Black Dog Short Stories (3 page)

     Keziah paused for one more instant, to stare down at Natividad and say sternly, “Draw a mandala. Then stay in it. Do not leave it. Do not watch me. Watch for enemies. If you see
anything
that looks wrong, call me. You promise this?  Because if you promise, then I will step away from you and pretend to be very distracted over there where the car is.
Then
we will find out if you have an enemy—but you must call me at once if you see anything dangerous, because I truly will be a little bit distracted if I must move that car.”

     “Yes, yes!”  That was clever, using Natividad as bait—that would let Keziah do exactly what she wanted, rescue that girl and also make any enemy come out into the open. But Keziah
was
very clever, always thinking, which wasn’t usual for a black dog, but Keziah was unusual in lots of ways.

     Natividad didn’t have a silver knife or anything with which to draw a proper mandala. She dropped to her knees and drew it with her finger as fast as she could, a tight little circle with just room for her inside, anchored with nothing but smaller mandalas at the cardinal directions. It was a terrible mandala, though she did have a silver coin to set right at the center, which was better than nothing. She felt it spark to life, the cross and then the circle, and tucked her arms around her knees, careful not to break the outer circle.

     Keziah waited just long enough to be sure Natividad had finished her mandala. Then she strode across the street, shoved between two bystanders, stepped easily beneath and around burning rubble, grabbed the desperate, straining man by the arm, and tossed him quite casually away from the car, back toward the safety of the street. Reaching down, she curled her own hands around the burning edge of the undercarriage. Then she straightened, tipping the car up and back on its side, swinging it to the side and flinging it at last, with a grimace of effort, to roll upside down. Flames rose up around her, but she ignored the fire, kicking aside the wreckage of several chairs, bending to lift the girl she found beneath the twisted metal of the table. Natividad tried to watch, but everyone was in the way and she couldn’t see very well, and anyway she wasn’t supposed to watch Keziah—she was supposed to watch for enemies. Which truly made no sense, except that what if there was a
callejero
after all? Or what if there was a black dog with discipline and control, not a stray at all, but a strong black dog who was an enemy of Dimilioc?

     But it wasn’t a black dog that came for her. Natividad shouldn’t have been surprised. She had known no black dog would use a car to attack anybody. She had
known
that. So she shouldn’t have been surprised it wasn’t a black dog.

     But she was shocked to see it was one of the blood kin.

     No blood kin should have been here—certainly not
here
, in Vermont, so close to Dimilioc. Blood kin were made by vampires, and all the vampires were gone. Once their masters had lost the power to hide themselves and their servants beneath the miasma, the blood kin had at last been recognized for the monsters they were, and ordinary people everywhere had destroyed them. Silver was good against the blood kin, and cutting off their heads—there were ways, even for ordinary people, so now all the blood kin were gone, along with the vampires.

     Except plainly a few had hidden, because this one was
right here
, right out in
broad daylight
in the middle of the public street, even though blood kin hated sunlight and hated being seen clearly. It must have known it would die if it let itself be recognized, but it had come out anyway.

     Natividad had always known that blood kin
could
do things on their own, even if they also had to obey the vampire that had made them. They had to be able to make decisions and run things, or they couldn’t have become mayors and school superintendents and so on, the way so many had. Blood kin had always sought positions of power and public trust, because they could corrupt and destroy a city better from the inside, and corrupting and destroying cities was what vampires loved best.

     But she had always thought that the blood kin would just die without their vampires to rule them. She had not guessed that any of the blood kin, surviving their masters, could own enough independent will to seek revenge. Maybe this one had even been trying to get to Dimilioc—maybe it had sensed Natividad and decided she was an easier target. Blood kin
were
smart, just as smart as the people they’d been before the vampire got them; that was why so many had been able to pass for human for so long.

     It was horrible. As soon as it came out in the open, all the people who had been staring at the wreckage of the car and the shop, and most of all at Keziah, turned around and stared at it instead. Something about the blood kin, some instinct bred into people by thousands of years of living with vampires even if they hadn’t known it, pulled all their combined attention toward it. Then the screaming started in earnest, people scrambling back and away in all directions. Except the girl’s father, who ran to get his daughter from Keziah—but Natividad already knew he was very brave.

     Vampires had always made blood kin out of normal people, and for a while after they were made, blood kin looked almost like the people they had been. But there was nothing of that person left in this one. It had been made a long time ago. It was skeletally gaunt, with yellowish papery skin tight across its bones and long yellow fingernails that were like claws. Its eyes were crimson; its teeth, set in a jaw that hinged oddly, were black and pointed. And it moved in a strange disjointed rush, all fits and starts, wanting Natividad but wary of the mandala that surrounded her.

     Natividad ducked her face against her knees and closed her eyes, because if she looked she knew she would try to run, and if she ran it would be on her instantly. Keziah had been right to make her draw a mandala. She was Pure, and for her, safety was something she won by defending her ground. Only she wished she’d had time to make a much, much bigger mandala, and anchor it much, much more strongly into the earth.

     Then Keziah hit the blood kin. She was almost all the way in her black dog form, which was a very fast change for a black dog; only Ezekiel could shift between one step and the next; usually it took minutes for a black dog to change. But Keziah was fast. Only the blood kin was fast, too. It wheeled to meet her, vicious and quick and a lot stronger than anything so emaciated should have been, hissing in a voice like a snake and raking with its yellow claws—Natividad had never heard that blood kin had poisoned claws, but those nasty yellow claws
looked
poisoned. It was
horrible
, and Keziah wasn’t used to fighting blood kin, certainly not all by herself. She already had a nasty long gash all across her face and neck and shoulder. Natividad jumped to her feet and snatched Keziah’s new moonstone bracelet out of the little pouch it had come in, wove a memory of moonlight into its stones and around its silver chain, and threw it as hard as she could right at the blood kin.

