The two guys who had been carrying Ezekiel lowered him to the ground. He was pale and still, skin blistering wherever the silver cords of the net touched him. Not great, but even so, Miguel wasn’t going to vote for letting him loose just yet. Natividad pressed forward, though, patting Ezekiel’s hands through the net, murmuring under her breath. Spanish. Not blooding the silver; she was scared of what he might do if he got loose too, then. Or scared of what might happen to him, probably. She was doing her best to wake Ezekiel up or ease the bright burn of the silver or...from the few words he caught, maybe just try to make him understand he was out of that place and no longer alone.
Probably that was the best thing she could do, actually. He should have thought of it himself.
They hadn’t actually been running, in this retreat. More a fast, cautious walking pace, with guys out front and off to the sides and bringing up the rear; different guys hustling along with Ezekiel and guarding Natividad and Miguel. Everybody disciplined, everybody watchful, nobody panicky. That was great. It helped Miguel not get panicky himself.
Before stopping, they had approached a couple of black vans that had been parked back out of line of sight of the witches’ base of operations. Probably the Special Forces had serious ordnance in those vans, medical supplies, wooden stakes and silver chains and vials of holy water, why not? A couple of men waited with the vans. They didn’t look remotely surprised to see Herrod’s party—right, of course they had phones, they probably had constant updates on what was going on. Maybe a couple Special Forces guys had stayed back there in case the main team ran into problems.
Colonel Herrod had turned to study the building from which they’d escaped. There was not yet the slightest sign of any black dogs coming after them. Nor the demon. Probably they were all killing each other in there. Or hopefully all the dying was on the demon’s side. If it could be killed. Miguel didn’t even know that much. Thankfully there was no screaming or roaring or yelling. Yet.
The colonel spoke briefly and quietly with one of his people, a woman close to his own age who looked maybe Middle Eastern-ish but could probably have any background from Greek to Israeli. Black hair cut short, not like a military guy’s buzz, but a little above shoulder length. Face like a hatchet, strong cheekbones, determined nose, not at all pretty but totally confident. She looked deadly calm and rational; Miguel figured she was second in command after Herrod himself and guessed she was good at it. Whatever the colonel said to her, she barely spoke two words in response. She only nodded, a quick curt gesture. Then she flicked a glance across the rest of the Special Forces people, picked out four plus the priest, and they all jogged off, making a wide circle around to the north.
Going after the escaped witches. Of course. If Miguel had been quicker on the uptake, he might have asked to go with that group. But they were practically out of sight before he figured it out.
Colonel Herrod gave Miguel a sharp look, as though he had picked this thought right out of his head. Then he beckoned to one of his remaining people and strode toward Miguel and Natividad. He paused, studying Ezekiel briefly. “I’m sending him back to Albuquerque,” he informed them. His tone was not exactly impatient. More curt, as though he meant to deal with one thing at a time, briskly, until every single thing was sewn up exactly the way he wanted it. “It’s not far, and it’s secure. I think you should go with him.”
Indeed, Ezekiel’s handlers were already loading him in one of the vans. Natividad, plainly torn between running after him and running back to help the other Dimilioc wolves, tried to say several things at once and got stuck. Since the most important things she wanted to say were totally obvious, Miguel jumped in. “Getting Ezekiel way, way far away from witches and demons and any possible remnants of black magic seems like a real good idea. Right, Natividad? And you totally need to go with him. If anybody can calm him down and fix him up and make sure he’s okay and, most important, find out exactly what happened to him, you can. Plus getting you way far away from witches and demons—”
“Oh, stop.” Natividad exasperated, took a step back toward the building..
Miguel grabbed her arm. “You know it’s true. If that demon goes after anybody in particular, I bet it’s you. And if—when Ezekiel wakes up, you’d better be there with him, right? I am not going to explain to him we let a demon eat you.”
