Pure Magic (Black Dog Book 3)

by Rachel Neumeier

  Justin clenched his teeth hard and looked hard at the nearest crucifix, at every detail of the grain of the dark wood. He counted the turns of silver wire around it—thirty-nine—and tried to guess at the mass of silver that had gone into making that crucifix, and gradually found his throat becoming less tight. Though his mother was still gone. And the vampire was still coming. When he finally looked up again, he found Keziah gazing at him, her expression unreadable. Justin looked away.

  A little while after the ladies had left, church bells began ringing, first somewhere close by and then in other churches all through the town. Justin wished he thought that would help. He honestly didn’t think anything would help, but . . . wasn’t there a military fort in El Paso? Maybe there was also a unit there trained and equipped to deal with monsters. Would they come out to a little town like this? How fast? And how effective would they be, if they came? Justin could tell that both Natividad and Keziah thought the three of them were on their own. He was afraid they were probably right.

  “Sanctuary,” said Keziah grimly, tilting her head to listen to the clamor of the bells. “The walls of a church would not be enough protection, except this vampire will not hunt amid the ordinary people. He will come here, seeking us.” She glared at Justin. “Seeking you. And that foolish, foolish girl.”

  Justin drew another cross on the wood beneath a window, then a star on the window glass, then smaller crosses to each side of the window. Then he stepped back and looked at it all carefully, sideways, to make sure he had done it right. Only then did he nod to show Keziah he’d heard her. “You think we can hold him till dawn?”

  Keziah shrugged one shoulder, which from her was an elegant, sexy gesture. Justin would have preferred a simple, non-sexy Why, of course. He turned back to the house and drew another cross. It wasn’t hard, exactly. In fact, it was easy. But he had done two sides of the house and was starting on the third, and he was starting to feel a tension headache behind his eyes and an odd kind of ache in his palms and down his arms, as though he had been lifting weights and getting a sunburn at the same time.

  He said, “This isn’t Natividad’s fault.”

  Keziah made a scornful sound.

  Justin glanced at her over his shoulder. “I don’t remember either of us saying, Oh, let’s be careful calling El Paso in case the vampire got there first and took over your cousin’s mind. How was she supposed to know?”

  “It is totally my fault,” Natividad said, behind him, before Keziah could answer. “I’m the one who thought it was so important to come down here and make Ezekiel come after me so I could help him kill the vampire. I never meant to get you involved, Justin. I’m so sorry.” She stepped past Justin and drew crosses on the wall, one with each hand, then stepped sideways to do it again. She looked exhausted. Her eyes appeared bruised, her skin ashen.

  Justin, who had actually still been working on not being mad at her, felt his anger melt away in sympathy and worry. “Look, I can finish this—”

  “Faster with two,” Natividad muttered, and drew two more crosses. She was actually more than twice as fast as Justin, because she not only drew two crosses faster than he could draw one, she never had to pause to check if they were lined up with the others or if the magic had come into them properly.

  “Killing the vampire was very important,” Keziah said. Her expression had not exactly softened, but the line of her mouth had lost some of its bitterness. “You truly believe that your Ezekiel could kill this vampire, by himself, with only you to help?”

  Natividad didn’t look around. “I thought Grayson might send you or Thaddeus or someone with him. And I hadn’t exactly intended to announce our presence and hold myself up as a target. I thought we would be, you know. Subtle. And Ezekiel would know what to do. Now . . . now I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know anything. Have you ever gotten through to Grayson yet?” Both she and Justin glanced over their shoulders at Keziah, but the black dog girl only shook her head.

  “How is your brother?” Justin asked, but then it was Natividad’s turn to shake her head and he was sorry he’d asked.

  They had been trying every fifteen minutes to call Grayson, or Ezekiel, or Miguel, or just the Dimilioc landline. The landline answering machine was on, but every actual person at Dimilioc seemed to have their phones turned off. This had worried Justin, until he saw the pinched look in Natividad’s eyes after the fourth or fifth try. Then it had really scared him. He didn’t know whether it would be better to know what kind of disaster had overtaken the rest of Dimilioc, or whether that would be worse.

