Shadow Twin

by Rachel Neumeier

  Natividad tried to smile up at him. It wasn’t a very good smile, and she quickly went back to huddling by the fire, feeding twigs into its heart.

  Miguel let her worry. It wasn’t like her worry was misplaced, anyway. He wasn’t actually sure himself that Ezekiel would recover as fast as he’d suggested. What had happened to him at the black witch’s hands had been terrible enough, and then that pendejo Connelly, and really, Miguel didn’t know.

  But he was pretty sure Ezekiel would find a coat for Natividad somewhere. He was substantially less confident the black dog would bother with coats for anyone else. And it definitely did seem colder, now they were out of the helicopter and no longer moving. He wanted to clean himself up, too, but the water of that creek must be like ice. He could wash his hands, anyway. In a bit, once he’d warmed up a little. He fed another branch into the fire and commented, “Either way, we’ll need a lot more wood before long.”

  “I can help with that,” Colonel Herrod offered.

  “Yeah?” Miguel looked Herrod up and down. “We do need wood. But, listen, Colonel, the first thing we need to do is to make sure Ezekiel doesn’t lose his temper and rip your head off before we get to Dimilioc.”

  Natividad rolled her eyes. “Ay, no mames, gamelo.”

  “Yeah, you think he’s feeling forgiving right now?” Miguel asked her. “Cause I don’t. That black witch tore him up one way and then that pendejo politico worked him over a whole different way, and I’m betting he’s going to be feeling pretty murderous for a good long time. Killing Senator Sonofabitch must’ve taken the edge off, but you know he’s going to blame Colonel Herrod for letting the senator get his hands on him, not to mention on you.”

  “That’s just silly—”

  “No,” said Herrod, still in that quiet tone. “It was my fault.”

  “It sure was, Colonel,” Miguel agreed, keeping his own voice as matter-of-fact as he could. “I kept thinking, if you’d just come back, you’d get control of the situation and squash Connelly like a bug. Only you didn’t come back. And I also thought, if you hadn’t left Santibañez unsupported in the first place, Connelly couldn’t have even gotten started. Anybody want to bet that Ezekiel wasn’t having those same thoughts the whole time? In between planning out how he was going to eviscerate everyone in that whole place the moment he got the chance? Gemela?”

  Natividad gave an unhappy little shrug.

  “Exactly,” said Miguel. “So, all right, wood—gemela, I think there’s some broken wood over that way. And you, Colonel, sir, if you want to make anything up to anybody, that’s great, you can start by listening to me, right? And I’ll tell you the rules. Or enough of the rules so you don’t push Ezekiel right over the edge accidentally, okay?”

  “Indeed,” Herrod agreed politely. “Please do.” He dusted snow off a nearby rock with finicky care, sat down on it, folded his hands on his knee and looked at Miguel expectantly, for all the world like a teacher waiting for a student to recite.

  “Right, good.” Miguel stared at him for a long moment, trying to think how to begin. Growing up with black dogs, it wasn’t the same. You just figured this stuff out. Sure, he’d explained some of this stuff to those women Ezekiel had rescued last summer, but mostly DeAnn had taught them how to manage. And besides, none of them had been a Special Forces colonel. Plus if Miguel had ever had to handle a black dog as close to the killing edge as Ezekiel was right now, he could not remember it. He said eventually, “All right, listen. Ordinarily this stuff isn’t so important. But right now, for you, under these particular circumstances, it’s absolutely crucial. Do not look Ezekiel in the face. Meeting his eyes is fine for Natividad no matter what, normally okay for me, iffy for me right now, and definitely a really bad idea for you. When he looks at you, look away, look down. Especially if he stares at you.”

  “Meeting his eyes is a challenge. I understand that.”

  “Sure,” Miguel said easily, though that wasn’t exactly right. From Herrod right now, it would be more like insolence, but he didn’t think explaining that would go over so well. “You can meet his eyes for a second if you want to kind of impress him with your sincerity. But then you look down unless you want to impress him with your death wish. And listen, you have to be careful the way you talk to Ezekiel, or any black dog who’s on the edge. I know you’re a colonel and that’s great and all, but don’t ever try to give a black dog an order. Especially not you, especially not Ezekiel, especially not today. He will rip your head right off.”

