Black Dog (30 page)

“I will fight,” said Amira, fiercely. “I can fight.”

“So,” said Keziah, smiling proudly at her sister.

A sudden violent surge of jealousy surprised Alejandro.
He
had no little black dog brother or sister. He had fought against black dog
callejeros
beside Papá – it would be like that, fighting with a little brother, only different. He found himself struggling against a sudden desperate longing for his father, for the absolute certainty of his childhood, the certainty that nothing could defeat his father, that nothing could defeat the two of them together. That had been a false certainty. He longed for it now. He said harshly, not looking at Keziah or Amira, “We will need everyone. Ezekiel… you may not know, but he is acting. He's tired and hurt. All this smooth-killer thing, right now at least part of it is
una farsa
, a part. A role. I don't know how much.”

“Ezekiel Korte is injured?” Keziah inquired, straightening.

“I'm
sure
it's nothing but a scratch,” Natividad said in an extremely bland tone. “Isn't that right, ‘Jandro?”

Alejandro glared at her. He wanted Papá, and instead he had
Ezekiel
. He snarled, “Oh, you are
worried
for him?”

Natividad glared back at him. “It's not like that!”

 “Alright!” said Miguel, holding up his hands. “Whatever it's like or not like, don't we have other things to think about that are almost as important? Natividad, see Grayson, will you? That's important. OK?”

“Sí, creo que si
,” Natividad agreed, though not happily.

“And, uh, Keziah,” Miguel flushed when he said her name, “can go with you, maybe, in case Grayson will listen better to a black dog, alright?” He said earnestly to Keziah, “And Grayson will really like seeing you with Natividad, don't you think?”

This was true, though Alejandro hadn't thought of it until his brother said so.
He
didn't like it, though. But Keziah didn't meet his warning stare. She was looking at the way Natividad sat with her arm still around Amira's shoulders. At the way Amira had tucked herself against Natividad's side. She said, “He will like that. And he will listen to me.”

Alejandro thought of the way she had said
I will like your sister because of mine
.
He said reluctantly, “Alright. Go, then.”

There was a short pause. Then Miguel said, “Well, um, good, then. OK.” He turned to Alejandro, “And while the girls are working on Grayson, you and me, we'll slip downstairs and explain what's going on to Thaddeus and make sure he gets which side his bread is buttered on, you know? Because Grayson's going to come across
como
muy
feroz
,
isn't he, and Thaddeus is too strong to take that. Isn't that true? Everyone's been saying how strong he is. But it really
would
be best for him and his family to be Dimilioc, isn't that right? I mean,
por supuesto
,
as long as we win.”

“Sí
,” Alejandro agreed, not very happily. “But you know, Ezekiel said very clearly I wasn't to talk to Thaddeus.
Don't muddy the waters
,
he said. I guess it's clear what he meant. If Grayson finds out–”

“We'll be quick, we'll be careful, if Grayson finds out, we'll manage–”

“If Grayson finds out, if he's angry, this was
my
idea–”

Miguel made an impatient gesture of agreement. “Alright! I don't think it matters, but alright. But you know if Thaddeus doesn't get anything but threats and black dog posturing from Grayson, then he'll promise anything and mean nothing and turn on Dimilioc the first chance he gets – and if he's smart, either he'll find a chance or he'll make one. So, we have to make him
want
to be Dimilioc. Grayson will understand that, too,” said Miguel. “Eventually.” He jumped to his feet and stood looking at Alejandro expectantly.

“How
do
you talk me into these things?” muttered Alejandro. But he also got to his feet.

 

They took sandwiches downstairs. The sandwiches were Miguel's idea. It was a clever idea: obviously Thaddeus and DeAnn and the boy would have to eat something, and obviously this need wasn't important enough to bother any of the senior black wolves about, and the sandwiches would provide an excuse for going downstairs in case Grayson
did
catch them disobeying his order not to talk to the prisoners. When Miguel picked up the platter, Alejandro thought,
last chance to say no, this is
estúpido
, this is
peligroso
, we should talk to Grayson, not try to go behind his back
.

