The Ultimate Dresden Omnibus, 0-15

by Butcher, Jim

  “Genosa publicly defied Raith’s authority,” I said. “Arturo told me that someone had been slowly buying up the adult-movie companies, manipulating things from behind the scenes. Trace the money trail back and I’d bet you dollars to doughnuts that you’ll find that it’s Raith and that he owns Silverlight. By leaving Silverlight Studios and going off to break stereotypes by doing his own movies, Genosa was defying Raith’s authority in a very public way.”

  “So you’re saying that the White Court controls the erotica industry?”

  “Or at least a bunch of it,” I confirmed. “Think about it. They can influence people’s opinions of all kinds of things—what physical beauty is, what sex is, how one should react to temptation, what is acceptable behavior in intimate relationships. My God, Murph, it’s like training deer to come to a particular feeding point to make stalking and killing them easier.”

  Her mouth fell open for a moment. “God. That’s . . . that’s sort of terrifying. That’s huge.”

  “And insidious,” I said. “I never even thought about something like that happening. Or maybe it’s fairer to say that it’s been happening. Maybe Raith was just taking over the business from some other player in the White Court.”

  “So when Genosa thumbed his nose at Silverlight, it made Lord Raith look even weaker.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “A mere human defying the White King. And Raith couldn’t send Lara to control him, either, because Genosa is in love.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The White Court can’t touch someone who is in love,” I said. “Real love. If they try to feed on them, it causes them physical agony. It’s . . . their holy water, I guess you could say. Their silver bullet. They’re terrified of it.”

  Murphy’s eyes brightened and she nodded. “Raith wasn’t able to control Genosa, so he had to find a way to torpedo the guy instead, or lose face.”

  “And be torn from his position of power. Exactly.”

  “Why not just kill Genosa?”

  I shook my head. “The White Court seems to pride itself on elegance when it comes to power games. Thomas told me that when the Whites go to war with one another, they do it through indirect means. Cat’s-paws. The more untraceable the better. They believe that intelligence and manipulation are more important than mere strength. If Raith just popped a cap in Arturo, it would have been still another loss of face. So . . .”

  “So he finds someone he can control,” Murphy said. “He sets them up to find out that the new wife is a danger to their positions, and he does it in the worst possible way, to make them readier to take action. He even hands them the murder weapon—a big, nasty dark ritual. He’s not sure who it is, so he tells them to get rid of whoever Genosa is secretly engaged to. They’ve got a means, a motive, and an opportunity. Even in magical circles, I’ll bet no one’s going to be able to easily prove it was Raith who was responsible for the death of the woman Arturo was engaged to.”

  “And in love with,” I said. “For Lord Raith it’s a win-win situation. If they kill the fiancée, it will destabilize Genosa and hamper his ability to produce films. Hell, maybe Raith planned to wait until he fell into a depression afterward, and then send one of the ex-wives after a while to offer comfort, seduce him, and leave him vulnerable to Lara’s control. If they don’t manage to kill the fiancée, they might still create enough havoc and confusion to derail Genosa’s work.”

  “And even if someone on the spooky end of the block figures out whodunit, Raith has it set it up so that they can’t be traced back to him.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Meanwhile, Arturo is back in the fold and Raith has reconsolidated his power base. End of problem.”

  “But not if you interfere and stop him.”

  “Not if I interfere and stop him,” I agreed. “So once Raith gets word that I’m sticking my nose into his business, he brings in Lara to keep an eye on me and take me out if she can.”

  “Or just take you,” Murphy said. “If this guy is a schemer, maybe he thought it would be great to have this Lara get hooks into you.”

  The puppy stirred, disturbed. I shivered and petted him. “Ugh,” I said. “But it didn’t work, and I’m close to blowing the whole thing wide open. Now he’ll have to take a swing at me and get me out of the picture.”

  Murphy made a growling sound. “Gutless bastard. Going through other people like that.”

