Shadow Twin

by Rachel Neumeier

  He cleared his throat. “Whether our enemy is a witch or, like, a whole coven of witches, or if it turns out to be something else, there’d still be no harm making sure we had a really solid kickass servant of God with us anyway. Since we didn’t think to ask Father McClanahan if he’d mind a little trip out west, and since from what Étienne says the priests here don’t seem up to it, maybe we could delay just long enough to swing down to Roswell and recruit that Orthodox priest who helped Justin out. That guy sounds perfect. He’s got guts.”

  “Unfortunately, he seems disinclined to leave his congregation unprotected just at the moment,” Grayson said calmly, and raised an eyebrow at Miguel’s not-quite-hidden surprise. “I did inquire. I am perfectly well aware of this flaw in our defenses. Regrettably, recruiting a priest for something of this nature is not a simple matter. I would prefer a man with something of a background in matters having to do with the demonic. Acquiring the willing, and preferably enthusiastic, support of such a person is not trivial.”

  He meant, no doubt, that he would be perfectly all right with abducting some elderly priest who’d just had knee surgery if one could be made to serve. Miguel had to concede that kidnapping a priest would be tempting if it were only possible.

  “Fortunately,” added Grayson, “We do have access to precisely the correct sort of priestly assistance.”

  Étienne tilted his head. “You have arranged this already? You relieve my mind. Are we to understand that you can produce this paragon among priests in short order? I admit I am impressed by your capability.”

  So was Miguel. In fact, if Grayson had arranged something like that and not even Étienne knew about it...Miguel put together a reasonable scenario and nodded. “You asked Colonel Herrod to lend a hand? That could be complicated. Have we—have you—ever worked directly with the Special Forces before?”

  Grayson didn’t seem surprised that he’d figured it out, though Étienne raised his eyebrows. The Master merely answered, “We have not. There is some potential for complications to arise, I agree. However—”

  “Wait,” said Étienne. “Special Forces? Can this be wise? These are not allies. Master,” he amended, at the heavy-lidded glance Grayson gave him. But he was too concerned to make any greater concession to Grayson’s authority. He had leaned forward, gripping the arms of his chair tightly enough that the wood actually creaked audibly.

  In contrast, Grayson leaned back in his chair, steepled his hands before him, and paused for a beat to gather his thoughts. Or maybe just for effect. He appeared completely unconcerned about the spiking tension in the room.

  “We are fairly certain that a witch—or witches—has taken control of Dimilioc’s executioner,” he said eventually, his tone measured. “We are aware that witches possess this capacity. We do not know the limits, if any, on this sort of control. Can Ezekiel be forced to act against us, to divulge information about Dimilioc? If this witch had seized a random stray, it would matter little. If he had seized one of our new black wolves, the matter might not present such urgency. But Ezekiel Korte? That is a disaster.”

  Étienne made a gesture conceding this.

  “Natividad should be able to find Ezekiel. Where we find him, we will no doubt find our enemy. We must deal with him, with them, in such a manner that no one ever dares such an attack against us again. Of course there is risk in recruiting the Special Forces. Every plan now carries risk. We could go now, today, depending on our own strength alone. But we must assume all our people are at substantial risk if they approach one of these witches.” He paused.

  “A more than adequate enemy, without inviting others into our vicinity,” agreed Étienne. “A priest would be an asset because he could not be a threat. The Special Forces—”

  “—inevitably present a threat. Indeed. However, less so than these putative witches. I think this is inarguable.”

  Meaning he didn’t intend to argue and Étienne had better shut up. Time for a change of topic. Miguel cleared his throat. “Cassie tells me Navajo skinwalkers were supposed to be able to take control of ordinary people. Exactly the way that dude took control of Keziah.” He held up his iPad. “Skinwalkers turn into animals and murder people and are just really unpleasant—kind of like stories about black dogs and vampires and witches all got glommed together. Now, it looks to me like fear of skinwalkers hasn’t really been a practical, everyday kind of thing for, I don’t know, call it a hundred years or so, maybe longer. But when you google around, you start to turn up a lot—relatively speaking—of stories about skinwalkers starting around just a few years ago.” He paused.

