Black Dog Short Stories II

by Rachel Neumeier

  The black dog was older than Ethan, but probably not as old as Thaddeus. Early thirties, maybe, somewhere around there. His shadow was fairly dense, moderately strong for a black dog his age. He was a slender man with high, sharp cheekbones and dark hair. There was a familiar look to him, Ethan was almost sure.

  The man looked up, meeting Ethan’s eyes for a moment. Probably he would be able to shift again by now, and no doubt he could tell as well as Ethan that if he did, he would probably be the stronger. But then his gaze shifted toward Thaddeus and he dropped his eyes again. Yeah, he wasn’t going to challenge Thaddeus again, not now, not when he’d already has his ass handed to him. Yeah, not likely.

  Ethan tried not to be bitter about his own relative lack of strength. God knew he should be used to it. Anyway, it didn’t matter right now. He told the black dog, “I’m Ethan Lanning. Grayson Lanning is my uncle.”

  The other black dog bowed his head. After a moment, he went to one knee. “We did not deliberately intrude on Dimilioc territory,” he said, in precise, accented English. “We beg your pardon. We are Lumondière. We are both Lumondière.”

  “Yeah.” Ethan was not surprised. “Names?”

  The man gestured toward his own chest. “Frédéric. I am Frédéric Lumondière. My uncle Fabian was the last Lumondière Master but one.” He glanced up, probably to see whether Ethan recognized the name. Ethan pretended he was Grayson, keeping his face still, ungiving. The other black dog dropped his gaze immediately. After a moment he went on quietly, “That is my cousin, Absolon Lumondière. We had hoped...we had hoped to find others of our house. We had heard perhaps some of our house had come to America. We did not mean to intrude. We beg your pardon. We would not have drawn your notice, Ethan Lanning. We would not deliberately have drawn Dimilioc attention.”

  “That would have been wiser,” Ethan told him, still channeling Grayson. “What happened here?” Over to the side, the bank manager was carefully directing another group of hostages toward the door. Ethan kept an eye on him, but so far that whole part of the problem seemed to be working itself out just fine. One more group of hostages after that, the ones farthest from the door, five people, all women, probably bank employees. They were all on their feet, but McNamara had somehow kept them from rushing the door. No panic, no running. That was fairly impressive.

  Of course, Thaddeus was still looming in the middle of the room, his massive head swinging slowly back and forth as he watched the hostages and menaced the Lumondière black dogs and kept an eye on all the doors—he was keeping himself together really well in a tough situation, and Ethan was suddenly intensely glad he had Thaddeus at his back and not any of the other new Dimilioc wolves. He would never have trusted Keziah with the Lumondière wolves, nor the Meade brothers to remember the hostages were not to be touched. Alejandro...Alejandro might have done okay, which made sense considering his father had been a Toland, but Thaddeus was older and stronger. Alejandro might not have been able to take the two Lumondière wolves without a lot more help. Though he might have forced one or both of the strangers into human form; there was that. Thaddeus hadn’t needed that kind of advantage, though.

  Frédéric Lumondière had looked up again, though carefully, not meeting Ethan’s eyes. “We did not murder anyone. We keep the law. Our law is the same as Dimilioc law. The ones we killed, they were not good men. We only wanted to change money. But they came in, those men. They were animaux.” He used the French word, but his meaning was clear—and even more pejorative when a black dog used it that way than an ordinary human. He said harshly, “They shot the other one, and the girl, and when Absolon did not step aside for them, they shot him also. What choice did we have?”

  “They shot your cousin first? You both shifted only after that?”

  “Of course. Or Absolon would not have shifted. His control is better than that. Mine is far better. Though I know...I know I have not shown good control to you.” He bowed his head again, this time a little more deeply. Embarrassed. He should be, was Ethan’s opinion. Terrorizing everyone. For hours. He ought to have forced his shadow down, pulled himself together, and worked things out.

  Granted, it might be harder to handle yourself in a foreign country, especially once the cops surrounded the building and everything got thoroughly out of your control. Maybe even more when Dimilioc black wolves showed up and you knew you’d stepped in it but good.

