Black Dog

Knights of Black Swan

Book 13

Victoria Danann

Copyright 2018 Victoria Danann

Published by 7th House Publishing

Imprint of Andromeda LLC

Read more about this author and upcoming works at VictoriaDanann.com

PROLOGUE

The story of Helm’s birth (from A Summoner’s Tale) serves as prologue to this story. It begins in the New Forest of the Irish kingdom of elves, with a very pregnant Elora Laiken and Blackie both wounded in a battle fending off attackers from Elora’s dimension of origin. Elora and Blackie had spent time observing the wolf pack that lived in the New Forest under an ancient dolmen.

The story, originally told in pieces matching the timeline of other simultaneous events, is presented here as one continuous narrative.

There was no way to tell which hurt worse, the fire in her shoulder or the sting in her thigh. Elora told herself it was irrelevant because either way she was going to have to get up. The temperature in the New Forest of northeast Ireland was dropping fast and the only alternative was to sit there and freeze to death.

Sleet had started coming down as hard as rain. By the time she made it to her feet, the ground had iced over. When she tried a step, her boots first crunched on the ice and then slipped out from under her. She came down as hard as you would expect of an alien with her weight differential; at this stage of her pregnancy that was two hundred sixty-six pounds.

When she felt herself falling, she twisted at the last second before she hit the ground so that she landed on her back and not on the baby. That was the good news. The bad news was that the shock of the fall along with the jolt to the wounds in her shoulder and thigh sent temporarily paralyzing waves of pain through her body. The fact that the impact had also robbed her of breath for a full minute of panic seemed so minor in comparison that it was hardly worth mentioning.

She lay on the icy ground waiting for the pain to subside, thinking that the fall was going to leave one of those bruises that would start out black then go from that to dark blue to purple to green to yellow. It was going to be around a while. She knew all about bruises like that.

Doing a quick introspective assessment, she went over the list. She had two bullet wounds, an injured dog, no sat phone, record-breaking sleet, and the temperature was plummeting. At least she had a base line to work with.

Can't get any worse.

As she sat up, she confirmed that one should never tempt fate by saying things can’t get worse. They always can. The motion of sitting up had brought with it a sudden gush of liquid followed by the shocking feel of warm fluids running, spreading down her pants leg. Her first reaction was to suppose she had involuntarily wet herself as a sort of post-stress release.

Her second reaction, which was horrifying, was the stray thought that it might be her water breaking. She asked herself how she would know the difference. She'd never had a baby before. Still, on some level she did know the difference and knew that she’d better get her thoughts together because the checklist had just been revised.

Now she had two bullet wounds, an injured dog, no sat phone, wet pants in freezing rain, temperature plummeting... um, oh, yes, and a baby coming.

Ram's quiver, the one he'd had since he was a boy, had been crushed in the fall and would probably leave a fine outline of its own in the form of a bruise imprinted on her back. She hated to leave his bow behind, but sentimentality over inanimate objects was a luxury she just couldn't afford at the moment.

After pulling herself over the icy ground to where Blackie lay, she put her hand on his shoulder. "Hey, my friend. Here's the deal. We've both had better days. I can't carry you and you can't stay out here. We're going to have to drag ourselves the rest of the way to the wolf den and we're going to do it together."

While she was explaining the situation to her dog, she conjured an oddball image of herself in a comic strip about one of those crazy old women who talks to dogs or cats like they can understand language. Elora knew that Blackie didn't understand words, but she'd heard experts say that mammals high up on the phylogenetic scale receive telepathic images. So she tried to form pictures of what she meant in her mind as she talked to him.

She got to her knees and started forward stifling a curse when she put weight on the knee that was attached to the damaged thigh. The same thing happened when she put the slightest weight on the hand that was attached to the wounded shoulder. If she hadn’t been pregnant, she would have just crawled on her belly, but why think about that when it was, obviously, out of the question?

For Blackie's sake, she did her best to sound encouraging. "It's only thirty feet. Piece of cake. Let's race."

Blackie stared at her for a few seconds with amber brown eyes that seemed to say, "Please don't make me". It broke her heart to see him like that. Those eyes usually communicated a bright energy that said, "I'll do anything for you. Name it".

"Come on," she repeated, putting a little more firmness into her tone and a little more urgency into her eyes.

He heaved a big sigh then valiantly pulled himself up on three legs with a long low groan that broke her heart.

They started forward together, him hobbling with one back paw up off the ground, her stifling a scream every time she put down a right hand or a left knee. She kept her mind off of it by concentrating on getting the dog out of the weather, talking to him the whole way.

In that position their heads were about the same height. She stayed shoulder to shoulder with him. Even though the weather had grown unbearably cold, he was panting. She had known the first time she laid eyes on him that he was extraordinary, a far cry from your garden variety dog.

"Aren't we a pair? Remember the soccer field at Jefferson Unit? Remember how glad you were to be out of that cage? And we played frisbee and ran and ran and it was so good. Wasn't it? We're going to do that again. When we get out of this, we'll get you fixed up good as new. It's just twenty more feet now. Twenty more feet. Look how much closer we are.

"Have I ever told you how glad I am that you're my dog?"

At that Blackie reached over and gave her a lick on the cheek.

When she realized that he was, in his own way, also trying to encourage her, a tear escaped without permission. It fell on the icy ground in between her hands. She reached up and swiped her cheek with the back of her right hand, chastising herself. "Wuss."

Blackie glanced at her.

"No. Not you. Me. You're my hero.

"Remember the time you saved me from the bad vampire? I'm absolutely positive you're the most magnificent dog who ever lived. Look here, we've only got ten feet to go. Nothing for a Black Swan mascot. Right? Made in the shade."

With ice falling on their backs then melting from the heat of their bodies, they were both made even colder by the wet. She coaxed the dog the rest of the way to the lair hoping with all her might that the wolves would let them in when they got there. When they were just six feet from the entrance, snow started to fall and laid a blanket of solemn quiet on the forest.

Ram's primeval forest went supernaturally silent. There was no wind in the giant trees. No sound of song, skitter, or peck. Just quiet. Elora had the stray thought that the pairing of beauty and the possibility of death was surreal. When she looked back, she saw that flakes had dusted and started to cover the beautiful coats of the fallen wolves and the trail of her blood made a sharp and grisly contrast to the pristine white of new snow. No matter. It would be covered soon enough.

Life goes on.

They reached the mouth of the dolmen lair. There were no sounds and no sign of wolves. She hoped she and Blackie wouldn't be turned away, because the shelter of the den was their only chance of survival. She'd never heard of a wolf pack accepting overnight guests, but since working for The Order she'd learned of much stranger things.

Blackie had to go in first. Elora reasoned that it would be easier to push him down a hole to the cavern beneath than it would be to pull him in. Once he understood what she expected, he put himself on his belly with a series of whimpers and groans and wiggled himself down the dirt ramp. She didn't hear any protest coming from inside which was a very good sign.

She was just barely able to fit through the entrance with her tummy so distended. It was torture to pull herself down on her side, but that was the only option, given the pregnancy and the placement of her wounds. She was still losing blood, but she didn't really have time to give that much thought.

The lair was surprisingly clean. Just hard packed earth. It was also considerably warmer than outside, not exactly balmy, but there was a ten-degree difference. She smelled water. Apparently there was an underground hot spring that leaked warmth through some holes in the rock at the rear of the cavern. Clean, warm water at the top of the world.

"Nice digs," she said to the wolves. "Thanks for having us."

She pulled herself away from the entrance toward the back hoping that the combined body heat of the pack and the warmer air coming from the spring would help to keep the one of them who didn't have a fur coat - that would be her - from freezing.

There was just enough light coming in from the mouth of the den above for Elora to count seven wolves. That meant they had lost six. Because of her. Flame and Luna had survived. And Stalkson. But not Point Wolf, the Greeter. She started to feel teary about that, but forced her thoughts in another direction. She could feel guilty about the wolves and grieve for Point Wolf later.

Elora found a place near the back of the cavern to sit against a wall. Blackie hobbled over on three feet and lay down beside her. Out of habit as much as anything, she reached out and ran a hand down his back. It would be impossible to say which one of them was more comforted by that contact.

She didn’t allow herself to linger in self-pity. She needed to get out of the wet pants. No matter how cold she’d be without them, she’d be even colder with them on. Trying to maneuver against the wall, she rearranged herself into a semi-sitting position and reached for the boots that had to come off before the pants. That was when the first contraction stole her breath.

Smelling the amniotic fluid, the wolves were curious. That mess on the cavern floor had been surrounding Elora's baby half an hour before. Flame and Luna came toward Elora, sniffing the air.

Blackie, who was lying on his side, exhausted, saw the two wolves advancing. He leapt to three of his feet in one fluid motion with his ruff standing up and growled low in his throat until Flame and Luna tucked their chins and backed away. When the contraction ended, Elora took in a long, deep breath and put her head back against the rock behind her.

"Okay. So we're in for it, Helm. When we get out of this, we're going to have to work on your timing."

It seemed like it took forever to get the boots and then the pants and underwear off. The pants hadn't gotten wet above the crotch, so thankfully she had a butt-size dry square to put between her bare behind and the cold dirt.

Her socks were wet so she couldn't put them back on, but she thought her toes stood a better chance inside the boots than outside. By the time she had finished the pants-off project, her body began to register exhaustion. Or maybe blood loss. Or both. The fact that she hadn't actually peed herself didn't mean that it hadn't been a stressful day. She would have loved to drift off to sleep. The only thing that was stopping her was the relentless pain in her shoulder that tag-teamed with the relentless pain in her thigh. But of course, a contraction could get them both to sit down for a break.

Hadn't she read somewhere that the brain can only process one pain at a time? What else did she have to do but test scientific theories? Not much going on at the moment that was more important than rating pain and, after the trip she'd made to the current dimension, she was an expert on pain. So she tried it out.

If she was thinking about the pain in her shoulder she didn't experience the sensation of pain in her leg. If she was thinking about the leg wound, the hole in her shoulder was nothing more than an intellectual idea. If she truly focused on how cold it was getting, she didn't feel either one. Well, what do you know?

All such internal discussion came to an abrupt end each and every time a contraction hit. The only thing that could distract a woman in mid-contraction was loss of consciousness.

For no real reason except something to do, she decided to start keeping track of how far apart the contractions were. Thanking goodness for small favors, Elora was grateful she hadn't forgotten her watch. Fortunately, it was a sports model with a light. For the time being, there was just enough light in the lair for Elora to see shapes. She suspected that the wolves could see a lot better than she could. When the sun set, it would be black as pitch in there.

She pushed the little button to light the face. Four fifteen. It would be getting dark about six thirty and the sun wouldn't come up until eight. If Ram didn't find her before six thirty, there would be thirteen and a half hours of darkness. And there was no way he could find her in the dark. Blackie might be able to do it. If he wasn't with her. And if he wasn't injured.

Maybe she should have told Ram where she was going. She wished to the dead and fickle gods she had told him where she was going. She wished she'd remembered the sat phone even more. Of course Ram couldn't find her before six thirty. That's when she would be expecting him to arrive at the cottage. Just before dark.

Elora pulled the plaid puffy down as far as it would stretch over her bare legs and wrapped her arms around herself, tucking her hands under her arms to get her fingers warm. Blackie was snuggled up to her left side which helped a lot. The wolves curled their bodies into circles, noses under tails, and nestled together for warmth. Every now and then Stalkson would leave the den for a while, then return to growl and nip at another wolf to get them to surrender their spot. Position was arbitrary. It seemed that Stalkson thought that displacing another wolf was always preferable to looking for an unoccupied space. Maybe he was saying, "Thanks for keeping that warm for me."

As she sat there in the low light of the cavern, trying not to think about how much she hurt, she replayed in her mind everything that had happened to her since she'd arrived in this dimension. The Ralengclan's words echoed in her mind. Even if she had been living an illusion that was constructed around her like an elaborate fiction, even if there was another story of which she was completely unaware, it had nothing to do with her or her life in this dimension. She was not a Laiwynn princess. She was a Black Swan knight who was about to be somebody's mother.

When the next contraction started she looked at her watch. Ten minutes after five. Nearly an hour.

She woke to a contraction. It was dark and she was disoriented for a few seconds. She pushed the little watch light button. She must have been so tired she'd gone to sleep in spite of the constant throbbing of the wounds. In the pale green light of the watch, Elora saw that Luna had curled up on her right side and Flame was draped over her legs.

Being surrounded on three sides by the warm bodies and soft fur of canis lupis probably went a long way toward relaxing her enough so that she dozed off. Apparently Blackie had decided to trust the females to come closer.

It was six forty-five. Ram would be home by now. She pictured him coming home to a cold dark cottage and knew he'd be crazy with worry.

For several hours the contractions had seemed to be all over the place. Two that were an hour apart would be followed by another in twenty minutes. Finally the birthing process settled into a regular rhythm of thirty-minute intervals.

For the hundredth time, she replayed the conversation with Ram about packing up and moving to be near the clinic - just to be on the safe side of things.

"Great Paddy, Ram," she said softly. "If I live through this, I swear I'm going to be more careful. I bet you're worried out of your mind. I'm so sorry."

Blackie raised his head to see if she was talking to him, sighed, and went back to dozing.

The contractions were five minutes apart. Some of them were excruciating enough to bring back memories of the journey that delivered her to the dimension where she now found herself in the dark, birthing her baby alone, well, alone except for seven wolves and a dog.

Sometimes she shouted obscenities aimed at her husband and only wished she could grab him by the hair and mock him in person saying, "So! There's no danger of pregnancy, my girl. Humans can't get pregnant by elves, Elora.

"Too manly to wear a hot pink condom, are you? From now on you'll wear condoms with hot pink lace if I say so!"

When the labor pain began to subside, she would regret her tirades.

"Helm, I'm ashamed for filling your little ears with such things. Please don't tell your father I said those things and especially don't tell him the bad names I called him. He doesn't act like it, but he has tender feelings. One time I called him a dickhead and thought he was going to cry.

"He also hyperventilates if he gets scared that something is going to happen to me. He's probably having trouble breathing right now."

She thought it must be getting even colder outside because she had reached the point when she couldn't make her teeth stop chattering. Either it was getting colder or she had lost so much blood her body temperature was diving.