But Miguel had been right: black dogs were too territorial, too mistrustful of outsiders, too aggressive. Grayson wouldn't think of Thaddeus Williams as an asset to Dimilioc, the same as Alejandro hadn't thought of it,
por supuesto que no
.
Not now, not yet. Not until Natividad or Keziah made him think of it. And then, yes, Miguel was right, Grayson would try to batter Thaddeus into submission through sheer force of will and that wouldn't work, not now, there wasn't
time
. They needed Thaddeus
himself
to want to belong to Dimilioc to head off all those conflicts of strength and rank and loyalty.

So, he only nodded and led the way out toward the stairs.

The things that had been brought down to the cage to make Natividad more comfortable – the extra blankets, the cord to hang them on, the chairs –were still there. The sheets on the cot had even been changed, which Alejandro wouldn't have noticed except the new sheets were rose-pink. None of these small luxuries made the silver-wrapped steel bars look any less a cage.

DeAnn was sitting on the cot, her legs drawn up. She had one arm around her son's small shoulders. The boy was leaning against her, his face pressed close, and for a moment Alejandro heard Miguel pause behind him and knew that his brother had been surprised by a surge of angry, jealous grief for their own lost mother. Or at least grief: maybe the anger and jealousy was a black dog reaction and Alejandro only guessed at those emotions in his brother because he felt them himself, because the boundaries between himself and his black dog had become blurred, because he was no longer absolutely sure he could draw out those boundaries, not when it really mattered, not when he most needed to. He touched his brother's shoulder, trying for a light, comforting touch, trying not to show anything of what he felt himself.

The sounds of the opening door and descending footsteps had brought Thaddeus to his feet. He stood between his family and the cage's door, his broad shoulders squared aggressively, the dim yellow light turning the skin of his bald head and thick arms and big hands to a gold-tinged ebony. Even caged, Thaddeus looked enormous and
más peligroso
– dangerous. Alejandro wondered whether the black dog did that deliberately, and how, and whether it was something anybody could learn. Then he wondered if he should want to learn it.
Then
he wondered whether it was he who wished to learn that, or the black dog. He shut his eyes for a moment, shuddering, reminding himself fiercely that the present moment held enough danger, that he needed to focus and stay
in
the present and not borrow trouble. He wished, desperately, that Papá was here with them – or Mamá, that would be even better…

“Lunch,” Miguel said cheerfully, holding up the plate. “Or breakfast, or both, I guess. You must all be starving.” He stepped casually around Alejandro, oblivious to his brother's struggle against his shadow's influence, and set the plate down on the table outside the bars, where DeAnn could reach it.

Thaddeus, glaring at Alejandro, did not speak or move. DeAnn sighed, patted her son's hair, got to her feet, and reached through the silver-laced bars for sandwiches for herself and the boy. She put another one aside for her husband, if he decided to take it, said, “Thanks,” to Miguel, and bit into her sandwich with enthusiasm.

“DeAnn…” Thaddeus began.

“Don't say anything yet,” suggested Miguel. “Let me tell you something important first: Grayson didn't send for you to punish you for taking a Pure woman.”

Thaddeus stared at Miguel – straight at him. Then he laughed, bitter and contemptuous. “Human, are you, kid? Come to tell
me
what it is?”

Miguel gazed back at the black dog with a bland, ingenuous expression. “Well…” he began.

“Miguel!” snapped Alejandro. He knew his tone was too harsh, but his awareness of Thaddeus' strength set him on edge, made him expect a fight despite the cage, made him expect blood and fire and remorseless battle – and here was Miguel, utterly disregarding everything he knew about black dogs. At least the fury and danger in the room made it much easier to focus tightly on this one single moment and not think about the past or the future…

“Oh, right,” said Miguel, in a tone that implied he was only just resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “It's alright, ‘Jandro, you can see he's got real good control.” But he looked politely at the floor. He said to Thaddeus, “Yep, that's me, human as they come. But it's still true, what I said.”

