This was Grayson’s bed. She remembered that now. Grayson’s bed in Grayson’s room in the Denver sept of Dimilioc. He’d flatly ordered Ezekiel to take this bed after getting just the bare bones of Ezekiel’s report, and hers. Hers had been very short, since she hadn’t done anything while a prisoner except pretend to be too frightened and stupid to put two words together while she waited for Ezekiel to kill everybody or for Miguel to think of a clever plan. Or in the end, of course, kind of both.
Ezekiel’s report had been hardly longer. Just, This jumped-up bastard of a senator thought he could make me into his pet. He was wrong. Hardly more than that, and certainly no details. I might not have been thinking too clearly by the time Natividad freed me. That was giving her far too much credit, which she’d tried to explain, but she’d been so tired she probably hadn’t been making much sense by then. They’d both been so tired.
So Grayson had ordered Ezekiel to go to bed and declared flatly that no one would disturb his rest. Grayson hadn’t actually ordered her to go with Ezekiel, but then probably that was because it hadn’t occurred to any of them that she might do anything else.
He also hadn’t said he was personally going to watch over them while they slept. He hadn’t needed to say that, either. No wonder Ezekiel had collapsed so fast and so completely. He wouldn’t have trusted anyone else, but Grayson he trusted completely. Even after Grayson had sent him away for a year. Well, not quite a year after all, but the sentence of exile had been meant to last for a year. She’d been afraid Ezekiel might resent that, or might have come to resent it. She’d resented it, a little. Then they’d finally arrived here, together, safe after all that horror, and she’d seen immediately that nothing Grayson had done had ever even dented the trust Ezekiel had in him.
Yes, no wonder Ezekiel had collapsed. He finally could. They’d just taken time for a shower. Together because he wouldn’t let her out of his sight, though neither of them had had energy to spare for anything but to curl together and pull the blankets up and sleep.
No wonder she felt so safe, tucked up against Ezekiel, with Grayson on guard nearby. Natividad smiled. Then her smile faded as memory began to return...Ezekiel as he had been after only a little more than a day in Senator Connelly’s care: emaciated, burning with rage. Miguel, hitting her hard enough to split her lip...he was so clever. She would not have thought of that. But it had been so obvious once he’d tricked those horrible people into letting him walk right up to Ezekiel with her blood on his fingers.
That terrible senator, his head smashing through the glass. So much blood. Picking her silver chains and Mamá’s flute out of spattered blood...her heart rate speeded up. Not fear, but the memory of fear. The memory of horror.
That was enough to open Ezekiel’s eyes.
His eyes were blue again. Human eyes, warm with concern for her instead of fiery with hatred and rage. His arms tightened. Gently. He had always been so careful with her.
She had never been frightened of him. Never. If she had, she couldn’t remember it.
“You’re safe,” he told her, just a low whisper of his voice.
“I know,” Natividad answered.
“I’ll never let you go.”
Now she let her expression grow doubtful. “Never? I’m starving. And I need to, you know.”
He laughed, as she’d meant him to. “I’ll let you go that far,” he conceded. He ran a hand across her waist and belly, and then he let her go, rolled over on his back, and half-shut his eyes. “Grayson’s out there,” he told her, faintly regretful. “I hear him.”
Meaning Grayson could perfectly well hear them, too. Hence the regret. Natividad laughed at him. “Good, then you can tell him I’m starving.” She dashed for the bathroom before he could answer.
She was wearing a t-shirt that came down nearly to her knees, a black one with a snakey red dragon on the front. It actually belonged to Ezekiel; she wouldn’t have thought of dragons for herself. Ezekiel had slept in loose black sweatpants—too loose for him, but she assumed they were his. He’d lost so much weight. His shadow had burned it off so fast, while he’d survived both the witch and then the senator.
She was determined, no matter what crisis might be waiting for them, Ezekiel was definitely going to have a real breakfast. Steak and eggs, not fancy pastry or whatever. She ought to go find the kitchen.
