A black dog he didn’t know leaped straight over Natividad, barely touched the ground, and leaped again. It tore the nearest of the blood kin entirely in half, ribs and tendons and vertebrae popping and tearing. The torso half hit the ground not far away, and the creature screamed, an appallingly human scream, and beat at the earth with its hands for a long time before it grew still. It was one of the worst things Justin had ever seen. He was, under the circumstances, more than willing to see it again, but the black dog was gone, out of sight in the night. Other screams echoed out there, not nearly far enough away, but the combatants were invisible in the dark. The normal everyday dark, and Justin had never appreciated before how ordinary and familiar and comfortable a dark night could be, but this one had definitely gone on long enough and just where was the dawn? He tried to get up, but still couldn’t. He was horribly thirsty, and hot—something was burning—the house was burning, it had gone up like a torch, an adobe house burning like tinder, and how was that even possible? But if it was going to burn like that, he and Natividad were much too close to it, and he couldn’t even get to his feet.
***
Natividad barely understood what had pulled her and Alejandro out of the fell dark and back into the world. She knew Justin had done it—somehow. She knew she was the one who had dragged Alejandro into the dark, because she’d held just a little bit of his shadow. That was her fault. But it wasn’t too awful after all because Justin had gotten them all out again. Justin had done something else, too, something she understood even less, but she’d seen it, the great shining net he’d made—not that it had been exactly shining. Or a net, exactly, because a net was meant to catch things and this was meant to drive things away. Or she thought maybe that was what it was for.
She wanted to ask Justin about it, about what he’d done, about what he thought he might have done. But even though they were back in the world, they weren’t safe. Everything was happening so fast, and it was so hard to tell what any of it was. The house was burning violently, black dog fire that burned viciously hot, the adobe melting like glass, the flames shedding light and leaping shadows that confused the eye. It was dangerous, she knew she and Justin were much too close to the fire, but Justin didn’t seem able to stand up and she wasn’t strong enough to drag him, even if she had dared to touch him, which she thought might be a really bad idea just at this moment.
Alejandro was fine, though. He had gone entirely into the cambio de cuerpo. That didn’t surprise Natividad at all: he must be just so glad to fight ordinary, understandable enemies. Of course blood kin were dangerous, stronger than ordinary human people, and cunning, too, and they didn’t feel pain or fear death. Worse, the claws of blood kin could tear not only a black dog’s flesh but also his shadow, so that was scary. But Natividad could see that her brother’s shadow was actually a little bit strange, and she almost sort of thought maybe the blood kin were tending to flinch away from him. It wasn’t just that he still had a tiny bit of her magic tangled up with his shadow: she thought a little bit of the silver net Justin had made clung to him still, to them all, all of them who had come back from the fell dark. She could almost feel it, like a faint pressure against her skin; she could almost feel it tangling with and pressing against the traceries of black dog shadows she also held.
Because she didn’t hold only a bit of her brother’s shadow. She had owned that long enough to know how it felt. No, she also held the slivers of Ezekiel’s shadow that the vampire had stolen; she’d gotten those back and she held them now, wrapped around her fingers, trailing in the air around her hands, wavering around her.
That was why she didn’t dare touch Justin. Because she held too much of Ezekiel’s shadow. She had no idea how she held it, and understood still less what it might do to Justin’s Pure magic if she let it touch him. So she knelt helplessly a little away from him, trying to see how dangerous the fire might really be and trying to keep an eye on Alejandro and at the same time trying to find Ezekiel in the confusion of the battle.
She saw Ezekiel at last, and Keziah, and stared for some time, trying to make sense of what she saw in the confusing light of the leaping flames. He and Keziah were fighting two other black dogs, not real black dogs but those horrible shadow-possessed undead black dogs. That was bad enough, but she could see how badly Ezekiel fought, not at all with his usual ease and confidence. He hadn’t entirely shifted even yet, and he was fighting defensively, like he was afraid of being hurt. He had been hurt; savage wounds gaped across his flank and hip, but he had not shifted to let his shadow carry away those injuries. Keziah was protecting him. Natividad didn’t realize that at first, but once she saw it, it was unmistakable. Keziah was protecting Ezekiel, and he was allowing her to protect him.
