by Jim Butcher
I started to sputter. But instead I found myself just grinning back at him.
Taking out a bunch of monsters and saving a bunch of people had damned right been fun. Terrifying and nightmare inducing and fun—and right.
Hell’s bells, it felt good to be doing something I knew was right.
I held up a fist.
He eyed me for a moment. Then he made a fist and, carefully, bumped knuckles with me. The shock of it threatened to dislocate my shoulder again, but being all manly I didn’t make any high-pitched noises or anything. And you can’t prove otherwise.
* * *
* * *
The battle was a hell of a thing. I could hear it happening around me. I could still smell blood and death. I knew it was going on—but here, where we were strong, the enemy was keeping his distance for the time being. Occasionally, one of the snipers would fire a shot, generally to the sound of squealing screams in the distance.
I wanted to be fighting. But that battle with the Huntsmen had convinced me that charging out there all blind and righteous would probably get me killed within half a dozen blocks or so, at best. Even with River Shoulders next to me, that had been a close one. What if a second pack had crashed in during that? Maybe it would have been my skin hanging up on a clothesline—and the plan to stop Ethniu would officially be over.
I checked the coach gun. I’d recovered it and my revolver. I’d reloaded the trusty hogleg and strapped it back on. Dragon’s Breath rounds were rough on the weapons you fired them through, but the coach gun was as solid and simple a piece of American steel as you could find, and the barrels were short enough to make eventual heat warping a nonissue. It would serve me a while yet. I reloaded the weapon with a couple more Dragon’s Breath shells and slid it into its scabbard.
There was the tromp of boots from the castle, and then Marcone came out, flanked by Gard and Hendricks and trailed by a column of heavily armed and armored Einherjaren, who immediately assembled in the street. A dozen ghouls came gamboling into the night after them, transformed into their half-bestial state, and armed and armored from the castle’s stores, blades and guns, mail and Kevlar, as they had chosen. They immediately loped into the night toward the lake, muzzles wide, tongues lolling and drooling.
Our scouts. Ick.
Lara came out next, dressed in a loose-fitting white garment of some kind, trailed by Riley and half a dozen of his professional shooters, and another half a dozen members of House Raith—which is to say a sort of dizzying vision of dark-haired and pale-skinned women who wore the same loose-fitting white garments, moved like leopards, and carried a variety of instruments of death. Lara went by with a glance and a smirk—and she and her people ghosted out into the shadows as our vanguard.
The White Council emerged last, Ebenezar, Listens-to-Wind, and Cristos backed up by Ramirez and his squad, all in grey cloaks now, staves in hand, weapons strapped, ready for action. The old man headed straight for me and I rose to meet them.
“Okay, Hoss,” he said. “Remember we’ve got three positions between here and the lake?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Well, we’re heading for the opening between the northernmost two,” he said. “And Etri and his people, along with the Summer Lady and the rest of her gang, are heading for the gap on the south side. The idea is to force the Fomor to a stop so that they have to bring up their heavy troops if they want to advance.”
I frowned. “I thought the idea was to wait until Ethniu revealed herself.”
The old man grimaced. “If we don’t stop the advance,” he said, “the battle won’t get that far. It won’t need to. She’ll have won already.” He shook his head. “We have to force her to use the Eye to get through us.”
“If they’ve got that many troops,” I said, “why should she? She can just grind us away.”
“She doesn’t have time,” the old man said, his eyes glinting. “Mortal emergency response systems are already in motion. The National Guard is already mobilizing and on its way. They’ve got to bring up heavy equipment to clear the roads so they can get through, but they’ll be here by dawn. Maybe sooner.”
“So,” I clarified, finding myself grinning irrationally, “we’re going to charge into the meat grinder as fast as we can to force her to hit us as hard as she can, and then hope that we can punch her lights out before the army gets here and starts killing everybody in sight.”
“We . . .” Ebenezar sighed. “Aye, fair enough.”
“Yippee,” I said. “That sounds like fun.”
“Heh,” rumbled River Shoulders. “Heh, heh, heh.”
The White Council suddenly looked very cautious to be standing in the proximity of the Sasquatch’s rumbling laugh.
“Well,” I said to River Shoulders. “Shall we?”
My grandfather lifted his eyebrows.
“Sure,” River Shoulders said, and climbed to his feet, lightly for all his enormity. “Be good fun. Bigfoot versus octokongs.”
“What?” asked Cristos, his handsome face confused.
“You heard him,” I said. “Let’s go.”
Chapter
Eleven
So we moved out, into the smoke and the dark and the chaos, and the enemy did what the enemy always does. They showed up without calling ahead and screwed with our nice plan.
We’d marched down to Montrose and turned east, heading down the streets at a trot. I found myself moving next to Ramirez, who grimaced and clenched his jaw and kept the pace with silent, pained determination until we got to Welles Park. The darkened buildings and looming shadows of the park could hold hundreds of enemies. We pulled up to wait for a moment while Lara’s people swept the place.
Ramirez found a bench and eased onto it, gasping. I knelt next to him. We watched as people fleeing the chaos between here and the lake paced silently past us, eyes wide and haunted. They crossed to the other side of the street as they approached and realized that we were a large, armed group. I didn’t blame them. There was a goddamned Bigfoot standing on the corner, apparently examining a crosswalk pedestrian button in fascination.
