Black Dog Short Stories

by Rachel Neumeier

  “I want you forever,” he told her. He held her still, met her eyes, and smiled with black-dog savagery and with the special savagery that was all his own. “I won’t give you up to Daniel,” he whispered. “And you’ll smile for me no matter what I do, or I’ll make Daniel an example for the ages. Thos won’t object. Shall we make sure?” He caught her wrist again and hauled her toward the door.

  She was weeping by the time they had reached Thos Korte’s private apartment. She was trying not to, but she was terrified and couldn’t hide it. Ezekiel had left bruises on her arms, on her throat. He had let his shadow claws tear bloody tracks in her wrist; he had hit her once when she had persisted in trying to fight him, a slap that had bloodied her lip as well. She was no longer trying to fight him. The scents of blood and terror were intense, provocative.

  Thos opened his door. He surveyed the scene. One pale eyebrow rose, and he stepped back, inviting Ezekiel to enter with a brief tip of his head.

  “She went to Grayson,” Ezekiel told him, with savage scorn. “Grayson and his brother and Zachariah. I overheard part of their little chat. Why don’t you send for them, ask them about the rest of it?” He shoved Melanie hard, so that she stumbled across the room, catching at a heavy chair to stop herself falling to the floor.

  The other eyebrow rose. Thos picked up a house phone and murmured into it.

  “I want her without strings,” Ezekiel told the Master. “I don’t care about Daniel, he could even be useful, but I’m not having him touch her. That’s the order I want you to give.”

  Thos was beginning to look amused. “We can discuss it.”

  “I’ve earned her,” Ezekiel began, but stopped, swinging around aggressively, as Grayson appeared in the doorway. Harrison and Zachariah were at his back.

  Grayson’s eyes flicked from Melanie, still clinging to the chair, to Ezekiel, to Thos. The expression in his eyes went bleak and hard. A lesser black wolf might have broken and run, however hopeless that flight. Grayson had far too much control for that. When Thos beckoned to him, he came, grimly. Harrison and Zachariah glanced at each other. Harrison’s expression was as grim as his brother’s. Zachariah showed nothing at all. Both of them followed Grayson, one on his left and the other on his right, making no attempt to disguise their allegiance. Not that any such attempt could have succeeded.

  “And I’ll earn her again tonight,” Ezekiel said to Thos. He added to Zachariah, smiling his savage, deadly smile, “Well, uncle, do you think you might slow me down? Do you think I might hesitate to kill you?”

  Zachariah’s mouth tightened. He said nothing.

  “Grayson’s the cornerstone,” Ezekiel said to Thos. “Kill him, and the other two will fall into line.”

  “Yes,” the Master said, in that faintly impatient tone that was sometimes the only warning he gave of rising temper.

  “Well, then?” Ezekiel shifted forward half a step, his attention on Grayson, watching with predatory alertness for any sign that the other man might try to fight, might try to run. Grayson might even attack Thos. If he did, things might get very complicated and very dangerous.

  Grayson shifted his weight, measuring both Ezekiel and Thos—his face and hands began to distort with the change as his shadow rose—everyone balanced for that instant on the knife-edge of violence—

  Then Thos Korte lifted a hand. His shadow rose, heavy, so dense it seemed to have actual physical heft. It rolled forward with irresistible power, pressing Grayson’s shadow down and back. Grayson tried to fight that smothering weight, but he had told Melanie he did not have the Master’s strength and he had been right. He lowered his eyes suddenly, like a fencer casting down his weapon, and went heavily to his knees.

  “Well?” said Thos.

  “Ezekiel’s right,” Grayson said, his tone flat. “Without me, neither Harrison nor Zachariah will threaten you.”

  “With or without you, neither of them can threaten me. But it’s clear enough one treacherous conspiracy after another is going to form around you, if you live.” There was still nothing stronger in the Master’s tone than that trace of impatience. He glanced at Ezekiel. “Do it,” he ordered. “Don’t draw it out.”

