Alejandro knelt on the cement floor, his head down, watching the Russian wolves through lowered lashes. They ignored their prisoners. They spoke to one another in Russian, with only the occasional English word. He understood nothing they said. He counted nine black dogs and four humans, but he did not know whether he had seen them all. All of them he saw were male, except for Zinaida Kologrivova herself, the Chernaya Volchitza, the Black Wolf of Russia. She spoke to one man and then another, then vanished up the stairs toward the smell of cooking, of beef and boiled cabbage. But soon she came back down, a human man at her side with a clipboard and pen.
Everyone seemed busy, though what they were doing was not clear. The sound of hammering came from somewhere out of sight. Someone brought a tall crate into the warehouse; someone else took a stack of smaller crates away. Several of the black dogs he could see were young. Those would not have worried him, except for the chains. But Zinaida Kologrivova or Valentin Kologrivov or one of the older black dogs was always close. Even without the chains, Alejandro knew he could not fight any of them.
The humans he did not pay attention to, at first. But then he saw Ethan watching one man, his expression closed and wary. Ethan looked at Alejandro, a sharp glance, and then back at the human with a significant little jerk of his chin. After that, Alejandro looked more closely and realized the man was armed with a gun. That all the human men were armed with guns. When he paid attention, he could tell that the weapons were loaded with silver bullets. The chains, so close and violently bright, made it hard to tell about the bullets. He would not have known, except for Ethan. His own carelessness made him angry: he should not have needed Ethan to show him that threat. But everything made him angry now.
Especially Ezekiel’s absence. The verdugo should have been here. He should have been on that balcony outside the hotel room; he should have been here. Then all these Russian wolves would not have everything as they pleased.
He knew, with the part of his mind that was capable of thought, that this was unfair. That if Ezekiel had been on that balcony, he would very likely be chained here also. Or dead. That the attack had been too swift, too unexpected, the Russian wolves too strong. But he was still angry. It was dangerous to be so angry. He knew that, too.
Ethan did not look so angry. Or afraid. There was a tacidturno—sullen—set to his mouth, a hostile look in his dark eyes, but Ethan often looked sullen and hostil. There was intelligent thought behind the surly look, though, or he would not have seen that the human men carried guns loaded with silver, or indicated that danger to Alejandro. Alejandro barely felt capable of intelligent thought himself.
He flexed his hands slowly and repeatedly, testing his strength against the silver-backed cuffs. This was useless. But he could not bring himself to stop testing those cuffs. He could only barely stop himself from flinging his whole weight against the silver chain and the bolt that held the chain to the floor, even though he knew he could not break either.
Ethan did not appear to feel that impulse. That, too, made Alejandro angry.
Two of the Russian wolves walked together into the warehouse, stood in muted conversation for a moment, then carried away a crate. The crate was not so very large, yet plainly it was nearly too heavy for both of them together. Alejandro watched at first idly and then with interest. He could hardly imagine what might be in that crate. Even in human form, black dogs were very strong.
“Gold?” said Ethan, not whispering but speaking very quietly. “The Dacha was wealthy. I expect they had a lot of assets in Cyprus or wherever, the kind of bank where all the best Russian mobsters keep their laundered money. But after that thing with the Cyprus government skimming creditors’ money, everyone knows gold can be trusted and governments can’t. I bet The Dacha started keeping a lot of assets in, I don’t know, a vault or something after that. The Chernaya Volchitza might have abandoned The Dacha, but I bet she wouldn’t have abandoned a lot of gold.”
Alejandro had no idea how Russian mob bosses handled their money, but he understood the part about not abandoning gold just fine. He nodded.
“Clever pup,” said a tenor voice behind them, level and cold. Ethan twitched, his mouth tightening. Alejandro also flinched. He had not known the black dog was there, so close. He turned his head, wary, careful to keep his eyes down.
It was Valentin. He was standing perhaps fifteen feet away, looking at Ethan. Alejandro would not have expected him to hear so quiet a comment from so far away, but clearly he had heard every word.