She knew exactly why. She knew exactly what that vampire had done to him, tearing away so much of his shadow. That was . . . that was awful. She flinched from even looking at him like that. It was . . . it was just wrong.
Natividad wanted Grayson to come and save them all, she wanted clever Miguel with his rifle and silver bullets, she wanted Justin to make something magical that would destroy all their enemies. But Grayson was far away and Miguel was not here, and she could see Justin was still vague and confused and helpless.
Then Keziah screamed, raw, desperate fury in her voice, and Natividad moved without even thinking about it, leaping to her feet and dashing straight for Ezekiel.
Alejandro leaped to protect her—she would have expected that if she’d thought about it, and she was very glad he was there. He batted one of the blood kin out of his way, roaring in fury, and Natividad ducked another, and suddenly found herself facing one of the undead black dogs. She tried so hard to stop that she actually fell, and then it was like a nightmare, scrambling desperately backward on her hands and knees, slow as though she dragged herself through something much thicker than air and shadows and the light of the fire, the black dog coming after her so much faster than she could get away.
Then Ezekiel whipped around and lunged, blindingly fast, closing with the undead black dog. They tore at each other, both utterly silent. The wounds Ezekiel dealt his enemy quickly closed, even one blow that started by crushing half its chest and ended by slashing across its throat, a blow that should have killed a normal black dog. But it was already dead and hardly faltered. But when it ripped claws across Ezekiel’s belly and tore chunks of flesh from his thigh, those injuries did not heal. Ezekiel should have ducked into his human shape and back again, letting those terrible injuries pass to his shadow—but he did not shift, plainly he could not shift, and Natividad flung herself forward—Keziah was there, attacking the undead black dog from the other side, and Natividad scuttled desperately sideways, found Ezekiel directly in front of her at last, and flung her arms around him.
Ragged strands of shadow curled around her, over her arms, through her fingers, writhing through the air between and around them. It felt . . . it felt very strange. Like she became lighter and cleaner with every fragment of shadow that lifted away from, and yet it hurt to lose the shadow, too—or it might not exactly hurt, but it was like pain.
Ezekiel flung his head up and back and shifted, the change swift and fluid. He left behind in that instant the injuries that had all but killed him. Whirling around in human form, he caught Natividad by the arms and picked her up bodily and kissed her, quick and hard, and then set her down, spun away again, and exploded back into his black dog form to press a savage attack against the enemies that had now overpowered Keziah.
He left Natividad staring after him, one hand raised to her lips, so stunned she was almost unaware of all the chaos and blood and spattering ichor and fire that surrounded her.
Then one of the blood kin leaped at her out of the smoke, and Alejandro hurled himself between them with a roar, and all the chaos of the battle slammed back into Natividad’s awareness. She ducked low and fled, back toward the burning house and Justin, because the only help she could give her brother or Ezekiel or anyone now was to
get out of the way and protect herself and Justin. If she could, because those undead black dogs were a lot worse than even the blood kin, and no one had expected to have to face anything like them, not again, not here—Natividad didn’t want to think of it, but she knew that even now, with Ezekiel restored, they might still lose this battle—she should make something, do something, last time she had stopped those terrible black dogs, but this time she had nothing to work with and could think of nothing at all to do. A quick glance back showed her that the undead black dog was coming after her, that Alejandro was trying to make it turn and fight him, but it ignored him—
Then the guns began. Slow, careful rifle fire from all directions: human work. At first Natividad did not understand. Then she remembered the military fort in El Paso and thought she did. These must be special forces, because the bullets were silver, at least some of the bullets; Natividad saw how the blood kin screamed and fell when they were hit. Natividad flinched and crouched low, and spun quickly to peer into the confusion of the battle, terrified that these new allies might shoot Alejandro, or Ezekiel, or even her. Ordinary people just didn’t know very much about black dogs or the Pure or even blood kin, and how would they know which of the combatants were really their enemies?
