by Jim Butcher
I rubbed a hand over my face. “They aren’t going to mind you having a party, are they?”
She flashed me an annoyed look and said, “Not as long as we clean up all the blood. Come on, Billy. Let’s get these two inside and into bed.”
“You go on,” he said, fastening his eyes on me. “I’ll be along in a minute.”
Georgia looked like she wanted to give him an argument, but shook her head instead, and with the help of the other young man, took the two invalids inside. Tera, still naked and supremely unconcerned about it, followed them, glancing back over her shoulder at me before she disappeared. Susan promptly stepped in front of me, somewhat obstructing the view, and said, “Five minutes, Dresden. Come find me then.”
“Uh,” was my rapier reply, and then Susan went into the house, too.
I stood in the dark with Billy, the stout, short kid in thick glasses. He had his hands stuffed into his bathrobe pockets, and he was peering at me.
“Do all wizards,” he said, “get the kiddie crowns and wear them around? Or is that only for special occasions?”
“Do all werewolves,” I shot back, snatching the crown from my head, “wear glasses and too much Old Spice? Or is that only for full moons?”
He grinned at me, rather than taking umbrage. “You’re quick,” he said. “I always wanted to be that way.” He stuck out his hand toward me. “Billy Borden.”
I traded grips with him wearily, and he tried to crush my hand in his. “Harry Dresden,” I told him.
“You look pretty beat up, Mr. Dresden,” he said. “Are you sure you can handle going out again tonight?”
“No,” I answered, in a spurt of brutal honesty.
Billy nodded, and pushed his glasses up higher onto his nose. “Then you need our help.”
Oh, good grief. The Mickey Mouse Club of werewolves wanted to throw in on my side. Werewolfkateer role call: Billy. Georgia. Tommy. Cindy. Sheesh.
“No way,” I said. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?” he said.
“Look, kid. You don’t know what these Hexenwulfen can be like. You don’t know what Marcone can be like, and you sure as hell have never seen anything like MacFinn outside of a movie theater. And even if you had the skills to deal with it, what makes you think you have a right to be going along?”
Billy considered the question seriously. “The same thing that makes you think that you do, Mr. Dresden,” he said.
I opened my mouth. And closed it again.
“I know I don’t know a lot, compared to you,” Billy said. “But I’m not stupid. I’ve got eyes. I see some things everyone else tries to pretend aren’t there. This vampire craze sweeping the nation. Why the hell shouldn’t there be some genuine vampires in it? Did you know that violent crimes have increased nearly forty percent in the last three years, Mr. Dresden? Murder alone has almost doubled, particularly in heavy urban areas and isolated rural areas. Abductions and disappearances have gone up nearly three hundred percent.”
I blinked at the kid. I hadn’t really read the numbers. I knew that Murphy and some of the other cops said that the streets were getting worse. And I knew myself, on some deep level, that the world was getting darker. Hell, it was one of the reasons I did idiotic things like I was doing tonight. My own effort to lift up a torch.
“I’m sort of a pessimist, Mr. Dresden. I think that people are almost too incompetent to hurt themselves so badly. I mean, if criminals were trying, they couldn’t increase their production by three hundred percent. And I hear stories, read the tabloids sometimes. So what if the supernatural world is making a come-back? What if that accounts for some of what is going on?”
“What if it does?” I asked him.
Billy regarded me steadily, without looking me in the eyes. “Someone has to do something. I can. So I should. That’s why we’re here, the Alphas. Tera offered us the chance to do something, when she met us through the Northwest Passage Project, and we took it.”
I stared at the kid. I could have argued with him, but there wouldn’t be much point to it. I knew his argument, backward and forward. I’d worked it out myself. If I was ten years younger, a foot shorter, and a couple of pounds heavier, that could have been me talking. And I had to admit, the kid did have power. I mean, turning yourself into a wolf is no cheap parlor trick. But I did have one angle to play, and I took it. I didn’t want this kid’s blood on my hands.
“I don’t think you’re ready for the big leagues yet, Billy.”
“Could be,” he said. “But there’s no one else in the bull pen.”
I had to give the kid credit. He had resolve. “Maybe you should sit this one out, and live to fight another day. It could all go bad, and if it does, those Hexenwulfen we took on down by the beach are going to be coming for you. Someone will need to stay with your wounded people, to protect them.”
“More likely, if they go through you, they’re going to go through us, too. It would be smarter to pile on everything we’ve got in one place. With you.”
I chuckled. “All your eggs in one basket?”
He shook his head. “All the money on the most likely winner.”
