But then Miguel came down the stairs after Ezekiel, and Harrison Lanning behind him. Harrison was carrying a platter. There was the smell of fresh bread and grilled venison.
There were two platters, in fact: one for the meat, and the other for the bread and a wedge of soft cheese and a crock of fruit preserves that smelled of sugar and lingering summer. Harrison carried one of the platters, but Miguel himself carried the other. As before, Ezekiel unlocked the cage door and gestured for Miguel to enter. Miguel moved easily – he did not seem to have been harmed at all. But as he stepped past Ezekiel to enter the cell, as Ezekiel shifted his weight, he flinched, just perceptively.
Someone else might have missed that little encojo. But to Alejandro, his brother might as well have cowered like a beaten child. Miguel never cringed from anyone. He had never been beaten or abused – he had always had his father and brother to protect him. Until tonight. Alejandro set himself against a sudden savage desire to challenge Ezekiel right there, an effort of will that might have failed except that he was himself afraid of the Dimilioc verdugo. Besides, Harrison was there also. Alejandro set his teeth hard and stayed where he was, by the cot. But he could not stop himself glowering at Ezekiel.
Ezekiel, smiling, met his furious stare with a look of cool mockery. “Well?”
Miguel, perfectly well aware of Alejandro’s rising fury, said quickly, “I’m alright. I’m fine.” And then, more forcefully, “De verdad, estoy bien!”
Alejandro made himself lower his gaze. “Yes,” he said grimly, in English.
But the anger and danger in the room was so palpable that Natividad opened her eyes and sat up, flinging off her blankets with a sharp, terrified movement that recalled the dangerous life they had all led for the past year.
Alejandro shuddered with the effort to put his shadow down. He took a step backward, put an arm around his sister, and tucked her against his side. “Estas bien,” he said, then, wary of Ezekiel and even of Harrison, switched to English. “You see: we are all well.”
Ezekiel tilted his head to one side, but did not contradict this piece of optimism. Harrison grinned outright. “That’s right, boy,” he said. His voice was deep and harsh, but not actually unkind. He stepped forward to bring them the platter he held, brushing past Ezekiel with a careless lack of concern that Alejandro could not help but read as riesgoso – risky. But the young verdugo only stepped aside, not seeming to resent the familiarity.
Natividad shivered, caught her breath, stared from one of the Dimilioc wolves to the other – then sighed in exasperation and straightened. Although she did not move away from Alejandro, her heartbeat steadied and her breathing slowed. As she calmed, the level of aggression and anger in the room settled as well.
Harrison Lanning rolled his shoulders, stretched, and grimaced – not a smile, but not an unfriendly expression. He said to Natividad, “You, we need.” Then he said to Alejandro, “You and your brother, we’ll talk about that. But you’re safe tonight.”
Alejandro made himself bow his head. “Sir.”
“So respectful,” murmured Ezekiel, but there was less of an edge to even his mockery. He gestured Harrison out of the cell with a minimal jerk of his head – it might have been a command, or not, and Alejandro realized that part of his black dog’s uneasiness was due to uncertainty about the relative ranking of the Dimilioc wolves. Black dogs wanted – needed – to know who was stronger and who must give way; it created a constant uneasiness to have matters of rank unresolved or unclear. Harrison was so much older – but Ezekiel was the Dimilioc executioner, and unquestionably more dangerous one-on-one. Alejandro’s black dog could not tell which of them was more dominant and did not like the uncertainty.
Harrison moved back a step so that Ezekiel could swing the cell door shut, but even then Alejandro could not tell whether he was watching a weaker black wolf respond to the command of a stronger, or whether he was simply seeing one man disregard matters of rank and age to cooperate with the suggestion of another.
“Have a nice night,” Ezekiel said to them all. “Pleasant dreams.” He glanced casually at Miguel, but held Alejandro’s gaze until Alejandro dropped his eyes – no question whether that was a matter of rank. But then Ezekiel grinned and clapped Harrison on the shoulder – rare, for one black dog to touch another, but he did it – and the two Dimilioc wolves went up the stairs together. The door at the top of the stairs closed behind them.