But she saw the undead black dog that had pursued her stagger and scream, silver-struck. That was great, that was just fine, if only the men understood they should stop with shooting the undead black dogs.
Then she flinched as the black dog, despite the injuries it had been dealt by the silver, lunged past her to attack the man that had shot it. It flung itself up the side of the house toward his perch on the roof. The man shot it again, standing up to shoot straight down, but it did not stop. Of course it did not stop, it was dead already and cared nothing about injury or pain, it would reach that man and tear him apart and even silver bullets would not stop it.
But Alejandro could hammer it down and then leave it to be shot to pieces by men with silver bullets in their weapons. He did, with violent thoroughness. Even the undead black dog could not heal itself fast enough to withstand that.
Natividad, straightening cautiously, was aware that Keziah and Ezekiel were dealing with another of the undead black dogs by simply tearing into pieces so small not even it could put its body back together. And Alejandro was stalking the last of the undead black dogs, pinning it against the stone wall of a house so the men could shoot it. No one had shot him yet. She was beginning to think maybe they would not. They had shot a lot of the blood kin. She did not know how many had gotten away, but without a vampire to hide them, blood kin could not disguise themselves among ordinary people.
The gunfire was sporadic now. The house still burned. Since no one was shooting at her and there now seemed very little threat from the blood kin, Natividad began to make her way slowly back toward Justin. She hesitated for a second when she saw that two of the men had come out into the open to stand over Justin. But though both were armed with rifles, they seemed to be protecting him, not threatening him. Nor did they point their guns at her when she cautiously approached. She looked so human. She hoped their restraint would include the Dimilioc black dogs, too. So far it seemed to. That was very, very good. She could actually feel the silver in those weapons even from all the way across the street.
“We’re friends, you know!” she said to the nearer of the two men, with some urgency. “We’re all friends here! You mustn’t shoot just everyone, right? You can tell the Dimilioc black dogs are friends, can’t you?”
“Allies, maybe,” the man allowed. “Maybe allies. We know it’s possible—maybe.”
Natividad found herself smiling in intense relief. She let herself smile. Maybe allies! That was enough. They could work with that.
***
Justin leaned his head back, blinking at the stars. No, the sky was hidden by black smoke. Those were sparks from the fire; each one rose in a smooth finite arc and burned out. Stars or sparks, his eyes didn’t seem to want to focus, but he was happy to take the special forces man’s word for it that they could all be allies. Allies sounded great. Allies sounded like no one was going to murder Keziah or Ezekiel or Natividad’s brother out of hand.
He wanted to ask Natividad what her brother was doing here, and could she possibly send them all back to Dimilioc the same way she had brought Alejandro here, only then he remembered that Alejandro had come here by going through the no-place, and shuddered. No. Anything was better than stepping back out of the world into that emptiness.
“It’s all just fine,” Natividad said in a very firm tone. Then she added, a little less firmly, “Justin, that fire is awfully hot. Can you stand up, maybe?”
He couldn’t. But he was willing to try, especially when one of the special forces men took his arm in a forceful grip and heaved.
“Careful!” said Natividad, hovering. “He’s hurt!”
“Yes, miss,” said the man, his tone serious but not angry or hostile. “He’ll be hurt worse if we don’t get him back from the fire a bit.” He gave Justin a careful once-over. “Now, son, just your hands, is it? Good, then.” And he picked Justin up bodily, carrying him like a child. Justin thought he should feel embarrassed about that, but he was honestly too glad to be carried away from the burning house by someone whose job was to protect people from monsters.
Then Ezekiel was there, and Keziah, and Natividad’s brother, good, and a whole crowd of special forces men, which wasn’t necessarily so great. Justin tried to focus, not very successfully, except then one of the men gave him a drink of water, and then a minute later a Coke. The soda was warm, but the sugar hit him like a hammer and suddenly he found he could track what was going on much better.