  “All right. Stay there,” Ethan told him. He beckoned to the other one, Absolon. “You, come over here with your cousin.” Then, as the younger of the two black dogs crept to join them, he glanced at Thaddeus, meaning, Keep them right here. Don’t let them defy you. Thaddeus dropped his jaw open in a black dog laugh and made a low, low sound like distant thunder deep underground, and both Lumondière black dogs flinched.

  Satisfied, Ethan strode across the lobby to intercept McNamara before the man could slip out with the last of the hostages. Waving the women on out the door, he took the man by the arm and guided him firmly back across the lobby toward the little group of black dogs.

  Thaddeus certainly dominated the scene now. He looked even bigger now that everyone else was in human form. Ethan felt the tension in McNamara’s arm and let him go, because under the circumstances he could see that even a human might take that kind of grip for a threat. He said in a clear voice, speaking for the cameras, “You’ve done an excellent job, sir. You’re almost done now.”

  “Almost done, am I?” said McNamara, in a tone that managed to be drily amused and wary and sarcastic all at once.

  It was, in a way, very much like black dog humor. Ethan laughed before he caught himself, but the bank manager was so rock-steady he didn’t flinch even at that. “You’re our token hostage,” Ethan told him, this time in a low tone. Clearly the man had already figured that out. “But it’s my firm intention to get all of us out of here and on our way home without any more violence. You’re just the type of hostage I want. You keep your head. You kept it together for hours in here. That’s very impressive. You could have got out with the first batch of hostages. I couldn’t have stopped you.”

  “It was obvious you wanted a...token hostage.”

  “Yeah.” The human had guessed that from the beginning, then, and he’d deliberately let himself be stuck with the role, making sure his people got out. Ethan gave him a respectful nod. “Just hang on another moment or two. We’ll get this worked out, sir.” The ‘sir’ came out a lot more easily this time. Nudging the man toward a chair, one that was neither broken nor saturated in blood, Ethan said to the Lumondière cousins, “We are all back in control, yes? We are not going to have any more trouble, because if we do, I guarantee Dimilioc will take it personally, understand?”

  “We absolutely understand,” Frédéric Lumondière said earnestly. “We are grateful for Dimilioc’s indulgence.”

  “Yeah, you should be. Your cousin have a voice?”

  Absolon didn’t look up. He was on both knees, his head down. Young, just a kid, really; if he was out of his teens Ethan would be surprised. And his shadow wasn’t all that strong even for his age. He was overwhelmingly outmatched by Thaddeus, outmatched even by Ethan, and he knew it. But he swallowed and managed to say, in a fairly normal voice, “I understand. I will not let it up again. I...I beg Dimilioc’s pardon. I didn’t mean to make trouble.”

  “Not your fault they shot you, kid,” Ethan told him. “But do better now, hear me?” He looked at Thaddeus. “All right. I think we’ve got this.”

  Thaddeus dropped his jaw again in violent black dog amusement and reared up...and dwindled into human form, though for him the change didn’t seem to make as much of a size difference as it would have for most of them. Once he had shifted, he straightened his back and grinned fiercely at the other two black dogs, and there was no question about anybody arguing. Frédéric’s eyes had widened, though. He opened his mouth, maybe to make a smart comment about Dimilioc letting strays into their bloodlines—it had to be pretty clear to anyone familiar with
Dimilioc bloodlines that Thaddeus must have been born a stray; generally Dimilioc had been fairly priggish about just whom they brought into their pristine bloodlines. Though never as much as Lumondière. If a comment about strays had been on the tip of the Frenchman’s tongue, he kept it there, closing his mouth without uttering a word. Wise of him.

  “All right,” Ethan said again, with a narrow look to emphasize that Lumondière had better not make any comment at all about how Dimilioc chose to arrange its affairs. “Listen up. Étienne Lumondière’s establishing a presence in this country, with Dimilioc permission. I expect he’ll be delighted to recover some wolves from his own house. You understand?”

  They did. Absolon looked up with dawning hope, flinched when he realized he’d met Ethan’s eyes, and dropped his gaze. Frédéric said with dignity, “We would be very grateful to have Dimilioc’s permission to join our cousin.”

