by Butcher, Jim
He grunted. Physically, he’d bounced back from the nearly lethal feeding like a rubber freaking ball. Maybe River Shoulders’s water-smoothing spell had done something to help that. Mentally, he was slowly refocusing. You could see the gleam coming back into his eyes. Until that happened, he’d listened to Connie. A guy could do worse.
“I…” Connie shook her head. “I remember all of it. But I have no idea what just happened.” She stared at River Shoulders for a moment, her expression more curious than fearful. “You … You stopped something bad from happening, I think.”
“Yeah, he did,” I confirmed.
Connie nodded toward him in a grateful little motion. “Thank you. Who are you?”
“Irwin’s dad,” I said.
Irwin blinked several times. He stared blankly at River Shoulders.
“Hello,” River rumbled. How something that large and that powerful could sit there bleeding from dozens of wounds and somehow look sheepish was beyond me. “I am very sorry we had to meet like that. I had hoped for something quieter. Maybe with music. And good food.”
“You can’t stay,” I said to River. “The authorities are on the way.”
River made a rumbling sound of agreement. “This is a disaster. What I did…” He shook his head. “This was in such awful taste.”
“Couldn’t have happened to nicer guys, though,” I said.
“Wait,” Connie said. “Wait. What the hell just happened here?”
Irwin put a hand on her shoulder, and said, to me, “She’s … she’s a vampire. Isn’t she?”
I blinked and nodded at him. “How did…?”
“Paranet,” he said. “There’s a whole page.”
“Wait,” Connie said again. “A … what? Am I going to sparkle or something?”
“God, no,” said Irwin and I, together.
“Connie,” I said, and she looked at me. “You’re still exactly who you were this morning. And so is Irwin. And that’s what counts. But right now, things are going to get really complicated if the cops walk in and start asking you questions. Better if they just never knew you were here.”
“This is all so…” She shook her head. Then she stared at River Shoulders. Then at me. “Who are you?”
I pointed at me, and said, “Wizard.” I pointed at River. “Bigfoot.” I pointed at Irwin. “Son of Bigfoot.” I pointed at her. “Vampire. Seriously.”
“Oh,” she said faintly.
“I’ll explain it,” Irwin told her quietly. He was watching River Shoulders.
River held out his huge hands to either side and shrugged. “Hello, son.”
Irwin shook his head slowly. “I … never really…” He sucked in a deep breath, squared off against his father, and said, “Why?”
And there it was. What had to be the Big Question of Irwin’s life.
“My people,” he said. “Tradition is very important to them. If I acknowledged you … they would have insisted that certain traditions be observed. It would have consumed your life. And I didn’t want that for you. I didn’t want that for your mother. I wanted your world to be wider than mine.”
Bigfoot Irwin was silent for a long moment. Then he scratched at his head with one hand and shrugged. “Tonight … really explains a lot.” He nodded slowly. “Okay. We aren’t done talking. But okay.”
“Let’s get you out of here,” River said. “Get you both taken care of. Answer all your questions.”
“What about Harry?” Irwin said.
I couldn’t get any more involved with the evident abduction of a scion of the White Court. River’s mercy had probably kept the situation from going completely to hell, but I wasn’t going to drag the White Council’s baggage into the situation. “You guys go on,” I told them. “I do this kind of thing all the time. I’ll be fine.”
“Wow, seriously?” Irwin asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve been in messier situations than this. And … it’s probably better if Connie’s dad has time to cool off before you guys talk again. River Shoulders can make sure you have that time.”
Outside, a cart with flashing bulbs on it had pulled up.
“River,” I said. “Time’s up.”
River Shoulders rose and nodded deeply to me. “I’m sorry that I interfered. It seemed necessary.”
“I’m willing to overlook it,” I said. “All things considered.”
His face twisted into a very human-looking smile, and he extended his hand to Irwin. “Son.”