  Justin stepped around Natividad and set the last cross into the wall of the house, stepped back and checked to make sure it was in line and properly alight, took a deep breath and let it out, stretched, and rolled his shoulders. Then he finally looked at Natividad. “All right. That’s done. What’s next?”

  “Next?” said Natividad, blankly. Then she scrubbed her hands over her face and looked at her watch, a pink kitten watch that made her look about thirteen years old. “It’s almost one,” she said. She looked around. The night was quiet. Peaceful. Crickets chirped somewhere, a comfortable, familiar sound. Farther away, church bells were still tolling out their brazen warning. Even more dimly, he could hear someone shouting. The bells and the faint shouting were the only signs so far that things were wrong, that everything was wrong.

  That and the ache in Justin’s palms, in the joints of his fingers, in his arms and shoulders. And the faint not-quite-real glimmer of the crosses on the house and the mandalas in the yard, one mandala inside the other. Something about Natividad’s looked strange, now that he studied the finished work. Its circular boundary line looked sort of . . . braided, as though Natividad had somehow twisted light and darkness into a cord and laid it over and into the earth. Justin knew he was a total beginner at magic, but it looked weird and disturbing. But intense, though. He could see that, too.

  The mandala’s line cut sharply through the earth and the air, so clear and strong he thought surely ordinary people must be able to see it, too. The silver crosses that anchored it sparked and glittered. He thought he could hear the mandala buzz, very faintly, like the vibration of a guitar string after someone had lifted his hand from the instrument. The sound held a natural smoothness, a give and return, like a very fine sine wave. He wanted to ask Natividad what she had done to give her mandala such a strange quality, about what she meant that to do. He supposed this was probably not a good time.

  Natividad took a deep breath. “I could make a maraña. A tangled web,” she explained to Justin. “You use them to confuse your enemies, to make it so they can’t find you. I could stretch marañas across all the roads that lead to this house. Only—a master vampire, I can’t confuse him enough. Or we could have run.” She raked her hands through her hair, looking around vaguely.

  “If we could hide, we would be hidden,” Keziah said sharply. “It is too late to hide. You know this. No. We will go into this protected house. We will decide what is the best room to fortify, and you will fortify it. You will blood that knife for me, that silver knife Ezekiel gave you, yes?”

  Justin stared at her in admiration. Keziah didn’t seem afraid, or indecisive. She burned with angry determination. He could almost believe she was actually looking forward to facing this monster. Just looking at her made him feel more confident.

  “Blood my knife?” Natividad said slowly.

  “I know it is your lover’s gift to you—” Keziah began.

  “No. I mean, yes—I mean no!” Natividad stopped and took a breath. Then she said, with dignity. “Ezekiel is not my lover, but what I mean is, I think that’s a really, really good idea, Keziah. I mean . . . a silver knife with vampire ichor on it, vampire magic clinging to it . . .” she made a small, uninterpretable motion with one hand, like she was winding string around a stick or something. “I think maybe . . .”

  Keziah gazed at her. She had forgotten to look superior and elegant and scornful. Her
beautiful black-amber eyes were wide with aggressive satisfaction. “Clever little Pure girl,” she said. “You have thought of something you can do.”

  “Maybe,” said Natividad. Her eyes were wide, too; wide and stunned. “Maybe. I don’t know. But I’ll blood my knife for you, Keziah, and then . . . then you can blood it for me.”

  “Good,” Keziah said fiercely. “Good.”

  They choose the upstairs suite Natividad and Justin had first been given. Justin had expected a cellar or basement, but both Natividad and Keziah shook their heads. “Stone and earth are strong, but closed in, and vampires like the dark,” Natividad explained. “Think of crypts, you know? We want air and light. Starlight and moonlight are good, but dawn is what we’re really waiting for. And this room has an east window.”

  “So vampires really burst into flames in the sun?” Justin asked.