  “Yeah, I bet,” said Ethan. “You have it, and let me just mention that it is a damn good thing you did not kill anyone besides the bad guys. Now. What we need to do next is get clear of this situation, and I think we will be able to do that. But you listen to me, both of you: there are a million cops out there. They are not your problem. Your problem is staying on Dimilioc’s good side. The police and special forces and national guard and, hell, just whoever is out there, they are my problem and I will deal with them. You will stay close to me and follow my lead and you will not, repeat not, attack anyone. You got that?” He leaned forward and added, in a much lower voice, “Unless I attack them first and then all bets are off, but that is not what we want, is that clear?”

  “Very clear,” said Frédéric, and his cousin nodded fervent agreement.

  “Good,” said Ethan. He took McNamara’s arm again, and never mind the man’s slight flinch. “Mr. McNamara and I will go first. Then you two. Then Thaddeus at the back. We won’t have any trouble.”

  There were indeed about a million cops out there in the late afternoon sunlight, when Ethan threw the bolts again and opened the lobby door. A million and a half, maybe. Ethan was glad to see the special forces guys in the front, between the black dogs and all the ordinary cops. A solid wall of special forces in front, then a good-sized gap, then the police behind that. With here and there a special forces man among the police; good. And the special forces woman; he picked her out, too, right beside a guy who had to be the chief of police. Even better; he was glad to have someone over there preventing mistakes. Ethan trusted Colonel Herrod...at least, he trusted him not to let his people shoot accidentally. And not to let anybody shoot without his order.

  In fact, yes, there was Herrod himself, right there in the front in that elegant brown suit, the jacket just two degrees lighter than his skin, highly visible in the sea of black body armor. Yes, and the colonel was just as obviously in control as always. Every single special forces man had his weapon leveled right at the black wolves, but Colonel Herrod didn’t even have a gun in his hand. Again, good.

  Ethan nudged McNamara and walked with him toward the colonel, feeling the other three black dogs at his back. Sticking close, as he’d ordered them. They made a perfect damn target if all those special forces guys opened up, but there had never been any hope of avoiding that danger. And the colonel must have given some signal, because all the guns were actually going up now, pointing at the sky. That was excellent.

  Ethan stopped several feet from Herrod, just far enough back, he hoped, that the special forces people wouldn’t be too concerned. He looked ostentatiously at his watch. Then he met the colonel’s eyes, trying for human-direct rather than black dog-threat. “Twelve minutes. Not bad, I’d say.”

  “Indeed,” agreed the colonel. “We certainly appreciate your assistance in resolving this situation so expeditiously. We’re very grateful.” He looked thoughtfully over the two French black dogs. Then his gaze turned, unsurprisingly, toward Thaddeus.

  Thaddeus sure did draw the eye: Big and black and bald and absolutely badass. Except it was no laughing matter. He was too damn recognizable. Ethan could see how that was likely to be a significant problem, under the circumstances. “Dimilioc is always glad to assist the special forces in such matters,” he assured Herrod, in his blandest tone. What would Grayson say at a moment like this? Something formal, even stilted; formality was Grayson’s way of making sure everyone knew he was in control and in charge. It worked, too. Ethan said, “Dimilioc believes, in these dangerous days, that it’s important to promote a spirit of cooperation and mutual trust.” Did that sound too ridiculous?

  The colonel didn’t crack a smile. “I agree, naturally.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” And that was enough, surely, so he added more quietly, “So let’s tie a bow around this situation, how about it? We can all go home and sleep in our own beds tonight.”

  Now Herrod did smile, though barely. “I think Mr. McNamara would particularly appreciate that.” He hadn’t been speaking loudly, but now he lowered his voice even further. “Let him go now, if you please.”

  “Of course,” agreed Ethan, and waited, not loosening his grip on the human’s arm by one iota.

  There was a little pause. Then the colonel lifted his eyebrows questioningly.

  “At the earliest possible opportunity,” Ethan added, putting a little bite into his tone. Your move, Colonel Herrod, sir. So make it.

  The colonel’s smile took on a sardonic edge. “I don’t suppose the four of you would simply release Mr. McNamara and agree to surrender yourselves into my custody?”

