Black Dog

by Rachel Neumeier

  “Shit, kid,” Thaddeus said, forgetting his effort to appear submissive. “No way anybody like you or me’s going to be Dimilioc, Pure sister or no Pure sister. Or wife. They’ve got ‘em a pure angel cake operation up here, kid, no place for anybody whose family wasn’t kissing cousins with the Mayflower bunch–”

  “Last year maybe that was true,” Miguel said. He was still leaning against the silver-laced bars of the cage. Now he put his hands in his pockets, totally unafraid in a way that only a human, free of black dog instinct, could be. “But, hey, check it out! Just at this moment, Dimilioc does not care about your bloodlines. Grayson’s even brought in a couple of Saudi black dogs, and that’s no bloodline that’s ever crossed one of Dimilioc’s, you bet.”

  “Those girls,” Thaddeus said slowly.

  “You wondered about them, didn’t you? They’re Dimilioc now, and we’re glad to have ‘em on board, because there’s going to be a big fight. Like, today. Looks like we’ve got these big bad stray dogs messing around Dimilioc territory, you know that? They want to tear down Dimilioc and grab any Pure women handy, and it looks like they’re going to start by ripping into a town full of humans–”

  “Shit, kid, stop before I cry big tears…” Thaddeus began... but then he halted. Not because his wife stopped him. He stopped himself, his aggressive air becoming edged with speculation.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” said Miguel, watching him carefully. “Too bad, so sad! But not for you. For you, it’s opportunity knocking good and loud. You get that, right? Stick around, join the fight, be loyal to Dimilioc – not just as a pretense but for real – and next year you’ll be on the inside looking out instead of the other way ‘round and your son will carry a real true Dimilioc bloodline because that’s exactly what yours will be. If you want that. Which you should, if you’re not willfully obtuse.”

  Thaddeus glared at him. “Lookin’ for Pure women, you say, and here you’ve brought ‘em one, haven’t you?”

  “Well, if Grayson lets you go, you could take her back to Chicago,” Alejandro said, nodding toward DeAnn. “How long do you think it’ll be before a big stray pack shows up, drawn to her like mariposas to flame? Only these moths hate the Pure fire that draws them.”

  There was a pause. Thaddeus drew breath to speak.

  “Thad,” his wife said, her voice low, “I’d do anything to protect Conway. But I don’t want any man but you. You get that, right?”

  Thaddeus stared at her, took a step, moved a hand to rest on her face. He touched his son’s hair with his other hand. “It’s not what I promised you…”

  The sound of the door opening stopped him, brought him around again to face this new threat.

  “It’ll do fine,” DeAnn said, still quietly but with a good deal more urgency.

  Alejandro gripped on Miguel’s shoulder, moved him firmly aside, stepped between his brother and the stairs and realized only then how similar his reaction had been to Thaddeus’ protection of his wife. He found himself glancing over, meeting the big black dog’s eyes, not in challenge, but in a moment of mutual understanding.

  Grayson Lanning came down the stairs. Alejandro hadn’t realized he could recognize the Dimilioc Master solely by the sound of his tread, but he could. Or maybe he had simply recognized the dense power of his shadow as it preceded the Master into the prison room.

  He waited for Grayson to demand, What are you doing down here? But Grayson glanced at the plate of sandwiches – more crumbs than sandwiches now – and gave Alejandro a brief nod. Then he said to Thaddeus, “Interesting family you have here, Williams. A Pure wife. That’s unusual, for a stray. You’ve had the Beschwichtigend, clearly. Did she do it for you? Did you ask her to?”

  Thaddeus scowled. “A Pure woman can work the Calming magic on any black dog – it’s not against your law…”

  “No. But it’s unusual for a stray black dog to voluntarily take the Beschwichtigend.” Grayson paused, studying the big black dog. “You found a Pure woman and instead of killing her, you let her do the Beschwichtigend for you. Maybe that was just strategy: a precaution against drawing Dimilioc attention. Then you stayed with her, got her to marry you – that was not a way to keep clear of Dimilioc attention. Then you gave her a black dog son. A son you’re willing to die to protect. Every step on that path more unusual than the one before.”

