Black Dog (22 page)

Miguel nodded. “Oooh,” he said again, appreciatively.

“Poor little Amira, though, you can see somebody cut her on purpose. I hope the vampires got
all
the black dogs in the whole Mideast.” Natividad mimed spitting on the floor. “I bet they had a black dog father and black dog brothers. Everyone betrayed them, nobody protected them – except Keziah protected Amira. That's what I think.”

“She's something,” Miguel agreed. He lay back on her bed, crossing his arms under his head. “You think she'll want to be friends?”

Natividad rolled her eyes. “With you? She's too sexy for you. She'll eat your heart.”

“You're talking about the love of my life, here.”

Natividad ignored this plaintive protest. “You know she got somebody to do the
Aplacando
for her before? And for her sister? She's smart and she knows what she wants – and what she wants is to be inside Dimilioc's power. Grayson wants her to be Dimilioc–” she touched her own chest “–in her heart. But I think she hates Grayson. I think she hates all black dog men. She hasn't even noticed you – and you'd better hope she doesn't,
gemelo
. She'll chew you up and spit you out. That's what I think.”

“Um.” Miguel looked unhappy.

“Black dog or human, in some ways, guys are all the same.” Natividad gave her brother a knowing lift of her eyebrows. “When I say she'll eat your heart, I mean
literalmente
. She's dangerous. Anyway, she's too old for you. I bet she's eighteen, or seventeen anyway. Why would she notice you?”

“I like you better when you're not so serious,” Miguel complained.

Natividad ignored this. “Now, Grayson…” Grayson kind of had that extra-sexy older guy
muy
masculino
thing going, but she didn't say that. Anyway, it wasn't important, as long as Ezekiel… She didn't want to think about that. She said instead, “Grayson lost almost all his wolves in the war, didn't he? And now there's Vonhausel. He's grieving and he's scared. And he's angry, of course. With us, too. But…”

“But?”

“I think I like him. He cares about his people.” Natividad turned back to her pentagrams, and traced them again with her finger. If peace was too much to hope for… “Let there be happiness in this house,” she said. She drew light into the pentagrams, a soft moonlight that would hold them in place and keep her wish alive.

But she already knew that no one, Pure or not, could bring either happiness or peace to Dimilioc. Not while so many of the people within the house were afraid of one another or angry with one another. Not while they were surrounded by enemies who wanted to kill them all.

A rap on the door made Natividad turn quickly. Ethan shoved the door open and put his head through, scowling. “Bullets,” he said shortly to Miguel.

Miguel jumped to his feet. “Right! Coming.”

“What should I do?” asked Natividad, since even though it was still dark outside, the day was apparently officially starting.

“What do I care?” Ethan said, and withdrew again.

“
Bastardo
,”
Natividad said under her breath.

Miguel grinned. “I can handle Ethan. But the Master's the key.
You
need to work your magic on Grayson. Or if you see Keziah, you might put in a good word for me, huh?” He waved, jaunty and irrepressible, and dashed out.

Boys were idiots. Miguel was right about one thing, though, Natividad knew: the Master really was the key to Dimilioc.

 

Natividad found Grayson Lanning in the room with the fireplace and the great view, seated in one of the chairs closest to the window. There was no fire in the massive fireplace now, only ashes and a few dully smoldering coals. The room was cold for a human, though of course a black dog would not care.

The Dimilioc Master's hands were steepled in front of him, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair. He was staring out into the dark, frowning, mouth set in a grim line, heavy brows pulled down in thought.

There was nothing Natividad could do about the grief and loss Dimilioc had suffered or the danger it now faced. But the Pure could do other things, sometimes. She slipped quietly into the room and crossed to the big window.

Grayson turned his head, awareness coming into his eyes. In a moment he would ask her what she wanted.

Natividad didn't wait for him to speak. She walked across the room to the window and drew a pentagram on the glass, a big one, flanking it with two smaller ones. Then, tracing the lines of the pentagrams, she called light into them and said softly, “Let there be peace in this room. Let this room be a refuge for the weary heart.”