  Grayson flicked a hand, Go on.

  “Right,” said Miguel. “Well, googling ‘witchcraft’ gets you lots of hits on Ashanti witchcraft first, but we know practically nothing about that even though you’d think, I mean, the Ashantis are kind of right there, but you know they don’t really talk to Anglos much. Or other Africans either. But once you scroll past all the stuff explaining how we don’t know anything about Ashanti witchcraft, you get into these really old legends about ancient Assyrians. I’m sort of leaning toward that myself. It’s a lot more ritualistic than the skinwalker thing and there were complicated rules about demonic possession and exorcism. Some of that sounds almost kind of familiar from what Justin talked about. Justin said the witches his group ran into used ash or dust or something. But then, skinwalkers use corpse powder, which would also look like ash or dust. Nasty stuff, corpse powder, apparently.”

  Grayson was tapping one finger on the arm of his chair. He said, “If I may trouble you to amplify on an earlier point. Are we to understand that these stories regarding skinwalkers reappeared during the period in which the vampires lost their miasma?”

  “Right. Yes, sir. Just about then.”

  “You think our enemies are Navajo skinwalkers.” Étienne sounded skeptical.

  “Miguel?”

  Miguel shook his head. “I don’t, sir. Or I don’t necessarily think so. That’s Cassie’s theory. Justin’s witches looked Anglo and went by Anglo names, and the rituals he described, that kind of thing sounds more Assyrian or Semitic or Babylonian or something to me. On the other hand, this is pretty close to the right part of the country for Navajo witches, and nothing says somebody couldn’t turn to the dark side using Navajo traditions as easily as Assyrian. For all we know it’s some wild kind of combo black magic, here in the great melting pot of the world.” He spread his hands, shrugging.

  “I believe you will agree that testing our suppositions carries a significant risk and that we cannot accurately estimate this risk,” Grayson said to Étienne.

  “Oui, of course. But—”

  “We must delineate the danger these witches pose to us. We must destroy them if we can. Above all, if a witch has acted against us, we dare not retreat and make no answer. Nor dare we leave Ezekiel, of all our people, under the control of an enemy. Yet we do not and cannot know precisely what we will face. These witches, whatever tradition or history has brought them forth, surely fall within the purview of the Special Forces.”

  “Oui. Of course. So do we, as I am certain you will acknowledge.”

  “True,” Grayson conceded. “However, Dimilioc has from time to time worked with Colonel Herrod. Generally at a certain remove, yes,” he added to Miguel. “But I believe we shall be able to come to a reasonable agreement under these circumstances. I believe Herrod can be trusted to keep an agreement he makes. Within certain reasonable parameters.”

  Miguel had never met Colonel Herrod. Not exactly met. But from everything he knew of the man, he wasn’t sure he thought taking that kind of risk was such a great idea. Besides, Herrod was only a colonel. Maybe he actually could be trusted. But suppose a general or something came along, then what? Though the Special Forces were kind of outside the ordinary military, so maybe it was different. But still under the authority of someone, some civilian authority if he remembered right. Yeah, an important senatorial committee of some kind. He could just bet there�
�d been a lot of quick hair-splitting when that got set up, everybody involved pretending it was legal when it was actually pretty iffy.

  He said mildly, careful not to sound the least bit challenging, “Yes sir. Natividad might be able to work out some way to protect us from a witch. This black witchcraft stuff just about has to be demonic. But Herrod’s people won’t be demonic at all. I don’t know if she can protect us from them. You really think we can work with them, sir?”

  “I think we shall have to try. We are not intrinsically enemies. Also, we shall take precautions. Étienne, you will remain here, with Frédéric and that interesting wolf of yours. Steven Knauer. If Herrod betrays us, the response will be up to you. Or if we are destroyed by our enemies, again, you must decide how to proceed.”

