Shadow Twin

by Rachel Neumeier

  This was as much a threat as a query, though Colonel Herrod might not have realized it. If he did, he handled it exactly as he should, answering calmly and with no trace of evasiveness. “In fact, I sent your injured black dog and your human children entirely out of the way of all our enemies, with a couple of my men to see them safe.”

  The Master regarded him, narrow-eyed. “Your people will of course return mine to me immediately.”

  “I strongly suggest you leave those children in safety.”

  “In safety? Among your personnel?” Grayson said. This time he did nothing to disguise the threat.

  Colonel Herrod answered carefully, “You may trust that your people will come to no harm from mine. Your Ezekiel Korte was clearly not in remotely adequate condition for any kind of operation, even if I were persuaded it would be safe to free him. I promise you, whether he’s free of these...witches...or not, he will be well cared for by my people. The young lady insisted on accompanying him. It seemed wise to accommodate her wishes. I can promise you that they will not be harmed. All of your people can be returned to you when it’s safe, after the conclusion of this operation.”

  Grayson considered the colonel. His expression was hard to read, but tension and violence continued to gather in the air like the threat of thunder. “Can be?”

  “Will be,” Colonel Herrod amended. “That is a promise as well, Mr. Lanning.” He paused, then added, “I believe you were correct in your initial assessment of our priorities. I think it would be best to focus our efforts on finding and stopping these...witches. Which we cannot do if we instead turn on each other. I have not set aside our understanding, Mr. Lanning.”

  “Merely redefined it?” the Master said grimly.

  “To a very limited extent. It seemed advisable given Mr. Korte’s condition when we recovered him.” He paused, then went on, “Ms. Raichlen took a most competent team with her, including Father Petros. But I would strongly prefer to pursue our...targets of interest...with all available forces. We do have some advantages in that regard. Drones. Access to useful databases. Though unfortunately cell signals, among other items, often appear unreliable in the vicinity of our...” he paused, then chose, “Quarry.”

  Prey, thought Alejandro, and from the sudden yellow glint in Carissa Hammond’s eyes, he knew she thought the same. He curled a lip, wanting to tear into the enemies who had dared offend Dimilioc, who had forced Dimilioc black wolves to their will, who murdered the Pure and endangered Natividad. He did not want these soldiers to track and find the black witches. He wanted to find them himself, tear out their throats, rip the still-beating hearts from their chests.

  But the Master appeared unmoved. He merely said in a level voice, “Your priest cannot replace our Pure women. As you have surely seen. Those beads could not have been made by a priest.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Mr. Lanning. However, Father Petros is a most competent and experienced man. Though not, of course, experienced with these...witches. He will no doubt gain experience shortly. I believe we should focus for the moment on the witches rather than the creature they made. This Kristoff seems the greater threat, as he can presumably make another if he has lost this one.” His tone flattened slightly: “It might have helped if we had known further in advance that these witches even existed.”

  Alejandro half expected Grayson Lanning to answer this implied rebuke with violence. But the Master only said curtly, “Indeed, Colonel. We might all have wished to know more of this new enemy far in advance of any confrontation. They are new to us as well.”

  Colonel Herrod raised both eyebrows at this.

  It was obvious to Alejandro who among them ought to know the most about the witches. He said to Carissa, not quite looking directly at her because he did not want his comments to be taken as a challenge, “Perhaps you might know more of our enemy. Perhaps you might know where they came from. They gain power from the murder of the Pure, is this so?”

  She glared at him. “They get power from demons.” She transferred that glare to Colonel Herrod. “Which they don’t make. They summon them. They summon them into circles and get them to do things. Curse people. Stupid little curses, half the time. Might as well poison some guy’s dog as have a demon eat it. Total waste of power.” She glanced sidelong toward Grayson but turned back to Alejandro, speaking to him as though to distance herself from the Master. “They murder people to get blood. Especially the Pure. Demons feed on corruption. Using Pure blood for evil ends is seriously corrupt.”

  Grayson said quietly, “Vampires also delighted in corruption.”

