Pure Magic (Black Dog Book 3)

by Rachel Neumeier

  Ezekiel gave him a narrow look that stopped his voice. “And how long do you think that’ll last, with her out in the world, just her and that damn fool Pure boy, with no one to protect them?” He snapped into the phone, “How could you let this happen?”

  There was a slight pause, which was probably Grayson taking tight hold of his temper. Then the Master said—being black dogs, they could all hear his response—” I admit I was careless. However, Keziah has gone after them—

  “Keziah!” Ezekiel said. “Are you insane?”

  There was a second, grimmer, pause. But Ezekiel did not apologize. Perhaps if he had been confronting Grayson in person, it might have been different. Though Alejandro was just as relieved there were many miles between the Master of Dimilioc and Dimilioc’s executioner. Ezekiel’s breathing had quickened, and his eyes had gone bright yellow, and the bones of his face subtly shifted beneath his skin—the merest suggestion of the black dog that was plainly pressing hard against his control. Ezekiel never lost control, except when he did. The last time had involved Natividad, too. If the verdugo lost control again, no one could be more dangerous.

  Alejandro, himself angry and upset, nevertheless felt his own shadow flatten out, intimidated, in the face of Ezekiel’s fury. He did not dare make a sound. He wanted to move back a step, but did not dare even that. Ethan, who had by chance been on the other side of the balcony, stayed there, staring intently at the floor.

  At last the Master said, in a harsh, deliberate tone, “Ezekiel, you know perfectly well that Keziah will harm neither Natividad nor Justin. I am quite confident that she intends to find them, protect them, and bring them back to Dimilioc’s safekeeping. If I do not hear from her within a reasonable time, I shall go after them myself. You, however, will stay in Boston, and finish hunting down these Dacha wolves while you have them off balance and at a disadvantage. I am certain you understand the urgency of this situation.”

  “No,” Ezekiel said flatly.

  “And after you have taken care of this very serious and pressing problem in Boston, you will go south, to address the even more serious situation that has arisen in El Paso—”

  “No!” snapped Ezekiel. “Do you seriously believe Keziah will be able to track Natividad? Natividad, who kept herself and her brothers clear of Malvern Vonhausal for weeks? How many Pure women has Dimilioc ever known who were more skilled with magic? She can do things with magic no one can do! And you sent Keziah after her? Keziah hates her!”

  “Keziah does not hate her—”

  Ezekiel spoke right over the Master. “And I know damned well where she’s gone. So do you, damn your eyes, Grayson!” His voice rose toward a snarl. “It’s not Justin making the decisions for that pair! You let Natividad find out about this damned mess in El Paso, didn’t you? Where else would she go, when she knows they begged you to send them help and you refused?”

  “Ezekiel.”

  “No.” Ezekiel crushed the phone in his hand, then flung down the resulting handful of ruined plastic splinters and memory chips. Then he stopped, and closed his eyes, and stood very, very still. His chest rose and fell: one breath. Another. A third. At last he opened his eyes. They were still a fiery, inhuman yellow.

  Instinct drove Alejandro to the balcony floor before he even thought about it. He didn’t try to fight the impulse. He definitely did not look up to meet Ezekiel’s hot stare. He wanted to say, Natividad is my sister, I will go after her, but he did not dare. He wanted to say, It is one thing if I disobey Grayson Lanning; if you disobey him, I think the world may end, but still less did he dare say that. He said instead, very meekly, “I can find my way past any maraña mágica she can make. I can find her more quickly than you can.”

  Ezekiel looked down at him. Alejandro did not look up, but he felt the pressure of the verdugo’s stare on his back. There was a long pause. Alejandro wondered whether he would have any chance of forcing Ezekiel’s shadow back, if the other black dog’s control began to slip. With Ezekiel so angry, he doubted he could even slow him down.

  “I don’t think so,” Ezekiel said at last. His voice, though still retaining a faint echo of his suppressed fury, was much calmer. Alejandro dared to glance up. Ezekiel’s eyes were human again: a pale, wintry blue.

