Shadow Twin

by Rachel Neumeier

  Grayson did not answer at once. Controlling anger at Alejandro’s careful not-quite challenge, or considering what he had suggested, or thinking about Carter and whether the witch might somehow take control of him even now...maybe all of those things.

  The Master said at last, “You would most likely find a hardened military installation. You would not be able to enter. If you tried, you would probably be shot. Or captured. Either way, you would very likely have positioned Dimilioc as an enemy of the Special Forces. Worse: as an enemy of ordinary humans. Any effort to extract our people by force could be so construed.” He paused.

  Alejandro said nothing. He could see this was all probably true. He just didn’t think it was very important. Certainly not nearly as important as getting his sister and brother back safe.

  But the Master went on, “I think we must allow Herrod to take his own people in hand and handle this situation. I believe he can be trusted to do so. I think it most unlikely he will actually harm them, or allow harm to be done to them. If I am wrong, if Ezekiel or Natividad—or Miguel—if any of our people come to harm in his keeping, then he is our enemy and we shall deal with him and his in that understanding. But I think we must allow him time to sort out this human dominance struggle. We shall trust him to do so. Provisionally.”

  Carissa said without preliminary, “The Master’s right. Or I think we better hope so. Cause getting our people back from the Special Forces, that’s not the problem we ought to be focusing on. Finding Gregor Kristoff, that’s our problem. Gutting every witch and baby witch in this state and this country and the whole world, that’s what we should focus on.”

  Hunting down every witch in the world, tearing out their insides and leaving the bodies to rot, that part sounded good. But the rest of it...Alejandro didn’t like it. Grayson trusted that Colonel Herrod would resolve whatever problem this political rival was causing in Albuquerque, and that the colonel would protect Dimilioc’s people from harm, and that he would return them to Dimilioc’s care. The Master trusted that Colonel Herrod would do all things as he had promised rather than throw away the cautious alliance that he and Grayson had forged between his people and Dimilioc.

  The Master knew Colonel Herrod much better than Alejandro did. Even so, Alejandro was not so certain.

  Then the Master asked, “Tell me, Alejandro: is your sister angry or merely afraid? She is not...grieving?”

  Alejandro glanced back at him, surprised. If Grayson feared what answer he might give, nothing of that fear showed in his expression. Maybe in the heavy, close-gathered density of his shadow. He was angry, and very likely worried. Good. the Master should be angry and, in Alejandro’s opinion, he should also be worried.

  He thought about his answer. “I think there is no grief in Natividad’s aflicción. Her distress. I think she is afraid for Ezekiel, and for herself, and probably for Miguel. I think she is afraid of what might happen. I do not think this is anger and grief at what has already come to pass.”

  If anything actually did happen to them, Alejandro would certainly teach someone all about anger and grief. This enemy of Herrod’s, perhaps. Or Herrod himself. Whichever seemed appropriate.

  If anything happened to them, Grayson would do that himself. But Alejandro would certainly help.

  Far better if nothing happened to them. Nothing worse. Nothing deadly.

  He knew where Natividad was. Not exactly, of course. But roughly. He would be able to find her. If he went across country, he could go straight toward her. If he kept human form and drove a car, he would not be able to take so direct a path, but it might be faster. Except he could not drive. It was not a skill he had ever learned. Miguel had been the one who liked cars and liked driving. Alejandro had never felt it important to learn. Now he thought seriously about deserting Grayson and Dimilioc and running south and west until he found his sister, wherever she might be and surrounded by however many possible enemies and guns.

  Many of the others could drive a car. Maybe everyone. Carissa Hammond, probably she could drive a car. But Carissa would not agree to go find Natividad and the others. She was too focused on her own enemies. She was staring off into the distance, nostrils flaring as she scented the breeze. For demons, maybe, if not witches. That sulfur-and-rot stench was distinctive. He could smell it still, but only from the abandoned place underground, not on the cleaner wind out here on these broken slopes.