Miguel let out a deep sigh and came to take Natividad’s hand in both of his, clearly needing that contact more than he needed rest or food. Alejandro knew how he felt.
So did Natividad, por supuesto, but though she put an arm around her younger brother’s waist, she also said wistfully, “Is any of that meat actually cooked?”
After a moment, Miguel laughed, a little unwillingly, and pulled away from his sister’s embrace. “Sit down again and you can have supper in bed.”
“Comida? Is it still supper and not breakfast?” Natividad rubbed her face. “I feel a hundred years old. How long was I asleep?”
“Not long,” Alejandro assured her. He moved to inspect the contents of the platters. “Supper, and then you can sleep again. Some of the meat is only a little rare. It’s fine – it’s venison,” he added, putting some of the most well-done slices aside for Natividad, along with some of the bread and all the berry preserves. He added to Miguel, as though casually, “Grayson wanted to see my shadow rise. Ezekiel did it. I think it took that cabrón less than a minute to break my control.”
“En serio?” said Miguel, disbelievingly. “Your control, ‘Jandro?”
Alejandro didn’t look at him. “It’s more than his strength. Though he’s very strong. He sees too much about what will rouse anger and fear. And it’s not like when Papá made me practice control. The verdugo is much scarier than Papá.”
“But less than a minute?”
“Truly.”
The boy looked a little happier. He rolled a slice of meat up with focused concentration and ate it in two bites. Another. Then he said, not looking at Alejandro, “I guess it took him maybe four or five minutes to make me lose my temper. I didn’t think anybody could do that to me.”
Alejandro nodded. “Grayson told me Ezekiel could break anyone’s control.”
“I think he could,” Miguel agreed. He shivered, exaggerating it, but it was real, too. “I think so. I think Ezekiel’s the strongest black dog here.”
“But Grayson’s the Master.” Natividad had made sandwiches with some of the meat and cheese and bread, then eaten her first sandwich with concentrated intensity. But now she put her second sandwich down and frowned at Miguel. “Are you sure Ezekiel’s really the strongest?”
The boy shrugged. “No. But I think so.”
“I think he’s right,” said Alejandro. “I think that’s exactly why Zachariah and Harrison backed Grayson when he took the Mastery. Because they knew none of them could beat Ezekiel one on one. I think maybe they all draw a lot of their strength from one another, even now.”
“But…” said Miguel, frowning. “I don’t think Ezekiel wants to challenge Grayson anyway.”
“Of course he wants to challenge him–”
“His black dog might want to fight him, but I don’t think Ezekiel wants that.”
Alejandro thought about this. “Maybe.”
“I think they’re all very strong,” Miguel said. “Even Ethan. But their control–”
“Yes,” said Alejandro. “Their control is more important than their strength. No wonder Dimilioc could keep all the other black dogs down so long. Dimilioc lobos really are ruled by human will, not black dog bloodlust.” He had not really believed that until this moment. Not really. He had never known any black dogs like that – except Papá. He said slowly, “You see how they are with one another – you see how they are a family.” Ordinary black dogs, even blood relatives, seldom tolerated one another well enough to share a single territory. A very strong black dog could force others to submit to his c
ontrol and hold them as a pack, but that was not the same. Alejandro had known Dimilioc was different. Papá, por supuesto, had been different himself, and tried to teach Alejandro to be different the same way. He said bitterly, “And then I showed them tonight how little control I really have.” He had not understood what real control was until Ezekiel Korte had demonstrated to him that he didn’t have it.
“We’re still alive,” Miguel pointed out, having effortlessly followed this thought out to its obvious conclusion. “You think that’s just because of Natividad? I don’t. You said yourself Ezekiel could break anybody’s control.”
“Yes,” said Alejandro, trying to believe it.
“What about the bars, though?” Natividad asked, seeing his distress and wanting to help. “If they leave us alone for a while, I could blood them for you. That would make you feel better, wouldn’t it, even if you don’t think we should really try to get out?”