She came out of the bathroom to find clothing laid out on the bed for her and Ezekiel nearly dressed. That was actually kind of disappointing. She’d thought, maybe breakfast in bed and then...maybe other things. In bed.
Or, well, perhaps not in Grayson’s bed, though, on second thought. Safe, yes, but not exactly...well, no. Just no.
Ezekiel pulled a black t-shirt over his head—no dragon, just plain black. He smiled, immediately looking less thin and far more dangerous.
“Are we intimidating someone this morning?” Natividad asked.
“This afternoon, probably.” He said it casually, but his smile warmed and grew real. “It’s too late to intimidate anything other than an enormous breakfast this morning. Grayson assures me one will be promptly delivered.”
Natividad considered this. “He’s having breakfast, too, right?”
“For him, I think it’s more like lunch. It’s nearly eleven.”
“We slept for...what, something like fifteen hours? Really?” Natividad’s sense of time seemed to have gone all peculiar. Though that did explain why she was so hungry.
Ezekiel was laughing at her. Not really laughing...but, sí, he was laughing. “I was up for a while in the middle. You didn’t wake up. I think Grayson was happy to know exactly where you were for fifteen hours.”
“Me, and not you?” But Natividad figured it out then. “Oh, he knew where you were too, because you were explaining everything. That’s not fair! I don’t even know everything.” And from the suddenly serious look in his eyes, she wasn’t ever going to. Well. Maybe she didn’t actually want to know just everything. Closing the distance between them, she slid her hands around his waist and dropped her head against his chest.
Once he might have hesitated, but now he drew her close and just held her for a long, long moment. She could feel his heart beating. Steady. Reassuring. Proof that he was alive. His breath that stirred her hair was proof that he was himself, and she was really holding him, and they were both safe.
Safe for the moment, at least.
“What now?” she asked against his chest, and immediately urgent problems began to line up in her mind. “Stéphanie...poor Stéphanie, is she all right? I should see if I can help her. And maybe there were others the demon hurt—”
“Yes. She’s quieter, I understand. That’s important, but it will wait until after breakfast. You can’t have forgotten breakfast. You need to keep your strength up if you’re going to be working with any new kind of magic. Remember the time you collapsed?”
“That won’t happen again—”
“It won’t. Because you will take care of yourself.” Picking her up with no discernable effort, he strode to the door, hitting the latch with his elbow and shouldering the door open so he didn’t have to put her down.
Grayson, who had been laying dishes out on a long table, made no comment. He merely raised his eyebrows. That was embarrassing enough. Natividad squirmed and whacked Ezekiel on the shoulder, and he swung her to her feet and pulled a chair out for her without the faintest sign that he might feel the least bit embarrassed.
Grayson regarded them both with his customary equanimity, but his shadow seemed extraordinariamente dense and heavy this morning. If she had to guess, Natividad would guess that his black dog was only just under the surface. Even now, fifteen hours or however long since they’d come back. Slipping into her seat, Natividad drew a pentagram on the table and whispered under her breath, “Que haya paz en esta casa.”
“Generally greatly to be desired,” the Master agreed drily. He set a small stack of plates down on the table, not quite directly in front of her.
And though she could smell coffee in one pot, her mug was full of chocolate con leche, fragrant with vanilla and cinnamon, and right beside her plate was a basket of pan de yema, obviously meant for dunking in the chocolate.
“Miguel made all this?” she asked. Her voice came out soft and small. She didn’t need to hear the answer to know it must be true. Her twin had learned so much about good Mexican cooking in the past year and a half.
“He was up at dawn,” Grayson told her, his deep, gritty voice almost gentle. “I believe he wanted to stay busy after he discovered I could not be drawn into a discussion of strategy or policy.”
Natividad didn’t know what to say. She knew Miguel hadn’t exactly made all this because he was bored. He’d made it because he felt...out of place, lost. Because he was trying to make himself feel more at home. She guessed he had also made this for her, because he was worried for her and wanted to make her feel more at home. Maybe as an apology to Alejandro because they had both been in so much trouble and their older brother had been so worried. Or for all those reasons. He would not thank her for explaining any of that, probably.