  Even if Alejandro could get Carissa to agree to go with him, by the time they found Natividad and the others, Colonel Herrod would surely have had time to deal with whatever threat this enemy posed. Probably Grayson was right. Let Herrod handle his human enemies and let Dimilioc decide how best to pursue the supernatural ones.

  But he didn’t like it.

  The Master had taken out his phone, obviously considering the matter settled. Now he said into it, “Étienne. Have the others arrived? Good. How is Stéphanie? How are the others?”

  Alejandro drifted a step closer, listening.

  Étienne’s voice answered, grim with worry. “Sometimes Stéphanie wakes up. Then she starts screaming. Théo cannot comfort her. Nor can I.”

  The Master nodded, though of course Étienne couldn’t see him. He said, “Generations of Pure women have set peace and safety into that land and that house. Perhaps Stéphanie may recover herself now that she is there. We must see if another Pure woman might assist her directly. Natividad, or if necessary you must send for DeAnn.”

  “Of course,” Étienne assented. “Of course, Master.”

  From his tone, he had more to say. Grayson heard it too, and waited. At last the Lumondière wolf said, careful and precise with his English, “I should inform you, Master: Jim Gotz is dead.”

  Carter grunted as though he had been struck. Carissa turned her head sharply and drifted a step nearer, listening. The others came closer as well. James was frowning, but he said nothing.

  Étienne was going on. “Jim attacked Stéphanie, but I do not believe he meant to harm her. He wanted Théo to kill him, I think. Either the demon reversed the Beschwichtigand or Jim meant to die. He would never have imagined he could challenge Théo. Nor was he the kind to lose himself in his sombra. He was an asset to Dimilioc. Now he is dead. I set his death at the feet of this witch.”

  That last was a kind of subtle assurance: Not at Grayson’s feet. Good. Alejandro would not have been surprised if Étienne fought Grayson because of the deaths of his people. Now that seemed less likely.

  “Indeed. So do I,” Grayson answered. “After this, we shall see to it that no witch dares touch our people—if any are left in the world. Théo?”

  “Much distressed, but his wife’s need reinforces his control, I believe. I think he will do well enough.”

  “Good. Well. I believe we must return to your sept. Briefly. Our enemy is still loose. Somewhere. Finding him is important. Being certain of our ability to kill him when we find him is even more important.”

  “Oui. Indeed.” There was slight pause. Then Étienne said in a level voice, “And Absolon? I had hoped for news of my young cousin, Master.”

  Alejandro was surprised to realize he had not thought once of Absolon since coming to this place. He should have. They all should have. No doubt the Master had thought of him, looked for him. But he had not been there. The witch had taken Absolon. So where was he now? Not in that torn place underground. But then where? And why?

  Maybe Gregor Kristoff had fed the young wolf to a demon already. Maybe he had done something worse.

  Alejandro looked at Carissa, wanting to ask. Her expression was closed. She did not look like she would welcome questions.

  Grayson said only, “Yes, I had hoped for that as well. I rather expected to recover him, one way or another, once we found Kristoff. There was no trace of him here. But I doubt very much that our enemy would lightly dispose of such an asset. I suspect he wished to forestall any chance of my reclaiming Absolon. If he hasn’t realized yet that I can force other black dogs into human form, he is
both stupid and unobservant, which unfortunately does not seem to be the case. He must realize that Carissa has been freed from his control. He may have wished to keep Absolon away from me, lest he lose him as well.”

  “Then how are we to recover him?” Étienne asked grimly. But he did not seem to expect an answer, but went on in the same grim tone. “Well. Yes. I shall expect your return, then. I shall hope to greet you with news that Stéphanie has recovered.”

  “Indeed.” Grayson thumbed off the phone and glanced around at the small number of black wolves gathered around him. “Very well. I believe we must now—” He broke off, his attention sharpening. Everyone else shifted to follow the direction of his gaze. Away to the east, not very far, a dust cloud was rising. A very large dust cloud. The dust rose up and up, spreading out as it came to the faster-moving winds high above, trailing away in a lengthening plume to the east as those winds carried it. Red streaked with charcoal gray, like ashes stirred into blood and then turned into dust and flung into the sky.

