekiel gave her a small nod. “We shall keep you clear of traps in the future, I hope. And now that we know about these harpoon guns, I promise you, I shall be cautious. We shall think of a useful counter. We may well depend on you for that, in fact.” He glanced back at Grayson Lanning. “And Thaddeus? I hope he’s been having a less adventurous time?”

  Another name, when he’d already had more than enough to remember. Justin half shut his eyes and repeated all these new names to himself, setting them firmly in his memory.

  Grayson inclined his head. “Fortunately, we have had an ordinary report from Thaddeus. He and his team have come across nothing unusual in the Chicago region. An ambitious black dog, yes, with the nascent beginnings of a pack. But that pack has been broken back into scattered strays. We will deal with them when we find ourselves at leisure.”

  Ezekiel made a wordless, satisfied sound. “Andrew and Russell?”

  “Thaddeus reports no difficulties. They perform well. Their control appears adequate. Of course, DeAnn is with them.”

  Ezekiel nodded.

  “The master of the little pack was taken alive,” Grayson added. “I am informed that DeAnn performed the Beschwichtigand on him. We may find him a useful asset for Dimilioc, as he was able to hold the beginnings of a pack.”

  “More likely he’ll eventually prove a problem for Dimilioc, Beschwichtigand or not,” said Ezekiel, his tone indifferent. “They aren’t all going to be like Thaddeus.”

  Grayson shrugged. “You can always kill him, if he proves difficult. Or I will do it, if you are not here.”

  This was murder they were talking about—deliberate murder. Bringing a powerful werewolf here and deciding whether or not to kill him. Justin had known they were talking about killing other werewolves, all that stuff about that pack has been broken, but he hadn’t really felt the truth of it until Grayson Lanning said in that same indifferent tone, You can always kill him if he proves difficult.

  Or was it really murder when werewolves killed each other? Justin rubbed his hands along his arms, his skin prickling. He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything about werewolves or anything. He felt his own ignorance as though it were a burden he’d carried all his life, never noticing its weight until he suddenly found it pressing him down.

  Ezekiel had started to nod with the same indifference, but he paused, his cool blue eyes narrowing. “Where would I be, if not here?”

  Grayson gave him a heavy-lidded look. “We have also heard from Étienne. I would not say he has come across anything excessively unusual. However, he is nevertheless encountering some difficulty in re-establishing our outpost in Denver. I had hoped to reclaim our gateway to the west before the end of the year. At Étienne’s current rate of progress, that will not be possible.”

  “He didn’t take enough wolves with him,” Ezekiel said, his tone matter-of-fact.

  “He took whom we could spare,” Grayson said flatly. “He is strong and experienced, and perhaps one or another of his Lumondiere cousins survived, and will hear he is there and go to join him.”

  “In which case, he will establish an outpost of Lumondiere, rather than Dimilioc.”

  “Dimilioc, Lumondiere.” Grayson brushed aside this distinction, whatever it comprised, with a flick of one powerful hand. “I actually do not care. I would like to send him one or two more black wolves. But I have none I can spare. I intended to send you—for ten days, two weeks, a month. However long proved sufficient to let Étienne establish firm control over that entire region. But now I do not know. This problem in Boston concerns me. We shall discuss this. We shall discuss all these matters.”

  Ezekiel met Grayson’s eyes, then inclined his head in a gesture that looked formal. “At your convenience, Master.”

  “Indeed,” said Grayson. He looked thoughtfully around the room, frowning. His heavy, powerful gaze felt like a physical pressure when he turned his attention to Justin. “Now. Our guest.” Leaning forward, he set his elbows on the desk, clasped his hands together, and stared at Justin, who stared back, feeling somewhat like a rabbit under the stern regard of a wolf. Grayson said at length, “A Pure young man is . . . unexpected. One presumes your mother was Pure. What was your father?”

  Justin decided he had preferred being ignored. Now everyone was staring at him. Ezekiel, of course, looked amused. Ethan folded his arms over his chest and glowered, as disapproving as he had been right at first. Natividad took a step closer to Justin, looking anxious, her silvery aura following her. She said quickly in a low voice, “It’s fine, you know!” Her brother Miguel grinned and shook his head. Her other brother, Alejandro, the black dog, scowled and looked, for some reason, at the Middle-Eastern girl. That girl, Keziah, tipped one shoulder up in a minimal shrug, her lip curling in a supercilious expression.

  “Well?” said Grayson, ignoring them all.