  Ezekiel smiled. He let his black-dog shadow burn through his body like fire. His bones twisted and thickened. Black claws extended from his fingertips. He stepped toward Grayson. Harrison turned his head away; Melanie sank to her knees, pressing her hands to her mouth. No one else moved. Grayson met Ezekiel’s eyes. He did not move or speak.

  Ezekiel stared back at Grayson. He didn’t glance aside. But, as he passed close to Thos, he drove his claws straight across the Master’s back, tearing through his spine in one swift blow. Ezekiel did not wait to see what violent defense Thos might wring out of the last second of his life, but instantly following the first blow with another slashing cut across the Master’s belly and side, and then, almost before his body twisted around and began to fall, a third across his neck, a brutal blow that again tore across the spine.

  Thos did not even have time to look surprised. His dense shadow roiled and twisted, abruptly freed, and his body hit the floor almost before the blood sprayed across the room.

  Ezekiel took two precise steps back, away from Grayson, shifting from human to black dog and back again as he moved, letting his shadow carry away both the drenching blood and the hot rage between one step and the next—a blatant display of control no other Dimilioc wolf could match. He turned his shoulder to the three older Dimilioc wolves, holding a hand down toward Melanie instead. He was not smiling now. He was not trying to frighten anyone: he had let that go. He let everything go. He looked into Melanie’s face. She stared back, appearing stunned.

  He said quietly, ignoring the other black wolves, “I’m sorry. I needed your fear and anger and blood. As a distraction, do you understand? I couldn’t let Thos realize I was afraid. But I am sorry.”

  Melanie continued to stare at him, her eyes wide. Her gaze slid toward Thos’ body and jerked away as though the sight burned her.

  “You saved yourself,” Ezekiel told her. “You said Thos was a terrible Master. I heard you. I asked myself, was that true? I had never . . . do you understand, I had never wondered that before?”

  Melanie said nothing. She shook her head a little, not in denial, Ezekiel thought, but in disbelief of . . . just everything.

  “You said people would follow Grayson. I could see that was true. I asked myself, would Dimilioc be different if Grayson was Master? And I could see it would be different. Better.”

  Still no response.

  Ezekiel backed away a step to give her a little more room. He said, even more quietly, “I saw there was this chance, tonight, if I chose to take it. So I did. But it was cruel for you. I am truly sorry.”

  After another moment, Melanie uncurled slowly from her tucked-down self-protective posture. Reaching out, she let Ezekiel take her hand and lift her to her feet. He put a hand under her elbow to steady her. She seemed to need the support. “You’re all right,” he told her, hoping it was true.

  “I . . .”

  “Go let Daniel out. He’ll be glad to see you. Tell him—” he stopped. Then he said, and heard the weariness in his own voice, “Tell him no one will step between you and him now.”

  The mention of Daniel gave her new strength and assurance, and a new direction, as he had intended. She nodded firmly, pressed his arm once in wordless gratitude—he thought it was gratitude, though she might have just needed to catch her balance. Then she was gone.

  Ezekiel turned to face Grayson. Zachariah and Harrison had spread out, one to either side, aware, as Melanie had not been, that the evening was not over. They were ready to attack or defend. So was Grayson. He had gotten to his feet at some point after Thos’ death and now stood regarding Ezekiel, his expression unreadable.

  “Do you think you can take me?” Ezekiel asked him. “Even all of you together? Shall we find out?” He shifted his weight forward in subtle threat. Harrison immediately eased
around to get behind him on the left, Zachariah moving to the right. Ezekiel’s shadow wanted to answer that implicit threat. It wanted the change and then the fight, blood and fire and death. It did not care who died as long as it wasn’t him.

  Grayson’s eyes narrowed. His shadow rose, dark and powerful. As Thos had done, he let his shadow roll forward to flatten and smother Ezekiel’s shadow. Except, as they had both known, Grayson was not as strong as Thos Korte had been.

