by Jim Butcher
Unless I just killed them both.
It was dark. There weren’t any street cameras, any instant backup. We were playing by old-school rules, the Winter mantle suggested. Rudolph had crossed a line. It would be too bad about Bradley, who seemed a decent sort, but there were about eight million reasons around me why the logic came down on the side of eliminating both of them and proceeding to the defense of the city. For all I knew, Rudolph was a Fomor agent trying to take out one of Chicago’s heavyweights. Well. Middleweights.
And it wasn’t as if the two of them could stop me, unless Rudolph got lucky with the first shot, and that happens a lot less in real gunfights than you’d think.
Kill them, said a quiet, hard voice inside me.
I closed my eyes for a second. Maybe I should have run instead of taking the bike. The Winter mantle was apparently reacting to the fear in the air, and it sensed a city full of cowering prey to be enjoyed. It paced the length of the cage I’d built for it in my head like a hungry, restless animal.
No, I said back to the voice in my thoughts. Killing your way to answers is never as simple as it seems. The best way to survive is to keep it simple.
I didn’t bother trying to argue about right and wrong. Those are concepts beyond the scope of that kind of magical construct.
Assuming that’s who I was talking to, instead of, you know. Myself. Gulp.
I opened my eyes and kept my hands up. “Rudolph, man, this is so not the time.”
“Shut up!” he shouted. “If your teeth come apart again, I’ll shoot.”
I gritted my teeth and prepared my shield. Crap. If the idiot started shooting, I’d have to take my chances, raise the shield, and run away. There was no way these two could keep pace with me for long. Dammit, I just needed a second or so to get the shield up. I decided to lunge away from Rudolph, over the far side of the bike. In the dark, it might take him a second or two to find me and realign the weapon. I might have time to pull up a shield before he could even start shooting.
I heard the faintest scrape of movement in the shadows.
I looked beyond Rudolph, across the street, and saw the gleam of eyeshine in the darkness. One, two, three, four sets of eyes approached through the night, gleaming, low to the ground, vanishing into the particularly dark patches.
There was a sudden chorus of bubbling, throaty canine growls that came from the night on every side.
Rudolph’s eyes went very, very wide. He took a panicked little step to one side, flicking his eyes left and right. “What was that?”
I made mumbling sounds without opening my mouth or moving my jaw, wobbling my hands a little without lowering them. “Oilcan,” I said. “Oilcan!”
“Goddammit, Dresden!” Rudolph screamed. “Answer me!”
“They’re wolves, Rudy,” I said. “Timber wolves. They were in the neighborhood and they’re friends of mine.”
The growls grew louder. Will and the Alphas had been on the streets a long time. They knew how to survive there, how to fight, how to win, and how to be scary when they needed to be.
Ever heard a pack of wolves growling in anger? It’s less than restful.
“Ever seen what a wolf’s jaws can do to a buffalo bone?” I asked. “It’s impressive. Next to that, human bones are like corn nuts.”
Rudolph was well armored against reality. “There are no wolves in downtown Chicago!” he shrieked. “This is a trick!”
“Technically, you’re right,” I said. “They’re werewolves. But it’s no trick.”
Rudolph made a high-pitched sound, like a door opening on a frozen hinge.
On the ground, Bradley groaned and said, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. What the hell are you doing, Rudolph, you idiot?”
Rudolph’s eyes snapped down to Bradley.
That was the opening I needed. I unleashed my will into the shield bracelet on my left wrist, raising it as I murmured, “Defendarius.”
By the time Rudolph’s eyes had come back to me, a glowing quarter dome of translucent force had glittered into existence between us. The distortion of the shield made him a little wider and squatter. The gun in his hand shook. It was a miracle it didn’t go off.
“Goddammit, what is happening!?” Rudolph demanded.
Bradley came to his feet, looking disoriented and annoyed. The first thing he did was stare, agog, at the glowing light of my shield. He shook his head a little. Then he went to Rudolph and, carefully, put his hand on the other man’s forearm and pushed down.
Rudolph tried to shrug him off. “The fuck are you doing?”
“Saving your stupid career,” Bradley said. He kept pushing. The cubic man was stronger than half a dozen Rudolphs. After a brief second of resistance, Rudolph relented and lowered the weapon.
He looked up at me and then out at the dark, where the growls had not stopped bubbling out of the night. “Dresden. Call them off.”
I looked at Bradley and then called, into the dark, “Okay, guys, thanks. I think we’ve got things cleared up.”
The growls vanished. There was no sound, but I was pretty sure the Alphas had cleared out. The only reason I’d seen them coming in the first place was because they’d shown themselves to me intentionally.
Like I said. Good people. But even better wolves.
“Put the piece up,” Bradley said. “Now.”
Rudolph glared at him, but he did it. I lowered my left arm and relaxed, letting the shield wink out. It left us in gloom that made us all into dark outlines while our eyes struggled to adjust.
“I’m writing this up, Bradley,” Rudolph said.