Let it be the cold. Let me live to see this little boy.

"Don't worry, Helm. Your daddy will come for us.

"Have I told you he's a hero? The very best kind?

"He goes about quietly saving the world while acting like it's no big deal. One time I saw him put his body between a knife and a woman he didn't even know. She probably wasn't worth one of his nail clippings, but he doesn't think like that. He doesn't stop to evaluate who most deserves a place on the planet. He just does the epic thing instinctively.

"And you've got some of that in you."

She was so exhausted she drifted into unconsciousness. There, in her half-dream sleep state she heard someone moaning from pain. Having a lot of experience with physical ordeal, her empathy kicked in. She was thinking, "Who is that? Why doesn't someone help them? Someone should help them. I should help them." She struggled to wake so that she could go to the aid of the person in distress. She was climbing, climbing, fighting the desire to cocoon and sleep forever, almost reaching the surface of consciousness. And then she was awake, to find she was the one moaning.

Oh, gods, it's me. I'm the one who needs help. Ram. Where are you?

The pressure built until she couldn't suppress a scream. It wasn't a choice. It tore from her voice in a primal fury that exposed the illusion of control. Civilization - thumbs and language - just a light coating of veneer over the truth of our bestial natures.

The wolves lying next to her moved away. There wasn't light for her to see what they were doing, but every time Elora screamed they stood together in a tight pack, facing the entrance to the lair, and howled in harmonies that were both discordant and beautiful. When the contraction ended and her scream trailed off, the howls ceased. It was as if they were disguising the sound of her scream to keep from alerting other predators that someone was in distress.

She didn't have the energy to think about the fact that this was odd wolf behavior, at least it was behavior that had never been recorded.

When it grew quiet, she resumed her conversation with Helm, though she was so tired she couldn't be sure what she was saying.

"He's gonna be mad when he finds out that you're not two weeks away after all. He's gonna say we scared him. A lot.

"But then he's gonna wrap us up in his arms and give us big hugs." She could picture it in her mind and thought she could almost feel it. "And lots of kisses."

When it got quiet again, she thought she heard a whistle of air, like wind trying to make its way down the ramp into the lair. That was followed by a larger whoosh that could easily have been the sound of many trees surrendering fall leaves to a gust.

The wind was blowing hard.

The contractions were so close together they were just letting up long enough to give Elora a chance to breathe. When her body began pushing involuntarily she was amazed, but let instinct take over. She had the passing thought that she wouldn't know if something was wrong, not that she'd be able to do anything about it. When her uterus pushed, trying to expel the baby, Elora worked with it. When the muscles relaxed slightly, she stopped pushing and sat panting, waiting for the next wave.

One of the strangest phenomena of reproduction is the surprise of a first baby. For many long months the intellect pretends to understand that a baby is coming. Preparations are made. Names are chosen. And yet, when a tiny human being arrives, it's a shock. The chasm between 'knowing' there's a fetus in gestation and greeting the miraculous result of that for the first time is an experience so transformative that no one is ever the same afterward. That is how Elora felt when she realized Helm was emerging from her womb.

She reached down and felt the top of his head. When the next wave came, she waited for it to crest and then pushed as hard as she could. The baby's head slipped out and she held it in her hands. The next push was almost immediate. With that contraction she slowly pulled him from her body and then held him in her hands.

Elora could tell by the movement on her left side that Blackie had come to his feet and was growling at the wolves. He had perceived some threat from them. It was then she realized just how completely vulnerable she was, blinded by darkness, reeking of blood and other fluids, wounded and holding a newborn infant in her hands. When Blackie grew quiet, she took that to mean that she and Helm weren't in immediate danger.

Her uterus continued to contract while it expelled the placenta, but it no longer hurt. She remembered something from the hospital movie that she had seen before she had to remove Ram from the room; something about clearing the newborn's air passage of mucus. She put her finger in his mouth and swished it around the baby's gums to make sure there was no blockage. She took his slippery ankles, making sure she had a good hold, and held him upside down. The action made her wince because she disturbed the torn shoulder and caused it to start bleeding again.

When she heard his little cry, so angry, so indignant, for the first time since the ordeal began she gave herself permission to cry along with him.

A stream of gray light was filtering into the den and she could make out shapes, if not the features, of the wolves. Since it was still too dark to see Helm clearly, she used her hands for eyes and felt all over his body. Everything was there; ten fingers and toes. Last she gently ran her fingers over his face. When she touched the tiny, beautifully shaped point of his ear, a sob bubbled up from nowhere.

In a few more minutes it was light enough to see around her. The legs part of the pants she'd been sitting on had partially dried overnight in the winter air. She pulled the pants out from beneath her and arranged the dry parts next to her so she could lay Helm down.

The wolves were clearly curious and wanted to come close enough to investigate. At one point Flame got close enough to lick the placenta and Blackie almost took her face off. She yelped/whined as she scurried back and then licked her muzzle; a sign of submission.

Elora removed the puffy coat, her red knit sweater, and the knit cami she had worn underneath that. If she could crawl to the underground stream, she could wash him properly, but she had to have one arm to support her weight and one arm to hold the baby and her shoulder was beyond being able to do either one. So she used the soft cotton cami and the two wipes she had in her coat pocket to clean Helm up as best she could.

She didn't know what to do about the umbilical cord, but instinct told her she needed to do something. So she took a shoe lace out of one of her boots and tied off the cord a few inches from the baby's beautiful and brand-new-to-the-world, little body. Then she chewed the cord in two on the other side of the knot she had made.

She tossed the ruined cami away, wrapped him in the sweater and put her puffy back on. Leaning back against the rock that had been her birthing bed, she placed the baby on her chest, and pulled the puffy closed over both of them.

"Don't worry, Helm. Daddy's coming. I can feel it."

Exhausted in the truest sense of the word, she fell asleep again.

Elora jerked awake when she heard Blackie barking. She had her arms around something... She had her arms around her sweet baby!

Thank you for letting me live to hold him.

Was that voices? Someone calling Blackie? She put her free hand out and touched the dog's back.

"Shhhh. Let me listen."

Blackie instantly quieted.

Fourteen years later.

CHAPTER ONE

It was Yule Eve, but Blackie didn’t know that when he climbed the hill to his favorite spot. He didn’t trot or run, as he’d been known to do in his younger days. He ambled, telling himself that he could trot or run if he was so inclined. He just didn’t feel like it that minute.

He was ancient for a big dog, but his mistress had pleaded with Monq to give the dog the same super-rich supplements that had been developed for knights. The supplements kept the knights at the peak of physical perfection and health – no need for flu shots, but there was a side effect that was one of the Order’s best kept secrets. It slowed the aging process. Not permanently, of course. Blackie was still well over middle-aged, but physically he was not yet ten.

The hill above the Laiken kennel and farm had the very best view of the surroundings. When he was there he could imagine himself to be protector of all he surveyed; his people, the land, the wolf dogs.

There’d been a light snow the day before, but the morning’s bright sun had melted a small clearing that formed a patch of bright green grass. Bright sun was unusual in northern Ireland at that time of year, but dogs don’t analyze changes in weather or atmospheric conditions. They simply accept what is and adapt as best they can. When the sun shines warm on old bones, they accept it.

After stopping at a patch of green, where the sun broke through clouds now and then, and turning in a circle three times, Blackie sunk down into a sphinx-like pose and indulged himself in a satisfied sigh.

Being the exceptional dog that he was, Blackie’s memory was better than most. The catalog of mental pictures that formed his history and experience was not chronological, but it was intact. He knew that he’d been mistreated at one time. He knew that he’d been rescued and redeemed by a mistress who didn’t smell like the other two-legged creatures. He knew that he’d been singularly devoted to her until the birth of a tiny male who smelled a lot like his mistress. At that point his devotion was expanded to include the elfling.

Helm.

It was a name Blackie could almost speak out loud. Certainly he’d tried often enough. Though his vocalizations didn’t sound exactly like ‘Helm’, the elfing always recognized his name in Blackie’s throat and responded with laughter. Sometimes laughter and a treat. And nothing in the world was better than Helm’s laughter and a treat.

He sat on the hill that looked down on the parcel of earth that he thought of as his farm. The casual observer would say he was overlooking the farm, but in Blackie’s mind he was overseeing his farm. His raison d'etre was protection, take care of the mistress and her elflings – at any cost. But there was lots of time to pass in between instances of demonstrating his prowess as guard extraordinaire. Sometimes years in fact.

During those times of passive duty, he enjoyed the peace and tranquility of a semi-retirement well earned.

Perhaps old dogs do what old people do. They divide their reveries between recollection and remorse. Because even the best of us could have done things better. If an exception to that existed, it might be Blackie. Because he had never failed to give his whole heart and effort to any given task in any given moment. Perhaps dogs as smart as Blackie are like humans, recalling this corner of a moment or that fragment of a song at odd and inexplicable times.

Blackie melted onto his side and curled up for a little nap. In seconds he was dozing. When a crow flew low and gave him a single scolding ‘caw’, he opened one eye. As he did he continued to see the images he’d been dreaming; a bitter cold day with icy rain in a forest. He was hurt. So was his mistress. He was limping as she crawled. He thought maybe he extended his neck enough to give her a tentative lick of encouragement on the cheek.

As he was dozing off he heard one of the wolf-dog pups aim nose to sky and howl. And he remembered the wolves in the dolmen den where Helm had been born, shadowy images of a time long ago.

At fourteen, Helm was almost six feet tall and bragging that soon he’d be able to look down at his da.

Elora would be quick to reply to that kind of talk by saying, “You will never be able to look down at your father if you grow to be ten feet tall.” One day Ram had stopped just outside the kitchen door to hear that exchange. His heart never ceased to swell with emotion when he heard his mate reaffirm that she was glad the Powers That Be had seen fit to make them a pair. And he thought the world would be a better place if everyone woke up next to someone who thought they were the prize.

Ram knew that, indeed, one morning he would come to breakfast and realize that Helm’s line of vision was higher than his own. He wasn’t dreading that day. Ram had spent years in B Team with three taller teammates before Elora took Lan’s place. He didn’t care how tall Helm was so long as the boy knew that height was no reason to brag, anymore than any physical feature.

Helm had inherited some of his mother’s unusual physical attributes. He was every bit as beautiful and charismatic as his psychic auntie, Aelsong, had predicted before his birth.

“Good looks are no’ an accomplishment. ‘Tis a gift and nothin’ more. Ye have no reason to lord it over those less comely.” Ram repeated this sentiment or something like it every time he suspected Helm was feeling proud about his physical good fortune. And Ram hoped he was getting through on a deep and unforgettable level.

Ram and Elora had used their considerable influence with The Order of the Black Swan to arrange to have Helm educated as a non-prospect. The Order agreed that one of the training institutions was the best place for an adolescent male with Helm’s unusual abilities, not to mention the fact that he might someday choose to accept the mantel of King of Irish Elves. Black Swan thrived on discreet connections in high places and, therefore, agreed to make a place for him at the German unit. For the first time in the history of Black Swan, a student’s board and tuition was paid for by his parents.

Helm had started that fall. He was so eager to go he was practically jumping out of his skin. As he prepared to leave only one thing made his eyes sting and threatened to compromise his manhood with tears. Blackie.

He could manage without his mum, his da, and Paddy-Lovin’ sisters. But going for months at a time without a heart-to-heart conversation with Blackie while stroking dark silky fur? There’d be nothing fun about that.

For him, there was no such thing as a world without Blackie. The idea of that black dog was as constant as was the idea of his father, Sir Rammel Aelshelm Hawking, Black Swan Knight Emeritus, Prince of Irish Elves, and his mother, Lady Elora Laiken, Black Swan Knight Emeritus, former Princess of Britannia, Stagsnare Dimension. Helm was familiar with the grandiose pageantry of his parents’ titles, but didn’t typically think of them in those terms. He knew he had famous parents, but since he had no idea what it might be like to have other parents, that was of little consequence to him.

His earliest memory was the sight of a black muzzle appearing between the bars of his crib, subtly moving from side to side in time with the wagging of a thick tail. With intense and intelligent brown eyes, full of light, Blackie would stand at the side of Helm’s bed for long periods, staring at the young elfling like he was the most precious thing in the universe.

Helm had never confronted the prospect of surviving Blackie and simply couldn’t imagine life without the big black dog. It was impossible. Or if not impossible, then at least unthinkable.

Elora had been Blackie’s world. Until Helm was born. When the mistress breezed through the room, she would laugh and say, “Blackie. Are you staring at the baby again? Don’t you ever get tired of that?”

Blackie would withdraw his head so that he could look at Elora over his shoulder, wag his tail a little harder, then go right back to watching Helm as if the elfling might otherwise disappear.

After that he was Helm’s constant companion, being the self-appointed guardian and best friend. Blackie accepted that duty before Helm made his first appearance in the world. He’d kept the feral wolves at a distance while his mistress gave birth to the future king of Irish elves.

Helm’s mother didn’t mind sharing Blackie’s love and loyalty. It was a pact made silently between the mistress and her dog. ‘We’ll take care of the elfling together.’ Then she’d winked. He didn’t know how she did that, closing one eye and not the other. It was disconcerting at best and disturbing at worst. It was one of a long list of elf behaviors that worried him and prompted him to seek reassurances that all was well, in the form of soothing words and pets. Maybe treats, too.

In the last days before Yule it was cold and there were a scant seven hours of daylight and no hours of sunlight. The time was too precious to waste. So Blackie took full advantage of the enjoyment derived from his perch on the rise. From there not a single movement, no matter how slight, escaped his notice. It was the nature of Alsatians to stay close to the pack and be perpetually alert.

And the Hawking family was Blackie’s pack.

He heard the buzz of the old woodie’s engine coming up the road. He sat up and watched the progress of the car from a mile away. It followed the intricate in and out of the curved and narrow country road until it pulled past the gate to his farm.

Blackie was contemplating whether or not he’d make the effort to trot downhill and greet Ram returning home from some errand. He was still trying to decide when the passenger door opened and he heard Helm’s voice.

Helm followed the direction Ram’s finger was pointing as he said, “Somebody’s glad to see you.”