Irwin took his father’s hand, one arm still around Connie, and the three of them didn’t vanish so much as … just become less and less relevant to the situation. It happened over the course of two or three seconds, as that same nebulous, somehow transparent power that River had used earlier enfolded them. And then they were all gone.
Boots crunched down the hall, and a uniformed officer with a name tag reading DEAN burst in, one hand on his gun.
* * *
Dean eyed me, then said, “That’s all you know, huh?”
“That’s the truth,” I said. “I told you that you wouldn’t believe it. You gonna let me go now?”
“Oh, hell no,” Dean said. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. You’re stoned out of your mind or insane. Either way, I’m going to put you in the drunk tank until you have a chance to sleep it off.”
“You got any aspirin?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said, and got up to get it.
My head ached horribly, and I was pretty sure I hadn’t heard the end of this, but I was clear for now. “Next time, Dresden,” I muttered to myself, “just take the gold.”
Then Officer Dean put me in a nice quiet cell with a nice quiet cot, and there I stayed until Wild Bill Meyers showed up the next morning and bailed me out.
* * *
Author’s Bio:
Jim Butcher enjoys fencing, martial arts, singing, bad science-fiction movies, and live-action gaming. He lives in Missouri with his wife, son, and a vicious guard dog. You may learn more at www.jim-butcher.com.
ROC
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Copyright © Jim Butcher, 2010 All rights reserved
eISBN : 978-1-101-18630-5
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Author’s Note
Chapter One
I answered the phone, and Susan Rodriguez said, “They’ve taken our daughter.”
I sat there for a long five count, swallowed, and said, “Um. What?”
“You heard me, Harry,” Susan said gently.
“Oh,” I said. “Um.”
“The line isn’t secure,” she said. “I’ll be in town tonight. We can talk then.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Okay.”
“Harry . . .” she said. “I’m not . . . I never wanted to—” She cut the words off with an impatient sigh. I heard a voice over the loudspeaker in the background, saying something in Spanish. “We’ll have time for that later. The plane is boarding. I’ve got to go. About twelve hours.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll . . . I’ll be here.”
She hesitated, as if about to say something else, but then she hung up.
I sat there with the phone against my ear. After a while, it started making that double-speed busy-signal noise.
Our daughter.
She said our daughter.
I hung the phone up. Or tried. I missed the base. The receiver clattered to the floor.
Mouse, my big, shaggy grey dog, rose up from his usual napping spot in the tiny kitchenette my basement apartment boasted, and came trotting over to sit down at my feet, staring up at me with dark, worried doggy eyes. After a moment, he made a little huffing sound, then carefully picked the receiver up in his jaws and settled it onto the base. Then he went back to staring worriedly at me.
“I . . .” I paused, trying to get my head around the concept. “I . . . I might have a child.”
Mouse made an uncertain, high-pitched noise.
“Yeah. How do you think I feel?” I stared at the far wall. Then I stood up and reached for my coat. “I . . . think I need a drink,” I said. I nodded, focusing on nothing. “Yeah. Something like this . . . yeah.”
Mouse made a distressed noise and rose.
“Sure,” I told him. “You can come. Hell, maybe you can drive me home or something.”
I got honked at a lot on the way to McAnally’s. I didn’t care. I made it without crashing into anyone. That’s the important thing, right? I pulled my battered, trusty old Volkswagen Bug over into the little parking lot next to Mac’s place. I started inside.
Mouse made a whuffing sound.
I looked over my shoulder. I’d left the car door open. The big dog nosed it closed.
“Thanks,” I said.
We went into the pub.
Mac’s place looks like Cheers after a mild apocalypse. There are thirteen wooden pillars irregularly spaced around the room, holding up the roof. They’re all carved with scenes of Old World fairy tales, some of them amusing, more of them sinister. There are thirteen ceiling fans spinning lazily throughout the place, and the irregularly shaped, polished wooden bar has thirteen stools. There are thirteen tables in the room, placed in no specific pattern.
“There’re a lot of thirteens in here,” I said to myself.
