Pure Magic (Black Dog Book 3) (28 page)

The woman’s lip curled. She glared at the phone in her hand. “You try my patience, Grayson Lanning. Bring me this girl. You can spare her now. After all, you have the little one you took from me. Keep that one; I do not mind. And bring your young Korte executioner, if you will, and we shall see whether he is as terrible as you say. But I will not promise his safety. Nor the safety of these young wolves of yours, if you do not come. With the Pure girl.”

“I shall take harm done my young wolves out of your skin, Zinaida Alexandrovna.”

“I will look forward to our meeting, Grayson Lanning. Come, and we will speak to one another, you and I. Bring me this girl. Then maybe you and I will find things to speak of. But here, and not upon Dimilioc territory.”

“You are standing upon Dimilioc territory. But I’ll come,” said Grayson, in that same flat tone, and then there was the tone that meant he had disconnected at the other end.

The Black Wolf of Russia tossed the phone to one of the other wolves, who caught it, expressionless, and slipped it away. She looked around the balcony one more time, thoughtfully. Then she jerked her head at Valentin and strode away, into the hotel.

Valentin closed a hard hand on Alejandro’s arm, hauling him up to his feet and shoving him after her. Alejandro went where the shove directed him and did not look the Russian wolf in the face.

The Russian wolves had established themselves in a long boxy warehouse by the harbor, smelling of salt and seaweed, of wet stone and mildewed wood and machine oil and some astringent chemical. The warehouse had had offices at one end, on the upper floor, and the Russian wolves had made those into a series of ugly but functional apartments. The lower floor held stacks of crates and shipping containers, and two vans, and eyebolts set directly into the cement floor. Alejandro was chained to one of those eyebolts, and Ethan to another, about six feet away. The chains were short, too short to allow either of them to stand. They must kneel or sit or lie down. The cement floor was hard and cold; it was going to get very uncomfortable if they were left here very long. Probably being left alone was the very best either of them could hope for. The silver chains were much harder to bear than the cement floor, a slow and constant drain on their strength, and dangerous to any careless touch.

Alejandro knelt on the cement floor, his head down, watching the Russian wolves through lowered lashes. They ignored their prisoners. They spoke to one another in Russian, with only the occasional English word. He understood nothing they said. He counted nine black dogs and four humans, but he did not know whether he had seen them all. All of them he saw were male, except for Zinaida Kologrivova herself, the Chernaya Volchitza, the Black Wolf of Russia. She spoke to one man and then another, then vanished up the stairs toward the smell of cooking, of beef and boiled cabbage. But soon she came back down, a human man at her side with a clipboard and pen.

Everyone seemed busy, though what they were doing was not clear. The sound of hammering came from somewhere out of sight. Someone brought a tall crate into the warehouse; someone else took a stack of smaller crates away. Several of the black dogs he could see were young. Those would not have worried him, except for the chains. But Zinaida Kologrivova or Valentin Kologrivov or one of the older black dogs was always close. Even without the chains, Alejandro knew he could not fight any of them.

The humans he did not pay attention to, at first. But then he saw Ethan watching one man, his expression closed and wary. Ethan looked at Alejandro, a sharp glance, and then back at the human with a significant little jerk of his chin. After that, Alejandro looked more closely and realized the man was armed with a gun. That all the human men were armed with guns. When he paid attention, he could tell that the weapons were loaded with silver bullets. The chains, so close and violently bright, made it hard to tell about the bullets. He would not have known, except for Ethan. His own carelessness made him angry: he should not have needed Ethan to show him that threat. But everything made him angry now.

Especially Ezekiel’s absence. The
verdugo
should have been here. He should have been on that balcony outside the hotel room; he should have
been here
. Then all these Russian wolves would not have everything as they pleased.

He knew, with the part of his mind that was capable of thought, that this was unfair. That if Ezekiel had been on that balcony, he would very likely be chained here also. Or dead. That the attack had been too swift, too unexpected, the Russian wolves too strong. But he was still angry. It was dangerous to be so angry. He knew that, too.

