Pure Magic (Black Dog Book 3)

by Rachel Neumeier

  Ah. That made sense after all. A plan. Of course Miguel would have had a plan. Miguel always had a plan. With Andrew and Russell Meade to help him. Yes. That should have worked. Those two were used to listening to their human sister. They would probably listen to Miguel, if Grayson insisted. Alejandro leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, wondering vaguely what Plan B might have involved. It was hard to think. Though he was not in much pain. He thought he should hurt more. His wrists burned from the silver that still ringed them; his back burned and ached, worse every time he tried to shift position. But mostly he just felt tired and numb. And afraid for Natividad. He needed to tell Miguel and Grayson about Natividad. About her fear, her terror—she was in such danger—he knew she was still alive and not hurt, but she was so afraid. Her fear hurt him more than the silver. He said, “Master—Natividad—” but then darkness rose up around him, and he never heard Grayson’s answer.

  -14-

  Natividad knew perfectly well that there were too many blood kin for one black dog to fight, even if there hadn’t been the vampire.

  It was hard to remember how horrible blood kin actually were. You saw one and it was dreadful and then you forgot how dreadful it was until the next time you had to face one. She knew blood kin had once been human, until a vampire made them into monsters. That was part of what made them so horrible. She knew that until a few years ago, they had been able to pass for human, that even when they were far away from any vampire, ordinary human people had simply looked right past their blood-red eyes and pointed black teeth and vicious yellow claws. She knew that up until just a couple years ago a lot of them had been mayors or politicians, judges or school principals; that they had lived right in among normal people and done their best to ruin human society, and no one had noticed a thing. Except the Pure. And the Pure had not been able to interfere, because that would mean war between the vampires and the civilized black dog houses.

  Then Grayson had decided the war was inevitable, and started it. And at last the vampires were gone. Except, after all, not quite.

  Watching those blood kin fight Keziah, Natividad could hardly believe anybody could ever have failed to see the blood kin for what they were, no matter how powerful the vampire magic that had disguised them.

  They moved like machines, with a stilted, angular motion, as though their joints were no more human than their eyes, as though every bone in their bodies articulated in some strange way with the next bone. They moved like praying mantises or spiders, perfectly still until they moved and then shockingly fast and abrupt. They moved like nothing that had ever been human.

  Keziah flowed around and past the blood kin, fluid and graceful in her black dog shape. She wasn’t Ezekiel; she couldn’t shift and shift again in the space of a breath, but she was cat-graceful and fast, and when she struck one of the blood kin, she didn’t just tear it up, but crushed it, too. She had killed several already, leaving their broken bodies crumpled across the street or the yard. One hung impaled across the decorative spikes of the neighbor’s wrought iron fence.

  But the blood kin were fast, too, and more of them kept coming, and when one of them raked Keziah’s side or flank with vicious claws, black ichor spattered. And unlike Ezekiel, she could not shift to human shape and back quickly enough to shed her injuries; if she tried, they would be on her, rending her fragile human body into pieces.

  They were trying to drive her toward the vampire, or pin her so the vampire could come to her. Natividad could see that. Keziah needed to close with the vampire eventually, of course, to blood Natividad’s knife, but she needed to be sure she could get away again, and that was going to be hard. She was faster than the blood kin, though, and she could leap back and forth across the mandalas, which they couldn’t even touch. Natividad saw her toss one of the blood kin all the way across the street and against the line of the outer mandala, and it burst at once into bright white flames. It screamed as it burned, high, piercing inhuman shrieking that went right through Natividad’s head and made her teeth hurt.

  The vampire was a little like one of the blood kin, but different. Faster, stronger, darker, more horrifying. Harder to see, because you just could not bear to look at it. Natividad stood tucked against Justin’s side, her arm around his waist, taking a very human comfort from his closeness. She was sorry he was here, but at the same time she was so glad he was with her. She would have been so scared to be alone. She was scared enough now. She was shaking: a continuous slight tremor. Justin was shaking, too. She didn’t blame him at all. She wanted to say something to make him feel better, something reassuring. But anything reassuring she said would be a lie.