“Go ahead,” Bradley replied, his tone bored. I couldn’t see much of him in the dark yet, but I could feel that he was focused on me. “I got a pen, too. You just drew on a civilian with no cause.”
“Whose side are you on?” Rudolph hissed.
“Dresden has places to be,” Bradley said.
“What?” Rudolph demanded.
Bradley’s voice went flat. “Don’t be stupid. He could have gone through us if he wanted to. You’re lucky you’re still alive. And your trigger discipline sucks.”
Rudolph spat an oath and stalked away.
I watched the good-looking man leave and then turned to Bradley. I offered him my hand. “Thanks. And I’m sorry about that.”
Bradley shuddered and took half a step back from me, turning his head away. “Don’t come anywhere near me,” he said. He jerked his jaw at my bike. “Now go do what you have to do. And stay away from me.”
Like I said. The only mirrors we have are other people.
I didn’t stare at Bradley’s shadowed form in pain for very long. The witching hour was near.
The Titan was near.
I got on the bike and started pedaling.
Chapter
Five
I rolled up to Castle Marcone at half past midnight. It was an enormous, blocky house of stone with a raised tower at each corner. Honest-to-God torches burned in ancient sconces on the battlements. Guards in a mix of modern and classical armor manned the walls. Out front of the building, the useless autos had been rolled onto their sides and rearranged into a couple of concentric barriers in front of the entrance to the castle. You had to start at one end of the first barrier, then walk all the way to the other end in an S-line style to get into the castle—all of it under the gaze of the armed Einherjaren on the walls.
Messengers were coming and going on the ground, all of them on bicycles, moving by the dozens. Flickers of magical energy were pulsing through the air all around me as well—spells and wards that were being brought to life, major-league stuff that took a good long while to spin up. Meanwhile, in the air above the castle, darting winged forms swarmed everywhere.
It didn’t look intimidating or anything.
Standing on either side of the doors to the castle was a tall
woman in black leathers and mail. Their hair was buzzed short on the sides and much longer on top. Neither woman was visibly armed, except for particularly hard-looking black fingernails, and their eyes were black all the way through the sclera, gleaming with a sinister intelligence.
I slowed down as I approached the doors, and the attention of two sets of all-black eyes settled on me like the barrels of guns.
“Look who it is,” I said. “H and M. How’s tricks, kids?”
“The seidrmadr,” said the one on the left. I’ll call her H, because honestly I couldn’t tell them apart.
“The starborn,” murmured M. “I still think we should shred him.”
“It is the most logical course of action,” H agreed.
Four hands tipped with very nasty-looking talons flexed.
These two were Vadderung’s personal bodyguards, and they scared me. Anything that could be violent enough to be the last line of defense for freaking One-Eye was nothing I wanted to tangle with for fun.
Of course . . . I don’t react well to bullies.
“Easy there, ladies,” I said. “Or we’ll find out how well you operate at absolute zero.”
Two heads tilted sharply.
“The Winter Knight,” M said.
“At the weakest portion of the seasonal cycle,” H noted.
“Fifty percent chance he neutralizes one of us before termination.”
“Conflict with the seidrmadr results in approximately a twenty-five percent reduction in the principal’s personal defenses.”
“Unacceptable,” said M.
“Unacceptable,” agreed H.
The pair returned to parade rest, hands and talons behind their backs. Their eyes returned to scanning the surrounding night, ignoring me.
“Well. It was nice to see you again, too,” I said. “Do you guys like those little seed bells or would you prefer live mice in your Christmas basket?”
That earned me their attention again, and another head tilt.
“Levity,” said H.
“Madness,” said M.
And then they both blurred toward me.
It’s hard to explain how fast the movement was. I threw up my hands. I’d gotten them almost to the level of my waist when something hit me and drove me flat to the concrete. There was a high-pitched, cawing shriek, louder than an air horn at close range, and then tearing sounds, snarls, and . . . splatters.
I lay there stunned for a second, the wind knocked out of me, unable to get a steady breath in. H, maybe, was crouched over me, her feet on either side of my ribs, the heels of her hands on my sternum. She wasn’t looking at me. I followed the direction of her gaze.
M was crouched in exactly the same pose as H, only she was hovering over a mess. Her arms were soaked black to the elbow, as was a circle of sidewalk five feet across. What was left at the center of the circle was little more than maybe fifty pounds of tissue and bone. There were some scales involved there, and some limbs with too many joints, but I had no idea what kind of creature had been there a moment before.
I looked down at my own body. There was a distinct lack of gore. I finally got a breath. Whatever that creature had been, it had gotten to within ten feet of my back before H and M had dealt with it.
“The hell was that?” I asked.
“A scout and assassin,” H said.
“Swift,” said M. “Difficult to see.”
H nodded and rose away from me. “The enemy prepares.”
M rose and offered me a hand up. Her hands dripped with black gore.
“Levity, huh?” I said to her.
One corner of her mouth quivered.
No matter how severe Vadderung’s people might be, they’re always cheered by the chance to give you a hard time.