I studied him in silence for a long minute. I was confident of his sincerity. It just oozed out of him, in a way that only the really inexperienced and idealistic can manage. It was comforting, and at the same time it was the most frightening thing about him. His ignorance. No, not ignorance, really. Innocence. He didn’t know what he would be going out to face. If I let him go along, I’d be dragging him down with me. Despite what he’d seen tonight, I’d be exposing him to a whole new, violent, bloody, and dangerous world. One way or another, if I let Billy Borden and his buddies go with me, these innocent children wouldn’t live to see the sunrise.
But, God help me. He was right about one thing. I needed the help.
“Everyone who’s going takes orders from me,” I said, and he drew in a sharp breath, his eyes gleaming. “Not Tera. You do what I say, and you do it when I say it. And if I tell you to leave, you go. No questions. You got it?”
“I got it,” Billy said, and gave me a cocky grin that simply did not belong on the face of a geeky little college nerd in a black bathrobe. “You’re a smart man, Mr. Dresden.”
I snorted at him, and just then the automatic light on the garage door opener went out, leaving us in darkness. There was a disgusted sound from the doorway, and then the lights came on again. Georgia, in all her willowy, annoyed glory, was standing in the doorway to the garage.
“Billy Borden,” she said. “Don’t you have any better sense than to stay here in the dark?” She stalked out toward him, scowling.
He looked up at her calmly and said, “Tell everyone we’re going along. Dresden’s in charge. If they can handle that, they’re in, and if not, they’re staying here to guard Cindy and Alex.”
Georgia’s eyes widened and she gave a little whoop of excitement. She turned to me and threw her arms around me for a moment, making my shoulder scream in pain, and then whirled to Billy and bent down to do the same thing. He winced when she did, and she stood up and jerked back his black bathrobe, clearing it off of one side of his pale chest. To give the kid credit, his stoutness was the result of what looked like quite a bit of solid muscle, and along the line of his chest there was a thickly clotted wound, still trickling blood in a few places.
“What’s this?” Georgia said. “You idiot. You didn’t tell me you’d gotten hurt.”
Billy shrugged, and pulled his robe straight again. “It closed. And you can’t bandage it and keep it on me when I change, anyway.”
Georgia clucked her teeth, annoyed. “You shouldn’t have gone for the hamstring on that wolf. He was too fast.”
Billy flashed her a grin. “I almost got him, though.”
“You almost got yourself killed,” she said, but her voice had softened a few shades. I noticed that she hadn’t moved her hand from the other side of Billy’s chest, and he was looking up at her with an expectant expres
sion. She fell silent, and they stared at one another for a minute. I saw her swallow.
Please, help me. Young werewolves in love. I turned to walk into the house, moving carefully.
I had never much believed in God. Well, that’s not quite true. I believed that there was a God, or something close enough to it to warrant the name—if there were demons, there had to be angels, right? If there was a Devil, somewhere, there had to be a God. But He and I had never really seen things in quite the same terms.
All the same. I flashed a look up at the ceiling. I didn’t say or think any words, but if God was listening, I hoped he got the message nonetheless. I didn’t want any of these children getting themselves killed.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Susan’s perfume led me to her. She was waiting for me in a bedroom on the first floor. She stood in the simply furnished room, in her jeans and a white T-shirt blazoned with the words, EAT IT? I WOULDN’T SIT ON IT! It was one of mine. She lifted her chin up high when she saw me, as though trying to keep the tears in her eyes from falling.
Our gazes met, and held. We had looked into one another before, more than a year ago. She’d fainted when she saw what was inside of me through the soulgaze. I don’t know what it was she saw. I don’t look too hard into mirrors.
Inside of her, though, I’d seen passion, like I’d rarely known in people other than myself. The motivation to go, to do, to act. It was what drove her forward, digging up stories of the supernatural for a half-comic rag like the Arcane. She had a gift for it, for digging down into the muck that people tried to ignore, and coming up with facts that weren’t always easily explained. She made people think. It was something personal for her—I knew that much, but not why. Susan was determined to make people see the truth.
I shut the door behind me and limped toward her.
“They’ll kill you,” she said. “Don’t go.” As I reached her, she put her hands against my chest, then her cheek.
“I’ve got to. Denton can’t afford to let me live now. I need to finish this business, before it gets any more out of hand. Before more people die. If I don’t go tonight, Denton will be able to kill Marcone and MacFinn and set MacFinn up for all the killings. He’ll get away clean, and then he’ll be able to focus on me. And maybe on you, too.”
“We could go somewhere,” she said quietly. “We could hide.” I blinked my eyes closed. She’d said “we.” She hadn’t really done that much, before. I hadn’t really thought in those terms, either. I hadn’t much thought in those terms for a lot of years. Not since the last time.
