by Jim Butcher
Why would he?
He was a friend. He trusted me.
I felt sick.
“Are you sure you can pull that off on another wizard, Dresden?” Lara asked, her voice intent.
“No reason it shouldn’t work,” I said. “And if I do it to anyone but another wizard, I’m definitely crossing the line, just like that stupid bastard with the violin.”
“If you’re caught—”
“If any of us are caught, we’re all screwed,” I said. “No risk, no reward.”
“Point,” Lara said. “What next?”
“Next is plausibly getting you both out of the reception,” Murphy said.
“What do we use to do that?” Lara asked.
Murphy smiled grimly. “Expectations.”
We passed by Childs and his security dog again, to reenter the great hall. Once more, the room had been arranged by camps, borders subtly marked by style of furniture and swaths of overhead silk, giving the whole place a bit of a circus atmosphere, with a single difference—in the exact center of the room, at the focus of all the camps, a small circular speaking stage had been erected.
Music was playing, violins again. Evidently Marcone had managed to replace the offending Sidhe fiddler from the night before. Or maybe the guy lived. I had the same emotions either way.
Speaking of which, the man himself was present tonight, sitting and speaking with Etri on a deep green and dark carved-redwood old-world leather sofa, stuffed thick with cushioning, with gold studs as upholstery pins. Baron Marcone was a handsome man of middle years dressed in an immaculate grey business suit. Perhaps slightly taller than average, he had barely changed in all the years I’d known him. The few marks of age that had come upon him only made him look more reserved, severe, and dangerous.
He was flanked by Sigrun Gard and Hendricks, like always. Gard was a woman who was tall enough to play basketball and built like a powerlifter, visibly girded with muscle. She wore a suit that was every bit as nice as Marcone’s, and her golden blond hair was held back in a tight, complicated, neat braid that left nothing much to grab onto. The lines of the suit were marred by the axe she wore strapped to her back, but it didn’t look like the fashion police were going to have the courage to give her a hard time about it.
Hendricks, who stood at the other end of the couch, was a ginger Mack truck wearing a suit. He had a heavy brow ridge and had grown out a short beard that had come out several shades darker than his hair, and he had hands like shovels. His suit had been custom-made, but not to fit him—it was spending all its time trying not to show off the weapons he was doubtless carrying underneath it.
Marcone glanced up as the White Council’s delegation entered together, and he looked at me for a moment, his expression neutral. The last time I’d taken a big case, I’d done considerable damage to his vault’s exterior, if not much to the contents inside, and one of his people had been killed by the lunatics I’d been working with. I’d paid the weregild for the man’s death—but appeasing someone and being at peace with them were two very different things.
I returned the look with as much of a poker face as I could, and we both looked elsewhere at the same moment, as if we’d planned it. I clenched my jaw. Jerk. I couldn’t think of a time when I hadn’t wanted to punch the guy right in his strong-jawed mouth.
I briefly toyed with the image of Marcone, with several missing teeth, reclining in a dentist’s chair for repair work while Gard and Hendricks menaced the poor DDS with their glowers, and it made me smile. There. Who says I can’t put on a proper party face? I knew the outfit had doctors. Did they also have dentists?
If any underworld boss in the world had a dental plan for his employees, it would be Marcone.
Which reminded me, I should probably be looking into a checkup for Maggie before she went to her new school in the fall, and—No, wait. Focus, Dresden. Survive the evening now; plan Maggie’s dental appointments later.
So I plunged into the party. I exchanged brief words with River Shoulders as he spoke to Evanna. Across from Winter’s blue and purple silks were Summer’s golden and green colors, and I stepped up to the edge of their camp to trade nods with the Summer Lady, Sarissa, and a firm handshake with Fix, the Summer Knight, my opposite number on that side of things and a decent guy, all while being eyed by the Summer Sidhe security detachment they had with them.
