Pure Magic (Black Dog Book 3) (38 page)

She knew exactly why. She knew exactly what that vampire had done to him, tearing away so much of his shadow. That was . . . that was awful. She flinched from even
looking
at him like that. It was . . . it was just
wrong
.

Natividad wanted Grayson to come and save them all, she wanted clever Miguel with his rifle and silver bullets, she wanted Justin to make something magical that would destroy all their enemies. But Grayson was far away and Miguel was not here, and she could see Justin was still vague and confused and helpless.

Then Keziah screamed, raw, desperate fury in her voice, and Natividad moved without even thinking about it, leaping to her feet and dashing straight for Ezekiel.

Alejandro leaped to protect her—she would have expected that if she’d thought about it, and she was very glad he was there. He batted one of the blood kin out of his way, roaring in fury, and Natividad ducked another, and suddenly found herself facing one of the undead black dogs. She tried so hard to stop that she actually fell, and then it was like a nightmare, scrambling desperately backward on her hands and knees, slow as though she dragged herself through something much thicker than air and shadows and the light of the fire, the black dog coming after her so much faster than she could get away.

Then Ezekiel whipped around and lunged, blindingly fast, closing with the undead black dog. They tore at each other, both utterly silent. The wounds Ezekiel dealt his enemy quickly closed, even one blow that started by crushing half its chest and ended by slashing across its throat, a blow that should have killed a normal black dog. But it was already dead and hardly faltered. But when it ripped claws across Ezekiel’s belly and tore chunks of flesh from his thigh, those injuries did not heal. Ezekiel should have ducked into his human shape and back again, letting those terrible injuries pass to his shadow—but he did not shift, plainly he could not shift, and Natividad flung herself forward—Keziah was there, attacking the undead black dog from the other side, and Natividad scuttled desperately sideways, found Ezekiel directly in front of her at last, and flung her arms around him.

Ragged strands of shadow curled around her, over her arms, through her fingers, writhing through the air between and around them. It felt . . . it felt very strange. Like she became lighter and cleaner with every fragment of shadow that lifted away from, and yet it hurt to lose the shadow, too—or it might not exactly hurt, but it was
like
pain.

Ezekiel flung his head up and back and shifted, the change swift and fluid. He left behind in that instant the injuries that had all but killed him. Whirling around in human form, he caught Natividad by the arms and picked her up bodily and kissed her, quick and hard, and then set her down, spun away again, and exploded back into his black dog form to press a savage attack against the enemies that had now overpowered Keziah.

He left Natividad staring after him, one hand raised to her lips, so stunned she was almost unaware of all the chaos and blood and spattering ichor and fire that surrounded her.

Then one of the blood kin leaped at her out of the smoke, and Alejandro hurled himself between them with a roar, and all the chaos of the battle slammed back into Natividad’s awareness. She ducked low and fled, back toward the burning house and Justin, because the only help she could give her brother or Ezekiel or anyone now was to get out of the way and protect herself and Justin. If she could, because those undead black dogs were a lot worse than even the blood kin, and no one had expected to have to face anything like them, not again, not here—Natividad didn’t want to think of it, but she knew that even now, with Ezekiel restored, they might still lose this battle—she should make something, do
something
, last time
she
had stopped those terrible black dogs, but this time she had nothing to work with and could think of nothing at all to do. A quick glance back showed her that the undead black dog was coming after her, that Alejandro was trying to make it turn and fight him, but it ignored him—

Then the guns began. Slow, careful rifle fire from all directions: human work. At first Natividad did not understand. Then she remembered the military fort in El Paso and thought she did. These must be special forces, because the bullets were silver, at least some of the bullets; Natividad saw how the blood kin screamed and fell when they were hit. Natividad flinched and crouched low, and spun quickly to peer into the confusion of the battle, terrified that these new allies might shoot Alejandro, or Ezekiel, or even her. Ordinary people just didn’t know very much about black dogs or the Pure or even blood kin, and how would they know which of the combatants were really their enemies?

