Black Dog (13 page)

Alejandro spared one fast, alarmed look for the twins. Miguel had already turned and bolted – the right way, away from the trouble – but Natividad had frozen, staring at him.
“Vamos
!” Alejandro snarled at her, meaning: “
Go after Miguel
.”
He himself whirled to follow the Dimilioc wolves. His shadow rose around him as he ran; his claws sank into the hardwood floor as he flung himself through the doorway and forward.

Perhaps thirty black dogs were scattered across the open ground that lay between the edge of the forest and the Dimilioc mansion, some of them leaping forward toward the house like great cats, some of them stalking low to the ground, some even creeping on their bellies. They panted, coal-black fangs gleaming in hot red mouths, smoke wreathing into the air from their breath, the snow melting where they passed.

They were Vonhausel's black dogs. Vonhausel's shadow pack. They were here. They had come all the way north after all, right into the heart of Dimilioc territory. Alejandro could not believe they had done such a thing. He
did
not believe it. He told himself they must be merely a clutter of American strays, bold and stupid with the waxing moon, temporarily gathered together by some black dog stronger and more ambitious than they. But then he saw Vonhausel himself, unmistakable, huge and flame-eyed, behind the rest, and after that he could not tell himself comforting lies.

He saw Vonhausel's black dogs through a fiery haze of bloodlust and anger, so that they seemed to cast bloody shadows and the snow itself was tinted crimson. The enemy black dogs approached in a ragged half circle. A dark miasma of smoke and evil followed them and clung to them and reached out before them. It was hard to see how many they were or exactly pinpoint their locations, but Alejandro thought that those at the edges were racing ahead while those at the center approached more cautiously. That was reasonable because, thirty feet from the front door, Ezekiel Korte anchored the center of the defense, with Grayson Lanning supporting him on one side and Ethan on the other.

Harrison was beyond Ethan, well out to the left, facing half a dozen black dogs. To the right, Zachariah had been the first to actually close with enemies, and now one of his opponents was rolling on the ground, screaming, half his face torn away. Blood and black ichor splashed madly across the snow as Zachariah used his weight to bear down another of the intruders and tore at his throat and chest, but in the next moment another of the invaders hit the oldest of the Dimilioc wolves and knocked him away from his writhing enemy. The wounded black dog, neither dead nor dying, twisted into his human form, letting his shadow carry away his terrible injuries. In far too little time, his shadow would rise around him once more and then he would attack again.

Five Dimilioc wolves were far too few; Alejandro had said so, and he had been right. Six was not much better, and for an instant he hesitated. He might find the twins and run, let the Dimilioc wolves cover their flight. But if Vonhausel won here, he would win everything, and then he would come after them again and kill them all, and he knew they would never get away.

His black dog, if it was not free to abandon the Dimilioc wolves, was perfectly happy to attack the invaders. Desire and counter desire fused, and with almost no perceptible hesitation, Alejandro hurled himself against the cluster of black dogs that surrounded Zachariah. There were four of them now, heavy and massively muscled. One faced Zachariah directly, fangs snapping, while two others closed in from his flanks, claws sharpening to needle points as they reared up to grapple, while the fourth swung wide to come around from the rear. Zachariah whirled in a tight circle, threatening them all.

Concentrating on their enemy, the strangers did not realize they faced another attacker until Alejandro slammed into one of them as he reared upright. Unprepared for the brutal impact, the stranger went down, but he twisted as he fell, striking at Alejandro's face with savage claws that lengthened as they slashed up at him. Alejandro jerked his head to the side, neatly evading the blow, and darted his head forward, closed his jaws on the invader's foreleg.
Yes
!
howled his black dog, and Alejandro shook his head violently, knocked his opponent's attempted return strike aside with one forefoot, extended the shadow claws on the other, and ripped him across the belly, and then upward across the chest to tear through ribs and crush his heart.

More blood and ichor sprayed across the snow; his enemy's shadow writhed and howled and his body began to twist back into human form as he died. Alejandro also howled, but with savage pleasure, as he whirled around to look for another enemy; Zachariah was still battling furiously with two of the invaders. The third, his forelimb wrenched nearly off and his intestines spread in gory loops across the trampled snow, stared in glaze-eyed shock; the great, smoky cloud of his shadow struggled and failed to retain purchase in his dying body as he shifted piecemeal toward death and his human form.

