Black Dog Short Stories Page 9

  The Master walked forward. He hadn’t shifted, not yet, but his shadow gathered tightly around and below him, so heavy Thaddeus could almost see it as a separate presence.

  Thaddeus took a step back before he even knew he’d moved. Then he caught himself and stopped. Then he asked himself what the hell he was trying to prove, and just how stupid he had to be. He knew exactly what DeAnn would say, if she was here—he could almost hear her: Thad, you idiot, what the hell are you trying to prove? If he got himself killed because he was too proud to submit to the Master of Dimilioc, she would be pissed.

  So then he dropped to one knee and turned his face aside, and the Master came close and set one hand on his shoulder, close by his neck—a threat; razor-edged claws tipping suddenly blunt fingers, deadly threat, he could tear out Thaddeus’s throat and there was nothing Thaddeus could do to stop him. The Master lifted his other hand toward Thaddeus’s face, toward his eyes, and Thaddeus found his Beast surging furiously upward, pressing hard, sure the Master was going to kill him right here and now, and for something so stupid—

  “No,” said the Master. Somehow that one quiet word echoed with more force than a shout; it seemed to strike Thaddeus like a physical blow. The Master was watching Thaddeus intently, but with very little of the furious heat of the black dog in his dark eyes. He said, still quietly, “Don’t let it rise. Hear me?”

  Thaddeus set his jaw and fought his Beast. It was like wrapping your arms around a great big old grizzly and trying to haul it backward while it snarled and shoved forward—it was like trying to drag that big old grizzly back while you were drowning—not in water, but in heat and fury—his grip was slipping, and if the Beast got loose now, either he was going to kill Grayson or else the Dimilioc Master was going to kill him—better than just cowering down like a beaten pup and letting the Master tear out his throat without even a fight—no, that was the Beast, that hot rage, but he couldn’t hold it—

  The Master’s shadow rolled forward, heavy but fast, smothering, irresistible.

  Thaddeus found himself breathing hard, his Beast flattened beneath the Master’s power. He could think again. He could understand just how close he had come to losing control. And just how disastrous that would have been for him, maybe for DeAnn—maybe for Conway, too. He made an effort to steady his breathing and looked up, warily, trying to gauge Grayson Lanning’s temper and guess what the Master might do.

  Grayson said calmly, “Again. This time, I want you to get your shadow down without my help.”

  Thaddeus started to say that now he had control, that his Beast wasn’t going to get away from him a second time, that if Grayson hadn’t pushed him so hard he wouldn’t have lost control of it in the first place. But the Master gripped his shoulder again, held him hard, and ripped claws unexpectedly across his chest, right through muscle and bone.

  That brought the Beast. It roared up, terrified and enraged, taking the injury almost before Thaddeus was aware of the brutal pain. He found himself almost fully shifted, on the other side of the room, shaking blood and ichor from his pelt, a heavy bass growl vibrating in his chest.

  Grayson had not shifted. He stood still, in human form, studying Thaddeus with a calm detachment that would have made even the stupidest black dog wary. He said, “Yes. Now put it back down.”

  Thaddeus glared at him, trying to make sense of this command.

  “Put it down,” snapped Grayson impatiently.

  Down. The Beast should go down, because letting it up was bad. Letting it up to fight Grayson Lanning was very bad, though for a long moment Thaddeus did not remember why. DeAnn. Yes. Conway, who needed his father. Yes. He knew that.

  But it would be so much easier to tear Grayson Lanning into little pieces. The Master still had not shifted. Little and human and vulnerable . . . except he was the Dimilioc Master. Not vulnerable at all.

  He could roll Thaddeus’s Beast down and under. He could do that. But he wouldn’t. Because Thaddeus was supposed to force his beast down by himself. Some kind of fucking test or something, who knew what, some damn thing that seemed like a good idea to Grayson. Sadistic bastard. Thaddeus was furious, a fury that fed on and from his Beast’s rage. He snarled, low and grating, longing to frighten Grayson, but the Master’s eyes only narrowed slightly; he didn’t look at all frightened. Not even concerned, damn him. Except it was also something to cling to, that lack of fear. Because no black dog wanted to attack another who looked that fearless.