But she saw the undead black dog that had pursued her stagger and scream, silver-struck. That was great, that was just fine, if only the men understood they should stop with shooting the
undead
black dogs.

Then she flinched as the black dog, despite the injuries it had been dealt by the silver, lunged past her to attack the man that had shot it. It flung itself up the side of the house toward his perch on the roof. The man shot it again, standing up to shoot straight down, but it did not stop. Of course it did not stop, it was dead already and cared nothing about injury or pain, it would reach that man and tear him apart and even silver bullets would not stop it.

But Alejandro could hammer it down and then leave it to be shot to pieces by men with silver bullets in their weapons. He did, with violent thoroughness. Even the undead black dog could not heal itself fast enough to withstand that.

Natividad, straightening cautiously, was aware that Keziah and Ezekiel were dealing with another of the undead black dogs by simply tearing into pieces so small not even it could put its body back together. And Alejandro was stalking the last of the undead black dogs, pinning it against the stone wall of a house so the men could shoot it. No one had shot him yet. She was beginning to think maybe they would not. They had shot a lot of the blood kin. She did not know how many had gotten away, but without a vampire to hide them, blood kin could not disguise themselves among ordinary people.

The gunfire was sporadic now. The house still burned. Since no one was shooting at her and there now seemed very little threat from the blood kin, Natividad began to make her way slowly back toward Justin. She hesitated for a second when she saw that two of the men had come out into the open to stand over Justin. But though both were armed with rifles, they seemed to be protecting him, not threatening him. Nor did they point their guns at her when she cautiously approached. She looked so human. She hoped their restraint would include the Dimilioc black dogs, too. So far it seemed to. That was very, very good. She could actually
feel
the silver in those weapons even from all the way across the street.

“We’re friends, you know!” she said to the nearer of the two men, with some urgency. “We’re all friends here! You mustn’t shoot just everyone, right? You can tell the Dimilioc black dogs are friends, can’t you?”

“Allies, maybe,” the man allowed. “Maybe allies. We know it’s possible—maybe.”

Natividad found herself smiling in intense relief. She let herself smile. Maybe allies! That was enough. They could work with that.

***

Justin leaned his head back, blinking at the stars. No, the sky was hidden by black smoke. Those were sparks from the fire; each one rose in a smooth finite arc and burned out. Stars or sparks, his eyes didn’t seem to want to focus, but he was happy to take the special forces man’s word for it that they could all be allies.
Allies
sounded great.
Allies
sounded like no one was going to murder Keziah or Ezekiel or Natividad’s brother out of hand.

He wanted to ask Natividad what her brother was
doing
here, and could she possibly send them all back to Dimilioc the same way she had brought Alejandro here, only then he remembered that Alejandro had come here by going through the no-place, and shuddered. No. Anything was better than stepping back out of the world into that emptiness.

“It’s all just fine,” Natividad said in a very firm tone. Then she added, a little less firmly, “Justin, that fire is awfully hot. Can you stand up, maybe?”

He couldn’t. But he was willing to try, especially when one of the special forces men took his arm in a forceful grip and heaved.

“Careful!” said Natividad, hovering. “He’s hurt!”

“Yes, miss,” said the man, his tone serious but not angry or hostile. “He’ll be hurt worse if we don’t get him back from the fire a bit.” He gave Justin a careful once-over. “Now, son, just your hands, is it? Good, then.” And he picked Justin up bodily, carrying him like a child. Justin thought he should feel embarrassed about that, but he was honestly too glad to be carried away from the burning house by someone whose
job
was to protect people from monsters.

Then Ezekiel was there, and Keziah,
and
Natividad’s brother, good, and a whole crowd of special forces men, which wasn’t necessarily so great. Justin tried to focus, not very successfully, except then one of the men gave him a drink of water, and then a minute later a Coke. The soda was warm, but the sugar hit him like a hammer and suddenly he found he could track what was going on much better.

