Battle Ground

by Jim Butcher

  “Good. Because I’m not delivering them lightly,” I said, a low thunder growling its way into my quiet words. “You tell Odin that Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden says, upon his Name, that if he doesn’t treat Murph better than I would myself, I’m going to kick down his door, pluck his fucking ravens, knock him down, kick his guts out, drag him to the island, and lock him up in a cell with Ethniu.”

  Gard blinked at me.

  “I beat a divine being once,” I said. “If I have to build a nation to get it done, I’ll do it again. You tell him exactly what I said.”

  Gard stared at me for a moment. Then a slow, if sad, smile touched her face. “I’ll tell him,” she said. Then she added, gently, “It will please him, I think. If not the twins. Have no fear for your shieldmaiden. In our halls, warriors who died for family, for duty, for love, are given the respect such a death deserves. She will want for nothing.”

  I nodded. Then after a while, I said, “If she’s an Einherjar, now . . .”

  Gard shook her head. “Not until the memory of her has faded from the minds of those who knew her. That is the limit not even the Allfather may cross.”

  “She, uh,” I said. I blinked several times. “She wasn’t real forgettable.”

  “She was not,” agreed the Valkyrie. “And she has earned her rest.”

  “She earned better than a bullet in the neck,” I spat.

  “All warriors die, Dresden,” Gard replied. “And if they die in the course of being true to their duty and honor, most would count that a fitting end to a worthy life. She did.”

  I nodded.

  “Fuck worthy,” I said quietly, miserably. “I miss her.”

  Silent seconds went by while I went briefly blind.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “For . . . Nathan. He was a loyal friend to the end.”

  “Oh, man up, Dresden,” Gard said. “You’re still here.”

  But she nodded as she said it. And she cried, too.

  * * *

  * * *

  We had a funeral followed by a wake at Mac’s a few days later, the Paranet crew and me.

  Everyone was dazed, struggling to adjust to the reality that had confronted them.

  Tens of thousands had perished. The final count of fallen humanity that night would have overflowed Soldier Field—which was being used for refugees, of which there were more than a hundred thousand.

  Ethniu had been even harder on Chicago real estate values than me. Wakka wakka.

  The Huntsmen, in particular, had ravaged every neighborhood they went through, killing about ninety-five percent of the occupants—until they got to the South Side. Then it was like the robbery of the First National Bank of Northfield, Minnesota. Too many people were willing to fight—and they were armed. Sure, there were a lot of bad guys—but there were a lot more citizens, a higher-than-average percentage of them had guns, and once they understood what was happening, they turned the streets into shooting galleries. That was when things had started to turn on that flank of the battle, providing an opening for Marcone.

  Apparently, even the legions of epic mythology had better plan for trouble on some of the toughest streets in the world.

  The power was out and stayed that way for a while. There was just too much to replace. That made clean water hard to move around. More people got sick and died, and things could have gotten really bad if we’d had a harsher summer. But the weather stayed unseasonably mild and cool, with frequent rains. Maybe a Queen of Faerie ensured that. Or maybe the universe figured the city had earned a break.

  Either way, it was raining when we gathered at my grave in Graceland.

  We filled a coffin with pictures. I used one of me and Murph arguing that some joker in CPD had taken when both of us had cartoonish expressions on our faces. It felt truer to what we’d had, somehow.

  It hadn’t had a lot of chance to grow.

  Other pictures went in. No frames. There wouldn’t have been room. If they’d given their life for the city, their picture went in. We used copies of the drivers’ licenses of the volunteers, when we couldn’t find anything else about them. Hendricks’s picture went in. So did Yoshimo’s and Wild Bill’s and Chandler’s. Everyone in the Paranet community, hell, almost everyone in the city had lost someone they knew or were related to.

  When people you know die, that gets attention. That was the beginning of the change in Chicago, where the supernatural had just become a threat that was too great to be denied or overlooked.