  Thaddeus dragged at his Beast. Dragged at it, struck up through it like a drowning man striking up from the depths of a rolling sea, pulled it down and began to shake himself free of it. He got partway shifted, but Grayson took one step toward him, and Thaddeus stuck right there. Scared. Damn Grayson. Thaddeus snarled again and found the Beast’s snarl rising underneath his fury, and fought it. He had never been unable to control his Beast, not since the Calming. But then Grayson just stood there and looked at him with that grim patience—it was like when Ezekiel had first come to get him, just like that, and Thaddeus was upset and furious and all right, yes, scared, and he couldn’t shift, not if the Dimilioc Master killed him right here for his failure. Grayson might do it; kill a black dog of his who turned out to be disobedient and defiant and now completely unable to control his own Beast.

  So he tried. He caught his Beast and pulled it under with him, but it fought him furiously, completely at odds with his equally furious attempts to force it down, until its fury burned up through him and he began to slip back toward the fully shifted form.

  “Thaddeus,” Grayson said, like the crack of a whip.

  Thaddeus flinched, and made it back once more to his half-shifted form. And stuck, panting.

  The Dimilioc Master rolled his shadow once more. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and stood there watching Thaddeus, just as calm and impenetrable as ever. Thaddeus wanted to snarl at him, curse him, maybe both. He fixed his gaze on the floor instead and thought hard about just how easily Grayson had forced his Beast down. Attacking the Dimilioc Master would be very, very stupid. He was shaking, and tried to stop, and couldn’t.

  “Again,” said the Master. He stepped forward.

  Thaddeus flinched back. “You want me to tell you where you can find that stupid kid? Because you haven’t even asked me again, so if that’s what you want, tell me!”

  Grayson stopped. For a long moment, Thaddeus thought he wasn’t going to answer at all. But he said eventually, “You’re upset and angry, and the moon is full. It’s important to seize the chance to work on your control at such times, if you mean to gain full command of your shadow. I don’t need to force you to tell me what I want to know. You’ll tell me when you’ve had time to think it through.” He paused, regarding Thaddeus thoughtfully. Then he ordered, “Tell me where that stray can be found. When you’re ready. Take your time.” He waited.

  Thaddeus wasn’t sure he could manage to think about anything, yet. He stared at the floor between his hands. The carpet was one of those neutral colors between blue and gray. His claws had scored right through it in places, and there was a charred patch where his hands had rested. Somebody would have to pay for that. Probably Dimilioc could afford it, though.

  The shaking had passed. Thinking about the stupid carpet had helped. Thinking about anything else that had just happened . . . that didn’t help at all. Upset and angry and pushed toward the monster by the full moon, yeah, all of that. But he had proved himself unable to manage his Beast. And Grayson Lanning had done this to him on purpose. For training. For practice.

  And now he pushed again, damn him, to make Thaddeus answer the question he’d already refused to answer once.

  Except that wasn’t right. Because he didn’t push, did he? Take your time. Right. Time to recover, to steady himself. He’d said he would force Thaddeus’s Beast up again. But he hadn’t. He didn’t. He was waiting. He wasn’t even watching Thaddeus now. He had crossed the room and stood by the window, gazing out at the night. The light of the fu
ll moon poured over him, silver and seductive, enough to pull any black dog toward the hunt and the kill. But it wasn’t only a hunter’s moon, a black dog’s moon. It was also the kind of moon the Pure loved and could use best.

  What would DeAnn say? What would she do? What would she think he should do?

  He remembered what she had said to him right after they had been brought by force, along with their little son, to Dimilioc. Thaddeus had been given the choice of joining or death.

  “Some choice,” Thaddeus had growled to her. “Grayson Lanning wants us under his eye and under his thumb. You and me both. He’ll never let us go. The minute I don’t toe his line, he’ll kill me and do whatever he wants with you and Con. He’d kill me as soon as blink, you can see it, can’t you, and that young Korte bastard is worse.”

