Shadow Twin

by Rachel Neumeier

  “Your father was human, of course.” If their father had been a black dog like their mother, it was not likely either of them would have survived—especially the boy. Children with two black dog parents often had shadows that were too strong to be controlled. Especially boys. Despite anything the Pure could do, their shadows consumed them. Such children were killed, at birth if possible, and said to be stillborn. It was the Master’s duty. No doubt this uncle of Carissa’s had been glad his sister had chosen a human man.

  “He was never afraid of her,” Carissa said fiercely. “He was never afraid of us either. He died in the war, defending us. He died making a chance for Nick and me to get away.”

  “He was a brave man. I am sure of that. I am also sure your mother had excellent control over her shadow,” Alejandro said softly. “I know she must have been a strong-minded and beautiful woman.”

  Carissa turned her head and met his eyes.

  Then Grayson came out onto the porch, and others with him—everyone, it seemed. Yes, Alejandro could feel it too now that he paid attention: the approach not only of his sister, but of a black dog. A very strong black dog. Very strong and very angry.

  Ezekiel. Of course it was. So close now that ordinary black dog senses knew he was coming.

  Alejandro moved aside for the Master, giving way to Étienne and James and Frédéric, but no farther than that. He took his place deliberately, and was pleased to find Carissa shifting her position to stay near him. Between him and Frédéric. That was a subtle claim of dominance, but he did not mind it, not from her. It amused and pleased him. He did want to fight her. Not yet. It was something to look forward to, later.

  At last a white pickup came around the last curve and Alejandro could actually see his sister—and Ezekiel, yes, she was either sitting really close to him or actually on his lap, which was very surprising because anyone would have expected Ezekiel to be driving.

  Miguel was beside them, in the middle, and in the driver’s seat...in the driver’s seat, to Alejandro’s complete astonishment, was Colonel Herrod.

  For a long moment he did not believe it. Then he turned to look at Grayson, and saw the slight tilt of his head, the hardening of the line of his jaw, and knew the Master had also recognized Herrod.

  “Well, I guess he’s kept his promise himself,” said James. His tone was light, but his eyes had narrowed. At this distance, any black dog could feel the anger pouring off Ezekiel. Something was wrong.

  Especially if Ezekiel was permitting any other man to drive, far less a man who might be an ally or might be an opponent but who certainly was not trusted. Though...when Alejandro thought about it, in a way it made sense, because this arrangement put Miguel between the colonel and Natividad. Certainly Ezekiel would hardly have let her sit on Herrod’s lap. He would surely have killed the man first. Maybe that had been the choice. Maybe Miguel had talked both of them around...Alejandro found he could believe that. It would have been exactly like Miguel.

  The pickup coasted to a stop near the porch, and for a moment Alejandro found himself meeting Colonel Herrod’s eyes. It was him. He looked...he looked exactly as he had before: self-assured, unruffled, competent. His skin was too dark to show either a flush or pallor. But the colonel’s mouth tightened a little as he looked past Alejandro at Grayson, at the gathered black dogs, none of them troubling to hide what they were.

  That was satisfying.

  Ezekiel slid out of that truck, lifting Natividad down, both of them clearly perfectly all right, and if anyone were fool enough to challenge Grayson now...no one would be fool enough. That was even more satisfying.

  Or...perhaps, on a second look, Ezekiel might not be perfectly well. Alejandro remembered how he had looked in the witch’s stronghold, after he had finally been forced into human form: fiery-eyed and all but mad with fury. He had been angry, so angry, and because he could not show his anger, it had burned beneath his skin and behind his eyes. Alejandro had thought then that the witch was a fool. Powerful, but a fool.

  But even then, Ezekiel had not looked like this. Thin, worse than thin: starving-thin, all his bones shoving nearly through his skin, his humanity pared away so that the fire underneath almost blazed through, his shadow so tight and close to him that even in human form he did not truly look human.

  The Master’s expression did not change. He did not move at all. Even so, Alejandro lowered his gaze and eased a step farther from him. Everyone else was doing the same, edging just a little farther from Grayson, giving him space and more space. Alejandro had seen the Master angry before. He had never seen the wide, brutal fury he felt now.

