Black Dog: A Christmas Story (Knights of Black Swan Book 13) Read online

  “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’.”

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nbsp; “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.<
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  “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.”