  There was a pause. Étienne leaned back in his chair, turning his face away as he considered this. He said at last, not looking at Grayson, “Frédéric and Steven are my strongest and most trustworthy wolves and I would be glad to have them with me in such a case. But if you and yours were defeated, I would never approach our enemies with so little in reserve. I would go east and north, establish myself at the main sept, and then from that stronger position consider our next approach.”

  Miguel wasn’t sure what response that might get from Grayson, but the Master merely nodded. “My brother’s son is acting as Master there. He does not personally approach your strength. But he will have far more strength available to draw on than you will. Also, the only remaining Pure woman. Also, he is Dimilioc born and bred. I recommend diplomacy.”

  Étienne raised one ironic eyebrow. But he said merely, “As I am not skilled in diplomacy, I shall hope not to face that contingency. Dimilioc cannot afford the loss of so many wolves. Certainly not the loss of two Pure women. Still less your loss, Master.”

  This was pretty diplomatic, in Miguel’s opinion. He looked at Grayson, but the Master only nodded to James, who stood up unhurriedly and stepped to the whiteboard, swinging it out so everyone could see it. He hadn’t shown the faintest sign of surprise at anything the Master had said. Miguel supposed it was just as well Grayson was confiding in someone.

  “We don’t know whether we’re facing one enemy or several enemies or lots of enemies,” James said matter-of-factly. “We’ll hope for the first, and we don’t think the last is likely, but we can’t be sure. But we don’t have to track down our enemies. We’re going to track Ezekiel, of course. He can only be in one location, so that makes the job a bit more straightforward.” He drew a little circle in the middle of the whiteboard.

  “This is Ezekiel,” he said. Then he drew a square around the little circle. “This is the building where we find him. Lots of ways we could play this, mostly pretty stupid ways, but we think we’ve come up with a method that might be a bit less stupid than most. We’ll send the weakest black wolves first, starting with Absolon and Ian and Jim.”

  Frédéric, still standing by the door, tilted his head and said, “I cannot be pleased to see Absolon sacrificed.”

  James nodded to him. “Well, see, we’re kinda hoping we won’t be sacrificing anyone. We’ll get Natividad and Stéphanie to fit everyone out with whatever they can come up with that might protect us, we’ll get Colonel Herrod’s priest to do the same, and in we’ll go. Ideally, the young wolves will be able to kill the witches and we’re done. We tie up the situation with a nice big bow and give Herrod’s people a present for Christmas. Hopefully they won’t mind getting the bodies dead and a little torn up.”

  “Less ideally?” Étienne asked.

  “Our backup scenario—scenarios—are a little more complicated. Assuming the witches grab control of some or all of the wolves we’ve sent in, we’ll hope our enemies’ mojo—corpse powder, whatever—will run out, cause if they can’t control more than a few black dogs, no problem. We’re kinda assuming that once the witches are dead, their spell or whatever will break. We’re pretty sure we can get our people free one way or another regardless.”

  “We have many things to hope for here. But go on.”

  James nodded. “Right. So after the three youngest wolves, there’s Rip—Richard Jacobs—and Carter. If the witches have got the young ones, that will, we hope, swamp the witches’ capacity. Those three won’t be able to stop Richard and Carter. On the other hand, if the witches grab those two as well, that will tell us something.”

  “Something bad,” murmured Frédéric.

  “Yeah, but we’ll need to know it. The whole time, we’ll be working out safe distances and all like that. If they can get close enough but not too close, Grayson and Alejandro should be able to force all the captive black dogs into human form. Including Ezekiel if necessary. This will clear the way for whoever’s not too busy to kill the witches.” He raised an eyebrow at Étienne. “That will be your Théo Callot and me. We will go in last, ready to improvise, with every form of protection we can put together.”

  Miguel could sort of see all this, but there were some pretty obvious flaws to this plan. If you could call it a plan. He asked, “And what if there’s no limit to the witches’ mojo and they grab you and Théo too?” But almost at once he figured out what Grayson must have in mind for that contingency. “Oh, never mind: I guess that’s when we will be very happy to have a priest waiting in the wings, plus a lot of Special Forces guys.”