* * *
* * *
“Harry,” Ramirez said as I got to the bottom of the stairs that led up onto the roof of the castle. “Dios, where have you been?” He paused and said, “What the hell did you get on your hand?”
I sighed. “You got some kind of scraper?”
He came down the stairway to me on his cane, looked at the knife on my belt, then up at me, and lifted an eyebrow.
“Ritually purified,” I said. “Don’t want to use it until it’s time.”
Ramirez eyed me for a moment before he grunted and produced a gravity knife from his pocket and flicked it open. He was a good-looking man, dark of complexion and eye, a Spaniard by way of California. He flipped the knife, caught it by the blade, and offered me the handle. “You hear what happened?”
“Yeah,” I said, and took the knife. “Had to go grab some tools.” I started trying to scrape the black gunk off my hand. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t actually burning, and that was just my imagination, but as it had cooled it had taken on the consistency and adhesive properties of honey and smelled like offal. My progress was dubious.
“Just keep the knife,” Ramirez said, his expression faintly nauseated.
“Thanks,” I said, and forced myself to keep my tone calm and natural. “Where’s the old man?”
“Roof, with everyone else,” he said. “Everyone’s rushing to bring in all the help we can. Don’t really have many skills in that area. I feel like a fifth wheel.”
“Yeah, well. We’ll get our chance once the fighting starts.”
Ramirez grimaced down at his cane. “True.”
“Hey, at least you aren’t in a wheelchair.”
“True,” he said, more brightly. His expression then sobered. “Harry, I need to talk to you about something.”
“Always the very best way to set up a conversation for success,” I noted drily. I tried to pay no attention to the way my stomach jumped.
“Yeah, well,” he said. He pulled up on the stair above me, so that he could look me more or less in the face, if not in the eye. He regarded me for a moment before he said, “Where did you go tonight?”
My belly tightened even more. I felt everything shutting down, my expression locking into my best poker face.
Regret passed over Carlos’s face. “You can talk to me.”
“What?”
“Harry,” he said slowly, “you and I are friends, right?”
“We’ve heard the chimes at midnight more than a few times,” I said.
He nodded. “And seen a few bad places.”
“We have.”
“Well. Maybe you should . . . at some point . . . consider treating me like a friend.”
I held myself perfectly still. “What?”
Carlos lowered his voice, but it remained intense nonetheless. “I don’t mind that you think of me as the little brother, Dresden, but don’t think I’m a goddamned idiot. Don’t think I can’t see what’s happening.”
I stared through him and said nothing.
“If you’re in trouble,” he said, “if you need help, you can talk to me, man. You should talk to me.”
“Why is that?” I said.
“Because big and goddamned scary things are happening,” Carlos said, his voice hard. “The knives are coming out, and it’s my job to keep them from going into the White Council’s back. Because you are in close alliances with scary creatures who are doing scary things to you, and you barely seem to acknowledge it. And because you’ve got access to way too much power, and you could do way too much damage, man. I know you, Dresden. I love you. But too much is at stake right now to let things slide.”
“Is that a threat?” I asked him. It came out a lot more gently than it could have.
“If I can see it,” he said, “others can, too. Talk to me. Let me help you, Harry.”
I stopped for a second and thought about it.
Ramirez was a formidable ally. And, good God, it would be nice to have a skilled wizard in my corner. Ramirez was popular among the younger members of the Wa
rdens. If I had his help, I’d have their help as well.
But Ramirez was also popular among the establishment. Granted, I wasn’t entirely bereft of allies there, but increasingly as time had gone on, Carlos had come to represent a new ideal for the new generation of Wardens—more compassionate than those who had come before, quicker to investigate and slower to conclude, but every bit as dedicated to the Laws of Magic and the security of the White Council of Wizardry.
My friend Carlos would be an enormous amount of help—but Warden Ramirez would be honor bound to inform the Senior Council about my relationship to Thomas, if I told him the truth. I wasn’t even sure that he would be unwise to do so, all things considered. But if that happened, I might as well leave my brother in the fridge—the White Council would never, ever leave my relationship to Thomas as a potential handle to be used against them. They would either reverse that pressure preemptively or else . . . remove the handle.
The White Council had never been a source of anything but grief to me.
Carlos Ramirez was my friend.
But Thomas was my brother.
“I don’t know what to tell you, ’Los,” I lied. “I was doing liaison stuff for Mab.”
“Liaison stuff,” Carlos said. “Rumor calls it something else.”
Hell’s bells, Freydis and her stupid illusion. “Stars and stones, it’s like a British sex comedy around here,” I said. “Look, there are shenanigans happening between Mab and Lara. I’m . . . moderating things.”
He gave me an uncertain look.
“I’d tell you more if I could,” I said. “But this is internal Winter stuff. And, honestly, man, we don’t have time for this.”
Ramirez looked away from me and sighed. “Dammit, Harry.”
“Hey, I don’t like it any more than you do,” I said. “But I need to talk to the old man. We have work to do.”
“Yeah,” he said. He took a slow breath and then nodded once, decisively. “Yeah, we do. Come on up.”