Pure Magic (Black Dog Book 3)

by Rachel Neumeier

  But none of that told him anything about what Natividad was trying to do. Or whether she was succeeding. Or what that knife would do, if she successfully made it into whatever kind of weapon she was trying to create.

  Edging sideways, he glanced out the window. The master vampire was right there, not skulking in the shadows or whatever, but right there in the middle of the deserted street. It was not at all like a man. He could hardly believe any part of it had ever been a man, though he knew vampires were supposed to be made when a contaminated body rose from its grave. And yes, he could sort of see the corpse behind the corrupting horror of the vampire’s presence that wrapped around it and looked out through its dead eyes, but mostly he flinched from looking that closely.

  The zombie black dogs weren’t as bad. They were bad enough, but not that bad. Nothing about them looked like it had ever been human. He hadn’t realized that something of the human soul remained visible in an ordinary black dog, even after it had shifted completely into its black dog form. He realized that now, because these zombie black dogs, these hell hound pets of the vampire, showed no trace of that human soul.

  The vampire turned its head and stared straight at him, then, and Justin flinched and shuddered, feeling contaminated just by its attention. He moved quickly away from the window. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be . . . actually to be . . . they bit people, that was how they passed on the contamination. Even the mere thought of it made him want to throw up.

  “Powerful, isn’t it? I have no idea how we missed this one,” Ezekiel said. He was still watching Natividad, but plainly he had also been keeping an eye on Justin.

  “Yeah, not good,” said Justin, at random, because he had no idea what to say and was actually surprised he could get even one coherent word out against the nausea that pressed at him.

  Ezekiel spared him a brief glance and went on, with no trace of his normal light mockery, “Except plainly this particular vampire has learned quite a lot about black dogs. I do wonder whether Vonhausel taught it enough about us that it learned how to hide behind our magic? We weren’t looking for black dogs, after all. Not during the war. If Vonhausel . . . I wonder whether he actually understood what he might have done, allying with a vampire?”

  “You think Malvern Vonhausel allied with this monstrosity?” said Keziah, her eyebrows rising. “So, yes, maybe you are right. Yes, maybe. Then in a way, it is a pity he is dead,” she added dispassionately. “I would like to kill him again, several times.”

  She and Ezekiel shared a look of perfect understanding, which Justin found fairly disturbing. He asked, “Is that why it’s come after Natividad? Because . . . this Vonhausel, he was her enemy, hers in particular, wasn’t he? I sort of got that idea,” he added, as both black dogs turned their attention to him.

  “I have no idea why it should care for Malvern Vonhausel’s personal enmities,” Ezekiel said. “But Natividad . . .”

  Justin stared at him, then at Natividad, still sitting by the coffee table, her hands held out over the knife, her face blank and intent. Then he looked back at Ezekiel. “What?”

  “She’s been shadow-touched,” Ezekiel said. His voice was very quiet, and he was not quite looking at either Natividad or at Justin. He stared out the window instead. If it bothered him to look at the vampire, his distaste did not show. He said, “She wrapped her magic up with Alejandro’s shadow. And then disentangled herself, but . . . you can see traces of the black dog shadow around the edges of her own magic, now.”

  “I thought you could not see that,” Keziah said, faintly surprised. “I thought you would not see what you did not want to see.”

  Ezekiel gave the black dog girl a look. “I’m not blind. Of course I saw it. I didn’t care. I even thought it might be an asset: make her stronger, more powerful.”

  Justin cleared his throat. “What exactly does that mean, for one of the Pure? To be . . . shadow touched?” He looked carefully at Natividad, then looked again, sideways, out of the corner of his eye, trying to glimpse the magic that she possessed. He could see only the magic she was using: the light she gathered in her hands and spilled out in a net around the bloody knife. The net looked to him like it was trying to cling to the knife, but couldn’t get too close without curling back on itself and withering.

  “I have no idea,” Ezekiel said. “Natividad seems to have invented the concept all by herself. But I wonder whether it might make her more susceptible to a vampire. Or just more visible to it. Or, hell, maybe she’s actually valuable, to a vampire that’s dabbling in black dog magic.”

