Shadow Twin

by Rachel Neumeier

  “Empty country,” muttered Alejandro behind them. “Good for a person who wishes to stay unnoticed.”

  “A little bitty town in the middle of nowhere is just the kind of place a black dog might set up to rule,” put in James unexpectedly. “Perhaps a witch might be inclined the same way.”

  Miguel nodded, but he said, “Those Justin encountered seemed to want to stay out of sight, and they seemed to need a place to work, equipment, all kinds of stuff. I don’t know what kind of place like that might be out here, but we might expect a witch to set up some kind of home base near a bigger town. Fort Garland’s pretty big.”

  Grayson tapped his thick, powerful fingers on the steering wheel, thoughtfully. “The nearest Special Forces unit is stationed in Albuquerque. That is where Colonel Herrod is currently waiting for an update. I believe it would be best to inform him of our new direction even though we do not yet have a solid destination in mind.” He took out his phone. “Natividad, if you feel a change in direction or any muffling of your magic, inform us at once.”

  Natividad nodded. She peeked over Miguel’s shoulder as her twin adjusted the scale of the map on his phone. Albuquerque was not very far away. Not if they had a plane. And someplace to land. Maybe helicopters. She didn’t want to have to wait for them any longer than absolutely necessary. Ezekiel was so close. She knew it. She could feel it.

  James said, “Reconnaissance first, that’s what I suggest. Head west until the direction clearly changes, narrow it down, maybe circle around until we get a pretty good notion just where we’re heading. Then we can get everything arranged. We’ll be in place well before Herrod’s people; that’s an advantage we ought to be prepared to use. I can liaise with the colonel, keep an eye on the situation as it unfolds.”

  Grayson merely nodded, but Natividad was pretty sure he’d worked out that strategy with James ahead of time, that nothing James had suggested was the least bit new to the Master. As a plan, it sounded...slow. But she couldn’t argue that it didn’t make sense. She said nothing.

  Alejandro rested a hand on Natividad’s shoulder. “It will be well,” he told her quietly. “We will tear out the hearts of our enemies.”

  Natividad didn’t answer, but she had to admit that she found this comforting.

  West, west...the sun slid through the sky, but it was hours yet till nightfall. No way of guessing whether that was good or bad, but she would be happier if they found Ezekiel before dusk. Unlike the black dogs, she couldn’t see in the dark.

  Mountains rose up before them, the kind of rugged, arid mountains that made her think of home. Not Vermont, not Dimilioc, but Nuevo León, where she and her brothers had grown up. Of Potosi, before...before. There were fewer trees here, fewer of the oaks and limber pines, yews and chaparro prieto. Here was mostly brush and rock, all dusted lightly with snow. There were few signs of people. Only very occasionally a rundown shack near the little highway, with a hand-painted sign advertising eggs or something. Those were closed now, probably. Hens would not likely be laying in this cold season, and certainly all the land here seemed entirely deserted. No other cars were in sight.

  “There’s La Veta, I think,” Miguel said, nodding toward a slightly larger collection of shacks and a few larger buildings. He made a little gesture with his phone. “Over there, that’s Silver Mountain, it says.”

  Natividad shrugged. “West. Still west.”

  -8-

  Natividad didn’t change her mind about the direction until they were actually through Fort Garland. Then she finally pointed north, toward the mountains that rose up near the town. Miguel was a little surprised about that. His personal bet had been that they’d find their enemies actually in the town, where they’d have access to power and water and the general amenities of civilization. Though the witches Justin and Keziah had encountered had found a place outside Roswell to set up generators and stuff, Miguel had guessed that in general anybody who needed infrastructure like that would find it easier to use a place where power hookups and things were already available. Anyway, according to Google, Fort Garland was an artsy kind of town, full of painters and writers and so on. If you wanted to find somebody interested in ancient Assyrian witchcraft or Egyptian death rituals or whatever, it seemed like Fort Garland might be a pretty good place to look.

