Shadow Twin

by Rachel Neumeier

  Not so useful for black dogs, much, but the master did not say so. Alejandro thought perhaps it was as well that the Special Forces had vials of holy water.

  Colonel Herrod said, “I don’t argue that Miss Hammond should be sent away, especially since she seems to have...recovered herself. But I would suggest leaving the younger children out of this. Any encounter with this...witch and his cohorts...seems likely to prove both unpredictable and violent. Also, my latest report is that your Ezekiel Korte remains unconscious.” He touched an earbud Alejandro had not previously noticed, indicating the source of his information. “I’ll inform you, of course, if his condition should change.”

  “Of course you will,” Grayson said, just a little ironically, and paused, considering. All his black wolves waited, probably more than half expecting a signal to tear Herrod and all his people into pieces for their temerity in taking Ezekiel into their keeping.

  Alejandro was certain the Master would not give any such signal. He believed Colonel Herrod was telling the truth, but he also suspected that the colonel, wary of Dimilioc, had deliberately taken hostages. He was certain that thought had also occurred to Grayson. But at the same time, he guessed that the Master was probably just as pleased to have Ezekiel out of danger and somewhere safe—very glad as well that he was not yet required to decide whether Ezekiel could recover from what had been done to him. Carissa Hammond had killed her friend. Grayson would not want to discover he would be required to do the same with Ezekiel. He would probably rather leave him with Colonel Herrod’s people than that.

  Alejandro was pleased enough to have his brother and sister out of it. He thought that, of them all, Miguel probably had about the best and most comprehensive grasp of background knowledge about the supernatural—but now there was Carissa, who certainly knew more about their particular enemies. Alejandro might wish to have Miguel’s ruthlessly clear intelligence to support them, and he wished very much to have Natividad’s Pure magic for their defense and protection. But he was also glad his brother and sister had been sent away from this dangerous pursuit of witches and demons. He was glad Miguel and Natividad were safe.

  Seconds ticked past and the Master did not renew his demand to have his people returned immediately.

  Alejandro certainly would not say the word hostage aloud. Nor would he say a word about what might happen if Ezekiel, unlike Carissa, could not recover his self-will and once more master his own shadow. Some of the others probably also had guessed why the Master did not make that demand. James certainly would have thought of all that. Maybe everyone.

  But none of them interrupted the moment. They all waited to see what Grayson Lanning would decide.

  The tension stretched out. Colonel Herrod also did not move or speak. He stood still, his gaze steady on the Master’s face—a mistake, but clearly he did not know that. Sweat beaded lightly along his hairline. His heart rate had quickened. So Alejandro knew the colonel was not unaware of the swelling potential for violence. Human-blind, Herrod did not know he should look down, or at least away. He did not know he should say something conciliatoria. The sheer weight of the Master’s regard should have informed him of all this. But of course he would not be used to dealing at close quarters or on equal terms with black dogs.

  But the colonel did not do anything else wrong. If he did not lower his gaze, at least his posture remained open. Relaxed. His manner was steady, but not aggressive. That was important. At some point he had put away his little gun, which was also good. Also, that gesture was probably keeping his people from openly readying themselves for violence. That was very important, or they would very likely save the witches a great deal of trouble by killing each other.

  And if this moment were not broken, perhaps that might yet happen. Alejandro said, though he had not been consciously aware of the decision to speak, “We will regret Natividad’s absence, I think. But after all, she had made these aparatos for us.” He touched his pocket. “Also, it is good she is safe.” He said to Carissa, “Is it not so, that these black witches wish most of all to murder the Pure?”

  Carissa flicked a wary glance from him to the Master and back again. But she answered only a little grudgingly. “They want to crush their enemies, anyone who opposes them. They are small people who take pleasure in small cruelties. More than anything, they wish to have power to do harm as they please. They don’t care about the Pure. But they get power from killing, and more power from killing someone Pure. They use the blood of the Pure in their magic. No one else’s is as good. Or that’s what they believe. I think they just like killing them. She’s your sister, that Pure girl?”