  Ezekiel took a step forward. Another. His black-dog shadow rose around him. Not as smoothly or as fast as usual. But it rose. Grayson might hobble it, but he could not force it down. Ezekiel said softly, “It’s like walking through molasses. But I think I could still take you, even now, one on one. Possibly even all of you together.”

  Grayson tilted his head. “What does that mean to you?”

  Ezekiel met his eyes. “It means I’m too dangerous. You can’t trust me at your back.”

  Heavy brows rose. “Thos certainly couldn’t trust you at his back, and he was much stronger than I. But I am not Thos.”

  Ezekiel nodded slightly, acknowledging this. He said slowly, “I don’t want to fight you. I don’t want to kill you.”

  “Then don’t.”

  Grayson made it sound simple. There was nothing simple about it. Ezekiel glanced over his shoulder at his uncle. Zachariah met his gaze, wordless. Waiting. For a signal from Grayson, for a sign from Ezekiel himself? Ezekiel couldn’t tell. He said, though he didn’t know why it seemed important that he say it, “You were right, you know. I don’t want to kill you, either, uncle. If it came to a fight, you could slow me down.”

  “That’s good to know,” said Zachariah, without detectable irony.

  Ezekiel turned back to Grayson, took a step forward. Another. His black-dog shadow pressed him hard, wanting to rise, wanting to force the change. It drove him more fiercely than usual because the moment was so stiff with tension and the threat of violence. But Ezekiel held his shadow flat almost without effort, although Grayson was no longer trying to use his own power to smother it. He had learned to do that from Grayson, of course.

  He dropped to his knees.

  Showing no surprise, Grayson came forward the remaining small distance and set a hand on Ezekiel’s shoulder, closing his other hand around Ezekiel’s throat. His hands were nearly human, but blunter and broader than human hands, every finger tipped with a curved black claw.

  Ezekiel did not move to evade Grayson’s grip. His heartbeat had picked up: he couldn’t help that, though he knew they could all hear it. Yet, though he was afraid of what Grayson would do, he found himself oddly unafraid of Grayson himself. He realized now—he had not understood it before—that he had always been afraid of Thos Korte.

  He said, “Melanie was right. You’ll be a good Master for Dimilioc.” Then he waited.

  But the pause lengthened, and Grayson did not tear out Ezekiel’s throat. He said, his deep voice unreadable, “I don’t want to kill you. Can I trust you at my back? I think I can. I think I might.”

  “I killed Thos.”

  Grayson’s heavy eyebrows rose. “I’m not Thos. Besides, Melanie trusts you.”

  “Not anymore—”

  “Of course she does.” Grayson gazed down at Ezekiel for a long moment. “I thought Thos had ruined you. Now . . . now I think not. Or I think you can choose not. I think you’ve chosen that now.”

  Ezekiel turned this over in his mind. He said at last, “I don’t know about trust, or choice. I don’t know. But if you take Dimilioc, if you don’t kill me, we’ll both find out.”

  Grayson continued to stare down at him for the space of a long breath. Then he lifted his hands and stepped back. He said, “Dimilioc is mine.”

  Ezekiel got to his feet. No one tried to stop him. “It will never be the same,” he said, with just the faintest edge to his tone. He had meant to sound sarcastic. But as he made it, the statement sounded like a warning and a promise, and he knew it was true.

  Endnotes

  I hope you enjoyed this first set of short stories set in the world of Black Dog! As you’ve seen, three of these stories are set between Black Dog and the second book of the series, Pure Magic. I already plan another set of short stories set between Pure Magic and the as-yet-untitled third book in the series.

  For news about the Black Dog series and about my other fantasy novels, please visit www.rachelneumeier.com. If you enjoyed this or any other book of mine, I’d appreciate it if you would leave a review at Goodreads or Amazon.

  Below you’ll find an essay explaining the genetic system underlying the black dogs and the Pure.

  And following that, you’ll find a preview of Pure Magic. Enjoy!