She said stubbornly, “Grayson—and Alejandro—and poor Stéphanie, I need to try to help her—”
“Black dogs are muy fuerte. They are not the ones I’m worried about right now.” Which was not entirely true, but he said as firmly as possible, “That demon’s likely to go after you first. Or Ezekiel. You’re probably it’s favorite little snack—and it’s already had a taste of him.”
This made her pause. “Puede que tengas razón,” she said reluctantly.
“Of course I’m right.”
Natividad shook her head, not exactly disagreeing. That stuff in there must have scared her half to death—it sure had him. But she had plenty of guts, which is why she said earnestly to Colonel Herrod, “But that will leave you here without anybody Pure! A priest is one thing, it’s good he’s with you, but he’s not Pure.”
“And, listen,” Miguel put in. “You’re going to need Dimilioc as a functioning organization and that means you need Grayson Lanning. And his people. Listen, you’re right about Ezekiel and Natividad, but I’d better stay here. We have to make sure the black dogs are okay, or anyway, that they’re not—” he paused, not sure he wanted to finish that sentence.
Colonel Herrod bent a quick, assessing look at Miguel. “I do agree Dimilioc is an asset, generally. We will endeavor to see that our retreat today is not a rout and does not come with too great a cost. Neither to your Dimilioc nor my people. But at the moment, I believe our common purposes are best served by a tactical retrenchment.” He turned to Natividad, courteous but inflexible. “Miss Toland, I think you had better go with Mr. Korte.”
“I know! I have to! But—” Natividad began, then only shrugged helplessly and said quickly to Miguel, “I should make something first! Something to defend black dogs against demons—no just against a witch’s demon. Or I don’t know, something.” she looked around as though the naked mountainside might offer materials apt for magic. Or maybe inspiration.
“Something fast,” suggested Miguel, one eye on the colonel, who did not look especially patient. He glanced around himself, though, trying to see the mountains as his sister might. As a Pure woman might.. Chilly air and gritty soil, dried grasses and pebbles and sunlight—sunlight. He said thoughtfully, “Didn’t you bring Mamá’s flute? Some of these pebbles are probably quartz...” His heart sank at the thought of taking time to search for the right kind of pebbles among all the rest.
But his twin fished triumphantly in her bag. “I don’t need pebbles! I brought glass beads. You’re thinking of an aparato para parar las luz, aren’t you? That won’t work, not all by itself, but—I need another mirror.”
Natividad turned to Colonel Herrod, Miguel was fascinated to see, as though just knowing instinctively that he was the one who could furnish whatever she needed. Not very much to his surprise, the colonel merely nodded to one of his men, who solemnly produced a tiny mirror and handed it over. Miguel couldn’t quite imagine what the Special Forces might do with little tiny mirrors in ordinary operations—signaling? Starting fires? Peering around corners when they expected snipers?—no, right, this was Special Forces after all. They probably knew about mirrors catching the true reflection of vampires and blood kin. Not real useful with all the vampires gone but hey, in their place he’d probably have kept a little mirror in his kit, too, because honestly, you just never knew.
“Something fast would indeed be preferable,” murmured the colonel.
“What do you have in mind?” Miguel asked his sister. “Reflections would kind of tend to separate soul from soul, wouldn’t they?” He knew that couldn’t be what she had in mind, but he could hardly see what else a mirror could be use
d for.
“No reflexión. Refuerzo,” Natividad answered, which wasn’t all that clear. Probably she was vague because she was distracted, but it was frustrating when Miguel honestly knew he understood the theory behind Pure magic better than she did. He wasn’t sure he got how this was supposed to work at all, even when she added, now in English, “It will be fast to make because looking in a mirror always does reinforce your idea of your self anyway. The mirror to set the pattern, light to provide the...the empujón, the thrust; glass marbles to carry the magic because glass is the same as a mirror, sort of. Enough the same. And a tiny little bit of black dog shadow to remind them what to hold onto.... They’re beads, a thread is just what they want anyway. It will work.... I think it will work. And it will be fast.”