  And DeAnn had said, “Yeah, it’s not a choice at all, but what it is, is a chance, the best chance we’ve ever had. Because the part you’re not seeing, the part you don’t understand, Thad, is once we’re on the inside, once we’re his, Grayson Lanning won’t want to kill you. He’ll work hard to make sure he never has to. He’ll do everything in his power to make us all strong and keep us all safe.”

  Thaddeus hadn’t believed her. He hadn’t believed she could be right.

  “Trust me on this,” DeAnn had said. “That’s how he is. I can tell.”

  So he had trusted her, and she had been right after all. Right about Grayson Lanning, and right that Thaddeus hadn’t been able to see it. Not till they’d stepped inside Dimilioc. Then everything had changed. Eventually Thaddeus had understood that he’d been right, too: Grayson would never let them go. But not letting go was a lot more complicated than he’d ever imagined. Now he understood it included things like taking the chance of this night to push Thaddeus to gain better control over his Beast.

  And even so, when Thaddeus had protested, he’d eased back. He’d even stopped to explain. There was also this about Grayson Lanning: he was a hard bastard, and he would never let go of what was his, but he never, ever lost control of his Beast and he was not pointlessly cruel.

  Thaddeus said, not really knowing he was going to say this till the words were out, “Just west of where we separated. Big apartment building. Green banner with three Chinese characters up the front of the building. Third floor apartment. He said his name was Lee, but probably he was lying about that.”

  Grayson had turned and stood now with the moon at his back, his face in shadow, utterly unreadable. “No doubt. But I imagine that would enough to find him. Why did you tell me?”

  Thaddeus bowed his head. “Because you’re the Dimilioc Master.”

  “I’m the Dimilioc Master, and I’ll punish you if you defy me?”

  “No,” said Thaddeus. “You’re the Dimilioc Master, so I tell you I let the kid go, and you decide what you want to do about that.” He waited.

  “Good,” said Grayson. “What led to this epiphany?”

  Thaddeus glared at him, grabbed hard hold of his temper, and lowered his gaze. “You said think it through. I thought it through.”

  To Thaddeus’s relief, Grayson gave a small nod to this. He said, “Very well. Good. You’re far less upset. That should make it easier to control your shadow. So. Are you ready to try this again?”

  Thaddeus let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Wait. What about the kid?”

  Grayson, who had moved forward a step, stopped. “The matter does not seem urgent. In a year or two, if your young stray proves annoying, we can kill him then. Or if he remembers your invitation and appears at Dimilioc’s doorstep, we can consider whether he might prove an asset.”

  This was a lot better than Thaddeus had expected. And yet in another way, it didn’t surprise him at all. He nodded, and rubbed a hand across his mouth, and then got slowly to his feet. “We’re going to . . . go another round?”

  “Yes.”

  “But . . . this isn’t punishment.”

  Grayson tilted his head slightly. “As I understand it, the appropriate punishment for a job well done is another job. In one month, when the moon again approaches full, I believe I will send you to Columbus on an assignment very similar to this one. With Ethan.”

  Thaddeus stared at him, taken utterly by surprise. “A job well done? Me and Ethan?”

  “As my nephew, Ethan understands in his blood and bones that he has the right to decide his own course when operating independently. He can teach you that. But he’ll never match your strength. He needs to learn to accept that. Which he will find far easier without witnesses. So: you and he together can clear Columbus. You can work that entire circuit: Columbus to Indianapolis to Nashville, then back around through North Carolina and Virginia. I’ll have Ezekiel meet you in D.C. and direct operations there; D.C.’s always a mess and hardly less so even without the vampires and their blood kin. I will expect a complete report following that tour. Including the full disclosure of any unexpected impulses you experience along the way to spare random black dogs.”

  Thaddeus didn’t know what to say.

  “Also, Ethan is a good choice to help you with your control. He won’t lose his. His temper, possibly. But you will find it easier to train for better control with fewer witnesses, I imagine. Thus, an independent mission fills that requirement as well.” Grayson looked Thaddeus up and down, thoughtfully. “You have far more control than an ordinary stray. But that’s primarily to your wife’s credit, not to yours. Your control is inadequate when your shadow is strong and you are upset. You must do better. So. We will draw your shadow up again now. This time, I expect you to put it down without my help. If you fail, I will indeed punish you. Do you understand?”