  A Brief Orientation to Real-World Genetics

  First, a quick (very quick) look at the basics of genetics in the real world, to introduce the relevant vocabulary. Plus, I admit, a bit of this and that, some of which may not be entirely relevant, but I threw it in because it’s interesting. If you’d rather just skip straight down to the bit where I lay out exactly how this all applies to black dogs, no problem – that’s clearly marked a few pages on. And, obviously, if you’d rather skip the whole business and go straight on to the preview of Pure Magic, that’s fine, too!

  Humans, as you probably know, have 23 pairs of chromosomes, 46 chromosomes total. Chromosomes consist of long strands of DNA and associated proteins. Genes are sections of DNA that are found at specific locations (loci) on particular chromosomes. You get half of your chromosomes (and thus half your genes) from your father and half from your mother, which is why chromosomes come in pairs. It’s different for, say, daylilies, but for humans, every genetically normal individual has two and only two copies of each gene, because chromosomes come in pairs. Each member of a pair possesses the same genes.

  There’s nothing special about the human chromosomal number, by the way. Gorillas have 48 chromosomes, horses have 64, dogs have 78, cats have 38, koalas have 16, lampreys have 174, and fruit flies have 4. Always in pairs. Anyway, we all have about the same amount of chromosomal material, it’s just divided up differently. Not that this is particularly relevant to black dog genetics, but isn’t it interesting? I had no idea lampreys had so many chromosomes until I looked it up for this essay.

  Even though it’s true that you have two copies of each gene, these copies are not always identical. Many genes occur in various distinct forms, each a little bit different, which are called alleles. Different alleles arise because of changes in the DNA (mutations). A specific gene may have one, two, three, four, or more alleles, all occurring at different frequencies in the population. Thus, the agouti gene in dogs has at least three different alleles, for red sable, black-and-tan, and black. Or in humans, we see A, B, and O blood types. Because chromosomes come in pairs, any genetically normal individual can have no more than two different alleles for one gene, no matter how many different alleles occur in the population.

  Genes don’t work by magic (well, not usually, in the real world). Instead, each allele codes for a particular protein, which goes on to play a role in some part of the overall metabolism. Or an allele may fail to code correctly for a protein, in which case its particular metabolic pathway misses a step. Disabling or altering a metabolic pathway creates the visible expression of a mutation. Mutations can be harmful, neutral, or helpful. Often a particular mutation will be harmful in some environments and helpful in others.

  The X and Y chromosomes determine sex; the other 22 pairs of chromosomes are called autosomal chromosomes. Genes located on the X chromosome are said to be x-linked. In mammals, females have two X chromosomes, so they always have two alleles for each x-linked gene. Because males have one X and one Y, they cannot have more than one allele for any x-linked gene. This is one reason more boys than girls show the effects of x-linked disorders such as hemophilia A and Duchene’s muscular dystrophy. If a boy gets the wrong X-chromosome from one parent, there is no chance of masking it with the right X-chromosome from the
other parent – unless he is a genetically abnormal XXY male, and that carries other consequences.

  The visible appearance of an individual is called the phenotype. You cannot tell exactly what alleles are actually present by just looking at an individual. Sometimes specific alleles are carried invisibly (have no effect on the phenotype). Thus, a tabby cat might be carrying black, or a pinto horse might be carrying solid color, or a healthy woman might be carrying hemophilia A. The actual alleles that are present constitute the genotype, whether you see them or not.

  Individuals who have two matching alleles for a gene are said to be homozygous for that gene. Individuals who have two different alleles for any particular gene are said to be heterozygous for that gene. Inbreeding increases homozygosity across all loci. We’re used to thinking of inbreeding as bad, but actually increasing homozygosity is not in itself either good or bad: it depends on which alleles happen to be passed along to successive generations. Sometimes an inbred line lucks out, the right alleles happen to be collected together, and the line enjoys unusual health, vigor, and longevity. This isn’t directly relevant to black dog genetics, except that black dog families are usually a little bit more inbred than the overall human population, in the same way as you’d see in any somewhat isolated community in the real world.