She was already cupping her left hand to gather sunlight, bright and clear and nearly without warmth in this mountain winter. She held the mirror in her left palm so that the light pooled there, brighter and clearer and gathering in intensity as Natividad poured it into the mirror.
In her right hand, she held the cloth bag of small glass marbles, or maybe large beads. The glass was clear, colorless as water.
“Let the mirror remind any black dog of his good heart—or hers,” Natividad said rapidly in Spanish. “Let it recall the will and the heart. Let it repel evil. All these beads, these are echoes of the mirror, they are also mirrors, let them all recall and remind and reinforce the one who holds them of his proper self. Or hers.” She poured the beads from her right hand into her left and closed both hands around the light and the mirror and the beads. Then she brought both hands to her lips and breathed into them. Her eyes were closed. She looked...calm, the way the Pure looked when something of theirs was working the way it was supposed to. Mamá had looked like that when she was working with magic.
Miguel swallowed a familiar lump of jealousy. It wasn’t right to be jealous of Natividad, only it was harder now that Justin had proven boys could be born Pure.
Stupid. Stupid and pointless and futile. He should just be grateful he hadn’t been born a black dog. He was grateful. Just sometimes he couldn’t help but wish—
“There!” Natividad said, thrusting the handful of beads at Colonel Herrod, who let her pour them into his hands with only the faintest hesitation. She said rapidly, “Give a bead to every black dog—give the mirror to Grayson. It’s very important you give it to Grayson—maybe I better do it myself—” Natividad turned uncertainly toward the building.
Miguel thought he had better forestall anything like that, but Colonel Herrod poured the beads into his pocket and lifted the shining mirror aparato neatly out of Natividad’s hands before Miguel could do it. “I shall do so, Miss Toland. Without fail. As long as Mr. Lanning is in reasonable shape to receive this, ah, tool.”
Obviously torn, Natividad hesitated. Then the Special Forces man designated to drive the van leaned out to wave impatiently, a clear If you’re coming signal, and she turned and ran to climb in the back with Ezekiel.
“It would probably be best if you accompanied your sister, Miguel,” Colonel Herrod said, perfectly inflexible, and nodded firmly toward the van.
“You will need Grayson,” Miguel told him forcefully, but he didn’t resist when one of the Special Forces guys took his arm and shoved him, not too gently, after his sister.
“I agree that is quite likely, if he survives,” the colonel said, but absently, no longer focused on Miguel. “I did promise, you know.” His formidable attention was already back on the other problem he faced here. Miguel wanted very much to be right here when the Dimilioc wolves reappeared, or when the colonel took a team back into that building, whichever came first. But the Special Forces guy was already guiding him firmly toward the vans, and he could tell there was just no way even to argue.
The van was indeed impressively fitted out, though not with much regard for actual comfort. Lots of safety webbing, though. Which could easily be converted to restraints, in Ezekiel’s case. He was still wrapped up in that net, but Natividad was on it; she was quickly blooding the silver to keep it from burning him, as discreetly as possible, though there was no way to hide the fact she was doing something from the Special Forces people. But of course she’d never have been dissuaded from doing it; she was not happy about the blisters and red lines already scoring Ezekiel’s skin where the silver cords had pressed longest.
Of course blooding the silver meant Ezekiel might break the cords and get free, but the Special Forces people had webbed him in tight on his side of the van and Miguel suspected the webbing probably had silver wire inside and was made to be tough and hard to break anyway. Also, perhaps fortunately, Ezekiel still seemed completely unconscious; unresponsive to both the net and Natividad’s presence. Albuquerque, which was where Miguel guessed they were probably heading, was hours away. He wondered if there were any chance Ezekiel would stay unconscious long enough to get there. All things considered, it was tough to decide whether him waking up would be a good thing or a bad thing.