  “It’s smart,” I said. “If he really has been weakened, he wouldn’t want to take on anyone from the White Council directly. Only a fool goes toe to toe with a stronger enemy. That’s why Thomas did the same thing as his father—recruiting me to go up against him.”

  Murphy whistled. “You’re right. How the hell did you get this bag of snakes?”

  “Clean living,” I said.

  “You should tell Thomas to get lost,” Murphy said.

  “Can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  I looked at her in silence.

  Her eyes widened. She understood. “It’s him. He’s family.”

  “Half brother,” I said. “Our mother used to hang around with Lord Raith.”

  She nodded. “So what are you going to do?”

  “Survive.”

  “I mean about Thomas.”

  “I’ll burn that bridge when I come to it.”

  “Fair enough,” Murphy said. “But what is your next move?”

  “Go to Thomas,” I said. “Make him help.” I looked down at my bandaged hand. “I need a car. And a driver.”

  “Done,” said Murphy.

  I frowned, thinking. “And I might need something else from you tonight. Something tough.”

  “What?”

  I told her.

  She stared silently past me for a moment and then said, “God, Harry.”

  “I know. I hate to ask it. But it’s our only shot. I don’t think we can win this one with simple firepower.”

  She shivered. “Okay.”

  “You sure? You don’t have to do it.”

  “I’m with you,” she said.

  “Thank you, Karrin.”

  She gave me a small smile. “At least this way I feel like I get to do something to help.”

  “Don’t be silly,” I said. “The image of you gunfighting in your panties is going to boost my morale for years.”

  She kicked my leg gently with hers, but her smile was somewhat wooden. She looked down to focus on the puppy, who promptly rolled over on his back, chewing at her fingers.

  “You okay?” I asked. “You got kinda quiet.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Mostly. It’s just . . .”

  “Just?”

  She shook her head. “It’s been sort of a stressful day for me, relationship-wise.”

  I know what you mean, I thought.

  “I mean, first that asshole Rich and Lisa. And . . .” She glanced at me, her cheeks pink. “And this thing with Kincaid.”

  “You mean him taking your pants off?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. It’s been . . . well, it’s been a really, really long time since a good-looking man took my pants off. I sort of forgot how much I enjoyed it. I mean, I know this is just a reaction to the danger and adrenaline and so on, but still. I’ve never reacted that strongly to a simple touch.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  She sighed. “Well, you asked. It’s got me a little distracted. That’s all.”

  “Just so you know,” I said, “I don’t think he’s human. I think he’s pretty major bad news.”

  “Yeah,” Murphy said, her voice annoyed. “It’s never the nice guys who get a girl worked up.”

  Apparently not. “Oh,” I said again.

  “I’ll call a cab,” Murphy said. “Get some clothes and my bike. The car’s still back at the park, and there might still be family there. Give me about an hour, and I’ll be ready to take you where you need to go, if you’re able.”

  “I have to be,” I said.

  Murphy called the cab, and just as it got there
Ebenezar opened the door, carrying a brown paper grocery sack. I looked up at him, feeling a sudden blend of emotions—relief, affection, suspicion, disappointment, betrayal. It was a mess.

  He saw the look. He stopped in the doorway and said, “Hoss. How’s the hand?”

  “Starting to feel things again,” I said. “But I figure I’ll pass out before it comes all the way back.”

  “I might be able to help a little, if you want me to.”

  “Let’s talk about that.”

  Murphy had pretty obviously picked up on the tension between us back at the shelter. She kept her tone and expression neutral and said, “My cab’s here, Harry. See you in an hour.”

  “Thanks, Murph,” I said.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Murphy,” Ebenezar said. He corrected himself almost instantly. “Lieutenant Murphy.”

  She almost smiled. Then she gave me a look, as if to ask me if it was all right to leave me with the old man. I nodded and she left.

  “Close the door,” I told Ebenezar.

  He did, and turned to face me. “So. What do you want me to tell you?”

  “The truth,” I said. “I want the truth.”

  “No, you don’t,” Ebenezar said. “Or at least not now. Harry, you have to trust me on this one.”

