Alejandro nodded. “At Dimilioc… What…?”
“I don’t know,” Ezekiel snapped. “Everyone is fine right now, the message says. Trust Grayson. He won’t let anything happen to your sister.”
Alejandro heard just the faintest growl vibrating under that assurance. For the first time he realized that it might be a good thing to have Ezekiel Korte interested in Natividad: it had not occurred to him until this moment that Grayson might work hard to keep Natividad alive just to avoid trouble with Ezekiel.
But he said merely, “Yes.”
“Keep an eye on things back here,” Ezekiel added, and stared hard at Thaddeus, who stared back for a heartbeat before he looked down. “Don’t give me any trouble,” he said at last. “Or him, either.” By which he meant Alejandro. “I’m sure I don’t need to point out that trying to kill the pilot of your plane while thousands of feet in the air lacks a certain je ne se quoi. But I will also add that I’m tired and I’m going to get more tired, that the moon’s call will be stronger once we’re in the sky, that this damned cut from your damned knife hurts like a son of a bitch, and that I’m not long on temper at the moment. Is that clear?”
Thaddeus bowed his head low. And, after Ezekiel turned back to the plane’s controls, Thaddeus did nothing more threatening than sit between his wife and Alejandro, his head still down. None of them spoke, Alejandro because of Ezekiel’s warning and Thaddeus probably because he was afraid Alejandro would take offense at something he said and complain to Ezekiel. Or maybe because he was afraid that if he said anything, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from making threats, then from trying to carry them out – he was so angry, and they both knew that he was stronger than Alejandro.
DeAnn did not speak, either. She sat close to her husband, leaning her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed and her fingers laced with his, dulce de leche against dark chocolate. The close presence of two hostile black dogs was surely enough to explain her silence, though Alejandro would have liked her to talk, would have welcomed the sound of her voice. If not for Ezekiel’s order, he would have talked to her as though she was Natividad: anything, nonsense, just to hear her answer.
Was Natividad safe? What trouble had led to that order to hurry back? Alejandro did not want to think about that, but of course he could think about nothing else. Everyone is fine right now. Well, good, even that assurance made it clear there had been trouble.
If Thaddeus did anything to slow them down, Alejandro decided, he would help Ezekiel beat the hell out of him.
7
Natividad hated the way she felt after Alejandro left with Ezekiel – frightened and timid, like a little mouse trapped among wolves. She was afraid to leave her room. It was ridiculous to feel this way. She never felt this way. But when she stood at her window and watched Ezekiel drive away with her brother, the big car crushing the snow of the driveway, its headlights plunging into the pre-dawn darkness of the winter forest, even though it was totally ridiculous, she did feel that way.
“He’ll be fine,” Miguel said. “Ezekiel won’t hurt ‘Jandro.” He was sitting cross-legged on her bed, watching her rather than looking after Alejandro.
“Eso es, lo sé,” said Natividad. Her twin was right. Alejandro would be perfectly safe with Ezekiel, because Ezekiel wanted her.
Who would have thought the one Dimilioc wolf most determined to have her would be her own age? Well, almost, anyway. Although he didn’t exactly want her. It would be so easy to fool herself about that, but Ezekiel would probably keep any Pure girl company while she made cinnamon rolls. There was nothing flattering about it. He probably didn’t actually like her at all. Which was fine. Nothing about the deal with Dimilioc depended on anybody actually liking anybody else. It certainly didn’t matter whether she liked the Dimilioc executioner or thought he was muy atractivo.
“You’ll be fine, too,” Miguel said, too perceptive for comfort. Natividad tried to smile. When her brother held a hand out to her, she crossed the room and tucked herself on the bed next to him, curling up small among the pillows. Miguel moved over to give her room. “The famous Mallory charm’s got nothing on you,” he promised her. “They’ll all be wriggling like puppies for you in a week.”
“Oh, right…” Natividad said.
Miguel laughed at her. “Oh, yes, they will. Benedict’s already making eyes at you, and Ethan’s going to come around, you wait and see, and of course you’ve already got Ezekiel. All the boys looove you. Puppy love, all cute and wriggly, you wait and see.”
