More blood and ichor sprayed across the snow; his enemy’s shadow writhed and howled and his body began to twist back into human form as he died. Alejandro also howled, but with savage pleasure, as he whirled around to look for another enemy; Zachariah was still battling furiously with two of the invaders. The third, his forelimb wrenched nearly off and his intestines spread in gory loops across the trampled snow, stared in glaze-eyed shock; the great, smoky cloud of his shadow struggled and failed to retain purchase in his dying body as he shifted piecemeal toward death and his human form.
But ichor and red-tinged smoke also poured from Zachariah’s side where one of his opponents had torn him open. The two that were left harried him hard, and two more black dogs had cut away from the main force to come against him and Alejandro. Beyond them, in the midst of the wild twisting knot of battle, Alejandro could see Ezekiel Korte tearing into a cluster of enemies. He belatedly realized that the heave and surge of black dogs there marked Grayson’s position – the enemy black dogs had pulled the Master down and now worked to finish him. But even while Alejandro watched, Ezekiel shifted fluidly from black dog to human and back, twice, impossibly fast, hardly a flicker between forms. The verdugo was using his shadow to clear away any injury even while eviscerating his enemies, and now Alejandro half believed Ezekiel alone truly might destroy a dozen enemies, or more.
He could not see Ethan or Harrison at all, but even in the midst of wild rage and bloodlust, even while he lunged to attack one of the Zachariah’s opponents, Alejandro found himself astonished at the number of intruders who had been torn apart and lost their shadows and now, in death, dwindled back into their human bodies.
But there were still too many enemies and too few, far too few, Dimilioc wolves. Grayson had not made it back to his feet. Maybe the Master was dead – there was no choice but to fight; he knew that and his black dog knew it, and he closed with one of the strangers. They crashed against each other with a shock that shook the world, claws lengthening as they both reared to slash, each of them using his weight to try to bear the other down, jaws snapping. Alejandro’s claws scored across his enemy’s chest, missing the belly stroke he’d aimed for. His enemy twisted and closed a crushing grip around Alejandro’s shoulder, forcing him off balance and down, and though Alejandro tried to tear himself free he could not get loose–
The flat crack of a pistol shot snapped out like a whip stroke, loud even across the ugly clamor of battle, cutting alike across the roars of enraged black dogs and the screams of those whose wounds were too terrible to be absorbed by their shadows. Another shot. Then a third. Alejandro’s enemy reared up and tried to shake him as a dog would shake a rat, but the strength of his grip was already failing, his body already writhing back toward his human form as Alejandro tore out his throat and flung him away.
The pistol cracked again, and after a careful, stretched-out pause, again. And again. Alejandro took longer than he should have to realize the shooter was now targeting Ezekiel’s opponents. The pistol cracked once more, and then again, and, as the attackers hesitated, Alejandro found himself actually at leisure to watch Ezekiel fight. The black dogs attacking Ezekiel had found him a terrible enemy even without the support of the gunfire, and now, freed from the hard press of crowding enemies, Ezekiel lunged forward with astonishing speed and tore one of them almost in half.
The Dimilioc executioner fought almost casually. He showed no sign of the bloodlust and rage that engulfed Alejandro, which Alejandro had assumed always consumed any battling black dog. That deadly calm was not the only advantage Ezekiel’s formidable control gave him. As Alejandro watched, Ezekiel flickered from black dog to human form and back again between one stride and the next, using the change to slide between baffled opponents, then tear into one enemy after another. With a toss of his head, Ezekiel flung part of a recent opponent’s torso thirty feet through the confused shadows and smoky light, contemptuously dropping the rest of the body, then leaping, with an air of lazy ease that almost disguised his speed, to tear once more into the pile of attackers that hid Grayson Lanning from sight. One black dog spun away to the left and another to the right, a third flung his head back, screaming, and Grayson surged at last out of the horde of his enemies.
