Black Dog: A Christmas Story (Knights of Black Swan Book 13)

by Victoria Danann

  Turning away from the banter, Storm pulled out his phone. “Hello?”

  Ram and Elora were reentering the kitchen, having been shooed out of the dining room.

  Litha came rushing in with excitement written all over her. “I’ve got it!” she said, just as Storm said, “We’ve got it!”

  Everyone gathered around the dining room table to see if Litha had placed Blackie at the same spot where Simon’s informants placed the dog fight. It was one and the same. Donnemara.

  Litha would have to be on site personally to find the exact location, but she wouldn’t be needed for that. They had good intel about where to look.

  Ram looked at his watch. “What time will it be?”

  “He didn’t say. Just that it would be tonight,” Storm answered. “I guess it could be anytime after dark.”

  “Great Paddy. Somebody needs to place an anonymous tip with the authorities. Ne’er heard of people who needed incarceration more.”

  “What are we waiting for?” Elora demanded. “Let’s go.”

  “No’ you, love. Storm and I’ll go this time.”

  “What do you mean not me?” she said with eyebrows drawn down low over her eyes.

  “Can no’ take the chance. You are very likely to be overcome and reveal that you’re no’, em, from here. We can no’ let that happen.” Ram looked at Litha. “Help. Please.”

  “Much as I hate to agree with Rammel, I think he’s right,” Litha said.

  Elora narrowed her eyes at Litha. “Traitor.”

  “I can take Storm through the passes,” Litha said, “but you’ll have to use wheels,” she said to Ram.

  “I’m goin’,” Helm said.

  “No. You’re no’ goin’ either.”

  “Da…”

  “We do no’ know what we’ll find or how we’ll have to handle it. The last thing I need is to be worried about you. No’ to mention that the future king can no’ be seen at a criminal gamblin’ event.”

  Helm slumped, knowing there was no argument for that. He looked at Duff, who said, “I’ll no’ be goin’ either. Same reason, plus lingerin’ animosity toward fae. We’ll be holdin’ down the fort and protectin’ the females.”

  Song snorted at that.

  Helm was not assuaged. It was times such as these that solidified his strong suspicion that he would never want to be king.

  Ram pulled on a knit cap and a boiled wool pea coat. “Call me as soon as you find it and let me know what’s goin’ on.”

  “I will,” Storm said just as the handcuff that bound his and Litha’s wrists together snapped shut. “See you there.”

  Ram turned to Elora. “Do no’ be mad.” She shrank away when he tried to kiss her. He allowed it, dropped his hands and headed toward the door. Before he could disappear into the mud room and out into the night, she changed her mind.

  She gave him a kiss to remember and said, “I am mad. But you’re still my hero. Find my dog.”

  “Workin’ on it.”

  “You’ll call? I need to know what’s happening.”

  “Every chance I get.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  When the noise of Ram’s engine died away, Elora sat down next to the fire. “Anything?” she asked.

  “I can no’ see the outcome clearly, but for what it’s worth, I have a feelin’ all will be lovely.”

  Kellareal returned after twenty minutes or so to transport Song and Duff to Edinburgh.

  Helm went out to take care of the wolf-dog and sheep chores.

  That left Elora alone in the kitchen. Her eyes glazed over as she anxiously tapped her short nails on the table next to her phone.

  The house suddenly sounded like elephants doing a Virginia Reel on the roof, which meant the twins were descending the wood stairs in typical fashion.

  They came running into the kitchen. “We’re goin’ to cook,” said Gale.

  Elora’s eyes cleared and she smiled. “That is very thoughtful of you. I think it will just be our family for supper, but make enough for Storm.”

  They both nodded. “O’course. And, also, we were wonderin’. Till Blackie comes home, could we bring Dol in the house?”

  “Certainly not. This is no time for house manners training. What are you thinking?” They looked at each other with sheepish expressions. Gavain blushed a little. “You might as well tell me now. What do I not know?”

