He must know Grayson would kill him if things went seriously wrong between his colonel and the Master of Dimilioc.
Maybe he did not know. Maybe that was why he stayed so calm.
He sat on one of the long benches in the back of the van, not too near any black dog. Grayson was the nearest, setting himself between the human man and the less-certain tempers of Carter and Rip. Or perhaps he stayed nearest the liaison in case he suddenly decided to kill him after all. But the Master was not going out of his way to frighten Josiah. He had even asked his name, which was how Alejandro had learned it.
Grayson was not driving, which was unusual, but he had told James to drive. The Master himself was in the back with the rest of them, opposite the Special Forces man. No one had the temerity to crowd the Master, so then there was a wide space. Alejandro himself had taken the end of Grayson’s bench, near the rear doors of the van. He had been pleased when Carissa, perhaps distrusting him a little less than she distrusted the rest, had warily settled between him and Grayson.
Carter and Rip had the opposite bench. They did not sit very close to each other, but neither so much as looked at the Special Forces liaison. Nor at Carissa. That was wise. Grayson would probably be offended if either of them killed the human man—and Carissa certainly did not seem inclined to let any offense pass.
Alejandro liked her. He didn’t mind her knowing it. He knew she was agresiva and espabilada—quick-witted—and encarnizada. Fierce-natured. Sí. When she was in better condition, he was sure she would be a match for any black dog near her own age. He looked forward to fighting her. He was sure he would win. But not too sure. The slight uncertainty was exciting.
That was for later. Right now he wished he knew where they were going and how long it would take to get there and whether they would find themselves a match for their enemies when they finally arrived. They were driving north, back toward Denver. Not directly. They had gone through a town called Alamosa and then one called Villa Grove and now mountains lay to both sides of the highway, which was little and sometimes wound about more than was convenient. If they kept on this route, they would wind up deep in the mountains west of Denver.
The liaison was good for that much: he could tell them where they were and where they seemed to be going. They would have known already that they were heading mostly north, but the Special Forces man could tell them that Raichlen’s team had tracked their quarry into the mountains. Without Raichlen’s team running before them, they would have no way to track their enemies, except slowly, going by scent and a general impression that these witches liked deserted lands near towns. They would have had to make Colonel Herrod bring Natividad back so she could track their enemies or track Absolon, and that would surely have taken longer.
Tracking the witches more closely, that was probably worth allying with Herrod and his people.
Especially because if Natividad were here, she would be in much more danger. Alejandro wanted his sister near him, where he could protect her himself. But when he made himself think, he still came to the conclusion that against these barely-known enemies, she must be better off far away and under the protection of the Special Forces.
Also, when Ezekiel recovered...if, but Alejandro preferred to think when...he could protect Natividad. Against anything except perhaps these black witches. So, yes, perhaps it was better she was not with Alejandro now. Even though he could tell she was getting farther away with every mile either of them traveled.
She was not afraid. Or a little. But tired and worried more than afraid. Alejandro knew she would be much more upset if Miguel were not with her, if Ezekiel had been taken away somewhere. So he knew they must both remain close to Natividad. That was reassuring as well.
He wished she were here.
Perhaps they would find these witches, this Kristoff and his companions, and the Master would consider the situation and demand Natividad be sent for.
Alejandro glanced sidelong at Carissa. She was eating a sandwich the liaison Josiah Brown had found for her. There was a cooler built into the van, beneath one of the benches. So that was one use the human man had: to point out such things. Otherwise they would have had to stop somewhere, to take or buy food. No one else was desperate, but obviously those black witches had half-starved the black dogs they had enslaved.
He said, “This man. This witch, Kristoff. He is the master of those witches? They are all witches, or some are...servants, maybe?”
