Shadow Twin

by Rachel Neumeier

  Then Stéphanie said, “It is, isn’t it? Why don’t we sit right here where the fire is so warm and pleasant and you can tell me everything and we can think about what you’ve done and what you ought to do now.”

  Por otro lado, maybe Natividad didn’t like her a bit. She could see Stéphanie was used to getting her own way. “It is complicated,” she said evasively. “And I want to know about Ezekiel. That is more important. I want to know about Ezekiel and about what has been happening here this fall as the nights have lengthened and the winds have grown bitter. You say you have sought Ezekiel. With a trouvez, you mean? A mirror? Yet you could not find him? How could this be?”

  For a moment she wasn’t sure the older woman was going to accept this change of topic. She could tell by the way Stéphanie looked at her, her eyes narrowed and her mouth a straight line, that this was not a woman who let go of things easily.

  Though Stéphanie was right about the layers of peace layered across and through this suite. Natividad found the room’s depth of peace comforting, and she didn’t even want to be comforted. Maybe the same was true for Stéphanie, for finally she nodded and knelt down on the floor beside Natividad. She brought out a small oval mirror, opened the case, and turned the mirror over in her fingers so that it caught the light. “I will show you why I have not been able to find Ezekiel,” she told Natividad. “But then you must show me what you have done to yourself so that you can. Yes?”

  Natividad widened her eyes at Stéphanie. “Yes, of course, if you wish. But Ezekiel?”

  A trouvez was a mirror enspelled so that it would show you someone you sought, or at least show you where that person was. Or had been, sometimes.

  Usually a trouvez was a mirror. Using light alone was more difficult and slippery, but that could also work.

  Neither method worked now, when Stéphanie tried to find Ezekiel. Her mirror was a good one, set into a little tortoiseshell case that you could open and close to protect the mirror itself. The mirror had a mother-of-pearl rim, which was pretty, and little crystals set in each compass direction, which was practical because of course that would help show you the direction of the one you tried to find. Also, the mirror had been used as a trouvez for a long time, so the mirror kind of had an understanding about what it was supposed to do.

  Despite all that, when Stéphanie tried to find Ezekiel with her mirror, the glass clouded and misted and would not hold light; the direction shifted and shifted again and would not settle. So then Natividad tried using her own mirror, but it was the same for her. Even when she delicately arranged one of her little silver chains around the rim of her mirror, it was the same.

  “You see,” said Stéphanie.

  “This is very strange,” admitted Natividad. It did not really matter so very much because after all she could find Ezekiel without a trouvez. But it was strange. And disquieting.

  “The silver chain is a clever idea. You are experienced despite your youth.”

  Natividad glanced up, faintly surprised. “Mamá began teaching me before I could even talk properly. Didn’t your mamá begin teaching you when you were very little?”

  “Yes...but ma mère was Évanouir. Your mother did not belong to any house, did she? She was Mexican, was she not? That is what we understood to be so.”

  Now Natividad was annoyed. “You think no one in Mexico understands Pure magic? There are no old black dog houses in Mexico, but that doesn’t mean everybody is stupid and ignorant! My Mamá and my Tía Maria and my Tía Louisa and my Grandmamá, they were all Pure. Some of their sons were black dogs and some of their daughters were Pure and they learned very much and taught their daughters everything they learned, even if they did not write everything down in heavy books like Dimilioc!”

  Stéphanie leaned back a little, grimacing in apology. Or maybe just in embarrassment. “I meant—what you have done to yourself—no one of Évanouir or Lumondière, no one who truly understands Pure magic would have done such a thing, made such a mistake—”

  Natividad jumped up. “Then no one of Évanouir or Lumondière would be able to find one of their people who had been captured as Ezekiel has been captured, hidden as Ezekiel has been hidden! You have your pretty mirror, and when it does not work, you have nothing! Would it be better if I also had nothing?” She stopped abruptly, lifting one hand to press against her breastbone uncertainly. “Something is happening to Ezekiel now,” she said, and left the fire and the warmth and the room, forgetting Stéphanie Callot completely.

