Pure Magic (Black Dog Book 3) (31 page)

Natividad ran her fingers across Keziah’s bloody hand.

“
Mi sangre con la suya, mi sombra con la suya, mi vida con la suya
,” Natividad said, and then repeated it rapidly in English, “My blood with yours, my shadow with yours, my life with yours, Keziah! This blood is mine, but it is also yours. This silver is mine, but also yours!” She ran her hand along the knife’s blade, smearing blood down its length, and dabbed her bloody fingers along its hilt. Then she offered it, cautiously, to the black dog girl.

Keziah touched the knife warily, just with her fingertips. Then she smiled, a slow savage smile, and took the knife into her own hand, and turned toward the door. “Don’t let anyone in,” she said over her shoulder, clearly a joke. Black dog humor was, Justin decided, definitely weird. Or maybe that was Keziah’s own peculiar sense of humor.

“Remember I want it back,” Natividad said quickly. “I want it back after you kill that vampire! Don’t forget and lose it, Keziah! I need it!” But by the time she’d added that last phrase, Keziah was gone. Natividad stared after her for a second, then edged cautiously toward the window.

“She’s going to fight that thing
and
the blood kin, all by herself,” said Justin, and knew he deserved the look Natividad gave him. “I know, I know, there isn’t anybody else. I just mean . . . can she
do
that?”

“She’s really good. But, no. Not for long. Dimilioc black wolves never fought vampires one on one. Not even new vampires like that one. That’s why they used to win. And, you know, even so . . .” She stopped without saying
Most of them died
in the war
, but Justin thought he heard that anyway.

Natividad pressed her hands against the windowpane. “That’s why she took the knife, though,” she added, in a low voice. “She doesn’t have to kill it. She just needs to blood that knife in it . . .” she imagined working with vampire blood, and shuddered. It was going to be awful. But she thought it might work.

“You’ve done this before?” Justin asked warily. “Or something like this?”

Natividad wanted to lie and say
Sure, every day, it’s something every Pure girl learns from her mother right along with drawing pentagrams
. She wanted to take that doubt away from his eyes and give him confidence. But it would be wrong, and worse if he tried himself to do anything like what she meant to do. She said reluctantly, “It’s awful, it’s a terrible idea, taking vampire magic and trying to get it to work with Pure magic. I’ve done something like this with black dog magic, but . . .” But she had used Alejandro’s shadow, and he was her brother and loved her and had given her his shadow willingly.

And black dogs were not vampires. Black dogs were partly human. Vampires only used bodies that had once been human. They were not really human at all. Everything they were was completely antithetical to Pure magic.

Justin came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “You can do this.”

“
Sí.
Right. Yes.” Natividad rubbed her face, which he now knew was an attempt to make herself think. He hoped it worked. But she said, her voice faint and desperate, “Pure magic is for defense. Pure magic alone isn’t enough. Keziah has to bring me that knife. She
has
to draw that vampire’s blood and bring me the knife . . . I can do something with that. Maybe. Maybe. I don’t know. I think I can. Without that . . .” she shook her head. “I don’t know.” It was a long time until dawn. And even if they made it to the coming dawn and were saved by the rising sun, even if they managed to get past the blood kin and get away . . . after the day, there was always another night. And it was a long, long way back to Dimilioc. She asked, “You never got Grayson?”

“We never got anyone,” Justin admitted.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Natividad, her voice small and scared, like she was trying to convince herself of that. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sure they’re fine. They have to be. He couldn’t help anyway. And we can’t help them, either. We’re all too far away from each other.”

Justin put an arm around her shoulders. “Keziah will kill the bad vampire and bring you that knife,” he told her. “And you’ll do amazing magic and save us all. That’s how it works: the creepy evil vampires get killed and the good guys win.”

“. . . right,” whispered Natividad. “That’s how it works.”

“Absolutely. Every time.”

