Pure Magic (Black Dog Book 3) (10 page)

Grayson made a little gesture concurring with all this, including, evidently, the
show him some magic,
which had Justin blinking. The werewolf boss only said, “If you would be so kind. Miguel may assist you. Justin will no doubt wish to rest. He may have any suitable room. He is not to leave the house or touch a phone without my explicit permission, however.”

Nodding, the Hispanic boy gave Justin an assessing look. “Yes, sir.”

Natividad gave Justin a bright smile. “You must be starving, at least long trips always leave
me
famished. And exhausted! I’ll show you the kitchen—I bet there are some cinnamon rolls left. And then you can pick a room, maybe the one across the hall from mine, wouldn’t it be fun to be neighbors?”

Justin stared at her. Natividad smiled back, bouncing lightly, surrounded by her silvery aura. She was plainly happy to show him around. A happy kidnapper. Though it was actually impossible to imagine this girl kidnapping people—impossible to imagine her as a bad guy, even if she lived here in the middle of nowhere with a crowd of werewolves. He ought to be furious with her. It was stupid to let her be all sweetness and charm and just forget that he was furious. That he had a
right
to be furious. But somehow he just wasn’t. Not at her.

Ezekiel glanced from one of them to the other and frowned. “I’ll—”

“I will—” began Alejandro at the same moment.

“Natividad doesn’t need your help,” Grayson cut them both off flatly. “Ezekiel, Ethan you will both stay; I want your full report. Alejandro, I want you to share with Ezekiel your exact perceptions of that situation in Boston. Keziah, check on your sister and the little girl. I trust they are both still asleep. Inform me if you have any concerns. Natividad, Miguel—” he gave a dismissive little flick of one broad hand and said, his tone taking on surprising undertones of both resignation and humor,
“Try
to give our guest a good impression of Dimilioc.”

Even though she was just a bit worried about Ezekiel, who looked tired and strained under his cool pose, and who for some reason seemed to be avoiding her gaze —though maybe she was just being too sensitive, there—but anyway, Natividad was glad Grayson had made sure
she
would be the one to explain things to Justin. She didn’t know how to explain about Dimilioc and black dogs and the Pure and to someone who didn’t know anything, but she was sure she had better not leave all those explanations to Ezekiel. She didn’t know whether to laugh or shudder in horror at the idea.

But it was fine. Grayson had got everyone else away from them very neatly: not a single black dog was going to be allowed to interfere. That was good. Natividad liked Justin. She didn’t want him frightened or bullied or anything.

She could see that even Miguel might be a little difficult. She knew what her twin was thinking: if a
boy
could be born Pure, why not
him
? But of course Miguel must already have thought about the
other
part of being Pure, the part where Grayson Lanning would set up your whole life for you. Because Grayson would never let Justin go. Probably Justin didn’t even guess about that, yet. Poor Justin. She thought she had better keep him away from Keziah for a little while. A black dog girl, a Pure boy—she didn’t know what to hope for, there. Justin might be very good for Keziah, but would she be good for
him
? Though, well, maybe. Hard to say.

It was almost funny, the idea of a Pure
boy
. Except the rest of it was sad, too, and a little bit scary. Imagine never knowing what it meant to be Pure, growing up with no idea about black dogs and
cambiadors
, the little shifters, or how to protect yourself or, well, anything, really. She wondered how Justin had even lived to grow up when he didn’t know anything. Maybe his mother had been Pure after all. But then why hadn’t she explained everything to Justin?

She glanced at him, the kind of slanted, sideways look that might let her see the glimmer of subtle spellwork. She didn’t stare. That wasn’t the way to see magic, and anyway, Justin must have got enough of girls staring at him in his life. It was the look in his eyes, really. He had nice eyes, sort of a light brown. There was a warmth to them, like he really
noticed
you. But there was something else, too, a
tristeza
—a kind of sadness. The sadness of memory and grief. Natividad know all about that, too. She impulsively took his hand, holding fast when he tried, startled, to pull away. Then he stopped trying to pull away and returned her grip. He stared into her face, looking sort of confused, but no longer so lost or scared.

“That’s because I’m Pure,” Natividad explained. From his puzzled, wary expression, she thought Justin didn’t understand this, not really. She said patiently, “I know you must have figured out years and years ago that people just feel better when you’re nearby. Right? You don’t have to do anything to make them feel that way. That’s just you. Because you’re Pure. I bet people just get along when you’re in the room, even people who usually don’t like each other. In your school and your neighborhood and maybe half the whole town if your mother had lived there a long time! Come on, you must have noticed it, everyone being just a little bit nicer when you or your mother were around?”

