Black Dog(99)

Everyone looked down – Alejandro first, then Miguel. Natividad had to kick Sheriff Pearson to get him to drop his gaze and for an instant was sure she’d been too slow.

But then the Dimilioc Master rose up, his body dwindling and straightening as he folded himself deliberately back into his human form. He must have let his shadow carry away his injuries earlier, but now he also dismissed the smoke and smoldering ichor and violent aura of battle that had clung to his black dog shape, emerging from the change as a civilized, self-possessed man. Even his clothing was ordinary: black slacks and a crisp white shirt that had never been stained by ash or blood or ichor.

But anger still clung to him like smoke, and informed his gaze when he raked a stare across them, across the empty buses and the confused crowd. Everyone felt it – the ordinary people fell back and looked away, and a couple of them made little frightened noises, which was not helpful. Grayson did not appear to hear them, though. He turned and stalked into the house, leaving behind charred spots on the wood of the porch and an echo of poised disaster that had not quite happened.

“You’ll need to go after him,” Miguel said to Natividad.

Natividad wasn’t at all sure she wanted to do anything of the kind. “Um…”

“Not now,” Alejandro said, shouldering forward with that aggression that infused every black dog’s attitude and was especially strong right now. “Do you want to get her killed? Let him settle – let the anger fade a little…”

Miguel raised his eyebrows. “How long do you want to wait? He’s lost Zachariah and Harrison. His anger’s not going to fade. How can it? There’s no time for him to deal with this by himself, isn’t that obvious?”

Alejandro didn’t move, but the look he gave Miguel was like a blow. He did not have Grayson’s control: he still showed the rage and bloodlust of the recent battle in his face, and in the tension in his shoulders, and in the ash that streaked his hands and arms. The daylight that lay across his face was dimmed by his clinging shadow; the scent of burning followed him. He said, “Deal with this? With enemies that outnumber us by far more than they should, and with half the Dimilioc black wolves a step away from callejeros, and with a hundred human townspeople he never wanted to bring here, and with a wounded verdugo, and now with the loss of his closest allies? How is he supposed to deal with that?”

Miguel had looked aside, but this didn’t mean he was conceding anything. He answered Alejandro’s anger with his mildest, most stubborn tone. “I don’t know. That’s why Natividad needs to go to him. You shouldn’t, I get that. You could tell me about the battle – about the enemies that outnumbered you more than they should, and about Thaddeus and Amira and Keziah, and just everything.”

Alejandro glared at him.

“I need to know,” Miguel said, even more softly. He added to the sheriff, still not looking directly at Alejandro, “You can tell us what you saw, too, while we get things organized for your people. Do you mind?”

“I need to see Cassie,” said the sheriff. “My daughter. But after that… if you wish…”

“Better you wait for that,” Miguel told him. “She’s fine; I checked on her myself just a little while ago.” He didn’t say that no one who loved her should see her as she was now, but Natividad guessed this from his slightly too-brisk tone.

The sheriff didn’t look convinced, but Natividad knew that her twin would get everybody to do things his way in the end. She thought Miguel was probably right about Sheriff Pearson staying away from his daughter and also about Grayson – about the problems he now faced as Master of Dimilioc, and about his need for her. And if there was anything at all she wanted less than to go find the Dimilioc Master right at this moment… well, maybe she could imagine a few things she wanted less, but only because she had a good imagination. She sighed.



Grayson had gone to the room with the fireplace and the view, the room where Natividad had drawn her pentagrams on the windows and called for peace. That might be kind of a compliment, because out of all the places in the house he could have gone for refuge, he had come to this room where she had drawn her pentagrams. Por otra parte, maybe he just didn’t want to go back to the suite he had once shared with his wife… Natividad stood in the hall, studying the fine grain that ran through the wood of the closed door and trying to believe she really could draw confidence from Grayson’s choice of retreats.

There was not so much comfort to be found in anything, right now. What Natividad wanted to do was turn around and walk away, go up the stairs to her own room, lock herself in and pretend she was still grounded. She really wanted to do that.