  “You’ll stay here,” Ezekiel told him. “Or, no. You had better withdraw to Dimilioc: I don’t want you facing Zinaida Kologrivova alone. Call Grayson back, let him decide whether to pull you out or send you adequate backup.” He glanced coolly from Alejandro to Ethan. “Either way, you two won’t fight each other. You’ll work together. Ethan, you’ll take Alejandro’s orders.”

  Alejandro looked sharply at Ezekiel, who did not seem to notice the impudence, and then warily at Ethan, who would obviously be offended.

  Indeed, Ethan began to protest, but cut whatever he’d begun to say off short when Ezekiel raised an eyebrow. He looked aside immediately, but said stubbornly, “Why him?”

  “Because I said so, and I will be unhappy if you don’t do as I tell you,” snapped Ezekiel. Then he paused, plainly to take a harder grip on his temper, and added, less sharply, “Because Alejandro has the gift for rolling over other black dogs’ shadows, and because he isn’t as distracted by the need to look like a Lanning—”

  “I am not—”

  “Shut up. And because he’ll take advice a hell of a lot better from you than you would from him. That’s why. You get that I am not joking, here?”

  Alejandro looked warily at Ethan. Ethan stared back at him, frowned, and looked deliberately away. He shrugged, a grudging gesture, but one that showed reluctant acceptance. “Whatever.”

  “Good,” said Ezekiel. “Mind you, Alejandro, if Grayson sends Thaddeus to pick up this mission, you’ll both obey his orders, and I will not be amused to hear that any damn-fool crap about bloodlines got in the way of getting the job done.” This time, the verdugo turned his wintry gaze on Alejandro as well as Ethan. “Understand?”

  “I understand,” agreed Alejandro

  Ethan shrugged angrily and muttered, “Yeah, sure, whatever. Thaddeus still isn’t completely used to working as part of a team, you get that, right?”

  “He will do very well,” Ezekiel said shortly. “You will not allow your own dominance issues to get in the way of dealing with Dimilioc’s actual enemies. Right?”

  Alejandro glanced sidelong at Ethan. Ethan glared back, far too directly for politeness. But then he looked deliberately away again, dropping the challenge.

  Ezekiel gave them both a very small nod. “Good. Lead with your heads,” he told them. “Don’t let Zinaida Kologrivova or her Dacha wolves kill you, or I’ll be seriously annoyed, understand?”

  “Ezekiel—” Ethan began, and then broke off as Ezekiel looked at him, one pale eyebrow rising. But then, though Ethan lowered his head, he went on, “This is all stupid. You should call Grayson back yourself. Tell him you’re still here, you’ll take care of these damned Dacha black wolves. Look, you know if you walk away from this—”

  “Enough,” said Ezekiel. His tone was almost gentle, but his eyes were shifting once more from human blue to flame-yellow.

  Ethan said stubbornly, “He wouldn’t have even told you anything, except he trusted you not to fly off—”

  “Then he should have known better,” Ezekiel snapped. He stalked to the edge of the balcony, put a hand on the railing, and vaulted over without seeming to look. His shadow flared around and above him, carrying his weight, so he would land on the pavement below as lightly as a cat—more lightly, because even a cat would break bones, dropped from this height.

  Ethan looked at Alejandro. Alejandro stared back. Ethan shut his eyes, took a deep breath, let it out, and opened his eyes again. They were ordinary human eyes, dark and angry with ordinary human anger. He jerked a gesture at the railing where Ezekiel had vanished. “I tried. But Grayson . . .” he shrugged.

  Alejandro nodded. “Either Ezekiel will change his mind and come back, or he will go south to look for Nativid
ad. Either way . . . ” he returned Ethan’s shrug. “Nos fregamos.”

  “Yeah,” said Ethan, and shook his head. “Yeah. Nos whatever. Damn.”

  “Right,” said Alejandro. He turned away, stared out at the night, out and down, the way Ezekiel had gone. There was no sign of Ezekiel’s passage through the city, only ordinary night sounds of the streets and the hotel.