I walked past the LaChaise clan and received several dark glares, which I returned with interest. I’m not particularly tolerant on the subject of ghouls, due to the fact that I’d seen them eat some kids I’d been teaching during the war with the now-deceased Red Court. Their particular clan hadn’t been all that easy on people living in the Mississippi delta region, either, and I’d butted heads with them on side cases in the past. Some of LaChaise’s people looked like they wanted to start a fight, but a few glances toward Mab’s still-empty black chair in Winter’s camp seemed to make them think better of it.
I’d be fine with fighting them, if they wanted to start things. I’m not saying that the only good ghoul was a dead ghoul, but I’d never met one that made me think otherwise, and I’d seen too many corpses they’d made to let it bother me. But as long as they respected the truce, they were guests and under the protection of their host. Maybe I could hope for some kind of misunderstanding later on, when the talks were done and everyone was heading home.
There were actually a few folks dancing in the center of the floor, in the open space around the speaker’s podium. Evanna and River Shoulders made a particularly odd couple, with River holding the svartalf lady completely off the ground, with one hand, while walking through the steps of a cautious, stately waltz.
Freydis absolutely slinked up to me, looking fabulous in her white and silver dress. Granted, most ladies wouldn’t have had quite so many fine old scars to show off as she did, but they only lent her a dangerously sexy aura. The red-haired Valkyrie gave me a dazzling smile, ran her hand over my arm, and said, “Hey there, seidrmadr. Who’s a girl gotta stab to get a dance around here?”
I smiled and said, very quietly, “Mab’s not even here yet.”
Freydis ignored my concern and sidled close to me, sliding her left hand up to my shoulder and taking my left hand with her right. “Oh no. You have to dance with a stunning woman for a few extra moments. Whatever will you do, poor bastard?”
Well. She had a point there. So I lifted my arm, put a hand on her waist, and stepped into a simple waltz.
Freydis hadn’t waltzed before, but she picked it up fast and within a minute was flowing gracefully through the steps with me. She squeezed my left hand and asked, “The scars. Burns?”
“Black Court vampire had an office building in a psychic armlock,” I said. “One of her Renfields had a makeshift flamethrower.”
“Just the hand? Or does it go all the way up?”
“To the wrist, on the front,” I said. “Less on the back. I was holding up a shield with that hand.”
“You killed them, I take it?”
“Why would you say that?”
“In my experience, burns make mortals rather vengeful.”
“It’s … a long story,” I said. “Vamp got away. Mavra.”
“Ah, that one,” Freydis said. “She’s earned a bit of a reputation over the years.”
“Oh?”
“I probably shouldn’t tell you this for free, but I adore dancing, I rarely get the chance, and my boss likes you,” Freydis said.
I stopped to glance over at Vadderung in his chair. Once more he was seated across from Ferrovax- and the two were regarding each other steadily.
“He seems like the kind of guy who would tell you to say something like that when he asked you to pass on some information to me,” I said.
Her green eyes flashed with appreciation. “Oh. You just went from a three to a six, seidermadr. I like men who look past the surface of things. And you can dance.”
“Lucky me,” I said. “So?”
“So if you get me
drunk enough, and no one else more interesting turns up, I could show you all kinds of interesting scars. Bring your woman and we can skip some of the drinking.”
That made my cheeks feel warm. “Um. I meant Mavra,” I said.
“Just that we last spotted her movements about a year ago,” Freydis said, unperturbed at the change of subject. “If you were counting on her never coming back, you might need to go over your numbers again.”
“Reunion week around here,” I complained.
“Oh, poor boy,” Freydis said, thrusting out her lower lip mockingly. “Live as long as I have and you’ll realize that none of us ever really escapes the past. It just keeps coming back to haunt you.”
“I haven’t seen much to suggest otherwise,” I admitted. The piece ended and we segued from a waltz into a fox-trot, which again she picked up almost immediately, and during one of the turns I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and the temperature of the room seemed to drop about three degrees. “There. Is that her?”
“Cold, pretty, and scary?” Freydis asked. “Yes, that’s her. Should we do it now?”