  -5-

  Alejandro did not like Théo Callot very much. This was not the same as distrust. After all, he was married to a Pure woman. Nevertheless, Alejandro would be pleased to find Ezekiel, tear Dimilioc’s enemies into small bloody pieces and then go back to Vermont and leave Théo Callot and all Étienne Lumondière’s people here in the west.

  Still, the other black dog’s knowledge of this sept and its people was useful.

  “All the younger black dogs have their rooms on the second floor,” Théo explained, gesturing toward a stairway as they passed. “Thus they may easily go out through the windows. There are no windows on the first floor, as you will have seen. Young ones that age fight often, and Étienne strictly forbids they should damage the house’s furnishing.” He added, sounding indulgent, “Absolon is not the strongest of the young ones, but of course his early training was far better. He will do well, I think. I work with him.” His voice took on a note of disapproval. “Of course Frédéric works with him a good deal, but Frédéric works with all the young ones.”

  “For the good of Dimilioc,” Alejandro observed. “It is important that all the young wolves learn all they can, no matter their antecedentes and early family. Grayson himself works with all those brought into Dimilioc, especially Conway. That is a child, born a callejero—a stray, and son of a stray. But he will be very strong one day. An asset to Dimilioc.”

  Théo looked at him sidelong. “Of course,” he agreed. “Of course. Along here we will find the kitchen, and beyond that, the garages. We have few servants as yet, but Gotz has some reasonable skill with our vehicles. The weather here is very difficult for vehicles. Sometimes I miss France. Still, these mountains offer a great deal of space to run and hunt. One must stay wary, for humans do go into the mountains. But few; fewer even than we of Évanouir used to see in the Pyrenees. We have far, far more freedom here than in France, even before the secrecy of the vampires failed.”

  “Vermont is very empty and wild also, especially in the winter.”

  “I have no doubt. That is a cold country, I believe, and of course human people feel the cold.” Another sidelong glance. “You must have long been accustomed to hunting as you pleased, as Dimilioc law has never extended into Mexico.”

  Alejandro said stiffly, “My father always kept Dimilioc law.”

  “Ah, of course! I meant no offense. Let me show you the kitchen. We do have human servants to cook for us, though one must be patient as they learn to cook properly. Americans do not really know how to cook, do they? Always reaching for a can or a box. But some of them can learn.”

  Alejandro glanced around the kitchens without much interest. Natividad might like this room. Actually, it was two rooms connected by a doorway and a step. Both rooms were open, airy, light, clean, and fragrant with the scent of half a dozen mangos piled in a glazed pottery bowl and chicken soup simmering on the nearer stove. The mangos were a surprise. Alejandro took one and began to open cupboards, looking for a knife, and for bowls and bread. Natividad would like soup, perhaps. Probably she would like a mango. Unless it reminded her too much of home. Of home before Dimilioc. He glanced down uneasily at the mango he held, uncertain whether to slice it for his sister or not.

  Somewhere, not far away, came the sound of a shout, followed by the vicious snarl of a furious black dog. Alejandro set the mango aside and strode for the door.

  Probably there was no reason for Alejandro to concern himself. Interfering with the arguments of lesser black dogs was bene
ath one who would be stronger....Then he turned sharply around a corner and found himself entering a room with a wide fireplace, heavy wooden couches upholstered in red, many shelves crowded with books and statues and other such clutter, and Rip Jacobs facing off against not only Carter, but also Absolon Lumondière and Jim Gotz and the young one, Ian whatever his name was, Alejandro did not remember and did not care.

  Carter, dominant and ambitious and powerful, had had no difficulty forcing Ian and Jim and even Absolon into...not an alliance. Into subordinación.

  A surge of temper shook Alejandro. He wanted to tear straight into Carter—how dare this stupid, half-trained, arrogant callejero compel Étienne’s black wolves into this mockery of coalition? And for so stupid a reason: merely for vengeance against another black dog who had rejected his demand for alliance. Carter frightened people; he did it on purpose; Alejandro understood that. But then he was a fool to be surprised when those he dominated turned away from him once they felt themselves safe.