  He was careful not to look directly at Ethan. He did not wish to begin some stupid struggle for dominance. He could see, out of the corner of his eye, how Ethan had also turned his face away, avoiding any chance of confrontation. After a little while, Ethan even sank down to sit on the floor, leaning back against the railing, legs drawn up, his fingers laced nonchalantly around his knees. He said absolutely nothing. Almost anything he said would sound like a challenge, now. Especially after that cool judgment that Alejandro took advice better than he did. That would make even good advice sound like a challenge, and both of them knew it. So Ethan kept his mouth shut, staring out into the night in silence.

  Alejandro said abruptly, “You have another phone, yes?”

  Ethan didn’t look at him. “Sure,” he said, his tone completely neutral.

  “I think it would be best to call the Master. I think I should do that now.”

  Ethan tossed his slim little phone to Alejandro without comment. Alejandro flipped it open and studied the buttons.

  In the whole village of Potosi, there had been only one phone. It had been attached to the wall with a cord, and one put in the number by turning a round dial for each number. Since coming to Dimilioc, Alejandro had used these other phones. He knew very well one pressed the buttons, but every phone seemed frustratingly different. It was not obvious to him how to even turn this particular phone on.

  Natividad would know exactly how to use this phone. Miguel would know how to use ten thousand functions that Alejandro would not even guess existed. Alejandro could only suppose that probably one of the two large buttons at the top of the panel would make the phone work. One had a green line on it. Maybe that was the button that meant Go.

  He had no intention of asking Ethan. He thought, however, of tossing the phone back to the other black dog and saying curtly, You do it. That would even make sense. Ethan was a Lanning. Grayson was his uncle. Let him talk to Grayson and explain what Ezekiel had done and that the verdugo had truly abandoned this misión, this mission and run away to follow Natividad south.

  Let Ethan sound offended and shocked. Alejandro knew he would himself have difficulty hiding from his own relief that Ezekiel had gone after Natividad. He could hardly believe she had gone away from Dimilioc again, into danger again. Grayson would be so angry. But Alejandro couldn’t help but feel—

  The phone rang, a swift run of notes like birdsong. Alejandro blinked, startled, stopping himself with difficulty from either dropping the phone or crushing it. He looked at Ethan, who only shrugged. The phone rang again. And again. Ethan opened his mouth to say something, probably something sarcastic, but then stopped and said nothing after all.

  Alejandro touched the button with the green line across it.

  Grayson’s deep, gritty voice said, harsh and clear and with the echo of a black dog snarl behind the words, “Ethan—”

  Alejandro cleared his throat.

  “Alejandro,” Grayson growled. “Well?”

  “Master,” Alejandro said, and looked at Ethan, who pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows, a very clear Your problem. “Master,” Alejandro said again. “Ezekiel . . . uh . . .”

  “Yes, I understand that,” Grayson said grimly. “Leaving the pair of you to deal with these Dacha black wolves on your own. That’s not acceptable, particularly not if you must face Zinaida Alexandrovna Kologrivova. With, no doubt, a selection of the strongest wolves of The Dacha.”

  Alejandro made a sound of acknowledgement and waited to see what Grayson would command.

  Grayson said heavily, “I will come myself.”

  Thoroughly relieved, Alejandro nodded quickly and said, “Yes.”

  “You will wait. I shall endeavor to arrive at your door before dawn.”

  “Yes,” Alejandro said again, and just then a narrow-jawed blond man of perhaps fifty, with eyes the pewter-gray of storm clouds and a shadow that swept out long and dense behind him, stepped out on the neighboring balcony. He looked directly at Alejandro, smiled, strode to the edge of his balcony, stepped up on a chair and then the railing and leaped. It was a man who flung himself into the air six stories above the pavement, but it was a black dog who hurled himself over the railing not a foot from Alejandro.

  -10-

  Natividad was completely taken aback by Keziah’s sudden appearance. She had felt the air quiver with black-dog presence, had known someone had crossed Justin’s mandala. But, though through her alarm, she’d been sure it must be Ezekiel.

  She would never in a hundred years have expected Keziah.

  Keziah was already almost completely human when she hit the floor. That was fast for the cambio de cuerpo, very fast, and Natividad hadn’t even known Keziah could hold a half-shifted form—she hadn’t ever seen anyone do that but Thaddeus. Keziah must have been working really hard to tighten and refine her control, Natividad realized, and was faintly dismayed without knowing why.