“They teach you young pups something in Dimilioc, do they?” said Valentin, his spare, seamed face forbidding. “But they do not teach you to know when it would be wiser to hold your tongue.” His voice was accented, but not as heavily as his aunt’s. He sounded as though he had learned his English a long time ago, but from an American.
Bowing his head, Ethan stayed very still.
Valentin Nikitich Kologrivov strode to him and touched his hair; then, lightly, the back of his neck, a gesture as much a threat as though he had hit him. He said grimly, “You Lannings: far too bold. Far too sure of your own righteousness. You know too much and not ever enough. If not for you, we would not have lost the miasmy—” he broke off, his hand tightening visibly. Ethan made a low, pained sound, but did not try to get away. A struggle, a fight, that would only excite a black dog. Even the youngest pup knew that; every black dog was born knowing it.
Alejandro knew exactly why Ethan stayed so still under that punishing grip. But he could see no answering moderation of Valentin Kologrivov’s anger. He said sharply, “You think all would have been well for The Dacha forever, just leave the vampires alone, sin considerar la creciente influencia, their tightening hold on the world? They hunted black dogs—and they hunted the Pure—”
Valentin released Ethan, straightening. He turned his head, so deliberately that even that small motion was a threat.
Alejandro looked aside, but he said stubbornly, “The war was terrible, but we had to break the strength of the vampires, or they would eventually have broken ours. You must know that is true.”
Valentin straightened and took a step toward him, and Alejandro braced himself. But Zinaida Kologrivov, looking up from a short distance away, said, “Do not rumple the hostages, uncle.”
“We have two,” said Valentin. “One more than we need.”
“No. We may need them both.” Zinaida handed the clipboard back to the man at her side and walked over. She frowned at Ethan, narrow-lipped. “Grayson Lanning is your father? Your uncle?”
“My uncle,” Ethan muttered.
“Your uncle,” Zinaida repeated. “He values you, I hope, young Lanning. Does he value you? Will he give me this Pure girl for your sake?”
Ethan shrugged, not looking up. “Not likely, no.”
“Well, we shall see,” Zinaida said, undisturbed. “He will come to me, here in my territory. If he is wise, he will bring me the girl. If not—” she glanced at Alejandro. “I have this one, at least. That will do for a start. I will take the girl as well, whether your uncle brings her or I must find her myself.”
Ethan glanced up, one swift scornful look. “You want to think Grayson Lanning’s a fool, you go right ahead. But I wouldn’t suggest you refer to Boston as your territory. That won’t go over well, just let me warn you.”
The Black Wolf opened a hand in a small but expressive gesture, a motion that by implication took in not only Boston, but also the surrounding countryside. “Dimilioc can have only what it can hold. This is mine now.”
“Oh, the way you talk, you’d think you owned the entire eastern seaboard. What do you really have? One stinking warehouse and half a mile of the harbor? Dimilioc has been here two hundred years! You think you’ll topple the Northeast Kingdom with a dozen black dogs and a couple human flunkies?”
Alejandro flinched, expecting an explosion, but Zinaida Kologrivov’s expression did not change at all. She only said, “A bold tongue indeed, little wolf. And how many black wolves and human f
lunkies does your uncle own?”
Ethan hesitated, perhaps also disconcerted by the Black Wolf’s restraint. Why he was trying to anger her, Alejandro could not guess, but he hadn’t given up. He said flatly, “Oh, more than that, you bet. Arrogance won’t serve you well here. You think you’ve invited the Dimilioc Master onto your territory? This is all Dimilioc’s territory, and you’re in it. It’s a big country, but there’s no room in it for Dimilioc’s enemies. So why be enemies? Let me tell you, free advice, you’d do better to take a more polite attitude and explain nicely what you want and why. Grayson won’t be pushed, but he can be generous if you approach him right. Ask Étienne Lumondiere.”