Blackie was sprinting down the hill so fast he was little more than a streak, Helm’s joyful laughter spurring him on. Helm barely had time to kneel before Blackie plowed into him, unable to contain his exhilaration. Helm allowed Blackie to knock him over and cover him in wet kisses, while keeping a paw on the elfling’s chest as if to proclaim that Helm was his.

Such a thing wouldn’t have been possible without Helm’s cooperation. It would have taken more than a powerful dog weighing nine stone to knock down the son of Elora Laiken. Helm had a bit of his mother’s dense, alien muscle and the extra weight that went with that.

Ram stood and watched the display of dog reunited with his elfling, thinking that Elora would be brought to tears by the scene. “Come on, you two. The mist is turnin’ to drizzle and may freeze on your face.”

Blackie ran to the mud room door, went through his custom-made door flap, and stood wagging his tail when Ram and Helm entered. He wouldn’t dare go ahead of Elora, but everybody else let him get away with pretending he was second in command. Dogs who are very smart must have their amusements.

“We’re home!” Ram called.

Elora was in the kitchen making Irish stew and soda bread, Helm’s favorite. She dropped the big wooden spoon in the pot and wiped her hands on her apron as she hurried to the mud room. Letting Helm go away to school was one of the hardest things she’d ever done, but after countless nights talking it over with Ram, she’d agreed it was the best thing for him.

Where had the time gone?

Helm smiled brightly when Elora came into view, tears already forming in her eyes. “Mum!”

She grabbed the sides of his head and peppered his entire face with kisses while he chuckled, partly from the delight of a mum who thought he was the best elf ever born, and partly from knowing that his face had been covered with Blackie’s ‘kisses’ minutes before. Knowing his mother, she probably wouldn’t have cared. He was sure she loved that dog as much as her own children.

When she let him go, she said, “Welcome home, love.” She grabbed his collar and looked at the top of his head. “Did you get taller? You DID, you little stinker. I told you to stop growing.” She looked at her mate. “Ram. He’s taller isn’t he?” Ram shrugged. She turned her attention back to Helm and bathed the room with her megawatt smile. “And handsome enough to blind the sun.”

“Mum. You’re startin’ to sound like an Irishwoman.”

“I’ve been takin’ lessons from your da for fifteen years. It’s a total immersion program.” She lowered her voice. “Nobody does silver tongue better.”

“Heard that.” Ram smiled smugly.

“Of course you did. Just look at the size of those ears.”

“I happen to know you like the size of these ears,” Ram said.

“Great Paddy, do no’ start this,” Helm said. “The two of you have a room on the premises for carryin’ on.” He shook his head, but secretly loved the fact that his parents had so much affection for each other that it constantly spilled over. “I see no’ much has changed.”

Elora pivoted to a new subject without warning. “We’re having your stew and soda bread.”

Helm grinned. “Right now? Excellent. ‘Cause I’m starvin’.”

“’Course you’re starvin’,” Ram said. “You’re fourteen. But no. We’re eatin’ dinner at dinner time. You can stuff your face with stuff your sisters made earlier.”

He laughed. “I’m thinkin’ that means they made a complete haymes of it. Where are they?”

He’d barely got the question out when his sisters came running into an already crowded mud room with their own version of welcome; squeals, hugs around the waist, and jumping up and down. Helm was thinking that homecoming wasn’t all bad. It could only do a fella good to be reminded how much he meant to his people.

Charlie Sweeney had told his mother he’d be home for Yule. The widow, Mav Sweeney lived a quarter mile from the Hawking place on a tiny farm that the family had managed to keep through thick and thin. The little house was rustic, white stucco and small; no bigger than the smallest city apartment. Still, Charlie invited his friend and business associate, Jack Doyle to come home with him since Jack had no one and nowhere to go.

The light was failing when they passed the Hawking farm, but it wasn’t so dark that the sight of a large black German Shepherd racing down the hill didn’t catch their eyes.

The two men exchanged a meaningful look before Jack’s face spread into a wicked smile. “Looks like Yule’ll be good to me after all this year.”

After a minute Charlie said, “They’re my mum’s neighbors.”

“Aye,” said Jack. “Your mum’s rich neighbors. Bet they ne’er did a thing for her.”

Charlie sighed, silently agreeing that was probably true.

In fact, the Hawkings were generous with their neighbors. They made sure that people in their little corner of the world had fuel for warmth in winter, enough to eat, and help of the amateur veterinary variety, which Ram could manage in a pinch. Earlier that day Elora and the twins had delivered feasts they’d made themselves to several neighboring families.

But the idea of a well-off family being kind to those less fortunate didn’t fit the rationalization that people who lived in a place like the pretty farm and kennel had some bad luck coming to them.

“Did you get a look at that big fucker? Moran might turn loose a commission and a smile.”

“Bloody unlikely. In any case, we’re doin’ Yule with my mum.”

“Aye. To be sure. That hound’s not goin’ anywhere.”

“That was no hound.”

Jack grunted.

CHAPTER TWO

Elora thought nothing could be more heavenly than the scene in front of her. Rammel, the twins, and Helm laughing and arguing over some board game while Blackie looked on from his braided rug bed by the centuries-old fireplace. He caught her staring at him and raised his head as if to say, “You need me?”

She walked over, squatted down, and rubbed his favorite petting spot behind his ears. “Have I told you lately how much I love you? How glad I am that you’re my dog?”

There were words that Blackie understood, but whole sentences were beyond him. Still, he read the sentiment behind the words loud and clear. He gave her wrist a tiny lick kiss and lowered his head to rest on his paws, all the better for watching Elora fuss with presents under the tree.

Ram rose from the table. “Time to see to the wolves.” Ram never referred to the wolf-dogs as anything but wolves. He gave Helm a pointed look that said, “Home for the holidays means home in every sense of the word, includin’ chores.”

Helm knew there was no point in arguing and, had his soul been bared, it would have revealed that Helm had always liked working with his da, even if he put up a show of complaining. He stopped in the mudroom to shrug on a puffy coat and pulled a knit hat down over his ears.

Once outside and walking toward the outbuildings, Ram said, “’Twas nice of you to come home with gifts for your mum and your sisters.” Helm laughed. “What’s funny?”

“You think I forgot ye?” Ram started to protest, but allowed a sheepish smile to tag him as caught. Helm laughed again. “Got you somethin’, too, Da. Although ‘tis no’ easy to find the right thing for the fuckin’ prince of Irish elves, Hall of Heroes inductee, master of the uni…”

“Enough of the flattery, Flannery.” He grinned. “So what’d you get me?”

“No’ tellin’.”

After dinner, the family opened gifts by the fire. It turned out the large wrapped, but unmarked package that had arrived days before was a present for both Ram and Elora. Helm had taken a photo of the photo that sat on the mantel at the New Forest cottage and had it made into a large oil painting of a younger Ram and Elora in front of the Rockefeller Center tree.

Of course Elora cried. “Helm. You are the most romantic boy who ever lived.”

Of course Ram looked at his son with the kind of admiration and appreciation Helm craved.

They hung the painting over the fireplace, not in the great room, but in the small, easier-to-heat family living room with shabby chic furnishings where they spent most of their time.

“I love it,” Elora said, just before giving Helm another big kiss on the cheek.

When the house was quiet, Elora turned to spoon Ram’s back. She heard Blackie’s nails on the old wood floor. It was his habit to patrol every so often during the night, but he always returned to his heavy corduroy loveseat that sat at the end of their bed.

Elora listened to Blackie rustling as he got comfortable and then heaved a mighty sigh. It made her smile.

“I can feel you smilin’,” Ram said.

“You cannot.”

“Can.”

“How?”

“Been with you a while.”

She laughed silently against his back. “I love having everybody in the house.”

“I know you do.”

“Don’t you?”

“No’ sayin’ anythin’ likely to get you goin’. You’re ripe for tears at the slightest provocation. Have been all day.”

“It is kind of emotional.” He took the hand attached to the arm thrown around him and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “I can’t believe the time is going by so fast. Our baby is taller than you.”

Ram turned over so that he was facing Elora. “’Tis goin’ by fast because it’s good. I’m grateful that I survived to have this life, fast or slow. Grateful that you survived.”

“You promised me that most knights die of old age in their own bed surrounded by great-grandchildren.”

He grinned. “Let’s make that a goal.”

In the gray of early morning Elora heard a soft whine at her back and groaned. She wanted to stay right where she was, spooned against Rammel’s back; hard, warm heaven. She didn’t have to hunt for a device to know it was early, just like she didn’t have to hunt for a device to know it was cold outside the cocoon of warm covers.

With a groan she turned over far enough to see Blackie staring intently into her eyes as if he could communicate urgency that way. His entire body was moving from the wagging of his tail.

“Oh, alright,” she said and threw away the covers with a mighty effort. Her feet found the reindeer slippers she’d left by the bed as she grabbed for the robe she’d tossed on the chair by the bed. It was thick white fleece with faux fur collar and sleeves. Ram had given it to her. He loved seeing her in white.

Half asleep she descended the stairs. She’d done it so many times raising three elflings that she could be completely asleep and still navigate the stairs.

She shuffled straight to the mud room and opened Blackie’s door flap. He charged through without a backward glance.

“You’re welcome,” she mumbled as she made her way back to bed thinking about how much satisfaction there would be in putting her freezing cold feet on Ram’s warm bare legs. He would make a sound that could only be compared to a squeal and then insist that knights of The Order of the Black Swan do not squeal.

The next time she opened her eyes it was in response to bacon and coffee aromas drifting up the stairs from the kitchen. She didn’t need to confirm that she was alone in bed. Ram was the only other person in the household who would fill the early morning with smells designed to draw young from their beds.

She brushed her teeth and put on skinny jeans with a white turtleneck and a thick red cable-knit sweater.

As if he could sense her arrival, Ram turned just as she was coming into the kitchen. He was wearing a ridiculous Santa’s Helper apron she’d given him the year before and couldn’t possibly have been more handsome. There was nothing more romantic than an apron-wearing knight with a spatula in his hand and a sexy smile on his beautiful mouth.

“How much longer?” The twins said, almost in unison.

Ignoring that, Elora said, “Happy Yule,” and gave Ram a holiday-commemorative kiss.

“I’m thinkin’ we should do Yule more often.”

Helm stumbled in wearing jeans with a red plaid shirt and no shoes. “Pancakes?” he said. “I get the next one.”

“Do no’!” Aelgale rose up with the hotheaded intensity that her father had been infamous for in his younger days. Her twin, Aelgavain, said nothing, but glared at her brother. “We were here first. Right, Mum?”

“Maybe you were here first,” taunted Helm, “but I’m the guest of honor.”

Gale looked incredulous and sounded flummoxed. Her face turned pink just before she said, “You’re no’ a guest of anything. You’re a dick face.”

“AELGALE!” Elora didn’t have to pretend to sound scandalized.

Ram turned away so that none of his children would see him trying to control laughter. “Helm,” Ram said calmly as he slid one pancake on each of two plates and set them down in front of the twins. “Stop provokin’ your sisters.”

Helm smiled wickedly at the girls, first one, then the other. “They’re the ones gettin’ fed. Seems to me they’re provokin’ me with bein’ first.”

“Great Paddy,” Ram said as he flipped two pancakes on the griddle.

As he set the two perfectly round and golden pancakes on a plate for Helm, Elora said, “Has anybody seen Blackie?”

Charlie Sweeney had shaken Jack awake when the sky had begun to lighten to gray. “Come on. We got a job to do. And a long way to go.”

Jack nodded. He didn’t have to get dressed. He’d slept in his clothes. It was too cold to strip down and he wasn’t the flannel pajamas sort.

Charlie handed him a cup of tea and day-old bread and indicated they should stay quiet and not wake his mother.

While Jack consumed the meager breakfast, Charlie wrote a note to his mother that simply read ‘Happy Yule’, and left a handful of cash with it. He didn’t like tearful goodbyes or questions about when his mum would hear from him next.

They slipped away shortly after sunrise on Yule morning. The ground was covered with a fresh dusting of snow. The air was still, but it held the kind of damp cold that went straight through clothes and settled in bones; the kind of cold shivers and teeth-chattering are made of.

Charlie pulled into the curve of the lane at the bottom of the hill where the Hawking farm sat looking proud and pristine. Jack didn’t want to get out, but Charlie insisted.

Charlie knew dogs.

He knew the family would let the dog out to do his business early in the morning. And he knew the big German Shepherd would notice two strange men and come to investigate. Chances are good that, had they realized that particular dog belonged to members of the royal family, they would’ve kept driving.

Charlie had spent years working for Owen Moran. It wasn’t the kind of relationship that could rightfully be called employment, but Charlie’s finances, or lack thereof, depended on pleasing Mr. Moran, the dog fight promoter.

Dog fighting might be viewed by many as the cruel pastime of a sordid underbelly of society. But Moran didn’t give two shits what people thought about his business. It was lucrative and tax free. At least the way Moran did it. It would be hard to imagine a practice more barbaric, but such things didn’t concern him. He was a practical man and it was a living. End of story.

He moved the fights around, never more than one night in a single place. Kept law enforcement on his payroll and was careful about his clientele.

The dogs were collateral damage, but he didn’t care about that either. Once they were swept up into Moran’s dark world, their fate was sealed. There would be no happily ever after. They would live in solitary, cramped lockups until the inevitable fight that killed them or left them for dead.

Occasionally Moran was able to buy a dog cheap or get one for free from a family that wasn’t prepared for the responsibilities that come with owning one of the breeds on the restriction list, the kind of dog that held the potential to be more dangerous than a loaded gun.

He pocketed the cash and moved on to arranging the next secret-location fight. To Moran the dogs were transactions that might as well have been inanimate. Since he’d never experienced empathy for others of his own kind, it would have been surprising if he’d had any feelings to extend toward the animals he used.

Jack and Charlie were two of the ‘suppliers’ Moran used to continually provide replacement stock. Moran gave them a tidy commission when a dog was approved. It wasn’t enough to make them rich, but it was an easy enough, set-your-own-hours job description with enough compensation to keep them interested.

Like Moran, the two thieves had no sympathy for dogs, which was a plus in their line of work. They didn’t take any particular pleasure in causing suffering. They just didn’t care.

