The Ultimate Dresden Omnibus, 0-15

by Butcher, Jim

  Esteban turned back to me. “How did you learn of this, ragged wizard?”

  “It’s what I do,” I said.

  “Oooo,” said Esmerelda. She slid her body on top of mine, straddling my hips with hers. She was so tiny that I could hardly feel her weight on me. She smelled . . . wrong. Like formaldehyde and mildew. “It is arrogant. We adore arrogance. It’s so sweet to watch arrogant little things succumb. Do you like our pretty eyes, ragged wizard? Which color do you like more? Look closely and carefully.”

  You don’t look vampires in the eyes. Everyone knows that one. Even so, I’d had a couple of encounters with the stare of one of the Red Court and never had a problem shutting them out. It wasn’t even particularly difficult.

  But evidently, those vampires had been noobs.

  Ice blue and deep sea green swirled in my vision, and it was only at the very last instant that I realized what was happening, slamming closed the vaults of my mind, leaving only the hard, fortified places to attack, a castle of idea and memory, ready to withstand an assault.

  “Stop that, please,” I said quietly a moment later. “The conversation isn’t getting anywhere like this.”

  The little vampire pursed her lips, her head tilted as if she were deciding whether to be upset or amused. She went with amused. She giggled and wriggled her hips around a little. “Lovely, lovely, lovely. We are well pleased.”

  “You do have options,” Esteban said. If he was put out by Esmerelda’s behavior, it didn’t show. Hell, he hadn’t even seemed to notice.

  “By all means,” I said. “Enumerate them.”

  “I suppose the simplest means to solve our problem would be for you to take your own life,” he said. “If you are dead, Arianna has no reason to harm your spawn.”

  “Aside from the being-dead part, there are some minor problems with that idea.”

  “By all means,” Esteban said, “enumerate them.”

  “What confirmation would I have that the child was safe and returned to her mother? What security would I have to make me believe that Arianna might not do the same thing a month from now?”

  “A contract could be drafted,” Esteban said. “Witnessed and signed, arbitrated by one of the neutral parties of the Accords. For security, we suppose we could ask our Lord if He would give his Word upon it that your mate and spawn were free of the cycle of vengeance.”

  “A possibility worth consideration,” I said. “Though the part where I die seems to be something of a flaw.”

  “Understandably,” Esteban said. “We might also offer you an alternative to death.”

  The roll of Esmerelda’s hips became slower, more sensuous. I’ve been abused by Red Court vampires in the past. I still have nightmares sometimes. But the pretty-seeming girl atop me had that feminine mystique that defies description and definition. Being so close to her was making me nauseous, but my body was reacting to her with uncomfortable intensity.

  “Alternative,” she said in a breathy little voice. “In this day, that means fashionable. And we do so love showing little mortals how to be fashionable.”

  “You would make me like you,” I said quietly.

  Esmerelda nodded, slowly, her mouth drawing up into a lazy, sensual smile, her hips still circling maddeningly against mine. Her fangs were showing.

  “It would offer you several advantages,” Esteban said. “Even should Arianna complete the vengeance rite, the transformation of your blood would insulate you against it. And, of course, you would not be killed, captured, or tortured to death, as the White Council will be over the next six months or so.”

  “It certainly bears consideration as well,” I said. “Very practical. Are there any other paths you think feasible?”

  “One more,” Esteban said. “Gift your spawn to our Lord, the Red King.”

  If I’d had the strength to take a swing at him, I would have. So it was probably a good thing that I didn’t. “And what would that accomplish?”

  “He would then take possession of the spawn. She would, in fact, be under his protection, until such time as He deemed her unfit, unworthy, or unneeding of such care.”

  Esmerelda nodded rapidly. “She would be his. He does so dote on his little pets. We think it quite endearing.” She opened her mouth in a little O, like a schoolgirl caught in the midst of a whispered conference about forbidden subjects. “Oh, my, would Arianna be upset. She would howl for centuries.”

  “We could provide chattel in exchange to sweeten the deal, Dresden,” Esteban said. “We would be willing to go as high as seven young women. You could select them from our stock or from their natural habitat, and we would see to their preparation and disposition.”

