Shadow Twin

by Rachel Neumeier

  This suggestion produced a long pause.

  Black dogs were all completamente obsesivos parcos and in the whole history of the world probably not one had ever let somebody else drive if he had a choice. Ezekiel sure didn’t, generally. But even he was going to have to admit that putting Herrod behind the wheel was the only arrangement that would put someone between Herrod and Natividad, which Miguel knew was probably going to feel like even more of a priority to him right at this moment.

  The colonel contributed to the non-argument by standing there with his hands at his sides, gazing studiously off into the trees across the road, looking unruffled and capable and not saying a word. Ezekiel stared at him, hostile and dangerous, and Colonel Herrod just stood there in his nice suit and his nice shoes, looking for all the world like a high-powered lawyer or maybe a judge, someone at home in an extravagant high-rise office building in some big city somewhere. There was a word for it...something French and a little fancy. Debonair, that was it. Even after the bloody morning and the helicopter and the hike down the mountain, even in the face of Ezekiel’s hostility, Colonel Herrod still managed to look debonair. The road here was hardly more than a rough hiking track, but it was impossible to imagine Herrod letting a truck skid off even a terrible road.

  “Drive, then,” Ezekiel ordered him, grimly, and threw Herrod the keys. The colonel might not know everything he ought to about black dogs, but he had the sense to keep his gaze down and his mouth shut as he slid behind the wheel.

  Then it was a long, not very comfortable drive down from the mountains. Miguel sort of tucked himself between the seats, almost on top of the gearshift. As Miguel had suggested, Natividad perched on Ezekiel’s lap and put her arms around him and her head down on his shoulder and shut her eyes, and Ezekiel put one arm around her and lost a little of his stiffness.

  The rough track came out on a slightly better road, still rutted and uneven, but not quite so narrow or overgrown. Miguel would have been amazed if anybody knew where they were, but Herrod just turned downhill, and downhill again the next chance he got, and the road dead-ended on a halfway decent gravel road, and at last they came out on a road, a real one, that was still narrow but actually paved.

  “Denver, I think you said,” Herrod said quietly, the first words any of them had spoken in the last hour, and pointed the pickup north.

  -17-

  Alejandro was very nearly ready to disregard Grayson’s orders and go after Natividad and Miguel by himself, except that if he left this house, he would be abandoning the Master to rivals and enemies with no one but James to watch his back.

  He wanted to believe this would not matter. He wanted to believe that Grayson Lanning could handle any threat, that James would be enough support for him, that there would be no internal conflict in the face of the danger they all faced from Gregor Kristoff.

  He could not completely believe this. The Master trusted Étienne, but Alejandro did not. He still half expected Étienne to challenge Grayson, though so far Étienne had shown no such inclination. He certainly did not trust the others. If there were a challenge, Frédéric would undoubtedly side with Étienne. Probably Steven Knauer as well. Surely Théo Callot, who would blame Grayson for what had happened to his wife.

  The others, Carter and Rip, he did not know what they would do. He was even uncertain about Carissa. She was so very angry. She had every right and reason to be angry, but he did not wish to find out that she blamed Grayson for what had happened to her. And to her friend Enrique Rubio. Her brother would have been the one to help her become part of Dimilioc again, and Nicholas Hammond was not here.

  If he had been Master, Alejandro would have called them in—Nicholas and Keziah and Amira and Justin. Their presence here would strengthen him, counter any ambition Étienne might harbor, and perhaps Justin would be able to help Stéphanie. But in fact Grayson had called Keziah and warned her to keep away, keep all her small team away. He was reserving them for disaster, Alejandro understood that. In case Kristoff won and everyone here was killed or leashed. He did understand that. Keziah was very strong and entirely ruthless; Nicholas was a Hammond, born to Dimilioc; and Justin, unique among the Pure in several ways, might find a way to tear down the witch even if everyone else had failed. Especially if Ezekiel and Natividad and Miguel joined that small group. Then Dimilioc’s enemies would find out they still had much to fear.

