Pure Magic (Black Dog Book 3) (15 page)

The Master straightened. “What precisely did she do?”

Alejandro took one step forward and silently proffered something that lay across both his hands. Justin blinked and looked, then looked again. It was hard to see, like a handful of shadows and glitter; it seemed to shift in and out of visibility as Justin stared at it. He had no idea what it was. But the Master said, “I see. I believe I see.” And then, “Yes, I think you had better be the one to hold onto those, Alejandro.”

“She used
my
blood to make them,” Ezekiel snapped.
“Did she?” The Master did not sound impressed. “Then perhaps we may hope that you as well as Alejandro will find them useful in dealing with our enemies in Boston.”

“I won’t leave—” began Ezekiel.

“I do wonder,” said the Master forcefully, “Why it is that no one seems able to simply go to bed and stop generating crises for even one night.” He glanced around at them all. Not even Ezekiel had the temerity to interrupt. The Master added, “You may all consider that an order.”

“But—” began Alejandro and Ezekiel, simultaneously.

“
Bed
,” growled the Master, cutting them both off. “I do not want to see either of you before noon tomorrow. You
will
leave for Boston tomorrow at dusk and you
will
be rested when you go.” He gave both young men a hard look and added, “
I
shall watch over Natividad until I am certain she has recovered. I assure you, I am quite equal to the task. I expect you to both attend to your own duty. You both know perfectly well, or you should, that she will indeed recover. Her magic may be unusual, but, Ezekiel, you, at least, have certainly once or twice seen a Pure woman who has overstrained her strength.”

“Yes,” muttered Ezekiel. “Well . . . yes.”

Alejandro did not look reconciled, but Miguel said tentatively, looking from one of them to the other, “I’m not going to Boston. I can stay with her. Too.”

The Master gave him a narrow glance and a curt nod. “If you wish.”

“Yes,” Alejandro said, agreeing with plain reluctance. “I . . . that would be well. Yes. She should have a brother to watch over her.”

“I’m gratified you find this solution acceptable,” said the Master, with considerable irony. “Go to bed. Now.”

Natividad’s black dog brother flushed, and bowed his head. He touched his sister’s hair, but then retreated, if reluctantly, toward the room that Justin assumed must be his own.

The Master glanced at Ezekiel, who finally lowered his head as well, and got to his feet. He started to speak, hesitated, shrugged, and said, “I know you’ll take care of her.”

“Of course,” said the Master.

“Of course,” Ezekiel repeated. He gave a very small bow and went out.

Justin, who had been watching all this with fascination, found the Master’s heavy gaze suddenly on
him
, and cleared his throat. “Bed. Right. I’ll just . . . “ he made a little gesture toward the door, and by implication his room. “I just go on to bed, then.”

“Excellent,” said the Master, gravely. “I am quite certain no one will disturb you.”

Justin was very certain of that, too, with the Master of Dimilioc holding his own private vigil right here across the hall.

He would probably dream of magic, though. Pyramids and lionesses, but also Natividad’s still face and shallow breaths, her slender brown hands so small against the pink of her robe and the bedcovers. This was a feature of magic he would have been happier not seeing. But maybe a feature he had needed to see. Because he sure couldn’t remember anyone warning him that overstraining your magic could make this happen. Or could even lead to—he couldn’t possibly have mistaken the depth of everyone’s worry—even worse things.

Magic and monsters. Both dangerous, maybe even deadly. That was something to give you not just dreams, but nightmares. 

It was morning. Silvery light tinged with apricot brightened Natividad’s window. The pink muslin curtains around her bed had been pulled back to the bedposts, so the light lay across her face and arms. She blinked into the light, puzzled for no reason she could name, feeling dreamy and slow and sort of heavy. She was lying on her back, her shoulders propped up against her pillows, the pink coverlet drawn up to her chin. The dawn light ran across her skin like water. She blinked at it, not quite sure yet whether she was awake or asleep. The light felt warm and soft. She could cup her hand, like this, and gather the thin sunlight of the early morning in her palm . . .

“Enough,” Grayson said beside her. Natividad turned her head.

He had drawn a chair up near her bed. He had been sitting there patiently, watching over her while she slept. That seemed strange. Grayson was always so busy. Why would he take hours out of his night just to watch her sleep? Though . . . his presence made her feel safe. But she hadn’t felt in danger. Had she? She frowned, trying to remember the previous night. Justin . . . Miguel . . . something about Alejandro, and Ezekiel, but she couldn’t quite sort out what was real memory from what was confused half-remembered dreams. She felt very tired and a little stiff, as though she had worked too hard at something physical. Her left hand hurt, the skin tender as though she had scalded herself. She didn’t remember that, either, and frowned again, puzzled, lifting her hand. Her palm and fingers were reddened. The pale sunlight seemed hot where it lay across that hand, here in this country where the sunlight never held much heat.

“Enough,” Grayson repeated, and stood up, going to the window to draw the sheer curtains across the light. His deep voice held . . . not anger. But something like anger. A kind of tension. He was worried about something. Natividad wondered what might be wrong.