  “Em,” Gale began, “that we’ve been bringin’ him in for years when you and Blackie are gone. His manners are perfect.”

  Gavain nodded and repeated, “Perfect.”

  Elora didn’t have either energy or inclination for scolding, especially since Dolmen Blacknell had indirectly helped to locate Blackie. She stared at the twins for a few seconds that seemed like much longer. After the crowd of people had dwindled to just the three of them in the kitchen, the room seemed extraordinarily quiet with no one speaking.

  Elora felt a little pang of the guilt that is inescapable for moms. “I don’t love Blackie more than you,” she said.

  In a rare glimpse of the empathetic women they would become, the girls seemed to instinctively know that would be a good time to give their mom a hug. In an instant Elora was surrounded by young female versions of the mate she adored, except for the multihued red hair.

  “You girls really know how to give good hugs. Go on and get Dol and show me that he knows how to be a good boy inside the house.”

  Within seconds she heard the mud room door slam. She stood so that she could see out the kitchen windows. The girls were running toward the kennel without coats or hats or scarves or gloves. Elora sighed, thinking that they were as wild as Ram must have been at that age.

  Elora caught her breath when she saw that they’d taken Dol out of the kennel without a leash. Dol was the foundation of the wolf-dog breeding program. If he got distracted by a car or a hare, there might be two invaluable dogs missing instead of one. But Dol wasn’t looking at anything but the twins. He was bounding along beside them as they ran, looking like there was nothing better in the universe.

  When the mudroom door opened and slammed, Elora immediately picked up on the sound of wolf-dog claws clicking on the old hardwood floor. She loved that sound.

  To her surprise, Dol came straight to her, and stood wagging his tail. When she didn’t immediately reach out to pet him, he parted his lips and tried to talk. That made Elora laugh for the first time since she’d realized Blackie was gone.

  “So you’re an affection hound,” she said as she reached out and ran her hand over his silky fur, kept in peak condition with great food and frequent grooming.

  “He is!” Gavain said. “We call him our pettin’ pig.”

  Elora chuckled. To Dol, she said, “It will do you no good to flirt with me. My heart belongs to your da.”

  “The only way you will e’er get him to stop beggin’ is to be borin’.”

  “Be boring?”

  “Aye. You have to turn away and pretend he’s no’ there.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  Storm unlocked the handcuff. Litha could have done it. She also had a key. After the season when Storm was lost, they began taking airtight precautions to insure there’d be no repeat of that incident.

  “You go on home and rest,” Storm said. “If I need you, I’ll call.”

  “I’ll go if you swear you’ll call regardless. I want to know what’s happening.”

  “Text.”

  “Deal.”

  “Off you go.”

  “That ordering me around thing is not sexy, Sir Storm.”

  “Well,” he chuckled, “neither is your runny nose.”

  “Ha. Ha.” And she was gone.

  There was no worry about witnesses. They were behind an old barn. And it was dark.

  The location was about ten minutes outside Donnemara, but it had taken them twenty minutes to find it. In the end they did so by following the trail of cars. It was highly unusual to see traffic on a B road at night the day after Yule.

/>   It would have been beyond Litha’s pay grade to navigate passes, remaining in that nether space while monitoring the movement of objects in a particular dimension. But Kellareal could do it.

  The event was apparently being staged at an abandoned manor farm that was for sale. In addition to the house there was a large barn and a stable.

  “Let’s find my wife’s dog,” said Ram.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When the men came for Blackie he was standing at the back of the stall waiting. He planned to lunge and get past them, but they were expert at handling dogs who were unwilling.

  “Your turn, old fella. Do no’ worry. ‘Twill all be over soon.”

  With the muzzle on his face, Blackie couldn’t bite. All he could do was growl.

  The men both carried poles with noose loops at the end. Blackie was helpless to stop them from looping the ropes over his head. One on either side of him, they were able to march him straight toward the ‘pit’ that was, in this case, a chain link circular cage built three days before in the center of the barn.

