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mean it. But Alejandro was ready to fight, even if he knew he couldn’t win. The silver in the blade sparked against his fingers, but it did not burn him. If he cut Ezekiel, though, that cut would burn, and resist ordinary black dog healing.
    â€œYou would fight,” Ezekiel said, easing back. He was smiling again: a thin, dangerous smile. “I thought you would. But with a knife?”
    â€œIt is your choice,” Alejandro repeated. “If I must fight you, I will use a knife, yes. Because I would need the advantage. But I do not want to fight you.”
    â€œDon’t you? Down, then. Down – and drop that knife.”
    Alejandro did not move.
    â€œDo it,” muttered Miguel, his voice low. The executioner had frightened him, too, Natividad could hear it in his voice. But he whispered to their brother, urgently, “It’s a test, I’m sure it’s a test. Do what he says.”
    Alejandro’s mouth tightened. But after a moment, he turned and threw the knife, a sharp motion that left the slender blade buried in the smooth bark of a tree twenty feet away, chest high. Natividad understood: if he had to fight the Dimilioc executioner now, maybe he could recover it, use it. Ezekiel couldn’t: it wasn’t blooded for him .
    Then Alejandro turned back to face Ezekiel and dropped again to one knee.
    Ezekiel smiled, a mocking expression. His own shadow had gathered around him, heavy and dense, clinging to his pale skin, almost as obvious to her as it would be to another black dog. It smelled of ozone and bitter ash and burnt clay. But he did not go into the cambio de cuerpo , and after a lingering moment, his shadow ebbed back down to lie again on the white snow.
    Ezekiel took a step forward. Another step, wary. That was a compliment, sort of: that Dimilioc’s executioner approached Alejandro with caution. The American eased forward a third step. Alejandro shuddered. Natividad knew her brother was on the edge of leaping up, backing away, letting his shadow bring the cambio de cuerpo . Miguel caught Natividad’s arm, pulling her back, leaving Alejandro alone. She yielded, reluctantly, and only because she knew that their presence would only make Ezekiel’s close approach harder for Alejandro to bear.
    He did not move. Natividad was so proud of him. Her brother stayed still, even when Ezekiel reached out slowly and set one hand on his shoulder, close to his throat. Black-shadow claws tipped the young man’s fingers. It was naked aggression, that touch. It was a threat, and an arrogant show of control over his own shadow.
    â€œI could tear out your throat right now,” Ezekiel said softly. “Could you stop me?”
    Alejandro said, harshly, “No.”
    â€œYou’re in a bad position. Why did you let me put you in such a bad position?”
    â€œBecause the only choice I saw was fighting you, now. We didn’t come here to fight.”
    â€œNo. Of course not. You want to talk to Grayson.” Ezekiel stood for a moment, staring down at him, and then lifted his hand and eased back a step. “You have something resembling control, it seems. Maybe he’ll want to talk to you.” He backed another step, glanced past Alejandro toward Natividad, and added, “It’s another few miles to the house. Can your sister walk so far?”
    â€œOf course I can!” snapped Natividad, insulted. She strode forward again, laying her own hand on Alejandro’s shoulder, exactly where Ezekiel had touched him. His black dog shadow did not take her touch as a threat. Their mother had worked the Aplacando on her black dog son as soon as he was born. To him, the touch of the Pure, especially Natividad’s touch, was strengthening, reassuring... calming.
    Alejandro took a long breath, glanced up warily, and got to his feet.
    There was no sign that Ezekiel took that movement as a challenge. The young American only raked his wintery gaze across