  “Yes,” Natividad said. “So if we can hold out till dawn—”

  Keziah gave a scornful sniff and interrupted her. “Do not give the boy foolish hope. Sunlight will not kill the blood kin. It will only drive them away to wait for dark. And the master vampire may risk any lesser vampires it has made, but for itself, it will be careful of the sun.”

  “Well, yes, but ordinary people ought to be able to help, once the sun rises,” Natividad began.

  “Help monsters against other monsters? Go,” said Keziah. “You are tired. You are not thinking clearly. Go and rest.” But then she said more kindly, “Do not think of things that frighten you. You will be safe to rest. I will watch.”

  “But—” said Natividad.

  “You will be far more use if you are not so tired. We have another hour, maybe. Maybe longer. Your marañas are still laced through the streets. That is why the blood kin have not yet found us. They are not as clever as I. They will not find us until their master comes.”

  She sounded confident. Justin hoped she was right. He knew she was right about Natividad lying down for as long as she could. He didn’t need anyone to tell him that she was their most important weapon against their enemies.

  “My knife—”

  “You do not wish to scent the air with your blood. Not yet.”

  Natividad blinked. “Oh. That’s true. Sí, that’s true. Better to wait. Sí. When the vampire is here, there will be time enough.”

  “We’re sure about that, right?” Justin asked uneasily.

  “If your mandalas do not hold even a scant moment, I will be greatly provoked,” said Keziah.

  Justin stared at her. The black dog girl looked severe and contemptuous, but he was almost sure that had been a joke.

  “Me, too,” muttered Natividad. She yawned, frowned blurrily, evidently at the problem presented by getting to her feet and making it to the bed in the other room. Justin offered her his hand, and she blinked at it for a moment and then accepted his help, staggering to her feet. But then she balked, peering at him. “If you . . .” she began. “I mean, if Keziah . . .”

  “Keziah and I will be just fine,” Justin told her firmly. “You, go rest.” He gave her a little push toward the interior room.

  Natividad stopped arguing, but she said over her shoulder before she closed her door, “You rest, too. Both of you! Be careful. Don’t leave the room, and call me the instant you hear anything, right? If you get Grayson—if you can find out about Alejandro—”

  “We’ll keep trying,” Justin promised her. “Go rest.”

  But Grayson still was not answering his phone. Attempts to call him were still going straight to voicemail. Keziah’s messages were getting shorter and more pithy every time she left one, Justin noticed. He said, partly just to make conversation, “I suppose it’s those enemies of yours in Boston.”

  Keziah stood by the east window, gazing out, watching steadily for the arrival of their enemies. Justin could see tension in the curve of her neck and the set of her shoulders and the line of her back, but when she glanced at him, her dark-honey eyes showed no trace of fear. She said shortly, “One presumes this Black Wolf of Russia has proven more dangerous and powerful than anticipated. But time has passed, and evidently Alejandro still lives. So how dangerous can those Russian black dogs be? One very much doubts they will prove more dangerous than our enemies here.”

  Justin had to agree with that, at least.

  “It does not matter,” Keziah said. She turned dismissively back to the window. “They will hear our warning when they hear it. Soon, no doubt. It makes no difference if we speak to them personally. What could they do to help? Even Grayson Lanning cannot reach across two thousand miles in a mere instant. Even Ezekiel Korte cannot do that.” She glanced at Justin again, mocking. “We have no one to help us. We are alone. You see you should have stayed safe in Dimilioc.”

  Justin wished he had, but he was not going to admit that to her. He asked instead, “So what exactly is different about a master vampire, as opposed to, I guess, a normal vampire? Can a normal vampire not do this . . . mind control stuff?”

  Keziah gave another of her minimal shrugs. “Just so. Any vampire spreads the miasma out of the fell dark and into the world. That is the phrase they use here. The fell dark, from whence come all demonic ghūl. But only a master among vampires is able to make a man see what is not there, or make him do those things that his heart should abhor. So it is said. The abd vampires, the slaves, they are terrible, but none of those could have made that Toland boy into a lure for Dimilioc, or a weapon against his cousin.”

  “You think . . . you think the vampire had him even the first time he called Dimilioc?” That was horrible. That was one of the most horrible things Justin had ever heard.

