Pure Magic (Black Dog Book 3) (30 page)

“We’re sure about that, right?” Justin asked uneasily.

“If your mandalas do not hold even a scant moment, I will be greatly provoked,” said Keziah.

Justin stared at her. The black dog girl looked severe and contemptuous, but he was almost sure that had been a joke.

“Me, too,” muttered Natividad. She yawned, frowned blurrily, evidently at the problem presented by getting to her feet and making it to the bed in the other room. Justin offered her his hand, and she blinked at it for a moment and then accepted his help, staggering to her feet. But then she balked, peering at him. “If you . . .” she began. “I mean, if Keziah . . .”

“Keziah and I will be just fine,” Justin told her firmly. “You, go rest.” He gave her a little push toward the interior room.

Natividad stopped arguing, but she said over her shoulder before she closed her door, “You rest, too. Both of you! Be careful. Don’t leave the room, and call me the instant you hear anything, right? If you get Grayson—if you can find out about Alejandro—”

“We’ll keep trying,” Justin promised her. “Go
rest
.”

But Grayson still was not answering his phone. Attempts to call him were still going straight to voicemail. Keziah’s messages were getting shorter and more pithy every time she left one, Justin noticed. He said, partly just to make conversation, “I suppose it’s those enemies of yours in Boston.”

Keziah stood by the east window, gazing out, watching steadily for the arrival of their enemies. Justin could see tension in the curve of her neck and the set of her shoulders and the line of her back, but when she glanced at him, her dark-honey eyes showed no trace of fear. She said shortly, “One presumes this Black Wolf of Russia has proven more dangerous and powerful than anticipated. But time has passed, and evidently Alejandro still lives. So how dangerous can those Russian black dogs be? One very much doubts they will prove more dangerous than our enemies here.”

Justin had to agree with that, at least.

“It does not matter,” Keziah said. She turned dismissively back to the window. “They will hear our warning when they hear it. Soon, no doubt. It makes no difference if we speak to them personally. What could they do to help? Even Grayson Lanning cannot reach across two thousand miles in a mere instant. Even Ezekiel Korte cannot do that.” She glanced at Justin again, mocking. “We have no one to help us. We are alone. You see you should have stayed safe in Dimilioc.”

Justin wished he had, but he was not going to admit that to her. He asked instead, “So what exactly
is
different about a master vampire, as opposed to, I guess, a normal vampire? Can a normal vampire not do this . . . mind control stuff?”

Keziah gave another of her minimal shrugs. “Just so. Any vampire spreads the miasma out of the fell dark and into the world. That is the phrase they use here. The fell dark, from whence come all demonic
ghūl
. But only a master among vampires is able to make a man see what is not there, or make him do those things that his heart should abhor. So it is said. The
abd
vampires, the slaves, they are terrible, but none of those could have made that Toland boy into a lure for Dimilioc, or a weapon against his cousin.”

“You think . . . you think the vampire had him even the first time he called Dimilioc?” That was horrible. That was one of the most horrible things Justin had ever heard.

“I do not know. It seems possible to me. We are not likely,” Keziah said, with some irony, “to have a chance to inquire.”

“Yeah. I guess not.” Justin was quiet a moment. Then he asked, desperate to think about something else, “
Ghūl
.
Abd
. That’s Arabic, right?”

Keziah gave him a look, not exactly mocking, he thought, but hard to read. “Of course. Yes. What does that matter to you, Pure boy?”

“Just curious,” Justin said peaceably, and realized that he had fallen quite naturally into Natividad’s role. Peacemaker, negotiator, calmer of werewolves . . . the role felt surprisingly natural. He had thought it would be cowardice to stay at Dimilioc, that it would show strength and resolve to leave. Now . . . now he thought that deliberately taking on the job of the Pure and sticking with it might require a different kind of strength. He said, almost at random, “I knew a Turkish girl, once.” Her name had been Deniz. She had been good at math. He had helped her with her calculus. He had liked her.