But ichor and red-tinged smoke also poured from Zachariah's side where one of his opponents had torn him open. The two that were left harried him hard, and two more black dogs had cut away from the main force to come against him and Alejandro. Beyond them, in the midst of the wild twisting knot of battle, Alejandro could see Ezekiel Korte tearing into a cluster of enemies. He belatedly realized that the heave and surge of black dogs there marked Grayson's position – the enemy black dogs had pulled the Master down and now worked to finish him. But even while Alejandro watched, Ezekiel shifted fluidly from black dog to human and back, twice, impossibly fast, hardly a flicker between forms. The
verdugo
was using his shadow to clear away any injury even while eviscerating his enemies, and now Alejandro half believed Ezekiel alone truly might destroy a dozen enemies, or more.

He could not see Ethan or Harrison at all, but even in the midst of wild rage and bloodlust, even while he lunged to attack one of the Zachariah's opponents, Alejandro found himself astonished at the number of intruders who had been torn apart and lost their shadows and now, in death, dwindled back into their human bodies.

But there were still too many enemies and too few, far too few, Dimilioc wolves. Grayson had not made it back to his feet. Maybe the Master was dead – there was no choice but to fight; he knew that and his black dog knew it, and he closed with one of the strangers. They crashed against each other with a shock that shook the world, claws lengthening as they both reared to slash, each of them using his weight to try to bear the other down, jaws snapping. Alejandro's claws scored across his enemy's chest, missing the belly stroke he'd aimed for. His enemy twisted and closed a crushing grip around Alejandro's shoulder, forcing him off balance and down, and though Alejandro tried to tear himself free he could not get loose–

The flat crack of a pistol shot snapped out like a whip stroke, loud even across the ugly clamor of battle, cutting alike across the roars of enraged black dogs and the screams of those whose wounds were too terrible to be absorbed by their shadows. Another shot. Then a third. Alejandro's enemy reared up and tried to shake him as a dog would shake a rat, but the strength of his grip was already failing, his body already writhing back toward his human form as Alejandro tore out his throat and flung him away.

The pistol cracked again, and after a careful, stretched-out pause, again. And again. Alejandro took longer than he should have to realize the shooter was now targeting Ezekiel's opponents. The pistol cracked once more, and then again, and, as the attackers hesitated, Alejandro found himself actually at leisure to watch Ezekiel fight. The black dogs attacking Ezekiel had found him a terrible enemy even without the support of the gunfire, and now, freed from the hard press of crowding enemies, Ezekiel lunged forward with astonishing speed and tore one of them almost in half.

The Dimilioc executioner fought almost casually. He showed no sign of the bloodlust and rage that engulfed Alejandro, which Alejandro had assumed always consumed any battling black dog. That deadly calm was not the only advantage Ezekiel's formidable control gave him. As Alejandro watched, Ezekiel flickered from black dog to human form and back again between one stride and the next, using the change to slide between baffled opponents, then tear into one enemy after another. With a toss of his head, Ezekiel flung part of a recent opponent's torso thirty feet through the confused shadows and smoky light, contemptuously dropping the rest of the body, then leaping, with an air of lazy ease that almost disguised his speed, to tear once more into the pile of attackers that hid Grayson Lanning from sight. One black dog spun away to the left and another to the right, a third flung his head back, screaming, and Grayson surged at last out of the horde of his enemies.

Dark blood and black ichor clotted the Master's shaggy pelt; smoke streamed from his gaping jaws, and actual flames flickered, dark crimson edged with blue, in his mouth and along the edges of his terrible wounds. He twisted his head down and to the side, drew breath, and roared at his attackers, and two of them contorted helplessly back into human shape, though plainly they tried to hold onto their black dog forms. Grayson instantly tore those two apart, and the rest fled backward, a wavering retreat that yielded a lingering pause in the midst of the violent battle.