Blackie had trotted toward the hill, nose to the ground as he took in the scent of everything in nature from the minerals in the soil, to the footprints of the longhaired sheep, to the stray dog that crossed the property during the night. When he reached the three-sided barn, where the sheep went for shelter on cold nights, he veered away toward the enclosed north side of the structure and sought out one of his favorite spots to fertilize.

After a satisfying defecation he turned back toward the house. When he rounded the sheep barn and looked back toward the house, he saw them. Two men standing next to a vehicle where no vehicle should be parked. He was too far away to catch their scent, but was disturbed both by their presence and something hard to explain; instinct.

Assuming a stalking stance, he lowered his head, ears forward, nose pointed at the two men who were where they shouldn’t be. Too far away to see them clearly, he could still tell that they were looking at him, which escalated his feeling of alarm. Blackie was far too confident and mature to bark. He approached as slowly and silently as if he planned to have the strangers for a morning meal.

At twenty feet away he stopped to glare and growl low in his throat. He was about to charge when he felt a sharp sting in his shoulder that caused a yelp of surprise. He jerked his head to see what might be causing the pain. He tried to grab at the dangling yellow plastic thing with his teeth, but couldn’t quite reach it.

When he saw the men approaching out of the corner of his eye, he gave up trying to remove the foreign object and pulled his mask back into a terrifying snarl. He was preparing to lunge at the one on the right when he felt his legs give way. As the scenery began to blur he felt a stab of fear, but he didn’t have time to sort through what to do about that before everything went black.

CHAPTER THREE

Ram looked up when he heard the mud room door. He was on the phone, calling around to neighbors even though he knew that Blackie would never wander away. That dog would never be where he couldn’t keep an eye on his family by choice.

Elora’s heightened color told the tale that she’d been out in the cold hunting for Blackie. She shook her head and Ram saw something on her face he’d never seen before in all the time they’d been together.

Fear.

“Aye. Much obliged,” he said and ended the call just as tears began to spill onto Elora’s cheeks. He set the phone down and moved toward her. “Here now. What’s this?”

He took her face in his hands, kissed her mouth, and swiped at tears with his thumbs, as he’d done hundreds of times.

Her face crumpled. “I couldn’t call for him.” Ram looked confused. “My voice just froze in my throat. I was trying to yell his name, but I’m so scared that nothing comes out.”

He gathered her into his arms. “But ‘tis no’ true of Helm and the twins. If Blackie was within earshot, he’d hear them and come.”

Elora nodded. “You know he wouldn’t just walk off.”

Rammel nodded in return. “Aye. I do know that.”

“And he’s not here.”

“Know that as well.”

“Well, what does it mean?”

They heard the mud room door followed by the sounds of elflings kicking off snowy boots. They waited until Helm and the girls came in.

Helm looked grief-stricken and like he’d rather cut open his veins than tell his mother they’d failed to find Blackie. “He’s no’ here, Mum.”

Elora shared a long look with Helm before turning back to Ram.

Ram didn’t wait to be asked his opinion on what to do next. He liked Blackie, always had and was glad to have him around. But he’d never bonded to Blackie with the depth of connection that Helm and Elora shared for that dog. With two pairs of identical and bereft turquoise eyes staring at him with faith that he’d have a plan, there was nothing he wouldn’t do to recover the mostly black dog.

Ram held up his phone. That was the last of the neighbors to call, the Widow Sweeney. He looked at Elora. “She said to thank ye kindly again for the feast. Her son came last night with a friend and she was proud as punch to have somethin’ to serve.”

Elora said nothing as her eyes wandered toward the windows, a part of her hoping that she’d see Blackie bounding toward the house.

Ram sighed. “If he’s no’ here and the neighbors have no’ seen him, I think we have no choice but to ask for a little help from our friends.”

Elora’s eyes flew wide. “Of course! Litha!” She grabbed for Ram’s phone.

Litha had come down with a cold two days before. She was sneezy and stuffy and had intermittent bouts of fever. She’d sent Storm to have brunch with his family without her. He said he’d bring back some of everything for her, but she wasn’t interested in food.

“You swear you’ll call if your fever comes back. Fever could be dangerous for the baby,” Storm said.

Litha lied and promised. She had no intention of interrupting Storm’s Yule with his parents and siblings. No matter what.

“I’m leaving the phone right here.” Storm put the phone on the table next to the leather recliner where Litha was outfitted with tissues, a pot of tea with honey, and enough blankets to keep a snowman warm.

“Okay.” She waved. “Have a good time. Tell everybody I wish I was there.” He leaned down to kiss her, but she held up her hand. “Get away from me. I’m probably contagious.”

He stood up smirking. “Alright. Going.” He looked back over his shoulder. “You’d better call if you need anything.”

“I will.”

“I’ll be mad if you don’t.”

“Great Paddy.”

Storm couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

He’d been gone long enough for Litha to doze off when the phone rang. There were only a handful of people who would have gotten an answer. Elora was one of them.

“Hello.”

“Oh my gods, Litha. You sound AWFUL! What’s the matter?”

“Cold.”

“Oh.” Pause. “How bad?”

“Bad enough I sent Storm to his family celebration without me. And I’m super pissed about it. Witches don’t get colds. Demons don’t get colds. But I’ve got this tiny little bit of human somewhere in here that’s weak and vulnerable and generally useless.”

“Yeah. That’s pretty bad.” Pause. “How’s the baby?”

“Good.” Litha’s hand automatically went to her tummy when the subject of the baby came up. “He or she, and don’t ask because I’m not telling, is practicing some of those moves you teach the knights-to-be, usually when I want to sleep. So what’s up?” When Elora didn’t answer, she added, “You might as well tell me. I can hear it in your voice.”

“Hear what?”

“That something’s wrong.”

“Oh. Well. I…”

Ram took the phone away. “Litha. Blackie’s missin’. My mate and firstborn are in a state. We’ve called the neighbors and looked everywhere there is to look. We were hopin’ you might have a look?”

Litha had brought the chair up to a full upright position. “I don’t know if I can track when I’m sick. Certainly not from here. Maybe from there.”

“I know ‘tis a lot to ask when you’re under the weather.”

“You guys not afraid of germs?”

He lowered his voice and whispered into the phone. “Between you and me, what scares me most in the world is no’ findin’ that dog.”

Litha sighed and then sneezed. “I’ll be there soon.”

She ended that call and selected Storm.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Blackie’s missing.”

Of all the things Storm was prepared to hear when he saw that Litha was calling, that wasn’t one of them. He ran through the reasons why Ram or Elora would have called Litha with that news and quickly put together that they were hoping the tracker could find the dog.

“Criminently. I like Blackie as much as the next person…”

“No, you don’t,” she interrupted. “You tolerate Blackie.”

“Alright. So I’m not the world’s biggest ‘dog person’.” He put that in air quotes even though Litha couldn’t see. “I was just going to say that you’re staying right where you are until you’re well.”

“It’s not about the dog, Storm. It’s about the people who love him. Although… remember when that dog found Elora for you? The way I heard it, she was being shredded by vampire and you guys didn’t know where to begin looking?” When she paused, she heard him sigh and knew he’d give in. “I told them I’d be there in a few minutes. The question isn’t whether or not I’m going. The question is, do you want to go or do you want to stay?”

Even with his hand over the phone mic, she could hear the choice words he had to say. “I’d like to talk you out of that.”

“Not happening.” She sneezed.

“And that’s why. You’re sick!”

“But I’m not dead. Elora would do it for me and you know it.”

He was silent for a minute. “That’s beside the point.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That is the point. I’ve used up my allotted time for an invite-the-husband-to-a-dog-hunt phone call. Going? Or staying?”

“Have I told you I don’t like it when you get all adamant?”

“Hanging up now.”

“Going.”

“Good. Hurry.”

On the way back to the vineyard, Storm called Ram.

“Aye. Thought you might call.”

“I guess we’re on the way.”

“Aye.”

“How are things there?”

“Have a family that is inconsolable and a mystery that has me stymied.” When Storm didn’t reply, Ram’s intuition went on alert. “You know somethin’. What are ye no’ sayin’?”

“This is just for you because it’s probably unlikely and I don’t want to cause more worry than necessary.”

“Spit it out.”

“I’ve heard that dogs like Blackie get napped for illegal gambling.”

Ram shot out of the chair, walked into the other room out of earshot, and lowered his voice so that even Helm’s ears wouldn’t hear him say, “Dog fights?”

“It’s just a wild thought.”

“Great Paddy. So far ‘tis the only thing that makes a lick of sense. Thank the gods your wife is on the way.”

“You’re making a habit of relying on her.”

“Aye. ‘Tis no’ the first time she’s pulled our asses out of the mire. If I were you, I would no’ be thinkin’ this is the last.”

“Under the circumstances, we won’t be coming with pecan pie and poinsettias.”

“No’ expected. Just bring yourselves. We have pie.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Litha and Storm appeared near the rear door. They knew the Hawkings didn’t bother to heat the front part of the downstairs during winter.

Reaching past Litha, Storm raised a hand to knock, but the door flew open and Helm grabbed Litha into a hug. “You’re goin’ to find him, are you no’, Auntie?”

Helm’s plea was pitiful as he balanced on the teeter totter of post-pubescence between childhood and manhood.

She pushed him away. “Get away now, Helm. I’m sick and you don’t want this.”

“I’m no’ gettin’ sick,” he said with certain assurance that he could control such things.

“Can we come in?” Storm said. “It’s cold out here.”

Helm gave Storm a sad, but sheepish smile. “Sorry. O’course…”

Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by Elora pushing past intending to drag Litha into the kitchen.

“Hold on, would you?” Storm protested. “We’re still attached.” He took a key out of a zippered pocket on his fleece vest and unlocked the handcuffs that had bound them together for the journey.

As soon as Litha was free, Elora pulled her away. “Sit here by the fire,” she said. When the house had been renovated, Elora had insisted on a small, waist-high kitchen fireplace. She pulled a leather armchair out for Litha. “I’ll make tea. Lemon Chamomile?”

“You’ve learned how to boil water?” Litha asked.

“I see you’re not too sick to crack jokes,” Elora said.

“That sounds good. With honey,” Litha said just before sneezing into the tissue she held tightly in her hand.

Storm fished a fresh box of lotion-treated tissues out of a hastily put together overnight bag and set it on the table in front of Litha.

“Thank you,” she said. “Where are Gale and Gavain?”

“Upstairs. Hooked up to some electronic device no doubt,” Elora said.

By the time the kettle was whistling, Ram had returned from taking care of the animals, and greeted the guests. The four adults sat at the kitchen table sharing tea, or cocoa, while Helm stood silently waiting for better news.

“I don’t know if I can track at all with this.” Litha waved at her head. “But I brought a couple of things.”

“Can we help?” Elora said.

“Honestly no. Tracking is a solitary activity. I’ll do best on my own. So I hate to run you out of your own kitchen…” She didn’t have to ask them twice. Ram, Elora, and Helm were on their feet and ready to vacate. Litha read the question in Storm’s eyes. “Go on with them. Let me do my thing.”

Storm’s hesitation was miniscule, but Litha noticed. He hated that she was sick. He shuffled away dragging worn square-toed boots across the ancient wide-plank floor that the Hawkings had kept intact.

Elora curled into Ram on the crewel print sofa, taking comfort in his feel and his smell.

“How’re things at the vineyard?” Ram said.

“Heading into the slowest time of the year. This is when I usually catch up with my wife. Some of the wineries give tours. We don’t.”

Ram grunted. “So you can just sit around and gaze into each other’s navels?”

“Rammel!” Elora slapped at his bicep.

“We could,” Storm said without missing a beat, “and it wouldn’t hurt the business.”

Ram shook his head. “Can’t imagine. Wolf-dogs and sheep have to be tended every damn day of the year.”

“Can’t you hire somebody to help?” Storm asked.

“Yes!” Elora said. “He’s just complaining because we let them stay home for Yule.”

Storm smiled, knowing that Ram had just made a play for sympathy. “Wow.” He looked at Ram. “You never change.”

“How about you, Storm?” Elora asked. “Have you changed?”

Storm looked at Elora a little too long for Ram’s liking before shrugging. “Not much I guess.”

“Good,” said Elora. “We wouldn’t want you to.”

Storm didn’t get a chance to reply. Litha more or less burst into the room. She looked at Helm and said, “You need to leave the room so I can use the words that are on my mind.”

Helm sighed deeply. “I imagine I’ve heard them, Auntie.”

“Still,” she insisted. “You haven’t heard them in front of me.”

“Litha,” Elora said, “do you know something?”

Litha sneezed so violently it made her entire body jump. “Judas Priest!”

“Okay. You got me,” Helm said. “I have no’ heard that one.”

Ignoring that, Litha said, “You know that thing people like to say about a little knowledge being dangerous? Well, I know something, but it’s not enough to help and it might even take us in the wrong direction. So I’m torn about whether or not to even say. Plus, what if this…” she waved at her head again, “is causing false positives?”

Elora cocked her head. “Has that ever happened?”

“No. But I’ve never been this sick. I’m just not sure how it affects my ability to track.”

Elora exchanged a long look with Ram. To an outsider it might have appeared that they were sharing a silent conversation. When her eyes came back to Litha, she said, “Tell us what you know.”

“I don’t want to.” Litha crossed her arms over her pregnant tummy. Seeing that Elora was taking on more intensity, she added, “You would not hurt a pregnant witch.”

Ram stood up. “No. She would no’. But I might.”

Storm stepped in front of Litha like he thought there might be a possibility that Rammel was serious.

“Get me Song,” Litha said abruptly.

That stopped everyone in their tracks. Ram, Elora, and Storm all said, “Song?” in unison.

“Clearly you heard me. All of you. Hurry up.”

“Litha,” Storm said quietly, hoping to calm her. “You’re the only one of us who can move people semi-instantly. And you’re too sick to do it.”

“Nonsense.” She waved a tissue and then sneezed so hard it almost shook the old house. “Where is she, Ram?”

Storm was shaking his head. “No. You should be in bed.”

“Do you have a cowbell?” Litha asked, once again causing everyone in the room to look at each other. Elora mouthed ‘cowbell’ at Ram who shook his head.

“Why would you think we’d have a cowbell, Litha? We don’t have cows,” Ram said.

Litha’s eyes bugged out. “Because…! Don’t all rockers have cowbells?”

