Grayson came to Natividad, shifting out of his black dog form so that when he reached her he was once again in his fully human shape. The Master showed no trace of injury, though he had not entirely shed the black aura of violence or the scents of smoke and burning. He gazed at Alejandro for a long, thoughtful moment. Alejandro, shivering with cold like any ordinary human, stared back at him for a beat before he remembered to look down. It felt very strange to have to remember to look away. He had never really understood how ordinary humans could be so dangerously slow to respond to black dog threats. It was strange and unpleasant, like a kind of blindness.
Grayson removed his jacket and handed it to Alejandro without comment. Surprised – he had not expected the Master to realize that he was cold, far less to care – Alejandro took the jacket and shrugged it on. The jacket, or maybe the unexpected kindness, made the cold a little more bearable. Maybe in time – in a lot of time – he could learn to tolerate the cold emptiness inside too, even if he never got his shadow back. He shuddered, and could not tell whether it was from the cold outside or the cold within.
“This is not precisely what I expected, when Keziah told me what Vonhausel had done with our dead,” Grayson said to Natividad. “Nor when she told me what you had done to Vonhausel, nor when she warned me your magic had failed. I see that last warning was mistaken.” He paused, then asked, “You can release this magic you have made here? You can undo it?”
The Master’s heavy voice had a dark-edged resonance to it that seemed more than weariness or anger. Alejandro involuntarily glanced up at him again. Was this how ordinary humans heard black dogs all the time? Maybe not, maybe it was something else, something about this night or the shadowed circle or about Grayson himself: if this was how black dogs sounded to humans, how could a black dog ever pass unnoticed among them?
“Yes,” Natividad answered. Her voice was small and weary and did not echo with any surprising resonance. She didn’t avoid looking the Master in the face; it obviously didn’t occur to her that she ought to. “Yes. I think so. I’m pretty sure. Whenever you like.”
Grayson nodded. There was a world of weariness in that nod, but no visible anger. Turning, the Master crossed his arms over his chest and stared around at the black dogs enclosed in Natividad’s circle. Now, at last, with so few enemies remaining and all of those defeated and afraid, Grayson could use the weight of his powerful shadow to roll all of theirs at once under and down. He did that. Alejandro didn’t – couldn’t – feel it. Not now. But he knew what the Master had done because all around the circle, Vonhausel’s black dogs shuddered and cried out, their bodies contorting and twisting as they were forced back into human shape.
Most of the Dimilioc wolves shifted as well, but smoothly: Grayson wasn’t forcing any of his own wolves into the cambio de cuerpo, only helping those who wanted to change. Even Ezekiel shifted, which from him was probably an expression of disdain for all their remaining enemies. He was looking at Natividad, his expression odd. After a moment, he said, “Brave little kitten, aren’t you? Don’t you know daring single-handed assassinations are my job?”
Natividad blinked at him, wordless. But after a moment, she smiled.
Only Keziah did not change. She leaped up to stretch out, contemptuously relaxed, along a broad timber above Grayson’s head – as disdainful, and nearly as dangerous, as Ezekiel. Thaddeus pulled himself gradually into human form, seeming nearly as big as a man as he was as a black dog. He lifted Cass Pearson in his arms with no sign of effort and came to lay her down near Natividad’s feet. In her proper shape, the girl was fine boned and fragile, with corn-silk hair. Alejandro stared at her. Her exquisite delicacy was an entirely different order of beauty from Keziah’s burning splendor. The human girl was unconscious, but her breathing looked steady. Alejandro couldn’t tell about her shadow. Maybe she would be alright.
All but one of Vonhausel’s black dogs threw themselves to their knees or all the way down to their bellies, pressing their faces against the broken pavement. The man who stayed on his feet had been the quietest black dog, one with good control even after Vonhausel’s death and the turn of the battle. He had accepted the forced change without resistance. Now he was a tall man with slender hands, a high-boned face, and close-cropped dark hair outlining his skull. He stood very still for a long moment, then walked slowly toward Grayson.
No. Not toward Grayson. Toward Natividad. She pulled herself away from Alejandro and stared at the stranger, not exactly alarmed, but wary. But then she glanced up at Grayson, then at Ezekiel, and relaxed again.