  “This resort,” Grayson said thoughtfully. “Copper Mountain. How far are we from that?”

  “About so far, I think,” James answered in a dry tone. “It looks a good deal like a bomb, doesn’t it? Although I believe a bomb would not throw up so diffuse a cloud of dust. I wonder what a greater demon looks like?”

  “I don’t think we need to wonder,” Carissa said. Her words were unobjectionable, but her tone was not very respectful.

  Alejandro kicked her discreetly on the ankle and she flicked a brief, hot glare his way but bowed her head a little and amended this with a grudging, “Sir.”

  Both James and Grayson pretended not to notice either Carissa’s tone or Alejandro’s intervention. Each had tilted his head back, studying the sky. The Master asked, “Carissa, can you explain what we might expect from this phenomenon?”

  The girl shrugged. “Something bad, probably.”

  “Something bad,” Carter repeated, a shade derisively, but not as though he thought she were wrong.

  The silent rising of the dust, the slow spreading of its haze across the distant sky, was somehow as disturbing as anything else Alejandro had seen during this long day.

  “Yeah,” said Carissa. “Something bad.”

  “That these witches have laid their hands on anyone or anything in Dimilioc territory is an insult and a challenge,” said James. “But this may be the greater threat.”

  “And we’ll answer it,” agreed Grayson. “We have driven our enemies into disarray and flight on each of our meetings today. But not without cost. Too high a cost, so far. I believe we must take time to recoup our strength and consider our approach. The thing is said to...encyst, was that not the word? We need not be precipitous in pursuit, I think. The witch himself and not the demon must remain our primary concern. Carter. How are you...feeling?”

  Carter Lethridge rubbed a hand across his chest where the gray dust had spattered across him. “Fine. I feel just fine. But who knows? Maybe the next time we meet that witch, he’ll grab me.” His sullen glance said This is your fault.

  There was enough truth in this that the Master did not rebuke him. He said, “You have been very useful today. Tearing up the generators was clever. Several times you have intervened to protect another of our people.” He didn’t mention that during the last and most important of those moments, Carter had moved to protect him. He said merely, “You’ve done well. But I think you will stay at the sept house next time. I would prefer you not risk yourself in the third and final confrontation.”

  “Huh,” muttered Carter. But his expression lightened.

  It was good to be acknowledged. Good to be acknowledged for more than strength and aggression. Praise freely offered by the Master was better than, at least entirely different from, fear wrung from a weaker black dog. Alejandro knew all about that, but this was the first time he realized Grayson did it deliberately. Carter was smart. Maybe he realized it too. But it would still work, because it was true.

  James shook his head. “Yeah, well. We keep winning and driving our enemies before us. But too many victories like this and we may hand the war to Kristoff.”

  “Indeed,” agreed the Master. “That is unacceptable, obviously. We must force a decisive engagement and end this on our terms: with the bodies of our enemies scattered across the earth. This will require an effective protection against the power of these witches. More than we have now. We need one of the Pure. Stéphanie, if she recovers sufficiently. Natividad, if not. If I must send for DeAnn, I will, but I would prefer a Dimilioc—or Évanouir—trained woman if possible. A woman who has glimpsed these enemies of ours.”

  “Yeah, I’m definitely not arguing,” said James.

  He had undoubtedly understood all that already. Alejandro knew the two of them, James and the Master, had laid it all out like that for the rest of them. Certainly it all seemed true to him as well.

  Grayson took out his phone and turned it over in his hand, frowning. Thinking about getting Natividad back from Herrod’s people, Alejandro guessed. Thinking about how Herrod had better not make any difficulties about that.

  “We should have kept that woman as a hostage,” commented Carter, just a little wary about speaking up, but bolder now, after the Master’s praise. “Raichlen. We could have said we needed to keep an eye on her until after the full moon’s come and gone. That would have made sure the Special Forces stayed on our side till this is over.”