  Nevertheless here they were, heading toward those mountains. Google said there were campgrounds and stuff up there. Miguel’s new bet was that the witches had set up in one of those. He also figured it would be practically impossible to drive right up into any campground or whatever without being noticed. He thought they might as well paint WITCHES BEWARE: DIMILIOC IS COMING TO KILL YOU in big letters on the sides of the van; that would probably draw no more attention than just driving up in the first place. He hadn’t made any comment about this because Grayson was not likely to welcome comments from any backseat driver. Also, Grayson wasn’t stupid. He had surely realized how screamingly obvious they were.

  Miguel wondered whether maybe some kind of witchcraft would spot them before they got near enough to be sure of their destination. It was hard to guess. They just knew too little about witchcraft and what it could do and what its limitations might be.

  As far as Miguel could tell from the kind of sources he’d found so far, black magic and witchcraft seemed mostly concerned with cursing rivals and enemies and random people who annoyed you. Making somebody’s cattle sicken, that was a big one. Cattle had always been a marker of wealth and status in those old civilizations. Making someone’s crops rot before they ripened, making their business ventures fall through. Everything he and Cassie had learned suggested that witchcraft was a pretty ugly business, but kind of...petty.

  The human sacrifice Justin had described hadn’t sounded petty. Enslaving a black dog...hard to imagine doing something like that for just some petty little feud with a neighbor.

  When the Ashantis had expanded explosively out of their little coastal kingdom and taken over half of West Africa, that hadn’t been petty. Or before that, way back, when the Assyrians had suddenly turned from tribal barbarians to unstoppable conquerors, that hadn’t been petty, either.

  He started to text, Can we find info on Nigerian experiences when fighting against Ashantis, why did Ashantis stop expanding? But before he could hit Send, a sharp, thudding jolt interrupted him, the van skidded and swerved, slowed, swerved again, and bumped to a halt at the side of the road.

  “Flat tire,” James said, unnecessarily.

  The Master was so expressionless that Miguel bit back an impulse to say Gosh, what bad luck. He said instead, in his meekest tone, “Natividad? You’re all right? Not...muffled?”

  “No,” his twin answered. She hesitated, looking nervous. Then she said more firmly, “No, it seems to me I am still Pure. Not muffled at all.”

  “Definitely not,” agreed Grayson, studying her. “Interesting.”

  It was interesting. And surprising, because Stéphanie was holding her hands out, palm up, staring at them. “This is not right!” she declared. She scowled at Natividad. “It is not right! Why should my magic fade and not yours?”

  Natividad spread her hands in mute protest that she did not know. Miguel figured it might be the threads of black dog shadows that his sister held and the Évanouir woman did not, because that was the most obvious difference between them. He didn’t put this idea into words because it also occurred to him for the first time that if black dogs were especially susceptible to witchcraft, maybe Natividad shared that susceptibility. That...would be bad. He should have thought of it earlier. He should have asked Stéphanie all about what happened when a Pure girl carried traces of black dog magic. Stéphanie Callot was older, trained out of a different tradition; she might know something useful.

  Too late now. He couldn’t think what else they might do about the possibility right at this moment. If those witches got Natividad, he’d be close to her. He sure would. Yeah, he’d make absolutely sure he stayed close enough to his sister to snatch the m
irror aparato and try it out. Just in case.

  Poor Stéphanie was pale and angry and scared. Miguel didn’t blame her one bit. Théo Callot gripped his wife’s arm, glowering north at the looming mountain as though he were tempted to charge off, find some witches, and tear them to pieces all by himself.

  Natividad was gazing off, toward the mountain that was now very near. “Close,” she said. “We are very close.” They were practically on its lowest slopes of that mountain. Still a mile or so from the campground, according to the map, but the snow-streaked peaks loomed over them.

  “Carter, change the tire,” ordered Grayson. “Alejandro, guard your sister. Natividad, confirm our direction. Théo, guard Stéphanie. James, appraise Étienne. We shall return to Fort Garland and consider our approach.” Getting out of the car, the Master strode a short distance away, already lifting his phone. He didn’t say Stay alert or Watch for danger. That was too obvious to need an order.