But then, he had liked almost everyone in school. He wondered now whether everyone had seemed—or actually even been—a bit more likable just because he was there. What a strange concept. And no wonder he kept thinking that Keziah ought to be likable, too. Or that she ought to like him, at least a little bit.

Keziah’s lip curled. “The Turks are barbarians. Even the Persians are to be preferred.”

Justin bit down on an impulse to ask her what she thought of the Greeks. Anyway, after that swift outburst of ancient Arabic scorn, she now eyed him sidelong. After a little pause, she said, “Although it is true that my family was no more civilized than the meanest tribe of Turks. I thought to settle in Lebanon, perhaps. Make a place for us there. But they guarded their territory ferociously, those black dogs there. Anyway, I wished to go farther, into a country where the wind did not echo with the voices of my family. Now I am glad, because Dimilioc . . .” she stopped. Then she said, her tone for once quiet, lacking that sharp scorn, “Dimilioc is different. Better. There is a place in Dimilioc for those without family or bloodline. I wanted that for my little Amira. You are a fool to cast that away.”

“Is it wrong to want to choose for myself?”

This time the pause was longer. Then Keziah turned her face away. “You are a fool, yes. But . . . perhaps not wrong.”

“Do you really think it’s likely that Grayson Lanning would throw you out? Because of me? I truly, honestly, did not leave Dimilioc because of you, you know.”

Keziah raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“. . . maybe a little because of you,” Justin admitted. “More because . . .” he didn’t know how to put it into words. He said at last, “It’s not you personally who scares me. It’s all of you. It’s the whole thing. I never understood . . .”

“We are all monsters,” Keziah said flatly.

It was Justin’s turn to shrug, because he wasn’t sure that was precisely true. Monster, black dog . . . the Venn diagrams overlapped. But the Pure put another circle on that diagram, didn’t they? There was probably an equation that expressed the relationship . . . the distance between monster and black dog, say, only he didn’t know the magnitudes of the variables. Or how many dimensions there were.

He wished he could ask his mother what she thought of this sharp-edged Saudi girl, but this time the thought of his mother was almost wistful rather than overpowering. The whole night felt unreal, that was why. He was so tired, now, and everything had gotten so strange. Even Keziah herself seemed like someone out of a dream. Or—

Keziah straightened instead and leaned forward, both hands flat on the windowsill. “Wake Natividad,” she said sharply. “They are here.”

Or a nightmare.

They
were blood kin, first. Blood kin never photographed well, but once people had become able to see them for what they were, all kinds of blurry photos and police sketches had made the rounds—newspapers, blogs, social media. Everyone in the world knew what blood kin looked like, now. Emaciated, that was how they looked: skin yellow as old parchment stretched over stark bones. Long yellow fingernails, like claws on the ends of their bony hands. Black teeth, in jaws that could open wider than anyone would expect. Red eyes, bright red, like fresh blood, with dilated pupils; eyes that showed no trace of the humanity they had once possessed. They crouched beyond the outer mandala, staring up at the window where Justin stood with Keziah.

“They know exactly where we are,” said Justin, not quite asking.

“They scent living blood,” Keziah said matter-of-factly. “They will eat rats or dogs, but they prefer human meat, and they eat their prey alive. And they hunt the Pure before any other prey.”

“Nice.”

Natividad came out of the other room, looking younger and smaller than ever in one of Justin’s extra tee shirts and her own jeans. She had not had quite an hour of rest, and she still looked bruised with exhaustion. Her eyes were huge and scared, but she held her long silver knife in one hand and a hand mirror in the other. Pale light glimmered in the mirror, as though she had captured the light of the full moon and held it there.

“It’s so quiet,” she said, her voice hushed.

“They have not yet tried your mandala,” said Keziah. She spoke in a normal voice, not a whisper. “They are cowards, like all blood kin. They are waiting for their master.”

“They aren’t really cowards, exactly. I mean, maybe they are, but they don’t really have a lot of, of, you know,
volición
,” Natividad explained to Justin. Her own voice was stronger this time, as though she had drawn courage from Keziah’s example. “Even a lesser vampire can make them. It steals their will and their heart and makes them into its creatures. I hope there’s nothing left of the people they used to be, because can you imagine? But I don’t know.” She peered cautiously out the window. “Only four?”