  Butters, moving comically in his neck brace and backboard, stood with me throughout the memorial service. Of the survivors, fifty or so of my volunteers had been willing to attend. In a ceremony that was half comedic and half gut-wrenching, I pronounced them Knights of the Bean and Defenders of Chicago. And then I pinned a dried lima bean glued to a steel backing to their chests, and I made each of them a promise:

  “If you or anyone you love is ever in danger, come and find me. If it isn’t you, tell them to show me this. I will help. No questions asked.”

  Promises are a magic of their own, with a little will behind them. And when I made each one, I felt it leave a signature on the pin. I’d know it if someone tried to pass a fake one on me.

  After that, I tried to give a speech about Murph.

  “Karrin Murph—” I said.

  And nothing else would come out.

  Butters took over, speaking a little stiffly due to his jaw, and said some things to the gathering, which they took very well. People had seen Butters in action, and word had spread. They looked at him like he was a big damned hero.

  Which he was—but he didn’t see it that way, because of course he wouldn’t.

  They didn’t look at me like I was a big damned hero, though.

  In fact . . . mostly, people weren’t looking at me at all.

  I guess people had seen glimpses of me in that fight, too. Plus I’d just incinerated a bunch of guys, in front of God and everybody. And word had gotten around.

  Ever see a video clip of a shark swimming through a school of baitfish? Where the fish all make sure to stay well out of his path?

  I was the shark now.

  Except for a few friends, no one came within arm’s reach of me.

  And . . . that suited me, somehow. I felt raw, as if my skin had been peeled off and the world was made of salt and lemon juice. Maybe a little distance was a good thing, for a while.

  After Butters finished, old Father Forthill came out and spoke a gentle prayer for the dead. Then we closed up the casket and filled my open grave. I had my tombstone removed and replaced with one that simply read, THEY DEFENDED CHICAGO, and the month and year.

  I was the last one at the grave.

  Except for Michael. My friend wore a waterproof overcoat and fedora. I’d shown up in shirtsleeves. I hadn’t even brought an umbrella. Back before the Winter mantle, I’d have been shivering. Now the rain felt nice on my bruises.

  Michael stood with me in comfortable silence, waiting.

  “Marcone was right,” I said quietly.

  Michael frowned. He said nothing.

  “Marcone built a base of power,” I said. “He prepared for this. If he hadn’t, the city would have fallen. Period. I would never have succeeded without him.”

  “What are you saying, Harry?” Michael asked gently.

  “I can do more,” I said quietly. “I need to do more.”

  “Like Marcone has?” Michael asked.

  “Somehow,” I said quietly. “I don’t think I could do it his way. Too many suits.”

  “Corporate thug doesn’t really fit you,” Michael agreed. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Wizard of Chicago?” I suggested.

  “Good to stick with what you know,” Michael said. “But you’re talking about more, aren’t you?”

  I was quiet for m
oment, looking down at the rain splashing on the casket.

  “Do you know why I wanted Murph to stay out of the fight?” I asked.

  “Because you’d given up on her,” Michael said.

  “No, it was because I’d given up on . . . Oh, yes.” I cleared my throat. “On some level, I had written her off. I knew I was going to be out there without her watching my back.”

  Die alone, whispered a voice in my memory.

  “She didn’t agree with your assessment,” Michael noted.

  “No,” I said quietly. “She had, you know. Hope. Faith. That what she was doing was right and necessary and worth it.” I squinted at him. “Death isn’t when your body stops working. It’s when there’s no more future. When you can’t see past right now, because you stopped believing in tomorrow.” I shrugged. “There should be a place where people can borrow a little hope and faith when they’re running low.”

  My friend’s eyes wrinkled at the corners. “Oh, I’d say there’s one or two.”

  “Well. You folks talk to a lot of people. But not everyone speaks in the same language. Maybe there’re folks who just wouldn’t understand what you’ve got to say. Maybe they need to hear it from someone like me.”