Ram blinked a few times. “Great Paddy. I might actually have a cowbell in a case somewhere. Mind if I ask why you need it?”

“I don’t want to be rude. But yes. I mind.”

Helm stepped forward. “I’ll help you look, Da. Where do ye think it might be?”

Ram let his head fall back before saying, “The cases stored in the music room cabinets. Somewhere in there. If I do even have one.”

“Did you ever actually use cowbell in, em, music?” Helm asked.

Ram’s smile was all the answer required.

When they’d left the room, Storm said, “Why do you want a cowbell, Litha? You need to tell me so I don’t think you’re hallucinating.”

“I’m going to use it to call Lally.”

Storm rolled his eyes. “Yeah. That’s exactly what we need. A fuck-up angel added into the mix.”

Litha gaped. “Kellareal is not a fuck-up angel.”

“Really?” Storm challenged. “Tell that to Rosie.”

“Most of the time,” Litha amended.

“Why in hel’s name would you want to get his attention?”

“Because I might not feel good enough to go get Song, but he could.”

Storm’s nostrils flared as he thought that over. He glanced at Elora before admitting that, “Okay. So there’s nothing wrong with your logic. If you feel like you have to have Song here, and you haven’t clued us in on that, getting that…” Litha gave Storm a warning look. “That angel to do it is a good option. Now why don’t you lie down and give Ram and Helm a chance to run down your cowbell.”

Elora pulled pillows off the sofa to make a comfortable place for Litha to lie down. While she was doing it, she said, “I don’t suppose you’d tell me, your best friend, whose dog is missing, why you’re demanding an appearance from Song?”

Litha stared up into Elora’s eyes with a depth of sincerity that couldn’t be denied before saying, “No.”

Twenty minutes later Ram and Helm emerged from the music room victorious. Seeing that Litha was sound asleep, Ram hesitated. When he looked down at the cowbell, Storm said, “If you wake her up with that thing, I will beat your ass bloody in front of your mate and offspring.”

Ram looked at the cowbell, looked at Storm, smiled his wickedest smile and began ringing the cowbell as Storm lunged and tackled Ram to the floor, knocking over a table and lamp in the process.

Litha came awake instantly. “Storm! What the…?” Seeing Ram and Storm wrestling on the floor while a very wide-eyed Helm looked on, she turned to Elora. “Do something? You’re the only one who can break this up.”

Elora glanced at Litha. “Break this up? I’ll be able to call my mate an idiot over this for years to come.”

Litha looked down. “That’s a good point. But tick tock.”

Elora separated the two knights fairly easily. “Storm, Litha is fine. Ram, we have more important things to do.”

“Give me that,” Litha said as she snatched the cowbell from Ram’s hand. She rang it three times and said, “Lally. Lally. Lally.”

Helm looked at Storm and said, “Really? That’s all there is to magic?”

Storm took his hand away from scrubbing down his face, shook his head, and said, “Sometimes, I guess.”

“Huh.” Helm seemed genuinely impressed with the simplicity of what he’d witnessed.

Kellareal appeared in the living room as an eight-foot blonde angel in tight white leather pants and wings that would have taken up the entire room if unfurled.

It was Litha’s turn to roll her eyes. “Knock it off. It’s not prank day. We have a situation.”

Kellareal immediately collapsed to his guise as the handsome Irishman Finrar, all six foot of black leather. He was still blonde. Just more masculine somehow. “What’s the problem?” He looked at Litha more closely. “You sick?”

“Yes. I’m sick.”

“Does it hurt?” The angel asked.

“No. Yes. Well, it’s uncomfortable. I hate it and want it to be over. I need you to go get Song.”

“Song?”

“Aelsong Hawking.”

“Oh. The fae princess,” Kellareal said.

Ram rose up, immediately turning red in the face. “She is no’ a fairy royal. She’s princess of Irish elves.”

Kellareal nodded. “And Scotia fae.”

Ram fumed.

“Not the time, Rammel,” Elora said.

He fumed more.

“What do you want me to tell her?” The angel asked.

“Elora’s dog is missing. I can’t track him because I’m…”

“Sick.”

“Yes. Sick. I need her to boost my, um…”

“Ability?” Kellareal offered.

“Yeah. Sort of.”

“Okay.” With that he vanished.

“Great Paddy,” Helm said. “’Twas fuckin’ awesome’ that was. He did no’ even ask where she is.”

“Aelshelm Storm Laiken-Hawking!” Elora said. “The future king does not use that language.”

Helm shrugged. “Why? Da does. He’s prince and, if you want to be technical, next in line. What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that his mother is not standing here objecting.”

Helm gave his mum a slight smile and pressed his lips together. “Just want my dog back.”

Elora stepped close to the boy and gave him a side hug. “Me, too. We’re workin’ on it.”

In the corner of his eye Ram caught movement outside the kitchen window. Storm was outside, near the kennel, talking on the phone while he slowly paced back and forth. Rammel drew hot coffee into a thermos cup, grabbed a boiled wool jacket on his way through the mud room, and headed that direction.

Storm was just ending the call when Ram walked up and handed him the coffee. “Blackjack just like you like it.”

Both of them had shed a little stress during the brief but sincere wrestling match, and felt more like themselves.

“Thanks,” Storm said. “It’s providential that I get a minute to talk to you alone.”

“Why’s that?”

“Just got off the phone with Simon.”

“Simon!” Ram repeated. “Please do no’ tell me we have to go off somewhere to save the world while my mate and my boy are so distraught.”

“Just the opposite. They’re going to help.”

“Help what?” Ram looked confused. “Help find Blackie? How?”

“Yeah. They’re going to help find Blackie because, as I pointed out, he’s not just a pet or even a Black Swan mascot. He’s a decorated hero.”

“’Tis true. Do no’ say it in front of Elora or the weepin’ will begin all over.”

“I won’t.”

“How is Simon thinkin’ The Order can help us?

“You know what I said? About dog fighting?”

Ram nodded. “How could I forget? It’s been hauntin’ me ever since you spoke the words. Thank Paddy Elora did no’ hear it or think of it.”

“Hard as it is to confront the possibility, it’s the only thing that makes sense. We all know Blackie wouldn’t just wander off. And we know he’d fight before he was taken.” Storm paused. “If he could.”

Ram sighed and nodded solemnly. “Agree. Again, how does that relate to Simon?”

“If it’s dog fighting, it’s underground gambling and illegal on several different counts. They keep these things secret. Locations. Dates. Times.  Only to be shared with the lowlifes who participate.”

“But somebody knows.” Ram’s excitement was finally engaged. “And if there’s something to know, The Order can find out.”

“Exactly. We figure Derry’s the most likely place. It’s twenty miles from here…”

“Eighteen and a half.”

“And has a population of a hundred thousand. It’s a big enough number. With that many people, there are going to be a few who are…”

“Fuckin’ dead men.”

“Ram. We’re not killing anybody. At least not unless we have to. We’re just gonna do our best to find that dog and get him out. I don’t like it when namesakes and teammates have broken hearts.”

Ram was suddenly overcome with affection. He slammed into Storm and bestowed a brief and almost violent back slapping hug on him. It happened so fast Storm never had time to react.

“So what’s the next step?”

“Simon will mobilize people on the street. If there’s a fight somewhere, we’ll find out. So we wait for a call,” Storm said.

“The waitin.” Ram said it like it was the worst thing on Earth.

A voice drew their attention. It was Helm shouting from the house that Song and Duff were there.

“Don’t mention this,” Ram told Storm. “I do no’ want to get their hopes up unnecessarily.”

“Understood.”

“Good. Then let’s go face the fairy prince.”

Storm rolled his eyes. “Be nice. He’s your brother-in-law. And he loves your sister.”

“Whatever.”

When they were still a few feet from the house, Song rushed out and grabbed Ram into a hug.

“Happy Yule,” she gushed. “The farm looks bloody happening. I can no’ wait to see the wolf-dogs. Maybe I’ll get a puppy. Do you have puppies?”

“No’ right now,” Ram said. “Let’s go see why Litha insisted you come.”

Song’s big blue eyes flashed a second of disappointment. “Are ye no’ glad to see me then?”

Ram’s features softened. “O’course I’m glad to see ye. You’re my only sister, after all.”

“But if I was one of seventy I’d be your favorite. Right?”

“Goes without sayin’.” Song looked satisfied with that. “Are we takin’ you away from somethin’ of staggerin’ importance?”

“Gods. I hope so.” She chuckled.

Helm handed Song a mug of tea. “Here you go. Lavender and bergamot. Smells pretty good.”

“Smells good. Tastes good,” she replied with a special smile for Helm. “But the main thing is that it helps me ‘see’.”

Helm looked tragically sober. “Ye think ye can find him?”

“Will do my best, Helm. Promise.” Song sat down at the kitchen table next to Litha. “Alright.” She raised her voice and took on the air of authority that all Hawkings possessed. “Everybody out. Litha and I need the room. And try to keep it quiet.”

As if to punctuate that with a farcical blast, Litha sneezed hard enough to rattle the shutters.

Duff was sitting by the fire talking quietly with Elora, telling her stories about his Scotia wolfhounds.

Ram looked around. “The angel leave?” he said.

“Aye,” Helm affirmed. “Dropped Auntie Song and Uncle Duff off then disappeared without another word.” Ram winced a little at Helm’s use of ‘uncle’ in combination with the prince of Scotia fae. “Come on, Da. He’s nice enough. Give him a chance.”

Ram gave Helm a look. “He’s. Fae.”

Helm ran a hand through his hair. “I know. But it turns out they’re no different from us. You know that. Right?”

“Helm,” Storm said, “it’s a tale as old as time. Your dad is old and too set in his ways to change. Sad. But true.”

Ram gave Storm a look that said the killing would begin momentarily. Storm responded with a smile so slight it was barely there.

Turning to Helm, Ram said, “I have promised your mum I’ll make an effort and I will.”

Without further fanfare Ram walked toward the fireplace. When Duff saw him coming, he stood and said, “Happy Yule, Hero.”

Without missing a beat, Ram said, “Welcome to Ireland, your heinie.”

At that, Elora closed her eyes and began counting.

Duff chuckled. “Message received. I won’t call you ‘hero’ and you won’t call me ‘heinie’.”

“Done,” Ram said and held out his hand.

When the two shook hands, Elora let out the breath she’d been holding. “I’d ask if people are getting hungry, but the kitchen is occupied. Nobody’s doing delivery today. So…”

It was one of the moments when the twins drifted through. Gale said, “I’m hungry!”

“The point of that was to say I can’t feed people right now, Aelgale,” Elora said.

“Take off those reindeer antlers and you’ll be able to hear better,” Helm told his sister.

Duff said, “I’ve been stuffin’ it up at state occasions for two weeks. Goin’ for a couple of hours without eatin’ will be like a cleanse.”

“How long do you think they’ll be in there?” Helm asked.

Duff answered as if the question was directed at him. “Song’s look-sees are unpredictable. Could be seconds. Could be hours.”

Every eye in the room jerked to the sound of the kitchen door opening. When Song saw the hope on every face, her shoulders sagged. “Got somethin’, but not as much as we need.”

“Song.” Elora rushed over. “Is Blackie okay?”

Song stared at Elora. “Truth or polished up?”

Elora sucked in a little gasp and her eyes immediately went red-rimmed. “Truth.”

“Aye. He’s alive and okay. But he’s no’ happy.”

“Where is he?” Helm demanded.

“Somewhere. No’ close, but no’ far,” Song said.

“Well, that’s helpful.” Helm’s sarcasm was both biting and belligerent.

“Helm,” Ram cautioned. “Song is no’ to blame.”

“Sorry,” Helm said and sounded as if he might really have wanted to take back the criticism. He looked down at the floor. Helm had never liked being reprimanded by his father. He liked Ram’s approval.

Turning back to his sister, Ram said, “What does that mean?”

“I’m so sorry, Ram. We think he’s in a vehicle, maybe drugged. ‘Tis no’ much, I know.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Blackie was disoriented, drowsy and not able to get his eyes all the way open. He was aware that he was in a moving vehicle and that there was something fitted around his head and snout. He’d never had on a muzzle before. Not even in the crate days in the basement of Black Swan when he was little more than a pup. He wanted to lift his head, but couldn’t quite manage it. Before he became too agitated about the circumstance, sleep claimed him again.

When next he felt awareness creeping into his consciousness, he heard voices close by.

“You’re no’ expectin’ much for this, are ye? This dog is far past his fightin’ days. He’ll do well to last a minute in the pit.”

“Sorry, boss. He matches the profile. And seems healthy.”

“Aye. Well. We can use him to fire up one of the promisin’ youngsters.”

Blackie struggled to open his eyes as he listened to retreating footsteps. It was quiet except for water dripping somewhere.

He was lying on his side on a cold, hard floor. It took some time to get his eyes fully open, longer before he could raise his head. He’d been left in a space that was about twelve by twelve feet, three solid walls and an opening in the center of the fourth made of two wood gates, one on top and one on bottom.

He pawed at the muzzle, not liking the restriction, or the way it smelled. He hated the muzzle, the people who’d put it on him, and the fact that his collar had been removed. Blackie didn’t like the feel of being without his collar. Elora had given it to him right after she’d rescued him and he’d never been without it. It was as much a part of him as a leg or a tail.

Hearing a clank and voices, he stilled to listen, cocking the ear nearest the noise in that direction. The sounds were mixed with the whining of another dog, which wasn’t a surprise. He could smell that other dogs were nearby. And that horses had been there at one time.

After a few hours a small peep door opened in the upper part of the wood gate. A hose was shoved through and water was added to the standing water in the trough. That was followed by a bag thrown on to the floor. The thin outer layer of the bag was made of intestine, the same membrane used for sausage, but inside was a serving of kibble.

Blackie didn’t want to accept the food, but he hadn’t eaten since the night before. He normally went out in the mornings to eliminate and had breakfast immediately after, but that morning’s routine had been interrupted. Using his teeth he pulled at the bag then licked before biting down.

He ate and drank, even though the water didn’t smell like home then paced around the cell a few times before lying down. After all, there was nothing else to do. Occasionally he woke to the whining of other dogs.

No one was happy.

Duff said, “Now that we can get in the kitchen, maybe I can whip up a snack.”

“I’ll help,” Song said.