“Wait for her to get settled,” I said.
Her green eyes tracked past my shoulder, watching intently. “She’s talking to the big grendelkin.”
“He’s not a grendelkin,” I muttered.
She arched a brow at me.
“You’ll have to trust me. The Forest People are different than the grendelkin.”
“Big, hairy, strong, stinky … If it walks like a Grendel and talks like a—”
“You and I,” I said, meeting the Valkyrie’s eyes, “are about to have a serious argument.”
Freydis’s eyes flared with defiance—but she looked away first.
“That’s River Shoulders. He’s okay. Tell your boss I said that.”
“Why don’t you do it yourself?”
“Because as long as he’s using a messenger, I will, too,” I said. “Not sure why he’s keeping his distance, but I’ll respect it. Could be he doesn’t want to look too chummy with me here. Point is, tell him that River Shoulders isn’t a grendelkin.”
“He’s chatty enough to be one,” Freydis growled. The next turn let me see River Shoulders speaking earnestly—how else?—to Mab. Mab was listening to him with intense focus. How else? I saw her nod, speak a short phrase, and turn to continue toward her chair in her appointed camp. Molly was walking a step behind her and to her right. She paused to put a hand on River’s massive arm and say something that made him let out a rumbling chuckle. She beamed up at him, patted his arm again, and kept pace with Mab.
“There,” Freydis said a moment later as the turn took Mab out of my sight. “She’s sitting.”
I leaned down close to Freydis’s ear and said, “Well. I guess we should do it, then.”
“Nothing personal, tiger,” she murmured back into mine.
Then Freydis drew back, her face drawn up in an expression of outrage, and smacked me.
Okay.
Maybe that was understating it.
The Valkyrie, who could potentially have lifted an entire automobile and chucked it a short distance, dealt me an open-hand blow to the cheekbone with the full power of her body. It was like taking a right cross from a professional slugger. If I hadn’t rolled with it, she’d have knocked my startled ass completely unconscious.
The script called for me to grope her a bit as she pulled away from me, exactly the kind of behavior everyone expected from the Winter Knight, but my brains were so scrambled I could barely manage to make it look like a socially awkward hug she was avoiding. She stalked over to the White Court’s camp, straight up to Lara. The redhead looked fantastic and drew the attention of the room as she did it. She reported to Lara in low tones, thrusting a fingertip at me along the way, her expression going from outrage to strain to visible distress.
Lara glared daggers at me from across the floor, sliding a supportive arm around Freydis’s shoulders. She guided the other woman across the room, pausing at the same doorway where I’d gotten some quiet space last night. She spoke to one of the caterers and then stepped through with Freydis.
The room had gone quiet except for the musicians, and everyone was looking at me.
“Sir Knight,” came Mab’s voice, very clearly and very calmly.
That got everyone’s attention, though they mostly tried not to be obvious about it. Even Vadderung and Ferrovax broke their casual staring contest to regard what else was happening in the room.
I could have sworn Mab’s gown was deep purple when she entered the hall a moment ago, but when I looked back up at her seat, the cloth had turned as dark as midnight, and streaks of black were flowing through her silver-white hair.
We were about ten seconds into this heist and Mab was already halfway into her full form as judge, jury, and executioner of Winter. Perfect.
I looked aside and found myself facing my grandfather. Ebenezar gave me a look that was as panicked as I’d ever seen him give. I wanted to reassure him, somehow, to throw a wink at him. But I didn’t want anyone to see that gesture, not with what was coming up. So instead, I gave him a small shrug, turned back to Mab, and bowed my head. Then I hurried over to her.
“Sir Knight,” Mab said, her voice lowered to an intimate volume. “You have annoyed a valuable ally. Explain yourself.”
“You don’t want me to,” I replied in a similar tone. “Look, I need to ask you for something I never really expected to want from you.”
Mab arched a brow. “And that is?”
“Your trust,” I said. “That I’m acting on your behalf.”