  Michael smiled and said, “The Almighty gave each of us our own utterly unique voice. Surely there’s a lesson to be learned there.”

  “Will you help me?” I asked.

  “Always,” he said.

  “Good,” I said. “I think I’m going to need a carpenter.”

  His face slowly brightened over the course of a moment, a deep, intense satisfaction radiating from him. It was like watching the sun rise on his soul. “I love to give that kind of help. And my rates are very reasonable . . .”

  There were footsteps in the wet grass behind us.

  We turned to find Carlos Ramirez facing us from beneath a grey umbrella. He wore his Warden’s cloak. His expression was fatigued and grim. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

  “Carlos,” I said quietly. “Good to see you.”

  He nodded, once. When he spoke, his voice was ragged, as if he’d been shouting a lot. “Harry Dresden,” he said in a formal tone and cadence. “Greetings from the White Council.”

  Not Warden Dresden, I noted. Not even Wizard Dresden.

  So.

  Michael glanced between us and said, “I’ll excuse myself, gentlemen.”

  “Thank you, Sir Michael,” Ramirez said quietly.

  Michael turned and limped back toward the cars.

  “The vote,” I said. “Forgot all about it. Guess it didn’t go my way.”

  Ramirez shook his head.

  “You’re out,” he said. “You are no longer to associate yourself with the White Council or harass its members. You will refrain from the public practice of magic to standards of discretion determined by the Council or face the consequences. Wardens will periodically inspect you and your residence for residual black magic. You know the drill.” He shook his head and reached into his coat. “There are some documents. They list all the terms.”

  “Terms,” I said. “Pretty bold for the Council to boot me out, then dictate terms to me.”

  Ramirez stared at me for a second. Then he said, his voice low, “You had to know this was coming. It’s been coming for a long time. We’ve given you chance after chance, and you keep—” He broke off and looked away. “You never should have gotten mixed up with Mab, Harry. That changed everything.”

  “Carlos,” I began.

  “You sold out to the monsters, Dresden,” Ramirez spat, his voice harsh. “Don’t you see that? Can’t you see it even now? As beaten as you are, you shouldn’t even be able to stand up. Sixty degrees, windy, and raining and you’re standing there soaking wet and enjoying it.”

  “What did you say?” I asked, low and hard.

  “You heard me,” he said. He wasn’t budging, either. “I don’t know, Dresden, if what happened here could have been avoided. But I know you were mixed up in it in ways you aren’t saying.” He stared at me beseechingly, shaking his head. “You should have trusted me, man. And you pull that stupid hex on me instead?” Something in his face broke. “Chandler’s gone. Bill and Yukie are gone. And maybe if you’d been willing to talk, that wouldn’t have happened. Maybe it would have made things different.”

  “I had to,” I said. “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice weary. “I know you think that. And that’s the problem.” He took his hand out of his coat and tossed a thick legal envelope at me. I caught it. “Read that. Believe it. Because as far as the White Council is concerned, you’re one of the monsters now, Dresden. Push us and we’ll push back. Hard.”

  “Who’s going to do the pushing, ’Los?” I asked. “You?”

  “No,” he said quietly. “McCoy.” He cleared his throat. “We were friends once, Dresden. So I’ll tell you this last bit of gossip. The Senior Council voted in emergency session, while Listens-to-Wind and McCoy were in surgery. They found witnesses who saw you directly murder human servants of the Fomor by means of pyromancy.”

  Which was true. “You’ve seen what those guys have done,” I told him. “Would you call them human, strictly speaking?”

  “Doesn’t matter what I think,” Ramirez said. “You know how broadly they interpret the First Law. And why it has to be that way. By unanimous vote, they have already given the Blackstaff the order to execute your death warrant, and suspended it. If you cross the line, they’ll send him. And if he won’t do it, he’ll be charged with treason. So for your sake—and his—don’t make us take action.”

  “You son of a bitch,” I said quietly.

