Black Dog

by Rachel Neumeier

  Ezekiel came in, quietly, in time to hear Miguel’s plea. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his head tilted at a sardonic angle. He completely lacked the echoes of anger and blood that clung to Alejandro and even to Grayson and ought to trail after any black dog who had been fighting. It was a level of control Natividad had not even imagined. He looked poised, cool, unapproachable, and very dangerous – it was more than just physical presence, Natividad thought, though Ezekiel had plenty of that. This was an intense psychic presence, sort of. He just seemed to take up more space than anyone else in the room, even Grayson.

  He said into the fraught pause that followed Miguel’s words, “The boy has a point.”

  Grayson turned his head to stare at Ezekiel. He asked in his hard, gravelly voice, “How did you miss that gun?”

  Ezekiel angled his head to the side, showing Grayson his throat. “I have no idea.” He lifted an eyebrow at Miguel. “How did you hide it?”

  Miguel hesitated. He said after a moment, “It’s a light gun, a LadySmith .22. It was Mamá’s gun. I took that one because it would be easy to hide.” He hesitated again, flushing, and then added, “I wrapped it up in Natividad’s extra, um, underthings, with a strong rose sachet to hide the scent of the silver.”

  Natividad straightened in indignation. “You did what?”

  “Well, you like rose scent,” Miguel said to her. He added to Ezekiel, “Then I wrapped all of that in two layers of plastic. I thought even if you looked in the pack, even if you searched it, you’d probably not go through Natividad’s, uh, personal things. The gun’s so light I thought you might not notice the weight.”

  Ezekiel was smiling: a thin, cold sort of smile, but a smile. “Clever. I didn’t.” He looked at Grayson. “My mistake. I beg your pardon, Master.”

  “Arrogance is your besetting sin, Ezekiel,” the Master said, not angrily. Simply stating a fact. “Next time, you’ll remember this.”

  “Yes,” said Ezekiel.

  “And you,” Grayson growled, once more focusing on Miguel. “You brought that gun and that ammo because you knew your father’s enemy, having killed him, would stalk you. Is that how it was?”

  “Not exactly,” Miguel said in a subdued tone. Alejandro tensed, his weight coming forward on his toes.

  “Settle down, pup.” Grayson growled, rather testily, but, to Natividad’s relief, without real anger. “I hardly intend to beat answers out of your human brother.”

  Natividad almost laughed in nervousness and surprise, but bit her tongue and choked it back to a strangled-sounded cough. Ezekiel tilted a sardonic eyebrow at her, but she couldn’t guess what he was thinking. She looked away from him.

  “We didn’t know Vonhausel would come after us,” Miguel protested, but without any great conviction. “Anyway, we really didn’t know you would have so few wolves here to meet him.”

  Alejandro fixed the Master with a brief, hard stare and put a supportive hand on Miguel’s shoulder. Natividad said quickly, trying not to sound too anxious, knowing she wasn’t able to pull that off, “If anybody can stop Vonhausel, it’s Dimilioc. That’s still true. Isn’t it?”

  “I’m not quite confident he thinks so,” Ezekiel said, light and sardonic and amused. He glanced sidelong at the Master. “I must admit, I’ve become quite curious about this Vonhausel.”

  “Long before your time,” growled the Dimilioc Master. “Somewhat before mine. The man I remember did not have the strength we saw this morning. One gathers he has become more than a typical vicious hot-blooded stray black dog.” He sounded disgusted, but no longer angry. He gave Alejandro a hard look, but added a curt nod when Alejandro looked down. “Got your shadow under control, pup, do you?”

  Natividad gave her brother an anxious look, wondering if he had recovered language enough to answer, but Ezekiel said smoothly before Alejandro could try to answer, “Master, I agree we may wish to discuss many things, including our interesting new enemy and the possibility of revising Dimilioc law to match this brave new world of ours. But possibly of more immediate importance, you may want to, ah, welcome, our newest guests. I believe they are in the dining room. Zachariah is making a second breakfast.”

  “How industrious of Zachariah,” growled Grayson. “I presume this is his subtle method of reassuring our… guests.”

  “Exactly,” Ezekiel agreed. “Which they may need, after the welcome they’ve already had. No doubt it’s hard to believe Dimilioc’s facing an existential threat when it’s stuffing you with biscuits and eggs. Nevertheless…”

  “Indeed,” said Grayson. He turned his shoulder to Alejandro and gave Miguel an impatient wave. “Oh, get up, boy. Got any more silver ammunition?”

