“Nothing too dramatic, I trust.” Grayson sounded calmly confident of this. “However, yes, I think it might be as well if both your brothers accompanied us. I shall have a little talk with Miguel about his role on this expedition.”
Of course, it was the Master’s job to sound calm and confident, but Natividad was pretty certain he didn’t feel nearly as confident as he sounded. But she only nodded meekly, glad that he’d agreed so easily, wondering what role he had in mind for Miguel—the only ordinary human who would be going, probably. Maybe that was Grayson’s idea right there: that a human might see things a black dog would miss, come up with ideas a black dog wouldn’t think of. Maintain an emotional steadiness out of reach for a black dog.
No wonder Grayson hadn’t said any of that, if that was what he had in mind. Black dogs didn’t like to admit that ordinary people were better than them at anything.
Or maybe he just agreed with her that Miguel knew a lot about black dogs and magic and things. He knew Mamá and Papá had taught Miguel something about history and magic and theory while Natividad had mostly been learning to do things.
She didn’t ask him. She asked instead, “Since I’m going with you, I wondered if maybe you had a silver knife I could borrow? Just in case I...” get into trouble didn’t sound like quite the right way to put it...“need something to use in magic, or something to protect myself,” she finished, and carefully didn’t specify against whom or what she might need defense.
Grayson frowned at her. But his phone chimed just then and he picked it up, glanced at the number, thumbed the talk button, and handed her the silver-alloy letter opener with the air of a man disposing of a not very important distraction.
Natividad gratefully tucked the letter opener away as Grayson waved Ethan toward a nearby chair, cast Thaddeus a look of dismissal, and said into the phone, “Justin, yes. You’ve arrived, I presume. I trust your drive was uneventful and that you have found your grandmother in good health?”
Natividad paused—she too wanted to know how things were going with Justin’s grandmother; she wanted to know how the woman had reacted to her grandson keeping company with Keziah and two more young Dimilioc black wolves. On the other hand, she didn’t want to delay in case the Master changed his mind about the knife. After a second’s indecision, she headed for the door after all. Justin would be too busy with his grandmother to talk to her now anyway. She could text him later.
In the meantime she could finish packing. A letter opener was close enough to a knife. A silver knife, a gold bracelet, a pebble of hematite. A mirror, a bag of glass beads, two silver chains, and Mamá’s little wooden flute. And both her brothers. She couldn’t think of anything else she might need.
Natividad couldn’t argue about maybe biting off more than a mouthful once or twice in the past. But this time would be different. This time, she was prepared.
-2-
When the Master sent for him specifically, Miguel was afraid he might intend to explain in person that he was leaving Miguel behind. It would be tough to argue the Master around if he’d already made up his mind. He was therefore relieved to be told instead that Grayson had decided he should join the group headed for Colorado. But he was unhappy to leave Cassie Pearson behind. When Grayson informed him that he, Miguel, would go, it seemed a natural extension of the idea to ask whether it wouldn’t make sense for Cassie to come along too.
“She might be useful to us if we stay in Denver any length of time,” he pointed out. “The full moon’s only a few days away. She could probably shift pretty soon, if we turned out to need more firepower. So to speak. I mean, I know if there’s any fighting, James and Alejandro will have your back, but obviously Carter and Don would be a stronger team with a third. Cassie would be a good choice for it: a deadly fighter, but no use at all to Carter if he wants to play dominance games. Or if it turns out you don’t need her to fight, I’m sure the Denver sept has a perfectly adequate cage that could keep a shifter contained.”
“It does. Still, if we are too distracted to deal adequately with a moon-bound shifter, she would present a hazard to every human in the vicinity. Particularly you.” Grayson regarded Miguel thoughtfully. “Am I to understand that you wouldn’t fear for Cassandra’s safety? Even during the height of the full moon, she will never be the equal of any but the weakest black dog.”
“She’s smart. Even when she’s shifted, she’s smart. She’s really improved her control, as you know, sir, and she hates her shadow. She’d be pleased if you forced it to help us, I’m pretty sure.”