Chandler, Wild Bill, and Yoshimo joined us as a factor of natural gravity, and I watched Ramirez will the pain and weariness away before he addressed them.
“So,” Ramirez said, without pausing, “the enemy’s northern arm came ashore at Montrose Beach. Lara’s mercenaries are to the north of us in Uptown. They were holding the line at Lake Shore Drive but they got pushed back to Sheridan. Marcone’s people are down south of us and they’re dug in around Wrigley. They’re holding. That’s funneling the enemy right into the space in the middle as they try to get around them. McCoy and the Senior Council are going to go stop them from doing that, and we’re going to swat any flies that bother them while they do.”
“How’s your leg there, boss?” Wild Bill asked casually.
“I can’t feel it,” Ramirez lied. “It’ll last the night.”
“You are hurt,” Yoshimo said. That she had spoken at all was remarkable. Her Latin was flawless, her English only so-so, and she wasn’t the chatty type. “It is not appropriate for you to be entering battle.”
“It is not ideal,” Ramirez agreed, still struggling to control his breathing. “But we need every hand on this one.”
“If this don’t go so good and we have to skedaddle,” Wild Bill said, “you’re gonna be a little slow, Pancho. It could get dicey.”
That was putting it mildly. Come time to run from a battle, the slow and wounded die. That’s just how it works.
Ramirez just looked at Wild Bill, and said, with weary amusement, “I’m Spanish, not Mexican. You damned Texan.”
Wild Bill put a hand on Ramirez’s shoulder and flashed him a wolfish grin.
River Shoulders came over and dropped to his haunches next to me. That put him on an eye level with Chandler, standing. The dapper Brit eyed th
e Sasquatch with a bland expression and did not flinch. Much.
“How do you do?” rumbled River Shoulders.
“Well, thank you,” said Chandler, with the flawless, reflexive courtesy you only get from a finishing school. “I understand you and Harry have worked together before?”
“Nah,” River Shoulders said. “He come and bailed me out a few times when I needed help.” He grinned. His teeth were very white. They stood out against the spatters of dark blood still on his fur. “But we did some good work tonight.”
Chandler was too refined to take an intimidated step back. But he leaned.
I had just retied one of my shoes when the order came back down the line from Ebenezar, who seemed to have de facto command of the group. Time to move ahead. I had just gotten moving again when there was a flash of violet light that streaked down the road, swept high over the group’s line, and plunged down toward me.
“My lord!” piped Major General Toot-Toot. The little fae came to a wavering hover in the air before me and saluted, grinning fiercely at me. “There is knavery afoot!”
“Talk to me, Major General,” I said, even as I broke into a jog to keep pace.
“We didn’t see them until they got there! The foe has sneakily snucked a sneak attack behind our lines, like a sneaky sneak!”
“What kind of sneak attack?”
“The sneaky kind!” Toot-Toot shouted. “They used veils and got around behind the lines and now they’re in the park, and they are Up To Something!”
I frowned. “What park?”
“Up ahead!” Toot-Toot said. “On this road! You’ll go right past it!”
My already quivery stomach got cold.
“Toot,” I said, thinking furiously and drawing out the word. “That’s . . . not a park. That’s Graceland Cemetery.”
And, dimly over the sound of all the footsteps in motion, I heard the thrumming thud of a large drum in the distance.
My eyes widened.
Hell’s bells.
I broke out of line and sprinted ahead until I reached the old man’s side. “Hey,” I said. “You hear that?”
Ebenezar glanced at me, frowning, but then turned his attention to the distance. “War drum?”
“No,” I said grimly. “That’s coming from Chicago’s most notorious graveyard. Toot says they slipped in under veils.”
“Necromancy,” he spat. “Stars and stones. How many zombies could they get out of it?”
“About fifty hectares’ worth of zombies?” I said, a little exasperated. “A lot. And they’d swarm Marcone’s people in minutes.”
The old man snarled. Necromancy is the gift that keeps on giving. The same spell that animated corpses could be expanded to sweep up freshly made bodies as well. New corpses weren’t as good for the work, but they’d be more than a match for the citizenry. It would mean death in a geometric progression.
The old man scowled furiously for maybe half a minute. I let him think. It’s important to think when things are going crazy, if you want to take the smartest action to get them sane again.
“Okay, Hoss,” he said heavily. “We don’t know how strong these practitioners are. But we know what’s going to happen to our allies if we don’t support them. So I’m taking the big guns ahead to relieve the pressure on the troops.”
“Got it,” I said.
He spoke in the slightly heavy tones of someone who is thinking through a problem as he speaks about it. “Practitioners means the Council needs to counter them. You’ve fought necromancers before. You’ve fought in that graveyard before. You’re the best person here for the work.” He grimaced and spat. “Dammit. You’ve got the job.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Take the Wardens and the Sasquatch.”
There was a huge fluttering sound, and I let out a little shriek and flinched, and it took me a second to sort out that an absolutely enormous, shaggy old raven had swooped down and landed firmly on my shoulder.