  Alejandro flung his will across the room. Three at once might have been difficult, but Absolon and Ian shifted at once, not resisting as Alejandro compelled them both through the cambio. Jim Gotz was more difficult: older and more stubborn, or more willing to ally with Carter, or just resenting Alejandro’s assertion of will and dominance. But with the other two out of the way, Alejandro had the strength to force Jim, too, into human form. So in not very long at all everyone in the large room was in human form except for Rip.

  “Estás siendo un estúpido,” Alejandro said to Carter. He heard his own words and frowned, reaching for English. His brother and sister spoke English very easily, almost without an accent now, but it was harder for a black dog. He sorted through human words and language and at last said harshly, “You are a fool. Fight here in this house and Étienne will be angry. Force his wolves to your will and he will kill you. No está bien tartar así a la gente—it’s not right to compel young wolves to your will. You are not Dimilioc’s Master. Grayson will kill you for your presunción if Étienne does not. Pendejo.”

  Carter’s lip curled. “He’ll kill me anyway. Cannon fodder against his enemies if he can, kill me himself if that’s more convenient, you think I don’t know why he brought me along on this little jaunt?” He didn’t look afraid, though. He didn’t look submissive. He looked cabreado. Pissed off.

  “Behave like a fool and he will, truly,” Alejandro snapped.

  Behind him, Rip made a low, grinding sound and stalked forward, plainly meaning to do it himself.

  “No!” Alejandro snapped again, even more forcefully. And, when Rip did not stop, “No me chingues. Stupid! Did you not hear Grayson’s command? We are not to kill one another! Continue, and I will gut you both and we will see if you recover quickly enough to be useful. If not, it will be little loss! Absolon, support me!”

  Almost at once, he realized he had called on Absolon because of the lot of them, he expected decent control and better sense from a Lumondière. He did not like Théo Callot, but he was beginning to have more sympathy for his assumption of superiority, of the superiority of black dogs who had been born to civilized bloodlines and properly trained.

  Especially because Absolon immediately obeyed, shifting rapidly to his black dog form and swinging around to threaten Rip so that Alejandro could keep his attention mostly on Carter. That was satisfying. Ian shifted as well, joining Absolon without being commanded. That was even better. With the young ones backing him up, Alejandro had no fear of any lesser black dogs with their arrogance and their stupid short-sightedness. He could kill both Carter and Rip, and Jim Gotz as well if he would not get out of Alejandro’s way. Then everything would be easier. Although Grayson would not like it. Even though they all deserved to die, challenging his authority—Théo Callot’s views about callejeros actually made more and more sense—

  Alejandro cut off this train of thought with an effort. He was aware that his shadow was pressing him hard, that his own anger was giving it license. These wretched black dogs deserved his anger, but he would not give way to it. He knew better. He said to Absolon, “Estáte trucha,” and strode toward Carter, who had started all this trouble.

  Carter tried to shift.

  Alejandro blocked him. He shifted, not all the way, but gaining bulk and heft with every stride. Carter backed up a step, another, found his back against a wall, and turned in a small, hopeless circle, looking for a way out. But there was no way out, and he could not shift; Alejandro would not permit him. With a low, furious sound of balked rage, he sank down to one knee, turning his face aside in reluctant surrender. His heart raced, but that was plainly fury as much as fear. He was shaking, but Alejandro was certain that was mostly the effort of submission. The black dog knew he must submit or die, but the man was still more than half inclined to fight. So he trembled. It was very satisfying.

  Alejandro closed one broad hand around Carter’s throat. Tiny drops of blood beaded up around the sharp tips of his shadow claws, shocking crimson against the light brown skin.

  Carter did not move. His eyes, bright gold, revealed all his fury, but he did not say a word. If he spoke, likely he would say too much, or the wrong thing, and then perhaps Alejandro would kill him after all. He was not so stupid he did not know this. So he did not speak.

  Alejandro stepped back, gesturing contemptuously for Carter to get up. “Go,” he said curtly. “Go away by yourself if you cannot behave decently around others. Run away into the mountains if you prefer to be an animal. Maybe Grayson will let you go.”