  Thaddeus had lowered his gaze, though his growled, “Well?” held very little sincere submission.

  Grayson stared at him, his eyes fiery with temper. But his anger was not directed at Thaddeus, and obviously the black dog knew it because he did not even bow his head, much less drop to his knees.

  “Dimilioc has enemies,” Grayson stated.

  “Shit, imagine that,” said Thaddeus. “I bet they looked forward to the vampires and Dimilioc wiping each other out, like happened every place else. Must have disappointed ‘em something fierce when they looked around after all the hellfire died down and Dimilioc was still there. Figured they might do something about that, did they?”

  “You’ve got strength and control,” said Grayson. “And a Pure wife. Only Dimilioc wolves are allowed to take Pure women.”

  “So, you’re thinkin’, if I was Dimilioc, there wouldn’t be a problem with that,” Thaddeus said. He was silent a moment. Then he said, “It’s not what I expected.”

  “Well?” said Grayson.

  “Well,” said Thaddeus, “Considering the options… I’m in, alright. Hell, if you’re offering, I’m in all the way. We’ll see if you keep your end of the bargain after I fight your enemies.” He didn’t sound very trusting.

  “Our enemies,” DeAnn said, softly but firmly.

  “Yeah. Our enemies.” Thaddeus dropped to one knee and said much more formally, “Master.”

  “Good,” said Grayson. “We expect to face roughly four times our numbers. This should present no insuperable difficulties, as our enemies are by no means a cohesive pack. We shall expect to demonstrate Dimilioc superiority. I shall expect you to assist in illustrating the principle, Thaddeus.”

  “Yeah,” said the newest Dimilioc wolf, not impressed. “I’ll demonstrate my own damned superiority, but you can call it Dimilioc if you want.” Though his words were proud and even defiant, his tone was much more respectful… and he did not look Grayson in the face.

  “That will do for the moment,” agreed Grayson. He threw the key to Alejandro and added, “We’re moving in five minutes. Eat something fast.” Without turning toward him, he said peremptorily, “Miguel.”

  Miguel twitched, the first sign of nervous guilt he’d shown. But his face and manner revealed nothing but eager willingness to help as he straightened attentively. “Yes, sir?”

  “Take DeAnn upstairs. If she can shoot, give her a rifle. When you see black dogs coming back across the snow toward the house… I don’t imagine you’ll have any difficulty telling who’s won the battle.”

  “No, sir,” Miguel agreed earnestly.

  Grayson grunted, said, “Eat,” to Alejandro, and walked away, back up the stairs. If he had any doubts about turning his back on Thaddeus Williams, they didn’t show.

  Thaddeus had already edged out through the cell’s narrow doorway. He was tearing off big bites of a sandwich, gulping them down with more haste than manners. DeAnn had picked up the plate and looked at Miguel to show her where to go. She held her son’s hand in hers, not exactly with the air of a protective mother, but more as though she was worried the child might attack Miguel if she let him go.

  Once he’d thought of the possibility, Alejandro worried about this, too. He doubted the problem had occurred to Miguel, yet… He caught his brother’s eye, then glanced at the boy.

  Miguel followed his glance. “Right,” he said to Alejandro, and went on casually to DeAnn, “I’ll introduce you to my sister first thing. You’ll both like Natividad. Can you shoot?”

  “I have a silver knife… somewhere.”

  “Guns are better,” Miguel told her. “You never want a black
dog to get up close enough to let you use a knife. But silver ammo is tremendamente expensive, so maybe we’ll get some practice in with regular bullets, right?”

  Thaddeus followed his wife and son with his eyes as Miguel led them away, still chatting about the possibility of a black dog attack as casually as though he was discussing a party he was planning to throw for friends.

  10

  By the road, it was a little more than ten miles from the Dimilioc house to Lewis, but it was only six if you cut straight across country – not as the crow flies, but as the black dog runs. Alejandro, running near the tail of the line, saw for the first time how deeply the snow had drifted in the black forest where no Pure magic blew it aside. He guessed it would now be well over Natividad’s head. It might even be over his, if he took human form. Alejandro could hardly believe there could be so much snow in the world, far less that anyone – anyone human – would choose to live in a frozen country where it might bury them standing.