Justin held her and didn’t say,
And then the actual master vampire arrives and slaughters us all
. He didn’t want to think about how things worked in the real world, where they had all learned that sometimes the monsters just won. He didn’t want to even look out that window. If he didn’t look, maybe all those blood kin and that horrible, stomach-twisting vampire wouldn’t be there. Maybe none of this would be happening. Maybe he could just believe that none of this had ever happened, that he had never faced a werewolf or known he should call them black dogs or seen a vampire. Maybe he could just believe there were no monsters in the world at all.

Then Natividad took a deep breath and pulled away from him, going to the window. So he had to follow her, and look out after all.

The Master of Dimilioc came alone into the territory of the Chernaya Volchitza, the Black Wolf of Russia. If one could call a single stinking warehouse and half a mile of harbor a territory, and Alejandro hoped Ethan was right that this was all she truly held. He wished fervently that Zinaida Kologrivova faced not only Grayson Lanning, but also Harrison Lanning and Zachariah Korte. Alejandro would have liked to see her take her mere dozen Russian wolves against that triumvirate
and
Ezekiel.
Then
let her declare that Dimilioc was weak.

He was bitterly aware that Dimilioc
was
weak, now. Weaker than it had ever been. And Grayson had not only lost Harrison and Zachariah, now he did not even have Ezekiel to guard his back. He might even be as completely alone as he looked, driving ostentatiously right through the open warehouse doors in Dimilioc’s most flamboyant and expensive vehicle, a long black Cadillac
.

Natividad was not with him, of course, despite the Black Wolf’s demands. Whatever Zinaida Kologrivova wanted Alejandro’s sister for, she could not touch her. That was not a comfort. Alejandro flinched from thinking of his sister. Natividad’s fear was like many razors of ice, cutting at his heart from within. But he could not help her—and he could not think of her and pay attention to his own danger. He stared at Grayson instead, behind the wheel of that massive Cadillac.

Grayson drove the car directly into the empty center of the warehouse, the smooth rumble of its engine echoing from the metal walls and the high metal roof. Then he turned off the engine and got out of the car. So far as Alejandro could tell, he was entirely alone. He did not want to believe that could be true. The slam of the car door closing sounded like a gunshot in the sudden quiet. The sound seemed to take a long time to die away completely, and in all that time no one moved or spoke, save that Grayson turned his head slowly, scanning the entire warehouse and everything and everyone in it with thorough deliberation.

Alejandro was not used to thinking of Grayson Lanning as young. He could not be so many years younger than forty. He had the heaviness of build, the breadth of shoulder, that Ethan had not yet begun to grow into. His shadow was dense with age and power; it pooled on the cement floor at his feet as though it had its own physical form and depth, and its eyes burned.

But surrounded by the Chernaya Volchitza and her Russian wolves, Grayson did look young. Both Zinaida and Valentin Kologrivov were probably half again his age. One or two of the other Russian wolves also looked older than Grayson. Alejandro could tell, now that they were all in the same room, that Grayson was not as strong as the Russian woman. He did not want to think Valentin Kologrivov might also be stronger than the Dimilioc Master, but he suspected that was so as well.

“Oh, we are so
fregamos
,” Ethan muttered under his breath, and Alejandro glanced at him in surprise, stifling a laugh.

“The famous Master of Dimilioc,” said Zinaida, striding forward. “So you have come. But alone, I see. Hiding the girl away in the heart of your territory will avail nothing, you understand. I will find her there. You would be wise not to defy me. But then, I see you are not inclined to be wise.”

Grayson, his back straight and his shoulders square, fixed her with his most direct, autocratic stare. “You have made alliance with the enemy, Zinaida Alexandrovna. With the vampire. Have you not? And you call me unwise?”

“Indeed, I do find you most unwise, Grayson Lanning—”

“It is the one in the south, is it not?” Grayson demanded, cutting her off. “The one in the El Paso region? Is that the one with which you have bargained, or is there another? What has it promised you, in return for feeding it the Pure? And why would you be so foolish as to believe its promises?”

Zinaida Kologrivova tilted her head to one side, plainly intrigued. “How did
you
learn of the
upyr
, I wonder? It has been quiet. You taught it to respect us, at least. But it is stronger now. Perhaps it has moved openly against Dimilioc after all? Or . . . did that Dimilioc outcast of yours tell you of it, before you killed him? That, at least, was well done, Grayson Lanning. He had made himself into an abomination, I surmise.”

