Black Dog Short Stories (8 page)

     Dan Williams didn’t let Thaddeus go, but he held his other hand out toward the woman, open and empty, human right down to the fingernails. “Yeah,” he said. “No, listen. I’m calm. I’m good. A woman like you, she did it for me a long time ago. I want you to do it for my boy. I want him calm. Lot safer from those Dimilioc bastards that way—safer from vampires, too—safer from his own damn Beast. He’s got a strong one, it’ll get stronger, he’s got to get one hell of a chain on it or pretty soon it’ll eat him.”

     Thaddeus blinked at that, startled even through the hatred and the consuming effort to keep his Beast down. It would get stronger, yeah, they did, yeah it seemed plenty strong now, but his father had never said
someday soon it will eat you
. That would scare him, he thought, once he got a chance to think about it, but right now he had no room for anything but hating the woman and the girl—yeah, definitely her, too, she was just the same as her mother—

     “You can do that,” Dan Williams said. “That’s what you are, that’s what you do, isn’t that right.”  It wasn’t a question.

     The woman didn’t step away from her mostly-completed circle, but she looked carefully across the street at Thaddeus. He shuddered with the need to kill her, but his dad shook him hard and muttered threats, and he didn’t dare fight. He glared at the woman, but he didn’t move.

     “Yeah,” said the woman. “I need to finish my circle first. It’s almost done.”

     “No,” said Thaddeus’s father. “You’ll close me out, us out, no way. First you get my boy Calm.”

     This time Thaddeus heard the capital letter. He almost did try to fight then, because what the fuck was his father planning to let this woman
do
to him, except it was his
dad
, who might beat the shit out of him if he didn’t obey, but who also taught him and protected him and made sure he was better than those black dog curs on the street—it was his
dad
, and though his Beast was sure this was a kind of death and they had to fight, had to get away, had to kill the woman, Thaddeus wouldn’t listen, he fought the Beast back and locked his hands—human hands, still, despite his Beast pushing him—into fists and crammed them in his jean pockets and wouldn’t fight. He wouldn’t, he didn’t, he wouldn’t, it was his
dad
and he didn’t
care
what his Beast thought about
anything
.

     “She won’t close you out,” said the girl on the porch. Not pretty, Thaddeus could see that, her face was too broad to be pretty, her mouth too wide, but she stood up straight and looked directly at Thaddeus and his father, steady and confident. Her voice had a burr to it, not exactly an accent, but different somehow. Thaddeus hated her just as much as he hated her mother, but she met his eyes and then said again, to Thaddeus father, “She won’t close you out. She wouldn’t. She won’t. Anyway, if she does,
I’ll
do the Calming for you.”

     The woman made a wordless sound of surprised protest, and the girl looked at her, and smiled, and shrugged. “You wouldn’t leave them out in the cold,” she said to her mother. And then said again to Thaddeus’s father, “But if she does, I won’t. I promise.”

     “Don’t make promises!” said the woman. “Damn, girl, you know better!”

     “Sometimes you have to,” said the girl. “
You
taught me that. Sometimes you have to make a promise, even when it’s dangerous.”  She ran down the steps, two at a time, ignoring her mother’s shout, and came confidently to stand almost within arm’s length of Thaddeus and his father. “I’ll wait out here with you while my mother finishes her circle,” she said. “That way you can be sure, all right?”

     And that was DeAnn.

     Yeah, meeting DeAnn had changed everything. Thaddeus could even see how meeting DeAnn had brought him, by a very strange route, back here to this city, hunting strays again, full circle. Only this time, with the Dimilioc Master rather than his father—

    
“Pay attention,”
growled Grayson Lanning, the Dimilioc Master, from behind him. “Daydreaming about old times, Williams? You’ve missed the trail.”

     He had. There was nothing he could say. He’d gone right past it, that subtle breath of sulfur and ash and old blood they’d been following: it had faded suddenly as the stray shifted to his human form—that spoke well for his control—and ducked away west down a little alley that ran between the ass-ends of crowded businesses, restaurants and who knew what, right into the heart of Chinatown where he might hope to hide his scent in the cluttered smells of spices and cooking, fish and herbs and who knew what.

