Black Dog (9 page)

Alejandro couldn't remember now how well he'd understood his father, then. How well could any little black dog pup really understand where his shadow stopped and he started? But he reached out now as he had reached out then and touched his sister's cheek gently with fingers that were human right to the tips of the blunt nails. He had protected her from that moment, protected her all her life. Until he had brought her here, where he could not protect her from anything.

He couldn't fight the
verdugo
,
anyway. He told himself firmly that it didn't matter: Dimilioc would not kill a Pure girl. He told himself that, and tried to believe it.

They had all thought themselves very brave, when they had decided to come to Grayson Lanning and ask Dimilioc to take them in. Papá might have said that Grayson was an honorable man and a good Master for Dimilioc, but he had also said, all their lives,
Dimilioc does not tolerate strays, remember that. You never want to catch Dimilioc's attention
.
They all knew it was a desperate thing to do.

Alejandro had wanted the twins to run east instead, to Japan maybe, or China. To some country where Natividad would not need to fear Vonhausel's pursuit or the violence of
perros
negros
. But she had refused. Because she did not want to go to so foreign a country, she had said. Really, he knew, she had refused for his sake. The Chinese dragons loathed black dogs almost as much as they had loathed vampires. Black dogs could not go into the Far East, and so Natividad would not go.

For himself, he was glad she had refused. He would have gone with them, guarded them along the way despite the danger. In the Far East, his brother and sister would have been safe from every demonic threat, certainly safe from Vonhausel. But Miguel had said no, who knew if the Chinese dragons would hate the Pure as they hated black dogs, the magic was all tied together after all, they should come to Dimilioc instead. Now Alejandro wondered how his human brother had made this sound like such a good idea. He thought of Ezekiel's dispassionate contempt, of Grayson's massive strength, and running north no longer seemed so clever. He wished very much for Papá, for his strength and his confidence – but even Papá's strength had not been enough, and his confidence had been misplaced, and he was dead. No one but Alejandro was left to protect Natividad and Miguel, and how could he do that here?

He wanted to get up, to pace. That might disturb Natividad. He did not want to wake her. They had pushed her too hard today, too hard for many days before this one. She was tired – she was exhausted still with grief, though she would never admit it, and then Alejandro had pushed her to keep up with the killing pace a black dog did not even feel.
Miguel
could keep up, more or less, for a while. But Natividad?

He wanted to break the chairs, tear the blankets, hurl himself at the bars of the cell. He did not move, except to stare restlessly up the stairs.

How long could it
take
, for Grayson Lanning to question Miguel? It seemed a very long time, but was probably not even an hour, before the stairway door clicked open. Alejandro was on his feet at once, all his muscles tight. He saw Ezekiel first, and for a moment no one else. His breath caught.

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 control 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.”