“Do you think for one second they haven’t thought of that?” said Miguel
“They wouldn’t be able to tell,” protested Natividad.
Miguel looked at her. “Are you willing to bet ‘Jandro’s life on that? Remember Dimilioc’s always been associated with the Pure. Maybe they know more than you think about things like that.” Miguel turned to Alejandro. “I know you really, really hate being locked up, but if she bloods the silver for you and they find out, they might not take it out on her, but you?” He shrugged. “Estás chingado.”
“Language!” said Natividad, rolling her eyes. But she didn’t argue with her twin’s assessment. She swung her feet to the floor, holding up a hand to stop him when Miguel started to object. “I’m just going to look at it. I think maybe you’re right about Dimilioc thinking about that already – I think otherwise I’d have a private room right now, whatever I said.”
“Looking” at the silver meant running her fingertips along the wire, frowning, her eyes actually closed. She followed the silver wire up and down the bars of the door, reaching through them to touch the lock. Finally she said, still frowning, “We don’t need to worry whether they’d notice if I blooded this silver. They’ve done something to it.”
“Something?” Miguel, curious about anything new, wanted details.
Natividad shrugged. “Something to stop it being blooded.” She looked at Alejandro, lifting her shoulders in an apologetic shrug. “I think Mamá said something about this, but I don’t remember. I’ll have to think about it, ‘Jandro.”
“Yes,” said Alejandro. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. I think Miguel was right – we wouldn’t have wanted to mess with their silver anyway.” He waited for her to sink back down on the cot and then tucked her in, ending by draping his jacket over her feet again in case she was still cold.
“Well, what I say,” Natividad declared in a very different tone as she settled back again, “is tomorrow can take care of itself. I don’t even care, as long as we don’t have to hike miles and miles through the snow. It’s just really disappointing to find out how hard it is to walk through. Why would anybody live here?” She waved a hand in theatrical disgust before either of her brothers could answer. “I know, I know, because Dimilioc’s always been here and black dogs like space and territory. Even so. No wonder Papá came to Mexico. He ought to have been glad to come south.” She made a face and tucked one of the extra blankets around herself. “Cold, huh. Who thought coming here was a good idea?”
Alejandro grinned despite himself.
“I’m going to sleep,” Natividad announced. “You can talk if you want, you won’t keep me awake. Wake me at…Wait! On second thought, don’t wake me.” She stretched out ostentatiously and shut her eyes. She was showing off how calm she was, Alejandro knew that, but she was also still worn to the bone. Her breathing smoothed out again almost at once.
“And you – you’re really alright?” Alejandro said to Miguel once he was certain their sister was truly asleep once more. “De verdad?” He held out a hand, inviting his brother to sit next to him.
Miguel nodded. He came over and sat down on the floor beside Alejandro. After a moment, he said, “And you… the silver…”
“No importa.”
“Right,” said Miguel. He added eventually, in a different tone, “It was not as bad as I feared – and also, in a different way, worse than I feared. You understand?”
“Oh, yes.” Alejandro touched his brother on the shoulder. It was hard for a black dog to touch anyone gently, but he made the effort, and Miguel leaned against him for a moment, a closeness they rarely shared. Then, aware that this kind of contact strained Alejandro’s control, Miguel straightened and rested against the cot instead.
“No está bien tartar así a la gente–” Alejandro began.
“Of course it’s not right to treat people so roughly, but if you wanted to find out about someone, human or black dog or whatever, about his control and strength, how else would you do it? You’re angry because your black dog is angry and also because you’re…” Miguel hesitated, then shrugged. “Because you’re embarrassed. So am I. It’s harder because Ezekiel is our age, nearly, isn’t it? But what else should they do but what they did? It was nothing personal, what Ezekiel did.”
“Hah,” said Alejandro, and grinned at last, leaning back against the edge of the cot in a deliberate echo of his brother. “I don’t have to like it. You’re far too sensible, Miguel.” Sometimes he wondered what that would be like, to be that way – to be calm and rational, the way an ordinary human could be. Not to be pulled always toward violence and anger by the black dog shadow. Miguel had so much more choice over what he did, or at least over what he felt; a kind of control a black dog achieved only through constant struggle.