Justin looked like he didn’t know what to say. He said slowly, “But most people
are
nice, most of the time. At least in Los Alamos. At least where I lived. But the neighborhood was just like that, the city was just
like
that. It’s
beyond
far-fetched to think I—or my mother—” he hesitated.

Natividad shook her head. “No, but didn’t you ever think the news from other places seemed different? That the people everywhere else seemed . . . meaner?”

Justin shook his head, but not as though he disagreed. As though he were trying to fit this new idea into his picture of the world.

“You feel the same thing in me, because I’m Pure, too,” Natividad told him. “You can tell, if you pay attention. We do the same thing for black dogs, only more, and more on purpose. That’s what’s important. See?”

There was a different kind of wariness in Justin’s expression now. He said slowly, “This Pure thing. I’m guessing that’s the . . .” he lifted his hands, sketching a swooping, flowing figure like waves or wind or something.

Natividad blinked, confused. “The . . . ?”

“You don’t see it? Around yourself, or . . . around me?”

“I see you’re Pure,” Natividad said cautiously. “It’s a kind of light, but not really.”

“Huh,” said Justin, not sounding very happy.

Natividad tried to look reassuring. “Whatever you see, I bet it’s because you’re Pure. We’ll figure it out. You’ll be fine,” she promised him, maybe a little recklessly. “You’ll be perfectly
fine
. I’ll help.”

“You’re a sweet couple,” Miguel put in impatiently. “So let’s not just stand here all day! Ezekiel will be along eventually, you know, and you wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea, right?” Her twin caught her other hand and pulled them all away from the closed door and down the hallway, toward the kitchen.

Natividad let him, though she glanced over her shoulder, too, just in case Ezekiel did come out of the Master’s office. But he wasn’t there. She ignored a twinge of regret.

Justin was plainly not sure if he should be worried or not. “You and Ezekiel?” he asked, his tone wary.

“Oh, well!” Natividad said. “It’s complicated.” She glared at Miguel, who had prudently ducked out of punching range.

“Hey, when it comes to black dogs and the Pure—” Miguel began.

“Shut up!” Natividad told him. “It’s not funny!”

“Maybe a little bit funny?” said Miguel. “Think of him and Keziah!”

“That Arabic girl?” said Justin, jerking to a halt. “This is amusing, for some reason?”

Natividad glared at her twin. “
Pendejo
!” She said to Justin, “My brother is an idiot! Nobody’s thinking anything about you and Keziah. Come on! Please?”

Justin set himself more firmly and refused to move.

“Sorry!” said Miguel, to him and Natividad both, and added kindly, “Once we get you settled in the kitchen, I’ll find you some ibuprofen, if you want. You look like you could use some. Look, Justin, everything’s fine, really. No one’s going to throw you to Keziah. I think there’s soup in the pantry, if you don’t want cinnamon rolls.”

Justin yielded enough to take a step, but he said firmly, “I think what I really want is an explanation of all this that
makes sense
.”

“I don’t know if there’s much chance of that!” Natividad said. “But we’ll try. And you’ll be better for breakfast and a nap. Anybody can see you’re tired and hungry. Come on. Here we are!” She pushed open the door, revealing the wide kitchen, and gave Justin a little push toward the tall stools that stood by the longest counter.

The kitchen of Dimilioc House was still too big a room, and still chilly with steel and granite, but since Natividad had taken it over, it had also acquired touches of warmth: a big terra cotta bowl on one counter held winter squashes, and another smaller one was heaped with dried chilies and heads of garlic, and overlying the scents of soap and silver polish was a faint fragrance of cinnamon.

“Cinnamon rolls!” said Natividad, producing them with a flourish. “Breakfast first, then bed, right? You’re safe,” she added earnestly. “Really, Justin. No one will ever do anything to hurt you.”

“Right,” said Justin, skeptically. “Dimilioc protects the Pure. Ezekiel said that.” He didn’t reach for the rolls.

“Well, we do!” said Natividad. “You, too. You’ll be Dimilioc, too. You already are, really. Grayson would never throw you out now.” She didn’t say that Grayson would also never let him go. She perched on a stool, put her elbows on the granite countertop, rested her chin on her folded hands, and gazed at him, considering. “You know it’s true. Because I said so, and you know I’m telling the truth. Isn’t that right?”

Justin stared back at her. After a moment, he said, “I don’t believe any of this.”