Ethan did not look so angry. Or afraid. There was a
tacidturno
—sullen—set to his mouth, a hostile look in his dark eyes, but Ethan often looked sullen and
hostil
. There was intelligent thought behind the surly look, though, or he would not have seen that the human men carried guns loaded with silver, or indicated that danger to Alejandro. Alejandro barely felt capable of intelligent thought himself.

He flexed his hands slowly and repeatedly, testing his strength against the silver-backed cuffs. This was useless. But he could not bring himself to stop testing those cuffs. He could only barely stop himself from flinging his whole weight against the silver chain and the bolt that held the chain to the floor, even though he knew he could not break either.

Ethan did not appear to feel that impulse. That, too, made Alejandro angry.

Two of the Russian wolves walked together into the warehouse, stood in muted conversation for a moment, then carried away a crate. The crate was not so very large, yet plainly it was nearly too heavy for both of them together. Alejandro watched at first idly and then with interest. He could hardly imagine what might be in that crate. Even in human form, black dogs were very strong.

“Gold?” said Ethan, not whispering but speaking very quietly. “The Dacha was wealthy. I expect they had a lot of assets in Cyprus or wherever, the kind of bank where all the best Russian mobsters keep their laundered money. But after that thing with the Cyprus government skimming creditors’ money, everyone knows gold can be trusted and governments can’t. I bet The Dacha started keeping a lot of assets in, I don’t know, a vault or something after that. The Chernaya Volchitza might have abandoned The Dacha, but I bet she wouldn’t have abandoned a lot of gold.”

Alejandro had no idea how Russian mob bosses handled their money, but he understood the part about not abandoning gold just fine. He nodded.

“Clever pup,” said a tenor voice behind them, level and cold. Ethan twitched, his mouth tightening. Alejandro also flinched. He had not known the black dog was there, so close. He turned his head, wary, careful to keep his eyes down.

It was Valentin. He was standing perhaps fifteen feet away, looking at Ethan. Alejandro would not have expected him to hear so quiet a comment from so far away, but clearly he had heard every word.

“They teach you young pups something in Dimilioc, do they?” said Valentin, his spare, seamed face forbidding. “But they do not teach you to know when it would be wiser to hold your tongue.” His voice was accented, but not as heavily as his aunt’s. He sounded as though he had learned his English a long time ago, but from an American.

Bowing his head, Ethan stayed very still.

Valentin Nikitich Kologrivov strode to him and touched his hair; then, lightly, the back of his neck, a gesture as much a threat as though he had hit him. He said grimly, “You Lannings: far too bold. Far too sure of your own righteousness. You know too much and not ever enough. If not for you, we would not have lost the
miasmy
—” he broke off, his hand tightening visibly. Ethan made a low, pained sound, but did not try to get away. A struggle, a fight, that would only excite a black dog. Even the youngest pup knew that; every black dog was born knowing it.

Alejandro knew exactly why Ethan stayed so still under that punishing grip. But he could see no answering moderation of Valentin Kologrivov’s anger. He said sharply, “You think all would have been well for The Dacha forever, just leave the vampires alone,
sin considerar la
creciente influencia
, their tightening hold on the world? They hunted black dogs—and they hunted the Pure—”

Valentin released Ethan, straightening. He turned his head, so deliberately that even that small motion was a threat.

Alejandro looked aside, but he said stubbornly, “The war was terrible, but we had to break the strength of the vampires, or they would eventually have broken ours. You must know that is true.”

Valentin straightened and took a step toward him, and Alejandro braced himself. But Zinaida Kologrivov, looking up from a short distance away, said, “Do not rumple the hostages, uncle.”

“We have two,” said Valentin. “One more than we need.”

“No. We may need them both.” Zinaida handed the clipboard back to the man at her side and walked over. She frowned at Ethan, narrow-lipped. “Grayson Lanning is your father? Your uncle?”

“My uncle,” Ethan muttered.

“Your uncle,” Zinaida repeated. “He values you, I hope, young Lanning.
Does
he value you? Will he give me this Pure girl for your sake?”

Ethan shrugged, not looking up. “Not likely, no.”

“Well, we shall see,” Zinaida said, undisturbed. “He will come to me, here in my territory. If he is wise, he will bring me the girl. If not—” she glanced at Alejandro. “I have this one, at least. That will do for a start. I will take the girl as well, whether your uncle brings her or I must find her myself.”