  Calling Colonel Herrod actually seemed like a pretty good idea. Just in case. Probably pretty important to make sure Dimilioc and the Special Forces were on the same page. As backup went, the Special Forces were pretty...intimidating, actually. In a couple of different ways.

  Still, Grayson had a longstanding relationship with Herrod. If he thought the colonel would be trustworthy in the ways that mattered most, at the time it mattered most, Miguel wasn’t going to argue. This whole thing would feel less risky with Herrod’s people backing them up.

  Carter about had the tire changed. He hadn’t shown any sign of resenting the order to change it, and his attention now seemed fixed on the task. He was spooked, Miguel guessed. He wanted to get out of this place as much as anyone. Kind of ironic, setting up a situation where black dogs felt spooked. On the other hand, Miguel couldn’t have agreed more. If another tire went flat, that’d be unfortunate.

  Grayson’s attention seemed to be mostly on the sloping land that stretched out and up before them toward Blanco Mountain, though he would probably notice anything moving in any direction because he was just like that. Stéphanie Callot had sat down cross-legged on a more-or-less flat rock, looking kind of huddled and upset. Her husband stood over her, his attention directed outward, watching for enemies. Natividad was looked toward the mountain, nervous and wistful. Miguel let his attention be drawn north, too.

  Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing. No movement anywhere, except the wind skirling up a miniature whirlwind of snow over by a tumble of loose rocks and a few forlorn leaves skidding through the air. The sky was deep blue; the land taupe and rust and gray streaked with white; the distances vast and empty. No other cars, no billboards, no sign of people. Not even any birds in the sky. Except for the road scrolling out before them and behind, Miguel might have thought this country utterly deserted.

  Alejandro arrived back at the van, moving faster as he covered the last little distance, eager to get moving, get away. Miguel felt the same way. He headed back to the car himself, paused to let Natividad get in first, and swung in after her. “They’re up there,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Sí,” his twin agreed. “Ezekiel is up there.”

  Miguel nodded and glanced at Grayson, wanting to ask Herrod’s ETA? but not wanting to antagonize the Master with pointless questions. He figured Grayson would tell them if Herrod was right behind them or way too far back for any hope of backup, either way.

  “Back to Fort Garland,” Grayson said curtly. He swept a hard stare across the landscape, which continued to look empty and unpromising. Then he demanded, “Where is Absolon?”

  Miguel couldn’t help but look around as though he might spot the young Lumondière wolf under some nearby shrub. There was no sign of Absolon. Of course not.

  Nobody said anything. All the young black wolves had moved around a little, glad to be out of the close confines of the van, hopeful of catching an unsuspecting enemy. It was abundantly obvious now that they should have stayed closer together, kept a careful eye out for problems...black dogs weren’t much for working on the buddy system, usually. Miguel should have thought of it. He hadn’t.

  “What about the rest of us?” Carter said uneasily. He slanted a sideways look at Grayson. “If the rest of us follow him...what about us, huh?”

  That was a really good question, unfortunately.

  “Let’s find out,” Grayson said after a moment. “Ian. A hundred yards or so, please. Straight along the road. Then come back.”

  It was the plan. Kind of the plan. Feed the youngest, weakest black dogs to the witches and see if and when the witches ran out of mojo. Even though this did seem like kind of an ideal situation to make that kind of test, somehow Miguel hadn’t expected the Master to go on with that plan quite so cold-bloodedly.

  Ian Olney was just a kid, really. Not much older than Miguel and Natividad. Eighteen or nineteen, something like that, probably. Not as muscled up as Alejandro, not as broad in the shoulder. Sandy-colored hair, freckles across his nose. Though at the moment, his face was a little distorted, unease and anger bringing his shadow up.

  Miguel expected him to argue. But after a second, Ian just turned and jogged up the road.

  Twenty yards. Fifty. Eighty or so. At about that distance, the road curved around an outcropping of reddish rock and disappeared from view. Ian didn’t go quite that far. He reached the outcropping, slowed, stopped. Stood there for a long moment. Then he turned and jogged back.

  “Nothing,” he said to Grayson. He ducked his head a little, knowing he hadn’t gone quite as far as ordered. “Nothing I could feel.”

