Pure Magic (Black Dog Book 3) (9 page)

Ezekiel tilted his head, lifting an eyebrow in wordless query.

“If people are going to find out about you black dogs, it’s important to make sure they find out the right things,” Miguel said earnestly. “So it’s good, how you handled that, only if you’re going to make a threat like that to all the strays, we have to follow it up right away. I mean, once we’ve taken care of those black dogs in Boston.
They
aren’t ordinary strays, that’s for sure!”

Grayson Lanning gave the boy a quelling look, but said, “Miguel is correct.” He leaned back in his chair and folded broad hands across the desk in front of him. “Alejandro?”

The Hispanic young man took a step forward, glanced at Ezekiel, then turned aside and dropped into a chair. Then he looked back at Ezekiel and said, “There was a trap in Boston. You remember how it was, or how we thought it was. Bold strays, yes, but we knew that. Only that area between Boston and Cambridge, where black dogs seemed little active, where we thought perhaps there might be a Pure woman? We found this woman, and also her Pure
bebé
, but the woman was dead and the child bait in a trap.”

Justin listened to this with growing alarm. Traps, and murdered women, and children used as bait? He was beginning to think he should have tried much harder to get himself clear of werewolves and anything to do with them when he’d had the chance. He half wanted to declare he was
so
out of here and walk out, except that he was certain they wouldn’t let him go. And he had to admit, he was also curious. Listening to this was like the reluctant fascination exerted by a highway accident: you didn’t want to see it, but you couldn’t help but stare.

“It was a trap meant for us, for me, maybe for you, we think,” the Hispanic girl said earnestly, with a sidelong look at Ezekiel. “There was a black dog woman there, someone old and powerful. She said something strange to me, something like
Now I see why he wanted you
, something about making a bargain with someone. I’m sorry! I’ve tried, but I just don’t remember exactly what she said. It was so fast and, and kind of—kind of confused, you know? But of course we’re all fine!”

Justin didn’t understand the way she looked at Ezekiel, like she was worried about him and nervous just being in the same room as him, both at once.

Ezekiel tilted his head, regarding Natividad with a sharply focused proprietary attention. “This woman hit you?” he asked, very quietly.

Justin suddenly wondered whether
he
might be her boyfriend. That was an uncomfortable idea, though of course he didn’t know the girl, or Ezekiel either, really, so he had no reason to have an opinion about either of them. But he stared at Natividad anyway, unable to imagine a friendly little thing like her being interested in a werewolf. Though it was easy enough to imagine a big bad werewolf being interested in a cute girl . . .

Natividad said earnestly, “You need to be careful, Ezekiel. I know you don’t think anybody can beat you, but they knew your name. And they had human people working with them. And guns!”

This didn’t seem to impress Ezekiel, but Ethan drew a sharp breath and demanded, “Silver bullets?”

“Worse,” said the Middle-Eastern girl, sounding amused. She stood up, a slow, seductive uncurling of long, long legs. She leaned back, arching her beautifully flexible back, and from a sideboard behind her lifted a . . . gun, rifle? Suddenly Justin was looking mostly at that. It was a huge, heavy-looking thing, though the girl held it as though it weighed nothing. Bigger than a rifle. And . . . at the muzzle, was that a . . .

“It’s a harpoon gun,” Natividad told Ezekiel. “With a silver-tipped harpoon! And a silver chain. Imagine being shot with one of those! Or two, and the chains pulled opposite ways so you couldn’t get free. They knew what they were doing, those people, and they weren’t just looking for me. They wanted to take a black dog alive, and they had human allies to do it.
Now
do you want to laugh?”

Ezekiel put out one hand and touched the silver head of the harpoon very carefully with the tip of one finger. Then he shook his hand, as though even that light touch had burned a little. “Not really,” he murmured. “No.” He looked carefully at the Hispanic girl. “But I certainly shall not forget that bruise on your face, either.” Then he glanced swiftly at Alejandro, at the Middle-Eastern girl. He said in a harder, sharper tone, “Where is Amira?”