  Carissa nodded, turning to the Master with a certain relief, maybe reassured by his quiet tone. She spoke more quietly herself now, more earnestly, with less anger. “Yeah. They’re demons too. Different kind, or...maybe exactly the same kind, only entering our world in a different way. I think vampires used to hunt witches, used to force them to keep quiet and hidden. That bastard Kristoff said things about Now that we don’t need to worry about vampires. He gloated about it. I think the vampires hated witches, which would make sense if a witch could summon a vampire, keep it from investing itself in a corpse, call it to come or go and make it jump through hoops. But then we...” she faltered and stopped.

  “Killed all the vampires,” Alejandro finished for her.

  “And Kristoff wasn’t worried about black dogs at all,” Carissa said. Her eyes went briefly bright gold before reverting to human brown.

  “Indeed.” The Master rubbed his forehead, looking not precisely tired, but grimly resigned.

  “The law of unforeseen consequences,” muttered Colonel Herrod. He began to say something else, but then James emerged from the shadows within the building.

  Wherever James had been, however cautious he had been, he had obviously decided the battle was over and there was no longer any point to hanging back. He might have gone into the building just because he was curious, or more likely because he hoped to learn something about their enemies. Now he was mostly carrying a living man, one arm around the stranger’s waist, guiding the man’s stumbling steps. James was also dragging a dead man by the ankle with his other hand. The living man seemed...blind, or stunned, or something more disturbing than either. The dead man, of course, was just dead.

  When they all turned to watch, James dropped the dead man in their midst with something of a flourish, then eased the stranger down to the gritty soil, where he crouched, aimless and passive. He made a thin sound when James let go of him: not exactly a whimper. Nothing so mindful as that.

  Carissa, her breath coming short, turned her back on the living man and spat on the dead one’s body.

  That one had been of middling years, taller than average, handsome. Now he was dead, his eyes open and blank. His hands and feet had been pierced through. Of course those small wounds had not killed him. His belly had been torn open, all his guts spilled out. That had not killed him either, if Alejandro could judge. His throat had been slashed. Blood still clotted there, curdled and black. Probably that had been the death wound.

  “An enemy, I guess,” James said mildly.

  “Alistair Burton,” she said, and spat on the body again. “Kristoff used his new pet to get by me. Best fight I ever lost. I could’ve told Alistair it’d take more than me and Enrique together to stop Ezekiel Korte. Arrogant son of a bitch didn’t ask, which is why he wound up staked out in a black star with a demon drinking his blood. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, let me tell you.”

  “Kristoff killed this man,” Grayson said softly.

  Carissa nodded, not looking up. “Yeah. Too damn bad we couldn’t have returned the favor for Ezekiel, take out Kristoff for him too. Too damn bad Kristoff was quick enough to get his chains on Enrique and me.” Now she looked around at all of them, one slow measuring glare that took in the Special Forces people and Dimilioc wolves alike and ended, finally, on the living man crouched at James’ feet. “Too damn bad you didn’t find us a couple months ago. Or a couple weeks a
go. Or fucking yesterday.”

  Alejandro winced. But Grayson let her disrespect pass. The Master only said softly, “He was your friend? Then I am sorry he was injured. Perhaps he may recover.”

  Carissa only shrugged, a fragile pretense of indifference that surely anyone could see through. “He’s demon-struck. There’s no saving him now. His soul’s shredded. When the moon rises full, it’ll pull his shadow up and he’ll be gone. Nothing left.”

  “Has anyone tried to save such persons?”

  Her eyes came up, fiery gold with the force of her passionate rage. “There’s nothing left to save! You think I haven’t seen this before? He’s worse than a shifter. Even when the moon wanes, he’ll stay in the other form. There’s not enough of his soul left to hold back any kind of shadow.” She took a step, wary of James as she crouched down by the man who had been her friend. Or a companion in la mala fortuna, perhaps. Sometimes shared misfortune made someone enough like a friend.