“So he had. I gather your intentions are otherwise, then.”

“Indeed. Indeed. You need not fear what I will do. Nothing in that line, assuredly. Nor will I give away the strength of my house. I will give that creature only one of the Pure. One only. And not one any of us should value. An
eretich
, corrupted. You know too little, here in the West, of the peril an
eretich
carries with her. If you knew what she will become, you would have killed her already.”

Grayson’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I do not fear the
eretich
as you do because I know more of the Pure than any black dog of The Dacha. Dimilioc knows that the Pure are always an asset and a strength to any civilized house, whatever minor traces of black dog magic they may take up.”

Zinaida Kologrivova laughed harshly. “Are you truly such as fool as to believe that? You will discover—” Then she paused. Alejandro thought she had realized at last—at exactly the wrong moment—how Grayson had drawn her out. He longed to know what the woman thought had happened to Natividad, what his sister might have done to herself when she borrowed his shadow. He tried to think of something to say that would make her finish the thought she had almost put into words.

Before he could, the Black Wolf said, “No. No, it is better you do not know. Why should I take the knife from your hand if you are determined to turn its edge against your own throat? No. And you may not find out, if you are fortunate. I will take her quickly, and then I will be able to force the
upyr
to offer many concessions for her.” She glanced down at Alejandro. “And for this little wolf, too, perhaps, though I do not know what to call a black dog who has been
eretich
-touched. In the East, we know better than to permit this to happen. But you are fools in the West.”

Grayson shook his head. “Zinaida Alexandrovna, whatever else, you are a fool to look for concessions and accommodation with the vampire. What has it promised you? Territory? And you believe its promises?”

“It is not in a position to set itself against me,” the woman snapped. “Nor will it be, if I am swift to consolidate my hold on—”

“– on territory that is not and never will be yours, Zinaida Alexandrovna,” Grayson interrupted her. “You are twice a fool to lay your hand upon Dimilioc property.”

The Black Wolf glanced swiftly at Ethan and Alejandro and gave a small, satisfied nod. “Those lost pups. The other claims he is your nephew. You declare you will yield nothing for his life. I offer you one more chance to reconsider your stance.”

Grayson had not even glanced at Ethan or Alejandro. He stared directly at the Black Wolf instead, the sort of hard, straight stare that was, from a black dog, an unmistakable threat. “I was actually referring,” he said harshly, “to Boston. You have been extremely, even excessively bold, Zinaida Alexandrovna. Venturing into my country, interfering with my cities, threatening Pure women who belong to me.” He stepped toward her, aggressively confident, and his shadow rose up before him and around him. He did not go into the
cambio de cuerpo.
Nor did anything in the warehouse burst into flame. But Alejandro braced himself hard, without thought or conscious volition, as the implicit threat flared into an open challenge. He saw Zinaida Kologrivova take a step back before she caught herself, saw her flush with fury, felt her own shadow gather itself.

Valentin Kologrivov stepped forward to stand at the woman’s right hand, and several of her other strong black wolves come forward to support her on the other side. Alejandro tensed, aware that Grayson could not possibly face all these old Russian wolves alone. And there were the younger ones, closing in from all sides, not only half a dozen more black dogs, but also the human men, all of them armed with silver bullets in their guns, two of them with those other weapons, the harpoon guns. Alejandro wanted to close his eyes. He could not bear to see Grayson Lanning humbled by Dimilioc’s enemies, but he could not look away.

“Jesus Christ in a fucking Cadillac,” Ethan muttered.

On the last word, the car’s trunk exploded open and two men in black body armor stood up, beginning to shoot before they even aimed. Grayson had already flung himself violently down and to the side, but the Russian wolves, taken completely by surprise, were slower to react. Alejandro stared, utterly shocked, as two and then another fell and the others at last scrambled for cover behind crates and canisters.

Then a thin little voice hissed beside him, “No key! Hold still!”