The girl smiled, a slow, dangerous smile. “Oh, she is well. You are so kind to inquire. No, that so-clever trap went awry. Natividad was also clever. And I think our enemies did not expect
three
black dogs. So we know now that Dimilioc has an enemy in Boston, and they know they should not regard us lightly. You will no doubt be pleased to know that we have claimed another Pure girl. Amira is with the little one. The child is very much afraid of black dogs, but not of Amira.”

Ezekiel listened to all this attentively. Then he nodded and looked at Grayson, lifting one pale eyebrow.

“A strong black dog,” Grayson Lanning told him grimly. “A woman. Someone able to draw and control strays, or possibly able to form and hold a true pack. A black dog able to control her black dogs well enough that they may work with ordinary human people. I can think of one woman this might be.”

“The Chernaya Volchitza,” said Ezekiel, not a question. “The Black Wolf of Russia.”

“Just so. Zinaida Alexandrovna Kologrivova,” Grayson added, glancing around at the rest of them. “Anatoliy Ivanovich Kologrivov was Master of The Dacha, before the war. Zinaida Alexandrovna was his aunt. She and Anatoliy Ivanovich were never anything but enemies, but even twenty years ago, she was strong enough to force her nephew to leave her alone.”

“Thos made certain I knew her name,” Ezekiel said. “He said she was subtle and clever, a dangerous enemy, but in some ways an even more dangerous ally. I imagine she would have had close connections to a good handful of the oldest and strongest Dacha wolves. Valentin Nikitich Kologrivov was her cousin, I believe.”

Grayson inclined his head. “Her uncle. When the situation in Russia became untenable for black dogs, she might very well have been able to persuade not only Valentin but others as well to abandon a losing battle. She would have known that we had secured our position here—and she would have guessed our victory had been rather Pyrrhic.”

“Which
means
it was a trap for us,” Natividad broke in, anxiously. Justin was more and more convinced she and Ezekiel
were
together, and more and more certain he didn’t like the idea. But he was trying to make sense of all this, remember all these names, sort out who was who. He wondered whom he should be rooting for, if it came to a fight between werewolf factions. Though, all else aside, he kind of thought he might root for the side that the Hispanic girl belonged to, and not the side that had left that bruise on her face.

Natividad was saying, “We only got out of it by luck! And maybe a little because I don’t think they really expected me to use Pure magic the way I did.”

Ezekiel gave her a small nod. “We shall keep you clear of traps in the future, I hope. And now that we know about these harpoon guns, I promise you, I shall be cautious. We shall think of a useful counter. We may well depend on you for that, in fact.” He glanced back at Grayson Lanning. “And Thaddeus? I hope he’s been having a less adventurous time?”

Another name, when he’d already had more than enough to remember. Justin half shut his eyes and repeated all these new names to himself, setting them firmly in his memory.

Grayson inclined his head. “Fortunately, we have had an ordinary report from Thaddeus. He and his team have come across nothing unusual in the Chicago region. An ambitious black dog, yes, with the nascent beginnings of a pack. But that pack has been broken back into scattered strays. We will deal with them when we find ourselves at leisure.”

Ezekiel made a wordless, satisfied sound. “Andrew and Russell?”

“Thaddeus reports no difficulties. They perform well. Their control appears adequate. Of course, DeAnn is with them.”

Ezekiel nodded.

“The master of the little pack was taken alive,” Grayson added. “I am informed that DeAnn performed the
Beschwichtigand
on him. We may find him a useful asset for Dimilioc, as he was able to hold the beginnings of a pack.”

“More likely he’ll eventually prove a problem for Dimilioc,
Beschwichtigand
or not,” said Ezekiel, his tone indifferent. “They aren’t all going to be like Thaddeus.”

Grayson shrugged. “You can always kill him, if he proves difficult. Or I will do it, if you are not here.”