  Justin said tightly, not daring to defy him, “My mother was a math teacher. She died two weeks ago in a stupid accident. My father was an IT guy, bu
t he died when I was ten. Of a heart attack, dammit, not a werewolf attack!”

  Grayson Lanning began to speak. Justin, suddenly furious, raised his voice and kept going. “I’m good at math, do you get that?” He didn’t say anything about sometimes seeing geometrical impressions superimposed on the world, about razor-edged shadows or curving silvery auras. He said loudly, “I’m good at math and I play chess and I don’t know anything about werewolves except some of you attack random people and some of you kidnap random people and none of you have any right! So I think it’s wonderful that you have this great law to stop werewolves killing people, it’s great you’re ‘cleaning up’ Denver and Boston and everything, good luck with that, but count me out!”

  “Natividad,” said Grayson.

  The Hispanic girl said cheerfully, exactly as though Justin hadn’t just been shouting, “You want me to show him around and get him settled? I can do that. I can maybe show him some magic, right? And explain about black dogs and manners and everything! Right?”

  Grayson made a little gesture concurring with all this, including, evidently, the show him some magic, which had Justin blinking. The werewolf boss only said, “If you would be so kind. Miguel may assist you. Justin will no doubt wish to rest. He may have any suitable room. He is not to leave the house or touch a phone without my explicit permission, however.”

  Nodding, the Hispanic boy gave Justin an assessing look. “Yes, sir.”

  Natividad gave Justin a bright smile. “You must be starving, at least long trips always leave me famished. And exhausted! I’ll show you the kitchen—I bet there are some cinnamon rolls left. And then you can pick a room, maybe the one across the hall from mine, wouldn’t it be fun to be neighbors?”

  Justin stared at her. Natividad smiled back, bouncing lightly, surrounded by her silvery aura. She was plainly happy to show him around. A happy kidnapper. Though it was actually impossible to imagine this girl kidnapping people—impossible to imagine her as a bad guy, even if she lived here in the middle of nowhere with a crowd of werewolves. He ought to be furious with her. It was stupid to let her be all sweetness and charm and just forget that he was furious. That he had a right to be furious. But somehow he just wasn’t. Not at her.

  Ezekiel glanced from one of them to the other and frowned. “I’ll—”

  “I will—” began Alejandro at the same moment.

  “Natividad doesn’t need your help,” Grayson cut them both off flatly. “Ezekiel, Ethan you will both stay; I want your full report. Alejandro, I want you to share with Ezekiel your exact perceptions of that situation in Boston. Keziah, check on your sister and the little girl. I trust they are both still asleep. Inform me if you have any concerns. Natividad, Miguel—” he gave a dismissive little flick of one broad hand and said, his tone taking on surprising undertones of both resignation and humor, “Try to give our guest a good impression of Dimilioc.”

  -4-

  Even though she was just a bit worried about Ezekiel, who looked tired and strained under his cool pose, and who for some reason seemed to be avoiding her gaze —though maybe she was just being too sensitive, there—but anyway, Natividad was glad Grayson had made sure she would be the one to explain things to Justin. She didn’t know how to explain about Dimilioc and black dogs and the Pure and to someone who didn’t know anything, but she was sure she had better not leave all those explanations to Ezekiel. She didn’t know whether to laugh or shudder in horror at the idea.

  But it was fine. Grayson had got everyone else away from them very neatly: not a single black dog was going to be allowed to interfere. That was good. Natividad liked Justin. She didn’t want him frightened or bullied or anything.

  She could see that even Miguel might be a little difficult. She knew what her twin was thinking: if a boy could be born Pure, why not him? But of course Miguel must already have thought about the other part of being Pure, the part where Grayson Lanning would set up your whole life for you. Because Grayson would never let Justin go. Probably Justin didn’t even guess about that, yet. Poor Justin. She thought she had better keep him away from Keziah for a little while. A black dog girl, a Pure boy—she didn’t know what to hope for, there. Justin might be very good for Keziah, but would she be good for him? Though, well, maybe. Hard to say.

  It was almost funny, the idea of a Pure boy. Except the rest of it was sad, too, and a little bit scary. Imagine never knowing what it meant to be Pure, growing up with no idea about black dogs and cambiadors, the little shifters, or how to protect yourself or, well, anything, really. She wondered how Justin had even lived to grow up when he didn’t know anything. Maybe his mother had been Pure after all. But then why hadn’t she explained everything to Justin?