Carissa ripped off a large bite of her sandwich with strong teeth, swallowed it almost whole, and lifted one shoulder in a pose of indifference. “Gregor Kristoff. He’s one of the masters. Maybe the only one now that Alistair is dead.” She couldn’t pretend indifference there: her voice went hard on that name. “Alistair was the one who...owned us. Enrique and me. Kristoff hated him, and envied him, I’m pretty sure. I’m not sure witches ever have friends, only rivals and enemies, and I think they were both. Kristoff knows more about witchcraft, I think, but Alistair had us. Kristoff went off somewhere, I don’t know where or what he was trying to do, but whatever it was went wrong. He took a disciple with him, but I think he got him killed, or maybe killed him himself, I don’t know, but he came back alone and furious and had a big fight with Alistair.”
Grayson nodded slightly. “I think we might know what happened with this Kristoff. I think he encountered some of my wolves. And one of my Pure, and a priest. I am not surprised he was angry when he returned.”
Carissa’s expression had tightened. “They’re lucky. Your people were lucky. Or tougher than we were. Enrique and me. Or maybe Kristoff isn’t as big a hotshot witch as I thought. Whatever happened, he didn’t get what he wanted and he came back mad. Enrique said maybe he and Alistair would kill each other, but I said we couldn’t be so lucky.” She balled up the sandwich wrapper and threw it neatly back into the cooler. “I was right.”
“How did he snare the famous Ezekiel Korte?” Carter asked, his voice faintly mocking.
Carissa shrugged. “I think Ezekiel might have been tracking me. Or Enrique. But probably me. He might have recognized me. As a Hammond, I mean, probably not by name.”
“He knew you had survived the war, and he knew you were missing,” Grayson told her.
A sharp nod. “From Nicholas. Right. You said. Good. That’s good Nick got away and got to you. That’s good. I didn’t think the vampire got him, but he wouldn’t be okay on his own. He’s all right, isn’t he? ” She nodded again at Grayson’s reassurance, took a breath, let it out, and went on. “So, yeah, then probably your Ezekiel recognized me. He tracked me...by feel, probably, or smell. I don’t think I would have missed him otherwise. I don’t know. He’s Dimilioc’s executioner, isn’t he, that hasn’t changed? Yeah, I bet he tracked me. Just like he’d track a stray, except he probably knew I was a Hammond. Only it was unlucky for him he spotted me, because Kristoff got him. He had things set up all ready to snag a black dog, I guess. So then he turned right around and used him to get past us. Your Ezekiel, he can really fight, can’t he?” Her tone was grudgingly admiring. “Kristoff didn’t order him to kill us, so he didn’t. He could have. Tore me up pretty good, but he never went for a killing blow. Didn’t kill Enrique either, and he definitely could have. Enrique never had real training.” Her voice tightened again. “Probably would have been better for him to die right then than live to get demon-struck.”
“We will avenge him,” Alejandro promised her.
Her eyebrows lifting in open skepticism, Carissa went on with her story without replying to this. “So Kristoff used Ezekiel to get Alistair. Fine so far, I thought maybe Enrique and I could get away but he grabbed us fast. Then...well, you saw. He used Alistair to summon that big demon. I think he had that planned, too, cause that’s not the kind of demon you summon on, like, a whim. Don’t know what he had in mind for it, cause then you all showed up right in the middle and messed everything up.” Her chin tipped up on that last, her eyes glinting golden for a second in mingled pleasure and hatre
d.
“Not quite sufficiently,” Grayson said, half in a growl. “Well, this Kristoff will not live long now. I would prefer to pull him down without further casualties, however. How powerful is he? What will he do?”
“Well, I know he says he’s the biggest, baddest witch around. He’s a braggart and a liar, but it could actually be true. He’s quick, he’s always prepared; and he’s damn sure he can handle anything. Alistair hated him, but he was scared of him too. Or I bet he would have used me and Enrique to kill him ages ago. I wish he had. I bet we could have done it. If Alistair didn’t—hadn’t—he always wanted to micromanage every little thing.” Her teeth bared. “Really into controlling every little thing, that bastard.”
Grayson tapped his fingertips on the edge of the bench. “This black witchcraft, it seems very different from Pure magic. I would prefer to know what limits these black witches. There are always limitations. Weaknesses. No creature is untouchable.”