The man looked like a soldier and not a doctor, but he had a medical kit in his hands rather than a rifle. He was trying, gently, to get Justin to uncurl his hands. Justin finally figured this out and obliged, which hurt, but not as much as he thought it ought to.

“Nasty,” said the man, his forehead creasing. “How’d you do this?”

Justin only shook his head.

“Well, it’s all good. We’ve got you now,” the man said. Justin could tell he meant to be comforting. Compared to everything else that had happened through this whole mad night, it
was
comforting. But he heard that assurance two different ways simultaneously, as though looking at one of those illusions of a wine glass and two faces. He glanced quickly at Natividad, who was standing quite still, her arms wrapped around herself as though she were cold or in need of comfort. She was looking at Ezekiel. Who was also standing very still, his hands at his sides, regarding the commander of the special forces unit with a neutral expression.

The commander was an older man who had skin the warm dark color of horse chestnuts, high cheekbones in a broad face, and deep-set eyes that met Ezekiel’s with reserve and curiosity. He wore the same plain, dark uniform as the other men, but Justin could see the rank markers beneath the American eagle badge at his shoulder.

“Colonel Herrod, I think,” Ezekiel said politely.

The colonel inclined his head. “Ezekiel Korte, I believe. Your Dimilioc does seem to have quite a wide reach, if I may say so. And a quite startling ability to be in two places at once.” He raised an eyebrow at Alejandro. “I’m glad to see you on your feet, son.”

Alejandro ducked his head. “You, also,” he said. “In two places at once.”

“Military plane, priority in the air. And you?”

Alejandro shrugged and spread his hands. “
I
don’t know. Magic.”

“Hmm.” The colonel looked Alejandro up and down and then turned his head to study Natividad. “I surmise that this must be your sister? Did you know an
eretich
is a witch who sells her soul to the devil and becomes a kind of vampire? I looked it up,” he added dryly, as everyone stared at him. “I must say, young lady, you don’t appear to me to be any kind of vampire.”

“Um . . .” Natividad managed. “No, sir. I mean . . . no. Who said . . .?”

In Justin’s opinion, she couldn’t have looked less like any kind of vampire. Luckily. She looked young and scared and bewildered and completely, perfectly human.

“No one whose word I’d trust,” said the colonel.

“No one anyone should trust,” Alejandro said sharply. He moved, warily, to Natividad’s side and put an arm around her shoulders, at once protective and possessive. She shuddered once, convulsively, and put her arm around him, too.

“The Black Wolf. Zinaida Alexandrovna Kologrivov,” Alejandro went on. “
She
said that.” He looked at Ezekiel. “She thought she would break Dimilioc. She came there. I think she meant to challenge Grayson outright.”

This meant almost nothing to Justin, though Ezekiel drew a swift breath. “I see,” he said. He looked grim. “And I wasn’t there. Tell me Grayson won that fight.”

Alejandro hesitated. “I don’t . . . she came, but I think maybe I broke the challenge. When I fell into the dark. I took Valentin with me—I was so angry—”

“Did you!” Ezekiel looked Alejandro up and down. “And you came back, but Valentin Nikitich Kologrivov did not,” he observed at last. “Well done! That would have set the Black Wolf back a bit, I imagine. Still, I think,” he added, “that we really must return to Dimilioc. Immediately.”

“Is that what you think?” said the colonel.

Justin found himself holding his breath. He didn’t believe for a minute that Ezekiel was going to accept arrest or capture or whatever. But he thought Ezekiel would be patient and careful in whatever he did. On the other hand, Justin was
absolutely sure
Keziah would not go along with anything for any reason, no matter what Ezekiel Korte or anyone else said. He could see the murderous tension in her shoulders, in her face. She had had enough, and she was not going to be polite to these men, guns or no. If she attacked those men, they would probably shoot her. This was not good. It might be really, really bad. He glanced surreptitiously at Natividad, who met his eyes in wordless but unmistakable worry. She made a little gesture with her hands, as though braiding something, but if he was supposed to see something or understand something from that, he missed it.