     And, yeah, Thaddeus had missed it, gone right past. Angry and embarrassed, he wanted to snarl back at Grayson, but that would be stupid, a kid’s temper. He took a deep breath instead to fix the weaker, less distinctive scent, and turned west to follow the trail. What all
did
lie over in this direction, anyway, once you got past the restaurants but before you got to the river? Apartments, warehouses, both, maybe. He wasn’t sure. But the kid hadn’t gotten too much of a lead even with his little dodge; they’d catch him before he’d got two blocks, probably. Then there’d be one less cur in Chicago.

     Hunting strays was the point, but only on the surface. Thaddeus wasn’t a fool. Sure, lots of strays were making trouble these days. Sure, yeah, too many for that scary-ass young punk Ezekiel to deal with all by his own damn self. But no one had to explain to Thaddeus why Grayson had decided to take this particular mission himself, and why he’d decided to bring Thaddeus—and no one else—as backup and support. This was a test. Thaddeus could have counted on his fingers all the different ways it was a test, and even then he might have missed a couple unless he took off his shoes.

     It was a test of Thaddeus’s temper, because Grayson wasn’t making any damn effort to be nice. It was a test of Thaddeus’s control of his Beast, what in Dimilioc they called his shadow, a stupid name for something that could explode up out of a man and take on real substance. A man cast his
own
shadow. The Beast was something else, something outside a man, though it clung close, yeah, okay, close as a shadow, that part was right. It was something that came straight from Hell, just like they said; that part he believed.

      So, yeah, this whole damn mission was a test of Thaddeus’s control, because here he was, way out here alone with Grayson Lanning, just the two of them, no one else for miles, no hostages, no witnesses, and if they fought, neither of them knew who would prove stronger.

     But Thaddeus kept his Beast down, with a continual effort. It wanted to rise, wanted to fight:  ambitious and furious and crazy, what else was new. He’d had lots of practice. He kept it down and he kept his mouth shut and he did what he was told. That was maybe another part of the test. Or maybe it was a test of his commitment to DeAnn and Conway, left behind in Dimilioc. Or a test of his trust in Dimilioc, to obey the Master and leave his wife and little son behind. Who knew what the hell the Dimilioc Master had in his head?

     And, so, yeah, what could make any test worse? Why, making yourself look like a moron by getting lost in your own head and missing a trail, that was what.

     The stray had been in black dog form when they’d caught his scent. Thaddeus didn’t know whether he’d caught that sulfur-stink first, or if Grayson had just waited to see how long he’d take to catch it—another test, maybe, it could of been. But the kid had some kind of control or he wouldn’t have been able to try to hide his scent by shifting to human form. He wouldn’t be able to keep his Beast down long, though, not now when he was scared, when he knew he had way meaner black dogs on his tail. No, he’d let his Beast back up, or lose control of it and it would come back up on its own. It wouldn’t make any difference. A single ordinary cur black dog wasn’t going to last even half a minute once they caught him—

     Then Thaddeus caught a sharp, acrid stink and a heavy blood scent, and swung around. A seafood place on one side, the smell of spices and shrimp blurred the ash-and-sulfur scents of black dogs, but the blood smell was strong and sweet. Nothing could hide that. Another alley led off south between two hulking dark buildings, toward 22
nd
and who knew what, except that someone was dead there, and a black dog—no, two black dogs—by the scent, stronger than the stray Grayson and Thaddeus had been tracking. Though maybe without as much control.

     Grayson lifted his head, breathing deeply, sorting the scents. “Full moon,” he growled in disgust, meaning all the strays in the city were out tonight.

     Thaddeus felt the pull of the moon himself, and his control was much, much better than any stupid kid’s. Except around Grayson. Around the Dimilioc Master, he felt like a stupid kid himself, which didn’t help his control any. Made it hard to talk, too. But Thaddeus jerked his head the way they’d been going, then toward the alley and gritted out, “Which?”