“No,” he told Song firmly, having tried her cooking a time or two. “You visit with your kin. I’ll be the downstairs help.”

He seemed pleased at the prospect of feeding people, but he wasn’t prepared for everybody to follow him into the kitchen.

Duff found what he needed to make banger and soda bread sandwiches with cheese and secretly thought that, if he hadn’t been born royal, he might’ve liked owning a little pub with a reputation for great food and friendly service. He found a can of chicken broth in the pantry and warmed it up for Litha. “Just what the doctor ordered,” he said as he set the mug in front of her.

Blackie was aware of the shift in energy. A big crowd of humans had gathered nearby. The collective smell and collective noise told him all he needed to know. They were excited, but his instinct told him they weren’t excited for a good reason. The stench of whatever emotion that was made him anxious and restless. He needed to find a way out. Out of the room. Out of the muzzle.

A visual flash of the farm crossed his mind. It was his view of the property from his favorite spot on the hill. How he longed to be there. Or sleeping at the foot of Elora’s bed. Or sleeping on Helm’s bed when Elora was unconscious and wouldn’t make him get down.

He didn’t know how he was going to get home, but he knew he’d be there again. Somehow.

Ram realized he hadn’t seen Elora for a while. He sneaked away, up the stairs, and found her sitting on the side of their bed in the dark. Easing down beside her, he said nothing, but simply put his arm around her. She leaned over, melting into him.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she replied. “I may not have been with Blackie every minute since he was freed from that cage, but until now, there’s never been a minute when I didn’t know where he was and that he was okay.”

“I know, love.”

“Does this have a happy ending? Or do I need to brace?”

He kissed her temple before saying, “No’ a soothsayer, but ye know the Hawkings are tough. And buoyant. And that dog is one of us.”

She let that hang in the air for a few beats before correcting him. “Laiken-Hawkings.”

He chuckled. “Aye. If we can find our way to the dog, we will. If the dog can find his way to us, he will.”

She sighed and squeezed Ram’s hand. “Don’t let us leave anything untried.”

The moment was interrupted by an excited knocking at their bedroom door. They both got up to go see who was there and what they wanted.

It was Helm. “Auntie saw somethin’ else. You might want to come down?”

Elora hurried down the stairs with Ram close behind.

Song looked up when they entered the living room. “I got somethin’ else. Blackie’s in a little room by himself. It almost looks like a horse stall.”

“A horse stall,” Ram repeated.

“He’s had food and water, but he’s agitated about somethin’.”

“What?” Ram pressed.

Song shook her head. “I can no’ pinpoint it. Crowd of people maybe.”

Storm and Ram couldn’t help exchanging a look. Though brief, Elora caught it.

“What was that?” she asked, looking from one to the other.

“What was what?” Ram tried to cover.

She shook her head. “Don’t even try that.” She turned to Storm. “What just passed between you and Rammel?” Storm inhaled deeply and looked away. Elora simply moved two steps so that she was once again in his line of vision. “What are the two of you keeping secret?”

Ram leaned over and spoke in her ear. “We were tryin’ to protect you from disappointment. We might have a lead, but we might no’. We’re waitin’ on a phone call.”

“Tell me everything. Right now,” she demanded.

“Let’s step outside then. Helm does no’ need to know this,” Ram replied.

“Too late,” Helm said. “If you know somethin’ else about Blackie, I have a right to know. He’s my dog!” Everyone stared at Helm for three full beats before chuckles went round the room. “What’s so funny?”

“Helm,” Ram said. “The dog has an uncommon fondness for ye and you’re no’ wrong about that. He’d die for you without ponderin’ the decision. He may sleep on your bed at times. He may accompany you when you ride out. But when roll is called, Blackie’s your mum’s dog, son. If he looks at you like you’re the most wonderful thing in the world, ‘tis because you’re her child. That bond was sealed long before you were born.”

Helm stared at his father like he was processing that.

Storm leaned down and asked Litha how she was. “Terrible,” she said. “I tracked Blackie to a few yards from here. Pathetic.” She blew into a tissue.

“You tracked Blackie?” Aelgavain asked.

“Tried to,” Litha answered.

Gale and Gavain looked at each other before Gale said, “I didn’t know you were trying to track Blackie. Why didn’t you use Dol?”

Everyone stared at the girls. When no one said anything in response, Duff said, “Who’s Dol?”

Dolmen Blacknell was the son of Blackie and Flame. In a manner of speaking he was the prototype of the wolf-dogs Elora set out to breed. He was also a favorite of the twins and stayed in the house when Elora and Blackie were away.

“Dol is the best,” Gavain said as Gale nodded in support. “Crandall taught him to track eons ago. It’s like a game.”

“Who’s Crandall?” Duff asked.

“He helps out with the kennel,” Ram answered offhandedly. To the girls he said, “Why did ye no’ tell us this before?”

The twins looked at each other. Then Gale said, “Did no’ know ye did no’ know.”

Elora took in a big breath and let it out. Looking at her daughters, she said, “Do we need Crandall or do you know how to ask Dol to track?”

The girls looked stumped. “No’ sure. I think maybe we need Crandall,” Gavain said.

Elora looked toward Ram, but he was already pulling out his phone. He pressed Crandall’s contact and, evidently, the man answered.

“’Tis Rammel.”

“Aye. Happy Yule to yours as well. We hate to bother you on holiday, but there’s an urgent matter.” Pause. “The girls say you taught Dol to track? As a game?” Pause. “Well, we’re in need of a dog with that kind of skill. Can you give me instructions on invitin’ him to the hunt or will I have to ask you to come in?” Pause. “I’ll owe you.”

Rammel ended the call and looked up to see eight pairs of eyes waiting for news. “He says nobody else has ever engaged Dol so he does no’ know what would happen. He insisted on comin’ over if ‘tis important.” Ram drew in a big breath. “He’ll be here in ten minutes.”

“What are we hoping for?” Elora asked.

Litha spoke up. “If the dog could track Blackie to the place where he was taken, it might help me get a clearer read.”

“No pressure,” Storm said.

“No promises.” Litha pulled a fresh tissue from the box.

“After this we’re getting you home and into your own bed,” Storm said.

Litha didn’t protest.

“We’re stayin’,” Song said.

Elora looked grateful. “The guest cottage needs to be warmed up then.”

Ram looked at Helm pointedly.

“Aye. I’ll do it,” Helm said. “Right after Crandall comes?”

Ram nodded. “Do no’ forget.”

Even with everybody talking Ram’s ears picked up the soft knock on the back door. “He’s here.”

When Rammel opened the door, he was surprised to see that Crandall had already been to the kennel and fetched the dog. Dol, who was about the same size as Blackie, had a longish chocolate brown coat with black tips and black markings covering his face and head. He also had such a singularly remarkable look of intelligence that it wouldn’t be missed by even those unfamiliar with the species.

He was leashed and sitting next to Crandall, looking mature and well-behaved until he was rushed by Gale and Gavain. His entire body wagged and undulated with unadulterated happiness.

Everyone in the house donned coats and hats to go outside. After Ram gave repeated thanks to Crandall for coming on a day off and explained the situation, Crandall said, “Dolmen is no’ used to so many folks around. Trackin’ is no’ a spectator sort of activity and I do no’ know how he’ll respond. We can see. If he’s distracted, I may have to ask most of ye to withdraw to the house.”

“Let’s try it,” Ram said. “See what happens.”

Crandall bowed his head in a single nod. “Will need somethin’ with Blackie’s scent to communicate what we’re after.”

When no one said anything, Helm offered, “He slept on top of my bed last night off and on. The blanket probably smells like him.”

Ram’s hand curved around Helm’s trapezius affectionately. “Get it.”

When Helm returned, Crandall accepted the folded blanket. Holding it slightly away from his body, he said, “Dolmen. Track.”

Dol snapped to attention, jerked his head toward Crandall and looked at the man like he was trying to see through his brain. He then sniffed the blanket, sneezed, and looked accusingly at Helm.

Crandall laughed and talked to Dol like he’d be understood. “Aye. The young king’s scent is heady. But he’s no’ the one we’re after.” Crandall presented the blanket again. “Blackie.” He walked away from the little crowd anxiously watching, thinking Dol might understand that Helm was not the target. “Blackie.”

Dolmen sniffed the blanket again, put his head down to the ground, and began to move quickly; not a run or a trot, but at a fast pace considering that he was sniffing everything as he went.

Dol headed straight down the hill toward the curve of the lane below where Blackie had been taken. He froze when he reached the point where Blackie had been shot with tranquilizer, sniffed all around then, to everyone’s astonishment, raised his nose to the sky and howled.

Crandall looked at Ram. “Do no’ know what it means, but if I had to guess, I’d say somethin’ happened here.”

Ram looked from the footprints at his feet to the road and, without a word to anyone in the party, began walking the rest of the way down the hill to the lane.

The lane that ran in front of the Hawking property got little traffic as it was relatively remote and normally only used by a handful of locals. Being Yule, it got even less use than usual. Only two other vehicles had passed that day and both were headed east.

The old Ford Transit van was the only vehicle to have disturbed the new snow. The other highly unusual thing about it was that there were a lot of footprints around the tracks in addition to the pair of prints leading from the road to the place marked by Dolmen Blacknell and back again.

“Motherfucker,” Ram murmured.

“I heard that,” Elora whispered. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Depends on what you’re seein’ I guess.”

“This vehicle was coming from there.” She pointed toward the west. “Nobody comes from there but neighbors. The lane ends at the Widow Sweeney’s place.”

Ram looked back over his shoulder. “Litha, you got anythin’?”

He had to wait for her to sneeze before she could answer. “Sorry, no.”

“Song. You got anythin’?”

“Maybe. Flashes of two men.” Song came close enough to speak to Ram and Elora in quieter tones. “Can no’ be certain, but I believe they put Blackie in the back of a white van.” She pointed to the ground. “Right here.”

Ram nodded. “Have everyone stay here. We’ll be back in a minute.”

“Where are you goin’?” Song asked.

“Up the road,” Ram answered. To Elora, he said, “You up for a mornin’ jog?”

Her reply was to begin following the tire tracks to their origin, going slow enough that Rammel could keep up.

The end of the lane was only a half mile away. In six minutes they were standing in front of the Widow Sweeney’s house where the tracks originated. Ram and Elora looked at each other.

The door opened to Mav Sweeney’s smiling face within a minute of Elora’s knock. “Happy Yule,” she said. “Come in. Come in.”

“Happy Yule, Mav,” Elora replied. “Thank you. We’ll be just a minute.”

“Well, you’re welcome to sit and have tea,” she said as Ram and Elora stepped in.

Ram closed the door behind himself as Elora said, “It’s lovely of you to offer, but we just need to ask if you had company?”

“Aye.” Mav beamed. “My son, Charlie, and his friend were here last night. He lives over in Derry.”

“How nice.”

“Why do you ask?”

Elora glanced at Ram, who seemed content to allow her to field that question. “We were just out for a walk and noticed the recent tire tracks. We thought we’d just look in on you and make sure you’re well.”

“Heavens to Paddy. I’m fortunate beyond words to have such good neighbors. I’m very well, as ye see, and set for a bit. My Charlie was gone early this mornin’, but left me a hundred nicker and a note sayin’ ‘twas from a profitable nixer’.” She chuckled. “He’s a good boy, my Charlie. I’m sorry ye missed him.”

Elora did her best to smile in a way that looked genuine. “Well it is a Happy Yule indeed then.”

“’Tis,” said Mav, nodding.

“Well,” Ram began, “Good to see ye. If ye should need anythin’, ye know we’re just up the lane and ye have our number.”

Halfway back Ram saw Elora swipe at her face out of the corner of his eye.

“No tears, Elora. Do ye no’ know this is good news. We have a truly useful lead that may take us to Blackie straightaway.”

“I know. I feel sorry for the widow. Her only family and the person who took my dog are one and the same. And it sounds like she depends on him to make ends meet.”

“When we catch the fucker, we’re tearin’ him limb from limb. No matter who his mother is.”

Elora didn’t respond. Certainly a part of her felt the same way.

CHAPTER SIX

Everybody had gone back into the house but Storm, who stood in the lane waiting. With their history they could both recognize his form from a distance.

They stopped in front of him.

“The fucker has a lovely widowed mum who lives at the end of the lane. Name’s Charlie Sweeney. He and his friend stayed last night, left early this mornin’.”

Without a word Storm pulled out his phone and dialed Simon. After telling Simon what they’d learned, he said, “That might just do the trick.” He looked around. “It’s almost dark. I don’t think anything else can be done today so I’m taking the missus home.”

Elora gave Storm a brief hug. “Thank you for coming. And for getting Simon to turn the dogs out.”

“We’ll be back in the morning. You want us to bring donuts? Looks like there’s a scarcity of donut shops around here.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, Elora. Chances of getting him back just keep getting better.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly.

“Aye to donuts,” Ram said. “Better bring a lot because we got a full house. For that matter, bring kolaches. I like the ones with ham and cheese. And the ones with peach preserves. And potato.”

Storm smiled and shook his head.

Helm saw them approaching and met them on the way back to the house.

“You remember to warm up the cottage?” Ram asked him.

“I did,” Helm said proudly. “They’re already settlin’ in.” Ram nodded and gave his son a small smile of approval with a little eye twinkle for bonus. “Where’d you go? What’d you find out?”

“Go get your auntie and ask if she can come to the house,” Ram said. “We’ll talk it over together.”

Helm jogged away without arguing, knowing that the sooner he did what his da asked, the sooner he’d get his answers.

Elora went straight to the Aga and started the kettle. She was delighted to see that the twins had put some of the muffins they’d baked in to warm.

Storm was helping Litha into her coat. Elora rushed over and grabbed the other sleeve.

“You’re the best for coming,” she told Litha. “You want another tea before you go?”

Litha chuckled. “I’ll be up every half hour tonight eliminating all the tea I’ve drunk sitting here today.” She swiped at her nose. “So no.”

“Well, then get some good sleep. Tomorrow you’ll be better. And thank you for coming. And for… um, trying.”

“I haven’t been very useful. I’m here more to show support. I know this is big. Girl and her dog and all.”

Storm snapped the handcuff in place and they were gone.

Elora turned to Ram. “No matter how long I live I’ll never get used to that.”