  Snow never fell in the forests around Potosi, where Alejandro had hunted deer and boar with his father. And sometimes javalinas and the big mule deer in the dry country around Hualahuises. There were bears for sport. One did not touch cattle, but then cattle were boring anyway. Except the longhorns, which could be exciting. Even a grizzly or a puma respected the longhorned cattle. For a moment it almost seemed to Alejandro that he was at home, running with his father in the hot mountains around Hualahuises, hunting javalinas. Not the longhorned cattle. Never cattle. Certainly never men.

  “We are not murderers,” Papá said sternly out of memory. He was half-changed, but, though his voice was thick and his words slurred, he did not lose language. “We are not barbarians or animals or demons. You have Dimilioc blood in you, Alejandro, and we do not hunt men, no matter how our shadows press us. We remember who we are.”

  “We killed those men,” Alejandro had protested. “Last month, when they came from Monterrey and said our people should pay the other tax.”

  “Those were bandidos,” Papá had growled, amused even through the black dog anger. “The other tax! They’re all bandidos in Monterrey! If they will not protect the villages, they should not take money and say they do! That was not a hunt. You said our people. It’s right you should say so. We protect Potosi, from Monterrey bandidos as well as callejeros.”

  This was a very complicated thought for a black dog almost in the cambio de cuerpo. Alejandro could never have expressed a thought like that, not while his shadow pressed at him, wanting the hunt and blood. He could only almost understand it, and only around the edges of the black dog’s blood lust. But Papá had been there to think those thoughts and remember who they were, so that Alejandro didn’t have to, not when it was hard, not when it really mattered. Now, Alejandro could only barely even remember that moment, or make sense of it.

  Papá was not here. Grayson… Maybe Grayson Lanning thought that way, even when he was fully changed. Alejandro was sure the Dimilioc Master thought that way about Lewis, and about this frozen country.

  Harsh as this country must be to human people, it was more welcoming to a black dog who did not suffer from the cold and who could run weightless across the surface of the snow. Though, weight or no, the heat of their bodies melted the snow where they stepped so that they left big, blurred tracks.

  The tracks of the Dimilioc wolves were not alone on the surface of the snow. Stray black dogs had left deep trails melted into the snow around Dimilioc and leading to and from Lewis. Many trails. Vonhausel’s brazen desvergüenza – effrontery – was outrageous. But it was also frightening. Alejandro had never imagined their father’s enemy would pursue them so implacably, could hardly believe even now that any black dog would truly pit himself against Dimilioc.

  The human part of Alejandro’s awareness, settled in the back of his mind while he ran, also feared that maybe the black dog strays who ran in Vonhausel’s pack might be too strong for the few Dimilioc wolves that followed Grayson Lanning. How many really strong callejeros had there been, before the vampire war? How many now longed to live and hunt free of Dimilioc’s law, how many had been glad to follow a leader with the determination and cleverness to shove Dimilioc over the edge into the fell dark? All the strong black dogs in the Americas, maybe. And Dimilioc had only ten, counting Amira, whom Alejandro was not certain he should count. She was very small for a black dog, hardly larger than an ordinary wolf. And Thaddeus – black dogs loved treachery. He half expected the big black dog to turn on them during this battle, join Vonhausel. He was very glad that Thaddeus’s wife and son were behind them, in the heart of Dimilioc territory. If there were no such hold on the newest Dimilioc wolf, Alejandro knew he would never be able to accept him at his back.

  Thaddeus ran in his black wolf form, but he gripped his big silver knife – sheathed in black leather – in his powerful jaws. He would use that strange part-human shape of his to fight; he would use that knife of his against Dimilioc’s enemies. The sheen of fresh black ichor clotting in Ezekiel’s shaggy pelt was a reminder to them all of what that blade could do, though the verdugo ran with a smooth, effortless lope despite that injury. Ezekiel ran as though he could run all the way to Chicago and back without pause and still slaughter Vonhausel and all his black dogs by himself. This did not make Alejandro like the young verdugo any better.