  Étienne frowned, but James gave a short little nod. “Exactly,” he agreed. “In that case, Herrod’s people will shoot the witches with lots and lots of silver bullets. According to Keziah’s report, bullets, even silver bullets, are not necessarily a cure for all ills. But we know a priest can free a black dog from a witch’s control.”

  “Right,” agreed Miguel, not really listening. “Listen, have you run any of this past Colonel Herrod yet?” Then he shook his head, because it had been a stupid question. Obviously the Master must have. “Yeah, I guess you must’ve already got this ball rolling, right? Cause otherwise, starting from scratch, getting this organized would take practically forever.”

  Étienne frowned, but the Master inclined his head. “Indeed. Colonel Herrod seems generally receptive to the proposal.”

  “Well, he would, though, even if what he had in mind was to trap a lot of black dogs and not worry too much about witches that we’re not even sure exist, exactly, or at least we don’t know what they are and what they can do...” Miguel nodded again. “Neither does he; that’s why you think he’s in for real. Because he’ll want to find out if there’s something new, same as us. Yeah, I bet he’s been looking up all kinds of witchcraft. And, same as me, finding out we don’t know nearly enough about it, even if this is related to stuff we’ve dug up, which maybe it is and maybe it isn’t.”

  Now the Master smiled faintly. “Indeed. Quite so. I suspect you can anticipate your role in this scenario, Miguel.”

  “Um. You want me to share what Cassie and I have so far. You do know, mostly what we have so far is a bunch of wild-ass guesses.”

  “No doubt. I want you to make sure the Special Forces people reciprocate. Perhaps they will prove to know something useful. You and Natividad will stay back from the fighting, if there is fighting. You will observe, focusing your attention both on our enemies and on Herrod’s people. Colonel Herrod has assured me—” and now Grayson’s tone took on a certain irony—“that his people will protect you both.”

  “Naturally we trust this human colonel,” murmured Étienne. “Very well, I see that we must. To some degree. Do we have a timeline for this...exercise in optimism?”

  “We will leave at dawn. We have no clear idea how long it will take Natividad to track Ezekiel, and then we shall still need to coordinate with Colonel Herrod’s people—” He broke off as Natividad herself suddenly opened the door, ducked past Frédéric, looked urgently around, found the Master, and caught her balance against the back of a chair.

  “Ezekiel?” Grayson inquired after the slightest pause. His deep, gravelly voice did not change, but that pause betrayed his concern.

&n
bsp; “Alive!” Natividad assured him. She was hardly paying attention to anyone else in the room, even Miguel. “But something’s changed. He’s worse. Stronger, angrier. Or it’s not exactly him that’s angrier. I think it’s his shadow, I think it is stronger, or more, I don’t know, more itself and less, less—”

  “Ezekiel’s shadow is becoming ascendant?” Now Grayson’s tone was grim. “Or—it has not already consumed him? It is not entirely ascendant? Can you tell?”

  Étienne had gone very still, but he said nothing. It was James who spoke, making no effort to conceal his worry, “If there’s another of our people I’d like less to see lose control of his shadow, there’s not two. You think our enemy has any idea what kind of wolf he’s holding on his chain?”

  “Ezekiel would never lose control!” Natividad said hotly. “But—” she met Grayson’s eyes. “He’s so angry. I think—I think he might give way to his shadow, if he thought he had a better chance of breaking free that way. I don’t—I don’t know what that would be like, I don’t know if he could take back control after getting free—if he does get free—”

  “Once the shadow consumes a black dog...” Étienne began, but cut that off on a look from Grayson.

  “He’s not gone!” Natividad declared. “I could tell! Anyway, this is Ezekiel, not just some other black dog!” She turned to Miguel, slipping into Spanish. “No podemos esperar más tiempo. I think we should go now, today, this hour—”

  Alejandro strode abruptly into the room with several others trailing a respectful distance behind. Alejandro’s attention was fixed on Natividad, so that it took him a second to realize he’d intruded on the Master’s private conference. Even then he did not halt immediately, but came forward quickly to grip Natividad’s shoulders, giving her a little shake and a concerned look before he faced Grayson.