  “Right,” said Justin, half listening, distracted by Natividad’s net, which wove itself inward a second time, then once again twisted back and away. “You know . . . that looks . . . really wrong.”

  Keziah made a wordless little sound that nevertheless conveyed a world of sarcasm and stalked across the room to stare out the window. “Why is it only waiting?” she asked aloud, though in a tone that made it plain she did not expect an answer. Then she said, “Ah.” This time her tone made Justin look up sharply and brought Ezekiel to her side. “Ah,” said Ezekiel. He glanced over his shoulder at Natividad, frowning.

  “What?” said Justin.

  “She’s not finished, I gather,” said Ezekiel, and lifted an inquiring eyebrow at Justin.

  “I . . .” Justin looked at Natividad, but too directly. He looked again, sidelong. Then he spread his hands in a small shrug. “She’s having trouble getting it to work, I think. I’m not sure, but . . .”

  Ezekiel gave Keziah an unreadable look and vaulted neatly through the window. Justin’s breath caught; he did not even realize he had leaped forward until he found himself right at the window staring out and down in shock and horror. The black dogs, the zombies, had reared up, two on either side of their master, and now pressed slowly forward against Natividad’s outer mandala. Justin could actually see the line of the mandala, a silvery curve along the earth and through the air, dripping with fiery drops of light where the claws of the black dogs raked and pressed. Ezekiel, unmistakable even in his black dog form, stalked slowly along the inner curve of that burning line of light, waiting and watching for the first breach in its protection.

  Keziah said dispassionately, “Those black dogs, their master has set them to break the mandala. They will break it. Then Ezekiel will fight them. But not even he can destroy creatures that cannot be injured, cannot be hurt, cannot be frightened. I have seen this before.” She paused, then asked, “You say Natividad has encountered difficulty with her magic. Do you think she will finish this work? Soon? Before—”

  Ezekiel did not wait for the mandala to break. He could cross its line, which Justin had almost forgotten, or at least Justin had not thought through what that meant, until Ezekiel lunged with silken speed across the mandala, ripped with claws and savage black fangs at the legs and belly of the nearest of the undead black dogs, and slid effortlessly back across the mandala’s line before it could even attempt to return his blow.

  “Hot damn,” Justin muttered. “He really can fight all four of them all by himself . . .”

  “Fool,” Keziah said, though without heat. “Watch.”

  Justin stared at her, then looked again. For a long moment, he didn’t understand what she meant. Then he realized that though Ezekiel could attack and tear up the enemy black dogs almost at will, they could not really be injured. He saw terrible wounds across the belly of one close up while he watched; saw another, its head all but torn completely off its body, shudder and become smoky and indistinct, then re-form unharmed. He understood why Keziah had called him a fool: because Ezekiel might slow them down, but he was not going to be able to actually destroy them. Which made sense. Because they were already dead. That was hard to remember, hard to wrap his mind around, but it was the truth and it mattered. “He can slow them down, though—” he began, trying to convince himself, and the vampire was suddenly a dozen feet away from where it had been, tucked into an aggressive crouch.
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br />   It had struck Ezekiel. He had been flung violently into the air, black ichor spraying, then suddenly red blood as he shifted to his human form before he even hit the ground. Justin leaned far forward, holding his breath, as Ezekiel hit the pavement, instantly tucking himself down and rolling under a parked car to avoid the surging attack of two of the undead black dogs. The black dogs tore the car up and flung it over on its side—Justin hadn’t realized just how strong they were until that moment—Ezekiel exploded back into black dog form, and Justin heard the heavy thud of bone against bone as he blocked the crushing blow of one of his enemies. Another closed in from the side, and on the other side, the vampire itself straightened from its crouch, tilting its head in a horrible, inhuman gesture, like a predatory insect.

  “Help him!” he shouted at Keziah. “Can’t you help him?”

  “How?” the girl snapped back. She snapped her hand out in a violent gesture toward Natividad, who hadn’t moved. “You know I must wait for her! It is her weapon that we must have, or we will have nothing! You think you could use that weapon if both he and I are dead?”

