The Ultimate Dresden Omnibus, 0-15

by Butcher, Jim

  I fought off the pressure of that voice and growled, “Back. Off.” My inner Quixote was not to be entirely denied though, and I added, “Please.”

  She stared at me for a moment, and then blinked her eyes slowly, as if seeing me for the first time. “Empty night,” she murmured, her tone one of someone speaking an oath. “You’re Harry Dresden.”

  “Don’t feel bad. I cleverly concealed my identity as Harry the Production Assistant.”

  She pursed her lips (which also looked delicious) and said, “Why are you threatening my brother?”

  “It was a slow night and everyone else was busy.”

  There wasn’t even the hint of a warning. One of the little guns barked, there was a flash of scarlet pain in my head, and I collapsed to one knee.

  I kept the blasting rod trained on Thomas and lifted my hand to my ear. It came away wet with droplets of blood, but the pain had begun to recede. Lara arched a delicate eyebrow at me. Hell’s bells. She’d grazed my ear with a bullet. With that kind of skill, between the eyes would be no trick at all.

  “Normally I would admire that kind of piquant retort,” she said in a silken, quiet voice. Probably because she thought it sounded scarier than if she’d said it loudly. “But where my little brother is concerned, I am in no mood to play games.”

  “Point taken,” I said. My voice sounded shaky. I lowered the blasting rod until it wasn’t pointing at Thomas, and eased away the power held ready in it. The sullen fire at the tip of the rod went out.

  “Lovely,” she said, but she didn’t lower the twin pistols. The autumn’s evening breeze blew her dark, glossy hair around her head, and her grey eyes shone silver in the half-light.

  “Harry,” Thomas said. “This is my oldest sister, Lara. Lara, Harry Dresden.”

  “A pleasure,” she said. “Thomas, step out from behind the wizard. I don’t want one of these rounds to take you if they go through.”

  My guts turned to water. I still had my blasting rod in hand, but Lara could pull the trigger quicker than I could aim and loose a strike at her.

  “Wait,” Thomas said. He pushed himself up to one knee and put himself between me and the other White vampire. “Don’t kill him.”

  That earned Thomas an arched eyebrow, but a smile haunted her mouth. “And why not?”

  “There’s the chance that he’d be able to level his death curse, for one.”

  “True. And?”

  Thomas shrugged. “And I have personal reasons. I’d take it as a favor if we could discuss the matter first.”

  “So would I,” I added.

  Lara let the ghostly smile remain. “I find myself liking you, wizard, but . . .” She sighed. “There is little room for negotiation, Thomas. Dresden’s presence here is unacceptable. Arturo’s independent streak is an internal matter of the White Court.”

  “I didn’t come here to interfere with the White Court,” I said. “It wasn’t my intention at all.”

  She regarded me. “We all know what intentions are worth. Why then, wizard?”

  “That’s a good question,” I said, turning my head deliberately to Thomas. “I’d love to hear the answer.”

  Thomas’s expression become apprehensive. His gaze flicked to Lara, and I had the sudden impression that he was preparing to move against her.

  Lara frowned and said, “Thomas? What is he talking about?”

  “This is a tempest in a teapot, Lara,” Thomas said. “It’s nothing. Really.”

  Lara’s eyes widened. “You brought him into this?”

  “Um,” Thomas began.

  “You’re damn right he did,” I said. “You think I’d be here for the fun of it?”

  Lara’s mouth dropped open. “Thomas. You’ve entered the game now?”

  Thomas pressed his lips together for a few seconds, then rose slowly to his feet. He winced and put one hand to the small of his back. “Looks that way.”

  “He’ll kill you,” Lara said. “He’ll kill you and worse. You haven’t got a fraction of the strength you’d need to threaten him.”

  “That all depends,” Thomas said.

  “On what?” she asked.

  “On where the other members of the House decide to place their support.”

  She let out a short laugh of disbelief. “You think any of us would take your side over his?”