Natividad knew by his tone that he did. She gave him an encouraging nod. “You don’t know any magic, but you’re still Pure and you still know what’s true. I can teach you the magic—” for a moment she was daunted, thinking about that.
She,
teach somebody else magic? That seemed . . .
presuntuoso.
Presumptuous.

But someone needed to teach Justin things. Really fast. Just as fast as he could learn them. She looked at him, suddenly worried. Maybe boys couldn’t learn Pure magic even if they were born Pure, maybe that’s why his mother hadn’t told him anything, maybe that’s why he didn’t know anything. That would be . . . that would be
very disappointing
.

But that didn’t make sense, because if he was seeing weird swoopy things, that probably was him seeing magic. She hoped it was, anyway. Besides, anybody could teach circles and stars and things, and anybody could learn them. Or at least, if he could learn those, then he could probably learn the rest.

He didn’t have to learn everything at once, anyway. Complicated things like the
Aplacando
could be left for later, if he just learned to protect himself.

“You’re staring at me again,” Justin told her. It wasn’t a protest. More a warning:
I see you’re worried.

“Was I? Sorry.” She liked him, she decided. He was angry and scared, but after all he had a right to be angry and scared, and he didn’t try to hide it from her. She liked his honesty. She said, “You know, the Pure are always girls?”

“I think I figured that out, somewhere in there.”

“Yeah,” said Miguel, making a mock
he’s-so-dreamy
face at Natividad.

Justin ignored Miguel, thankfully. He picked up a cinnamon roll at last and began to unroll the spiral of sticky, glazed bread. He said after a moment, “My mother made cinnamon rolls sometimes. Like these. Better than you could buy in stores.” He stopped suddenly.

Natividad nodded in sympathy, guessing at the part he wasn’t saying. At the way cinnamon rolls smelled like home. Like childhood. Like being sure of where you were, who you were. She could see he didn’t want to look at her. She thought he probably didn’t want to look around at the huge, unfamiliar kitchen, or think about where he was. About the home he’d lost. She understood that perfectly. “Our mother . . . Our mother’s gone, too.”

Justin gave her a quick look. Then he fixed his gaze back on the unraveled cinnamon roll and asked, “What is it, with werewolves and the Pure?”

Natividad paused. It was a slightly fraught pause. She couldn’t help that. “It’s complicated,” she said at last.

“Not really,” said Miguel. He slid into his pedantic voice, the one that meant he was going to explain things in more detail than anybody really wanted. “The Pure are born to black dog families, right? Did you know that much? No? Well, it’s true. St. Walburga got that started way long ago, back in the Dark Ages, you know. She did some kind of spell, at least according to Dimilioc histories.”

“It didn’t work the way she thought it would,” Natividad put in. “Mamá told me she wanted to cure this woman’s baby of being a black dog before she was even born.”

“It worked. I mean, the baby wasn’t a black dog, was she?” Miguel gave Justin a thoughtful look, probably trying to gauge how he was taking this. It was actually pretty hard to tell, but Natividad was impressed that Justin wasn’t visibly balking at the idea of saints and spells.

Miguel shrugged and went on. “The Pure might have been born black dogs, only they’re not, you see? They’re completely free of the black dog shadow. Demonic things can’t get a grip on them. They’re Pure, right? Only there aren’t very many Pure babies born, only girls, and not all the girls, either, not even if their mother is Pure. It depends on what their father was, and what the grandparents were, and everything.”

Justin’s eyebrows rose. “You’re saying it’s some kind of genetic thing?”

“Yeah, but with a magic twist to it that complicates everything. Dimilioc’s got these records—anyway, never mind. I can explain it later, if you’re interested, but the part that matters, see, is the Pure, they can help black dogs keep their shadows under control. It’s not just the big, flashy stuff like the
Aplacando
. Well, it’s that, too. But you Pure, you just calm everything down. Just by being there.”

“Ah,” said Justin, his tone very neutral.

“And if a Pure woman has a baby, if the baby’s a black dog, he’ll have a lot of control over his shadow, a lot more than if he had a normal human mother.
Way
more than if his mother were a black dog. That’s what Dimilioc wants. Sons with strong shadows and a lot of control, and Pure daughters.”

“Ah,” said Justin again. “Like breeding dogs.”

He sounded like he might be getting angry. Natividad thought he had a right to get angry, but hoped he wouldn’t. She laid her hand over his, as though he were a black dog and she wanted to calm him down. He looked at her for a long moment. And sort of past her, or at the air around her. She asked tentatively, “Are you seeing your . . . wavy things again? More than before?”