This was all true. Well, it was sort of true. He and Cassie had talked, carefully, about how a moon-bound shifter might become an asset to Dimilioc instead of a liability. Actually, she’d mostly argued that a shifter would inevitably prove to be a liability and rationally ought to be killed. Miguel totally disagreed. He wanted the Dimilioc Master to come down publicly on his side, but he didn’t want to come right out and explain any of this.
“I see.” Grayson sounded merely thoughtful, though in fact Miguel thought he might have just figured out the whole situation right at that moment, if he hadn’t before. The Master was really sharp; you couldn’t necessarily depend on him failing to pick up the subtext as well as the text. The sub-subtext too, sometimes.
Grayson tapped the tip of a pen thoughtfully against the pad of paper on his desk. “In fact, Miguel, I intend to specifically ask Cassandra to remain here.”
He came down with just enough emphasis on here that Miguel realized he meant here-here, at Dimilioc house instead of with her father in town. That was peculiar enough that he paused rather than arguing. “The full moon’s not that close,” he said after a moment. “She’s only forced to shift right around the actual full moon now, so it’s not safety you’re thinking about. You’ve got something you want her to do for you here.” It was pretty clear what this ought to be and he went on almost at once. “Some kind of research project that I’d usually do?”
Grayson lifted a tolerant eyebrow. “In fact, precisely the sort of research project I would normally ask Cassandra to do. However, I will expect you to communicate with her about this project, yes. How much do you know about witches, Miguel?”
This change of topic was so completely unexpected that for a second Miguel could only stare. “Uh, not much, sir. There are references to witches of some kind in some of our—Dimilioc’s—older histories.”
“Our histories, certainly. Yours as much as anyone’s.”
“Uh, right. Yes, sir. Our histories. Anyway, there’re notes that go way back, mostly notes about the Ashanti Empire when it was just a little thing, before the Ashantis conquered half of Mali and part of Nigeria and everything west nearly to Senegal—you probably know all this, sir.”
Grayson rested his elbows on his desk, steepled his hands, and gazed at Miguel over the tips of his fingers. “Go on.”
“Yes, sir. Well, most of the references describe some kind of supernatural influence, we presume demonic, that helped the Ashantis take over so much of West Africa. Curses, human sacrifice, lots of ugly stuff, more in the sixteen and seventeen hundreds than now. I think. That stuff is supposed to be witchcraft. I don’t know exactly what anybody writing those notes meant by witchcraft or witches, though. They weren’t always big on defining their terms, whoever wrote up those histories. References to the supernatural in Central and East Africa are even more vague and spooky, except whatever’s in East Africa, it seems to have kept that whole region mostly free of Ashanti witches and vampires and black dogs. I could find the references for you if you want.”
“Human sacrifice,” Grayson murmured, directing Miguel to the specific area in which he was interested. “Particularly human sacrifice of the Pure. Also, the control and use of black dogs by witches.”
Miguel had to shake his head. This all seemed pretty fraught. “You think whatever’s happened in Colorado has to do with witches somehow? What exactly did Étienne tell you happened?” He was wildly curious now about e
xactly what Grayson thought might have happened to Ezekiel, and why he thought so. But when the Master only flicked an impatient hand, he went on quickly. “I don’t know much more. I always thought it could be important—if we ever figured out enough about how all the different demonic entities work maybe we could really do something useful. But I never actually dug into this. There used to be witchcraft in a lot of the ancient world, I guess, like three thousand years ago or like that. After that either vampires wiped out the witches or their miasma stopped people from noticing witchcraft. Or both. Not even we—Dimilioc—know much about witches. As far as I’ve seen, but I haven’t gotten very far in the histories. The handwriting’s hard, and some of the early records are in German. Does Cassie read German, by any chance, sir?”
“Somewhat, I believe.”
And was Miguel surprised? He was not. “Right. So you’re going to ask her to do the primary research and pass on what she finds out to me? I can start looking online. There are people who’ve gotten interested in this kind of thing since the miasma faded. But you know all the really important discussions will be happening offline. Nobody’s stupid enough to put a live video stream of a real human sacrifice on YouTube.” He added prudently, “Probably.”