That was clever, wrapping a lot of truth up around one big lie. Alejandro could not see any sign that the Black Wolf had spotted the lie, but she did not seem impressed by the truth, either. She only said, “I had heard that Dimilioc permits a Lumondiere presence. In the west, where Dimilioc was never so strong. I think this is not generosity, young wolf. Does one look for generosity from a black dog? No. This shows his weakness.”
Ethan met her eyes. “You’re wrong. About Lumondiere and about Dimilioc. If you Dacha wolves made more of a place for the Pure, you wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss generosity. Or mistake it for weakness.”
Zinaida only shrugged impatiently and turned to Alejandro. She looked him up and down. “You,” she said. “Can it be that Grayson Lanning values you, despite what you have done to your shadow? What strange experiments you Dimilioc curs attempt. I had heard this, but truly I had no idea.”
It took Alejandro a moment to leash the fury that trembled through his nerves. Then he could speak, but he could not think of any good retort.
Valentin curled his lip and said something to the Chernaya Volchitza. The only words Alejandro caught were Ezekiel Korte. That was enough. Alejandro said furiously, “Grayson Lanning will never surrender any Pure woman to you. But Ezekiel Korte? You say you do not fear Dimilioc’s executioner? When he comes here, I think you will find you should.” He tried not to show by so much as a flicker how unlikely it was that Ezekiel Korte would be guarding Grayson’s back when the Dimilioc Master arrived. He tried to look certain of himself, certain of Dimilioc’s strength.
The woman shrugged. “We will see,” she said. “I think my strong wolves need not fear the young Korte. We have seen him fight, now. He is formidable, yes, but he will find he is not invincible. I will be very pleased if your Master brings him to me. Very pleased. He will be useful to me, once I have taught him his place. But I will be more pleased if you are wrong and Grayson Lanning brings me your sister. Then I will ensure he lives long enough to see all his work undone.” She turned to walk away.
“Undone how?” Ethan demanded. He could not stand up, of course, but he straightened his back and glared at her, an attitude Alejandro admired even though it was stupid. “Why undone? What exactly is Grayson’s fault? The war? We won. The vampires are the ones who are gone—” he hesitated, though, remembering the news from the south, the vampire that might be down there—the vampire that Natividad might have gone to find. Alejandro did not want to think of what might happen if she succeeded, especially if these Russian black dogs prevented Grayson from sending anyone after her. He was fervently glad Ezekiel had gone after her, even as he was furious with the verdugo for leaving the rest of them to face the Black Wolf of Russia without him.
The Black Wolf had stopped. She turned back to Ethan. She didn’t hit him, even yet, though Alejandro had half expected her to lose her temper at last. She even raised a hand to stop Valentin hitting him, as the other black dog plainly intended to do. She said, every accented word precise and level, “We can live with vampires. We did live with them, for thousands of years. You are a fool if you truly believe we will be able to coexist with human people, now that your uncle has ruined the miasmy that protected us all. Fortunately, young one, you are mistaken. They are not, quite, gone. In time there will again be enough to recreate the miasmy. And if we must make one or two small concessions here and there to ensure that this occurs, what is that?” She turned away again, this time decisively, adding to her uncle, over her shoulder, “Do nothing that will leave a mark, Valentin Nikitich. Remember the silver makes them fragile.”
“I will remember,” Valentin promised her.
After that it was bad enough. Valentin Kologrivov was an inventive man. Alejandro’s shadow tried very hard to rise, but the silver drove it back. Bound with silver chains, trapped in human form, there was nothing a black dog could do to protect himself from the malice of an enemy. Alejandro knew it would take only about three hours for Grayson to drive from the Dimilioc house to Boston, but he could not track even the passing minutes. It seemed a long time before Valentin grew bored. Probably it was not so long as it seemed.
Alejandro did not try to get up immediately, even when the Russian wolf tired of his sport and went away. He knew his limbs would not support him. He was shaking, which shamed him, but he could not stop. He tried to mutter, “Pedazo de basura,” but his voice, too, shook, and he could not get out even those heartfelt words. Whether he tried to move or tried to lie still, little shocks of pain radiated from every joint and every nerve cluster. Even the trembling hurt.
