Saying nothing, Alejandro looked away, at the window, which the gathering darkness had turned into a mirror. It showed him his own reflection, and his brother’s. He thought he looked older than he had a week ago. Harder. More temper-ridden. But he also thought that, maybe just because of the contrast, Miguel looked somehow younger. More vulnerable. More like the child he’d been so few years ago. It was not an observation his brother would have wanted anybody to make. And anyway, it was just an illusion created by the glass.
But nevertheless, when Miguel stepped toward him, Alejandro found himself nearly overwhelmed by memories of his brother as a child, as a boy. He wanted to protect him, to guard him from harm. It was a kinder feeling than the black dog urge to force Miguel’s submission, but not, he thought, something his brother would welcome.
Miguel said urgently, “If Vonhausel’s planning to make a lot of undead zombie black dogs and start a war with ordinary humans, then we have to figure a way to stop him doing that, and we have to do it right away–”
“If, if!” snapped Alejandro. “We do not know what he is doing tonight, we do not know what he will do tomorrow!”
Miguel stared at him as though he would think, milagrosamente, of some way to crush Vonhausel and his shadow pack like so many poisonous bichos. This seemed an especially outrageous confidence because Alejandro was not the one who usually thought of dramatic things to do or try or say. He said reluctantly, “I will go out. I will go to Lewis and watch. Where’s that phone of yours? Does it have minutes left? I can call and tell the Master if Vonhausel comes toward us here or if he goes away to hunt somewhere else.”
“Yes,” Miguel said instantly. “Yes, please, that’s so much better than nothing.”
Natividad protested, “Wait, wait! Grayson said–”
“That doesn’t matter!” snapped Miguel.
Alejandro held up his hands, quieting them both. “I will go out, I say–”
“I will go,” said Keziah. She met his eyes, smiling faintly. “I can come and go so quietly no one will ever know I slipped away or back unless I choose to say I have. Can you say the same? They will not see me, there in that town; they will not catch my scent. Nor will anyone in this house. I will come and go as though I am nothing but a true shadow.”
Now, she did not look aside or down, and Alejandro understood suddenly what he should have realized at once: that she had never meant anything of the submission she had shown him. That had all been a show, a lie. How strictly she must be able to control her shadow, to lie like that! Doubtless she had learned that as a child in her father’s house. Doubtless that was also where she had learned to come and go so silently – because she had certainly shown him that she could do that. He wanted to hit her, force a real submission – but he also wanted to laugh. He said, “It’s true Grayson forbade it.”
Keziah shrugged. “Grayson Lanning will not know unless I have reason to use this phone you will give me, and if I call, he will have other things to think of. Besides, he did not punish you for your defiance. Why should he punish me?”
Alejandro did laugh at that. He did not want this girl close to Natividad or Miguel. She was still too beautiful and dangerous and much too sexy. But even if he knew he should avoid her, he almost thought he did like her. He said, “If it comes to that, I will support you.”
“Well, that relieves my mind,” Keziah said drily. She caught the phone Miguel tossed her and turned to go, but added over her shoulder, to Natividad, much more seriously, “You must guard Amira for me, if there is trouble and I am not here.”
“I will,” Natividad promised her instantly. “We all will.”
“That relieves my mind,” Keziah said, and strolled out, hips swaying, slanting a glance back over her shoulder, deliberately seductive.
“I hope she finds out you’re right,” Miguel said awkwardly once she was gone, half an apology.
Alejandro hoped so, too, but he also longed to go after Keziah, leap out into the frozen night, run under the black sky. He would not give way to his shadow, but he could manage only a curt nod and a swift retreat to his own room. He did not like leaving Miguel to think he was angry, but he was, still. If he stayed, he would show it. He was too tired; he needed a respite from innocent human gestures that grated along black dog nerves, that continually pricked him toward violence. He shut the door of his own room behind him and he stood for some time, his hands resting on the cold metal of the deadbolt and his head bowed against the painted wood, lacking the energy and will to even turn and cross the room and throw himself down on his bed.