“If someone has been so foolish, I trust you will discover the video. We will leave for the airport in two hours. Prior to our departure, please make time to chat with Justin. It seems he and Keziah have had an interesting experience in New Mexico.”[2]
“Justin!” This was news to Miguel. “He put you onto this witch thing, not Étienne? Did Justin and them run into a witch? Is everyone all right?”
Grayson inclined his head slightly. “Yes, and yes, and fortunately yes. Though victorious, our people did not avoid a certain amount of excitement. Chat with Justin. He will be expecting your call. Also see if you can persuade Keziah to describe her experience. She may be reluctant. In that case perhaps she may be more willing to describe it to Cassandra. Or possibly to Natividad. In either case, I will ask you to discuss the matter with Cassandra and help her organize a proper review of the Dimilioc histories. Please pursue the matter with some alacrity.”
“Yes, sir.” Miguel was already trying to haul everything he’d ever read about witches and witchcraft out of the dusty stacks of his memory. He really wanted to know every detail about whatever had happened in New Mexico. Nevertheless, he delayed just a second. Just long enough to ask, “But you do think whatever’s happened to Ezekiel involves witches?”
Grayson only regarded Miguel in silence for a long stretched-out moment. But then, before Miguel could either figure out another way to ask or give up, he said, “Yes, I think that likely.” He held up one finger. “Ezekiel is still alive.” A second finger. “But muffled. That is the word Natividad used. Justin’s experience seems to have included a similar perception related to his own magic in the region immediately surrounding the enemies he encountered, whom he termed ‘witches.’ So did the wolves Étienne sent seeking Ezekiel. That would be more than sufficient to raise suspicion, but—” A third finger. “No black dog enemy would be so foolish as to attempt to hold Ezekiel prisoner rather than kill him. I doubt very much whether this enemy whom Ezekiel has evidently encountered is a black dog. Nor does anything about this situation suggest a vampire.” Grayson lowered his hands to the surface of his desk and added, “Also, the timing and placement of all these events is suggestive. It strains credibility to consider that inexplicable events in Colorado are unrelated to a peculiar situation simultaneously arising in New Mexico.”
Lay everything out that way and the Master’s guess did seem likely. Miguel turned it all over in his mind. Then he said, “We still don’t actually know, though. It would be dangerous to focus too much on one possibility, no matter how likely it seems, and miss preparing for something else that we ought to have considered.”
“Obviously.” From his dry tone, Grayson didn’t think he needed advice about the obvious from Miguel. He said, “I shall consider other possibilities, I assure you. I want you to focus on this possibility.”
“Right,” said Miguel. “Right. Sure, good. I mean, yes, sir.”
Grayson lifted an ironic eyebrow, and Miguel flushed, nodded, turned the nod into a little bow, and retreated before he said anything else stupid.
Witches. Witchcraft. It wasn’t exactly hard to believe, especially not after Miguel talked to Justin. It all sounded very creepy: white candles and finger bones and yes, human sacrifice. At least Justin’s grandmother was all right, and Justin. But it sounded like it had been pretty bad for everyone for a little while. And what had happened to Keziah was worse. Tactically speaking. Obviously Keziah had recovered once the witches had been chased off or killed, which you couldn’t say about anybody who’d actually been sacrificed, so in that sense what had happened to Keziah wasn’t so bad
Tactically, though, it was just about as bad as it could be.
“Imagine if some witch has some kind of magical leash on Ezekiel,” Miguel said to Cassie.
Cassie nodded, rolling her eyes expressively.
She was perched above him, on top of a short ladder, a heavy tome shedding bits of yellowing paper into the air as she carefully turned pages. She was wearing an artfully shredded gray tank top over a black t-shirt, pale blue jeans with the knees out, and boots that laced all the way up her calves. Miguel had never thought of ripped jeans as sexy before he met Cassie. He was really sorry she wasn’t coming with the rest of them to Colorado. Or, turning it around, that he wasn’t staying in Dimilioc house himself, even though he honestly did want to go and even though he was pretty sure if there was anything useful in those early histories, Cassie would be the one to find it. He wondered how long it would take to learn enough German to get by.