  I thought about it for a long moment and rubbed lightly at my chin. Then I said, “These are all very rational suggestions. But I feel that I do not understand something. Why does the Red King not simply order Arianna to desist?”

  Both of the Eebs drew in breaths of scandalized surprise. “Because of her mate, Dresden,” said Esteban.

  “Slain by the wizard of the black stick,” said Esmerelda. “A blood debt.”

  “Sacred blood.”

  “Holy blood.”

  Esteban shook his head. “Not even our Lord can interfere in the collection of a blood debt. It is Arianna’s right.”

  Esmerelda nodded. “As it was Bianca’s to collect from you, in the opening days of the war. Though many wished that she would not have done what she did, it was her right, even as a very, very young member of the Court. As her progenitor, Arianna’s mate took up that debt. As Arianna now has done herself.” She looked at Esteban and beamed. “We are so happy with the ragged wizard. It is so civil and pleasant. Completely unlike those other wizards. Might we keep it for our own?”

  “Business, our love,” Esteban chided. “Business first.”

  Esmerelda thrust out her lower lip—and abruptly turned, all motion ceasing, to focus intently in one direction.

  “What is it, our love?” Esteban asked quietly.

  “The Ik’k’uox,” she said in a distant, puzzled voice. “It is in pain. It flees. It . . .” She opened her eyes very wide, and suddenly they flooded in solid black, just as the creature’s had been. “Oh! It cheated!” Her face turned down to mine, and she bared her fangs. “It cheated! It brought a demon of its own! A mountain ice demon from the Land of Dreams!”

  “If you don’t exercise them, they’re impossible,” I said, philosophically.

  “The constable,” Esteban said. “Did it kill the constable?”

  Esmerelda returned to staring at nothing for a moment and then said, “No. It was attacked only seconds after entering his home.” She shivered and looked up at Esteban. “The ragged wizard’s demon comes this way, and swiftly.”

  Esteban sighed. “We had hoped to work out something civilized. This is your last chance, ragged wizard. What say you to my offer?”

  “Go fuck yourself,” I said.

  Esteban’s eyes went black and flat. “Kill him.”

  Esmerelda’s body tightened in what looked like a sexual fervor, and she leaned down, teeth bared, letting out a low sound filled to the brim with erotic and physical need.

  During the last few moments, the fingers of my right hand had undone the clasp on my mother’s amulet. As the little vampire leaned into me, she met the silver pentacle necklace, the symbol of what I believed. A five-pointed star, representing the four elements and the spirit, bound within a circle of mortal control, will, and compassion. I’m not a Wiccan. I’m not big on churches of any kind, despite the fact that I’ve spoken, face-to-face, with an archangel of the Almighty.

  But there were some things I believed in. Some things I had faith in. And faith isn’t about perfect attendance to services, or how much money you put on the little plate. It isn’t about going skyclad to the Holy Rites, or meditating each day upon the divine.

  Faith is about what you do. It’s about aspiring to be better and nobler and kinder than you are. It’s about mak
ing sacrifices for the good of others—even when there’s not going to be anyone telling you what a hero you are.

  Faith is a power of its own, and one even more elusive and difficult to define than magic. A symbol of faith, presented with genuine belief and sincerity, is the bane of many an otherworldly predator—and one of the creatures most strongly affected were vampires of the Red Court. I don’t know how it works, or why. I don’t know if some kind of powerful being or Being must get involved along the line. I never asked for one of them to do that—but if so, one of them was backing me up anyway.

  The pentacle flared into brilliant silver light that struck Esmerelda like a six-foot wave, throwing her off of me and tearing the flesh mask she wore to shreds, revealing the creature inside it.

  I twisted and presented the symbol to Esteban, but he had already backed several paces away, and it only forced him to lift his hand to shade his eyes as he continued retreating.

  There was a hissing, serpentine sound from Esmerelda, and I saw a gaunt, black-skinned creature stand up out of the ruins of gown and flesh mask alike. It was just as small as she was, but its limbs were longer, by at least a third, than hers had seemed, long and scrawny. A flabby black belly sagged down, and its face would make one of those really ugly South American bats feel better about itself.