  She was right. Justin knew she was right. He couldn’t see Natividad’s work, not now, not anymore; he was too upset or too scared or just not Pure enough. He could see nothing but the filth-streaked knife and Natividad’s face turned down toward it, intent and blank, as though hypnotized. For all he knew, she was hypnotized; she didn’t seem to be aware of anything that was happening outside of her own magic. He made a sharp, inarticulate gesture and spun back to the window.

  Ezekiel flickered from human to black dog and back to human, never closing with any of his enemies, but he was being pushed away from the house and safety, Justin saw him try to get around one of the undead black dogs only to be blocked by half a dozen blood kin. He tore into them, plainly glad to face enemies he could destroy, but just then the vampire moved again with that terrifying abrupt speed. Its claws, blunt and yellow, tore through his shaggy pelt and carved four broad lines across his chest and stomach, and Ezekiel screamed and wrenched away from it, suddenly in human shape, staggering, half falling, regaining his feet with a hard, desperate movement, flinging himself toward the house and safety. He nearly made it across the line, and then at the last moment one of the undead black dogs flung itself against him, shouldering him back, snapping its black fangs at his face. It didn’t kill him, though plainly it could have. Justin didn’t understand that.

  Then he did, as the vampire turned, swift and angular as a praying mantis, and took several mincing steps toward Ezekiel. He didn’t know what the vampire wanted Ezekiel for. But he could see it wanted him for something. Wanted him alive. The horror of that spread through him, cold as the heart of a northern winter.

  Ezekiel tried to get past the black dog, which cuffed him—a careful blow, clearly not meant to injure, but enough to knock a human off his feet. Ezekiel fell, caught himself, came up to his hands and knees. He still did not shift, but looked up, measuring the distance between him and the undead black dog, the vampire, the glimmering line of Natividad’s mandala. Justin could see him gather himself, but he also saw that if Ezekiel didn’t shift, couldn’t shift, he would never make it past the black dog to safety. Beside Justin, Keziah made a low sound of dismay and disbelief.

  The vampire took another mincing step, delicate as a praying mantis. It hissed, a vicious sound that went right through Justin’s head. He clenched his teeth against it, which did not help. The vampire hissed again, holding up its hands. Ragged streaks of shadow trailed from its claws, dense, writhing, frayed at the edges.

  Keziah shoved past Justin and flung herself out the window. Justin, his breath catching in shock, gripped the windowsill and watched her fall to the ground outside with the strange weightless grace of a black dog. She shifted as she fell and was nearly in her black dog form when she hit the ground; she hurled herself forward even before she had entirely completed the change.

  Justin held his breath, feeling intensely useless and stupid, knowing that she could not possibly face that vampire or even the zombie black dog, she couldn’t possibly, but she didn’t slow or turn aside—he wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn’t bear not to see, even though he flinched from what he knew was going to happen—

  Keziah caught up something from the ground in her jaws, a swift, almost delicate motion, and tore her claws across the zombie black dog’s side, and thrust the thing she had snatched up against her enemy’s wound. The undead black dog reared back, screaming, and Justin stared in disbelief, but at that moment he also realized exactly what she’d done: she’d grabbed one of the silver crosses that anchored the outer mandala and she’d slammed it not just against, but actually into, her enemy’s body. No wonder, no wonder it staggered away, but the mandala, what would something like that do to the mandala?

  Keziah had swept Ezekiel up in the crook of a forelimb and whirled and leaped back toward the house in one motion. The vampire was shrieking, a horrible sound that shouldn’t have been possible with a human throat. Another of its undead zombie black dogs leaped after Keziah and Ezekiel and then flung itself away, roaring. It took half a heartbeat for Justin to remember that of course there had always been two mandalas, and even if Keziah had ruined Natividad’s, his was still there, untouched. But it was only his, the very first big mandala he’d ever made and he was horrified to think they now depended on it for safety.

  Keziah had leaped cleanly over his mandala, careful not to touch its line, and now she dropped Ezekiel and backed away from him, snarling over her shoulder at the vampire and its undead black dogs and its blood kin.