“You’re an idiot,” Natividad said, but she gave up and laughed, as he had intended. “Wriggling I don’t need! Anyway, Ezekiel…” She stopped, not knowing how to finish that sentence. Thinking about Ezekiel didn’t make her want to laugh at all. He was courting her, obviously. That was better than him not bothering, right? At least he cared what she thought. She was pretty sure.
Executioner at fourteen. Almost fourteen, he’d said. That was hard to imagine. What would that do to somebody? Nothing good, she was sure. She sighed. If Mamá was here… Mamá could have handled Ezekiel and Grayson and Keziah and everybody…
“Yeah, about that thing with Ezekiel…”
Natividad didn’t want to talk about that with her twin. That she couldn’t talk to Mamá about Ezekiel hurt so much she couldn’t think about it more than an instant. She didn’t want to let Miguel guess about that because it would only bring back his own vivid grief and anger. She jumped up, went back across to the window, and drew a pentagram with her fingertip on the window glass, just below the one she had drawn there the previous morning. The pentagrams might be invisible to ordinary sight, but when she turned her head so that the light fell on the window at just the right angle, she could see them. They glowed on the glass, milk pale, as though they reflected moonlight even though no visible moon rode in the overcast sky.
She drew a third pentagram above the other two, then traced a finger across each one. “Que la paz este en esta casa,” she said, and then repeated it in English: “Let there be peace in this house.”
“In this house?” Miguel said.
Natividad nodded, acknowledging his tone. “Everyone here is unhappy or afraid.” She thought about this and sighed. “Mostly both.”
“Well, you know, black dogs. I’ll see if I can work with Ethan. Grayson wants him to help me make silver bullets, so that’ll give him a chance to get used to me. He’s not really so bad, I think.”
“It’s hard for him,” Natividad agreed. “I bet it always has been hard for him. Imagine growing up in the same house as Ezekiel. I bet he couldn’t ever match Ezekiel in anything even when they were both little.”
“Exactly. And he probably knows Alejandro is stronger – which I think he is – and now there’s Keziah. Oooh.” Miguel clutched his chest, pretending he’d been struck by an arrow, but Natividad was pretty sure he wasn’t really kidding. “Ethan’s afraid he’s going to wind up right down on the bottom of the whole younger set,” Miguel added. “He’ll like having me around.”
Natividad laughed. “Oh, yes, of course he will, until he finds out what a bully you are! No, you’re right, I thought he was kind of a bastardo at first, but I think you’re right. He’s just scared and worried.”
“So, I’ll see what I can do with him. What do you think about his father?”
“Oh, well…” Natividad had barely exchanged two words with Harrison Lanning. She said slowly, “He’s worried about his son, I expect, but that isn’t all. There’s something else there. He doesn’t like me – or something. I’m not sure.”
“We’ll figure him out. If he doesn’t like you now, he will – everybody does.” Miguel sounded perfectly confident. “What about Zachariah?”
Natividad grinned. “Oh, I like him! I do. I think Grayson really depends on Zachariah – I didn’t think black dogs could really be friends, you know, but you can see they are. And maybe Harrison, too. I think Dimilioc is lucky all three of them came through the war.”
“Yeah.”
“James, I can’t tell yet. He seems like kind of a jerk, but at least he really cares about Dimilioc. That Keziah, though – wow.”
Miguel nodded. “Oooh,” he said again, appreciatively.
“Poor little Amira, though, you can see somebody cut her on purpose. I hope the vampires got all the black dogs in the whole Mideast.” Natividad mimed spitting on the floor. “I bet they had a black dog father and black dog brothers. Everyone betrayed them, nobody protected them – except Keziah protected Amira. That’s what I think.”
“She’s something,” Miguel agreed. He lay back on her bed, crossing his arms under his head. “You think she’ll want to be friends?”
Natividad rolled her eyes. “With you? She’s too sexy for you. She’ll eat your heart.”
“You’re talking about the love of my life, here.”