  The man was still breathing. He was even making very faint whimpering sounds. His eyes were squeezed shut, not open and blank like the eyes of a corpse. But truly, there seemed nothing much left to him.

  Moving almost gently, Carissa cut her friend’s throat. She swayed to the side to avoid the blood, but some of the spray caught her arm and shoulder. She did not seem to care. She had not looked at the Master for permission, either.

  Grayson could have stopped her, of course. That he hadn’t...that said something too.

  It was Théo Callot who, his attention dragged away from his stricken wife, snarled something in French and began to surge to his feet, the cambio de cuerpo taking him fast and hard, utter denial in every line of his body.

  He took Alejandro by surprise. But not James, nor Grayson. It was James who blocked the Évanouir wolf. The Master rolled his shadow under and James kicked his feet out from under him and pinned him.

  “We need him,” Grayson said mildly.

  “I know.” James closed his hand on the other black wolf’s arm and hauled him up, shadow claws drawing enough blood to make the threat clear. “Get a grip, man! No one is suggesting we deal so with Stéphanie. Whatever happens to a demon-struck black dog, a Pure woman will be different.” He looked sharply at Carissa. “Right?”

  “Different,” the girl said. “Yeah.” She hadn’t flinched from Théo Callot’s attack. Now she rose in one graceful movement and looked at Grayson, turning her shoulder pointedly to the Évanouir wolf. “You might as well cut their throats too. Not hers, if you don’t want to. But him.” She indicated Jim Gotz. “There’s no point leaving him to suffer. You’ll just have to do it later anyway.”

  To make sure the Master did not immediately rebuke her for this unsolicited and not very respectful advice, Alejandro asked quietly, “What was his name? Your friend?”

  “Enrique Rubio.” Carissa answered without looking at him, but a tiny bit of the tension seemed to go out of her. “That bastard Kristoff caught him at the same time as me.” Lifting her gaze, she glared at the Master. “He was never Dimilioc. He was a stray. But we didn’t have enough wolves, not after—after everything. We thought Dimilioc was gone. You let us think so. We thought we were all that was left, and we weren’t enough, so we had to look for the kind of black dog who could be all right. We’re not the only ones who did that, are we?” She waved a hand, taking in the gathered black dogs near at hand, ending with a sharp little gesture at Alejandro. “That’s no Lanning, is it? He sure doesn’t look like he’s from any Dimilioc bloodline.” She swept a comprehensive glance around the gathered black dogs and said in sharp accusation, “You let in strays too. Half these here must have been strays once. If we’d known—” She broke that off short, breathing hard.

  If they’d known, then what? They’d have headed north earlier, before the vampire had found them. They would have sought the remnants of the main sept of Dimilioc and hoped to find something was left after all. That seemed more than likely. But they hadn’t, because this Enrique Rubio had been a random-bred stray and no one had guessed he might be welcome anyway. And that had mattered. At least, it had mattered to Carissa Hammond.

  Alejandro wanted to snap at Carissa, My father was Edward Toland! But somehow he didn’t want to embarrass this girl by declaring his Dimilioc bloodlines. He didn’t understand why he should care whether she was embarrassed, but still he was silent. His father’s name made no difference to her point anyway. She was right, after all. Probably she recognized James, if not by name than at least as a Mallory, and if she had picked anyone else but Alejandro she would have been right.

  Carissa could see that Carter and Rip and some of the others had been born callejeros. Of course she could. Facing the Master, she insisted passionately, “Enrique was all right. He was born with strength. Too much strength, but he was learning decent control. He was. He came after me when—when the vampire came. We got away from it. But that just meant Kristoff got us both. There was nothing I could do.”

  Grayson had listened to her attentively. Now he nodded, voicing no objection to anything she had said. Instead he promised, “You will have your revenge, Carissa Hammond. You will have your fill of it. Enough for you, and for your friend, as well.”

  “There will never be enough vengeance for what they did!” Carissa stood rigid for a heartbeat, glaring directly at the Master’s face.