  Miguel jumped to his feet. “No, sir. I only had a little–”

  “You used it to excellent effect,” said Ezekiel. “Which I’ll also remember.”

  Grayson gave Ezekiel a sour look, but only asked Miguel, “Got any more surprises tucked away? Bazooka in your back pocket? Grenades tucked inside a stuffed animal? Rocket launcher wrapped up in frilly petticoats, right along with its rockets? Well?”

  “No, sir,” Miguel repeated, very meek.

  “Then come to breakfast,” Grayson said. “We’ll hear your story, boy, and no equivocations.” He turned toward the door, jerking his head for Ezekiel to go with him.

  The young Dimilioc executioner turned to follow, but over his shoulder, he said, “You, kid. Miguel. That was good shooting.” He added to Alejandro, with casual authority, “We’ve all seen now you can keep your head when you’re fighting, which is admirable. Keep it now, hear me? Don’t be rough on your brother.” He walked out without waiting for an answer.

  Once they were gone, Natividad lifted a theatrical hand to her brow and pretended to collapse into the nearest chair. Alejandro ignored her. He glared at Miguel.

  His younger brother dropped his gaze, but he also said stubbornly, “I’m sorry, Alejandro, but I did save your lives, you know. Grayson Lanning knows it, too. So, I was right to bring the gun – and you wouldn’t have let me, so I was right not to tell you.”

  Alejandro was not prepared to admit this, though Natividad knew they all knew it was true. He glared harder. “Lucky fool,” he said in Spanish. “What if he’d killed you?” He’d gotten language back, obviously. Natividad was almost sorry, although he was going to yell at Miguel eventually and she supposed they might as well get it over with.

  “He wouldn’t have,” Miguel said, unfortunately using that patient tone of his that drove Alejandro wild. “For saving all your lives?”

  Alejandro bared his teeth in an expression that was not a smile. “He’s the Dimilioc Master! Estúpido! You don’t know what he’ll do! We’ve led an enemy to his doorstep, haven’t we? And now you defy him to his face, and you may say, ‘Oh, it’s all fine,’ but what if it hadn’t been? If he’d tried to hurt you, if he had, I’d have fought him, Miguel, but I couldn’t have won, and then Natividad would have been alone here! Did you think of that?”

  Miguel started to answer, but Natividad protested first. “Leave me out of it! And don’t you fight Grayson, Alejandro, you hear me? No matter what! Promise me!” She knew already that he wouldn’t promise, and couldn’t, but she glared at him anyway.

  “I didn’t shoot until it was obvious I had to,” Miguel put in. He took a step toward Alejandro. “Don’t be angry, ‘Jandro. I tried not to shoot at all. But there were so many against you. If I hadn’t had the gun–”

  “I know!” Alejandro snarled, and stalked away, out the door. He stopped in the hallway, facing the wall, obviously wanting to slam his fist right through the fine wood paneling. Then, with a hard, jerky movement, he swung away and strode down the hall. Natividad thought he showed amazing control not to let his shadow rise in the cambio de cuerpo when he was clearly longing for violence.

  “He knows I’m right,” Miguel said in a very low voice, meaning for only Natividad to hear him.

  “Of course!” she said, looking afte
r Alejandro. “Do you think that helps? Come on! He can’t manage Grayson Lanning by himself.”

  Though neither Harrison Lanning nor his son was in the dining room, Grayson and Ezekiel and Zachariah were already there, devouring cold ham and hot biscuits and eggs fried in butter. It seemed incredible that after everything that had happened, the Dimilioc wolves meant to just sit down and go on with their breakfast… but Natividad had to admit, if you wanted to reassure somebody that everything was fine, eggs and biscuits and bacon were one way to do it. The smell was seductive. She hadn’t realized her appetite had returned until presented with the promised biscuits.

  But she couldn’t just go in and take a seat. Those guests Ezekiel had mentioned were already there: black dogs they didn’t know, so there was reason to be cautious. Two men, but also, to Natividad’s dismay, two girls, one maybe Alejandro’s age and one younger, just a baby, maybe twelve or thirteen. There weren’t a lot of female black dogs, which was good – Natividad vividly remembered Mamá telling her, A woman shouldn’t ever be born a black dog. Then she had explained why.