The chilaquiles were particularly good, especially with the eggs on top. So was the pan de yema, which she had always loved, with or without the chocolate. There was a lot of food. Though not too much, as Ezekiel seemed methodically determined to eat all of it. Natividad approved. She kept nibbling a little of this and a little of that long after she’d really had plenty just to encourage him. He was so thin, but she thought he already looked much better. Black dogs needed lots of food and she was pretty sure his shadow had drawn on his reserves when he’d been starved, but now that he was finally getting enough, maybe his shadow was also helping him recover the weight he had lost.
“Where is Miguel?” she asked suddenly. “Alejandro is well?”
Grayson’s eyes glinted. He, too, looked much better this morning. This afternoon. For him that was a thing of the spirit. He seemed much calmer and in far better humor. She was almost as glad about that as about Ezekiel’s recovery.
The Master said, “They both had breakfast some time ago, I believe. With Colonel Herrod. I imagine they discussed strategy and policy over their huevos rancheros.”
“Huevos divorciados,” Natividad corrected automatically, and then blushed.
Grayson merely continued, undisturbed by the interruption, “Your older brother was naturally upset when we lost the two of you, and more upset when we failed to go after you. I assured him we need not fear for your safety and that Colonel Herrod would insure you were returned to Dimilioc unharmed. As he had promised me.”
“Oh.” No wonder Grayson had been so angry. Natividad set her mug of chocolate down, understanding what the Master hadn’t quite said. “Alejandro probably told you we weren’t safe at all. Because he would have known. Not why or what...or who...”
“But the fact of your distress. Just so. A most upsetting time for us all.”
Ezekiel paused halfway through a third serving of chilaquiles. He said incredulously, “Alejandro could not possibly have challenged you.”
“No, no. Nothing that need concern you. Everything of that sort is well in hand.” Grayson absentmindedly tore a tortilla in half, then in half again. “I am aware other problems may concern you.” Those deep-set eyes lifted to regard Ezekiel.
What problems? Natividad did not ask. She was pretty sure she knew. “Colonel Herrod did save our lives, you know,” she reminded them both.
“I understand that is one possible interpretation of events,” Grayson agreed.
His mild tone, Natividad knew, meant he intended to be particularly intractable. She asked, “Just what kind of strategy and policy do you think my brothers were talking about over breakfast?”
“I imagine we’ll find that out shortly. If you’ve finished your breakfast? Ezekiel, you’re certain you wouldn’t care to finish the rest of this excellent egg dish? Very well. Natividad, do you wish to attend the coming...” A slight pause before the Master chose, “Interview? You need not. You might visit Stéphanie instead. I understand she is resting more quietly, but I do want your assessment. But I would also value your input on this other matter.”
Natividad had a vivid image of the Master of Dimilioc tearing Colonel Herrod’s head right off and throwing it through a window. “I’ll attend,” she said quietly.
“Your presence is always welcome. But you need not. It may be unpleasant.”
Natividad met his eyes, nodding to show she understood his warning. It was surely a lot less likely to be unpleasant if she were there. “It’s all right. I’ll come. Who else will be there? Étienne, James...”
“Étienne and James. I see no benefit in crowding everyone’s temper. Though Carter may feel his exclusion as an affront.” Grayson glanced at Ezekiel, who shrugged lightly, smiling. “I think we need not be specifically concerned about Carter’s feelings,” the Master concluded, and shoved back his chair.