“Let go of the light,” he told her, his tone edged with exasperation. “Let go of the magic, Natividad. Immediately.”

Natividad turned her frown on the light she still held cupped in her hand, half surprised. She hadn’t exactly realized she was still holding it, though gathering light wasn’t something she usually did accidentally or without knowing what she meant to use it for. She opened her fingers now, letting the light pour away. “What—?” she asked, and was surprised to find her voice hesitant, thin as the light, as though she had been ill. Had she been ill?

“You don’t remember? You made something new. Three of your shadow-touched things, which I trust our people will find useful, because making them seems to have . . .” the faintest pause. “Exhausted you.”

“What?” But, yes, she realized in a dreamy way that she had felt like this before, when she had first gotten black dog shadows tangled up with Pure magic. Had she . . . ? Yes, she remembered that now. Ezekiel’s shadow, and blood to carry it, and moonlight, and silver . . . she frowned. “It was a kind of
teleraña
,” she said at last. “But different.”

“So I gather.” A dry amusement had come into Grayson’s voice now. That was better than the worry.

Natividad tried to sit up. It was more difficult than it should have been. Grayson set one broad hand behind her shoulder, supporting her while he rearranged the pillows. Then he sank back into his chair, set his hands on the chair’s arms, and looked at her steadily. “No more magic, Natividad. Nothing that mingles black dog magic with Pure. Not until you understand far better the consequences of such mingling.” He didn’t say
Understand me, young lady?
That was implicit in his tone.

“Yes, sir,” Natividad answered meekly, because that was how you handled black dogs: meek agreement. Later you could decide what you wanted to do, whether you wanted to obey that kind of command or get around it somehow or just ignore it completely.

Grayson grunted and settled deeper into his chair. Natividad guessed he knew exactly what she was thinking. She concentrated on looking meek. Then a thought rose up out of the vagueness that weighed her down, and she looked up again. “Ezekiel? Alejandro?” But as soon as she thought of Alejandro, she knew he was fine. Far away, though. Somewhere . . . she turned her head toward the southeast. Somewhere that way. Yes, because he and Ezekiel and Ethan had meant to go back to Boston. She remembered that now.

“They left some time ago,” Grayson said, his tone curt but not actually angry. “You made your webs for both of them and for Ethan as well. Very unusual . . . items. Very difficult for a black dog to anticipate. Armed with such concealment, I doubt very much they will meet anything in Boston they cannot overcome.”

Natividad leaned her head back against her pillows and tried to remember exactly what she had made.

“You, however . . .” Grayson began, but stopped, uncharacteristically irresolute. He said at last, “You collapsed, Natividad. I am told that for some moments Ezekiel could not determine whether you were breathing.”

Natividad lifted her head off the pillows again, astonished.

“A mirror confirmed you breathed. But you have been unconscious for some time, though lately your rest has appeared more natural. It is,” he added, seeing the disbelief in her eyes, “Thursday morning.”

Thursday. She had been asleep for a full day and another full night? It seemed impossible.

Grayson, plainly seeing her disbelief, gave her a stern little nod. “In the future, you will work no such magic save under careful supervision and with my explicit permission.”

Natividad nodded. She would think about that later, but resting . . . actually sounded like a very good idea. Though . . . she said, hearing the plaintiveness in her own voice, “But I’m starving.”

“Rest,” Grayson ordered, uncompromising. “Do not get out of your bed. I shall send Miguel up with your breakfast.”

That sounded like an even better idea. Natividad leaned her head back again and shut her eyes. “
Bueno
. Good. But will you stay with me until Miguel comes? You make me feel safe.” She fell asleep again before she heard Grayson’s answer, but even asleep she somehow knew he was there.

The smell of eggs scrambled with onions and poblano peppers and cheese woke Natividad.

And biscuits, she thought, blinking fuzzily at the strong wash of light across the ceiling. Biscuits with honey. She moved vaguely, pushing at the sheets and coverlet, and Miguel took the plate away. She made a small noise of protest.

“Sit up and you can have it back,” her twin told her. “Can you sit up?” He offered her a mug of cocoa, strong and bittersweet, fragrant with cinnamon. “The things some people will do to get breakfast in bed. Or supper.”

“Supper?” Natividad still felt fuzzy. But the light gilding her room was ruddy amber, the light of late afternoon. “What time is it?”

“Almost five. In the evening.”

“Oh.” Natividad rubbed her face with her hands and took the chocolate. “I slept all day? All
another
day? Wow. I’m sorry. Did
you
get any rest?”

“
Un poco
,” said Miguel. His tone was unusually neutral.

“I’m fine,” Natividad assured him. “Except I’m really hungry!” She took a scalding gulp of the cocoa, which made her wake up the rest of the way. She looked hopefully at the tray, set on a small table Miguel had placed near the bed. “I can sit in a chair.”