  “Why not,” Thomas said calmly. “Think about it. Father is strong, but he isn’t invincible. If he’s taken down by my influence, it leaves me in charge, and I’d be a hell of a lot easier to depose than he would. But if I lose, you can blame me for putting the psychic wristlock on you. Instant scapegoat. Life goes on and the only one to pay for it is me.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been reading Machiavelli again.”

  “To Justine at bedtime.”

  Lara became quiet for a moment, her expression pensive. Then she said, “This is ill-advised, Thomas.”

  “But—”

  “Your timing is horrible. Raith’s position is already precarious among the Houses. Internal instability now could leave us vulnerable to Skavis or Malvora or those like them. If they sense weakness they won’t hesitate to destroy us.”

  “Dad’s losing it,” Thomas countered. “He hasn’t been right for years, and we all know it. He’s getting old. It’s only a matter of time before the other Lords decide to take him—and when that happens, all of us will go down with him.”

  She shook her head. “Do you know how many brothers and sisters have said such words to me over the years? He has destroyed them all.”

  “They went up against him alone. I’m talking about all of us working together. We can do it.”

  “Why now, of all times?”

  “Why not now?”

  She frowned at Thomas, and stared intently at him for better than sixty seconds. Then she shivered, took a deep breath, and pointed one gun at my head. And the other at Thomas.

  “Lara,” he protested.

  “Take your hand out from your back. Now.”

  Thomas stiffened, but he moved his hand from his back slowly, fingers empty. I looked up and saw a bulge that brushed his shirt at the belt line.

  Lara nodded. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I really am quite fond of you, but you do not know Father the way I do. You aren’t the only Raith who takes advantage of being underestimated. He already suspects you have something afoot, and if he thinks for a moment I’m working with you, he’ll kill me. Without hesitation.”

  Thomas’s voice grew desperate. “Lara, if we act together—”

  “We will die together. If not at his hands than at Malvora’s and his like. I don’t have a choice. It gives me no pleasure to kill you.”

  “Then don’t do it!” he said.

  “And leave you to Father’s mercies? Even I have a few principles. I love you as much as anyone in the world, little brother, but I did not survive as long as I have by taking unnecessary risks.”

  Thomas swallowed. He didn’t look at me, but his balance shifted a little, and his shirt rode up enough to show me the handle of a gun he had tucked into the back of his jeans. I didn’t stare at it. I wouldn’t have time to grab it and shoot before Lara could gun me down, but if Thomas could distract her for a beat or two, there might be a chance.

  Thomas took a deep breath and said, “Lara.”

  Something in his voice had changed. The tone of it sounded the same, on the surface, but there was something beneath it that made the air sing with quiet, seductive power. It commanded attention. Hell, it commanded a lot of things, and it was creepy to hear it coming from him. I was glad that Thomas wasn’t addressing me, because it would have been damned confusing.

  “Lara,” he said again. I saw her sway a little as he spoke. “Let me talk to you.”

  Evidently the sway was induced more by the evening breeze and those high heels than it was by Thomas’s voice. “I’m afraid all you need say is good-bye, little brother.” Lara thumbed back the hammer on both guns, her features calm and remote. �
�And you’d best say it for wizard as well.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I’d been in hairier situations than this one. Actually, it’s sort of depressing, thinking how many times I’d been in them. But if experience had taught me anything, it was this:

  No matter how screwed up things are, they can get a whole lot worse.

  Case in point: our little standoff with Supertart.

  Thomas shouted and darted to his left, across my view of Lara. As he went, I reached for the pistol tucked into the back of his jeans. Judging by the grip, it was a semiautomatic, maybe one of those fancy German models that are as tiny as they are deadly. I grabbed it, and felt pretty slick to be doing the teamwork thing—but Thomas’s damned jeans were so tight that the gun didn’t come loose. I leaned too far in the effort and wound up sprawling on my side. All I got for my oh-so-clever maneuver was scraped fingertips and a good view of Lara Raith in gunfighting mode.

  I heard a shot go past, a kind of humming buzz in the air that provided an accent to the mild, barking report of the pistol. There were several shots in the space of a second or three. Two of them hit Thomas with ugly sounds of impact, one in the leg, and a second in the chest.