The...interview...took place in Étienne’s study, which Natividad had to acknowledge was a good place if you wanted to intimidate someone. The room itself was impressive, with high ceilings and rich paneling, dark woodwork and a lot of heavy, ornate furniture. The desk was big enough to dominate the whole room, its chair big enough to be nearly a throne. An enormous globe in a tall stand occupied the space to one side of the desk, and a dark bookcase filled with leather-bound books the other. An ornate, old-fashioned rotary phone rested at one corner of the desk, beside a set of fancy pens. A framed map of the Denver area decorated the wall behind the desk. There were no windows in this interior room, but elaborate bronze lamps stood beside each chair and a chandelier occupied the middle of the ceiling.
It was exactly the kind of room Natividad would have expected Étienne Lumondière to prefer, which probably wasn’t fair, because as far as she knew this room had been decorated just like this for a hundred years or however long it had belonged to the western sept of Dimilioc. Nevertheless, Étienne looked at home here. Elegant and aristocratic, but evidently too wise to challenge Grayson’s authority, Étienne made no move to claim the chair behind the desk, even though it must be, in the ordinary course of events, his desk. Ceded to him, of course, by Grayson, who was Master here as everywhere that could remotely be considered Dimilioc territory. Étienne settled instead on an expensive-looking chair well to one side of the room.
James, assuming a place at a small desk set at right angles to the big one, took a fancy pen of copper and bronze out of its holder and opened a notebook as though he planned to take notes. Maybe he actually was going to take notes, but Natividad was pretty sure the notebook and fancy pen were mostly props. She hadn’t realized until this trip to the west, under such uncertain circumstances, that James was so skilled at pretending to be much less powerful than he actually was. Usually he was kind of...brash. Loud. Talkative. Maybe that was a different kind of concealment. But now even his shadow seemed dim and quiet and not particularly dense, at least the first time you looked at it. If you looked again, you might start to glimpse something of its hidden strength. Natividad wondered how James had learned to conceal his strength like that, but wasn’t sure she would ever have the nerve to ask such an insolente question.
Miguel might know how a black dog could do that. Just as Miguel would know exactly how far back the Mallory bloodline went, and the names and histories of all the important Mallory black wolves, and the same for all the other important bloodlines of all the important houses. Natividad had never understood how he could keep all that straight, but he always seemed to have any random chisme of history on the tip of his tongue.<
br />
She wasn’t so sure her twin should try to involve himself with current black wolf politics, though. She was almost completely sure he shouldn’t try to put anything over on Grayson Lanning. All that about strategy and policy worried her a little bit.
Grayson, of course, claimed the chair behind the desk. This room suited Grayson even better than Étienne, Natividad had to admit. He looked at home behind that desk. He was big enough, powerful enough, that the heavy chair and the heavy desk and the heavy room just all added together to accent his power. In this room, the Master of Dimilioc didn’t look like someone who would watch over you as you slept and then feed you breakfast. He looked solid, yes. But he also looked peligroso.
Grayson Lanning and James Mallory and Étienne Lumondière...and Ezekiel, of course. Ezekiel did not sit down. He seldom did, in any gathering, Natividad had noticed. If anyone could lounge comfortably in a chair one moment and aniquila an attacker the next, it was Ezekiel. Standing was more a habit...not of being prepared for violence, but of being seen to be prepared for violence. It went with the attitude created by his chilly smile and opaque eyes.
It was a little strange to see Ezekiel in his scary-killer mode and just...not find him scary. At least, not until Alejandro led in Colonel Herrod. When Ezekiel looked at the colonel, Natividad thought she might be afraid of him after all. Not on her own account, of course. But for Colonel Herrod, and maybe...maybe for her twin, who had made it so clear he wanted Herrod for an ally.
Alejandro held the colonel’s arm in a firm grip, which from a black dog was a threat, or at least a statement. But Natividad could tell her brother was uneasy, and she immediately guessed that he was uneasy on the colonel’s behalf. He didn’t need to be worried on his own account, but she thought maybe he might be worried for Miguel. Alejandro was simple. He would protect his brother and sister, and he would be loyal to Grayson Lanning and to Dimilioc. When he was worried that maybe what Miguel wanted might be at odds with what Grayson wanted, his uneasiness showed.
Shadow Twin Page 33