by Jim Butcher
I was aware of being picked up and tossed over someone’s shoulder. Then there was a lot of rapid, sickening motion. It went on long enough for me to throw up. I didn’t have enough energy to aim at my abductor.
A subjective eternity later, I was thrown to the ground. I lay still, hoping to fool my captor into thinking I was barely conscious and weak as a kitten. Which should be easy, since I was. I’ve never really had much ambition as a performer.
“We don’t like it,” said a woman’s voice. “Its Power smells foul.”
“We must be patient,” replied a man’s voice. “It could be a great asset.”
“It is listening to us,” the woman said.
“We know that,” replied the man.
I heard soft footsteps, cushioned by pine needles, and the woman spoke again, more slowly and lower. She sounded . . . hungry. “Poor thing. So battered. We should give it a kiss and let it sleep. It would be merciful. And He would be pleased with us.”
“No, our love. He would be satisfied with us. There is a difference.”
“Have we not come to understand this simple fact?” she shot back, acid in her voice. “Never will He name us to the Circle, no matter how many prizes we bring into the Court. We are interlopers. We are not of the first Maya.”
“Many things can change in the span of eternity, our love. We will be patient.”
“You mean that He might fall?” She let out a rather disconcerting giggle. “Then why aren’t we currying favor with Arianna?”
“We shall not even consider it,” he replied, his voice hard. “Should we even think of it too often, He might know. He might act. Do we understand?”
“We do,” she said, her tone petulant.
Then someone grabbed my shoulder in iron-strong fingers and flipped me onto my back. The dark shapes of trees spun above me, nothing more than black outlines against the lights of Chicago reflecting from the overcast.
There was barely enough light to let me see the pale, delicate features of a tiny woman no larger than a child. Seriously, she might have been four-foot-six, though her proportions seemed identical to those of any adult. She had very pale skin with a light dusting of freckles, and looked as if she might be nineteen years old. Her hair was light brown and very straight. Her eyes were extremely odd-looking. One was pale, icy blue, the other deep, dark green, and I had an immediate instinct that whatever creature lurking behind those mismatched eyes was not a rational being.
She was wearing a gown with long, flowing sleeves, and some kind of sleeveless robe and corset over that. She was barefoot, though. I knew because I could feel her cold little foot when she planted it on my chest and leaned over to peer down at me.
“We’re too late. Look, it’s starting to go bad.”
“Nonsense,” said the male voice. “It’s a perfectly appropriate specimen. Mortal wizards are supposed to be worn and tough, our love.”
I looked up and saw the other speaker. He was perhaps five-foot-six, with a short brush of red hair, a black beard, and skin that looked darkened and bronzed by the sun. He wore black silk clothing, and looked like he’d just come from a dress rehearsal of Hamlet.
“Aha,” I said. “You must be Esteban and Esmerelda. I’ve heard about you.”
“We are famous,” hissed the little woman, beaming up at the man.
He gave her a stern look, sighed, and said, “Aye, we are. Here to stop you from allowing Arianna to proceed with her design.”
I blinked. “What?”
Esmerelda leaned closer. Her hair brushed my nose and lips. “Are its ears broken? If the ears are defective, can we detach them and send them back?”
“Peace, our love,” Esteban said. He hunkered down on his heels and eyed me. “It isn’t its fault. It doesn’t even realize how Arianna is manipulating it.”
“What are you talking about?” I said. “Look, folks, no one wants to stop Arianna more than me.”
Esteban waved a vague hand. “Yes, yes. It feels it must rescue its spawn. It will try to take her back, from the very heart of His realm. Placing it at the center of vast moving powers where it might tip balances any number of ways.”
“It hardly looks large enough.” Esmerelda sniffed. “It’s just a ragged, dirty creature.”
Esteban shrugged. “We know, by now, that the outside hardly matters. What lies within is what holds importance. Would you agree, ragged wizard?”
I licked my lips. I really didn’t feel up to bantering with a couple of insane vampires, but it was probably my best course of action. Anything that lives long enough tends to lose track of passing time rather easily, on the minute-to-minute scale. After a few thousand years have gone by, an hour doesn’t really rate. If my brother and company were successful in their fight, they would realize I was gone within a few minutes—and I didn’t think the Eebs had carried me far enough away to let them evade Mouse. As far as I can tell, Mouse can follow a scent trail from space.
Talk to them. Stall.
“That depends upon the nature of the subject and observer,” I said. “But if you are using the metaphor in its simplest form, then yes. The true nature of any given being supersedes its outer appearance in terms of importance.” I tried a smile. “This is quite pleasant treatment, by the way,” I said. “I had expected something entirely different.”
“We wanted to eat you and kill you. Or kill you, then eat you,” Esmerelda said, smiling back. Hers was a lot crazier- looking than mine. I hoped. “And might still.”
“Obviously you had something else in mind, though,” I said. “Apparently you wish to talk. I’m more than willing to listen.”
“Excellent,” Esteban said. “We are pleased that you can address the matter rationally.”
“To which matter do you refer, specifically?”
“The matter of your involvement with Arianna’s plan,” Esteban said. “We wish you to discontinue your participation.”
“That . . . could be problematic. Since if she does what she intends to do, it’s going to kill me, along with the child’s mother.”
The two vampires traded a long, silent glance, their facial expressions shifting subtly. I got the impression that a lot of communication got done.
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 making 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 super
natural 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.