Grayson lowered his hands to the arms of his chair and shut his eyes. “Thank you,” he said after a moment, and opened his eyes again.

“Por nada
,” Natividad said. “It's not much. I know somebody else already put her wish on this house. I found her stars. A Jewish woman? Because they're the other kind of star – Stars of David.”

Dark grief had come into the Master's eyes. He stared at Natividad, a hard direct stare, until she belatedly remembered her manners and turned her face away. Then he asked, his voice deep but not angry, “Can you add to what has already been done?”

“I can reinforce it, but I can't do better.” Natividad wanted to look Grayson in the face, but was pretty sure she shouldn't. She stared out the window instead, at the rose-and-pearl light gleaming through the trees. She said gently, “No one could have put any better protection on the Dimilioc house than she did. She was strong and loving, that woman.” She glanced toward the Master and then away again. She knew that the unknown Pure woman who had woven her protection around the Dimilioc house had been someone important to the Dimilioc Master: sister, lover, cousin… Trying to break the moment, Natividad perched casually on the broad arm of one of the other chairs, not too close to Grayson. It was a sturdy chair and gave no quivering warning that her weight might tip it over. She said, “We've added to Dimilioc's trouble, bringing our enemies here. I'm sorry.”

Grayson Lanning lifted an eyebrow and tilted his head. “You have, in one way. In another, you…” He stopped, his attention directed past Natividad, out the window.

A car was approaching. It was a heavy blunt-nosed vehicle, neither truck nor car but like a cross between the two, with tires that looked about twice as big as normal. No wonder Miguel hadn't been able to get their car all the way along the road, if you needed a car like that one. But it slowed as it came into the cleared area before the house, where its headlights picked out streaks and spatters of frozen blood and ichor from the battle, visible against the white of the trampled snow.

“Pearson,” said the Master. “We'll go down and meet him.” He didn't sound exactly angry, but there was a dangerous growl in his voice.

 

Sheriff Pearson was a slight, slim man, probably in his forties. He was nothing like Natividad had expected from a small-town American sheriff. She suppressed a smile, thinking about sheriffs in American movies – at least, the good-guy sheriffs: tall and rugged, with tanned faces and wide-brimmed cowboy hats. Sheriff Pearson wasn't like that. He wasn't much taller than she was and actually kind of…
elegant
, Natividad decided, was the only accurate word. But there was a tension in him that prevented him from looking delicate. His eyes were almost the color of the pearl-gray sky. The tracery of fine lines at the corners of those pale eyes had been made by smiling, but he wasn't smiling now, nor did he look like he planned to smile any time soon.

He knew something about black dogs. Enough to lower his eyes when Grayson Lanning stared at him. Enough to wait, despite the tension in his slim hands and the set of his shoulders, for Grayson to speak first. He carried a gun, but he kept his hands away from it, though she could tell from Grayson's manner that his gun couldn't be loaded with silver.

She thought of the black dogs that had attacked Dimilioc. The sheriff
should
have silver bullets. She wondered whether Grayson would think so, or think to warn him, or allow Miguel to make some for him; whether she should suggest it. Not now, though; not with the Master glowering like that.

“Well?” growled Grayson, his posture stiff and aggressive.

Sheriff Pearson took this rough query for permission to look up, which it wasn't. He also leaned forward slightly, which Natividad could tell was from tension and urgency, but which a black dog might take as challenge. She edged forward, not exactly between the two men, but finding a place to lean against the wall of the entryway about an equal distance from each.

“We had someone bitten last night,” the sheriff said without preamble. His voice was sharp and precise; he spoke as though each word was an edged weapon. Natividad wanted to put a hand on his arm, urge him to calm down as though he was a black dog, but she was afraid that if she tried he would only get angrier. “I don't suppose that was one of your wolves, Grayson,” the sheriff continued icily, “but your warning was neither timely nor adequately specific. We trusted you to keep
us
clear of your black dog violence, at least–”

Grayson said, grimly, “I regret this. It was unexpected. I doubt that Dimilioc's new enemy is interested in you or yours, but stray black dogs are rabble, difficult to control. We are taking steps to deal with the problem. This man who was bitten. I gather you have brought him to me?”