  Thaddeus understood. That threat was meant to scare him and make him angry, so that he would have to work hard to control his Beast. But it felt too familiar to be very effective. It was a lot like the way his father had trained him. Training, Thaddeus could handle. He was determined that this time, he would succeed.

  Thaddeus could handle his Beast. He could handle Ethan Lanning, too. He could handle anything the Dimilioc Master handed him and come back for more, and he was going to prove it. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

  4 -- The Master of Dimilioc

  Ezekiel knelt amid overgrown forsythia and shadows, watching the girl on the bench. Her name was Melanie Manteufel. She was pretty, if not beautiful. She had a broad forehead and wide-set gray eyes, a slightly snub nose and a generous mouth. She was also the sort of girl who lit up with genuine pleasure when she met a friend or a stranger, which gave her a different and rarer kind of beauty.

  Ezekiel did not remember a time when he had not desired her. But at the turning of the year, Melanie had announced—blushing and shy and delighted with herself—that she and Daniel Hammond would marry in the coming spring. This spring. In June, now just a few short months away.

  Daniel Hammond.

  Ezekiel had always known that Melanie was more important to him than he was to her. Everyone loved Melanie. For him it was different. Everyone but Melanie was afraid of him.

  He had known he was too young for her. But a year, two years, that difference in ages became less important as people got older. He had been willing to wait. He had been willing to wait, and hope no one else won her in the meantime. He had intended to begun courting her this spring. He’d had it all planned out: flowers and little attentions and the surety that no one else could protect her as well as he could.

  And then, Daniel.

  Daniel.

  It had never crossed Ezekiel’s mind that Melanie might choose a man like Daniel Hammond—a cousin from the town, an ordinary human with neither strength of his own nor position within Dimilioc, and besides that seven years older than her. Ezekiel had known he had many rivals, but he had never guessed Daniel might be among them.

  When she’d made the announcement, he’d known that if he had said anything, he would say too much, and so he had said nothing at all. But he thought of that midwinter announcement and the coming we
dding whenever he looked at Melanie, and could not entirely keep away from her.

  Now they were both in Madison, alone together for the first time since her proud announcement, and Ezekiel was not entirely certain he knew how to handle this. Dimilioc law was clear: it was her choice. But did the law mean he wasn’t allowed to court her a little anyway, maybe try to get her to change her mind?

  This was Melanie’s first visit to Madison. Ezekiel’s, as well, but he was accustomed to travel and she was not. They had arrived only two days before, on the same plane, at four in the afternoon, with an east wind spitting icy drizzle from the overcast sky. Ezekiel had followed her off the plane, and he had continued to follow her since: sometimes closely and sometimes at a greater distance, but always taking care to stay unobtrusive. He was good at that, but then he was good at many things.

  Yesterday the skies had been clearing, but the wind that had driven out the clouds had been bitter. Even so, Melanie had walked for some time along the city streets with evidently no consciousness of potential hazard, though most of the neighborhoods she visited were dangerous. Today was much more pleasant, so perhaps it was not surprising she should stroll around the city from dawn until dusk, until at last she alighted on that park bench where daffodils and pink tulips bloomed between the clump of forsythia. This was not in fact a very safe area, but the park was pretty and, a girl who was a recent arrival in the city might not know that.

  Ezekiel knew it very well. To him, the very air smelled of anger and dry ash, burnt clay and desperation. The earth of the little park was permeated by the metallic tang of fear and blood, scents that were growing stronger as the sun began to dip down below the jagged horizon of the city. Ezekiel breathed slowly and deeply, appreciating the exciting aromas.

  Before him, Melanie sighed, glancing at the lowering sun. For a moment she gazed at the moon, near full, which was already visible in the sky, though pale and nearly transparent in the lingering light. She tucked a foot up under her other thigh, and reached for her sketchpad.