  But he would still have called them in. He would have called them all in.

  And he would have gone himself to find Natividad if he could.

  If he had not known Ezekiel was with his sister and brother, he might have gone anyway. He knew the direction: south. The distance he did not know so well, but it felt like not so very far. Surely it would be no farther than he could run.

  He knew Natividad was still afraid and upset. Last night had been bad and now it was worse. He would have been very willing to tear apart whatever person was making her afraid. Grayson said let Colonel Herrod handle the problem, but it had been a long time, and now Natividad was more afraid and upset than before. Alejandro was very nearly ready to forget every other concern and go find her. His shadow wanted that. It hated waiting, and it did not understand Alejandro’s fear for Dimilioc and for Grayson. It thought the fall of the Master of Dimilioc would be a fine thing; it owned no master, not willingly, and did not understand human loyalties. It urged him to go; it would kill anyone who got in his way. Alejandro himself liked that idea well enough. He would enjoy killing anyone who had frightened Natividad.

  And if he could not do that because of these stupid untrustworthy perros negros who did not understand they should support Grayson Lanning, who complicated Dimilioc and made it impossible for him to leave this place and find his sister...well, then, maybe he would kill a few of them first. He would start with that pedazo de basura Carter, tear his head off, leave the head in Étienne’s room, maybe. That should be clear. That should be very clear to everyone. His shadow thought that was a fine idea, too. It was difficult to remember that he should not necessarily agree.

  Except Carter seemed not so bad, now. Also, later Alejandro would have to face Grayson and explain what he had done and why. Except he would not have to explain it, because it would be very clear to the Master. As well as everyone else. That knowledge held him back.

  He set his teeth hard, feeling Natividad’s fear reach a higher peak, and decided he did not care. He would go. He must go. He could speak once more to Grayson; he would make the Master understand they must both go. Grayson Lanning and James Mallory and he himself, they could very well tear apart whatever enemy was frightening Natividad. Let Étienne stay here and wait. They would go and come back very fast and then they could deal with the witch. He turned sharply, and stopped, and stood very still for a long moment and another long moment after that.

  Then he went to find the Master after all.

  Grayson Lanning was, as Alejandro might have guessed, in some kind of close consultation with Étienne and James. Étienne expected to be consulted in everything, as though he were Master of an allied house; and James never left Grayson’s side unless Alejandro was present. Seldom even then.

  “Alejandro,” Grayson said. His tone was neutral, but his shadow seemed to stir and pool more heavily around him.

  “Master,” Alejandro said, and paused.

  Grayson straightened, his eyes narrowing. He lifted a hand for silence when Étienne would have spoken. Étienne obeyed that curt gesture; Alejandro noticed that even at this moment, and even at this moment wondered whether that would have been so if James had not been a quiet presence at the Master’s back. But Étienne was silent, and Grayson waited patiently, and after a moment Alejandro blinked and shrugged, feeling his shadow subside more quietly and easily than it had in days. He started to speak, realized the words on his tongue were Spanish, paused, and said at last, “She is coming this way.”

  “Your sister,” said Grayson, not a question.

  “Sí. Yes. Natividad. She was afraid. T
hen very afraid. Then her fear quieted a little. Now she is almost not afraid at all. She is tired. She is coming this way.” Alejandro hesitated, considering this inward certainty. Then he met the Master’s eyes. “Sí. Yes. She is much less afraid now. And every moment brings her closer.”

  Grayson inclined his head without the slightest sign of surprise. “Very good. How long?”

  This was harder to answer. Alejandro struggled to put the sense of direction and distance in ordinary terms, and found it impossible now, as it was always impossible. “Today?” he said, shrugging to show he was not sure. “Tomorrow, maybe.”

  “Ezekiel?”

  “I do not know. Nor about Miguel. Natividad—if she were alone, I think she would be more afraid than this. She is...she is almost happy. I am sure Ezekiel must be with her. Miguel...I think Miguel also.”