  At the same time he hurled a small ring of keys at Lara, and it probably saved my life. She swatted them aside with the gun that had been trained on me. It gave me a precious second or two, and it was time enough to bring up my blasting rod and loose a panicked strike at her. It was sloppy as hell, even with the blasting rod to help me focus my will, and instead of a wrist-thick beam of semicoherent flame, it came out in a cone of fire maybe thirty feet across.

  That made big noise—a thunderous thumping explosion as the heat displaced cool night air. Lara Raith had the reflexes that were depressingly common in all of those vampire types, and she darted out of the way of the flames. She leveled both guns at me as she did, blazing away like in those Hong Kong action movies. But evidently even Lara’s superhuman skill wasn’t enough to overcome surprise, lateral movement, a firestorm, and the spike heels. God bless the fashion industry and the blind luck that protects fools and wizards; she missed.

  I shook out my shield bracelet and hardened my will into a wall of unseen but solid force in front of me. The last few shots from Lara’s guns actually struck the shield, illuminating it in a flash of blue-and-white energy. I held the shield firmly in place and readied the blasting rod again, and faced Lara squarely.

  The vampire slipped into the shadows between the nearest building and a pair of huge industrial tanks and vanished from sight.

  I padded forward to Thomas, keeping the shield up and in the general direction of where Lara had disappeared. “Thomas,” I hissed. “Thomas, are you all right?”

  It was a long beat before he replied, his voice weak and shaking. “I don’t know. It hurts.”

  “You’ve been shot. It’s supposed to hurt.” I kept my eyes on the shadows, warily extending my senses as much as I could. “Can you walk?”

  “Don’t know,” he panted. “Can’t get my breath. Can’t feel my leg.”

  I flicked my eyes down to him and back out again. Thomas’s black T-shirt, was plastered to his chest on one side. He’d taken a hit in the lung, at least. If a major blood vessel had been struck, he was in trouble, vampire or not. The White Court were a resilient bunch, but in some ways they were just as fragile as the human beings they fed upon. He could heal up fast—I’d seen Thomas recover from broken ribs in a matter of hours—but if he bled out from a severed artery, he’d die like anyone else.

  “Just hold still,” I said. “Don’t try to move until we know where she is.”

  “That’ll get her,” Thomas panted. “The old sitting-duck ploy.”

  “Give me your gun,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “So that the next time you start talking I can shoot your wise ass.”

  He started to laugh, but it broke into agonized, wet coughing.

  “Dammit,” I muttered, and crouched down beside him. I set my blasting rod aside and slipped my right arm and one knee behind his back, trying to hold him vertical from the waist up.

  “You’d better get moving. I’ll manage.”

  “Would you shut up?” I demanded. I tried to ascertain the extent of his injuries with my free hand, but I’m no doctor. I found the hole in his chest, felt the blood coming out. The edges of the wound puckered and gripped at my hand. “Well,” I told him. “Your wound sucks. Here.” I took his right hand and pressed it hard against the hole. “Keep your hand there, man. Keep the pressure on. I can’t hold it and carry you out too.”

  “Forget carrying me,” he rasped. “Don’t be an idiot. She’ll kill us both.”

  “I can hold the shield,” I said.

  “If you can’t return fire, it won’t do you much good. Get clear, call the cops, then come back for me.”

  “You’re delirious,” I said. If I left him there alone, Lara would finish him. I got my right shoulder under his left arm and hauled him to his feet. He wasn’t as heavy as I would have expected, but dragging him up like that had to have hurt him. The pain locked the breath in his throat. “Come on,” I growled. “You’ve got a good leg. Help me.”

  His voice had become hollow, somehow ghostly, barely more than a whisper. “Just go. I can’t.”

  “You can. Shut up and help me.”

  I started walking as fast as I could back toward the street end of the industrial park. I kept my shield bracelet up, focusing my will into a barrier all around us. It wasn’t as strong as a more limited directional shield, but my eyes couldn’t be everywhere, and a smart opponent would shoot me in the back.