Carissa answered promptly. “The power of the demon the witch summons. That’s a limitation. Lots of them are pretty weak. The one back there was a strong one.” She threw a scornful glance toward Herrod’s human liaison. “They’ll be sorry they let it get away, I bet. Yeah, the power of the demon, and whether the witch has really mastered it or just kind of halfway has a grip. I don’t know what else. Just how much a witch knows, I guess, or can figure out. Alistair did know a lot of stuff. He had books. He studied practically his whole life, even though he never had a chance to practice until we killed all the vampires. They used to kill witches whenever they could, you know. A guy like Alistair, I guess he was always a witch, but he had to keep a damn low profile.”
“And then we killed the vampires. Most recently, the master vampire not far from here.”
Carissa nodded. “I guess the miasma might have affected some of them. I mean some of the witches. Not Alistair, at least not completely. Probably not Kristoff either. Then the miasma lifted, and then a little while after that there weren’t any more vampires at all. Or hardly any. I figure the real witches, the ones who’d been reading grimoires and collecting finger bones, they’d been practically panting at the starting gate, just dying to find a bunch of stupid kids to be their acolytes, murder someone, draw a blood circle, and summon their very first demon.”
“I see,” said the Master. “I gather, then, that at the time we destroyed the master vampire, last spring, you were already...in position to observe Alistair Burton.”
“Observe him. Yeah. He was all set to get a leash on a couple black dogs, I guess.” Carissa’s voice had gone tight and hostile again. She had taken a second sandwich, but she had mostly been talking rather than eating. Now she gave the rest of the sandwich a look like she couldn’t imagine why she was holding it and began to wrap it up in the remnants of plastic.
The Master moved a hand, catching her attention. “No. Finish it.”
Carissa stared at him for a second. Then she unwrapped the sandwich again, slowly.
“The witch didn’t feed you?” Alejandro asked her.
“He...didn’t always remember to make us eat.”
And without orders to eat, she, at least, had chosen to starve. Yes. Ezekiel, too, had been thin when he’d been forced into human form. Obviously he, too, had refused to eat...or maybe this Gregor Kristoff had not been able to make so strong and furious a black dog eat.
No. That was a childish wish. Obviously Kristoff had been able to make Ezekiel do anything he wished. Until his control had finally been broken. And even then, Ezekiel had not been restored to himself.
Carissa Hammond had obviously recovered herself. She had been held much longer than Ezekiel, so surely that was a sign of hope for him. And Natividad was with Ezekiel. That should be good.
“I will need, eventually, to know exactly what he did make you do,” the Master warned Carissa. At her silent, subtle, flinch, he amended this. “Perhaps not everything. But I will need to know what use this man—these witches—makes of captive black dogs.”
“He uses us against his enemies,” Carissa told him bitterly. “He uses us to terrify his disciples. I’d say he uses us to impress his friends, except like I said, I don’t think he has friends: only followers and rivals. But he sure liked to use us to impress them.” Her eyes, golden and angry, rose to meet the Master’s calm stare. “You want to know exactly what he did to us, what he made us do? Fucking use your imagination.”
Alejandro stood up. The van’s roof was high, but not high enough to let him entirely straighten. But his movement was more than enough to draw everyone’s attention. Even Carissa’s. Only the Master did not appear to notice. He had turned his shoulder to them all, leaning forward instead to speak to James through the little panel between the front of the van and the rear compartment.
Carissa’s shadow started to rise. Alejandro forced it down. All the way down, flat, so even her eyes were human. First narrow with rage; then widening as she realized she was helpless. She did not cower, even then. But she dropped her gaze and stayed very still.
Alejandro set a hand on her shoulder, close by her neck. She had a long, graceful neck. Too thin; her clavículas too prominent. She was not especially small-built, but he could still span her whole throat with one hand. It would be very easy to tear her throat out. He let her feel that.
She did not move. Her heart rate had increased, but she took slow, careful breaths and did not move at all.
