Shadow Twin

by Rachel Neumeier

  The nearest Special Forces people twitched, but looked at their colonel, who did not give that order.

  Kristoff brought up a hand filled with gray dust, facing sharply around toward, not Carissa, but Grayson. Carissa lunged forward, claws lengthening. Alejandro moved as well, quite happy to tear out the witch’s throat with his blunt-nailed human hands if he couldn’t shift his hands fast enough to use claws. But as he moved, he realized that even with their speed, neither of them would reach Kristoff in time to stop him. It was Carter, astonishingly, who closed a hand on the Master’s arm and wrenched him back and to the side—

  —and Colonel Herrod shot Kristoff twice in the chest and once in the head with a gun Alejandro hadn’t even realized he had in his hand—

  —which did not kill the witch, but knocked him back and sent his breath whooshing out of him in an uncontrolled gasp, his hands flying up in involuntary reaction—

  The gray powder spattered everywhere, some across Carter’s chest and some across the concrete floor and some into the fire, now burning out for lack of fuel. The fire flared up again where the dust fell into it. Kristoff, fighting to draw breath, made a fast, broad gesture in the air with both hands. Carter stiffened, his eyes widening.

  Carissa barely touched the floor and leaped again, her snarl ripping through the air, and instead of taking command of Carter, Kristoff fell back a pace, spoke two words, and vanished, leaving behind his startled disciple, who cried “Hey!” and straightened indignantly, but obviously could not do the same.

  Alejandro had a glimpse of some ordinary place behind and around the witch as he disappeared: a library or study or some such, many books on shelves and piled on the floor. Someplace regrettably peaceful and safe. Wherever it was, he only got that one glimpse. Kristoff was gone.

  Carissa ripped at the floor where he had been, enraged. But it was too late. The witch was out of her reach, out of anyone’s reach. The disciple, prudently, retreated to the safety of Special Forces custody. They certainly could not have stopped her if she had been determined to kill him, but luckily for him Carissa seemed, in her fury, to have completely forgotten about his existence.

  “We’ll find the cabrón,” Alejandro promised her. “We will surely find him. We will tear out his guts and set fire to burn in his belly. We will eat his beating heart as the life goes out of his eyes.”

  Carissa only snarled and tore huge gouges in the floor.

  Carter hadn’t moved so much as a step. His expression was blank—not unaware, Alejandro thought, but horrified and trying not to show it. Grayson stepped close and gripped Carter’s arm in a hard hold. That could have been at least as much threat as support, and Carter flinched. But then his breathing steadied and his heart rate slowed. He looked up in surprise, met the Master’s eyes...let out his breath and bowed his head.

  “You will do perfectly well,” Grayson told him, flat and angry and somehow reassuring. “Breathe. Settle yourself. I need you.”

  Carter flicked a startled glance upward, but he also straightened. After a moment, he nodded. The Master let him go, returning the nod with the kind of assurance that helped calm any black dog.

  So that seemed well enough. Better than Alejandro had expected, in several ways.

  But a glance the other way showed him that the Special Forces woman had collapsed. Raichlen had come to help him at risk to herself, and she had taken hurt because of it. The worst kind of hurt: she had been demon-struck, or nearly, or partly. Any decent person would wish to aid her now if he could.

  Her own people were about her, though. They would surely do better for her than a black dog, especially a stranger. He left them to it...or he would have, save that the Master, again almost completely in human form, gave that whole situation a summing glance and strode in that direction.

  One of the men stood up and stepped in between them, resolute, gun in his hand. Not threatening, not yet, but not happy to have Grayson Lanning head toward one of his people with such purpose. Behind the Master, Colonel Herrod suddenly turned as though pulled by a sixth sense for potential trouble. Assessing the situation instantly, he held up a pacific hand and followed in Grayson’s wake.

  The Master seemed to notice neither the protective soldier nor the colonel. Passing by the soldier without paying him any heed, he knelt and gazed intently at the woman’s face. Taking her chin in one hand, he forced her head up and studied her eyes, open and moving but blind to the ordinary world, locked into whatever terrible internal vision the demon had imposed on her. He said to Alejandro, “It’s still in her. Some part of it. Let’s keep in mind they can do this: leave parts of themselves behind as weapons and torments.” He paused. Then he added, “It may be necessary for you to assist me. If it is, do not hesitate.”