  “We shall take Natividad’s content as a promising sign, certainly,” murmured the Master. He glanced dismissively at Étienne. “Thank you, Étienne. We shall consider these other matters in good time.”

  Étienne Lumondière gathered himself up without a word and retired from the room, with a slight, quiet bow.

  “Let’s hope he takes it as a promising sign, too,” James muttered. He looked tired and grim, now that the Lumondière black wolf was gone—he would not ordinarily have allowed any weariness or grief to show. Grayson turned and set a hand on his arm, a brief hard grip, the kind of gesture that was only possible between black dogs that truly trusted one another. Alejandro would not have ventured such a gesture with anyone; not since Papá had died. He looked away, not to intrude, and thought about other things. About Natividad. Surely Miguel was with her. Surely she would be more unhappy if Miguel were not with her.

  “Étienne isn’t the problem. He won’t challenge me today,” Grayson said calmly to James. “Nor tomorrow, even if Ezekiel is not escorting Natividad. He won’t challenge me at all. I grant you, he’s angry. He has every right to be. But that isn’t what he wants.”

  James’ mouth crooked upward. “Nice that one of us is sure of that.”

  “I am. You should be, too.” Grayson glanced at Alejandro. “Keep me informed.”

  “Yes,” Alejandro agreed, and since that was a dismissal, headed for the door. It had been a puzzling exchange; he couldn’t understand Grayson’s confidence in Étienne.

  But he did not really care, not now. He did not wish to speak to anyone, and went outside to wait for his sister—and for Miguel, surely Miguel was with Natividad—and for Ezekiel, if all were to fall out as he hoped. “Ay, Dios mío,” he muttered. “Jesús, Maria y José.” He hardly realized he spoke out loud until he heard the words. But he said it again, in his heart, though black dogs rarely gave voice to any prayer.

  He would go out. Not far. Just to run a little, and hunt a little. No one would cause trouble now, not with Ezekiel almost certainly on his way back, with Natividad. Yes, he would go out and run. He would stay close, but he could not now stay still.

  The Denver house was not really a single house. It was a sprawling set of several big log houses, all set back against the mountains and arranged around a central grove of pines. Or not really a grove. A circle of pines, with one oak in the center. The trees were for the Pure; Alejandro knew that, although he did not understand why the Pure would plant trees. A circle was good, a circle was strong, he knew that. But a circle of pine trees...well, it was a thing for the Pure. Black dogs did not care about trees except for forests to hunt in. He knew very little about Pure magic, and did not really care to know. But when he came back, he passed deliberately through that circle and tried to feel the peace and stillness that were so much part of Pure magic. He could not tell whether he felt it. Natividad was much closer now and mostly he felt that.

  He shifted as he came out of the circle of pines and walked the last little distance in human form, ran up the steps with a pleasant feeling of tiredness. He did not want to go in, not now. His sister was so close; he thought she might come at any moment. He lingered on the porch instead, leaning on the railing as he looked out over the trees and waited.

  The driveway that passed in front of the main house was almost more a road than a mere driveway. It wound all the way around the circle of pines and then curved around before coming to the house, which let those waiting get a good look at anyone driving in. It also ensured, if conditions were truly bad, that any vehicle coming to the house had to pass through a crossfire before approaching the main house. Boulders were placed to stop anyone driving off the road, and also placed where a strong push might topple some of the boulders across the road before and behind enemies. The black dogs here had armed their human kin with guns and silver bullets, here in this western sept of Dimilioc, before the end. But even that had not saved them when the end came.

  Miguel had told Alejandro that. It was the sort of thing Miguel would know.

  The war had not been kind to this sept. Most of the black dogs here had died, and most of their human kin, and all their Pure. The main house was half of logs and half of stone, with thick walls and no windows on the first floor; it had survived mostly intact, and during this past year Étienne Lumondière had restored what had been damaged. Two of the smaller houses had been partly burned and these were still not repaired. Étienne had only brought four black dogs with him when Grayson had sent him west. Later he had gained three more—those from France, plus Stéphanie Callot. He had never found any other Pure woman...well, of course, now they knew why there were so few Pure here in the west. That had been undoubtedly due to those dark witches.

