Black Dog(59)

DeAnn did not speak, either. She sat close to her husband, leaning her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed and her fingers laced with his, dulce de leche against dark chocolate. The close presence of two hostile black dogs was surely enough to explain her silence, though Alejandro would have liked her to talk, would have welcomed the sound of her voice. If not for Ezekiel’s order, he would have talked to her as though she was Natividad: anything, nonsense, just to hear her answer.

Was Natividad safe? What trouble had led to that order to hurry back? Alejandro did not want to think about that, but of course he could think about nothing else. Everyone is fine right now. Well, good, even that assurance made it clear there had been trouble.

If Thaddeus did anything to slow them down, Alejandro decided, he would help Ezekiel beat the hell out of him.





7



Natividad hated the way she felt after Alejandro left with Ezekiel – frightened and timid, like a little mouse trapped among wolves. She was afraid to leave her room. It was ridiculous to feel this way. She never felt this way. But when she stood at her window and watched Ezekiel drive away with her brother, the big car crushing the snow of the driveway, its headlights plunging into the pre-dawn darkness of the winter forest, even though it was totally ridiculous, she did feel that way.

“He’ll be fine,” Miguel said. “Ezekiel won’t hurt ‘Jandro.” He was sitting cross-legged on her bed, watching her rather than looking after Alejandro.

“Eso es, lo sé,” said Natividad. Her twin was right. Alejandro would be perfectly safe with Ezekiel, because Ezekiel wanted her.

Who would have thought the one Dimilioc wolf most determined to have her would be her own age? Well, almost, anyway. Although he didn’t exactly want her. It would be so easy to fool herself about that, but Ezekiel would probably keep any Pure girl company while she made cinnamon rolls. There was nothing flattering about it. He probably didn’t actually like her at all. Which was fine. Nothing about the deal with Dimilioc depended on anybody actually liking anybody else. It certainly didn’t matter whether she liked the Dimilioc executioner or thought he was muy atractivo.

“You’ll be fine, too,” Miguel said, too perceptive for comfort. Natividad tried to smile. When her brother held a hand out to her, she crossed the room and tucked herself on the bed next to him, curling up small among the pillows. Miguel moved over to give her room. “The famous Mallory charm’s got nothing on you,” he promised her. “They’ll all be wriggling like puppies for you in a week.”

“Oh, right…” Natividad said.

Miguel laughed at her. “Oh, yes, they will. Benedict’s already making eyes at you, and Ethan’s going to come around, you wait and see, and of course you’ve already got Ezekiel. All the boys looove you. Puppy love, all cute and wriggly, you wait and see.”

“You’re an idiot,” Natividad said, but she gave up and laughed, as he had intended. “Wriggling I don’t need! Anyway, Ezekiel…” She stopped, not knowing how to finish that sentence. Thinking about Ezekiel didn’t make her want to laugh at all. He was courting her, obviously. That was better than him not bothering, right? At least he cared what she thought. She was pretty sure.

Executioner at fourteen. Almost fourteen, he’d said. That was hard to imagine. What would that do to somebody? Nothing good, she was sure. She sighed. If Mamá was here… Mamá could have handled Ezekiel and Grayson and Keziah and everybody…

“Yeah, about that thing with Ezekiel…”

Natividad didn’t want to talk about that with her twin. That she couldn’t talk to Mamá about Ezekiel hurt so much she couldn’t think about it more than an instant. She didn’t want to let Miguel guess about that because it would only bring back his own vivid grief and anger. She jumped up, went back across to the window, and drew a pentagram with her fingertip on the window glass, just below the one she had drawn there the previous morning. The pentagrams might be invisible to ordinary sight, but when she turned her head so that the light fell on the window at just the right angle, she could see them. They glowed on the glass, milk pale, as though they reflected moonlight even though no visible moon rode in the overcast sky.

She drew a third pentagram above the other two, then traced a finger across each one. “Que la paz este en esta casa,” she said, and then repeated it in English: “Let there be peace in this house.”

“In this house?” Miguel said.

Natividad nodded, acknowledging his tone. “Everyone here is unhappy or afraid.” She thought about this and sighed. “Mostly both.”