When darkness claimed the cell where Blackie was being held, for what he didn’t know, the air seemed colder. He hadn’t slept on a cement floor since he was a very young dog. In fact, he’d grown quite used to sleeping on the loveseat at the foot of Elora’s bed. Or with Helm when he was home.

He curled himself into a tight ball, his tail covering his nose, and closed his eyes. It wouldn’t occur to Blackie to feel sorry for himself. Dogs don’t indulge themselves in activities or thought patterns that are neither practical nor productive. No. His mind was focused on three things.

Get out.

Get free.

Go home.

For the time being, the practical thing was to sleep. To wait. To try to stay warm.

Meanwhile, the excitement of the crowd nearby along with their collective shouts and whistles were disturbing. Even more disturbing were the sounds that could be heard underneath and in short breaks of silence. Dogs fighting.

In the darkness, Ram said, “I know you’re awake.”

“How?”

He let out a small breathy huff. “After all this time I know the rhythm of your breathin’ when you sleep.”

“Oh.”

“It was a big break we got, Elora. Learnin’ the fucker’s name. We’ll find him. And when we find him, we’ll find Blackie.” Her lack of reply bothered him. “You do no’ believe it.”

“No. It’s not that I don’t believe it. It’s that I’m worried about not finding him soon enough.”

“Stop your worryin’. Like I told you before. The dog is one of us. Tough. Resourceful.”

“You didn’t say resourceful before.”

“No? Well. ‘Tis true. Is it no?” She rolled into Ram, nestled her face into the curve of his neck, planted a kiss there, and startled a little when Ram’s phone rang. “Jumpy. ‘Tis no’ like you.”

He looked at the face of his phone. Storm. “Aye. Puttin’ you on speaker so Elora can hear.”

“Simon called.”

“Aye?”

“About the Sweeney character.”

“Aye?”

“He’s no stranger to law enforcement.”

“No surprise.”

“Simon sent some of our people on a rundown to his address. He’s got a room in a hotel turned flop house. Nobody there. Got some leads on who to ask about dog fights. Just hold tight. We should be getting some concrete info tonight.”

“Call when you have somethin’. How’s Litha?”

“Snoring like a freight train.”

“Storm,” Elora cut in, “that’s not the kind of information wives want shared.”

Storm chuckled. “Yeah. So don’t tell her I ‘shared’.”

Blackie opened one eye when he heard footsteps followed by the sounds of a door/gate thing clanking. It wasn’t his, but the one next to his. The footsteps were men, but the panting and soft growls were coming from another dog.

“Get in there and rest up,” said one of the men. “You got just enough left in you for one more go tomorrow night. Somebody has to be dog food. Right?”

Moran usually arranged the fights in two-day runs. He called it the sweet spot. Not so long that word got around to the wrong people, but long enough to recover the expense of putting on the show. Even though he had people scout locations that wouldn’t create too much overhead, there was always a list of things that had to be done. Costly things.

Blackie didn’t know what was said, but he didn’t like the voice of the man who did the talking. And he didn’t like the fact that the dog next door whined off and on the entire night. It was soft, but Blackie could still hear.

The second day of lockup was just like the first.

Hose in the trough.

Bag of food thrown on the ground.

He knew to the furthest depths of knowing that, sooner or later, the door would open and he’d have a chance. A chance at home.

Storm and Litha arrived with kolaches in time for a late, late lunch.

“Do ye know the time?” Ram asked him.

Storm looked at his watch. “Yeah. It’s eight in the morning.”

“Here,” Ram said, “’tis four in the fuckin’ afternoon. No’ only did ye miss breakfast. Ye missed lunch as well.”

Storm opened up one of the still-warm kolaches and took a huge bite. “Still good,” he said with his mouth full, smiling.

“I want one. Late or no’,” said Duff.

Elora was more concerned about Litha. “How are you today?”

“So much better,” Litha said. “Let’s find out if my tracker is back on track.”

“You look better. You want something? Tea?”

Litha pulled out her pendulum. “Good for now. Let me see if I can get a better fix on the pooch.”

As Helm walked by, he said, “Please, Auntie, I’m beggin’ you. Do no’ ever call Blackie a ‘pooch’ again.”

Litha chuckled. “Since you’re needing a really precise location, it would help if you have an atlas-style map of the county. Better yet, Derry and environs.”

Ram looked toward the study. “We might have somethin’ like that.” He grabbed a ham and cheese kolache out of one of the bags and headed off to look.

“Are you eatin’ all of those?” Helm challenged Duff. Looking at the easy and casual interaction between them, it was easy to forget that one day the two of them would be kings of Ireland and Scotia. When that day came, there would be lasting peace because of the growing respect and affection between them.

“No. There’s one left for you,” Duff said as he tossed a bag to Helm.

“Where’s Litha?” Ram said as he returned to the kitchen holding what appeared to be a large paperback atlas.

Litha had left the kitchen and wandered toward the dining room.

“She’s in the formal,” Song said.

Ram nodded and was gone. Spreading the atlas out on the dining table in front of Litha, he said, “Here’s where we are.”

“Yes,” said Litha. “This is fine.”

Elora had followed Ram. Now the two of them stood watching Litha.

“Go on now,” she said. “I work alone. You two are making me nervous.”

They retreated, reluctantly, to the kitchen to wait.

“So are you cookin’ dinner then?” Helm was asking Duff.

Duff grinned. “Want me to?”

“We have to eat.” Helm shrugged like he didn’t care.

“’Tis no’ much of an endorsement. I want to hear you say how much you crave and fantasize about my delectable pub fare,” Duff teased.

“You’ll be waitin’ long past dinner if you’re expectin’ me to say I ‘fantasize’ about your food.” Helm shook his head as if to say Duff was insane.

Turning away from the banter, Storm pulled out his phone. “Hello?”

Ram and Elora were reentering the kitchen, having been shooed out of the dining room.

Litha came rushing in with excitement written all over her. “I’ve got it!” she said, just as Storm said, “We’ve got it!”

Everyone gathered around the dining room table to see if Litha had placed Blackie at the same spot where Simon’s informants placed the dog fight. It was one and the same. Donnemara.

Litha would have to be on site personally to find the exact location, but she wouldn’t be needed for that. They had good intel about where to look.

Ram looked at his watch. “What time will it be?”

“He didn’t say. Just that it would be tonight,” Storm answered. “I guess it could be anytime after dark.”

“Great Paddy. Somebody needs to place an anonymous tip with the authorities. Ne’er heard of people who needed incarceration more.”

“What are we waiting for?” Elora demanded. “Let’s go.”

“No’ you, love. Storm and I’ll go this time.”

“What do you mean not me?” she said with eyebrows drawn down low over her eyes.

“Can no’ take the chance. You are very likely to be overcome and reveal that you’re no’, em, from here. We can no’ let that happen.” Ram looked at Litha. “Help. Please.”

“Much as I hate to agree with Rammel, I think he’s right,” Litha said.

Elora narrowed her eyes at Litha. “Traitor.”

“I can take Storm through the passes,” Litha said, “but you’ll have to use wheels,” she said to Ram.

“I’m goin’,” Helm said.

“No. You’re no’ goin’ either.”

“Da…”

“We do no’ know what we’ll find or how we’ll have to handle it. The last thing I need is to be worried about you. No’ to mention that the future king can no’ be seen at a criminal gamblin’ event.”

Helm slumped, knowing there was no argument for that. He looked at Duff, who said, “I’ll no’ be goin’ either. Same reason, plus lingerin’ animosity toward fae. We’ll be holdin’ down the fort and protectin’ the females.”

Song snorted at that.

Helm was not assuaged. It was times such as these that solidified his strong suspicion that he would never want to be king.

Ram pulled on a knit cap and a boiled wool pea coat. “Call me as soon as you find it and let me know what’s goin’ on.”

“I will,” Storm said just as the handcuff that bound his and Litha’s wrists together snapped shut. “See you there.”

Ram turned to Elora. “Do no’ be mad.” She shrank away when he tried to kiss her. He allowed it, dropped his hands and headed toward the door. Before he could disappear into the mud room and out into the night, she changed her mind.

She gave him a kiss to remember and said, “I am mad. But you’re still my hero. Find my dog.”

“Workin’ on it.”

“You’ll call? I need to know what’s happening.”

“Every chance I get.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

When the noise of Ram’s engine died away, Elora sat down next to the fire. “Anything?” she asked.

“I can no’ see the outcome clearly, but for what it’s worth, I have a feelin’ all will be lovely.”

Kellareal returned after twenty minutes or so to transport Song and Duff to Edinburgh.

Helm went out to take care of the wolf-dog and sheep chores.

That left Elora alone in the kitchen. Her eyes glazed over as she anxiously tapped her short nails on the table next to her phone.

The house suddenly sounded like elephants doing a Virginia Reel on the roof, which meant the twins were descending the wood stairs in typical fashion.

They came running into the kitchen. “We’re goin’ to cook,” said Gale.

Elora’s eyes cleared and she smiled. “That is very thoughtful of you. I think it will just be our family for supper, but make enough for Storm.”

They both nodded. “O’course. And, also, we were wonderin’. Till Blackie comes home, could we bring Dol in the house?”

“Certainly not. This is no time for house manners training. What are you thinking?” They looked at each other with sheepish expressions. Gavain blushed a little. “You might as well tell me now. What do I not know?”

“Em,” Gale began, “that we’ve been bringin’ him in for years when you and Blackie are gone. His manners are perfect.”

Gavain nodded and repeated, “Perfect.”

Elora didn’t have either energy or inclination for scolding, especially since Dolmen Blacknell had indirectly helped to locate Blackie. She stared at the twins for a few seconds that seemed like much longer. After the crowd of people had dwindled to just the three of them in the kitchen, the room seemed extraordinarily quiet with no one speaking.

Elora felt a little pang of the guilt that is inescapable for moms. “I don’t love Blackie more than you,” she said.

In a rare glimpse of the empathetic women they would become, the girls seemed to instinctively know that would be a good time to give their mom a hug. In an instant Elora was surrounded by young female versions of the mate she adored, except for the multihued red hair.

“You girls really know how to give good hugs. Go on and get Dol and show me that he knows how to be a good boy inside the house.”

Within seconds she heard the mud room door slam. She stood so that she could see out the kitchen windows. The girls were running toward the kennel without coats or hats or scarves or gloves. Elora sighed, thinking that they were as wild as Ram must have been at that age.

Elora caught her breath when she saw that they’d taken Dol out of the kennel without a leash. Dol was the foundation of the wolf-dog breeding program. If he got distracted by a car or a hare, there might be two invaluable dogs missing instead of one. But Dol wasn’t looking at anything but the twins. He was bounding along beside them as they ran, looking like there was nothing better in the universe.

When the mudroom door opened and slammed, Elora immediately picked up on the sound of wolf-dog claws clicking on the old hardwood floor. She loved that sound.

To her surprise, Dol came straight to her, and stood wagging his tail. When she didn’t immediately reach out to pet him, he parted his lips and tried to talk. That made Elora laugh for the first time since she’d realized Blackie was gone.

“So you’re an affection hound,” she said as she reached out and ran her hand over his silky fur, kept in peak condition with great food and frequent grooming.

“He is!” Gavain said. “We call him our pettin’ pig.”

Elora chuckled. To Dol, she said, “It will do you no good to flirt with me. My heart belongs to your da.”

“The only way you will e’er get him to stop beggin’ is to be borin’.”

“Be boring?”

“Aye. You have to turn away and pretend he’s no’ there.”

“Oh. I see.”

Storm unlocked the handcuff. Litha could have done it. She also had a key. After the season when Storm was lost, they began taking airtight precautions to insure there’d be no repeat of that incident.

“You go on home and rest,” Storm said. “If I need you, I’ll call.”

“I’ll go if you swear you’ll call regardless. I want to know what’s happening.”

“Text.”

“Deal.”

“Off you go.”

“That ordering me around thing is not sexy, Sir Storm.”

“Well,” he chuckled, “neither is your runny nose.”

“Ha. Ha.” And she was gone.

There was no worry about witnesses. They were behind an old barn. And it was dark.

The location was about ten minutes outside Donnemara, but it had taken them twenty minutes to find it. In the end they did so by following the trail of cars. It was highly unusual to see traffic on a B road at night the day after Yule.

It would have been beyond Litha’s pay grade to navigate passes, remaining in that nether space while monitoring the movement of objects in a particular dimension. But Kellareal could do it.

The event was apparently being staged at an abandoned manor farm that was for sale. In addition to the house there was a large barn and a stable.

“Let’s find my wife’s dog,” said Ram.

CHAPTER EIGHT

When the men came for Blackie he was standing at the back of the stall waiting. He planned to lunge and get past them, but they were expert at handling dogs who were unwilling.

“Your turn, old fella. Do no’ worry. ‘Twill all be over soon.”

With the muzzle on his face, Blackie couldn’t bite. All he could do was growl.

The men both carried poles with noose loops at the end. Blackie was helpless to stop them from looping the ropes over his head. One on either side of him, they were able to march him straight toward the ‘pit’ that was, in this case, a chain link circular cage built three days before in the center of the barn.

When Blackie saw that he was being taken to a cage made of chain link, he was triggered by his early experience of being tortured in a prison that looked much the same. He dug in his heels, trying to refuse to go further, at the same time shaking his head violently trying to free himself of the nooses. But the choice became clear in seconds. Walk forward or die from choking.

For a time it seemed as if Blackie was choosing the latter. So one of the men broke the stalemate by withdrawing a small taser then delivering a low setting shock to Blackie’s tail. Not enough to paralyze or mitigate the dog’s performance in the pit. Just enough to get him moving the last few feet into the cage. Once inside, one of the foul-smelling men removed the muzzle while keeping the noose taut from both sides.

They then stepped outside the cage, threading the poles though openings. From the outside, they loosened the loops so that Blackie’s head was freed, and withdrew the poles.

“Ladies and Gents. We have a big Alsatian from the east country ready and able to take on the series champion.”

Blackie had been running in circles around the circular cage looking for a sign of weakness, any means of escape, but he stopped still when the cage door opened. Another dog was being brought in. A young Rottweiler, all thick muscle and no brains. When the other dog’s muzzle was removed, the creature began snarling and snapping in Blackie’s direction, drooling foamy saliva, like he was crazed.