“It was a girl. Yes, I brought her to you.” The sheriff leaned forward, speaking rapidly and with gathering intensity, either unaware of the challenge he seemed to be making or else indifferent to the danger. Natividad pushed away from the wall in alarm, but Grayson didn't move, and the sheriff continued, his voice rising, “You kill people who've been bitten. Of course you do. But I don't want this girl killed. You have other ways of controlling–”

“Caging is merely a temporary measure,” said Grayson. “We seldom find moon-bound shifters worth the trouble.” His shadow, dense and misshapen, had gathered up around him in defiance of the light in the hallway. But the black dog anger barely showed in his voice. Even now, he did not threaten the man. Natividad didn't think this was due to her presence. The Master just had that much control.

“My
daughter
,” said Sheriff Pearson tightly. “It's my daughter, and I assure you, I didn't bring her here for you to kill her. You
have
other ways of controlling bitten people, and you will use those other methods, Grayson–”

Grayson said, his deep voice coming down heavily across Pearson's fury, “This moon will come upon her too swiftly for her to learn even a vestige of control before the change takes her. It is almost upon her now. Later, after the nights and days of the full moon, there are methods she may be able to use. Ways you can help her. We will teach these to her and to you.” He paused. The two men stared at one another. Then Grayson added, his gravelly voice almost gentle, “I am sorry for the harm that has come to your daughter, Sheriff Pearson. Dimilioc will not add to that harm.”

“Alright,” said the sheriff, more calmly. “Alright.” He took a breath. “Thank you. I'll bring her…” He began to turn back toward the door.

“No,” said Grayson, stopping him. “Clearly she has not yet changed. But tonight the moon will rise full. Possibly you would still be safe to approach her today, but we will not take that chance. I will send Harrison for her.”

Sheriff Pearson looked at him.

“We will not harm her,” Grayson promised him.

The sheriff shook his head, then nodded wordlessly, opening and closing his hands. “She'll be alright,” he said at last. He stared at Grayson. “You'll be kind to her. You'll tell me if she… if I…” he stopped, not seeming to know how to finish this plea.

“We will do all we can for her,” Grayson promised him.

“Yes,” the sheriff whispered. “Alright. Thank you.” He looked down at last, letting out his breath. Then he suddenly turned his head to stare at Natividad. “You're Pure, aren't you?” He turned back to the Master. “Grayson, I need to borrow this young lady. We can't have anyone else bitten. These are enemies of yours, you said; you owe us some help, here. A Pure girl might help Father McClanahan set up something better than–”

“I will not put the girl at risk,” Grayson said flatly. “She stays here, under Dimilioc's eye and hand, where we can protect her.”

“Grayson, dammit–”

Natividad, stepping away from the wall, said at the same time, “But–”

The Dimilioc Master cut them both off without a word, with nothing but a hard look. His eyes had gone burning crimson, and Natividad, if not the sheriff, could see how tightly his shadow clung to him. He growled, his voice gone harsh and low, “You are the only Pure woman Dimilioc possesses. We will not put you at risk.” Turning back to the sheriff, he added, “I regret the damage your daughter has suffered. I will see to it she is safe through the rising of her dark shadow. That is all I can do for you. The measures your priest can take must suffice you in other matters. He should act as against vampires.”

“Nothing a priest can do works as well against black dogs as against vampires,” Natividad protested. “I could–”

Grayson flashed a snarl at her. “Natividad. Stay in the house. That is an order. Sheriff Pearson. Dimilioc is fully engaged against its enemies. If we lose, it will be soon. Winning may take a little longer. As long as the outcome is in doubt, there is danger – as I believe I did inform you. Instruct your people to stay watchful, together, and close to town–”