It was about two thirty in the afternoon. No one was in the pub except for me and the dog—oh, and Mac. Mac is a man of medium height and medium build, with thick, bony wrists and a shining smooth pate that never shows signs of growing in. He could be anywhere between thirty and fifty and, as always, he was wearing a spotless white apron.
Mouse stared intently at Mac for a moment. Then he abruptly sat down in the entryway at the top of the little stairs, turned around once, and settled down by the door, his chin on his paws.
Mac glanced toward us. “Harry.”
I shambled over to the bar.
Mac produced a bottle of one of his microbrews, but I shook my head. “Um. I’d say, ‘Whiskey, Mac,’ but I don’t know if you have any whiskey. I need something strong, I think.”
Mac raised his eyebrows and blinked at me.
You’ve got to know the guy. He was practically screaming.
But he poured me a drink of something light gold in a little glass, and I drank it. It burned. I wheezed a little, and then tapped a finger next to the glass.
Mac refilled it, frowning at me.
I drank the second glass more slowly. It still hurt going down. The pain gave me something to focus on. Thoughts started to coagulate around it, and then to crystallize into definite shape.
Susan had called me. She was on the way.
And we had a child.
And she had never told me.
Susan had been a reporter for a yellow rag that covered supernatural news. Most of the people who worked there thought they were publishing fiction, but Susan had clued in to the supernatural world on her own, and we’d crossed trails and verbal swords several times before we’d gotten together. We hadn’t been together a terribly long time—a little less than two years. We were both young and we made each other happy.
Maybe I should have known better. If you don’t stand on the sidelines and ignore the world around you, sooner or later you make enemies. One of mine, a vampire named Bianca, had abducted Susan and infected her with the blood thirst of the Red Court. Susan hadn’t gone all the way over—but if she ever lost control of herself, ever took another’s lifeblood, she would.
She left me, afraid that if she didn’t, I’d be the kill that turned her into a monster, and set out into the world to find some way to cope.
I told myself that she had good reason to do so, but reason and heart-break don’t speak the same language. I’d never really forgiven myself for what had happened to her. I guess reason and guilt don’t speak the same language, either.
It was probably a damned good thin
g I had gone into shock, because I could feel emotions that were stirring somewhere deep inside me, gathering power like a storm far out to sea. I couldn’t see them. I could only feel their effects, but it was enough to know that whatever was rising inside me was potent. Violent. Dangerous. Mindless rage got people killed every day. But for me, it might be worse.
I’m a professional wizard.
I can make a lot more things happen than most people.
Magic and emotions are tied up inextricably. I’ve been in battle before, and felt the terror and rage of that kind of place, where it’s a fight just to think clearly through the simplest problems. I’d used my magic in those kinds of volatile circumstances—and a few times, I’d seen it run wild as a result. When most people lose control of their anger, someone gets hurt. Maybe someone even gets killed. When it happens to a wizard, insurance companies go broke and there’s reconstruction afterward.
What was stirring in me now made those previous feelings of battle rage seem like anemic kittens.
“I’ve got to talk to someone,” I heard myself say quietly. “Someone with some objectivity, perspective. I’ve got to get my head straight before things go to hell.”
Mac leaned on the bar and looked at me.
I cradled the glass in my hand and said quietly, “You remember Susan Rodriguez?”
He nodded.
“She says that someone took our daughter. She says she’ll be here late tonight.”
Mac inhaled and exhaled slowly. Then he picked up the bottle and poured himself a shot. He sipped at it.
“I loved her,” I said. “Maybe love her still. And she didn’t tell me.”
He nodded.
“She could be lying.”
He grunted.
“I’ve been used before. And I’m a sucker for a girl.”
“Yes,” he said.
I gave him an even look. He smiled slightly.
“She’d be . . . six? Seven?” I shook my head. “I can’t even do the math right now.”
Mac pursed his lips. “Hard thing.”
I finished the second glass. Some of the sharper edges had gotten softer. Mac touched a finger to the bottle, watching me. I shook my head.