Dark blood and black ichor clotted the Master’s shaggy pelt; smoke streamed from his gaping jaws, and actual flames flickered, dark crimson edged with blue, in his mouth and along the edges of his terrible wounds. He twisted his head down and to the side, drew breath, and roared at his attackers, and two of them contorted helplessly back into human shape, though plainly they tried to hold onto their black dog forms. Grayson instantly tore those two apart, and the rest fled backward, a wavering retreat that yielded a lingering pause in the midst of the violent battle.
For a long moment, Alejandro thought that the Dimilioc wolves had, against all possibility, actually won. Just like that: so fast. Fully half of the intruders were down, some with wounds that were closing, but many more dead or near death. He even believed the Dimilioc wolves might destroy Vonhausel himself, and they would all be rid of him – so fast.
Then Vonhausel, well back from the fighting, lifted his head and howled, a long terrible cry that echoed and re-echoed around the icy forest. All across the cleared land before the house, snow exploded into steam. Fire, the crimson-edged hellfire that burned black at its heart, licked out across limp winter-brown grasses. Three pines at the edge of the forest burst into flames, burning with incandescent violence, and the momentum of the battle shifted again. There were still a lot of black dog intruders to rally to that burning cry – fifteen, maybe twenty, and every Dimilioc wolf except Ezekiel staggered under wounds there had been no time to shed. Alejandro did not see Harrison Lanning, maybe he was among the dead or hidden by the smoke; Ethan, one forelimb crippled, stalking back and forth on three legs, the frozen earth charring where he stepped.
There were no more gunshots.
Vonhausel howled again, powerful haunches bunching as he sank down, preparing to spring forward. The rest of the black dogs rallied to him with a cacophony of howling and snarling, gathering into a tight pack. They meant to rush Ezekiel, Alejandro understood suddenly: they would take Ezekiel and Grayson, and after that they would find it no great task to bring down the rest of the ragged Dimilioc wolves. And after that they could do anything they wished to the children of Edward Toland and Concepcíon Ramerez.
Zachariah suddenly left Alejandro, running toward the Dimilioc Master. Alejandro saw Ethan pressing in from the other side, still on three legs, blood dripping from slashes across his head and neck but following the same instinct: the Dimilioc pack gathering to face down its enemies. Alejandro leaped forward, following Zachariah, because there was nothing else to do and anyway he was angry, angry, angry. How dare these black dog callejeros attack Dimilioc now, when they would cost Alejandro so much, cost him everything? Visions of the destroyed village came to him, Mamá and her kin tumbled bloody and abandoned, Papá torn and dead and looking so small in human form, so small in death, when he had always been so powerful. Vonhausel had done that. It was all Vonhausel’s fault. Alejandro dropped into a crouch, flanking Zachariah, snarling, a low savage note that vibrated in his chest; he longed for blood and hellfire and destruction.
Four more black dogs emerged from the forest, surely a superfluity of enemies. Two were big, heavy, broad-headed; the other two small and slight, but they looked like they would be fast – if the four fought as a team, they would be very dangerous – but Grayson tipped his torn head toward the sky and howled, and Ezekiel joined him with a long high-pitched ripping shriek of aggression and scorn, and Zachariah gave voice to a deep, grating sound that was more roar than howl. All four newcomers answered savagely and loped forward to cover the left flank of the little group of the Dimilioc wolves. The crowd of intruders hesitated, Vonhausel rearing high up, staring at the newcomers.
A pistol shot rang out, sharp and crisp against the voices of the Dimilioc wolves and the black dogs, a
nd Vonhausel spun about, snapping at his own side. Grayson Lanning howled and leaped forward, pulling his Dimilioc wolves along in his wake, the four newcomers with them. The pistol cracked again, and Vonhausel must have wondered whether the shooter would find more silver bullets, because he whirled around, racing for the shelter of the forest, and all his followers scattered and fled after him.
The Dimilioc wolves let them go, though the shooter fired once more, so that one tardy enemy tumbled over, yelping, before scrambling to his feet and bounding away. Miguel –for it could only be his brother firing in their defense – really had run out of silver bullets, Alejandro guessed, or that black dog wouldn’t have gotten up again. He regretted, savagely, that Vonhausel himself had not come in range while Miguel still had silver bullets in his gun.