  “I do not know. It seems possible to me. We are not likely,” Keziah said, with some irony, “to have a chance to inquire.”

  “Yeah. I guess not.” Justin was quiet a moment. Then he asked, desperate to think about something else, “Ghūl. Abd. That’s Arabic, right?”

  Keziah gave him a look, not exactly mocking, he thought, but hard to read. “Of course. Yes. What does that matter to you, Pure boy?”

  “Just curious,” Justin said peaceably, and realized that he had fallen quite naturally into Natividad’s role. Peacemaker, negotiator, calmer of werewolves . . . the role felt surprisingly natural. He had thought it would be cowardice to stay at Dimilioc, that it would show strength and resolve to leave. Now . . . now he thought that deliberately taking on the job of the Pure and sticking with it might require a different kind of strength. He said, almost at random, “I knew a Turkish girl, once.” Her name had been Deniz. She had been good at math. He had helped her with her calculus. He had liked her.

  But then, he had liked almost everyone in school. He wondered now whether everyone had seemed—or actually even been—a bit more likable just because he was there. What a strange concept. And no wonder he kept thinking that Keziah ought to be likable, too. Or that she ought to like him, at least a little bit.

  Keziah’s lip curled. “The Turks are barbarians. Even the Persians are to be preferred.”

  Justin bit down on an impulse to ask her what she thought of the Greeks. Anyway, after that swift outburst of ancient Arabic scorn, she now eyed him sidelong. After a little pause, she said, “Although it is true that my family was no more civilized than the meanest tribe of Turks. I thought to settle in Lebanon, perhaps. Make a place for us there. But they guarded their territory ferociously, those black dogs there. Anyway, I wished to go farther, into a country where the wind did not echo with the voices of my family. Now I am glad, because Dimilioc . . .” she stopped. Then she said, her tone for once quiet, lacking that sharp scorn, “Dimilioc is different. Better. There is a place in Dimilioc for those without family or bloodline. I wanted that for my little Amira. You are a fool to cast that away.”

  “Is it wrong to want to choose for myself?”

  This time the pause was longer. Then Keziah turned her face away. “You are a fool, yes. But . . . perhaps not wrong.”

  “Do you really think it’s likely
that Grayson Lanning would throw you out? Because of me? I truly, honestly, did not leave Dimilioc because of you, you know.”

  Keziah raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  “. . . maybe a little because of you,” Justin admitted. “More because . . .” he didn’t know how to put it into words. He said at last, “It’s not you personally who scares me. It’s all of you. It’s the whole thing. I never understood . . .”

  “We are all monsters,” Keziah said flatly.

  It was Justin’s turn to shrug, because he wasn’t sure that was precisely true. Monster, black dog . . . the Venn diagrams overlapped. But the Pure put another circle on that diagram, didn’t they? There was probably an equation that expressed the relationship . . . the distance between monster and black dog, say, only he didn’t know the magnitudes of the variables. Or how many dimensions there were.

  He wished he could ask his mother what she thought of this sharp-edged Saudi girl, but this time the thought of his mother was almost wistful rather than overpowering. The whole night felt unreal, that was why. He was so tired, now, and everything had gotten so strange. Even Keziah herself seemed like someone out of a dream. Or—

  Keziah straightened instead and leaned forward, both hands flat on the windowsill. “Wake Natividad,” she said sharply. “They are here.”

  Or a nightmare.

  They were blood kin, first. Blood kin never photographed well, but once people had become able to see them for what they were, all kinds of blurry photos and police sketches had made the rounds—newspapers, blogs, social media. Everyone in the world knew what blood kin looked like, now. Emaciated, that was how they looked: skin yellow as old parchment stretched over stark bones. Long yellow fingernails, like claws on the ends of their bony hands. Black teeth, in jaws that could open wider than anyone would expect. Red eyes, bright red, like fresh blood, with dilated pupils; eyes that showed no trace of the humanity they had once possessed. They crouched beyond the outer mandala, staring up at the window where Justin stood with Keziah.