Natividad ignored this plaintive protest. “You know she got somebody to do the Aplacando for her before? And for her sister? She’s smart and she knows what she wants – and what she wants is to be inside Dimilioc’s power. Grayson wants her to be Dimilioc–” she touched her own chest “–in her heart. But I think she hates Grayson. I think she hates all black dog men. She hasn’t even noticed you – and you’d better hope she doesn’t, gemelo. She’ll chew you up and spit you out. That’s what I think.”
“Um.” Miguel looked unhappy.
“Black dog or human, in some ways, guys are all the same.” Natividad gave her brother a knowing lift of her eyebrows. “When I say she’ll eat your heart, I mean literalmente. She’s dangerous. Anyway, she’s too old for you. I bet she’s eighteen, or seventeen anyway. Why would she notice you?”
“I like you better when you’re not so serious,” Miguel complained.
Natividad ignored this. “Now, Grayson…” Grayson kind of had that extra-sexy older guy muy masculino thing going, but she didn’t say that. Anyway, it wasn’t important, as long as Ezekiel… She didn’t want to think about that. She said instead, “Grayson lost almost all his wolves in the war, didn’t he? And now there’s Vonhausel. He’s grieving and he’s scared. And he’s angry, of course. With us, too. But…”
“But?”
“I think I like him. He cares about his people.” Natividad turned back to her pentagrams, and traced them again with her finger. If peace was too much to hope for… “Let there be happiness in this house,” she said. She drew light into the pentagrams, a soft moonlight that would hold them in place and keep her wish alive.
But she already knew that no one, Pure or not, could bring either happiness or peace to Dimilioc. Not while so many of the people within the house were afraid of one another or angry with one another. Not while they were surrounded by enemies who wanted to kill them all.
A rap on the door made Natividad turn quickly. Ethan shoved the door open and put his head through, scowling. “Bullets,” he said shortly to Miguel.
Miguel jumped to his feet. “Right! Coming.”
“What should I do?” asked Natividad, since even though it was still dark outside, the day was apparently officially starting.
“What do I care?” Ethan said, and withdrew again.
“Bastardo,” Natividad said under her breath.
Miguel grinned. “I can handle Ethan. But the Master’s the key. You need to work your magic on Grayson. Or if you see Keziah, you might put in a good word for me, huh?” He waved, jaunty and irrepressible, and dashed out.
Boys were idiots. Miguel was right about one thing, though, Natividad knew: the Master really was the key to Dimilioc.
Natividad found Grayson Lanning in the room with the fireplace and the great view, seated in one of the chairs closest to the window. There was no fire in the massive fireplace now, only ashes and a few dully smoldering coals. The room was cold for a human, though of course a black dog would not care.
The Dimilioc Master’s hands were steepled in front of him, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair. He was staring out into the dark, frowning, mouth set in a grim line, heavy brows pulled down in thought.
There was nothing Natividad could do about the grief and loss Dimilioc had suffered or the danger it now faced. But the Pure could do other things, sometimes. She slipped quietly into the room and crossed to the big window.
Grayson turned his head, awareness coming into his eyes. In a moment he would ask her what she wanted.
Natividad didn’t wait for him to speak. She walked across the room to the window and drew a pentagram on the glass, a big one, flanking it with two smaller ones. Then, tracing the lines of the pentagrams, she called light into them and said softly, “Let there be peace in this room. Let this room be a refuge for the weary heart.”
Grayson lowered his hands to the arms of his chair and shut his eyes. “Thank you,” he said after a moment, and opened his eyes again.
“Por nada,” Natividad said. “It’s not much. I know somebody else already put her wish on this house. I found her stars. A Jewish woman? Because they’re the other kind of star – Stars of David.”
Dark grief had come into the Master’s eyes. He stared at Natividad, a hard direct stare, until she belatedly remembered her manners and turned her face away. Then he asked, his voice deep but not angry, “Can you add to what has already been done?”