  “We don’t fight monsters fair,” he said. “I learned that from you.”

  We stood there quietly for a moment.

  “It doesn’t have to be like this,” I said.

  “It does,” Ramirez replied. “You made that call when you didn’t talk to me. And sixty thousand people died.”

  I let out a frustrated breath.

  “One of these days,” I said, “you’re going to look back at today and feel really stupid.”

  “Is that a threat?” he asked.

  “No, you knob.” I sighed wearily. “Just a fact.”

  “The Council has spoken,” he said, just as tiredly, and turned to go.

  “No,” I said.

  He paused. “What?”

  “No,” I said again, a little firmer. “The White Council has gotten to bully wizards for a long time, and they think they have the right. I say they don’t.”

  Ramirez tilted his head. “Don’t talk yourself into something I can’t ignore, Dresden.”

  I grimaced. “Carlos. I mean to live my life. You’ve cast me out, and you think that means I’m vulnerable. Maybe you ought to rethink that.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Why don’t you ask Ethniu how vulnerable I am?” I said quietly. “We can. If you’d like.”

  I let that one hang there, while he stared at me.

  “To say nothing about how Mab would react to the death of the Winter Knight,” I continued. “The Winter Lady might not take it kindly, either, and you saw what she’s capable of doing.”

  Carlos’s cheek twitched. “Yes. I did.”

  I paused and said, “That was a threat, Carlos. I’m going to live here and do what I’ve always done. I want you to leave me in peace. And I’ll do the same in return. The way things are in the world, I don’t think the Council can afford to push things that far. Not for little old me.”

  Ramirez exhaled. “You’re taking one hell of a risk, Harry.”

  “I don’t like being told what to do,” I said. “I let you push me around, who the hell am I?”

  “Yeah,” Ramirez said. “Who the hell are you?”

  It was quiet.

&nb
sp; “Goodbye,” he said quietly.

  And then he left.

  Back at the car, Michael said, “That looked grim. What happened?”

  “Rest of the White Council was pretty nervous about the guy who soloed a Titan, I guess,” I said. “They voted. I’m an outlaw. Like the old days.”

  Michael considered that for a moment. Then he said, quietly and firmly, “Those fuckers.”

  I stumbled on the slippery grass in the rain and fell on my ass.

  And it didn’t stop there. Michael swore. My friend cursed a blue streak like a dozen sailors picking a dozen fights. He swore profanities that would have made a fallen angel blush. He swore in three different languages that I recognized, and in a dozen I didn’t. He swore like a man with a forty-year pent-up hurricane of ranting profanity in his chest that had been looking for a way to come out.

  When he was finished he looked up at the rain and said, “I’ll be happy to do penance, Lord. But some things need to be said.” Then he turned to me, extended his hand, and said, firmly, “You are always welcome in my house, Harry Dresden. In fact, Charity told me to invite you and Maggie over for Christmas Eve and morning with us. It’s hard for us to think of Christmas without her. And you’re still coming for Sunday dinner, aren’t you? The place is still pretty cut up from where those lunatics came in the house, but I think a couple of weeks of work should set it right. . . .”

  I took my friend’s hand.

  There was rain in my eyes.

  * * *

  * * *

  It took only days for rumors to spread that there were beings in town sniffing around for my trail, bad guys I’d crossed or annoyed at some point in the past. I didn’t have the imprimatur of the White Council anymore. And while Mab would speak very loudly if anyone moved against the Winter Court, if her Winter Knight got himself killed because of his own stupid choices, she wouldn’t lose much sleep, apart from the stress of finding a replacement.

  That, combined with my injuries, kept me indoors for a few days. I got my arm set and put in a cast. I was pretty sure my joints had voided their warranties at the very least, but those first few days were full of desperation where medical care was involved, and every church and hospital overflowed with the wounded. It took the broken bone and the fact that I knew Lamar to even rate acknowledgment in triage, in the battle’s immediate aftermath.