  She opened her jaws, baring fangs and a long, writhing tongue that was pink with black spots. Her all-black eyes were ablaze with fury.

  Shadows shifted as a pale blue light began to grow nearer, and the woods suddenly rang out with Mouse’s triumphant hunting howl. He had found my scent—or that of the vampires—and was closing in.

  Esmerelda hissed again, and the sound was full of rage and hate.

  “We mustn’t!” Esteban snarled. He dashed around me with supernatural speed, giving the glowing pendant a wide berth. He seized the little vampire woman by the arm. They both stared at me for an instant with their cold, empty black eyes—and then there was the sound of a rushing wind and they were gone.

  I sagged onto the ground gratefully. My racing heart began to slow, my fear to subside. My confusion as to what was happening remained, though. Maybe it was so tangled and impossible because I was so exhausted.

  Yeah. Right.

  Mouse let out a single loud bark and then the big dog was standing next to me, over me. He nudged me with his nose until I lifted a hand and scratched his ears a little.

  Thomas and Molly arrived next. I was glad Thomas had let Mouse do the pursuit, while he came along more slowly so that my apprentice wouldn’t be alone in the woods. His eyes were bright silver, his mouth set in a smug line, and there was broken glass shining in his hair. The left half of Molly’s upper body was generously coated in green paint.

  “Okay,” I slurred. “I’m backward.”

  “What’s that?” Molly asked, kneeling down next to me, her expression worried.

  “Backward. ’M a detective. Supposed to find things out. I been working backward. The more I look at it, the more certain I am that I have no idea what’s going on.”

  “Can you stand?” Thomas asked.

  “Leg,” I said. “Ribs. Might be broken. Can’t take the weight.”

  “I’ll carry him,” Thomas said. “Find a phone.”

  “Okay.”

  My brother picked me up and carried me out of the woods. We went back to the car.

  The car’s remains.

  I stared dully at the mess. It looked as though something had taken Thomas’s white Jag and put it in a trash compactor with the Blue Beetle. The two cars, together, had been smashed down into a mass about four feet high. Liquids and fuel bled out onto the street below them.

  Thomas gingerly put me down on my good leg as I stared at my car.

  There was no way the Beetle was going to resurrect from this one. I found myself blinking tears out of my eyes. It wasn’t an expensive car. It wasn’t a sexy car. It was my car.

  And it was gone.

  “Dammit,” I mumbled.

  “Hmmm?” Thomas asked. He looked considerably less broken up than me.

  “My staff was inna car.” I sighed. “Takes weeks to make one of those.”

  “Lara’s going to be annoyed with me,” Thomas said. “That’s the third one this year.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. I feel your pain. What happened with the big thing?”

  “The fight?” Thomas shrugged. “Bullfighting tactics, for the most part. When it tried to focus on one, the other two would come at its back. Mouse did you rather proud.”

  The big dog wagged his tail cheerily.

  “Paint?” I asked.

  “Oh, the thing threw a five-gallon bucket of paint at her, either trying to kill her with it or so it could try to see her through the veil. Worked for about five seconds, too, but then she fixed it and was gone again. She did fairly well for someone so limited in offense,” Thomas said. “Let me see if I can salvage anything from my trunk. Excuse me.”

  I just sat down on the street in front of the car, and Mouse came up to sit with me, offering a furry flank for support. The Blue Beetle was dead. I was too tired to cry much.

  “I called a cab,” Molly said, reappearing. “It will meet us two blocks down. Get him and I’ll veil us until it arrives.”

  “Yeah,” Thomas said, and picked me up again.

  I don’t remember being awake for the cab ride.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Thomas supported most of my weight as my injured leg began to buckle, and settled me in one of the chairs in the living room.

  “We can’t be here long,” he said. “Those two Reds know he’s injured and exhausted. They’ll be back, looking for an opening or trying to pick one of us off when we’re vulnerable.”

  “Right, right,” Molly said. “How is he?”