  When Blackie saw that he was being taken to a cage made of chain link, he was triggered by his early experience of being tortured in a prison that looked much the same. He dug in his heels, trying to refuse to go further, at the same time shaking his head violently trying to free himself of the nooses. But the choice became clear in seconds. Walk forward or die from choking.

  For a time it seemed as if Blackie was choosing the latter. So one of the men broke the stalemate by withdrawing a small taser then delivering a low setting shock to Blackie’s tail. Not enough to paralyze or mitigate the dog’s performance in the pit. Just enough to get him moving the last few feet into the cage. Once inside, one of the foul-smelling men removed the muzzle while keeping the noose taut from both sides.

  They then stepped outside the cage, threading the poles though openings. From the outside, they loosened the loops so that Blackie’s head was freed, and withdrew the poles.

  “Ladies and Gents. We have a big Alsatian from the east country ready and able to take on the series champion.”

  Blackie had been running in circles around the circular cage looking for a sign of weakness, any means of escape, but he stopped still when the cage door opened. Another dog was being brought in. A young Rottweiler, all thick muscle and no brains. When the other dog’s muzzle was removed, the creature began snarling and snapping in Blackie’s direction, drooling foamy saliva, like he was crazed.

  Blackie was confused by the behavior. He had nothing the other dog might want. There was no female in heat. No pack or territory to defend. It made no sense. So Blackie stood quietly staring at the other dog. Evaluating.

  The crowd was being worked into a frenzy with odds quoting and promises of blood. And the sound was supremely irritating to Blackie. It seemed to crescendo just as the other dog was released.

  The Rottweiler lunged toward Blackie, teeth bared. Blackie ducked to the side at the last possible millisecond. The result was that the dog’s fangs raked a gash from the top of Blackie’s shoulder to his chest. But before it had even registered with the Rottweiler that he’d missed his target, Blackie had seized the other dog’s thick throat in his jaws with a vice grip.

  When the Rottweiler sank to the floor, the crowd instantly stilled and went eerily quiet, many of them understanding that the money they’d bet on the ‘series champion’ was badly spent.

  “Guess we found your dog,” Storm said as he and Rammel came running into the barn.

  Ram’s first impulse was to call out to Blackie, but thankfully he realized the distraction could do more harm than good.

  Blackie could feel the Rottweiler’s heartbeat in his mouth. When he felt it slow, he gave the dog a mighty shake which served the purpose of digging his teeth even further and severing the artery he’d been squeezing.

  Storm and Ram began moving around the circle toward the cage opening.

  Blackie opened his jaws and raised his eyes to the gate opening of the cage. When the handlers came to open the gate, he simply stood still over the dog he’d killed in self-defense, with head down. He was bleeding profusely, panting, and had murder in his eyes.

  He watched carefully as the handlers stepped into the cage. They pulled the gate closed most of the way, but didn’t engage the latch. Calling on the cunning of his coyote cousins, Blackie remained utterly still as if he was resigned and docile. When the man closest to him extended the pole with the noose, Blackie waited until the rope loop was inches away from his face.

  Exploding into a burst of speed that belied the wound he’d sustained, he ducked to the right of the man on the right and ran straight through the gate opening. Ram had been making his way through the crowd and arrived at the gate opening the same time as Blackie.

  He called out, “Blackie! Blackie!” And was almost close enough to reach out and touch as the dog went by in a blur.

  Blackie didn’t hear Ram call to him. Nor did he pick up the familiar scent in the ocean of disagreeable smells. He ran out into the night, ignoring the wound, feeling elated.

  Elora.

  Helm.

  Home.

  Elora.

  Helm.

  Home.

  Blackie was as focused as a creature can be. He knew what he wanted. He knew what he was going to do. He would ignore the stinging pain, the dark, and the cold. The only thing that mattered was that he was going home.

  Ram looked at Storm with incredulity. “Great Fuckin’ Paddy! Elora is goin’ to hang my balls on the line to dry when she finds out I was this close.”

  As Storm was opening his mouth to answer, they realized the barn had broken into pandemonium. Some of the people were shouting, “Raid! Raid!”