Thaddeus laughed, a sharp crack of sound. “Of course. He's the forgiving sort, is Grayson Lanning, we all know that! All sweetness and light and pink sugar unicorns! That's why he sent his damned executioner to bring me in, cause it's just fine with him…”

DeAnn laid a hand on his, like caramel over dark chocolate, and he stopped suddenly, turning his hand to grasp hers like a drowning man grabbing after hope of rescue. In Thaddeus' grip, his wife's strong hand and wrist looked almost delicate.

Thaddeus turned his head, touched his lips to his wife's hair, closed his eyes, and stayed like that for a long breath of time. Then he pressed her hand between both of his and turned to glare at Miguel once more. He demanded, “I know the Dimilioc executioner, that vicious young bastard, but who the fuck are you, boy? A couple of wetback kids like you, you're not Dimilioc, so what the fuck?”

Miguel wasn't offended, but Alejandro gave the other black dog a hard stare. After a moment, acknowledging his own difficult position, Thaddeus muttered, “Sorry. Sorry. I'm…” his voice trailed off. He lowered his gaze, a deliberate gesture of submission which must have been painful for him, since both he and Alejandro knew that he was the stronger.

Alejandro thought he might actually like the black dog. Or learn to like him. Alejandro's shadow hated and feared a rival, but Alejandro respected how hard Thaddeus was trying to protect his wife and son. The black man reminded him, suddenly and strongly, of Papá, which was both disturbing and comforting. He was sure Grayson had been right to want this black dog for Dimilioc, and now also sure that Miguel had been right to approach Thaddeus immediately. Thaddeus was going to be hard to recruit: mistrustful and angry and too strong to submit easily to anybody's authority.

Miguel didn't seem to be suffering from any doubts, though. He leaned casually against the silver-laced bars. “I know who you are, of course. I'm Miguel Toland. My brother is Alejandro Toland. Our father was Edward Toland. He went to Mexico, met my mother, hid the same as you, only for longer…”

“Mexico,” repeated Thaddeus. He turned his dark face away, scowling. Thinking, no doubt, that if he'd taken his family to Mexico that the Dimilioc executioner would never have shown up on his doorstep. That was probably even true.

DeAnn leaned her head against his shoulder. “Lots of black dogs in Mexico. You told me that.”

Thaddeus transferred his scowl to her. “I could've protected you from ‘em. If this kid's dad could protect his wife, I could've protected you.”

Alejandro made an impatient sound. “
No seas estúpido
,”
he said.
“Cabeza dura
– worse than stupid; willfully obtuse. Our mother is dead: who do you think murdered her? How do you think our father died?”

Thaddeus swung around to stare at him.

Alejandro glared until the big black dog remembered his position and dropped his gaze. Then he added, “Before the war, Mexico was a good place to hide from Dimilioc. After the war, my father had enemies, but also there were too many black dogs for anyone to protect anyone. Lots of them weren't quiet, not them, too stupid and too vicious and not scared of anything with the vampires gone and Dimilioc broken, so after a while we also got a lot of soldiers down from Monterrey, wandering around the countryside shooting at shadows, almost as dangerous as the black dogs.”

Thaddeus began a hot response, but his wife interrupted, her tone interested, almost friendly. “You two are brothers, of course? Your mother was Pure?” Her voice had gentled; she already knew the answers to both questions. She was sorry for their mother's death, pity that Alejandro would have bitterly resented if it had come from someone who wasn't Pure herself.

“We are,” Alejandro agreed. “And my sister, she's Pure, like you. That's why we came here, when Mexico got too dangerous. To ask Dimilioc for a place, because Dimilioc protects the Pure.” Well, it was mostly true. He deliberately looked back at Thaddeus. “Dimilioc needs wolves.”

“Shit, kid,” Thaddeus said, forgetting his effort to appear submissive. “No way anybody like you or me's going to be Dimilioc, Pure sister or no Pure sister. Or wife. They've got ‘em a pure angel cake operation up here, kid, no place for anybody whose family wasn't kissing cousins with the
Mayflower
bunch–”