Blackie was confused by the behavior. He had nothing the other dog might want. There was no female in heat. No pack or territory to defend. It made no sense. So Blackie stood quietly staring at the other dog. Evaluating.

The crowd was being worked into a frenzy with odds quoting and promises of blood. And the sound was supremely irritating to Blackie. It seemed to crescendo just as the other dog was released.

The Rottweiler lunged toward Blackie, teeth bared. Blackie ducked to the side at the last possible millisecond. The result was that the dog’s fangs raked a gash from the top of Blackie’s shoulder to his chest. But before it had even registered with the Rottweiler that he’d missed his target, Blackie had seized the other dog’s thick throat in his jaws with a vice grip.

When the Rottweiler sank to the floor, the crowd instantly stilled and went eerily quiet, many of them understanding that the money they’d bet on the ‘series champion’ was badly spent.

“Guess we found your dog,” Storm said as he and Rammel came running into the barn.

Ram’s first impulse was to call out to Blackie, but thankfully he realized the distraction could do more harm than good.

Blackie could feel the Rottweiler’s heartbeat in his mouth. When he felt it slow, he gave the dog a mighty shake which served the purpose of digging his teeth even further and severing the artery he’d been squeezing.

Storm and Ram began moving around the circle toward the cage opening.

Blackie opened his jaws and raised his eyes to the gate opening of the cage. When the handlers came to open the gate, he simply stood still over the dog he’d killed in self-defense, with head down. He was bleeding profusely, panting, and had murder in his eyes.

He watched carefully as the handlers stepped into the cage. They pulled the gate closed most of the way, but didn’t engage the latch. Calling on the cunning of his coyote cousins, Blackie remained utterly still as if he was resigned and docile. When the man closest to him extended the pole with the noose, Blackie waited until the rope loop was inches away from his face.

Exploding into a burst of speed that belied the wound he’d sustained, he ducked to the right of the man on the right and ran straight through the gate opening. Ram had been making his way through the crowd and arrived at the gate opening the same time as Blackie.

He called out, “Blackie! Blackie!” And was almost close enough to reach out and touch as the dog went by in a blur.

Blackie didn’t hear Ram call to him. Nor did he pick up the familiar scent in the ocean of disagreeable smells. He ran out into the night, ignoring the wound, feeling elated.

Elora.

Helm.

Home.

Elora.

Helm.

Home.

Blackie was as focused as a creature can be. He knew what he wanted. He knew what he was going to do. He would ignore the stinging pain, the dark, and the cold. The only thing that mattered was that he was going home.

Ram looked at Storm with incredulity. “Great Fuckin’ Paddy! Elora is goin’ to hang my balls on the line to dry when she finds out I was this close.”

As Storm was opening his mouth to answer, they realized the barn had broken into pandemonium. Some of the people were shouting, “Raid! Raid!”

Storm rolled his eyes, pulled out his phone and dialed Simon. When Simon picked up, Storm held a finger over the ear that did not have a phone held to it. “Can you please make sure these fine officers don’t grab Ram and me?” Pause. “We’ll wait quietly and leave when things settle down.” Pause. “He’s alive. Injured. He broke free and, if I had to guess, would say he’s going to try to find his way home.” Pause. “Yes. I know there’ve been instances of that happening.” Pause. “Yeah. Know that, too.” Storm ended the call.

“Know what, too?” Ram said.

Storm took a deep breath. “The reason why those stories are so dramatic is because it’s rare. It’s cold, dark, and that open gash looked nasty.”

Ram looked around. “We might have an ace.”

“Yeah?”

“Aye. An ace named Dolmen Blacknell.”

It was Ram’s turn to pull out his phone and dial Helm.

“Da?”

“Where are ye?”

“Upstairs. In my room.”

“Good. Helm, ye know I would ne’er condone subterfuge where your mother is concerned unless there was a really, really, really good reason.”

“Okay?”

“I need you to do somethin’.”

“What?”

“I need you to get Dol, put him in my car and bring him here.”

“And you want me to do that without Mum knowin’?”

“You catch on quick.”

“Slight problem with that. First, I do no’ have a license to drive. Second, Dol is in the house. Sittin’ right next to Mum.”

“FOR THE EVER-FUCKIN’ LOVE OF GREAT PADDY AND ALL HIS KIN CAN I NO’ CATCH A FUCKIN’ BREAK!?!”

“Hold on. I’ll make up somethin’ about thinkin’ ‘tis best to return Dol to the kennel before it gets any later.”

Feeling slightly calmer, Ram said, “Aye. Good thinkin’. Regardin’ the drivin’. You’re the fuckin’ king of Ireland. You do no’ need a license to drive your own roads. But you better get here safely. And dress warm. ‘Tis cold tonight.”

“Is Blackie okay?”

“He killed a Rotty and broke free. He’s hurt, but alive. Goin’ cross-country.”

“On my way.”

“Bring that blanket so Dol knows who he’s lookin’ for. And take the Tesla so your mum won’t hear you leave.”

Blackie had run like the devil was after him, which made it hard for the blood in his wound to coagulate. It kept breaking open. But he stopped running when he topped a slight rise a quarter mile from the scene of the dog fight. He looked over his shoulder.

No one was following. He was free.

He was heading northeast. Somehow his inner compass knew it was the right way. But it was dark. Not even a clear sky with a waxing moon. Just cold black night.

His body demanded he slow down. He’d lost blood and was limping on the side where he was injured. When he came to the first stone sheep fence, at a height he could normally clear without much effort, he was forced to find a way around. That would happen again and again and again, but there was no obstacle this side of death that would stop him.

Storm and Ram watched as the authorities arrested Jack Doyle, Charlie Sweeney, and eight other ‘associates’.

Moran had received a tip from an informant. He was not on the premises and had carefully structured his business so that deniability was always plausible. The next day he would have someone bail his employees out. He’d pay fines, perhaps allow less crucial employees to do a little jail time, but the main thing was that he’d be back in business within two weeks.

Helm arrived around eleven o’clock and handed the keys to the car to his father. “Okay. See you later.”

“What do you mean ‘see you later’?” Ram said.

“I’m trackin’ Blackie with this dog here,” Helm said as if it was obvious.

“Hold on. Who said you were doin’ any such thing? I’m trackin’ the dog. You’re goin’ in the car with Storm.” To Storm Ram said, “Turn on your 360 and I’ll turn on mine so you’ll know where I am.”

Storm nodded and pulled out his phone.

When Ram reached for Dol’s leash, Helm pulled it back. “Da. Look at me. I dressed for this. You did no’. E’en so, when was the last time you ran twenty-eight miles?”

Ram blinked a few times. “Has been a while, but does no’ mean I can no’ do it.”

“Okay. But I know I can do it.”

“Helm, I’m proud as can be that you’re offerin’, but ‘tis black as pitch out tonight. A lot can happen goin’ cross country in the dark.”

“I’ll turn on my 360.”

Ram knew he could do it himself if he had to, but something made him hesitate to say no to Helm. Perhaps the idea that the kid who might be King of Ireland needed to prove that he was worthy of that to himself.

Ram drew in a deep breath. “If I call, you pick up.” Helm nodded solemnly. “If you find him, we’ll come to you.”

“Aye. Where’d you see him last?”

Storm and Ram walked Helm and Dol to the gate where Blackie broke out. Ram watched Helm’s eyes go to the dog lying in the cage, but Helm said nothing. He showed the blanket to Dol, handed it off to his father and said, “Later.”

Dol took off quickly, as he had at the farm, moving with nose to the ground.

The darkness swallowed the forms of Helm and Dol within seconds, but Storm and Ram continued to look after them.

“You made the right call,” Storm said.

“Think Elora is goin’ to agree with you?”

Storm laughed. “Not in a hundred years.”

“Aye. ‘Tis what I think as well.”

CHAPTER NINE

The first time Helm stumbled and fell over rocks, he was rethinking the notion that there was romance in being the hero. The twentieth time, he was sure he was an idiot.

Dol never stopped moving. Time and again they came to barriers that they could have climbed or jumped, but Dol followed Blackie’s path. And Helm was with Dol. No matter what.

“Blackie. Where are ye?” he said to the night. The best thing he could think of to say about the mission he’d volunteered for was that the slow, but steady jog was keeping him warm.

Right up until Dol stopped at the water’s edge of the River Foyle. It was fifty feet of rushing water and would have taken an epic effort for Blackie to swim across with his injury. Dolmen seemed to be claiming that’s what happened.

“You have got to be kiddin’ me!” Helm said to himself, wishing that he’d let his da, the bona fide hero do his job. He thought about calling his da and changing places. A nice warm luxury vehicle instead of a cold, wet river. He entertained that thought for a few seconds. He knew his father would change places with him without saying a word. But he also knew his father would look at him like what he’d be. A quitter.

He looked down at Dolmen. They could find a bridge, but would lose the trail in doing so. “This is no’ goin’ to be fun. But if Blackie did it, we can do it.”

Helm gripped the leash tightly and started into the river. He had to clench his teeth together to keep from yelling out at the bite of the freezing water.

Elora finally called. When Ram picked up she said, “Rammel. What’s going on?”

“He’s alive, Elora. We have a lead and we’re chasin’ it down. Go on to bed. I’ll wake you when I have him.”

“Okay.”

They both knew she wouldn’t go to bed.

“You should teach workshops on partial truths,” Storm said.

“I may be teachin’ workshops on sleepin’ in the kennel.”

Storm silently agreed.

Rammel had his phone plugged into the charger and was watching Helm’s progress on the display. It was the furthest thing from a straight line. It was a zigzag course that doubled the distance.

“He’s swimmin’ across the river, Stormy.”

Storm thought Ram’s voice sounded a little raspy. If it was his child, he knew he’d feel the same way.

Blackie’s wound continually protested against going any further. His body said lie down, curl into a ball, heal yourself. But he ignored it and continued the gait that could only be called a limping jog. He skirted the edge of Lough Foyle until it curved northward away from his trajectory. So he took another drink while he could and pointed his nose toward home.

It was three in the morning when Helm and Dol reached the lough’s edge.

Helm was amazed that Blackie had come so far so fast with the injury Ram and Storm had described. His admiration for Blackie was growing with each passing hour, each new bruise, and each temptation to feel sorry for himself.

Just before sunrise, Elora made herself a hot cocoa and poured it into a thermos cup. She pulled on her boots, coat, hat, scarf and gloves, took the cocoa, and quietly shut the mudroom door so as not to wake Helm and the twins.

She’d been inside for too long and needed to get outdoors for a walk along the lane. Maybe it would clear her head. Maybe it was time to confront facing life without Blackie. At that point she could no longer deny the possibility that she might never see him again. She wiped at a tear and took a sip of hot heavenly liquid.

By the time she reached the lane the sky was turning gray. She turned left and began a slow stroll. A new dusting of snow had covered all sign of human activity. It was Sunday so there were no tire tracks. No footprints. It was entirely too pretty for her dark thoughts.

When she reached the curve of the lane she kept going, thinking the fresh air could only do her good. And stopped when she rounded the curve. There was something. Dark. Canine. A quarter of a mile away.

Elora opened her mouth to say, “Blackie”, but again his name froze in her throat as it had when she’d feared he was lost. Tears instantly began streaming down her face. She threw the thermos down and began running, being able to tell instantly when Blackie saw her because his pitiful pace picked up and he began hobbling faster, ears lying in a show of both deference and happiness.

Without regard for someone witnessing her capability for speed, she rushed toward him throwing her gloves aside. Her horror at the sight of his wound warred with the joy she felt at feeling his fur between her fingers.

“Blackie,” she finally managed to say. “I was so scared.” She laid her cheek next to his back and that was when she saw something unbelievable.

Helm, who was supposedly upstairs sleeping in his bed, and Dolmen, who was supposedly sleeping in his kennel, were walking toward them looking like they’d been at war.

“Helm?” Elora rose to her feet.

“He’s here,” Helm said with a voice so hoarse it didn’t rise above a whisper.

“Gods, Helm. What…?” Elora was torn between staying with her injured dog and going to see to her son, who looked like he was barely standing upright.

The Tesla pulled up. Ram didn’t spare Elora or Blackie a glance. He went straight to Helm and took him into an embrace that warmed Helm’s heart and soul, if not his body, and said, “There are no words to say how proud I am to say you’re mine.”

~~

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www.VictoriaDanann.com

THE KNIGHTS OF BLACK SWAN

Knights of Black Swan 1. My Familiar Stranger

Knights of Black Swan 2. The Witch’s Dream

Knights of Black Swan 3. A Summoner’s Tale

Knights of Black Swan 4. Moonlight

Knights of Black Swan 5. Gathering Storm

Knights of Black Swan 6. A Tale of Two Kingdoms

Knights of Black Swan 7. Solomon’s Sieve

Knights of Black Swan 8. Vampire Hunter

Knights of Black Swan 9. Journey Man

Knights of Black Swan 10. Falcon

Knights of Black Swan 11. Jax

Knights of Black Swan 12. Deliverance

Knights of Black Swan 13. Black Dog

Order of the Black Swan D.I.T.

D.I.T. 1, Simon Says

D.I.T. 2, Finngarick

D.I.T. 3, Irish War Cry

Order of the Black Swan Novels

Black Swan Novel, Prince of Demons

THE HYBRIDS

Exiled 1. CARNAL

Exiled 2. CRAVE

Exiled 3. CHARMING

THE WEREWOLVES

Hotblooded 1. Stalk

New Scotia Pack 1, Shield Wolf

New Scotia Pack 2. Wolf Lover

New Scotia Pack 3. Fire Wolf

WITCHES

Witches of Wimberley 1. Willem

Witches of Wimberley 2. Witch Wants Forever

Witches of Wimberley 3. Wednesday

CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

SSMC Austin, TX, Book 1. Two Princes

SSMC Austin, TX, Book 2. The Biker’s Brother

SSMC Austin, TX, Book 3. Nomad

SSMC Austin, TX, Book 4. Devil’s Marker

SSMC Austin, TX, Book 5. Roadhouse

I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading Black Dog.

Reviews are enormously helpful to me. Please take the time to follow a link back to the book you’ve just read and post your thoughts. A few words are often as powerful as many.

Victoria Danann.com NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR

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