  “He wouldn’t,” protested Natividad, coming back with an armful of broken branches.

  Miguel shrugged, meaning If you say so. He said to Colonel Herrod, “Again, this isn’t such a big deal all the time or for everybody, but right now, you don’t speak before he does. You let him know you have something to say, but you don’t open your mouth until you get at least a nod. Like everything else, that doesn’t apply to Natividad, not as much to me as most people, but it applies to you bigtime, especially right now. My advice, my really strong advice, is just keep it buttoned. Don’t talk to Natividad at all. Black dogs are always total control freaks and possessive as hell, but pissed-off black dogs are way worse. If you have to talk to Ezekiel, keep your eyes down and be really, really careful. Everything’s a suggestion, right? A respectful suggestion.” Or a desperate plea, but he didn’t say that, either.

  “Something like the way a sergeant deals with a new second lieutenant.”

  That...sounded like a pretty good analogy, actually, from what little Miguel thought he understood about the way the military worked. Probably close enough, anyway. He nodded. “And another thing, don’t touch a black dog. Never. Almost any touch is wrong: too familiar, too pushy, too threatening. It’s different for Natividad obviously, but that one is a good general rule for almost everyone to follow almost all the time. It’s nearly as true for me as for everyone else. You shouldn’t ever touch a black dog. You’ve got way too much…” attitude, but Miguel didn’t say that. He said instead, “Too much of an air of authority. You don’t want to bet on any black dog taking that from you, but definitely Ezekiel won’t. And listen, if a black dog puts a hand on you, it’s probably a threat. But just look down, don’t step back, or if you do, move slowly. If you jerk away, he’ll want to grab. If you run, he’ll want to chase you.”

  Colonel Herrod said politely, “I assure you, Miguel, I have no intention of running away from any black dog.”

  “Yeah, I bet you don’t,” Miguel muttered. Attitude, right. Yeah, that right there was pretty likely to be a problem and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. He studied the colonel. All right, try something tough. He said, “If you think a black dog is close to losing it, that’s definitely not the time to push him. You want to help him get a grip, look down. More than that, get down, right down on the floor or, you know, out here like this, the ground. I don’t care if you think it hurts your pride, get down anyway. It’s not a question of who’s the tough guy. It’s a question of helping the black dog keep control.”

  “Ezekiel never loses control,” Natividad put in, kneeling to feed some branches into the fire. “Well, almost never. I mean...Miguel’s right, Colonel. Especially since...look, I’ve never seen him like this.” She looked away into the woods, frowning, worried. “His poor wrists. Black dogs don’t have a lot of experience with pain, usually.”

  “Because they can heal themselves by shifting shape,” Colonel Herrod said, not quite a question.

  “Yeah, usually,” agreed Miguel, and added to his sister, “Thos Korte was not a very nice person, by everything I’ve heard. I think maybe Ezekiel learned to deal with pain better than, like, Alejandro or somebody. I bet he can handle it.”

  “Guau, eso es tan reconfortante.” But it plainly was comforting, because Natividad’s expression lightened. She said to the colonel, “Listen, what Miguel said, about it’s not a question of what hurts your pride. It’s important you understand, black dogs don’t think exactly like ordinary people. It�
��s kind of hard to explain. It doesn’t hurt your pride to recognize a black dog is stronger than you. I mean, they just are.”

  Miguel nodded. “And it’s just grosero—I mean, rude—to pretend that isn’t true. That’s dangerous with a black dog in a temper.”

  Colonel Herrod nodded thoughtfully. “So you think I should get down on my knees to speak to Ezekiel Korte.” Again, a perfectly neutral tone.

  Miguel sighed. He said patiently, letting the patience show clearly in his tone, “Listen. This is not Ezekiel on a good day. This is not the time to play chicken. This is the time to be super extra careful and polite. It’s not like you’re swearing fealty or surrendering your sword. It’s not a human thing at all. I told you: It’s about helping a black dog keep control when he’s right smack dab on the edge of losing it. If it gets bad, if things get dicey, you want to ask yourself, do you want your head ripped off your stiff neck? Is the world better off with you dead or alive? Besides,” he added, “I’m not saying you have to kneel the minute Ezekiel looks at you. I’m saying it’s a tactic you want in your repertoire, just in case. Especially because I figure you’re probably going to be meeting Grayson later today. He’s going to be royally pissed off when he gets a look at Ezekiel, is what I’m saying. It’s a tactic you might want, that’s all.”