Four of Herrod’s people had come with them. Just four. That seemed way too few, until Miguel thought about what the rest of them might be facing back there, and then it seemed too many. He tried asking the Special Forces lieutenant what Colonel Herrod was likely to do, but first of course the guy wouldn’t speculate and second Miguel knew perfectly well it was impossible to guess. Way too many unknowns, and probably lots of them were unknown-unknowns. It wasn’t like he hadn’t already figured that out. It was just a really tough situation.
The senior Special Forces lieutenant was a Hispanic dude who looked pretty young for a lieutenant but was definitely decisive. He’d been polite enough to tell Miguel his name was Santibañez, but other than that he was seriously closed-mouthed. The other Special Forces guys were even younger and even less chatty. So it took Miguel by surprise when the van pulled up sharply only twenty minutes or so after booking away from the witches’ base and they turned out to have a couple big helicopters waiting at a tiny little airstrip outside San Luis. Not even a real airstrip; more just a flattish smoothish stretch of gravelly soil with a shed to one side, mountains going up to the sky all around. One of the Special Forces guys loped over to start a flight check while two others manhandled Ezekiel out of the back of the van and Santibañez strode off to look for a spot he could get enough of a signal to call in.
Santibañez seemed worried when he came back, tight-mouthed and grim, but all business and not letting himself be distracted as his people heaved Ezekiel into the helicopter and strapped him in again. Santibañez and one of the others had weapons at the ready for that part, but Ezekiel didn’t wake up. That seemed a really, really good thing because the idea of being stuck in a helicopter with an Ezekiel Korte driven crazy by black witchcraft was pretty much completely horrifying.
“Two copters,” Miguel observed, not quite asking because he figured asking questions was a way to shut these guys up, but just making comments might not hit their keep-it-buttoned training as hard. Besides, that was the single fact that surprised him the most.
“The colonel always likes to make sure he has options,” the nearest Special Forces guy said absently. His head was up; he was scanning the surrounding hills as though he expected enemies to pour over the horizon at any moment. Miguel approved. It paid to expect the worst.
Natividad was already settled in the back of the plane, right next to Ezekiel. She was holding his hand, awkward because of the straps, and gazing anxiously into his face. But she wasn’t actually trying to wake him up. Upset, but not stupid. Miguel obeyed a glance from Santibañez and moved to join his sister. But he also asked, “Everything okay?” meaning, What’s going on?
“Don’t know. Situation’s unpredictable,” Santibañez said. “Get in.”
“Unpredictable” seemed an understatement and as a report this definitely lacked details, but was still more of an answer than Miguel had expected. He jumped into the plane and hurried to belt in next to his sister while the lieutenant sorted o
ut whatever else.
Hours by car turned into minutes by copter. Too many minutes when a guy was desperate to find out what was going on back on the ground, but still, just minutes. He had plenty of time to text Cassie, though. If the Special Forces people didn’t object. Pulling out his phone got him a thoughtful look from Santibañez, but the lieutenant didn’t actually try to stop him, so that was all right. Miguel tapped rapidly.
MigTol: Hey Prophetess I got good news and bad news.
MigTol: The good news is we found E and got him back and the witches r on the run. The bad news is E’s in rough shape and the witches got away and they had a pet demon and last I saw the whole situation was totally FUBARed.
MigTol: Don’t pass that on till we know more! !!! Probably too pessimistic!
MigTol: Cassie? RYT?
Prophetess: Sorry busy AFK
Prophetess: FUBARed how? Can you please try for a rational description of the situation? WTF is a pet demon? Did you get any pictures?
Prophetess: Please tell me evrbdy is alive
MigTol: DKFS
MigTol: FU from the beginning. Maybe a deliberate trap. Probably knew we were coming. H’s people saved our asses. N and me w them now. Also E. Evbdy else still back there. W most of Colonel H’s people. Don’t know what’s happening. H is as bad as G. Wouldn’t let N and me stay. Mind you getting E out of there probably a RGI. N too probably
Prophetess: And u wanted 2 stay so u could get ur face eaten by the witch’s pet demon? Ur an idiot.
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