“The Master has been patient,” Alejandro told her. He spoke quietly. The van was too confined; it was impossible to speak privately. Maybe the human man would not be able to make out exactly what Alejandro said. The others, they would all hear. He chose his words carefully. He did not want to shame Carissa Hammond. He wanted her to live through the day and many days to come.
He continued, “The Master is trying not to notice your insolencia. Your lack of respect, yes? Grayson is the most patient of Masters, but he cannot disregard everything. You have been apart from Dimilioc a long time. But you are a fool to forget what he is. A fool to throw away what you should be. When you speak so, anyone would take you for a stray’s child. Do you wish to eat the hearts of your enemies? Do you wish to have vengeance for yourself and your friend? Then you must show the Master that you are not a fool or a child or a carga.” He did not know the English word for liability, so he amended that last. “You must show him you are not more a danger to yourself and to Dimilioc than to our enemies.”
He let her go, slowly, first physically and then her shadow as well, easing warily back in case she tried to shift and attack. If he judged accurately, this girl was probably as strong as he was. Probably she was not used to any black dog close to her age making such a show of dominance. But he was right. She had been raised within Dimilioc. She must know he was right and she had been acting like a fool.
Now that she had her shadow back, her eyes had gone bright gold. Her hands distorted subtly, broadening and shortening as jet-black claws slid from her fingertips. She watched Alejandro steadily, her eyes on his face...
...and then she lowered her gaze, deliberately. The claws disappeared, and her fingers lengthened as her hands became fully human once more. Looking up again, she said, “When our enemies are dead, I’ll fight you. And I’ll win. As long as you don’t cheat.”
She might win. She was certain to have been well trained. And she was determined. Alejandro grinned at her, fiercely. He very much wanted to fight her. He had been well trained also. He was sure he would win, no matter Carissa’s strength and determination. Almost sure.
“I believe,” Grayson said calmly, turning back to them all as though he had noticed nothing of the exchange, “that our quarry may have gone to ground. The advance group believes so. They are wisely waiting for us before pressing the attack. We may have as much as forty minutes before we arrive. Carissa, if you could explain for us as much as you know about what we will be facing. A witch can enslave black dogs, but not invariably, not all of us at once; we have established that. He
took Absolon, no one else. If he prepared for more, could he take more at one time? He can summon a demon, which may pry a black dog’s shadow away from his human soul—that, too, has unfortunately been established. What else? Concisely, if you please.”
Carissa met the Master’s eyes...but briefly. Looking aside, she nodded. She took a moment to gather her thoughts. Everyone watched her, the black dogs sidelong and through their lashes because no one knew her well enough to look at her directly without her taking it as a threat or a challenge. The Special Forces man looked at her face in the human manner, which everyone of Dimilioc had learned to tolerate. Carissa did not appear to notice the man, very much as Grayson Lanning had appeared not to notice her own disrespect. She had been well trained, and now she seemed to have recovered enough control to show it.
Eventually, glancing up, she said, “Witchcraft used to be very common. Alistair said. I don’t know if that’s true. I wouldn’t believe anything out of his mouth: he used to lie all the time. And brag all the time. Mostly about petty stuff. Lots of the things he described were stupid. Making a tree fall on someone’s car because she cut him off in traffic. Or making someone’s house burn down because his dog messed in his yard. I mean, why would you even bother? Stupid to risk summoning a demon when you could just stick a nail in someone’s tire or splash kerosene around his house or whatever. But that’s how witches get power. Summoning demons, I mean. That’s the only way they get power. They aren’t like the Pure. If they want to do something, they have to summon a demon. That’s what witchcraft is all about. Summoning demons and then making them do what you want. A witch calls a demon into a circle. Then he invites the demon into himself, into his own soul. Or he gets a disciple to let him use him to host the demon. Or her. A couple of Alistair’s disciples were girls. Kristoff prefers boys, I think. At least, he didn’t seem to have any girls for disciples. Either way, there’s danger there if the disciple is ambitious and turns out to know more than you thought. They all hate their masters. Or I think they do. I would if I were them.”
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