  Perhaps Herrod felt that, too, because even after the truck had come to a complete stop, the man stayed exactly where he was for a long moment, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. Then Miguel tapped Herrod on the arm and said, audible to black dog hearing, “Come on, you know there’s no turning back now, right?” His tone was unexpected: lightly mocking and sympathetic at the same time. It was the way he might have spoken to a friend. It was definitely not the way he would have spoken to an enemy. When the colonel got out of the truck, Miguel got out right with him and stayed close by his side.

  All of that might mean very little in the face of the Master’s fury.

  Alejandro jumped over the railing, down to the ground below. Ezekiel, plainly believing him impatient to see that his sister was well, handed Natividad into Alejandro’s arms without pausing and strode straight up the steps toward Grayson. Alejandro did want to be sure Natividad was well, but after all he was sure of it; he could feel that she was well, only worried and a little frightened. He was not concerned with Natividad, but with Miguel. Alejandro tucked his sister against his side and eased a step or two aside, watching Ezekiel and Grayson, and Miguel and the human colonel.

  The whip-thin verdugo was as tightly focused as a white-hot flame and every single black dog up on that porch gave back another step or three, looking anywhere but at him—if Alejandro had been up there, he would have done the same—except for Grayson, who moved forward to meet him, his expression grim.

  Ezekiel locked eyes with the Master for a second. Then he lowered his gaze and started to kneel, really just a formality, Alejandro knew that Ezekiel would not challenge Grayson, but this gesture of submission was important when a black wolf as dangerous as Ezekiel came to the Master after any kind of absence or trouble.

  But Grayson took one more step forward and seized Ezekiel by the arms, not letting him kneel. Ezekiel’s head jerked up. His hands came up to close around Grayson’s forearms, and the Master of Dimilioc pulled him into a brief, hard embrace. Ezekiel bowed his head against the Master’s shoulder, and Grayson gripped the back of Ezekiel’s neck briefly; token submission and token dominance, but there was far more to this than deference and authority.

  Then Grayson pushed Ezekiel back to arm’s length and looked at him, really looked, like he was making a careful note of every too-sharp bone, like he saw right through Ezekiel’s burning self-possession to all the damage that had been done to him, everything since they’d torn him free from the witch and seen him taken by Herrod’s people. And then the Master turned his head and looked at Colonel Herrod. By his expression, he planned to hold him to account for every single bit of it.

  Herrod was standing very still beside Miguel, as composed as ever, but his gaze was on the Master’s face and his heart was beating fast. Miguel leaned closer to the colonel and murmured, in a very quiet, casual tone, just audible from where Alejandro was standing: “So, Colonel, did I happen to mention that not only is Ezekiel the cornerstone of the Master’s position in Dimilioc, but also Grayson loves him like a son? Pretty tough for Grayson to hold onto his temper when Ezekiel comes back from your people looking worse than he did when the witches had him.”

  Herrod slanted an unreadable look toward Miguel. But when Grayson released Ezekiel and started down the steps, the colonel lowered his gaze immediately and, with hardly any perceptible hesitation, went to his
knees.

  Miguel had done that, Alejandro understood. He’d known Grayson was going to be furious when he saw Ezekiel. Miguel had expected a moment like this and he’d told Herrod how to handle it. He’d probably demonstrated. Jesú, he’d probably done just that.

  No matter what had happened between them, no matter what had happened to Ezekiel, Miguel obviously still hoped the colonel would survive. And not as an enemy. Miguel set his hand on the colonel’s shoulder and looked Grayson in the face. He said, “Master,” drawing Grayson’s attention to himself.

  Grayson came down two more steps, putting Ezekiel not only at his back but above him, a very deliberate move that Alejandro felt in his bones. No black dog would ever forget this moment, or think for one second that maybe he could move against Grayson without Ezekiel taking vengeance for it—nor the other way around.