  Carter’s tone on this had been light, ironic. Not the tone of a black dog inclined to challenge the Master. Alejandro noticed that he had not said You should have kept that woman, which would have been accusatory. He had said, We should have kept that woman, which included himself among the other Dimilioc wolves. So he was becoming more confident of his place within Dimilioc. Yes. Again it seemed the Master had been right about his ability to successfully bring a troublesome stray into Dimilioc.

  Grayson’s gaze met Carter’s, not an expression of dominance, but recognition. “I considered it. I am still considering it. This time Herrod did not offer me a liaison, did you mark that? He was reluctant to set a hostage into my hands. I did not insist. If I am not fully satisfied on our next encounter, I will take a hostage whether he offers one or not. Raichlen would do well, I think.”

  Mildly nonplused by this serious, respectful response, Carter ducked his head and muttered, “Yeah.”

  “I’m intrigued by those generators you destroyed. I noticed at least one turned on and running, but with its power cord still coiled on hooks at the back.”

  Carter glanced up, surprised and impressed—he hadn’t realized the Master had been paying so much attention, Alejandro knew. It was hard at first to believe that the Master noticed everything, even when he seemed fully engaged somewhere else.

  “Yeah,” Carter said. “I noticed that. I was going to say something about it.”

  “Power generated from ordinary technology, directed into magic,” muttered James. “How special.” He raised an eyebrow at Carissa.

  She only shrugged, bristling, embarrassed and angry. “I don’t know. How would I know? I don’t know anything about generators. Nobody sat down and explained stuff to me. They don’t explain much to anybody, the master witches. I’m sure you’ve figured out they like their disciples fawning and ignorant.”

  “Well, we shall consider the matter,” said Grayson. “James, the van, please. Carter, Rip, go back down. Burn everything that will burn, melt everything that will melt. Leave nothing for our enemies to reclaim. Nothing for our...putative allies...to find.” He left them to it, flipping his phone over and tapping it to dial.

  Alejandro heard it ring. Any black dog within ten strides would have heard it ring. But there was no response except a recorded invitation to leave a message. Frowning, Grayson put his phone away again. He didn’t leave a message. Probably the fact that he had attempted to call was message enough. Don’t cross me. That was the message Alejandro thought Herrod ought to understand. I am running low o
n patience. You had better not betray me.

  That was what he would have understood, were he in Herrod’s place.

  Fifteen minutes later they passed through the Copper Mountain resort. A resort was a kind of very fancy guest house for vacationers, Alejandro gathered. The buildings and grounds spoke clearly of wealth and leisure. There were said to be estates like this near Monterrey, but nothing near where his family had lived. He had never seen any place like it.

  All the people who had been here at this resort also seemed to have been wealthy and beautiful too. But they were all dead.

  Two or three cars had slewed across the main driveway and run off into the snow. The nearest still had its motor running; Alejandro heard it clearly when James, who was driving, stopped the van so that they could all look at the dead resort. The driver was still in the vehicle, slumped over the wheel, dead.

  The smell of death mingled with woodsmoke and the scent of grilling meat. Beef and chicken—there was a place to eat not far from where James had stopped. There was no smell of fresh blood except a little from the beef. No blood had been spilled in all this killing. But death in plenty, yes, blood or no. The air tasted of death and ashes, sulfur and rot. Overhead, the dust-streaked sky seemed to have been painted red and gray and black: the colors of blood and bruises.

  A small group of women in bright coats had fallen on the porch of the main house; on the porch and down the stairs. One, at the bottom of the stairs, had been carrying a child, maybe four or five years old. The child now lay just beyond the reach of her outstretched arms and fingers. Not so much as though she had died reaching for him, but as though mother and child had died together and then fallen and now lay where they had happened to fall.

  At this hour, with the sinking sun coming through the dust to paint the snow-streaked mountains in fiery rose, with the shadows stretching out long and violet below the western slopes, hardly anyone had been skiing. But a train of little cars on wires was still running overhead, carrying a scattering of slumped figures down to the buildings and then, when they did not get out, up again to the heights. A man and two teenage boys lay closer to hand, where they had been coming back from the place where people were supposed to get out of the little cars.