Por otra parte… on the other hand, Miguel had rashly brought a gun – had hidden and brought a gun along, a gun and silver ammunition, right into Dimilioc territory. Their mother’s gun, by the sharp sound of its retorts. Alejandro had not known. Miguel had not told him – well, of course he hadn’t, Miguel would have known how furious his black dog brother would be.
Thank God and the Virgin for the little fool’s audacia. That audacity had very likely saved all their lives. But, Madre de Dios, if the Dimilioc Master had guessed, if Ezekiel had found that gun before this fight… Alejandro found himself snarling under his breath, racing toward the house. If Grayson did not kill Miguel, he was going to do it himself.
5
Once the shooting was done, Natividad got Miguel to put the gun down as quickly as she could. Then there was nothing to do but wait for trouble to arrive. Natividad only hoped she could help keep the trouble from getting too big and serious.
She’d had no idea her twin had brought a gun with them into Dimilioc, no idea how he’d gotten it past Ezekiel Korte – loaded with silver ammunition, even! But she had a very good idea how the Dimilioc black wolves were going to respond to that particular bit of smuggling. She didn’t know whether Miguel had been totally stupid to smuggle a silver-loaded gun into Dimilioc, or totally brilliant. Although if he hadn’t, they might all be dead now, so she guessed he’d been brilliant.
Which didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be in big, serious trouble.
They waited in a big room on the second floor, right above the front door; a formal room with heavy furniture and gloomy landscape paintings and, which was the important thing, a sliding glass door that let onto a wide balcony. From the balcony, Miguel had been able to direct his fire straight into a crowd of enemies only forty or fifty feet away. But he’d come inside again now. He stood in the middle of the room, his arms at his sides, his gaze fixed on the floor. Natividad hovered anxiously to one side. The gun lay on a table, spent casings piled neatly beside it. It was their mother’s light little .22 pistol. Miguel was a good shot, but Natividad had to admit, hitting anything at all with that gun at forty feet was amazing.
Alejandro arrived first, which was good, or should have been good, but he was really angry – scarily angry. He was still mostly in his black dog form when he strode through the doorway, which wasn’t a good sign, though he was gathering himself into human form as he moved. He was dripping with ichor and blood from horrible deep slashes Natividad couldn’t bring herself to look at, but his shadow carried away his injuries as he shifted. Usually he’d clean himself up when he shifted, but this time he had been too badly wounded or else he was too angry, because even after the change blood still spattered his clothing. Black ichor smoked against his skin as it burned away, but he didn’t seem to notice. His black dog’s anger still surrounded him like choking ash. He strode forward, not even seeming to notice Natividad, and grabbed Miguel. It was a human hand that closed hard on Miguel’s arm, but when Alejandro lifted his other hand to hit him, black claws extended from the tips of broad, blunt fingers.
Natividad jumped forward to catch his hand. “Alejandro!”
Miguel flinched, but didn’t try to get away or defend himself. He bowed his head, a meek attitude both he and Natividad used to defuse black dog aggression. It was all show, and even Alejandro knew it, really, but sometimes you had to put on a show with black dogs, and they had to let you get away with it.
Alejandro, jaw clenched, shaking with rage, nevertheless lowered his hand. Natividad let him go, cautiously. Their older brother had never hit Miguel, never since they had all been children, but for a second she had really thought he might. But Alejandro only shook him once instead, hard, and let him go. Even then, though, and even with Natividad right there, it took him a moment to get rid of his claws and force his hand back into a fully human shape. When he spoke, the growl of the black dog was still in the back of his throat. “Fool! Estupide! You brought Mamá’s gun here? With silver bullets? What if the Dimilioc lobos had found it? What would they think?”
Miguel started to answer, but Grayson Lanning spoke first. “We might have thought,” the Dimilioc Master’s deep voice said from the doorway, gravelly with the echoes of his change, “that whatever pretty speeches you made, you had come here hunting black wolves.”