  She glanced at him, the kind of slanted, sideways look that might let her see the glimmer of subtle spellwork. She didn’t stare. That wasn’t the way to see magic, and anyway, Justin must have got enough of girls staring at him in his life. It was the look in his eyes, really. He had nice eyes, sort of a light brown. There was a warmth to them, like he really noticed you. But there was something else, too, a tristeza—a kind of sadness. The sadness of memory and grief. Natividad know all about that, too. She impulsively took his hand, holding fast when he tried, startled, to pull away. Then he stopped trying to pull away and returned her grip. He stared into her face, looking sort of confused, but no longer so lost or scared.

  “That’s because I’m Pure,” Natividad explained. From his puzzled, wary expression, she thought Justin didn’t understand this, not really. She said patiently, “I know you must have figured out years and years ago that people just feel better when you’re nearby. Right? You don’t have to do anything to make them feel that way. That’s just you. Because you’re Pure. I bet people just get along when you’re in the room, even people who usually don’t like each other. In your school and your neighborhood and maybe half the whole town if your mother had lived there a long time! Come on, you must have noticed it, everyone being just a little bit nicer when you or your mother were around?”

  Justin looked like he didn’t know what to say. He said slowly, “But most people are nice, most of the time. At least in Los Alamos. At least where I lived. But the neighborhood was just like that, the city was just like that. It’s beyond far-fetched to think I—or my mother—” he hesitated.

  Natividad shook her head. “No, but didn’t you ever think the news from other places seemed different? That the people everywhere else seemed . . . meaner?”

  Justin shook his head, but not as though he disagreed. As though he were trying to fit this new idea into his picture of the world.

  “You feel the same thing in me, because I’m Pure, too,” Natividad told him. “You can tell, if you pay attention. We do the same thing for black dogs, only more, and more on purpose. That’s what’s important. See?”

  There was a different kind of wariness in Justin’s expression now. He said slowly, “This Pure thing. I’m guessing that’s the . . .” he lifted his hands, sketching a swooping, flowing figure like waves or wind or something.

  Natividad blinked, confused. “The . . . ?”

  “You don’t see it? Around yourself, or . . . around me?”

  “I see you’re Pure,” Natividad said cautiously. “It’s a kind of light, but not really.”

  “Huh,” said Justin, not sounding very happy.

  Natividad tried to look reassuring. “Whatever you see, I bet it’s because you’re Pure. We’ll figure it out. You’ll be fine,” she promised him, maybe a little recklessly. “You’ll be perfectly fine. I’ll help.”

  “You’re a sweet couple,” Miguel put in impatiently. “So let’s not just stand here all day! Ezekiel will be along eventually, you know, and you wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea, right?” Her twin caught her other hand and pulled them all away from the closed door and down the hallway, toward the kitchen.

  Natividad let him, though she glanced over her shoulder, too, just in case Ezekiel did come out of the Master’s o
ffice. But he wasn’t there. She ignored a twinge of regret.

  Justin was plainly not sure if he should be worried or not. “You and Ezekiel?” he asked, his tone wary.

  “Oh, well!” Natividad said. “It’s complicated.” She glared at Miguel, who had prudently ducked out of punching range.

  “Hey, when it comes to black dogs and the Pure—” Miguel began.

  “Shut up!” Natividad told him. “It’s not funny!”

  “Maybe a little bit funny?” said Miguel. “Think of him and Keziah!”

  “That Arabic girl?” said Justin, jerking to a halt. “This is amusing, for some reason?”

  Natividad glared at her twin. “Pendejo!” She said to Justin, “My brother is an idiot! Nobody’s thinking anything about you and Keziah. Come on! Please?”

  Justin set himself more firmly and refused to move.

  “Sorry!” said Miguel, to him and Natividad both, and added kindly, “Once we get you settled in the kitchen, I’ll find you some ibuprofen, if you want. You look like you could use some. Look, Justin, everything’s fine, really. No one’s going to throw you to Keziah. I think there’s soup in the pantry, if you don’t want cinnamon rolls.”

  Justin yielded enough to take a step, but he said firmly, “I think what I really want is an explanation of all this that makes sense.”

  “I don’t know if there’s much chance of that!” Natividad said. “But we’ll try. And you’ll be better for breakfast and a nap. Anybody can see you’re tired and hungry. Come on. Here we are!” She pushed open the door, revealing the wide kitchen, and gave Justin a little push toward the tall stools that stood by the longest counter.

  The kitchen of Dimilioc House was still too big a room, and still chilly with steel and granite, but since Natividad had taken it over, it had also acquired touches of warmth: a big terra cotta bowl on one counter held winter squashes, and another smaller one was heaped with dried chilies and heads of garlic, and overlying the scents of soap and silver polish was a faint fragrance of cinnamon.