  Ezekiel was pretending to ignore all the other black dogs, but he was smiling, that dangerous killing smile that he wore when he wanted to frighten people. He spared a slight nod for James Mallory, an invitation for James to drift forward, not quite within touching distance, but closer than anybody else would dare come. He didn’t glance at Alejandro...of course, as Natividad’s brother, Alejandro had a little more laxitud than the rest. Even so, Alejandro would not have dared approach him when he looked like that.

  Grayson was just as dangerous, maybe not to a casual glance, but every black dog knew it, and Miguel knew it, and maybe even Colonel Herrod knew it. And the Master was striding right toward Miguel, who was still on his feet.

  Alejandro glanced down at Natividad, but she was watching Ezekiel with concern. If she had noticed Grayson’s fury...he was fairly certain she hadn’t. She wasn’t a black dog, to feel it directly, like thunder in her bones. Alejandro could draw her attention to Grayson, but then Natividad would worry about that. Alejandro thought she had been worried enough.

  So he scowled, drew himself up, and stalked forward as though he had been too caught up in assuring himself that his sister and brother were safe to notice the Master’s unforgiving fury. He stood with his back to the Master and glared hard at Herrod. “What did he do?” he demanded of Miguel, in a good loud voice.

  And, as Alejandro had known he would, Miguel picked up this cue and answered briskly, even cheerfully, “Saved our lives, probably. It’s kind of a long story.” At last his brother stepped away from the colonel, offering Alejandro his hand, a little tentative because touch was always a problem for black dogs.

  The Master had paused. Alejandro didn’t have to look. He felt it. He pulled his brother into a swift, brief embrace, much as Grayson had done with Ezekiel. Miguel clearly hadn’t expected this, but he hugged Alejandro hard. He was trembling, not something anybody else would be able to tell. Alejandro gripped his shoulders hard and then let him go, and Miguel straightened, shrugged, cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, I’m glad to see you, too. For a little while there I wasn’t totally sure, you know? Thank God you didn’t come after us.”

  “I would have,” Alejandro admitted. “I wanted to.”

  “Thank God you didn’t,” Miguel repeated fervently. “We were not exactly having a good time, but having you mixed in would have made it nothing but worse.” At last he turned to meet Grayson’s forbidding stare. “Thank God you didn’t come, sir,” he said, and this time bowed his head.

  “Miguel—” Grayson began, grimly. And stopped, and took a breath, and held out his hand, not to Miguel but to Natividad, who smiled tiredly and went to join him. She took the Master’s hand, stepped close, and hugged him—so much of that right now, but from the Pure, it was different. Grayson set his other hand on her shoulder and bent his head over hers, just breathing in the calm she brought with her.

  “We’re so glad to be home,” she whispered to him.

  “This is not your home,” he told her grimly. “There is no safety for you here.”

  Natividad shook her head. “Where you are, is Dimilioc. This is my home. I know you’ll keep us safe.”

  Grayson’s eyes slid from burning crimson to human dark.

  Natividad didn’t let go of his hand. “I’m so glad to be here. I was so scared. Miguel was so clever. Ezekiel was...he would have gotten us out anyway. I’m sure he would. But Colonel Herrod flew the helicopter, so he didn’t have to fight to get us out after all.” She sounded so tired. It was impossible to doubt her, even though this made little immediate sense. Grayson seemed to think so, too. He glared once more at Miguel, and at Colonel Herrod. But then he only said to Alejandro, “Deal with this.”

  Then the Master wrapped an arm around Natividad’s shoulders and turned back toward the porch. He went up the stairs with Alejandro’s sister at his side, gathered in Ezekiel and James with a single glance, and the four of them disappeared into the house. Natividad looked back, once. Ezekiel did not.

  All the other black dogs held very still for several more seconds. Then, as the force of the Master’s shadow drew farther away, everyone suddenly stirred and looked at one another and began to drift away in various directions. It was extremely obvious that no one moved an inch toward Alejandro or Miguel or Colonel Herrod.

  Miguel took a deep breath, let it out, and offered Herrod a hand up. “All right. Well, it’s probably not totally all right, I wouldn’t want to go that far, but it’s a lot better than it could have been. Good job.”

  The colonel’s mouth crooked, but he accepted Miguel’s hand and climbed slowly to his feet. He said mildly, “That was exciting.”