Grayson was in human form, but his eyes still burned a dark and fiery crimson, utterly inhuman. All his injuries were gone – well, nearly gone. One must have nearly exceeded his shadow’s ability to absorb it, for it showed even on his human body: a wide red weal that ran across his throat and disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt. His shadow clung close to him, smelling of ash and blood, but he was obviously in perfect control of himself.
Alejandro spun about at Grayson’s first words, putting himself between the Dimilioc Master and Miguel, so fast Natividad hardly saw him move. His own shadow was surging upward again in response to this new threat. His jaw began to distort into a muzzle, his bones to shorten and thicken, his back to bow with the change.
“No!” cried Natividad, darting forward to catch his wrist again, now really frightened. She tried to get between Alejandro and the Master, knowing neither of them would hurt her, but Alejandro shook her away, snarling. Natividad clung to his arm, refusing to be protected, and her brother snarled again, his rage terrifying–
“No,” said Grayson, without emphasis. The Master did not physically move, but his power slammed through the room like a soundless sledgehammer coming down. Even Natividad felt it, and Alejandro actually staggered. The Master’s power smothered her brother’s shadow, forcing it down, forcing Alejandro back into his human form.
Alejandro straightened, panting, clearly sick with the stress of too many changes coming too quickly one on another – and maybe, Natividad thought, with the knowledge of his own powerlessness. He tried to speak, but the change had made human language foreign to his tongue –and now, though he tried, he could not shape coherent words. Natividad still held his arm. She shook her head when Alejandro tried to shove her back. “No,” she went on quickly, praying it was true, “No, está bien, ‘Jandro. The Master won’t harm us.”
“You sound very confident of that,” Grayson said, his tone harsh with anger, or maybe just with the echo of his black dog. “What is this you brought us? Is this Malvern Vonhausel, with upwards of thirty black dogs under his shadow? This is a detail I do not recall you mentioning! Now he has come here and seen that we are weak, do you think he will go away again?”
When he put it like that, it did sound bad. Natividad stared at him, trying not to look frightened because it was always dangerous to be afraid of black dogs, even if they were your friends. Even if they were your family. And the Dimilioc Master was neither.
“We didn’t know how many wolves Dimilioc had lost,” Miguel protested. “How could we know?” He walked forward, touched Alejandro on the arm in passing, and faced Grayson. He dropped to his knees before the Master, turning his head to expose his throat in formal submission.
Grayson stared down at him, but did not, at least, seem inclined to hit him. “Well, boy,” he rumbled at last. “You feared your father’s enemy enough to bring a weapon, I see. Silver bullets
. Shall I understand that Edward actually encouraged you to involve yourself in black dog battles?”
“Not exactly, sir, but Papá thought we should be able to defend ourselves, especially when the war–”
“Do not parse law with me, boy! Did your father never teach you that our human kin stay out of the fighting? Which is for your own safety, boy; humans take their own wounds!”
“Staying back from the fighting didn’t protect your human kin,” Miguel pointed out, his calm voice sliding like an unexpected knife through the Master’s anger.
Grayson, taken aback, stared down at Miguel in a silence that might, Natividad was afraid, become far more dangerous than his previous anger. She shuddered, shifting closer to Alejandro, grateful for the arm he put around her shoulders.
Miguel said quickly, “Forgive me, sir, but it’s the truth! It is the truth, and anyway, if I broke black dog laws, they’re Dimilioc laws, made in a different time, when Dimilioc owned the world. They’re your laws, you can change them – you have to change them.” His voice rose with the urgency of his need to persuade the Master. “It’s different now! Those laws only made sense when there were lots of Dimilioc wolves! Everything’s different now!” Forgetting himself, he looked up into the Master’s face and met his hard, dangerous stare.
Natividad tensed, and beside her Alejandro went stone-still, but Grayson still did not hit Miguel, who, remembering caution, looked down again. He said stubbornly, “If you will trust your human kin to use guns loaded with silver, then we can be an asset to you, not a vulnerability. Sir, please, respectfully, you’re right about Vonhausel not just going away again – I don’t think he will, sir, no. Wouldn’t this be a good time to change outdated laws to match the world as it is now?”
Black Dog Page 10