This was murder they were talking about—deliberate murder. Bringing a powerful werewolf here and deciding whether or not to kill him. Justin had known they were talking about killing other werewolves, all that stuff about
that pack has been broken
, but he hadn’t really felt the truth of it until Grayson Lanning said in that same indifferent tone,
You can always kill him if he proves difficult
.

Or was it really murder when werewolves killed each other? Justin rubbed his hands along his arms, his skin prickling. He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything about werewolves or
anything
. He felt his own ignorance as though it were a burden he’d carried all his life, never noticing its weight until he suddenly found it pressing him down.

Ezekiel had started to nod with the same indifference, but he paused, his cool blue eyes narrowing. “Where would I be, if not here?”

Grayson gave him a heavy-lidded look. “We have also heard from Étienne. I would not say he has come across anything excessively unusual. However, he is nevertheless encountering some difficulty in re-establishing our outpost in Denver. I had hoped to reclaim our gateway to the west before the end of the year. At Étienne’s current rate of progress, that will not be possible.”

“He didn’t take enough wolves with him,” Ezekiel said, his tone matter-of-fact.

“He took whom we could spare,” Grayson said flatly. “He is strong and experienced, and perhaps one or another of his Lumondiere cousins survived, and will hear he is there and go to join him.”

“In which case, he will establish an outpost of Lumondiere, rather than Dimilioc.”

“Dimilioc, Lumondiere.” Grayson brushed aside this distinction, whatever it comprised, with a flick of one powerful hand. “I actually do not care. I would like to send him one or two more black wolves. But I have none I can spare. I intended to send
you
—for ten days, two weeks, a month. However long proved sufficient to let Étienne establish firm control over that entire region. But now I do not know. This problem in Boston concerns me. We shall discuss this. We shall discuss all these matters.”

Ezekiel met Grayson’s eyes, then inclined his head in a gesture that looked formal. “At your convenience, Master.”

“Indeed,” said Grayson. He looked thoughtfully around the room, frowning. His heavy, powerful gaze felt like a physical pressure when he turned his attention to Justin. “Now. Our guest.” Leaning forward, he set his elbows on the desk, clasped his hands together, and stared at Justin, who stared back, feeling somewhat like a rabbit under the stern regard of a wolf. Grayson said at length, “A Pure young man is . . . unexpected. One presumes your mother was Pure. What was your father?”

Justin decided he had preferred being ignored. Now everyone was staring at him. Ezekiel, of course, looked amused. Ethan folded his arms over his chest and glowered, as disapproving as he had been right at first. Natividad took a step closer to Justin, looking anxious, her silvery aura following her. She said quickly in a low voice, “It’s fine, you know!” Her brother Miguel grinned and shook his head. Her other brother, Alejandro, the black dog, scowled and looked, for some reason, at the Middle-Eastern girl. That girl, Keziah, tipped one shoulder up in a minimal shrug, her lip curling in a supercilious expression.

“Well?” said Grayson, ignoring them all.

Justin said tightly, not daring to defy him, “My mother was a math teacher. She died two weeks ago in a stupid accident. My father was an IT guy, but he died when I was ten. Of a heart attack, dammit, not a werewolf attack!”

Grayson Lanning began to speak. Justin, suddenly furious, raised his voice and kept going. “I’m good at
math
, do you get that?” He didn’t say anything about sometimes seeing geometrical impressions superimposed on the world, about razor-edged shadows or curving silvery auras. He said loudly, “I’m good at
math
and I play
chess
and I don’t know anything about
werewolves
except some of you attack random people and some of you
kidnap
random people and none of you have any
right!
So I think it’s wonderful that you have this great law to stop werewolves killing people, it’s great you’re ‘cleaning up’ Denver and Boston and everything, good luck with that, but count me out!”

“Natividad,” said Grayson.

The Hispanic girl said cheerfully, exactly as though Justin hadn’t just been shouting, “You want me to show him around and get him settled? I can do that. I can maybe show him some magic, right? And explain about black dogs and manners and everything! Right?”