  “I see.”

  “Down on one knee means you’re ready to jump up. It means you’re reserving the option of fighting or, you know, running. It’s a gesture, but not all that dramatic. You don’t want to get all wound up in knots about it. Down on both knees might mean, like, a really sincere apology, but it can also just mean you’re acknowledging you don’t have any other options. You’re conceding you can’t protect yourself or your dependents.” He carefully didn’t say, It’s a gesture of submission. There had to be another way to explain that, a way that wouldn’t put the colonel’s back up. He said, almost without pausing, “It’s a way of acknowledging the black dog’s holding all the cards. If that’s the way it is, pretending otherwise isn’t seen as pride. It’s seen as arrogance.”

  “Hmm.”

  Miguel assessed the colonel’s tone and expression and couldn’t quite come up with a nice phrase that would let him add, Flat down on the ground is for when you need to beg for your life. Anyway, he was pretty sure it wouldn’t come to that. If he handled things right, it shouldn’t come to that.

  “Supongo que necesitamos más leña,” Natividad said unhappily, looking at the fire, which was indeed burning lower again. Plainly she was not enthusiastic about finding more firewood, but she was right; they probably should.

  There was a loud cracking, tearing sound from the woods and Ezekiel walked back out into the little clearing carrying a bundle tied to a stick over his shoulder and dragging half a dead tree with the other hand. It wasn’t a huge dead tree, but on the other hand it would probably have taken three guys like Miguel to haul it around like that. Colonel Herrod, Miguel was pleased to see, gave Ezekiel only one brief glance and then studied the snow-dusted ground. He’d tightened up a little, Miguel could see tension in his shoulders and neck, but honestly he was doing pretty good for a normal man who wasn’t used to black dogs in close company.

  The bundle was two pairs of men’s overalls, too big for Miguel and ludicrously oversized for Natividad.

  The stick turned out to be an axe.

  Ezekiel dropped half the dead tree on top of the fire, tossed the bundle to Natividad, and handed the axe to Miguel.

  “Uh,” Miguel said, hefting it. It was a good, heavy axe. And it was unfortunately pretty clear what Ezekiel had in mind for it. Miguel ran his thumb gently across the edge, not quite looking at the black dog. It was sharp. “You’re sure this will work, right?”

  “Obviously,” Ezekiel snapped. His tone was curt, but he didn’t bite Miguel’s head off, literally or figuratively. He hadn’t even glanced at Colonel Herrod, and still didn’t. He said, “These burns are too God-damned distracting. I don’t even have full use of my left hand.”

  At that point both Colonel Herrod and Natividad figured out what he meant. Herrod’s eyes widened and then narrowed. His mouth tightened, and he crossed his arms protectively over his chest and leaned back on his rock, though he didn’t get up or even say anything—more restraint than Miguel would have bet on. Natividad looked up from pulling on her pair of overalls. “Oh, no, Ezekiel—are you sure that will work?”

  Ezekiel gave her a burning look. “Oh, yes. It will work. That bastard Connelly tested the theory.” He jerked his head impatiently at Miguel, Come on. “You, make damn sure you get way up above the silver burns or it won’t, and you’ll have to do it again.”

  Miguel stared at him for a heartbeat. Actually, this explained a lot. It sure explained why the senator hadn’t seemed to care how much damage his vicious silver chains did to his prisoner. That hadn’t made sense, but Miguel hadn’t figured it out. He should have, he saw that now. The senator could burn Ezekiel’s hands right off, make him regrow them. Mierda, he could do that over and over. Maybe he had. That was ugly enough, but, yeah, actually it would make more sense if he’d done it to some other black dog first just to make sure. Wouldn’t want to risk maiming his prize black dog, right? Oh, yeah, Miguel just bet Connelly had done it to some other black dog first and let Ezekiel watch. Work for me...or else. Insert evil cackle.