  “My sister, sí,” Alejandro agreed. “The other, my brother.”

  “Was there another? I didn’t notice.”

  She meant she had not noticed an ordinary human boy among all the rest. Alejandro warned her, “It is a mistake not to notice Miguel. He will certainly have noticed you.”

  Carissa rolled her eyes and turned her shoulder to Alejandro, which he did not regard. This was not the time. Besides, he thought he would like to fight Carissa Hammond later, when she was at her full strength. If she treated his brother with disregard then, he would be happy to fight her.

  If they all survived so long, of course.

  Grayson undoubtedly knew exactly what Alejandro had done, breaking in that way. But he allowed the tension to ebb anyway. He said curtly to Colonel Herrod, “I’m confident you will ensure that my people are indeed returned when I require it. For the moment, perhaps they may do well enough where they are. You have a report from your Ms. Raichlen? We know where our enemies have gone? Then I agree we should pursue immediately. Your vehicles are sound?”

  The colonel showed no sign of open relief, but his heartbeat slowed, gradually. “They should be. They’re difficult to put out of commission. They’re made to be robust.” He trusted the Master’s assurance; at least he trusted Grayson enough to turn and gesture courteously toward the two black vans. “You are welcome to borrow either one. There should be room for all your people, if you don’t mind a little crowding—and if you are willing to leave your injured here, with a couple of my men to guard them.” A slight hesitation, and then the colonel added smoothly, “Or if you prefer, of course, without my men.”

  The Master said, with considerable restraint, “I think such a guard could not possibly be either necessary or advisable. Théo, you will return to the Denver house with your wife. And with Jim.” His manner gentled when he spoke to Théo Callot, when he addressed all those he was sending away. “We shall hope your wife and our wolf may yet recover, Théo.”

  Carissa opened her mouth. The Master shot her a hard look and she closed it again. He said softly, still speaking to Théo, “Perhaps another of the Pure may find a way to help them. I don’t imagine our enemies tried a wide range of remedies for this...malady.”

  Théo nodded, not looking up.

  “Very well. For the moment, you will take charge here. I am sorry to leave you with this. But I am confident you will manage.”

  Théo Callot nodded again, though he still did not look away from his wife.

  “Then we will go on,” the Master declared, collected the rest of his Dimilioc wolves with one comprehensive glance, and strode toward one of the black vans. The Special Forces people, at a lift of their colonel’s hand, cleared out of his way.

  Alejandro followed with the others, in a broad, broken formation that clearly showed where lines of trust and loyalty ran. Carter Lethridge and Rip Jacobs also stayed together, their mutual mistrust temporarily drowned by wariness of so many other potential enemies. James Mallory, the only one besides Grayson himself to have been born within Dimilioc’s shelter and law, came behind the others. Alejandro understood that James would be at the rear. He did not object to having the older black wolf at his back, though he held back until Carter and Rip had gone on before him.

  Carissa, he was not quite surprised to see, hung back near him and stayed beside him when he moved,
not quite within arm’s reach, but not far out of it. Most of her distrust would be for the Special Forces people. But she would not trust any black dog she did not know, either. Except perhaps Grayson Lanning himself, and maybe James Mallory...and, it seemed, possibly Alejandro, even though she might not yet know he was a Toland by birth and more or less by upbringing as well.

  He did not mind her presence either. When going among enemies, a strong, resourceful black dog like Carissa Hammond seemed like the right kind of ally to have at your side—even if he did not yet know her well enough to let her at his back.

  -12-

  Miguel wasn’t happy with how things were going. Yeah, this wasn’t good. In fact, as the hours crawled past and turned into a very damn tedious day and started working toward a day and a half, he got to be pretty certain the situation had gone well past unfortunate and straight on to putrid. Colonel Herrod might not necessarily be the easiest guy to work with, or work around, whatever. But Herrod could be trusted. At least, his competence could be trusted, and once you understood what he wanted, he made sense. His priorities made sense, too. In fact, Miguel kind of thought Colonel Herrod was a lot like Grayson in some ways, which was why the two of them could work together when they had to. Even when they had different goals, they could understand each other’s goals. That was the important thing.