  “No. I don’t,” I responded. My voice sounded rough and raw. “I’ve trusted you for years. Completely. I’ve built up some credit. You owe me.”

  Ebenezar looked away.

  “I want answers. I want the truth.”

  “It will hurt,” he said.

  “The truth does that sometimes. I don’t care.”

  “I do,” he said. “Boy, there is no one, no one, I would hate to hurt as much as you. And this is too much to lay on your shoulders, especially right now. It could get you killed, Harry.”

  “That isn’t your decision to make,” I said quietly. It surprised me how calm I sounded. “I want the truth. Give it to me. Or get out of my home and never come back.”

  Frustration, even true anger flickered across the old man’s face. He took a deep breath, then nodded. He put the grocery sack down on my coffee table and folded his arms, facing my fireplace. The lines on his face looked deeper. His eyes focused into the fire, or through it, and they were hard, somehow frightening.

  “All right,” he said. “Ask. I’ll answer. But this could change things for you, Harry. It could change the way you think and feel.”

  “About what?”

  “About yourself. About me. About the White Council. About everything.”

  “I can take it.”

  Ebenezar nodded. “All right, Hoss. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  “Let’s start simple,” I said. “How do you know Kincaid?”

  He blew out a breath, cheeks puffing out. “He’s in the trade.”

  “The trade?”

  “Yes.” Ebenezar sat down on the other end of the couch. The puppy got up on wobbling legs and snuffled over to examine him. His tail started wagging. Ebenezar gave the little dog a brief smile and scratched his ears. “Most of the major supernatural powers have someone for that kind of work. Ortega was the Red Court’s, for example. Kincaid and I are contemporaries, of a sort.”

  “You’re assassins,” I said.

  He didn’t deny it.

  “Didn’t look like you liked him much,” I said.

  “There are proprieties between us,” Ebenezar said. “A measure of professional courtesy and respect. Boundaries. Kincaid crossed them about a century ago in Istanbul.”

  “He’s not human?”

  Ebenezar shook his head.

  “Then what is he?”

  “There are people walking around who carry the blood of the Nevernever in them,” Ebenezar said. “Changelings, for one, those who are half-Sidhe. The faeries aren’t the only ones who can breed with humanity, though, and the scions of such unions can have a lot of power. Their offspring are usually malformed. Freakish. Often insane. But sometimes the child looks human.”

  “Like Kincaid.”

  Ebenezar nodded. “He’s older than I am. When I met him, I still had hair and he had been serving the creature for centuries.”

  “What creature?” I asked.

  “The creature,” Ebenezar said. “Another half mortal like Kincaid. Vlad Drakul.”

  I blinked. “Vlad Tepesh? Dracula?”

  Ebenezar shook his head. “Dracula was the son of Drakul, and pretty pale and skinny by comparison. Went to the Black Court as a kind of teenage rebellion. The original creature is . . . well. Formidable. Dangerous. Cruel. And Kincaid was his right arm for centuries. He was known as the Hound of Hell. Or just the Hellhound.”

  “And he’s afraid of you,” I said, my voice bitter. “Blackstaff McCoy. I guess that’s your working name.”

  “Something like that. The name . . . is a long story.”

  “Get started, then,” I said.

  He nodded, absently rubbing the puppy behind the ears. “Ever since the founding of the White Council, ever since the first wizards gathered to lay down the Laws of Magic, there has been someone interested in tearing it apart,” he said. “The vampires, for one. The faeries have all been at odds with us at one time or another. And there have always been wizards who thought the world would be a nicer place without the Council in it.”

  “Gee,” I said. “I just can’t figure why any wizard would think that.”

  Ebenezar’s voice lashed out, harsh and cold. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, boy. You don’t know what you’re saying. Within my own lifetime, there have been times and places where even speaking those words could have been worth your life.”

  “Gosh, I’d hate to for my life to be in jeopardy. Why did he call you Blackstaff?” I asked, my voice hardening. An intuition hit me. “It’s not a nickname,” I said. “Is it. It’s a title.”