  And Miguel had thought he’d been joking with that Senator Supervillain thing. He didn’t even want to imagine what other kinds of fun experiments Connelly might have gotten up to while Miguel was sitting chained to a hard plastic chair feeling sorry for himself.

  Miguel swallowed. “Well, now I’m extra glad that bastard’s dead.” Colonel Herrod took a breath but didn’t say a word. Miguel raised an eyebrow at him and swung the axe experimentally back and forth. It felt familiar in his hand. A little heavier than he was used to. Heavy was good, though. You could let the axe do the work.

  Chopping firewood for Mamá had never been his favorite thing as a kid, but now he was grateful for every log he’d ever split. Hit a log wrong and you’d make it jump, not to mention wrench your shoulder and back. Do this thing wrong and, well, that didn’t bear considering.

  Ezekiel dropped to one knee, laid his left arm on the thick base of the tree he’d dragged up, and braced himself. He wasn’t looking at Miguel. He’d turned his head away. Either he was staring into the empty woods or he’d closed his eyes. Natividad pressed her hands over her eyes. Colonel Herrod watched Miguel steadily. But Ezekiel wasn’t watching Miguel at all.

  Jésu, that was trust. It was practically impossible to believe Ezekiel would put himself in this position for anything, with anyone. But probably he couldn’t look at Miguel, probably if he tried his shadow would see the blow coming and surge up and everything would go right to hell. But still. Miguel could take his head off and it’d be the end of a legend and not even the famous Ezekiel Korte had a prayer of stopping him if he did it. Obviously he wasn’t going to do anything of the kind, obviously that would be crazy and wrong for all kinds of reasons, but he could. He’d had no idea a black dog even could trust him that much. Well, his brother, sure. But another black dog? He’d never have believed it.

  “Do it!” snapped Ezekiel, not turning his head.

  Miguel shifted his weight, swung the axe up, and brought it down, a smooth fast cut, midway between the hand and the elbow, four inches or so above the silver burns. The blade was good and sharp, too sharp to feel the whole thing. He felt the axe go through the bone, though, and bite into the wood below, a good clean blow. There wasn’t as much blood as he’d expected, just the feel of the axe stroke and the dull thump, a low coughing sound from Ezekiel that changed halfway through to a heavy snarling grunt. For a long wavering moment, there was a black dog there, furious and way, way too close.

  But before Miguel could even drop to the ground, it was Ezekiel again, back in his human form, opening and closing the fingers of his new left hand and smiling. It was not a nice smile. He picked up the co
mpletely horrible amputated hand and threw it into the fire, which flared up in its own special completely horrible way. Natividad had picked the wrong second to peek and made a small, revolted sound. Herrod raised an eyebrow and didn’t move.

  “Far better,” Ezekiel said, and stared at Miguel with bright golden eyes. “Now do the other one.”

  No one said a word about the axe or Senator Connelly or much of anything while they walked down from the mountain. There was a road. Ezekiel had stolen somebody’s pickup and left it as close to the helicopter’s position as he could get it. Not too far, he’d said, which to a black dog could mean anything from less than a mile to thirty miles or more. He wouldn’t expect Natividad to walk thirty miles, though, which was reassuring.

  Fast work, that truck, considering he’d also found the coveralls and the axe, not to mention undoubtedly killing a deer or something. Or actually, now that Miguel thought about it, probably somebody’s horse or cow. Like one-stop shopping, picking up everything at the first farm he’d come to. If people had farms in these dry, rocky, scrubby mountains, which didn’t actually seem likely. Bad country for cows, come to that. Not that Miguel cared. He didn’t ask, considering that Natividad was near enough to overhear any answer. Natividad liked horses. Better not to ask about the details.

  Nobody asked about the truck when they finally got to it, either, sometime toward noon, though that was more just because Ezekiel was still plainly not in the mood to chat.

  The truck was white, like basically every other pickup truck in the United States. Not new, not in great shape, not honestly large enough to accommodate four people, even if one of them was little like Natividad. Ezekiel plainly came within an inch of ordering Colonel Herrod to ride in the truck bed. Miguel hurriedly pointed out that if the Colonel drove, then Natividad could sit on Ezekiel’s lap and Miguel could scrunch up in the middle.