  In the street below, Keziah flinched as the vampire rushed toward her, leaping away from it, retreating around the circle of Natividad’s mandala. Natividad couldn’t see the silver knife anywhere. She couldn’t believe Keziah had lost the knife or forgotten the plan, but then where was the knife and when was Keziah going to close with the vampire?

  It followed Keziah, stalking with that strange inhuman movement, as though it had been put together out of bones and wire, as though it were manipulated by an unseen puppeteer—no natural creature moved like that. She retreated again. And again.

  Keziah was surprisingly beautiful in her black dog form, smaller and more graceful and faster than most other black dogs. Ichor ran smoking down her neck and shoulder and sides. The wounds across her side looked bad, deep, but even so, she moved like Ezekiel, fluid and powerful as a river in flood. But retreating, always retreating, never meeting the vampire. Her eyes blazed brilliant gold with rage, Natividad could see no fear in her, but she turned suddenly and fled across the mandala.

  Justin flinched and ducked his head.

  “I don’t know,” Natividad breathed. “I don’t know—”

  And then Keziah tucked herself down, her body diminishing. She was taking her human shape—no, not quite; her limbs were still thick, her bones twisted and heavy, her shoulders heavy with muscle. But now she had hands and arms, almost like human hands and arms. She rolled and snatched up the knife from its hiding place inside the mandala, and came to her feet and lunged back through the line of the mandala, and when she threw herself at the vampire, the silver knife was in her hands like a white flame.

  It was the vampire’s turn to recoil, but Keziah followed. She had lost some of her speed and a lot of her fluid grace, but she ripped the knife through the vampire’s attenuated flesh and screamed with triumph, her savage not-quite-human voice blending horribly with its insectile shriek.

  Then one of the blood kin struck her from behind, a slashing blow across her side and back, flinging Keziah’s small half-human form into the air and away from the safety of the mandalas. Natividad gasped, a small breathless sound, and clenched her teeth against a sob. The knife spun away, flashing silver and black in the moonlight, metal ringing like a bell when it struck the road, far outside the line of the outermost mandala. The nearest of the blood kin leaped back from it, hissing.

  Keziah rolled and sprawled, helplessly contorting into her human form, driven to shift by the severity of her injuries. The blood that coated her back and side was red, red, red even in the dim light. Natividad thought for a horrifying instant that she must be dead, but then she saw that Keziah was trying to get her arms underneath herself, lever herself up to her knees—she was never going to get up in time, she plainly couldn’t shift again, not fast enough, Natividad had lost track of the vampire, but the blood kin were closing in, a dozen of them, more, far too many—she turned her face desperately against Justin’s chest, unable to watch Keziah be torn down, torn apart.

  Justin made a stifled, inarticulate sound, his arm tightening around her shoulders, and Natividad held her breath, waiting for him to tell her it was over. He would ask her what to do, and she had no idea. The knife had fallen much too far outside her wards for either of them to dream of reaching it; the blood kin wouldn’t be able to touch it, but they would kill anyone who stepped acr
oss the mandala. Keziah’s death had been for nothing—

  “Look,” Justin said urgently. “Look!”

  Caught by a unexpected note in his voice, Natividad opened her eyes and twisted around to see.

  The black dog cutting a clean swath through the blood kin was not Keziah, though for an instant Natividad thought it was. It was hardly larger than Keziah’s black dog form and just as fast, but it had a concentrated intensity all its own, and it tore through the blood kin like a terrier killing rats.

  “Ezekiel,” Natividad whispered.

  “You think—” Justin began, and then the black dog leaped clear over one of the blood kin, ripping through its chest and throat in passing. The black dog hit the ground, shifted instantly to human form to let a savage blow pass way over his head, rolled out, caught himself on one hand, swung himself up with consummate grace, surged up and into his black dog form, and tore another of the blood kin entirely in half.