  What he meant was, he wouldn’t be offended if Alejandro stepped in without any explicit invitation. Alejandro bowed his head, acknowledging this.

  The Master set a small glimmering aparato against the woman’s throat, one of Natividad’s little aparatos. The Master pressed this object between his palm and the woman’s throat. Then he rolled her shadow. Or, not hers, of course. It wasn’t attached to her, it wasn’t part of her, it wasn’t threaded through her soul. But it was in her. Alejandro saw it as soon as Grayson forced it down. It wasn’t like seeing something physical. But he knew it was there. He perceived it himself, when a moment ago he had merely taken the Master’s word for its presence.

  What Grayson was doing was not exactly like rolling another black dog’s shadow. He was forcing it down, yes, not that the word was exact, but it felt like down. But, for this kind of shadow, unlike for the kind that made a black dog, that meant out as well. The Master forced this remnant of the demon out with Natividad’s little aparato and with the weight of his own shadow and with sheer force of will. It came out of the woman through her eyes, running down her cheeks in inky tears; it came out of her mouth and ran down her chin. Her back arched, her head tipped back, every muscle going tight in a spasm so sudden and complete it nearly wrenched her out of the Master’s hold. Grayson obviously needed no help forcing the demon out of her, but Alejandro moved behind her and gripped her shoulders, partly support but mostly restraint.

  The demon-fragment left no trace of itself on her skin, which was surely good. It dripped like water except it did not leave wet tracks behind. Grayson pulled his hand from the woman’s throat and caught the inky liquid in one palm—that seemed dangerous to Alejandro, but on contact with the little aparato, the liquid boiled up into greasy black smoke and then, though everyone flinched from it, slowly dissipated. Gone. Or maybe gone. Alejandro hoped it was truly gone and not merely dispersed, to condense later into...what? A fragment of a demon? A tiny demon, individual and complete in itself?

  “Hannah,” said Colonel Herrod, going to one knee and leaning forward to study the woman with open concern. Alejandro still held her, though now more intending support than restraint. He looked at the Master to see whether he should let go. The colonel made a move as though to lay a hand on her arm, but Grayson stopped him with a gesture.

  “Hannah Raichlen,” the Master said, in an entirely different tone. Not more authoritative, but infused with power and will. “Hannah!”

  The woman blinked and shook her head. She didn’t try to shake herself free of Alejandro’s hold, but she turned her head and spat. Normal spittle, not black. But the taste of the demon must have still been in her mouth, or maybe the remembered taste. She spat again, shook her head once more, and looked around. She seemed calm, but Alejandro could feel her starting to shiver. She remembered where she was, Alejandro thought. He wasn’t certain she remembered who she was, though obviously Grayson was trying to remind her. Only a little bit of the demon had been in her, and only for a few moments. But who knew how long it took to do mortal damage to the soul of a human person?

  Alejandro looked for Carissa, to ask her. She was not nearby. She was watching the one remaining young witch, the disciple. She was in human form, but her
smile was a black dog’s smile: filled with gratified cruelty. The young man had tucked himself half behind the Special Forces people who guarded him, plainly—and wisely—preferring human captors to a black dog girl who had excellent reason to hate him and all his kind.

  Raichlen’s shivering was easing now. She had focused first on Grayson, but now looked at Colonel Herrod. “I’m fine,” she said. Her voice was low and husky, but steady. “I’m fine.”

  “Of course you are,” Herrod agreed. He glanced at Alejandro, who, on a nod from the Master, let her go. The colonel rose, offering the woman a hand. She hesitated. Then, letting her breath out, she let him help her to her feet.

  Grayson watched narrowly. He said to her, “It’s possible you’ll discover you’re not entirely free of the demon.”

  The colonel drew in a breath to speak, but then said only, “Hannah?”