  Thomas would have been screaming if he could have gotten his breath. Over the next minute or two, his face went white—I mean, even more so than usual. He’d always been pale, but his skin took on the grey tone of a corpse, sooty hollows forming under his eyes. Even so, he managed to help me. Not much, but enough that I could keep us both moving without stumbling.

  I started to think that we were going to make it back safely, when I heard running footsteps and a woman rounded the corner ahead of us, her pale skin glowing in the dimness.

  I cursed, pushing more will into the shield, and crouched down, letting Thomas collapse ungraciously onto the gravel parking lot. I fumbled for his gun, found it, and whipped the weapon up. I flicked off the safety with my thumb, took a half second to aim, and pulled the trigger.

  “No,” Thomas gasped at the last possible instant. He leaned hard against me just as the gun went off, the barrel wavered, and the shot kicked up sparks on a concrete retaining wall fifty feet away. Panicked, I lined up the weapon again, though I knew it would be a useless gesture. I might have taken her out with a surprise shot, but there was no chance at all that I could outshoot Lara Raith in a direct confrontation.

  But it wasn’t Lara. I couldn’t see very far in the dimness, but Inari stumbled to a halt only a few feet shy of me, her eyes wide and her mouth open. “Oh, my God,” she cried. “Thomas! What happened? What have you done to him?”

  “Nothing!” I said. “He’s been hurt. For the love of Pete, help me.”

  She hesitated for a second, her eyes wide, and then rushed forward to Thomas. “Oh, my God. There’s blood! He’s b-bleeding!”

  I shoved my blasting rod at her. “Hold this,” I snapped.

  “What did you do to him?” she demanded. She had begun weeping. “Oh, Thomas.”

  I felt like screaming in frustration, and I tried to look at every possible place Lara might be, all at the same time. My instincts screamed that she was getting closer, and I wanted nothing more than to run away. “I told you, nothing! Just get moving and open the doors for me. We have to get back inside and call nine-one-one.”

  I bent down to pick up Thomas again.

  Inari Raith screamed in grief and rage. Then she used my blasting rod with both hands to clout me on the back of the neck with so much force that it snapped in half. Stars exploded over my vision and I di
dn’t even feel it when my face hit the gravel.

  Everything got real confused for a minute or two, and when I finally started stirring I heard Inari crying. “Lara, I don’t know what happened. He tried to shoot me, and Thomas isn’t awake. He might be dead.”

  I heard footsteps on the gravel, and Lara said, “Give me the gun.”

  “What do we do?” Inari said. She was still crying.

  Lara worked the slide on the gun with a couple of quiet clicks, checking the chamber. “Get inside,” she said, her tone firm and confident. “Call emergency services and the police. Now.”

  Inari got up and started to run off, leaving Thomas and me alone with the woman who had already half killed him. I tried to get up, but it was difficult. Everything kept spinning around.

  I managed to get to one knee just as a cold, slithery feeling washed down my spine.

  The three vampires of the Black Court did not announce their presence. They simply appeared as though formed from the shadows.

  One of them was the one-eared vamp I had smacked with the holy-water balloon. On either side of him stood two more Black Court vamps, both male, both dressed in funeral finery, and both of teenage proportions. They hadn’t been living corpses for very long—there were lividity marks on the arms and fingers of the first, and their faces hardly looked skeletal at all. Like the maimed vampire, they had long, dirty fingernails. Dried blood stained their faces and throats. And their eyes were filmy, stagnant pools.

  Inari screamed a horror-movie scream and stumbled back to Lara. Lara sucked in a sharp breath, bringing the gun into point-down firing stance, spinning in a slow circle to watch each of the Black Court vamps in turn.

  “Well, well,” rasped the maimed vampire. “What luck. The wizard and three Whites to boot. This will be entertaining.”

  At which point I felt another, stronger slither of vile and deadly magical energy.

  The malocchio. It was forming again, more powerfully than before—and I sensed that the deadly spell was already near and gathering more vicious power as it headed my way. Still dazed, I couldn’t do a damned thing about it.