  Most of the black wolves were distracted—Théo Callot by his injured and unconscious wife, the rest by the potential threat offered by the Special Forces people. But Alejandro was aware that James was watching Carissa with close attention. He might move fast and violently if Carissa did not back down, especially if she attacked the Master, as in her rage and distress she seemed possibly about to do.

  Worse, Carter Lethridge was watching too. In his case, maybe he was watching to see what this girl might get away with. Or maybe he was watching for his own chance, if she distracted everyone else.

  Alejandro, nearest to Carissa, shifted his weight. It was a subtle suggestion of aggression that snapped Carissa’s attention to him instead, forcing her to look away from Grayson Lanning. But the instant she turned fiercely toward him, he glanced away, giving her no target for her fury, watching with satisfaction from the corner of his eye as she began to refocus her attention on Grayson, then suddenly realized whom she’d been addressing and with what dangerous disrespect.

  Carissa took a breath, and another breath, mastering her fury. She bowed her head, stiffly.

  “That will do,” Grayson murmured.

  The Master’s gaze crossed Alejandro’s; he knew exactly what Alejandro had done. His tiny nod of approval took Alejandro by surprise. Warmth flushed through Alejandro, straightening his shoulders and calming his shadow’s continual anger, its wariness of Carissa and its hatred of the Special Forces people.

  The Master turned to Colonel Herrod, so smoothly he might have intended all along to do so; the move might have had nothing to do with allowing Carissa a moment to get herself more solidly under control. But Alejandro, more than usually aware of the layers of intention contained in everything Grayson Lanning did, was certain the Master had meant exactly that.

  “Your intention now is to continue pursuit of our enemies?” he said.

  Colonel Herrod answered with measured calm, “This seems the prudent course, under the circumstances. This Kristoff has lost control of his demon; he has been forced out of this base of operations and is now on the run. It hardly seems wise to offer him a chance to recoup his strength or rebuild his resources. I believe we must continue to work together if we are to pursue our common enemies and bring this operation to a satisfactory conclusion. Those...items Miss Toland made for you seem useful. If we delay, this black witch may find a way to counter them. I would prefer not to afford him the chance.” He paused and added, “Whatever that demon may be, whatever its abilities, I think we can be certain we don’t want these...witches...creating them or summoning them or in any other way acquiring them. More than once you’ve stated that y
ou believe Dimilioc a natural ally of humanity against darker entities. As you know, I am inclined to agree. My people are good. Father Petros is a useful ally. But I suspect none of my people have quite Dimilioc’s kind of strengths, nor your depth of background knowledge regarding the...demonic.”

  The modern Special Forces had been created especially to handle supernatural threats, but the colonel’s distaste for the whole idea of demons was obvious from his slight hesitation on the word. But he went on with hardly a pause, “I think we would be well advised to combine all our best resources in the hope that we’ll be able to contain this latest threat before we are forced to discover its full extent. I fear this won’t be an appropriate mission for...injured soldiers. Nor for children.” His gaze flickered toward Carissa on that last, clearly taking her for both injured and a child.

  Carissa rolled her eyes. Alejandro was both amused and offended on her behalf. Children. None of them were that. Certainly Carissa Hammond was not. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, he did not know exactly. But even at eighteen, Carissa would not be a child. Black dogs grew up very fast. Colonel Herrod knew less about black dogs and Dimilioc than he realized, or he would know that.

  The Master said softly, “Carissa Hammond is not a child. She may well be our only source of reliable information about these black witches, this Kristoff and his companions and his pet demon.” He raised an eyebrow at Carissa.

  She shrugged, pretending an indifference Alejandro knew she did not feel. She said, “You have a priest. This is good. Prayer is good, if you have faith. I saw a human woman—the demon Alistair tried to summon couldn’t touch her. How much good that did, I don’t know. I mean, he shot her. But she had a rosary and the demon couldn’t touch her.”

  “Blessed water,” murmured Colonel Herrod.

  “You have blessed water?” Grayson asked him.

  The colonel lifted one shoulder fractionally, not quite a shrug. “It seemed a reasonable precaution. Such things were always useful against vampires.”