     Their original target plainly wasn’t completely stupid. If they didn’t catch him soon, he might be able to hide, and DeAnn had stayed with Con at Dimilioc, which was fine, but now they had no Pure woman with them to help them track a stray if they lost him. So maybe it would be better to chase that one down now, before he got too far ahead. If they caught him quick, they might still have time to circle back and track these others by the scent of the lingering blood and rage. But if they lost these, they’d lose two and only have caught the one. Thaddeus thought they should take the two, but he wasn’t calling the shots, not tonight.

     Grayson thought it over.

     The Dimilioc Master showed no sign of being affected by the moon. He was a big man, not as big as Thaddeus, but broad-boned and heavy, with powerful shoulders and big hands, a strong jaw and deep-set eyes beneath heavy brows. But he wouldn’t have intimidated Thaddeus at all except for his Beast. The Master’s Beast was very, very strong. Grayson hadn’t let it up, there was no trace of its distortion in his hands or face. But Thaddeus could see it, gathered right below his skin or maybe hovering right over it, so dense it was almost palpable. The Master was not much older than Thaddeus, but the strength of his Beast made him seem a
lot
older. Just having Grayson Lanning walk into the same city as them ought to have made all these stupid strays flatten out—but ignorant, crazy curs, yeah, what did they know? Kids with no sense and no experience and no idea their noise might draw the wrong kind of attention. They probably thought they needed to watch out for ordinary humans armed with silver, and had no idea at all they should worry a whole lot more about Dimilioc black wolves.

     “You, go after that one,” Grayson ordered, stabbing a finger down the alley the way they had been going. “When you’ve dealt with him, go back to the hotel. Don’t argue—go.”

     Thaddeus
had
been about to object. Splitting up was stupid and unnecessary, because finding yourself facing a whole pack of enemies out here wasn’t likely, but it could happen—or, much more likely, there might be men with guns and silver bullets. Murderous strays would draw that kind of reaction in a hurry these days, and these days even in Chicago a lot of people went armed and never mind moronic laws that told them they were supposed to let themselves be the prey of monsters in the dark

     If Thaddeus let Grayson Lanning get killed on this mission, Ezekiel would hunt him down and make him a fucking example for the ages. Thaddeus didn’t need Dimilioc’s young executioner to actually stroll up and say so in person. He knew it was true.

     But it was also obvious that the Dimilioc Master wasn’t going to take
Fuck, no
for an answer. Sooner done, sooner home picking your teeth, as Thaddeus’s father used to say. Thaddeus turned without a word and loped after their original target.

     His target was a young stray, not very strong yet, probably he’d never be very strong. But he wasn’t as stupid as most. Everything pointed to that, and Thaddeus thought so again now, tracking the kid down the last block and right through a restaurant, in the back door and out the front, a little hole-in-the-wall place meant for Chinese people rather than tourists, violent with chilies and Sichuan pepper, steamed fish and black mushrooms, hot oil and sizzling pork. Clever kid, scared kid, he should have tucked himself in at a table in the back and stayed right here in this place. If he’d done that, Thaddeus might of lost him in the confusion of scents, or would at least have been forced to lie low and wait rather than taking him out in the middle of a public restaurant, because the place wasn’t crowded, but it wasn’t empty either. But he’d gone through, the scent was clear outside the front door . . . and disappeared three steps down the street.

     Thaddeus paused, nostrils flaring. No one challenged him. No one had said anything when he’d come in the back way and strode through the restaurant, no one said anything now, though he had stopped dead, forcing people out here on the sidewalk to go around him. He turned in a circle, taking deep breaths, sorting out what must of happened.

     Not a stupid kid, no. He’d come out the front door and turned around and gone straight back in, and he was probably out the back again by now and running for safety. No one from the restaurant had showed a thing, not by so much as a glance. Known here, maybe, that kid. And of course Thaddeus was a stranger. Not that it would make any difference, in the end.