  Keziah got to her feet, shook herself, ran her hands over her hair—for once she didn’t look immaculate, but she no longer looked near death either. She had had enough time now to recover herself, and she tossed her head and shrugged herself back into her black dog form. She stretched, insolent and disdainful of her enemies, and then crouched low to stalk one of them. It stepped backward with awkward speed, then fled, skittering insect-like. Natividad didn’t blame it. Keziah snarled, a blood-curdling sound that started low and scaled rapidly up to ear piercing.

  Ezekiel cut across the emaciated belly of one of the blood kin that hadn’t been fast enough to flee, spilling its insides to the ground in glistening gray lumps. Before it even fell, he pivoted and flung himself unerringly for the vampire. Natividad hadn’t even seen it until he attacked it. Silver-poisoned by her knife, crippled, it had wrapped itself in shadows and crept beneath some kind of thorny bushes. Ezekiel tore the bushes aside and ripped into it, though Natividad couldn’t understand how he could even bear to touch it. It shrieked, dying—of course it wasn’t really alive anyway, but it shrieked, an awful sound of terror and hatred, as Ezekiel tore its stolen body apart and cast it back into the fell dark.

  After that, silence closed in: a strange stretched stillness, as though the night was waiting for something else to fill it. The rest of the blood kin had retreated. At first Natividad thought they were actually gone, but then she saw the bloody gleam of their eyes in the dark and knew they were still there. But quiet, now. Waiting, like the night itself. She took a deep breath. The air smelled of dry earth and ashes, of burnt clay and rot, of blood and terror.

  In human form, Ezekiel bent to collect Natividad’s knife. He was careful to touch it only by the hilt, she saw. The vampire’s blood was all over it, she knew, and took a deep breath, and let it out again, because the first step of her plan had worked after all. She had been so sure they had failed, and now Ezekiel had gained them this new chance of success. She wasn’t even exactly surprised.

  And Keziah was fine. She was perfectly fine. She moved with easy grace in her black dog form, just as though she had never been injured. She turned her back contemptuously on the remaining blood kin, but Natividad saw how her ears stayed flat and wary until she crossed the first mandala and then the second, and how she did not pause to take her human shape until she was across that second warding line.

  Ezekiel stepped across the mandalas only after Keziah was through. He carried the silver knife even more gingerly as he crossed the lines of the mandalas, especially as he crossed the second one. Natividad flinched, realizing that the mandalas were probably reacting to the vampire blood on the knife. She hoped Ezekiel wasn’t burning himself—and she hoped the blood wasn’t burned away, either. “Don’t want to have to do that again,” she said aloud, and shook her head at Justin’s inquiring look.

  She pulled away from his support, finding herself actually stiff, as though she had been running and fighting, and she wasn’t after all exactly sure her knees would hold her up. She had meant to go down and meet Ezekiel, but thought now maybe she might just sit right here on this nice couch instead and wait for him to come to her.

  Ezekiel looked exactly as always: relaxed, faintly amused, perfectly self-contained. Except for a tightness around his eyes when he looked at her, which Natividad was fairly certain no one saw but her. She sure saw it. She blushed. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she said humbly. “I’m so glad Grayson sent you.”

  “I should certainly hope you didn’t intend to get yourself surrounded by vampires and blood kin,” Ezekiel said drily. “And as it happens, Grayson didn’t exactly send me. But I think he’ll forgive me, given the circumstances.”

  Ezekiel set the silver knife very carefully on the coffee table and rubbed his fingers on his jeans, distastefully, like a cat disgusted by something sticky it had gotten on its foot. The vampire’s blood had clotted on the knife’s blade: neither ordinary human blood nor black ichor, but an ugly thick brownish-black streaked with crimson, like old blood and infection. Natividad could smell it from where she sat. It made her stomach turn over. She swallowed hard and looked away from it. At Ezekiel.

  He looked just like himself. Despite everything, he made her feel safe, even now. She could feel the terror of the last few hours melting out of her muscles, just looking at him. Which was ridiculous. But she couldn’t help it.