He tried to remember when he had first come to Dimilioc with his sister and brother, how afraid he had been. He had been afraid that the Master of Dimilioc would kill him, afraid Grayson Lanning might kill Miguel. But he had never been afraid that Grayson Lanning would entertain himself by tormenting his prisoners. His father had taught him that the Dimilioc wolves took pride in their own decent restraint, and he had told him explicitly that Grayson Lanning could be trusted.
Obviously no one had taught the Russian wolves such restraint. Alejandro had not thought before how it would be, a black dog house that despised the Pure. Now, here, he truly understood exactly what the Pure did for Dimilioc. Grayson Lanning would never act so. No black dog would, who valued the good regard of the Pure.
With some effort, he rolled onto his back and put an arm over his eyes to block out the light. He could hear Ethan’s ragged breaths. His own breathing probably sounded like that also. He was ashamed of that, too. He was almost glad of Ethan’s presence, though. He did not like Ethan, but being alone would be worse. And if someone else must be here, better it was someone he did not like.
He had never been more glad to have his sister and brother far away. Miguel must still be safe at Dimilioc, and Natividad—wherever Natividad was, she could not possibly be in as much danger as this, or faced with such terrible enemies.
Then terror shattered like ice through his heart, and he knew he was wrong. He jerked upright, forgetting the chain, which tore his wrists. He barely felt the cold burn of the silver. Natividad. She was afraid. She was so afraid. Something was wrong with Natividad.
-12-
Visibly trying to ignore her fear for herself and for Alejandro, Natividad painstakingly showed Justin how to draw protective crosses on the foundation of the house and then went farther from the house to draw a second mandala, three feet outside the first. Justin watched her, in between crosses. She didn’t have his quick way to do it, but on the other hand her mandala looked a lot more solidly set than his. She cut a huge circle deep into the earth with her silver knife and anchored it with four silver crucifixes, each as long as her hand, made of polished wood wrapped with silver wire. Plus, he could see how tightly focused her mandala was. She knew exactly what she wanted it to do. The difference was obvious when he compared her work with his own.
The ladies who owned the bed-and-breakfast had donated the crucifixes, left over from the later years of the war. Everyone had known by then what kinds of things to use against vampires. The price of silver had gone right through the roof. Justin didn’t like to think what that much silver wire must have cost.
“You might get them back,” Natividad had told the two women, who had been shocked and scared but commendably self-possessed. “But if they look all charre
d and the silver is blackened, it’s best to bury them in hallowed ground and start over.”
The women had nodded earnestly. Justin was almost certain that if they got them back, even if the crucifixes appeared completely pristine, they would bury them in the nearest churchyard. Probably six feet deep, like something that had died.
The ladies had fled without argument, by which Justin guessed they’d had at least one vampire come through Rattlesnake Springs before. He’d always known how lucky they were in Los Alamos, not to have any vampires come hunting. It occurred to him now, for the first time, to wonder whether his own mother might have had something to do with that kind of luck. He longed, with a sudden ferocity that all that doubled him over, for her to be here. To have her hold him like a child and tell him it was going to be fine and just take care of all this. He leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to steady his breathing. Grief and loss and homesickness rose up around him like a sandstorm, and for several minutes he was hardly conscious of anything else.
He wanted her so badly. For all he knew, for all he might ever know now, his mother had worked her magic by guesswork, maybe half-accidentally—but maybe, maybe she would have known just what to do.
She wasn’t here. No one was here who could take care of things for any of them, now. The savage ache of his grief was as bad as the fear of the approaching vampire. Which was ridiculous. Everyone lost someone; look at Natividad. That was even worse, to have your parents murdered by monsters, and she didn’t just stop and cry for her mother.
Pure Magic (Black Dog Book 3) Page 24