  “A title,” he said. “A solution. At times, the White Council found itself bound by its own laws while its enemies had no such constraints. So an office was created. A position within the Council. A mark of status. One wizard, and only one, was given the freedom to choose when the Laws had been perverted, and turned as weapons against us.”

  I stared at him for a moment and then said, “After all that you taught me about magic. That it came from life. That it was a force that came from the deepest desires of the heart. That we have a responsibility to use it wisely—hell, to be wise, and kind, and honorable, to make sure that the power gets used wisely. You taught me all of that. And now you’re telling me that it doesn’t mean anything. That the whole time you were standing there with a license to kill.”

  The lines in the old man’s face looked hard and bitter. He nodded. “To kill. To enthrall. To invade the thoughts of another mortal. To seek knowledge and power from beyond the Outer Gates. To transform others. To reach beyond the borders of life. To swim against the currents of time.”

  “You’re the White Council’s wetworks man,” I said. “For all their prattle about the just and wise use of magic, when the wisdom and justice of the Laws of Magic get inconvenient, they have an assassin. You do that for them.”

  He said nothing.

  “You kill people.”

  “Yes.” Ebenezar’s face looked like something carved in stone, and his voice was quietly harsh. “When there is no choice. When lives are at stake. When the lack of action would mean—” He cut himself off, jaw working. “I didn’t want it. I still don’t. But when I have to, I act.”

  “Like at Casaverde,” I said. “You hit Ortega’s stronghold when he escaped our duel.”

  “Yes,” he said, still remote. “Ortega killed more of the White Council than any enemy in our history during the attack at Archangel.” His voice faltered for a moment. “He killed Simon. My friend. Then he came here and tried to kill you, Hoss. And he was coming back here to finish the job as soon as he recovered. So I hit Casaverde. Killed him and almost two hundred of his personal retainers
. And I killed nearly a hundred people there in the house with them. Servants. Followers. Food.”

  I felt sick. “You told me it would be on the news. I thought maybe it was the Council. Or that you’d done it without killing anyone but vampires. I had time to think about it later, but . . . I wanted to believe you’d done what was right.”

  “There’s what’s right,” the old man said, “and then there’s what’s necessary. They ain’t always the same.”

  “Casaverde wasn’t the only necessary thing you did,” I said. “Was it.”

  “Casaverde,” Ebenezar said, his voice shaking. “Tunguska. New Madrid. Krakatoa. A dozen more. God help me, a dozen more at least.”

  I stared at him for a long moment. Then I said, “You told me the Council assigned me to live with you because they wanted to annoy you. But that wasn’t it. Because you don’t send a potentially dangerous criminal element to live with your hatchet man if you want to rehabilitate him.”

  He nodded. “My orders were to observe you. And kill you if you showed the least bit of rebelliousness.”

  “Kill me.” I rubbed at my eyes. The pounding in my hand grew worse. “As I remember, I got rebellious with you more than once.”

  “You did,” he said.

  “Then why didn’t you kill me?”

  “Jehoshaphat, boy. What’s the point of having a license to ignore the will of the Council if you aren’t going to use it?” He shook his head, a tired smile briefly appearing on his mouth. “It wasn’t your fault you got raised by that son of a bitch DuMorne. You were a dumb kid, you were angry, and afraid, and your magic was strong as hell. But that didn’t mean you needed killing. They gave the judgment to me. I used it. They aren’t happy with how I used it, but I did.”

  I stared at him. “There’s something else you aren’t telling me.”

  He was silent for a minute. Then two. And a while later he said, “The Council knew that you were the son of Margaret LeFay. They knew that she was one of the wizards who had turned the Council’s own laws against it. She was guilty of violating the First Law, among others, and she had . . . unsavory associations with various entities of dubious reputation. The Wardens were under orders to arrest her on sight. She’d have been tried and executed in moments when she was brought before the Council.”