  Ezekiel got to his feet, stumbling, his arms crossed protectively over his chest. Justin couldn’t see if he was actually wounded, but the shreds of his shadow trailed in the air like blood in water. The vampire shrieked again and cut against the mandala’s ward with its claws, and Justin thought he could feel its blow, as though the mandala rang like a soundless bell. Ezekiel flinched.

  Keziah flattened her ears, reared up, and dwindled rapidly toward her human form. She didn’t wait for Ezekiel after she’d shifted, and certainly didn’t wait to see if he needed help. She only turned her back and strode away, back toward the house.

  Ezekiel straightened, slowly, not looking after her. But he took a step and then another, and he didn’t look like he was going to collapse. Behind him, the vampire hit the mandala’s ward again, shrieking with fury. This time, Ezekiel did not flinch. He straightened his shoulders instead, and followed Keziah with a firm step.

  Justin took a deep breath and turned to see if any of this had affected Natividad at all.

  So far as he could see, she hadn’t even noticed. She still knelt by the coffee table, frowning intently at the knife. Now only one hand hovered over the knife; the other rested, closed into a loose fist, on her thigh. She was humming under her breath, a little melody he hadn’t heard until now, that wound up and down in a strange, unfamiliar, oddly compelling rhythm.

  “Unbelievable,” Keziah snapped from the doorway. “She is not finished even yet?” She took a step toward the coffee table. Justin put himself in between before he ever knew he’d decided to move.

  “She must finish!” Keziah hissed. “She must make her weapon, her weapon that can destroy that cursed Ghūl! You know that single mandala will not hold long, you know it was not as strong as the other! What is she doing?”

  She moved to get around Justin, who stepped sideways to stay between the two girls and said urgently, “Interrupting her won’t help!” He met Keziah’s eyes, half surprised she didn’t knock him out of the way, but she didn’t touch him. She stopped and glared at him.

  “You were brilliant,” Justin told her. “But now be patient. Wait. Just wait.”

  Ezekiel came in, moving stiffly, pale as death, one arm pressed against his middle, though Justin couldn’t see any actual wounds. But up close, the damage to his shadow was obvious. It trembled behind him in shreds, ragged and diffuse. “Like blood in the water,” Justin
said, only realizing that he’d said it out loud at Ezekiel’s flashing look of irony and irritation.

  “Don’t have to worry about drawing sharks,” Ezekiel said, his tone not as biting as Justin thought he probably deserved. His voice was tight with pain, or with something like pain. He said, “All the sharks are already here. Unfortunately.”

  “What did it do?” demanded Keziah, glowering at him in furious disapproval. “Can it do it again? Could it do that to me? Can you shift?”

  “What the hell does it look like?” Ezekiel snapped. “It tore off part of my shadow. And I don’t damn well know. Yes, I think so, sort of, but not like I should. Not like I need to.” He eased himself down into a chair, slowly, moving like an old man, looked away from her, and said, his tone flat, “Thank you for getting me out of there.”

  Keziah hissed something in Arabic under her breath and turned her back on him, going to the window, crossing her arms over her breasts and canting one hip in an echo of her usual provocative attitude. At the moment . . . it lacked a certain something. Not that Justin would have dared tell her so.

  Natividad looked up at Ezekiel, blinked, and said, “Oh,” in a surprised tone. “Like that. I see. Not very nice.” She turned her palms upward and closed her fingers around something Justin barely saw, something that seemed like a kind of darkness braided with light. Then she reached down and set her hands firmly on the blade of the silver knife. It smoked, and then the smoke condensed, and drew back into the blade. Justin blinked, watching silver light burn, shadow braiding around it, and then first light and then shadow sink down into the knife. The light was . . . inside it, but somehow still visible. Then the shadow lay in a thin layer between the light and the horrible vampire magic, which clung to the shadow and wrapped around it. Then there was another thin layer of shadow, and only then, outside everything else, the solid surface of what had once been a knife. Now it was . . . sort of a rod, narrower and longer than the knife had been. A slender stick, maybe two feet long, maybe a little longer.