     The bracelet turned over and over, sunlight and the memory of moonlight tangling in its stones and turning them a strange milky golden color. It hit the blood kin on the back, and the monster whirled around, hissing with fury and pain, and Keziah snarled and lunged forward, and the blood kin made a terrible sound, and there was a savage, fast, tumbling blur of shaggy black and gaunt yellow, and then a horrible crimson-eyed head with a narrow vicious jaw flew right at Natividad, who squeaked and ducked, but the head bounced off her mandala and burst into white flames. Black ichor spattered the brick pavers where it rolled, each little drop burning away in its own brief pyre. The smoke smelled like sulfur and rot and hatred.

     “Oh,
ugh
,” Natividad said, heartfelt.

     Keziah was now fully in her black dog form. She wasn’t as huge as most black dogs, nothing like as big as Alejandro, but she was still more than three times Natividad’s size, and she looked very, very dangerous—which she was. Natividad didn’t blame everyone left in the street from flinching and cowering, even the man with the little girl, who had backed away but hadn’t yet gotten all the way out of the street. He was staring, his eyes wide and horrified.

     Not wanting to see the man’s horror, Natividad looked away, focusing again on Keziah. She had that long, nasty gash across her face and neck and shoulder, but that wound wasn’t serious enough to drive her back into her human form. She didn’t look like she was planning to shift back any time soon. Too angry, too outraged by finding one of the blood kin here where there weren’t supposed to be any—too scared, maybe, because what if there was a
vampire
somewhere nearby, what if that was why the blood kin had been here? There wasn’t, there couldn’t be, all the vampires were dead—but Keziah was probably thinking that maybe one might be left, because blood kin didn’t usually come just by themselves.

     Natividad certainly understood just how Keziah must feel and what she must be afraid of, because she felt angry and outraged and scared herself and she wasn’t even a black dog.

     She stepped warily out of the remnants of her mandala. It really hadn’t been a very good mandala; just being hit one time by the torn-off head of the blood kin had all but ruined it, but even so Natividad hated to leave its protection. But Keziah was pacing and snarling and staring around, looking for more blood kin and scaring all the human people absolutely out of their minds. Natividad would have put her arms around Alejandro’s neck, but all she dared with Keziah was a touch. But she did dare that, and whispered that it was all right, there weren’t any more blood kin, she would know—she wasn’t sure she would, actually—but she told Keziah firmly that she could change back, that she
ought
to change back, that everything was fine.

     Keziah actually listened. Maybe not to her words, because black dogs often lost language when they changed. But at least to Natividad’s tone. She turned her head toward Natividad and then finally straightened and dwindled, letting her shadow sink away, reclaiming her human form. She didn’t look quite her normal cool, scornful self, but she gave a little shiver and ran her hands through her hair and came very close.

     Across the street, the man whose daughter Keziah had saved took a step forward.

     “We’d better not stay,” Natividad said urgently.

     “No,” Keziah said vaguely.

     “You’re a werewolf,” said the man. He didn’t come closer, but he didn’t run away, either.

     Keziah gave him a haughty stare, but Natividad said, “Yes, but the good kind!”

     More than a little to her surprise the man laughed a little and answered, “Yes, I can see she must be, and is there anything I can do to help? She’s your sister, isn’t she? Is she all right? That monster hit her—and the car was on fire when she picked it up—”

     Keziah turned around. She was so surprised she actually
looked
surprised instead of sarcastic or offended. She opened her mouth and closed it again and said finally, “I am not hurt.”

     “Werewolves heal fast!” Natividad said quickly. “She’s fine. But thanks, though. Is your little girl all right?”

     “I think so,” said the man. “Yeah, I think so, thanks to you.”  He was speaking to Keziah now, sounding a little hesitant but not afraid. “You got her out—and you killed that monster. So fast! I saw one of those things kill a dozen people once, the news showed it, armed cops tried to take it down but it tore them up. But you ripped its head right off!”  He was looking at Keziah in admiration that didn’t anything to do with Keziah’s beauty or style.

     Keziah shook her head, looking confused.

     “She was glad to help. But I think we better go,” said Natividad. “Um, Keziah, are those sirens?”

     Keziah blinked and seemed to come back to herself. Then she said sharply, “Yes. Come,” and caught Natividad’s wrist and dragged her away toward their car, which wasn’t fair since Natividad certainly hadn’t been trying to dawdle, but she didn’t protest. It was better not to argue with black dogs. Especially when they were already doing what you wanted.

     Keziah was very silent on the drive home. Eventually she said, “You did not find a gift for your brothers. I am sorry.”

     “It wasn’t your fault!” said Natividad.

     “No. But I am sorry for it.”

     There was another little silence, and then Natividad said, “You didn’t get anything for Amira, either.”

     “No,” said Keziah. Then she said, her gaze on the road, not glancing at Natividad, “I know what I wish to give Amira for a Christmas gift. No one has ever given her a Christmas present before, but this is America. Christmas is important here. Amira should have a Christmas present. I thought of one I would like to give her.”

     “You did?” Natividad asked, cautiously, because Keziah’s tone seemed a little strange.

     Yes,” said Keziah, and paused again. Then she said at last, “Amira does not wish to have a book. She is a black dog, after all. But I think . . . I think she would like to be told stories. At bedtime. The way you said your mother used to tell you stories.”

     “I think that’s a wonderful idea—” Natividad began.