  He crouched down in front of me and peered at me. His irises looked like polished chrome. “Still punchy.”

  “Shock?”

  “Maybe. He’s in a lot of pain.”

  I was? Oh. I was. That might explain the way I wasn’t talking, I guessed.

  “God,” Molly said, her voice shaking. “I’ll get some of his things.”

  “This isn’t right,” Thomas said. “Get Bob.”

  Molly sounded confused. “Get what?”

  His expression flickered with surprise and then went neutral again. “Sorry. Lips disconnected from my brain. Get the Swords.”

  “They aren’t here,” Molly said, moving around. Her voice came from my bedroom. “He moved them. Hid them, along with his ghost dust and a bunch of other illegal things.”

  Thomas frowned at that and then nodded. “Okay. It’ll have to do. Where do we take him?”

  Molly appeared in my field of vision and knelt down to peer at me. She took one of my hands in hers. “Wherever is good, I guess.”

  Thomas took a slow breath. His silver eyes grew even brighter. It was creepy as hell and fascinating. “I was hoping you knew a good spot. I sure as hell can’t take him to my place.”

  Molly’s voice sharpened. “I don’t even have a place,” she said. “I still live at my parents’ house.”

  “Less whining,” Thomas said, his voice cool. “More telling me a place to take him where he won’t be killed.”

  “I am—” Molly began. Then she closed her eyes for a second, and moderated her tone. “I am sorry. I’m just . . .” She glanced up at Thomas. “I’m just scared.”

  “I know,” Thomas said through clenched teeth.

  “Um,” Molly said. She swallowed. “Why do your eyes do that?”

  There was a lengthy pause before Thomas answered. “They aren’t my eyes, Miss Carpenter. They’re my demon’s eyes. The better to see you with.”

  “Demon . . .” Molly said. She was staring. “You’re hungry. Like, the vampire way.”

  “After a fight like that?” Thomas said. “I’m barely sane.”

  Both of them should have known better. Every time a wizard looks another person in the eyes, he runs t
he risk of triggering a deeper seeing, a voyeuristic peep through the windows of someone else’s soul. You get a snapshot of the true nature of that person, and they get a peek back at you.

  It was only the second time I’d ever seen a soulgaze happen to someone else. There was an instant where both of them locked their eyes on each other’s. Molly’s eyes widened suddenly, like a frightened doe’s, and she jerked in a sharp breath. She stared at him with her chin twisting to one side, as if she were trying—and failing—to look away.

  Thomas went unnaturally still, and though his eyes also widened, it reminded me more of a cat crouching down in anticipation, just before pouncing on its prey.

  Molly’s back arched slightly and a soft moan escaped her. Her eyes filled with tears.

  “God,” she said. “God. No. No, you’re beautiful. God, you hurt so much, need so much. . . . Let me help you. . . .” She fumbled for his hand.

  Thomas never moved as her fingers touched his. Not a muscle. His eyes closed very slowly.

  “Miss Carpenter,” he whispered. “Do not touch me. Please.”

  “No, it’s all right,” Molly said. “It’s all right. I’m here.”

  Thomas’s hand moved too quickly to be seen. He caught her wrist in his pale fingers, and she let out a short gasp. He opened his eyes and focused on hers, and Molly began to breathe harder. The tips of her breasts showed against her shirt and her mouth opened with another soft moan.

  I think I made a quiet sound of protest. Neither of them heard it.

  He leaned closer, the motion feline and serpentine at the same time. Molly began trembling. She licked her lips and began to slowly lean forward, toward him. Their lips met, and her body quivered, tensed, and then went rigid. A breathless sound escaped her as her eyes rolled back in her head, and Thomas was suddenly pressed against her. Molly’s hips rocked against his. Her hands came up and began clawing at his shirt, tearing the buttons from the silk so that her palms could flatten against his naked chest.

  Mouse hit Thomas like a wrecking ball.

  The big dog’s charge tore my brother away from my apprentice and slammed him into the brick of the fireplace. Thomas let out a sudden snarl of pure, surprised rage, but Mouse had him by the throat before he could recover.