“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–”
“I’m sure that’ll help,” the sheriff said, with understandable sarcasm and not nearly enough caution. But still Grayson did not threaten him. His shadow shifted and twisted, distorting the fall of light around him, but the Master showed no sign of the cambio de cuerpo except for the change in his eyes and the dangerous snarl in his voice. Natividad was starting to really admire his control.
“Harrison will bring your daughter into the house,” Grayson rumbled. “Wait for that. Then go back to town, Pearson. Drive swiftly. Do not stop. When next you have any urgent need to speak with me, I hope the telephone will suffice.”
“The damned phone makes it too easy for you to hang up on me.” Sheriff Pearson was almost as angry as the Dimilioc Master.
“I can do nothing for you. It does not make me happy to refuse you, Pearson. I can do nothing for you. Dimilioc cannot spare the strength to protect you. We do not have the resources. When that changes, I will inform you. For the present, I advise you stay as far as possible out of black dog battles–”
“And when as far as possible leaves us with blood in the snow–”
“Go,” Grayson ordered him, voice low and gritty.
After a fraught pause, the sheriff lowered his gaze, disengaging. He said formally, “I am grateful for Dimilioc’s protection of my daughter.” Then he backed away, one step and another, toward the door and safety. So, he did know when to concede, after all. Natividad had been prepared to leap forward, catch Grayson’s arm, hope he would let her help settle his hot fury. Instead, she leaned against the wall again, letting out her breath.
Grayson gave her a fierce, fiery stare. “Go to your room,” he ordered, and stalked away.
Natividad didn’t go to her room. She couldn’t. It was all her fault, that man’s daughter being bitten. Nobody needed to point that out to her. Well, not just her fault, but if she and her brothers hadn’t led Vonhausel north, it never would have happened.
The Pure were supposed to protect ordinary people. Natividad knew that. Mamá had taught her that. Mamá, and Grandmamá and Tía Louisa and Tía Maria in Hualahuises. Only sometimes they weren’t strong enough, and sometimes they weren’t brave enough…
Mi hija valianta, Mamá had called her. My brave daughter. Mamá had shown Natividad how to draw the kind of circles and mandalas that could protect a whole village. Natividad had been about ten when Mamá had shown her the mandala at Hualahuises. Mamá had knelt on the dry earth beneath the shade of the buckthorn and the blackbush acacia and the twisted narrow branches of Devil’s claw shrubs, and laid her hands on the ground. Then she had lifted them up, drawing light into the air out of the ground. Natividad had looked, awed, to the left and the right, and seen how the light went on and on in a gentle curving arc of light that cut across the arroyos and the steep foothills of the dry mountains to enclose nearly all of Hualahuises.
“I and my sisters and your Grandmamá drew this circle long ago, before you were even born,” Mamá had told her. She had smiled at Natividad, the smile that seemed to illuminate not only her face, but the world around her. “You are not yet strong enough to draw such a large circle, mi hija valianta, but you have my blood in you. You will work hard and learn everything, and in not so long you will have such strength.”