  She shook her head, looking at Grayson rather than the colonel. “You think it’s not gone,” she said, not quite a question.

  “I think it is gone. But I’m not entirely certain. Are you?”

  She put a hand to her temple, rubbed her lips, and spat once more. Then she looked up and met the Master’s impassive stare. “I think it’s gone. But...”

  “You can’t afford to be mistaken,” Grayson completed this observation without effort.

  “If it’s still there—if part of it is still there—can you—” she broke off, unwilling to ask for help. Unwilling to ask Grayson Lanning for help. Even though she wasn’t Dimilioc, this almost seemed stupid to Alejandro. Ignorant human woman, she didn’t realize that Grayson Lanning was exactly the one to whom she should turn.

  Grayson said with calm assurance, “Should that be so, should you have the slightest suspicion it may be so, you may come to me. I will do whatever is possible for you as though you were one of my own people.”

  The woman hesitated, but Colonel Herrod said smoothly, “We would be grateful for your assistance in that matter. If it proves necessary.”

  The Master gave him a short nod. “Though if I have failed to clear it out completely, I may not be able to do so at all,” he said bluntly. His hard gaze returned to the woman’s face. “I will try, however, if necessary.” Back to Herrod. “As we are, after all, allies.”

  Herrod met his gaze steadily. “I have every intention of returning immediately to Albuquerque and taking care of whatever problem our people have encountered there. I promise you, my people will have seen to it that yours come to no harm.”

  The Master glanced at Alejandro.

  Alejandro considered. “Natividad is upset,” he said at last. “But I think not so much afraid. But, sí, upset. Whatever was wrong, it is wrong still.”

  The Master nodded to Herrod, provisional trust. Very provisional. “My people will regroup and then see what we can do to locate Kristoff. This encounter was not satisfactory. We must find a more effective approach.” He paused. “You wish to take our remaining enemy with you? This is not acceptable to me. This black magic seems to constitute a particular threat to my people.”

  “I’m happy to support an ally against a common threat. But the Special Forces are not subordinate to Dimilioc, Mr. Lanning. He’s in our hands. He’ll stay in our hands.”

  There was a tense pause.

  “Let’s not quarrel,” Colonel Herrod said softly.

  He should have looked down, looked aside. But at least he spoke quietly. At least he phrased this as a request. Even so, Alejandro tensed, half expecting a sudden explosion into violence from one side or the other.

  Instead, Grayson looked straight across at the young disciple. “You,” he said. Growled. “Little enemy. Student of my enemy. What magic do you possess? Have you the knowledge of the way to force your will on one of mine? Answer with the truth.” His voice dropped low and the force of his will came down like a hammer. “Answer.”

  “No!” squeaked the young man. “No! He wouldn’t tell me! He never told me! That’s the truth!”

  The Master of Dimilioc was silent for a moment, regarding him. It was not a comfortable silence. There was blood in it. The moment poised on the thin edge of violence.

  Herrod cleared his throat. “We are allies. I promise you.”

  The Master turned his head. His power was still close-gathered, so dense it almost had physical heft. Even a human must have felt it. Alejandro was certain Herrod felt it, by the way the man set himself as though against physical weight.

  But then Grayson let the power ebb. He said, still half a growl, “Then I will expect your questioning on all other matters to be effective, Colonel. I will find any other outcome unacceptable, so if you entertain any doubts in that direction, leave him with us.”

  “No doubts at all, Mr. Lanning, I assure you.”

  Grayson lifted one heavy shoulder. “Our next attempt must and will be definitive. I will anticipate your informed comments regarding our tactical approach.”

  The disciple, guarded between two of the Special Forces men, laughed. His laughter was tinged with hysteria, but he seemed genuinely to think this was funny. When everyone looked at him, he laughed again. “Your tactical approach!” he said derisively. He straightened his shoulders as though to throw off his moment of humiliation “Against Gregor Kristoff! Alistair was nothing, he was a poseur. Gregor is the real thing, he’s the real deal, you better believe it! But he’s not your problem. Don’t you get it? Your problem is the greater demon. You’ve made one, not us! What it does now is on you, not us.”