  Maybe thirty black dogs had joined together in Vonhausel’s first attack on Dimilioc; Alejandro was sure at least a third of the attackers had been killed. But Vonhausel had found more somewhere, because the human warning had been right: many black dogs crouched along the edge of Natividad’s mandala, and many more ran back and forth along its outside curve, pressing forward and then falling back. It was impossible to count them, there were too many in motion, but Alejandro thought there were at least forty in sight, maybe even closer to fifty.

  A dismaying number. Dimilioc wolves were supposed to be the best, the very best, but how could Grayson expect to win against those odds? Alejandro’s own black dog was strong and arrogant; it still thought they might win – but Alejandro himself doubted that every Dimilioc wolf could kill four or five or six black dogs. Yet Grayson did not seem dismayed – none of the older Dimilioc black wolves seemed dismayed. Could they truly be tan seguros de sí mismos, so confident?

  The mandala glowed to Alejandro’s black-dog sight: a pale, uneasy luminescence, like moonlight but not really. It had been damaged already, he saw: its light was threaded through with strands of darkness which must have come from the pressure Vonhausel’s black dogs put against it. But it held. Its outer circle cut across streets and yards, right through houses and shops. How strange that would be, to have that circle curve its way through your kitchen or bath.

  One of the crosses Natividad had used to anchor her mandala stood in sight, some distance away to the right of the black forest where the Dimilioc wolves crouched, hidden, to observe. The cross burned with the same pale light so that Alejandro, in his black dog shape, hated to look at it. He didn’t even like looking anywhere in its general direction.

  Some of the townspeople had foolishly not bothered to come into the circle of protection, or had not come in quickly enough. Human bodies lay sprawled here and there amid wide spatters of blood that were now freezing into crimson drops in the violent cold. One of the bodies, a young woman, lay in a huge pool of crystallized blood near the outside edge of the mandala. Her hands were stretched out toward it, the tips of her fingers only inches away from its protection: too far. She had been torn nearly in half by some terrible blow that had come down on her from behind.

  No human townspeople were visible inside the mandala. They had retreated into their church, Alejandro assumed. A good stone church, Natividad had said. The sort of church made to withstand not only the intangible hatred emanating from the fell dark, but also the more physical threats of hellfire and the deadly influence of demon-souled vampires.

  Vonhausel’s black dogs pressed against the mandala with the intangible weight of their shadows, th
e smoke of their breath rising in dark wisps through the gusts of snow. There were at least twenty of them, larger and far more tightly controlled than those that ran back and forth. The others, the ones that ran along the curve of the mandala, waiting for it to fail, paused sometimes to cry aloud to the blank sky and blowing snow. Those would be weaker black dogs and the moon-bound shifters.

  Keziah had been partly right, because though there were many black dogs, there were more of those little shifters. They were small compared to true black dogs, no larger than their human forms, but they were fast and savage. Their mad cries were filled with murder-lust. For the three nights and two days of the full moon, the shifters would run in black dog form. For Vonhausel’s purpose, shifters – nearly mindless, burning with hatred and bloodlust, devoted to slaughter for the sheer love of slaughter and utterly heedless of their own survival – must be even better than true black dogs.

  Against all those black dogs and those that had been moon-bound, ten Dimilioc wolves. Counting even little Amira. And counting Thaddeus. Alejandro swung his head around to stare at the newest wolf.

  So did Grayson.

  Thaddeus stared back just long enough to demonstrate his strength, then turned his head aside in deliberate submission. He straightened, the bones of his limbs lengthening, his powerful clawed paws becoming hands that could grip. He dropped his silver knife from between jet black fangs, caught it, threw the sheath aside, and stood in his half-man half-beast shape, his shadow gathered thickly about him, his eyes glowing with hellfire and bloodlust. If Thaddeus was afraid of the odds they faced, of what would happen to his family if Dimilioc lost here, Alejandro could see no sign of it. If he meant to betray Dimilioc and use that silver blade of his to finish what he had begun with Ezekiel… Alejandro could see no sign of that, either.