“Um,” I said.
“Caw,” said the raven.
Ebenezar scowled. “You are just damned useless in a military situation,” he said to the raven. “No discipline at all.”
“Redneck!” cried the raven. “Caw!”
Ebenezar waved a grumpy hand at the raven. “Fine. Take the Indian, too. Silence that drum.” He put a hand on my arm and met my eyes. “Hoss. Do not pull your punches tonight.”
“That’s always been my biggest problem,” I said, spreading my hands. “All this restraint.”
I broke away from him and dropped back to the rear, where Ramirez was laboring along while the other Wardens flanked him and kept worried expressions when he wasn’t looking.
“Okay, kids,” I said. “We’ve got problems.”
I explained the situation.
“Yes!” Wild Bill said. “Necromancers!”
I eyed him. “Seriously?”
“I like shooting zombies,” he drawled. “That’s all. I got a patch and everything.”
“Well, the idea is to stop them before they get the zombie horde rolling,” I said.
“Aw,” he said, disappointed, “that ain’t half as much fun.”
“Dammit, Bill.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “We’ll get it done.”
“River,” I said.
The Sasquatch nodded. “Can’t stand necromancers. Make the earth scream.”
“We gotta move fast.” I nodded at Ramirez and winced. “Sorry about this, man.”
Carlos looked from me to the Bigfoot. He was having enough trouble keeping up that he spoke in a gasp. “Dammit. Do it.”
“Give him a hand?” I asked River.
The Sasquatch promptly scooped Ramirez up. He could carry the man sitting on his palm under one arm with no more effort than a farmwife toting a basket of eggs.
The raven on my shoulder squawked and took off into the night air.
“All right, Toot,” I said. “Show me.”
* * *
* * *
Graceland is, in many ways, Chicago’s memory. The graves there mark the resting places of titans of industry, holy men, gangsters, politicians, near saints, and madmen and murderers. Tales of tragedy, of vast hubris, of bitter greed and steadfast love, are represented in the markers that stand over the graves of thousands. Statuary, mausoleums, even a small replica of an ancient Greek temple stand in stately silence over the lush green grass.
And yet the walls around the cemetery are there for a reason. The shades of many of those folk walk the graveyard at night and are the source of thousands of whispered tales that make skin creep and flesh crawl.
I’d been one of them once. I had a grave waiting for me in Graceland, kept open by force of whatever contract a deceased foe had prepared for me.
There was no time to go around to the gates. We went over the wall of rough stone behind a large mausoleum and gathered in the sheltering darkness behind it. Toot descended to the ground, something I’d seen him do only occasionally, and the aura of light around him dimmed and went out.
“This way, my lord!” Toot rasped in a low, dramatic tone. “They are near Inez’s statue.”
I grunted. The statue was a local legend. It went missing from time to time, and it came back just as mysteriously. There were often sightings of a little girl in Victorian dress skipping among the headstones when the statue was gone. And I knew it had once been used as a conduit by Queen Mab, when her physical form had been busy keeping mine alive, just as the spirit of Demonreach had inhabited a statue of Death that dwelt not far away.
Graceland is the repository of Chicago’s greatest dreams and darkest nightmares. There is a power there, dark and potent—and I could feel it stirring and swirling in the air, like oil being heated over a fire and becoming steadily more liquid, quicker to move, to shape. The sound of the drum
continued, a stalwart tempo. It would do a lot to mask the sounds of our approach, especially if we stepped in time to the beat.
I dropped low and followed Toot into the darkness among the tombstones. I knew the place well enough to get around generally. Toot led me to a position a little uphill from Inez’s spot, and I stepped on one headstone to belly crawl up onto a mausoleum and peer ahead.
Spread in a circle near Inez’s grave were seven cloaked figures, speaking in whispering voices in a breathy chant. One of them held a large drum on a shoulder strap and steadily struck it with a thick-headed drumstick in one hand. From there, I could sense the power of the circle around them, but they were making an effort to work magical forces without any sloppy inefficiencies of energy transfer, which generally manifested themselves as visible light. This was a stealthy working.
There was a lump on the ground in the center of the circle. I couldn’t see who it was, but it was human-shaped, if you allowed for some ropes for immobility. A human sacrifice, doubtless, for the ceremony’s finale. It remained the single most effective way to turbocharge black magic.
Hell’s bells. Seven necromancers could wreck Chicago all by themselves. Four of them nearly had done it, once. Five, if you counted me, which I didn’t, even though my entry in that evening’s animation festival had taken best in show. I could feel the intensity of the working they had underway. I didn’t know who they were, but they were pros. If they were allowed to finish, they could wreck the town without the help of any army of improbably conceived monsters.
And if Toot and his people hadn’t warned me, we would never have seen it coming. I wonder what it says about me that pizza has been one of the better long-term investments in my career.
I slipped back down and away, unseen by the baddies. I returned to my allies and spoke in harsh, quick terms. “Seven. Six casters and a drummer. Cloaked, dark. I don’t know who or what they are. They’re with the Fomor, so they’re probably bad-guy leftovers from somewhere. They’re in a circle. They’ve got a prisoner.”