  She thought maybe Ezekiel would come over to her. She thought he would. She could almost feel the firm grip of his hands on hers, maybe on her shoulders; she could almost feel the touch of his fingertips on her cheek. The imagined touch was so clear to her she felt an almost physical shock when he turned away instead and crossed to the window. He studied the view for a moment, then half turned to lean his hip on the sill, crossed his arms over his chest, and gave Justin a quick, summing glance and her a long look. He said, with no amusement at all, “Under the circumstances, I’m glad I came. You couldn’t wait to get away from me, could you? The instant you find someone I can’t touch, the moment I’m out of the picture, is that it? But what I don’t understand is why you took him and ran. Didn’t you know you’d run straight into danger? Did you really think I was a greater danger than vampires and blood kin and stray black dogs?”

  The injustice of this accusation took Natividad’s breath away. And then the justice of it hit her. Because hadn’t she done just what he said? Only she was sure she hadn’t meant to. Almost sure. She wanted to protest that it wasn’t like that, that she hadn’t meant to do anything like he’d said. But confusion made her stumble into silence.

  Ezekiel looked away, his expression hard and closed.

  “That’s not quite fair,” Justin said. His tone was mild, but stubborn, with an edge underneath. Natividad stared at him, mute and surprised. Ezekiel turned to look at him, too, with narrow-eyed intensity. Justin met his stare and shrugged. “Don’t you know her whole idea was to make Grayson send you after us? A plan she wasn’t in much of a hurry to share with me: I thought we were just going to see my grandmother. I should have known better, but how should I know anything? You definitely should know better. You can’t possibly think all that out there—” he jerked his head toward the window—” is a coincidence.”

  There was a little pause. Ezekiel stared at Justin for a long tense moment. But then some of the stiffness eased out of his shoulders. He turned his attention, frowning, to Natividad. He said nothing.

  “It seemed like a good idea at first,” Natividad explained humbly. “Grayson wasn’t going to send anybody to El Paso, not right away, but I knew he would if I made it look like I was putting myself in danger. Only I didn’t mean to . . . to let anything like this happen. I thought there was only one vampire, probably not even a master, and I thought it wouldn’t know any of us were here until you were ready to kill it. I knew you could kill a normal vampire and a lot of blood kin, even all by yourself, and I thought . . . I thought I could help. Only I made a mistake, and it turned out to be a master vampire after all, and it found out, and sent its servants, and it’
s coming, too, right now. I don’t . . . I don’t know, only I thought maybe I could make something, an aparato, something that would work against even a master vampire . . .” she trailed off uncertainly, unable to read Ezekiel’s expression.

  He said, his tone neutral, “Even the best plan, which hardly describes yours, doesn’t generally survive contact with the enemy.” He paused. Then he went on, “The sun will rise at approximately five thirty, which gives us three hours till dawn. I doubt we can hope the master vampire will delay so long that it’s at risk of being caught by the sun, however. I hope you have a clear idea what sort of magical weapon you can make.”

  Natividad took a slow breath, trying hard to put her awareness of Ezekiel aside so she could think.

  But she was so happy he was here.

  “Maybe,” she said. She was proud of herself: her voice was almost steady. “I mean, I think so. I hope so.” She started to say something else, but then yelped and flinched as something like a whip scored suddenly across her back.

  Ezekiel was at her side instantly, his hands gripping her arms, preventing her from falling. “What?” he asked her urgently. “Natividad, what? Is it the vampire?”

  She didn’t even know at first. The pain and fear were too urgent, too immediate; she didn’t understand what she felt. Then the pain faded to an echo, and she understood at last, and was more afraid than ever, because now her own fear replaced the echo of fear that had scored across her mind and heart. She said helplessly, “Alejandro—”

  Ezekiel stood very still, his eyes on hers. “I left your brother safe in Boston.”

  “No,” said Natividad, and then, reluctantly, “He isn’t safe. Something’s wrong. He’s afraid and in pain. He has been for hours and hours. But just now something hurt him. Something else. I wasn’t—I didn’t—I don’t know.”