  Natividad flinched away from thinking about what happened to nearly all of the sons and too many of the daughters of black dog women. Not that either of those girls would welcome pity – especially not from a girl who was Pure. They were probably going to hate her.

  They weren’t Mexican, those girls; they looked maybe Egyptian or something. The older one was extraordinarily beautiful and obviously knew it. She wore tight black jeans, low black boots, and a silky white blouse. Her earrings were moonstone and crystal, dangling on fine chains that looked like silver but had to be steel. She had settled into her chair in an explicitly sensual pose, one long leg extended and the other drawn up, her hands linked around her knee. Her head was tilted back, her eyes half closed in an expression of amused contempt, her black hair falling sheer and straight almost to the floor. She had wide-set slanted eyes and broad cheekbones, a small mouth and a pointed chin. She made Natividad think of a praying mantis, not only because of her delicately triangular face, but also because of the violence hidden, barely, behind the stillness she showed on the surface.

  The other girl, obviously her sister, was small and delicate and looked like she might also grow into a beauty, except for a long curved scar that started at the corner of her mouth and cut across her cheek toward her ear, pulling her mouth awry. Someone must have cut her with silver, to leave a scar like that. She wasn’t striking sexy poses – and it wasn’t just how young she was: her hair was cropped short with a total lack of attention to how it looked, and she was wearing faded jeans and an equally faded T-shirt that had probably once been black, and no jewelry at all. She was staring down at the table, not in ordinary black-dog submissiveness, but like she was trying to make herself invisible. Natividad felt sorry for her, a scarred young girl black dog with a showy sister like that.

  “That’s unexpected,” whispered Miguel, coming up beside Natividad and looking over her shoulder. “They are black dogs, aren’t they? Too bad,” he added, even more quietly, too quietly for anyone farther away than Natividad and Alejandro to hear him, but with considerable fervor. “Look at that girl!”

  He meant the older one, of course. Both her brothers were staring at her. Natividad couldn’t even blame them, but they were stupid if they thought a girl like that would want anything to do with either of them. But boys were stupid. Natividad nudged Miguel, frowning hard at him. He raised his eyebrows at her, pretending not to know what she meant. Then he stared at the girl again.

  Natividad muttered, “They’re going to hate me.”

  “You can handle them,” Miguel said, with infuriating assurance. He looked at Alejandro. “Can we go in? I’m starving.”

  “And you want to meet that girl. Pendejo!” Natividad whispered back, but her twin just grinned at her.

  “Allí, at the end of the table, by Ezekiel,” Alejandro murmured. “You see there are places on the left side of the table.” He led the way forward, allowing his black dog shadow to rise just a little – Natividad felt it. It wasn’t lack of control, but a warning to those strangers.

  Everyone looked up as they entered the room. The beautiful girl curled her lip and looked away again; her little sister stared at Natividad for a long moment and then realized she was staring, flinched, and looked away. That was strange, a black dog showing submission to a Pure girl; Natividad frowned. Then she was distracted as the older male black dog, red-haired and good looking, probably about Grayson’s age, looked her up and down with a close and insulting attention. “Pretty as well as Pure,” he said approvingly.

  Natividad glared at him. He laughed and indulgently glanced down, as a powerful black dog might in humoring a pup. Natividad took a breath, but Alejandro closed his hand hard on her wrist under the pretext of guiding her to a chair. She pretended not to notice, but she also didn’t say anything. Yet.

  Alejandro also stared steadily into the red-haired stranger’s face, letting his shadow come up a little more: Back off.

  “Meaning no offense,” said the black dog easily. He glanced casually aside: a concession because he knew he’d been insulting.

  The other male, a round-faced young man, blond-haired and freckled, said casually to Alejandro, “Don’t raise your hackles at us, hey? Grayson’s already said it’s hands-off till she’s sixteen. But, hey, pretty bird,” he added to Natividad, “We’re not blind, you know. Can’t blame a guy for looking. When you’re sixteen, how about you and me…”

  “Watch it, amigo,” Natividad warned him, ignoring the hard pressure of Alejandro’s hand on her arm, “or your irresistible charm will sweep me off my feet and I’ll swoon in your arms on my sixteenth birthday – and you might ask Ezekiel how he’d like that before you say that’s fine with you.”