  Then she knew why. It was because she was afraid Keziah would someday rival Ezekiel’s speed and strength and control. And she was afraid of what Keziah might do, what she might want to do. She didn’t want the black dog girl to be able to challenge Ezekiel.

  But she didn’t want Keziah to see any of that. She slipped her hands into her pockets and softened her stance, trying to look harmless without looking scared.

  Keziah tossed back her hair, still neatly braided despite her partial change to her black dog form and back again. She straightened her shoulders. She looked around the suite, one swift summing glance, and then quickly at Justin and away again, and then, finally, glared at Natividad. She said, her tone biting, “One might have expected you at least would know better. Out on your own! Any number of strays might be hunting through this town tonight!”

  Natividad, still recovering from the sharp surprise of realizing Grayson had sent Keziah after them rather than Ezekiel, was not immediately able to answer her. Then, to her astonishment, Justin picked up the platter than still held half the chicken and some of the ham, held it out in invitation, and said mildly, “I expect you’re hungry. There’s plenty left.”

  Keziah flicked another glance at him and immediately looked away again, and Natividad realized suddenly that the other girl was deeply uncomfortable as well as angry. She immediately tried to put her more at ease, dropping down to sit once more on the floor, leaning an elbow on the table, trying to look relaxed. She also found that she no longer felt she needed Ezekiel’s knife. Recognizing Keziah’s discomfort made Natividad feel a lot more in control and a lot less like a five-year-old called to account. She said, “It’s important not to lock people up, if you don’t want them to try to run away.”

  It was plain Keziah didn’t know how to answer her. The black dog girl ran her hand over her hair—an unnecessary gesture, as she looked, as always, flawless. It was uncharacteristic, too, as usually Keziah made it very plain she knew exactly how flawless she looked. Her elegance was muted now, though, even though she was wearing a really beautiful bronze-colored blouse and these fabulous hoop earrings of twisted gold. She really looked just like she should be perched in an ornate boat with a dragon prow, modeling Cleopatra, with a hundred men to row her down the Nile. Unless it was the Norse who had carved dragons on their boats? Either way, despite her beauty, Keziah looked, to Natividad, less certain of herself than usual. Maybe even . . . a little bit lost.

  “You should have supper,” Justin said. “And then, if you want, maybe you can guard us while Natividad shows me how to draw crosses along the foundation of this house. I mean,” he added, raising his voice just a little when Keziah made to answer him, “We’re all exhausted, aren’t we
, so we can surely leave off arguing till tomorrow? There’s a little ham left, if you don’t like chicken. Unless you don’t eat pork.”

  Keziah gave him a scornful stare. “I eat anything, Pure boy. Usually after hunting it down and tearing it to pieces.”

  “I’m sure that’s one way to work up an appetite.” Justin continued to hold out the platter. Natividad had no idea what he was thinking, but he didn’t seem especially worried. He had forgotten about looking down. But Keziah did not seem angry.

  “I didn't think Grayson would send you,” Natividad said, since someone had to say something. “And I didn’t think anyone would find us, not so fast. I didn’t forget about strays, you know. I thought I’d taken care of that. I didn’t think—how did you track us?”

  Keziah gave a strange little shiver, jerking her attention away from Justin to glare at Natividad. “You think your Ezekiel is the only black wolf who knows how to hunt?”

  Natividad wanted to say, You’re the only black dog here, so why don’t you just relax and sit down and have some chicken? But she knew saying anything like that would be a mistake. She said instead, making sure her tone was meek, “I just want to understand. If any ordinary black dog stray could track us here, that wouldn’t be good, right?”

  Keziah shrugged disdainfully. “There is always danger, fool. Any stray might happen across you here and pick up your scent. But tracking? I should not think a stray would know to turn toward the confused path, or to go the way she does not wish to go.”

  “. . . right,” said Natividad. She hadn’t thought of any black dog figuring out how to track her directly along a confounded trail. Turning deliberately toward a confused path . . . that must take a special kind of awareness and endurance. She looked at Keziah with respect.