Mab’s eyes widened slightly.
“I need your assistance,” I said. “Look at the door Lara just left through, and then at me like you want to murder me.”
“For that, I shall hardly need to invoke a dramatic muse,” Mab murmured. But she thrust her chin toward the door Lara had just departed through and then turned her wide dark eyes back to mine. “This is a public pantomime. You play for high stakes.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Do not bring me embarrassment with your failure.”
“No, my queen,” I said, loud enough for the room to hear. I stepped back from her and bowed deeply at the waist, before putting on an expression that I assumed looked angry and chagrined, and hurrying after Lara.
“What good is it going to do us to get into the gym?” Lara asked. “I’ve seen it. There’s no way down to the holding cell from there.”
Murphy smirked. “Like I said. You visited the place a few times. I lived there. Especially in the gym.”
One of Marcone’s people in the red jackets looked like he might disagree with me going up the stairs to the gym, but I pacified him with upraised hands and said, “I need to sort this out or my boss is gonna kill me. Just give me a minute.”
It was one of the same guys from the night before. The guard looked from me over toward Marcone’s camp. Marcone didn’t look up from his conversation, but Hendricks, at his right hand, gave the guard a nod.
The guard stepped back with a grimace and said, “Watch that Freydis, man. She’ll gut you as soon as look at you.”
“Spoken like a three,” I said. He looked confused. I kept moving.
I came up the stairs to the soft sounds of Freydis’s sobs. Lara was standing by the nearest corner of the boxing ring with her arms around the Valkyrie’s shoulders. I checked the stairs behind me to be sure that they were empty, closed the door, and said, “Clear.”
“Od’s blood, I should have been an actress,” Freydis said in a pleased voice, standing clear of Lara.
“Well. The Einherjaren weren’t buying it,” I said. “Everyone knows you’re up to something.”
Lara smirked at me. Vampiric allure completely aside, the woman had a smirk that was to die for, and her little black dress was stylish and stunning. She flexed her hands like claws and said, “Getting my hooks into Mab’s Knight, of course.”
“Obviously,” I said. I started for the back of the room, wher
e the towels were stacked on a shelf, ready to be used. I shrugged out of my suit coat and vest as I went, and then out of the shoes, pants, and shirt, until I was left in just boxer briefs, an undershirt, and socks. It was necessary.
“I still believe this is a serious breach of security planning,” Lara complained as she lifted her dress over her head and tossed it on a bench. She added her shoes, more carefully, and was wearing nothing else. Excellently. I averted my eyes.
“You don’t know Einherjaren,” Freydis insisted in a firm tone. “Once they get it in their heads that something needs to be one way, that’s it. That’s how it needs to be.”
Lara sounded as if she was speaking with her nose wrinkled up. “Still. An old privy shaft?”
“Once they realized they could use it to drop their towels right next to the laundry room in the basement, instead of carrying them down in hampers, there was no stopping it,” Freydis said. “They just knocked holes in the wall with the dumbbells and started dropping towels down the shaft. Marcone had to give in with grace and installed dumbwaiter doors.”
I went to said door, flipped a latch, and opened it. It rolled up smoothly to reveal a shaft that began overhead and led straight down into the darkness. It was not excessively large.
There was an incredibly wonderful smell, flowers and cinnamon and something darker and sweeter, and then Lara was standing next to me, her bare shoulder against my elbow. My elbow approved, ecstatically—but Lara jumped and let out a little truncated sound of discomfort.
She glanced down at her shoulder, where a patch the shape, I guess, of the end of my elbow was turning red, as though she’d brushed it against a hot pan.
Vampires of the White Court had a severe allergy to sincere love, the way the Black Court doesn’t like sunbathing. Skin-to-skin contact with people who love and who are loved in return is hardest of all on the White Court.
Which meant that …
Oh.
Well. I hadn’t been thinking about having that aura of protection around me when Karrin and I got busy, but it was nice to have it.
And it was nice to know it was real. Very nice.