For a long moment, Alejandro thought that the Dimilioc wolves had, against all possibility, actually won. Just like that: so fast. Fully half of the intruders were down, some with wounds that were closing, but many more dead or near death. He even believed the Dimilioc wolves might destroy Vonhausel himself, and they would all be rid of him – so fast.

Then Vonhausel, well back from the fighting, lifted his head and howled, a long terrible cry that echoed and re-echoed around the icy forest. All across the cleared land before the house, snow exploded into steam. Fire, the crimson-edged hellfire that burned black at its heart, licked out across limp winter-brown grasses. Three pines at the edge of the forest burst into flames, burning with incandescent violence, and the momentum of the battle shifted again. There were still a lot of black dog intruders to rally to that burning cry – fifteen, maybe twenty, and every Dimilioc wolf except Ezekiel staggered under wounds there had been no time to shed. Alejandro did not see Harrison Lanning, maybe he was among the dead or hidden by the smoke; Ethan, one forelimb crippled, stalking back and forth on three legs, the frozen earth charring where he stepped.

There were no more gunshots.

Vonhausel howled again, powerful haunches bunching as he sank down, preparing to spring forward. The rest of the black dogs rallied to him with a cacophony of howling and snarling, gathering into a tight pack. They meant to rush Ezekiel, Alejandro understood suddenly: they would take Ezekiel and Grayson, and after that they would find it no great task to bring down the rest of the ragged Dimilioc wolves. And after that they could do anything they wished to the children of Edward Toland and Concepcíon Ramerez.

Zachariah suddenly left Alejandro, running toward the Dimilioc Master. Alejandro saw Ethan pressing in from the other side, still on three legs, blood dripping from slashes across his head and neck but following the same instinct: the Dimilioc pack gathering to face down its enemies. Alejandro leaped forward, following Zachariah, because there was nothing else to do and anyway he was angry, angry, angry. How dare these black dog
callejeros
attack Dimilioc
now
,
when they would cost Alejandro so much, cost him everything? Visions of the destroyed village came to him, Mamá and her kin tumbled bloody and abandoned, Papá torn and dead and looking so small in human form, so small in death, when he had always been so powerful. Vonhausel had done that. It was all Vonhausel's fault. Alejandro dropped into a crouch, flanking Zachariah, snarling, a low savage note that vibrated in his chest; he longed for blood and hellfire and destruction.

Four more black dogs emerged from the forest, surely a superfluity of enemies. Two were big, heavy, broad-headed; the other two small and slight, but they looked like they would be fast – if the four fought as a team, they would be very dangerous – but Grayson tipped his torn head toward the sky and howled, and Ezekiel joined him with a long high-pitched ripping shriek of aggression and scorn, and Zachariah gave voice to a deep, grating sound that was more roar than howl. All four newcomers answered savagely and loped forward to cover the left flank of the little group of the Dimilioc wolves. The crowd of intruders hesitated, Vonhausel rearing high up, staring at the newcomers.

A pistol shot rang out, sharp and crisp against the voices of the Dimilioc wolves and the black dogs, and Vonhausel spun about, snapping at his own side. Grayson Lanning howled and leaped forward, pulling his Dimilioc wolves along in his wake, the four newcomers with them. The pistol cracked again, and Vonhausel must have wondered whether the shooter would find more silver bullets, because he whirled around, racing for the shelter of the forest, and all his followers scattered and fled after him.

The Dimilioc wolves let them go, though the shooter fired once more, so that one tardy enemy tumbled over, yelping, before scrambling to his feet and bounding away. Miguel –for it could only be his brother firing in their defense – really had run out of silver bullets, Alejandro guessed, or that black dog wouldn't have gotten up again. He regretted, savagely, that Vonhausel himself had not come in range while Miguel still had silver bullets in his gun.

Por otra parte
…
on the other hand, Miguel had rashly brought a gun – had hidden and brought a
gun
along, a gun and
silver
ammunition
, right into Dimilioc territory. Their mother's gun, by the sharp sound of its retorts. Alejandro had not known. Miguel had not told him – well, of course he hadn't, Miguel would have known how furious his black dog brother would be.