  “That doesn’t seem likely, no.”

  “Unfortunate.” The colonel paused. “At the moment, I have a useful working relationship with Grayson Lanning. I wouldn’t care to ruin that. Nor do I intend to precipitate a bloodbath. Certainly not on national television. You’ve no need to be concerned.”

  Undoubtedly there were cameras everywhere. Ethan didn’t look for them. He had already assumed that. He said, “That’s great, Colonel. I’m glad to hear it. Why don’t I let Mr. McNamara go and you personally walk us to our car? That way we can all part friends. How does that sound?”

  “Colonel –” one of his men began.

  Herrod held up one hand. “No, I agree.” He shook his head slightly to stop a more determined protest before it could be made and repeated, “I agree. We’ll do it exactly that way. There’s no problem.” He stepped forward, putting himself well within Ethan’s reach. Then he nodded to McNamara. “Sir, I think you should move aside now.”

  “You kept things in there from turning into a disaster,” Ethan told the bank manager before letting him go. He raised his voice and went on, enunciating clearly, “Dimilioc is grateful for your courage and good sense.” Then he finally released his hold on the man’s arm.

  McNamara had too much pride to move immediately. Maybe he was thinking of the cameras too. He said drily, “I did absolutely nothing.”

  “Which saved everyone,” said Ethan. “Our people as well as yours. Keeping everyone quiet, keeping anyone from doing anything, was essential, and far from easy under the circumstances. We understand that. Dimilioc is in your debt. Lumondière is very seriously in your debt.” He continued to enunciate for the cameras, but it was all true. He met the man’s eyes to show human-style respect and inclined his head.

  After a moment, McNamara nodded back. Then he turned and walked away, not too fast. The special forces men parted for him and closed ranks again behind him, and there went the last civilian hostage. Ethan turned to Colonel Herrod. Who only smiled thinly and tilted his head toward the waiting car. “Your vehicle,” he said, and at his gesture, his people all shifted back and aside, leaving a clear path.

  “Good,” said Ethan. He didn’t touch Herrod, but held out a hand, inviting the colonel to walk with them. Herrod turned without haste and led the way, the black dogs close behind him. The car wasn’t locked. Ethan opened the driver’s-side door and ordered briskly, “Thaddeus behind me, Frédéric beside him, Absolon in the front. Let’s go.” Then, as he wa
ited for the other three black dogs to get in the car, he studied Herrod.

  The colonel did not step back. He said, his tone dry, “It’s a nice afternoon for a drive, I suppose.”

  Ethan thought about it. He didn’t want to be unnecessarily stupid, but...there were all those cameras, no question. It would look all wrong if he made it obvious Herrod was a hostage. But the cameras worked for them, too, because once the black dogs were all in the car and moving, Herrod would have no chance of taking them without highly visible violence. Ethan was almost certain the optics of any such move would not be good for the special forces. Absolon in particular was plainly just a kid. He didn’t look at all like a monster now. He said at last, “I don’t think that will be necessary, Colonel. You’re a busy man. I’m sure you have things to do.”

  Herrod raised one eyebrow. Then he nodded. “A pleasure working with you,” he told Ethan. He sounded like he meant it. Maybe he did.

  Ethan nodded back. Then he got in the car. The key was in the ignition. He turned it. The engine started without the slightest problem. Herrod had stepped back and was holding up his hand; all his people were shifting to leave the road clear. The police were clearing out of the way, too. All right. That all looked fine. Ethan eased the car forward and just...drove away. He kept an eye on the rear view mirror, but so far as he could tell, no one followed them.

  Thaddeus started to say something. “Shut up,” Ethan snapped. “No one say a single damn word.” He turned a corner and then another corner, leaving all the flashing lights and guns behind them. Not quite all their problems, not yet, but he could feel some of the tension ease out of his shoulders and back. He turned again, spotted a Walmart, and turned into the parking lot. Drove through it, turned, and drove through it again. There. A woman, by herself, getting out of a dark blue SUV. He said sharply, “We’re trading vehicles. No one touch the woman.” Then he was out of the car and nodding politely to the woman. “Ma’am, sorry, this is a hijacking. We need your car. You’ll get it back.”