  They both figured stomping on the real monsters was a high priority. That was the other important thing.

  This new guy, this politico, Miguel wasn’t so sure about him. He hadn’t met him yet. Compared to a black dog and a Pure girl, apparently Miguel didn’t rate a lot of attention. Those smooth-talking flunkies had taken Natividad off to be interviewed specially, which was not great even though Miguel could hardly imagine they’d actually hurt her.

  They’d better not hurt her.

  Certainly they had barely questioned him at all, yet. Still, just from the few questions the flunkies asked—or actually more the way they asked them and just their general attitude—he pretty much got the idea that this Senator Connelly dude thought he was way more important than everybody else. And way smarter. That part came through loud and clear. He thought he was in charge and he thought he deserved to be. Miguel had that figured all right. Yeah, whoever that guy was, he thought he was the big man, that was why he had all those flunkies sucking up to him. Big man, big ego, a real cabrón for sure, the kind of guy who liked to throw his weight around. Grayson might be the ultimate control freak, but you wouldn’t catch him surrounding himself with yes-men. This dude seemed to be a lot like a Mexican señor de la guerra, a warlord who got to be a little pocket dictator of his own little provincia. It wasn’t supposed to be like that in the United States, but maybe this guy was ambitious.

  The problem was, the guy was a big man. Chair of the Spooky Shit Committee! Mierda, a military base ought to be hard to steamroll, but maybe that was why Colonel Herrod was only a colonel, because the politicos wanted their boy to be able to ride right over the top of pretty much the whole Special Forces and held back on putting higher brass in charge of the Special Forces. He’d already guessed someone higher up held back from committing the full force that ought to be available; a colonel ought to have a full regiment and Miguel was pretty sure Herrod didn’t have nearly that many men at his disposal. Herrod ought to have, what, eight hundred men or so, with majors and captains and stuff. If Miguel were guessing, he’d bet on maybe a quarter that number of men. Or fewer.

  Though drawing down the Special Forces might have made sense once the vampires were all gone—or mostly all gone. Maybe that was the basic idea.

  No matter how the chain of command ran on paper, though, Miguel was pretty sure Colonel Herrod could have stopped this damned politico. Through sheer force of will if nothing else. Maybe clever political footwork. Who knew, maybe blackmail; Miguel wouldn’t have been surprised. But Herrod wasn’t here, and as the hours ticked away Miguel started to wonder when, or even if, the colonel might come back. Those black witches were scary; he’d seen plenty to establish that little fact. Not even Miguel could guess just what the witches might be able to do; them and their pet demon. What if they had more than one? There was a nightmare thought: more than one horrible snakey, smokey demon thing. God knew what things like that could actually do. Miguel wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to try to imagine.

  What if something had gone wrong, bad wrong? What if the Dimilioc wolves hadn’t recovered from whatever had happened to them? There could have been the worst kind of confrontation outside the witches’ hideout; the kind that ended up with all the good guys slaughtering each other while the bad guys got clean away.

  Surely nothing like that had happened. Grayson Lanning was not the kind of man to let that happen. Neither was Herrod, Miguel was pretty sure.

  Still. What if Herrod was dead and nobody here knew it yet? What if he didn’t come back at all? What if nobody strolled in who had the sheer cojones to deal with this jackass politico and his pet goons?

  Miguel wasn’t even sure the Dimilioc wolves were alive. He wasn’t even sure Alejandro was alive. But even if Alejandro were fine, even if he could track Natividad through that strange link they shared, having his brother trying to break into a military base to rescue them, with or without Grayson and all the rest of the Dimilioc black wolves backing him up...that wasn’t anything Miguel wanted to contemplate. Nope, nope, nope. That scenario could only end in bloody disaster, emphasis on the bloody and the disaster both.

  But until somebody turned up to stop him, Senator Connelly looked like he was going to have a pretty free hand. Looked like he was planning to have a party. Do anything he wanted. Miguel worried what he’d do with Ezekiel. His own special black dog, way stronger than any callejero, he probably had ideas already. For sure, an ambitious politico would want to use Ezekiel somehow, and not just for research in a secret lab. The idea of some human who thought he was a big dog butting up against Ezekiel Korte might have been almost funny, except there was nothing funny about it.