“So far,” said Keziah. “There will be more.” More were arriving even as she spoke: two spidery emaciated shapes slunk across the street, moving like nothing human; and another crept along the line of the mandala from the other direction, slipping up and over the neighbor’s fence with inhuman agility.

“Can they get in?” Justin asked. “Uh, maybe I should have asked this before, but do you have an extra knife or something?” He felt stupid asking now. Like he knew how to fight monsters, with a knife or without.

Natividad shook her head to both questions. “I’m sorry, Justin, I didn’t expect . . . anyway, I’m sorry, I don’t. But they can’t get in, not yet. Pure magic works really well against blood kin. They’re just waiting—” she stopped.

“For that,” finished Justin. He stared, fascinated even as he flinched in gut-wrenching aversion. Everyone had seen artists’ renditions of blood kin. But he didn’t remember ever seeing any kind of picture of a vampire. It was probably hard to capture that . . . sort of . . . unjointed puppet quality. “So that’s a vampire. God.” He turned his face away. “Those things really start off human?”

“They begin as empty corpses,” Keziah said. Her lip was curled in disgust, but this time her disgust wasn’t just a show and it definitely wasn’t directed at him. “That is one of the lesser vampires. You see how it seems small. You must remember, it is much stronger than it appears. The master vampire will be no larger, but it will seem—” she gestured, illustrating how huge the master vampire would seem.

“Yeah,” said Justin, still staring. Even this vampire looked pretty strong, actually. And fast. It looked a little like . . . he wasn’t sure how to frame its strange, skeletal movement. It was more horrible than anything natural.

He wanted more than anything to look away from it, but he couldn’t. He felt a strong, horrified conviction that if he looked away, it would instantly leap through the air, through all Natividad’s protective magic, and rip off his face. He could almost see it above him, that strange skeletal jaw gaping, its fangs slashing toward him—he flinched back hard, stumbling

Keziah caught him. “Fool!” she said sharply. “Don’t look at its eyes. Do that with a master vampire and it would have you, if you were not Pure.”

“Should have warned you,” Natividad said apologetically. “Even for us, that’s not a good thing to do.”

“It can’t get
in
,” Justin asked her. “Can it?” He knew he was really begging Natividad to promise him it couldn’t, he knew both she and Keziah must hear the tremble in his voice, but he didn’t even care. What he cared about was that neither of them was answering him. “Didn’t you say Pure magic works against that?” he asked, his voice rising.

“Yes,” Natividad said. “For a while. But its magic works against us, too.” She shivered, edging back from the window, and looked at Keziah.

Keziah was looking back at her steadily, her expression curious and a little amused, narrow eyebrows arched over her black-amber eyes.

Natividad nodded to her. “You think you can take it? And get back with my knife?”

Keziah smiled, a wicked, deadly smile. “Oh, yes.”

“Oh, God,” muttered Justin. “Seriously?” He knew it was the plan, but couldn’t imagine Keziah fighting that—that
thing
and surviving. He said under his breath, “New plan: let’s all cower in the closet.”

“That is a new vampire,” said Keziah, ignoring him, every word precise and cool, “It will not yet have learned it can be hurt. It will not know it can die. I will teach it to fear black dogs. Make me a weapon, Pure girl.”

Natividad took a deep breath, set the edge of her silver knife against her forearm, and drew it down, a sharp, short motion. Then, as blood welled, she turned the blade to catch the blood. She looked at Justin, clearly meaning he should pay attention. He had flinched, but now stared intently at her face and cut arm and the silver knife. If this was something that would help against a vampire, he definitely wanted to know about it.

Natividad looked at Keziah, who, without changing expression, ran one black claw across the back of her own wrist. Her blood was, Justin was almost surprised to see, just as red and human as Natividad’s blood. Then he wasn’t sure why he should have been surprised, because except for the sudden glint of claws at her fingertips, she was still in human form.