  The Master frowned, but he didn’t order Ian to try again, or anybody else. He said instead, “It seems a trap. But a trap that has been sprung. Perhaps our enemy can get a leash on only one black dog at a time. Or has not realized more than one at a time might come against him.”

  James said softly, “A big assumption.”

  Grayson nodded. But he said, “When will our chances be better? Taking Absolon may well distract our enemy.”

  Suddenly Miguel found the absence of the Special Forces people a really, seriously unfortunate circumstance. He would have been delighted now to risk trusting Colonel Herrod. He would have been quite happy to have any kind of allies coming up that road behind them, in fact. Not that Grayson was wrong. That was the problem. Grayson was probably right. But mierda, the potential for disaster suddenly seemed huge.

  Grayson glanced around at them all. Everyone waited. Miguel waited too. He was sure no one was the least bit surprised when the Master spoke in a flat, hard voice. “We will go up. Natividad, your newest creation: have it ready. Stéphanie, what have you made?”

  The woman jerked, her attention pulled outward. “A thing to turn attention,” she said after a second. “A thing I hope will turn the attention of a witch. Of all witches.” She held it out: a tangle of silver thread stretched in a wicker frame. “It is not...these enemies may be human, but their magic is probably demonic. This is meant to turn the attention of an ordinary person who has been contaminated by contact with a demon. I do not...I do not know if it will work. Or if it will work for me when I am...like this.”

  Grayson nodded curtly. “Give it to Natividad.”

  Stéphanie hesitated for a long moment, frowning. But at last she turned to Natividad, holding out the thing she had made. “This will spread out before us, not behind us. It is meant to confuse the eyes of our enemies as we approach, not our allies as they follow. You see, it is this tracery of light that will make the mist come down before us.”

  Miguel wasn’t certain whether she meant a physical mist or not, but he was mostly reassured by his twin’s nod of understanding and agreement. Natividad held out the aparato she had made out of her mirror and the locket and key. “This thing I made should be an aparato for casting out demons. For freeing a black dog from a witch’s spell. I think that is what it is.”

  She sounded a little tentative, as though she was a little bit worried what the Évanouir woman would say or think about her w
ork. Miguel said immediately, “The theory seems sound. All Natividad’s aparatos are powerful.”

  Stéphanie frowned at him as though not quite approving of an ordinary human offering an opinion about any kind of Pure magic. Then she peered at the mirror aparato without touching it. Then she transferred her frown to Natividad. “It may work. I do not know. I have never heard of such a thing. Only, it is contaminated. I see you have allowed a very tiny tracery of black dog shadow to enter...I do not mean enter...to braid itself into this working.” Her frown deepened. “I think you were very unwise to allow your magic to be contaminated in this way. You see how everything you make is also likely to be contaminated.”

  “It is his shadow,” Alejandro said sharply. “It is part of the aparato.”

  Miguel added, “It’s not contamination if it enhances the work. If it’s got a trace of Ezekiel’s shadow in it, then it might work better for him than for other black dogs and I wouldn’t call that a flaw because if there’s one black dog we want to get free, it’s definitely Ezekiel.” He hoped that would be true; that Grayson, for example, was not captured. He wasn’t sure it would be a great idea to use an aparato made for Ezekiel on somebody else.

  Natividad had flinched a little from Stéphanie Callot’s judgmental tone, but her back straightened as her brothers defended her. “I think it is true, I think I did make this for Ezekiel,” she agreed. She peered down out the glimmering mirror. “It is only a very little thread of shadow, and only braided in at the end. I think it might work for somebody else. I think it will. If I had really meant it for Ezekiel only, I would have made it...a little bit differently.” She sounded like she might regret that lost chance now.

  “I may be prevented from touching my birthright, but I know what I see—” Stéphanie began.

  Grayson held up a hand, halting the woman in midsentence. “We shall endeavor to require the use of this tool on no one but Ezekiel. Once our enemies are dead, we should have leisure to experiment. Ian, you understand what you are to do? Jim? It would be excellent if you killed our enemies. But do not put yourself in Ezekiel’s way if you can in any way avoid it.”