The man looked like a soldier and not a doctor, but he had a medical kit in his hands rather than a rifle. He was trying, gently, to get Justin to uncurl his hands. Justin finally figured this out and obliged, which hurt, but not as much as he thought it ought to.
“Nasty,” said the man, his forehead creasing. “How’d you do this?”
Justin only shook his head.
“Well, it’s all good. We’ve got you now,” the man said. Justin could tell he meant to be comforting. Compared to everything else that had happened through this whole mad night, it was comforting. But he heard that assurance two different ways simultaneously, as though looking at one of those illusions of a wine glass and two faces. He glanced quickly at Natividad, who was standing quite still, her arms wrapped around herself as though she were cold or in need of comfort. She was looking at Ezekiel. Who was also standing very still, his hands at his sides, regarding the commander of the special forces unit with a neutral expression.
The commander was an older man who had skin the warm dark color of horse chestnuts, high cheekbones in a broad face, and deep-set eyes that met Ezekiel’s with reserve and curiosity. He wore the same plain, dark uniform as the other men, but Justin could see the rank markers beneath the American eagle badge at his shoulder.
“Colonel Herrod, I think,” Ezekiel said politely.
The colonel inclined his head. “Ezekiel Korte, I believe. Your Dimilioc does seem to have quite a wide reach, if I may say so. And a quite startling ability to be in two places at once.” He raised an eyebrow at Alejandro. “I’m glad to see you on your feet, son.”
Alejandro ducked his head. “You, also,” he said. “In two places at once.”
“Military plane, priority in the air. And you?”
Alejandro shrugged and spread his hands. “I don’t know. Magic.”
“Hmm.” The colonel looked Alejandro up and down and then turned his head to study Natividad. “I surmise that this must be your sister? Did you know an eretich is a witch who sells her soul to the devil and becomes a kind of vampire? I looked it up,” he added dryly, as everyone stared at him. “I must say, young lady, you don’t appear to me to be any kind of vampire.”
“Um . . .” Natividad managed. “No, sir. I mean . . . no. Who said . . .?”
In Justin
’s opinion, she couldn’t have looked less like any kind of vampire. Luckily. She looked young and scared and bewildered and completely, perfectly human.
“No one whose word I’d trust,” said the colonel.
“No one anyone should trust,” Alejandro said sharply. He moved, warily, to Natividad’s side and put an arm around her shoulders, at once protective and possessive. She shuddered once, convulsively, and put her arm around him, too.
“The Black Wolf. Zinaida Alexandrovna Kologrivov,” Alejandro went on. “She said that.” He looked at Ezekiel. “She thought she would break Dimilioc. She came there. I think she meant to challenge Grayson outright.”
This meant almost nothing to Justin, though Ezekiel drew a swift breath. “I see,” he said. He looked grim. “And I wasn’t there. Tell me Grayson won that fight.”
Alejandro hesitated. “I don’t . . . she came, but I think maybe I broke the challenge. When I fell into the dark. I took Valentin with me—I was so angry—”
“Did you!” Ezekiel looked Alejandro up and down. “And you came back, but Valentin Nikitich Kologrivov did not,” he observed at last. “Well done! That would have set the Black Wolf back a bit, I imagine. Still, I think,” he added, “that we really must return to Dimilioc. Immediately.”
“Is that what you think?” said the colonel.
Justin found himself holding his breath. He didn’t believe for a minute that Ezekiel was going to accept arrest or capture or whatever. But he thought Ezekiel would be patient and careful in whatever he did. On the other hand, Justin was absolutely sure Keziah would not go along with anything for any reason, no matter what Ezekiel Korte or anyone else said. He could see the murderous tension in her shoulders, in her face. She had had enough, and she was not going to be polite to these men, guns or no. If she attacked those men, they would probably shoot her. This was not good. It might be really, really bad. He glanced surreptitiously at Natividad, who met his eyes in wordless but unmistakable worry. She made a little gesture with her hands, as though braiding something, but if he was supposed to see something or understand something from that, he missed it.
Pure Magic (Black Dog Book 3) Page 33