  “A little more so than I hoped,” Miguel admitted. “I wonder if you ever promised Grayson anything specific. About getting Ezekiel back to him unharmed, for example.”

  The colonel said nothing, but Miguel nodded as though he’d answered. “You should have told me. I get that it was between you and Grayson, but play your cards too close to the chest here and I can’t give you the best advice.”

  “Is that your purpose?”

  “Partly,” Miguel answered in a matter-of-fact tone. “For now. I knew he’d be angry. I didn’t know he’d come within a hair of tearing your throat out without even talking to you first. I think I better tell you, if it comes to it, going right down flat might at least make him think twice. If Grayson intended to kill you and there was nothing else you could do, that might work. Maybe. If you could bring yourself to do it.” He paused and then added, “You want to remember, it’s not actually about you. You want to ask yourself, how important is it that you not die?”

  This got a reserved nod. Then Colonel Herrod looked around curiously and changed the subject. “This is Dimilioc?”

  “Part of it, part of it,” Miguel assured him, his tone now relaxed, exactly as though there were a hundred such places scattered around North America, all populated by crowds of black dogs. Alejandro doubted Herrod was fooled, but he said nothing.

  Then, turning to Alejandro, Miguel added, “God, I need a bath. And a big cup of coffee.”

  Alejandro frowned at him. “You need twelve hours’ sleep and the hearts of your enemies on a plate.” He jerked his head toward Herrod and demanded in Spanish, “Dime la verdad: ¿debe su corazón está con los ostros?”

  “No, no, he’s all right,” Miguel answered in English. “I’d love twelve hours to get caught up on current events, never mind sleep, but I’m not going to get ’em. Grayson’s going to get the bare bones of the story from Ezekiel and Natividad and then he’s going to want to talk to me, I’m betting on an hour or less.” He jerked a thumb at the house. “Any trouble waiting in there? Other than a seriously pissed off Master? You’re okay?”

  Alejandro gave him a look. “There is no trouble.”

  “Yeah, you mean nothing your human brother needs to get involved in. All right, that’s fine, I don’t care about your black dog dominance issues—well, I do, actually; you beat up that cabrón Carter Lethridge yet?”

  Alejandro was amused, even though he was thoroughly disgusted that his own strength did not match Carter’s and that he was probably n
ever going to be able to match the other black dog. “No. One on one, he is difficult. But he defers to me because I can force his shadow down far enough to let any other black dog take him. He has learned that.”

  “As long as he doesn’t get you alone, then.” Miguel nodded toward the house, but waited until Alejandro started that way before moving to follow, with a little twitch of his hand that brought Herrod with them. “I doubt Carter’s stupid enough to challenge Ezekiel.”

  “I think Carter is maybe not so bad now. But no one who saw Ezekiel today will ever challenge him,” Alejandro said, with considerable certainty.

  “Probably not,” Miguel agreed regretfully. “Too bad. You know, I would kill for coffee. Especially I would kill Carter.”

  Alejandro laughed. Everything was still difficult. There was still the black witch, still the great demon out there loose. But Natividad was back and safe, Ezekiel was finally rescued and back where he should be, and Miguel...Miguel had not changed at all.

  Miguel nabbed the shower in Alejandro’s room first, leaving Herrod to settle thoughtfully into the room’s only truly comfortable chair, a roomy leather recliner with an adjustable back. Alejandro sat on the arm of a less good couch, took out his phone, and called down to the kitchen for coffee. Herrod leaned his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes, as imperturbable as ever, but with, Alejandro thought, a few more lines at the corners of his eyes than he remembered.

  A few minutes later Frédéric brought the coffee, and a basket of dark rolls stuffed with ham and fig jam. He nodded casually to Alejandro, neither asserting his own dominance nor deferring particularly. He merely set the tray and basket down on a table next to the couch, peered at Herrod for a moment, and glanced toward the sound of the shower.

  “Your brother’s all right, I gather?”

  There seemed nothing to this inquiry but quiet, unaggressive concern. Alejandro answered warily, “He seems so. I think so.”