  Worse, the bastard obviously knew something about Natividad, about the Pure, or why hustle her away for special treatment? He might not know, probably didn’t know, exactly what the Pure were or what they could do. But most likely he knew she could work some kind of magic.

  On the other hand, if he wanted to use Natividad somehow, at least that’d mean he wouldn’t just have his people take her apart to see if they could find magic in her blood or bones. So it could be worse.

  Miguel was sure any guy with an ego would believe he could use Natividad—a girl, a nice innocent girl, that’s what a man like that would see when he looked at Natividad. A trainable little pet: give her compliments and pretty dresses and she’d work magic for you, something like that.

  It also hadn’t escaped Miguel that his own special use might be as a hostage and a threat. They knew he was Natividad’s brother. He could imagine the ideas an arrogant politico with more brains than were good for him and no moral sense at all might come up with, to control Natividad. Not a good situation at all. Pretty much todo jodido, actually.

  Natividad was smart, though. She would totally understand what she should do: pretend to be pretty and ignorant and stupid, so that Miguel would have free rein to make up whatever story would do them all the most good. If his sister kept quiet, and if Ezekiel just refused to cooperate out of sheer bloody-minded obstinacy, which seemed pretty likely—well. Then Miguel might have just enough maneuvering room to work this situation around to something that offered a few more options.

  He didn’t want to think about the situation he and Natividad would be in if Ezekiel were dead. That situation would offer a lot fewer places to grab hold of.

  It would be pretty bad for Dimilioc, too.

  If Ezekiel was all right and Natividad played stupid, Miguel was pretty sure he could work these people, once they just got around to talking to him. He was pretty sure he could guess just what the senator must be like. The sort of guy who was sure he must be right because he was too
smart to be wrong...that would be a handle Miguel could get hold of. A guy like that would be too busy burnishing his pet theories to actually notice when real people didn’t conform. Figure out what those pet theories were, and you could make that guy see anything you wanted by matching it up to what he thought he ought to see. Get him to see Natividad as a helpless little girl...maybe he wouldn’t figure out she could do more than pretty tricks.

  How Miguel could actually get them all free, well, the details weren’t clear yet, but if he could only get those smooth goons talking to him, Miguel was sure he would think of something. Pretty sure.

  On the other hand, if Colonel Herrod actually made it back, Miguel would be happy enough to let him do the heavy lifting. Sure, it’d be inconvenient to try to shake free of this place if the colonel wanted them to stay put. But basically Miguel would’ve been happy to face that problem. He’d have been way past happy and well into ecstatic to see the colonel step through the door right this minute. He wanted real bad to watch Herrod cut that damned politico and his flunkies off way below the knees.

  But the colonel didn’t come back, not so far as Miguel could tell. Santibañez and a couple of the other Special Forces people were around, they brought food and coffee and bottled water, but they didn’t answer questions. They didn’t talk at all. Ordered not to, apparently. It was damn frustrating. Best case and he hoped not unlikely, maybe they were doing useful stuff to get the colonel back and ditch the senator, but just didn’t feel they needed to explain anything about it to Miguel.

  Finally, at last, the door opened and there was Senator Connelly his own special self. Instantly recognizable just from his big-dog attitude, though he didn’t say a word. Talking to grungy kids was what flunkies were for, probably.

  Miguel made a note to be careful not to underestimate the senator out of sheer dislike.

  The flunkies—there were three of them—hovered like dogs waiting for their master to throw a stick for them to fetch. Santibañez was one of the Special Forces guys who came in with the senator’s people. He looked wooden and blank and Miguel was positive he wasn’t real happy with the situation. But he didn’t dare assume that meant the lieutenant would make a move to stop the senator doing whatever he wanted, though at least for the moment all he wanted seemed to be just to interrogate Miguel, which was great since at last Miguel had some hope of getting a hold on this situation.