Black Dog Short Stories (19 page)

              Justin shook his head.

              “Or maybe not.  You don’t know damn all, do you?”  Ethan paused again, staring at Justin.  Now, for the first time, he looked a little sympathetic.  In a way, that was more alarming than indifference or even disapproval.  He asked abruptly, “What’s your name, kid?”

              “Justin,” Justin muttered.  “I’m not a kid.”

              “Justin,” repeated the young man.  “And what were your parents, Justin?  Do you even know?”  He took another bite of ham and bread, watching Justin steadily.  His eyes were dark, but flecked with gold.  There was a heat to his gaze that wasn’t anything Justin recognized.  A vicious sharp-edged heat, like anger but different.  Something about Ethan seemed almost familiar, but Justin couldn’t have said what, or who, that sharp anger reminded him of.

              Father Mark groaned, put a hand to his head, got his feet under him, and heaved himself upward.  Justin caught his arm and helped, not that he was strong enough to keep the priest upright if he collapsed again, but he could at least support him on the way down.

              “What –” began the priest, as he had before, but stopped again.  He leaned against the counter, touched his head gingerly with a hand that still trembled, cleared his throat, looked at Justin, and asked at last, “What
were
those . . . were they
demons
?  Do
you
know?”

              Justin could only shake his head, but Ethan, smiling with savage humor, said “That’s right, Father.  Demons.  Don’t worry about it, though; they’re gone now.”

              Father Mark and Justin both began to speak and both stopped.  Justin was sure they both wanted to ask something on the order of
And are
you
a demon, then?
But probably that wouldn’t be at all smart.

              Then a sharp crunching sound from outside interrupted them and removed the temptation to ask stupid questions.  Justin stood very still, listening.  Someone stepping on glass or shattered wood.  In just an instant, another werewolf was going to surge into this house, and there was no longer even a door in place to slow it down –

              Ezekiel stepped through the doorway.  He took in the missing bodies, the pooling blood, Ethan with his ham sandwich, and Father Mark and Justin huddling together in the midst of all the mess and destruction.  He didn’t seem impressed by any of it.  He merely said, to Justin, “You’ve had time to catch your breath, I hope, because it’s well past time to leave.”

              “In a rush, are we?” said Ethan.  “You weren’t in much of a hurry about your hunt.”

              “I encountered complications.”  Ezekiel didn’t even glance at the other young man.  He was studying Father Mark and frowning.

              Ethan set the rest of his snack aside.  “Complications?”  And, after a moment, when Ezekiel did not answer, he went on, “Yeah, there’s another complication right here, isn’t there?  What do you want to do about the priest?”

              It took Justin a moment to believe he’d heard the young man correctly.  Then he took a fresh grip on his butter knife and stepped in front of Father Mark, who made an inarticulate sound and began to try to straighten up.

              Ezekiel raised a pale eyebrow at him, but said to Ethan, “We don’t need to do anything about him at all.  He’s not important.”

              “You think Grayson will agree?”

              “Yes,” Ezekiel said flatly.  “That’s what I think.”

              Ethan shrugged.  “Whatever you say.  If Grayson’s pissed off, it won’t be
my
problem.”

              “Exactly,” said the other young man, and added, speaking now to Justin, “
You
now. 
You’re
important.  Were you heading for Dimilioc?”

              “He wasn’t.  He doesn’t know anything,” said Ethan.  He gave Justin an unreadable look.  “Not about himself, not about Dimilioc.  He’s completely clueless.  Don’t ask me how he’s lived this long without knowing anything about anything, but I’d lay odds he doesn’t.”

              Ezekiel tilted his head to the side, regarding Justin with narrow-eyed curiosity.  He said after a moment, “That right?  Your mother left you so ignorant?”

              Justin stared back at him.  “Watch what you say about my mother.”

              There was a slight pause.  Then Ezekiel smiled, thinly but with real humor.  “You’ve got guts, kid.  Good for you.  But, trust me on this, you do not actually want us to walk away and leave you here alone.  You do not want that.  You may not have to worry about the vampires or their damned blood kin anymore, but you might have noticed that now we’ve got a problem with strays.  And you’re Pure.  You’re going to draw them like terriers after a little mouse, do you realize that?  It does not matter what you do or where you go or how clever you are with magic.  You are going to get yourself killed, and until you do, you’re a danger to everyone around you.  You understand me?”

              “Wow, that sounds scary,” Justin said recklessly.  “But I’ve been fine till now, so I don’t know why that should change.  You walking away and leaving me alone sounds like a great idea.”

              Ethan rolled his eyes.  “Why are we arguing?  Tell the kid how it’s going to be and let’s get on.”

              “Listen, I’m
not
–” Justin began.  At the same time, Father Mark said sharply, “You can’t just
kidnap
–”

              Interrupting them both, Ezekiel strode across the room and closed a hand on Justin’s upper arm.  Though Justin brought the butter knife up into a half-hearted guard position, the werewolf caught his wrist as well and twisted with inexorable strength, forcing him to drop it.  From mere inches away, he met Justin’s eyes and said softly, “I can do anything I want.  You can’t stop me.  Can you?”

              Justin, furious and terrified, strained, briefly, against the werewolf’s grip. It was like trying to shove against steel.

              “And what I want to do,” Ezekiel said, still in that soft, dangerous voice, “is take you to Dimilioc, where, whether you believe me or not, you will be safe.  Dimilioc protects the Pure.  We really do.  But we do not have time to stand here and argue.  Therefore you will be quiet and cooperate, or I will kill the priest after all.  Which I do not want to do.  So don’t force me to it.  Do you understand?”

              “Now, look, son –” began Father Mark.

              “Shut up,” the young werewolf said, without looking at him.

              He did not raise his voice, but somehow his quiet tone carried enough intensity that Father Mark stopped almost mid-word.  Justin had no idea how Ezekiel did it, but he thought he would have shut up, too, if it had been him.  He stared into the werewolf’s eyes.  Ezekiel stared back, patient and ruthless.

              “You will cooperate,” Ezekiel said to Justin.  “You’ll come along nicely.  I won’t kill anyone.  I swear to you, you won’t be harmed in any way.  Nor anyone else.  But you won’t try to walk away or make a scene or anything of the kind.  No Pure tricks, if you do know any.  No magic tangle-you-up nonsense, none of that.  That’s the bargain.  Understand?”

              Justin absolutely did not understand, but he spared a glance for Father Mark.  Then he nodded.

              The werewolf barely smiled.  “Good.”  He let Justin go and gave Father Mark a brief look, faintly apologetic.  “Justin will be fine.  So will you, I expect.  Once Justin’s gone, there shouldn’t be much to draw a stray back here.  Rather the reverse.  Still, you might fix a crucifix above every door and every window, just in case his scent lingers.”

              Father Mark squinted at him.  “A crucifix.  Right. 
Are
you a demon, then, son?”

              Ezekiel shrugged.  “Only half.  Not the half that’s in control.”  He beckoned to Justin and turned away, his whole attitude expressing his confidence that everything was going to go exactly according to plan from this moment forward.

              Justin hesitated.  Then he picked up the butter knife and put it in his pocket, trying to be unobtrusive.  He was pretty sure both Ezekiel and Ethan noticed, but neither commented.  Justin looked around, feeling lost and uncertain.  “My things . . . the hotel . . .”

              “Your things are replaceable.  You do not want to go back to your hotel just now.  Trust me on this.”  Ezekiel took his arm in a hard grip that just missed being painful and propelled him easily toward the door.  Justin’s quick, half-desperate glance back showed him only a rectangle of homey yellow light rapidly disappearing behind him, like the last hope of an ordinary life.