Black Dog(52)

Alejandro said nothing.

“It’s not the same when it’s for real,” Natividad said, not very coherently.

“It’s always for real,” Ezekiel said. “All the time.” He paused, then jerked his head sharply toward the door. “You can apologize to your sister later. Get out.” When Alejandro did not move, he smiled and added, his light voice flicking like a whip, “I really don’t advise that. I really don’t. Get out.”

Alejandro took a stiff step back toward the door. Another. He darted one swift unreadable look at Natividad and was gone.

Ezekiel looked away, the tension running out of him like water. Natividad hadn’t even been aware he was tense, until she saw that. He slanted a quick, sideways look at her face. “I’ll apologize now,” he said. “I don’t, often, so I hope you appreciate it. I’m sorry. I should have known your brother was there.”

Natividad wondered if she should feel flattered because she’d distracted him. She actually sort of did. She also felt embarrassed. She said, “It wasn’t your fault. Or his.”

“Certainly not yours,” Ezekiel said. His voice was once more light, unconcerned, amused. Now that he’d recovered his balance, he looked at her directly. “I should leave you alone. You’ll be alright?”

Natividad realized he was actually worried that Alejandro might be angry enough to hit her or something. She said emphatically, “You don’t have to worry about that. But… you don’t have to leave. I mean, if you want a cinnamon roll.”

There was a short pause. Then Ezekiel said, “I love cinnamon rolls,” and pulled a kitchen stool around so he could watch her put the dough in a bowl to rise and start getting out the things to make the icing.





6



Embarrassment and anger and shame were not good companions for the journey from Dimilioc to Chicago. Alejandro knew it. He met Ezekiel at dawn, just as ordered, and pretended hard to a cool indifference, as though that awkward encounter in the kitchen had never happened. Avoiding the subject felt like cowardice. But he was sure that bringing it up would be worse.

They drove through Lewis and then past Brighton while it was still dark, and boarded Dimilioc’s little plane at Newport while the clouds above were still pink and gold with the dawn. Alejandro was embarrassed again because he had not guessed that Dimilioc owned its own planes. They were small planes, but even so Alejandro revised his estimate of Dimilioc’s wealth upward.

Ezekiel flew the plane. Of course.

Despite his youth, the Dimilioc verdugo flew exactly the way Alejandro would have expected: with disdainful competence. He barely seemed to pay any attention to the instruments on the flight deck, but somehow he always seemed to correct for any errant gust of wind almost before it ever touched the plane.

Despite everything, Alejandro discovered that he loved flying. He loved the speed of it, the edge of danger, the roar of the motor and behind that the half-heard sound of the rushing wind. He loved the long rolling view of the world below and the towering clouds that turned into fog when they flew into them. He thought this was something he loved, something clean that his black dog did not care about at all, something his shadow did not touch. He wished Miguel and Natividad could be here. Someday they must certainly fly. Except that Natividad would probably love it so much she would insist on flying lessons and her own plane. Alejandro smiled at the thought. That was exactly what she would want.

“Like it, do you? Want to learn to fly?” There was an edge of mockery to the question, but Ezekiel’s tone was not actually hostile.

This seemed a peace offering, or at least an offer of civility. Alejandro kept his own tone polite. “I was thinking that it may be a good thing Natividad never realized how much fun she could have if she badgered a crop duster into giving her lessons.”

Ezekiel tilted his head. “She’d like flying, would she? I’ll have to teach her.”

That thought made Alejandro flinch. Natividad would want Ezekiel to teach her to fly. Alejandro had not intended to throw his sister back into Ezekiel’s company. He said, “Natividad–”

“Stop,” said Ezekiel. “Say the wrong thing now, and I promise you, we’ll take this up again later, when I’ve leisure for it.”

Alejandro closed his mouth. Ezekiel’s hands, resting on the controls of the plane, had not tensed. His tone, still light and cool and amused, had not changed. Nevertheless, Alejandro knew that the Dimilioc verdugo meant that threat seriously.

After a while, as though there had been no pause, Ezekiel said, without apparent rancor, “I’ve no intention of hurting her, you know. Now…” and his voice took on a razor edge of threat “whether you believe that or not, shut up about it.”