  Ezekiel glanced up and grinned. He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs and resting one elbow on the table, the very personification of arrogant self-satisfaction. Natividad almost laughed, but that would have ruined it. The rude black dog, who had already started a smart rejoinder, closed his mouth, looking unsettled. Satisfied, Natividad let Alejandro seat her between himself and Miguel.

  “James Mallory,” the Dimilioc Master said to Alejandro, pointing a blunt finger at the red-haired man. He indicated the younger man. “And the irresistibly charming Benedict Mallory. James, Benedict, this is our newest Dimilioc wolf, Alejandro Toland, who approached us on his own initiative.”

  “A Toland pup?” James said. “Well, well.”

  “So, we have recovered all of the traditional Dimilioc bloodlines except Hammond,” said Grayson. “Yes. And that is Alejandro’s brother Miguel, who shot a number of our attackers with silver bullets before your timely arrival, or you might have found half the black dogs in creation waiting for you in the ashes of our house when you arrived.” The very flatness of the Master’s tone acted as a kind of emphasis. All four newcomers looked at Miguel with respect but Natividad stared at the Master. She was sure he had done that on purpose, deliberately raising Miguel’s status with all the Dimilioc wolves. She decided suddenly that she might actually like Grayson Lanning, even though liking the Dimilioc Master seemed as if it might be against the rules or something.

  Miguel, with the black wolves all staring at him, said apologetically, “When you don’t have a shadow, you have to improvise.”

  Benedict Mallory laughed. “Improvise, is it? Shot three of ‘em, did you?” He looked at Grayson. “Don’t we have a law about that?”

  “I believe we may possibly find this an appropriate time to reassess several Dimilioc laws,” Grayson said, his tone very bland.

  Miguel coughed. Ezekiel laughed openly. Natividad grinned, now certain she really did like the Dimilioc Master, which she had not expected at all.

  “And this,” said the Master to Alejandro, “is Keziah, who descends from one of the Saudi cabals, but has declined to claim a specific line or name. She has been living rather quietly on the west coast with her siste
r, Amira. James and Benedict took Keziah my invitation, which, as you see, she accepted. So, Dimilioc increases.” He lifted an ironic eyebrow. What he meant, Natividad was sure, was, So, you see you are not the only one who thought of your plan. Alejandro glanced aside, color rising in his face. Miguel looked suddenly thoughtful.

  “And barely in time, we find,” said Zachariah Korte. He looked at Grayson. “I admit I would never have expected that sort of concerted attack from mere strays – even with a Dimilioc exile to lead them.”

  Natividad looked quickly at Grayson, but the Dimilioc Master merely ate a bite of ham, not seeming immediately inclined to begin with the hard questions.

  Zachariah lifted his shoulders in a minimal shrug. He held the plate of eggs out to Natividad and added, smiling at her, “Your enemies seem disconcertingly determined. Even so, I trust you will not swoon in my arms in revenge if I say that acquiring you is a piece of luck for us all, whatever nuisance has tracked you to our doorstep.”

  “Luck, indeed,” said Keziah scornfully. “Of course, we must be pleased to have a Pure bitch to protect from her special enemies.”

  “Keziah,” Grayson said, his voice dropping into a register even lower than his usual deep rumble.

  The girl lifted elegant eyebrows at the Dimilioc Master. But then, as he did not look away, her eyes dropped.

  “It’s not the girl’s fault she’s Pure,” Grayson said. He looked deliberately from Keziah to Amira and back again. “Dimilioc does indeed protect the Pure. We have protected them since St Walburga coaxed the first Pure birth from a black dog mother.”

  That was not exactly what Walburga, daughter of St Richard of Wessex and niece of St Boniface of Germany, had been trying to do, nor why she had later been canonized, Natividad thought, but it did explain why she had later been recognized as the patron saint of those attacked by mad dogs and werewolves.

  What St Walburga had been trying to do was cleanse the black dog taint from the unborn daughter of a black dog woman. She had succeeded, sort of. And sort of failed. That had not been a miracle, or that was the decision of the Church, though Mamá had always said maybe the magic had been divinely inspired. But everyone agreed the saint had made a powerful spell that no one else exactly understood. On Walpurgisnacht, the Pure as well as German peasants still laid out gifts of honey and wheat for the saint, and with similar prayers.