“I don’t think there’s much chance of finding anything in this one,” she said, tapping the book she held. “It’s all accounts of bloodlines and some old Dimilioc Master allying with a Spanish house to bring in blood that would yield more Pure births. Just like breeding cows or something. Or not quite, because it looks like some soap opera idiocy started right after that, which led to someone else becoming Master. Anyway, I don’t think it’s going anywhere useful.” Closing the volume, she set it back on the shelf and ran her hand along the leather bindings of the others next to it.
“You think anything useful’s in any of them?”
Cassie shrugged, which did interesting things to her shredded tank top. Her near-white feathery hair was streaked pink today, contributing to her fey look. “Most Dimilioc Masters like to keep track of threats. Or rivals. Or useful tools. I figure witches and witchcraft might be any of the above. Probably somebody in here looked into it and wrote things down. I think I saw something like that somewhere in here once.” She looked thoughtfully down the row of heavy volumes.
Miguel had glanced into his share of those histories, but he didn’t remember anything about witches. Or nothing aside from an occasional brief reference in an entry focused on other things. Nothing useful. “I guess Grayson wouldn’t let me take a couple of these along.”
Cassie grinned, a swift there-and-gone expression. “You could ask him.”
Meaning No way. Miguel nodded. He knew that. They were probably heading into trouble. Grayson was all about keeping as much of Dimilioc alive as possible, including its memories. “Those ought to be scanned,” he commented. “Especially since for all we know you might have trouble here anyway. Who knows who might notice the Master kiting off with half his black wolves?”
“Full moon’s coming up pretty soon.”
She meant any black dog trouble was likely to peak at that point, either within the house or from outside. Obviously this was true.
“Apparently Ethan’s going to be in charge,” Miguel told her. “I figure he’s worked something out with Thaddeus, so even though it might be awkward, I expect they’ll cope. But you know, if I were Zinaida, I might have someone watching Dimilioc.” Zinaida Alexandrovna Kologrivova was the Blac
k Wolf of Russia, one of the surviving black dogs connected to the destroyed Dacha that had once strongly influenced Russian affairs. She was also Dimilioc’s enemy, and had already made one serious attempt to crush Dimilioc and establish herself as the ruling black wolf in the Americas. She had failed, but Miguel didn’t doubt she would try again if she saw a chance.[3]
“Lewis is a very small town. A stranger would be noticed. But if I were Zinaida, you’d be right.” Cassie carefully lifted another heavy book off the shelf and opened it. “If Zinaida does make a move, I won’t be real happy depending on Ethan to handle her. Especially not when most of the black dogs left here aren’t really Dimilioc wolves.”
“You’d better not say so to Ethan. Not to Grayson either. Especially not in that tone.” Not that Miguel disagreed. “Anyway, I bet Grayson’s arranged something, just in case. Worked out a plan and talked it over with Ethan. I bet he has.” He might just see if he could make sure of that. Discreetly. Natividad might know. Or if she didn’t, she could probably find out.
“I think I’ll make sure of it,” Cassie said, turning one fragile page and then another. “Discreetly, of course. I’ll ask my father. He’ll probably know—or Grayson won’t be mad if my father’s the one to ask him.”
Miguel grinned. Great minds worked alike, right? He said impulsively, “Anyway, I do wish you were coming with us.”
Cassie glanced down at him. Then she smiled. “I’ll be more use here. You’ll be useful there, I expect. We can text—we’ll have to, I expect—and trade the real stories afterward. Exciting stories, but not too exciting, right? And then write everything up ourselves. And scan these, like you said. And type up an index too, so next time people won’t have to deal with all these. Unless they’re too stupid to know what an index is. People these days, I swear, if Google can’t find it, they think it’s not there.” She patted the book she held. “These babies definitely need an index.”
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