“No, you can’t. That’s why God made bed trays.
No te muevas
.” Miguel put the tray carefully across her lap, taking the mug of chocolate away from her before she could spill it.

The eggs were good. Miguel hadn’t cooked much until . . . she shied from thinking,
until Mamá was gone
and changed it in her mind to
until we came here to Dimilioc
. Somehow here it had seemed natural to show her twin some of the things Mamá had taught her, about roasting poblanos, about the right way to cook black beans, about how to grind cumin seeds with a mortar and pestle. Now Miguel made breakfast for them all as often as she did. He was a morning person, anyway. Though Natividad suspected that wasn’t the only reason he’d taken over some of the cooking: it was probably part of a clever campaign to become indispensable or something.

“Justin?” she asked, remembering suddenly. “You’ve been on babysitting duty all this time? Poor you! But he’s settled in, he’s not upset anymore?” Then she blinked, remembering that she’d woken earlier and Grayson had told her—she shook her head. “Was I really—”
unconscious
— “asleep for two whole days? Or did I dream that?”

“Thirty-eight hours, more or less,” her twin assured her. He searched her face, nudged the honey closer to her hand, and, seeming at last to believe she was better, dropped with a
whoof
of breath into the big chair Grayson had left drawn up near her bed. “Could have been worse,” he said, with slightly forced cheer. “Instead of Justin, I could have been stuck babysitting your little Pure girl for two days, but she won’t let go of Amira.”

Natividad was surprised. “Still?”

“Yep. Amira tries to put her down, she starts screaming. Don’t ask me! She doesn’t talk, but it sure isn’t because there’s anything wrong with her lungs. You’d think she’d would be scared of Conway at least, but she doesn’t seem to be. And Con seems to like her. At least, he hasn’t tried to kill her or anything.”

“That’s a low bar,” Natividad commented. Conway was the six-year-old black dog son of Thaddeus and DeAnn.

Miguel rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but black dog puppies, you know! Thank God for Amira, or
I’d
have been the one keeping an eye on Conway. That’d have been dire. Amira doesn’t seem to mind, though. She keeps Con right in line, but I think she really
likes
having a little Pure sister. Or something.”

“I think maybe the little one had a black dog sister,” Natividad said.

“Oh, yeah, that could be. Yeah, I could see that. Have another biscuit while it’s hot. No, don’t worry, the kids are fine. Considering. And Justin’s fine, too, considering. You don’t have to worry. Everyone’s being nice to him. Everyone else is okay, too. Alejandro and everyone haven’t run into any trouble, not yet. They’re looking for the black dogs, but they hadn’t found them last I heard. I mean, a couple of
callejeros
, but just ordinary
callejeros
so far.” He shrugged, meaning he knew Natividad could have found their real enemy immediately if she had been there. “They’ll find the right black dogs eventually.”

Natividad nodded, swallowed, and asked, “Thaddeus?”

“They’re on their way back, I heard.”

“
Bueno
. I wanted to talk to DeAnn about Justin.” Natividad swung her feet out of her bed and reached for her robe.

“You sure you should be getting up?” Miguel asked, standing up quickly as though afraid he might have to catch her.

Natividad rolled her eyes. “
Sí
.
Deja la pataleta
. I’m
fine
.”

“
Estás siendo un estúpido
. You’re not fine until
Grayson
says you’re fine. You want to get me in trouble?”

Natividad paused, because that was a point. “I
need
a shower,” she insisted after a moment.

“Sure. I’ll wait till you’re done. Yell if you need something.”

Yell if you fall and can’t get up
, he meant. That seemed fair, the way Natividad felt, now that she was on her feet—not exactly dizzy, but sort of heavy, and uncertain in her body. Maybe that was just hunger. She could feel the food was helping, though. “After I get dressed, I
will
go down to the kitchen. Are there any more eggs?”

“No, but I made beans and rice. It’ll heat up fine. And I can make some more biscuits.” He gave her a narrow look, of, Natividad could tell, genuine concern. “I’ll bring you another tray up here, and you can sit at that nice table by the window so you don’t have to go down the stairs—”

Natividad gave her twin a warning look. “I can walk down to the
kitchen
. You won’t even have to hold my hand.”

“You are a bold, bold creature,” said Miguel. “But—”

“I’ll let you walk a step below me,” Natividad conceded. “But only so you don’t get in trouble with Grayson.”

Miguel made a wordless sound, which probably meant he was going to call Grayson the minute Natividad was in the shower. She almost didn’t blame him.

She’d never reacted to magic like this, and now two whole days and the night between were just gone, and besides that she only had the foggiest memory of what she’d made for Ezekiel and Alejandro. Though she knew what sort of thing she would have made, and could almost sort of remember deciding to make it. Them. Three. One for Ethan, too. She didn’t remember making that one at all. Maybe that was all it was: making too many
aparatos
too fast. She turned the water in the shower on hot, hot, hot, leaned against the shower wall, and thought about nets made of light and the way such a net might cast a lacework of shadows that would hide a black dog from his enemies.