Ethan glanced up, one swift scornful look. “You want to think Grayson Lanning’s a fool, you go right ahead. But I wouldn’t suggest you refer to Boston as your territory. That won’t go over well, just let me warn you.”

The Black Wolf opened a hand in a small but expressive gesture, a motion that by implication took in not only Boston, but also the surrounding countryside. “Dimilioc can have only what it can hold. This is mine now.”

“Oh, the way you talk, you’d think you owned the entire eastern seaboard. What do you really have? One stinking warehouse and half a mile of the harbor? Dimilioc has been here two hundred years! You think you’ll topple the Northeast Kingdom with a dozen black dogs and a couple human flunkies?”

Alejandro flinched, expecting an explosion, but Zinaida Kologrivov’s expression did not change at all. She only said, “A bold tongue indeed, little wolf. And how many black wolves and human flunkies does your uncle own?”

Ethan hesitated, perhaps also disconcerted by the Black Wolf’s restraint. Why he was trying to anger her, Alejandro could not guess, but he hadn’t given up. He said flatly, “Oh, more than that, you bet. Arrogance won’t serve you well here. You think you’ve invited the Dimilioc Master onto
your
territory? This is
all
Dimilioc’s territory, and you’re in it. It’s a big country, but there’s no room in it for Dimilioc’s enemies. So why be enemies? Let me tell you, free advice, you’d do better to take a more polite attitude and explain nicely what you want and why. Grayson won’t be pushed, but he can be generous if you approach him right. Ask Étienne Lumondiere.”

That was clever, wrapping a lot of truth up around one big lie. Alejandro could not see any sign that the Black Wolf had spotted the lie, but she did not seem impressed by the truth, either. She only said, “I had heard that Dimilioc permits a Lumondiere presence. In the west, where Dimilioc was never so strong. I think this is not generosity, young wolf. Does one look for generosity from a black dog? No. This shows his weakness.”

Ethan met her eyes. “You’re wrong. About Lumondiere and about Dimilioc. If you Dacha wolves made more of a place for the Pure, you wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss generosity. Or mistake it for weakness.”

Zinaida only shrugged impatiently and turned to Alejandro. She looked him up and down. “You,” she said. “Can it be that Grayson Lanning values you, despite what you have done to your shadow? What strange experiments you Dimilioc curs attempt. I had heard this, but truly I had no idea.”

It took Alejandro a moment to leash the fury that trembled through his nerves. Then he could speak, but he could not think of any good retort.

Valentin curled his lip and said something to the Chernaya Volchitza. The only words Alejandro caught were
Ezekiel Korte
. That was enough. Alejandro said furiously, “Grayson Lanning will never surrender any Pure woman to you. But Ezekiel Korte? You say you do not fear Dimilioc’s executioner? When he comes here, I think you will find you should.” He tried not to show by so much as a flicker how unlikely it was that Ezekiel Korte would be guarding Grayson’s back when the Dimilioc Master arrived. He tried to look certain of himself, certain of Dimilioc’s strength.

The woman shrugged. “We will see,” she said. “I think my strong wolves need not fear the young Korte. We have seen him fight, now. He is formidable, yes, but he will find he is not invincible. I will be very pleased if your Master brings him to me. Very pleased. He will be useful to me, once I have taught him his place. But I will be more pleased if you are wrong and Grayson Lanning brings me your sister. Then I will ensure he lives long enough to see all his work undone.” She turned to walk away.

“Undone how?” Ethan demanded. He could not stand up, of course, but he straightened his back and glared at her, an attitude Alejandro admired even though it was stupid. “
Why
undone? What
exactly
is Grayson’s fault? The war? We
won
. The vampires are
the ones who are gone—” he hesitated, though, remembering the news from the south, the vampire that might be down there—the vampire that Natividad might have gone to find. Alejandro did not want to think of what might happen if she succeeded, especially if these Russian black dogs prevented Grayson from sending anyone after her. He was fervently glad Ezekiel had gone after her, even as he was furious with the
verdugo
for leaving the rest of them to face the Black Wolf of Russia without him.