  Grayson Lanning would never let him go. The Master of Dimilioc would never let any of his black wolves run away by themselves and behave like animals. If Carter left the house and ran into the mountains, then eventually the Master would certainly track him down and kill him. Sooner rather than later, given a black dog as strong and descontrolarse as Carter would have shown himself to be. What Alejandro was really saying was Give us an excuse to kill you.

  Carter knew it. Everyone knew it. Absolon grinned fiercely. Rip said with obvious satisfaction, “You’re not in charge. You aren’t going to be in charge. Figure it out.”

  Carter’s jaw clenched, but he had enough sense to stay quiet. Nor did he get to his feet, even when Alejandro stepped back to give him room. He kept his furious gaze fixed on the floor.

  Alejandro could see why Grayson wanted to keep this black dog if he could. He could sort of see it. Carter was strong—and he did have adequate control, when he was adequately motivated. Alejandro still wanted to kill him, but maybe he understood why the Master did not. He glowered down at Carter. He wanted to punish him, make him suffer. But he knew the Master would not want that. Though he could not frame that awareness clearly enough to really understand it, he knew it was true.

  “You are not only cannon fodder,” he said abruptly. “Even though you are stupid and arrogant. You could be better than this. That is why the Master has not killed you.” Then he looked around at the others. “Enough quarreling. Everyone should be quiet. Soon the Master will decide what we will do next. Then probably we will find an enemy we can all face.”

  Little glances aside. No one argued. Alejandro was tired of them all. He turned and walked away. He would forget the stupid posturing of black dogs....

  But between one step and the next, before quite reaching the doorway, he became suddenly and sharply aware of Natividad—she was upset—she was alarmed—she was not quite frightened, but maybe she would soon be afraid.

  Alejandro had no sense of what might be wrong. Only of that upset and alarm. It was more than enough. Forgetting the other black dogs immediately, he headed unerringly toward his little sister.

  -6-

  “We need a priest,” Étienne said in a reasonable tone. “Of this we can be certain. Perhaps your little Natividad can free Ezekiel and perhaps she cannot, but if this is a witch and he is the same as the one your Justin encountered, then we know the hand of a priest can break this witch’s hold. Orthodox would perhaps be best, as
that is the denomination we are certain has this efficacy.”

  “Orthodox priests object very strongly to killing,” Grayson observed. “Even in self-defense; even in defense of the innocent.”

  “Oui. Yes. It is a limitation with any priest, but oui, Orthodox more than any. Catholic, then, if you prefer. Or Lutheran. Unfortunately, the priests here with whom we have good relations are old. Father Evan is not well. Father Snyder is recovering from surgery on his knee.” Étienne paused, perhaps to gauge Grayson’s mood.

  Miguel could have told Étienne not to bother, not that he liked him well enough to care. But Grayson didn’t have moods, not when he was intently focused on an important mission. Unwavering, that was Grayson Lanning in pursuit of a goal.

  On the other hand, Miguel might not like the man, but he had to acknowledge, Étienne was right. Everyone knew it. Grayson definitely knew it.

  James Mallory knew it too, judging from the patient little shrug he gave when Miguel glanced at him. James was seated in a deep chair a little way from the others. Bookshelves lined one wall and a whiteboard stood against another wall. A map of Colorado and surrounding states sprawled across the largest table, not quite in the center of the room. Most of the chairs were near this table, but James had drawn his chair off to one side and now lounged in it quietly, not drawing attention to himself.

  He had a knack for sinking into the background, did James. Miguel wouldn’t have guessed it, but it turned out that now they were in not-quite-friendly territory, you could almost forget he was there. Miguel guessed James could probably also pass for human better than most other black dogs. No doubt that ability to stay unobtrusive came in handy from time to time.

  Frédéric Lumondière leaned in the doorway, keeping half an ear out for sounds of trouble elsewhere, Miguel guessed. So far it seemed quiet. Miguel hoped that meant that Natividad and the other Pure woman, the Évanouir woman, were managing to keep things calm out there. Not that he was too worried about Alejandro. Not really. His brother could take care of himself. Even so, Miguel was still glad that no violence seemed yet to have broken the quiet of this house.