  Now Étienne was down to three black dogs again. Add in those from the main sept, they still had only ten. Still, ten was enough to face most enemies. As long as no witch could reach out his hand and jerk on an invisible leash...or no demon could fall down on them with silent invisible death. Alejandro would rather have faced vampires. At least he understood vampires.

  The main house might be safe now, though. Safe enough. Safe for Natividad if she could only come here. The house had a great many protections layered on it and around it, many of them visible only to the Pure, others perceptible to a black dog. To Alejandro, the house felt warm. Welcoming. To a callejero, it would be different. To a black witch...it would be better if a black witch could not even tell this house existed. Enemies were supposed to turn away blindly. That was one thing the Pure did. But witches had their own magic, obviously sometimes stronger than Pure magic.... He could not help but worry.

  A foot scuffed behind Alejandro, deliberately. Alejandro turned his head just as deliberately.

  It was Carissa. Even before he had looked around, Alejandro had known that. Her anger filled the air around her, unmistakable.

  “Yes?” Alejandro said. It was a small assertion of dominance, to speak first. They had not fought, not even yet, so neither of them knew which was stronger. The difference was not enough to be obvious without a fight. Maybe more than one fight. He wanted to fight her. But she was still recovering from being a captive of the witches. And anyway, he did not want to fight anyone right now, with Natividad so close.

  Carissa did not react to his taking the lead. She merely said, “Your sister’s coming, I hear. Is she close?”

  Alejandro touched his hand to his chest, over his heart, which was where he seemed to feel his sister. “Yes. Very close.”

  “You have a bond to her.” Carissa hesitated. Then she said, “I might wish for such a bond to my brother. I didn’t know...after Alistair got me and Enrique, I didn’t know what had happened to Nick. I thought the vampires got him. He thought the vampires got me. A bond like the one you have with your sister...I suppose you can only do that with someone Pure.”

  Alejandro was sorry to have to agree. He shrugged, pretending it was no big deal either way. “I think, yes. It is the Pure girl who makes such a bond. That is not what my sister meant to do. It was a peculiar chance that led to the bond, I think.”

  “She took your shadow.” At Alejandro’s sharp look, Ca
rissa glanced aside and added, “I asked the Master. I know she took your shadow as a means of defeating your enemies. And gave it back. I thought probably only a Pure girl could do something like that, but I...after I spoke to Nick, I thought of it. It was good to hear his voice. But I’d like to feel him here.” She touched her chest as he had, over her heart. “Maybe your sister could do that to both of us. If Nick wanted to. Then we could find each other, or know if there was some kind of trouble.” She didn’t sound like she doubted that her brother would want it.

  “When Natividad comes, you can ask her. Perhaps she will think of a way. Or Miguel, he might think of a way. He is human,” he added at her sidelong look. “But our Mamá taught him, and he knows a lot about Pure magic.”

  “We never had a human brother. Or a Pure sister. It was just Nick and me after our mother died.” Carissa came forward a step to lean on the porch railing beside Alejandro, not too near, looking out across the sept grounds and the forests and mountains beyond.

  “She died in the war?”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? God knows, everyone else died in the war. No, our mother was killed before that. There were these strays, black dogs who had established a little shadow pack in LA. Well, near LA; there were too many vampires there for black dog strays to make too much noise. Since they were so quiet, we didn’t realize how many there were and sent too few of our Dimilioc wolves. My mother died defending the others from the first ambush. The others avenged her,” Carissa added. “But she was still dead. I don’t remember her very well. I was only seven. Nick was just two. He doesn’t remember her at all.”

  There was nothing much to say to this. Alejandro nodded.

  “The Master here then was also a Hammond. My uncle, my mother’s brother. He helped my father raise us.”