Miguel’s mouth crooked. “No such thing as too sensible. Which we can hope Grayson thinks as well.”
Alejandro nodded. “You understand people. What will they do? Miguel, you did not tell them you argued us into coming here?”
“Estas bromeando? You’d kill me yourself if I told them.”
“I might.” Alejandro gave his younger brother a long look, trying to decide whether he was lying. But Miguel met his hard stare with evident sincerity.
“So,” Alejandro said at last. “What I think is, maybe they will send me away and keep you. I don’t think they will kill me. They want Natividad, and if they are wise they will want you. It must be useful for Dimilioc to have some ordinary humans and I don’t think they do right now. I think they will say to one another, ‘That young one, he is only a boy, he shows promise and he can be brought up to be Dimilioc in his heart, and anyway he is not a black dog so he is no threat.’ I think they will say, ‘That black pup, though, he does not have such good control of his shadow, and at his age he will challenge everyone and never rest from violence.’ If they say things like that, Miguel, then it is important that you let them blame me for our trespass. It will not matter to me, and maybe it will help you.”
Miguel nodded, but this was not exactly agreement.
Alejandro said, a little more forcefully, “Harás lo que yo te diga. If they keep Natividad, and they will, it is important she have a brother near her. You understand?”
“Yes. Yes! I understand. You don’t need to keep on about it!” Miguel got to his feet, taking an impatient step away.
“If you understand and agree, then I don’t,” Alejandro said grimly. “If you tell them and then they don’t kill us both, I really will kill you myself.”
“Papá suggested we come here,” Miguel said. “And you decided we would. Natividad and me, we never make decisions, we’re just along for the ride.”
“Good.”
“But if they send you away, they’re fools, and if they kill you, I won’t forgive it.”
Alejandro nodded. “So, what will they do? Do you think I worry for nothing?”
Miguel shrugged, glancing up to meet his brother’s eyes and then down again, uncomfortably. “Nothing about this is obvious. I don’t know the Dimilioc wolves well enough t
o guess. I don’t know.” He looked at Alejandro earnestly. “I really don’t. But Grayson’s smart and he doesn’t care a lot about tradition. I mean, once so many vampires got killed that there weren’t enough to keep their miasma going and people began to see vampires and blood kin and then black dogs? No one expected that, right? But Grayson figured out he could use that by just sending the right information to the right people so the humans themselves would attack the blood kin where Dimilioc couldn’t reach them. That was really clever, and usually a black dog wouldn’t think of things like that. So, I get that Dimilioc didn’t used to let anybody just walk up and join, but Grayson’s different – and Papá was a Toland.”
Alejandro thought that Miguel might be partly right, but that unpredictability was not the most reassuring quality the Dimilioc Master might possess. But he said only, “Maybe you are right. So. Rest, then. You rest, and I will also, and as Natividad said, we will let the morning take care of itself.”
But the morning came, and nothing happened.
The windowless basement room offered no sign of the brightening dawn and the soundproofing was too good to allow any sound from the house above to filter down to the cell, but Alejandro felt the sun anyway, a pressure against his shadow. No one brought more food. There was still some bread left, and some of the berry preserves. Alejandro left the food for the twins, who woke stiff and bleary. Miguel did not complain. Natividad complained about the lack of a toothbrush, and the lack of a hot shower, and the lack of clean clothing: their belongings, escaso – scant – as they were, had not come down to the cell with them. But she did not complain about the silence from the house above, or admit that she was afraid of what this silence might portend.
Alejandro could not touch the silver-wrapped bars of the cage, but Miguel stood on a chair to string cord across the width of the cell and then hung blankets across the cord. There were even clothespins to make the job easier – Alejandro would not have expected Ezekiel to think of such a detail, or to bother finding a handful of pins even if he did. He almost thought well of the verdugo for a moment, until he caught himself.
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