  “Explain,” Colonel Herrod ordered tersely.

  The young man sneered at him. “Gregor had a real good leash on the first demon, but you let it go, didn’t you? And then he had a leash on the second demon and you let that one go too, and what do you figure? Demons eat each other, don’t you know that? They eat each other and get bigger. You’re supposed to dismiss them, not let them go! You’ve gone and made a greater demon and man, now the shit really hits the fan. It’s not going to stop now. It’s gonna come down on some town around here someplace, batten on whoever it finds, encyst somewhere, and when it comes out again, whoa! You think you can stop it? Not a chance! You find Gregor, go right on and find him.” He laughed again, shrilly. “Yeah, and don’t bother asking me how to get rid of it cause I don’t know! Gregor’s the only one who knows that stuff! When you do find him, if you do, you’re going to have to get down on your knees and beg him to get his pet back under control.”

  Shrugging herself back into fully human form right down to her eyes, Carissa said contemptuously, “Shut up, baby witch! Followed Kristoff around like a lot of little ducklings, you and your buddies, too scared to even ask him questions in your little peeping voices. We all know what use Gregor really had for his disciples!”

  The young man flinched, but protected by the Special Forces soldiers, he answered with almost as much scorn, “We all sure knew what use Alistair had for a bitch puppy, you bet. Gregor wouldn’t touch a bitch like you.”

  Carissa took a step forward. Grayson stopped her with a look, and Colonel Herrod cleared his throat. “Get him out of here,” he told his men. Before she guts him like a pig, he didn’t say. That part was too obvious to need to be put into words.

  Since the Master didn’t object as the Special Forces people took away the young witch, Alejandro made no move to prevent them. But he had a bad feeling that, despite Carissa’s scorn for the disciples, maybe the young man did know more about those demons and about Gregor Kristoff than any of the rest of them. Even Carissa.

  -15-

  Alejandro wanted to go find Natividad. He wanted this very badly. He had to remind himself that he should be worried about Miguel as well, even about Ezekiel, because for him his sister’s fear and distress were palpable. Her fear had eased, but she was still muy molesta.

  He turned his head aside, looking away, across the snow-streaked rugged landscape that folded up into mountains to the north and down into flat valleys to the south. The six black dogs—at least they had not lost an
y more of their people—had gathered in a not-too-compact group outside the witches’ underground hiding place, out in the open air, where the snow hid the worst of the ravages that had cut the earth and broken open the mountain. Carter was carefully wiping the remnants of ashes from his chest and arms with clean snow. Carissa was watching him, her gaze hooded and hard to read. James was watching him as well—pretending not to, but watching. Obviously he was wondering what influence the witch might have over him now, even though the ashes had been wiped away. Maybe Kristoff might suddenly reach out from wherever he was now and take control of Carter.

  Probably Carter was wondering about that too. He was pretending not to notice that he was the center of attention, though he could hardly have not known it. He asked abruptly, not quite looking at Carissa, “How about it, huh? What’s it take for that bastard to get his leash on one of us?”

  “More than that,” Carissa said after a second. “I think.”

  “Huh,” said Carter, and glared at James. Rip drifted a few steps away and turned to gaze out across the landscape, subtly declaring his intention not to get between the two stronger black dogs if there were a fight. That seemed sensible.

  James looked away, casually, as though he hadn’t quite noticed Carter’s hard stare. If there were to be a fight, Alejandro was certain James would win it. But there wouldn’t be. The Master would never allow it. Not now.

  Carefully not looking at Grayson, Alejandro spoke quietly. Stubbornly. “We should go. Or me, I should go, just by myself. This enemy of Herrod’s, he should learn it is not wise to be Dimilioc’s enemy. I could show him that. Natividad is not so far, I think. I could reach there in not so many hours. Tonight, I think. Late in the night.” He would not mind arriving at that place during the moonlit hours. Daylight and sunlight were not a black dog’s enemies—black dogs were not vampires—but darkness was a black dog’s friend. He would enjoy finding whomever had frightened Natividad and hunting that person down in the dark.