“I can reinforce it, but I can’t do better.” Natividad wanted to look Grayson in the face, but was pretty sure she shouldn’t. She stared out the window instead, at the rose-and-pearl light gleaming through the trees. She said gently, “No one could have put any better protection on the Dimilioc house than she did. She was strong and loving, that woman.” She glanced toward the Master and then away again. She knew that the unknown Pure woman who had woven her protection around the Dimilioc house had been someone important to the Dimilioc Master: sister, lover, cousin… Trying to break the moment, Natividad perched casually on the broad arm of one of the other chairs, not too close to Grayson. It was a sturdy chair and gave no quivering warning that her weight might tip it over. She said, “We’ve added to Dimilioc’s trouble, bringing our enemies here. I’m sorry.”
Grayson Lanning lifted an eyebrow and tilted his head. “You have, in one way. In another, you…” He stopped, his attention directed past Natividad, out the window.
A car was approaching. It was a heavy blunt-nosed vehicle, neither truck nor car but like a cross between the two, with tires that looked about twice as big as normal. No wonder Miguel hadn’t been able to get their car all the way along the road, if you needed a car like that one. But it slowed as it came into the cleared area before the house, where its headlights picked out streaks and spatters of frozen blood and ichor from the battle, visible against the white of the trampled snow.
“Pearson,” said the Master. “We’ll go down and meet him.” He didn’t sound exactly angry, but there was a dangerous growl in his voice.
Sheriff Pearson was a slight, slim man, probably in his forties. He was nothing like Natividad had expected from a small-town American sheriff. She suppressed a smile, thinking about sheriffs in American movies – at least, the good-guy sheriffs: tall and rugged, with tanned faces and wide-brimmed cowboy hats. Sheriff Pearson wasn’t like that. He wasn’t much taller than she was and actually kind of… elegant, Natividad decided, was the only accurate word. But there was a tension in him that prevented him from looking delicate. His eyes were almost the color of the pearl-gray sky. The tracery of fine lines at the corners of those pale eyes had been made by smiling, but he wasn’t smiling now, nor did he look like he planned to smile any time soon.
He knew something about black dogs. Enough to lower his eyes when Grayson Lanning stared at him. Enough to wait, despite the tension in his slim hands and the set of his shoulders, for Grayson to speak first. He carried a gun, but he kept his hands away from it, though she could tell from Grayson’s manner that his gun couldn’t be loaded with silver.
She thought of the black dogs that had attacked Dimilioc. The sheriff should have silver bullets
. She wondered whether Grayson would think so, or think to warn him, or allow Miguel to make some for him; whether she should suggest it. Not now, though; not with the Master glowering like that.
“Well?” growled Grayson, his posture stiff and aggressive.
Sheriff Pearson took this rough query for permission to look up, which it wasn’t. He also leaned forward slightly, which Natividad could tell was from tension and urgency, but which a black dog might take as challenge. She edged forward, not exactly between the two men, but finding a place to lean against the wall of the entryway about an equal distance from each.
“We had someone bitten last night,” the sheriff said without preamble. His voice was sharp and precise; he spoke as though each word was an edged weapon. Natividad wanted to put a hand on his arm, urge him to calm down as though he was a black dog, but she was afraid that if she tried he would only get angrier. “I don’t suppose that was one of your wolves, Grayson,” the sheriff continued icily, “but your warning was neither timely nor adequately specific. We trusted you to keep us clear of your black dog violence, at least–”
Grayson said, grimly, “I regret this. It was unexpected. I doubt that Dimilioc’s new enemy is interested in you or yours, but stray black dogs are rabble, difficult to control. We are taking steps to deal with the problem. This man who was bitten. I gather you have brought him to me?”
“It was a girl. Yes, I brought her to you.” The sheriff leaned forward, speaking rapidly and with gathering intensity, either unaware of the challenge he seemed to be making or else indifferent to the danger. Natividad pushed away from the wall in alarm, but Grayson didn’t move, and the sheriff continued, his voice rising, “You kill people who’ve been bitten. Of course you do. But I don’t want this girl killed. You have other ways of controlling–”
“Caging is merely a temporary measure,” said Grayson. “We seldom find moon-bound shifters worth the trouble.” His shadow, dense and misshapen, had gathered up around him in defiance of the light in the hallway. But the black dog anger barely showed in his voice. Even now, he did not threaten the man. Natividad didn’t think this was due to her presence. The Master just had that much control.
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