  Storm rolled his eyes, pulled out his phone and dialed Simon. When Simon picked up, Storm held a finger over the ear that did not have a phone held to it. “Can you please make sure these fine officers don’t grab Ram and me?” Pause. “We’ll wait quietly and leave when things settle down.” Pause. “He’s alive. Injured. He broke free and, if I had to guess, would say he’s going to try to find his way home.” Pause. “Yes. I know there’ve been instances of that happening.” Pause. “Yeah. Know that, too.” Storm ended the call.

  “Know what, too?” Ram said.

  Storm took a deep breath. “The reason why those stories are so dramatic is because it’s rare. It’s cold, dark, and that open gash looked nasty.”

  Ram looked around. “We might have an ace.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Aye. An ace named Dolmen Blacknell.”

  It was Ram’s turn to pull out his phone and dial Helm.

  “Da?”

  “Where are ye?”

  “Upstairs. In my room.”

  “Good. Helm, ye know I would ne’er condone subterfuge where your mother is concerned unless there was a really, really, really good reason.”

  “Okay?”

  “I need you to do somethin’.”

  “What?”

  “I need you to get Dol, put him in my car and bring him here.”

  “And you want me to do that without Mum knowin’?”

  “You catch on quick.”

  “Slight problem with that. First, I do no’ have a license to drive. Second, Dol is in the house. Sittin’ right next to Mum.”

  “FOR THE EVER-FUCKIN’ LOVE OF GREAT PADDY AND ALL HIS KIN CAN I NO’ CATCH A FUCKIN’ BREAK!?!”

  “Hold on. I’ll make up somethin’ about thinkin’ ‘tis best to return Dol to the kennel before it gets any later.”

  Feeling slightly calmer, Ram said, “Aye. Good thinkin’. Regardin’ the drivin’. You’re the fuckin’ king of Ireland. You do no’ need a license to drive your own roads. But you better get here safely. And dress warm. ‘Tis cold tonight.”

  “Is Blackie okay?”

  “He killed a Rotty and broke free. He’s hurt, but alive. Goin’ cross-country.”

  “On my way.”

  “Bring that blanket so Dol knows w
ho he’s lookin’ for. And take the Tesla so your mum won’t hear you leave.”

  Blackie had run like the devil was after him, which made it hard for the blood in his wound to coagulate. It kept breaking open. But he stopped running when he topped a slight rise a quarter mile from the scene of the dog fight. He looked over his shoulder.

  No one was following. He was free.

  He was heading northeast. Somehow his inner compass knew it was the right way. But it was dark. Not even a clear sky with a waxing moon. Just cold black night.

  His body demanded he slow down. He’d lost blood and was limping on the side where he was injured. When he came to the first stone sheep fence, at a height he could normally clear without much effort, he was forced to find a way around. That would happen again and again and again, but there was no obstacle this side of death that would stop him.

  Storm and Ram watched as the authorities arrested Jack Doyle, Charlie Sweeney, and eight other ‘associates’.

  Moran had received a tip from an informant. He was not on the premises and had carefully structured his business so that deniability was always plausible. The next day he would have someone bail his employees out. He’d pay fines, perhaps allow less crucial employees to do a little jail time, but the main thing was that he’d be back in business within two weeks.

  Helm arrived around eleven o’clock and handed the keys to the car to his father. “Okay. See you later.”

  “What do you mean ‘see you later’?” Ram said.

  “I’m trackin’ Blackie with this dog here,” Helm said as if it was obvious.

  “Hold on. Who said you were doin’ any such thing? I’m trackin’ the dog. You’re goin’ in the car with Storm.” To Storm Ram said, “Turn on your 360 and I’ll turn on mine so you’ll know where I am.”

  Storm nodded and pulled out his phone.

  When Ram reached for Dol’s leash, Helm pulled it back. “Da. Look at me. I dressed for this. You did no’. E’en so, when was the last time you ran twenty-eight miles?”