It was Amira, who had appeared out of nowhere. Alejandro had had no idea she could slip around unseen as her sister could, but here she was, directly beside him, her small face tense with fear and concentration and fury. She held a powerful metal-cutter in hands that were not quite human; her fingers had shortened and thickened and she gripped the tool with jet-black claws.

Alejandro, recovering from the first shock of Amira’s appearance, held out his hands and said urgently, “Thaddeus? James?
Ezekiel
?” He peered past her, looking desperately for the other Dimilioc wolves, but everything was a confusion of violence and noise, everyone had scattered now to the dubious shelter of crates and canisters and loaders and the expensive bulk of the Cadillac. He could not tell who might be winning.

He really wanted Amira to say yes, Ezekiel was here, Natividad and everyone had already safely returned to Dimilioc and everyone had come here with Grayson to tear down these arrogant Russian black dogs. But he already knew that could not be true, because if it were, his sister would not be somewhere far away, terrified. And Amira would not be here, crouched low, at risk every moment from a stray shot. No. Keziah would have come to free him and Ethan, and Amira would be—here, yes, maybe she would be here, but not in such an exposed position.

If Amira got shot getting Alejandro and Ethan loose, Alejandro knew they would never be able to make it right with Keziah. If she got shot, probably either Keziah would kill him and Ethan, or they would have to kill her.

Grayson was never going to forgive either of them for getting caught, but if Amira got killed and everything went to pure
mierda,
he was
really
never going to forgive them.

Alejandro wrenched his hands apart as the silver chain gave at last. The cuffs themselves were still closed tight around each wrist, impossible to remove. He could not bring his shadow up, he was crippled and weak, but at least he was no longer chained to the floor like a dog, to be shot or torn apart by whoever got to him first. He fell to his knees by Ethan, snatched the cutters from Amira, and jerked his head at her urgently,
Get out of here
. He really meant
Get to safety
, but she gave him a snarl of gratified rage and flung herself away toward the battle. Alejandro swore violently in Spanish and English, ending with a furious, “
Will
you be still?” to Ethan. He only saw then that Ethan had in fact been struck by a stray bullet. His teeth were gritted with pain and he gripped his left side hard with his right hand. The blood leaking between his fingers was bright red because, bound with silver, he could not call up his black dog shadow to carry away the injury.

Then Alejandro remembered that the bullet had undoubtedly been silver, too. Even if Ethan had been able to shift, the
cambio de cuerpo
could not have healed all the damage.

Alejandro worked as quickly as he could to get Ethan free and then to get him away to the side, behind the heavy bulk of a loader. He would have picked him up and run, but was afraid to make so big a target of their combined bodies. He stayed low, half pushing and half carrying Ethan, with no idea who was winning the larger battle—he could not look, there was no time to look, he had no idea what had happened to Grayson or Amira, or if Thaddeus was here at all. Silver flashed and flickered, brilliant and deadly, at the edges of his awareness. Somewhere nearby, someone was screaming. Someone else was shouting. Alejandro could not understand the words, but did not know whether that was because the man was shouting in Russian or because he himself had lost the ability to understand human language.

Then something struck him across the back, hot and quick as the blow of a whip, and he sprawled, dropping Ethan. He was aware of pain at first, then a spreading cold. Ethan cursed, grabbing at him, dragging both of them sideways, for the scant cover of a stack of crates. Alejandro tried to shift, to let his shadow carry away whatever injury he’d taken, but of course the silver cuffs were still around his wrists and he could not. The pain was hot and cold at once, worsening every moment because of the silver in the wound. The cuffs around his wrists seemed to burn brighter and colder also, though he might have imagined that. He tried to turn his head, to see whether a silver-tipped harpoon stood in his back, but he could not turn his head so far, even without Ethan pulling at him.

Shouting echoed, and the racketing sound of someone running up the metal stairs. They had not yet made it to cover. Gunfire echoed—Alejandro was sure they would both be shot again—then a sudden, shocking silence fell. He blinked, and blinked again, trying to clear his vision of both fury and pain.