I should have said something about it. Acknowledged the implication. I knew it was there, and she knew that I had noticed it. She held still, waiting.
Instead, I said, “I’m not much good at hiding. Neither are you.”
Her breath went out in a little whisper, and I felt her tighten a little against me. There would be tears on my shirt, I knew, but I didn’t look down at her.
“You’re right,” she said a moment later. Her voice was shaking. “And I know you are. But I’m afraid, Harry. I mean, I know we haven’t been really close. Friends, and lovers, but . . .”
“Work,” I said. I closed my eyes.
She nodded. “Work.” Her fingers tightened on my shirt, and she looked up at me, dark eyes swimming with tears, still more on the smooth lines of her cheek. “I don’t want to lose you now. I don’t want the work to be all that’s left.”
I tried to think of something smart to say. Something that would reassure her, calm her, help her to feel better, to understand what I felt for her. But I wasn’t even sure what it was that I felt.
I found myself kissing her, the rough growth on my mouth and chin brushing her soft skin. She tensed at first, and then melted against me with a deliciously feminine sort of willingness, a soft abandoning of distance that left her body, in all its dark beauty, pressed against mine. The kiss deepened, slowed, became something intense and erotic and self-contained. The motion of our lips, the warmth of our bodies pressed together. The touch of my fingertips on her face, featherlight. The scratch of her nails as her fingers kneaded at my shirt. My heart was pounding, and I could feel hers, too, racing.
She broke the kiss first, and I swayed on my feet, my breath gone. Without speaking, she guided me down to the edge of the bed, and sat me there. Then she vanished into the bathroom, reappearing with a basin of warm water, some soap, and a washcloth.
She undressed me. Slowly. Delicately. She changed the bandages, murmuring softly to me when it hurt, kissing my eyes and forehead to soothe me. She bathed me with the water, its warmth washing away the dried sweat, the blood, and some of the pain. Patiently, more gentle than rain, she made me clean, while I drifted, my eyes closed. I could hear myself make a soft sound, now and then, in response to her touches.
I felt her come to me. Felt her bare skin against mine, hot and smooth. I opened my eyes and saw the silver haze of the moon on the far horizon, across the lake. I saw Susan outlined in it, all sweetly feminine curves and lines, a beautiful shadow. She kissed me again, and I returned it in kind, and it was a liquid, smooth thing, as restrained and desperate as the near-still surface of a rushing river. Her lips passed from my mouth and roamed over the skin she had just cleaned, and when I tried to touch her, she gently pressed my hands back down, telling me without words to be still.
It went on like that, all skin and light touches, soft sighs, pounding hearts, until she settled atop me, keeping her weight off me with her legs, her hands, afraid to cause any pain. We moved together, feeling the power of our need, our hunger for one another, a pure blend of desire and warmth and affection and incredible intimacy that shook us to the core. It ended in silence, the sensation all the more piercing for that, our mouths together, our breath mingling.
She lay down beside me until our pounding hearts slowed down. Then she rose, and said, “I don’t know if I want to fall in love with you, Harry. I don’t know if I could stand it.”
I opened my eyes, and answered softly, “I’ve never wanted to hurt you. I don’t know what’s right.”
“I know what feels right,” she said, and kissed me again, then started touching my forehead, lifting her head up to study me with gentle, compassionate eyes. “You see so much pain. I just wanted to remind you that there was something else in the world.”
I’m a pretty tough guy. I mean, look at me. I can handle some rough stuff. But some things I’m not so tough about. I started crying, hard, and Susan held me, rocked me gently, until the tears had gone away.
I wanted to stay there, where it was warm, and where I was clean, and where there wasn’t anyone dying. There wasn’t any blood or snarling animals, and no one was trying to kill me. I liked the idea of being there, with Susan, in her arms, a whole lot more than I liked the idea of going out into the silver light of the full moon, which was growing greater underneath the horizon, coming up in a hazy nimbus.
Instead, I drew away from her a little and sat up.
It was a fool’s moon.
She rose from the bed and returned with an overnight bag and drew out a pair of my black jeans, my black sneakers, socks, a heavy, dark grey shirt, dark undies to complete the color theme, and bless her heart, ibuprofen. I rose to dress, but she pressed a hand on my shoulder and made me sit down—then dressed me herself, slowly and carefully, her attention focused on the task. Neither of us spoke.
Ever had a beautiful, naked woman dress you? Talk about girding your loins for battle. There was something indescribably soothing and at the same time, exciting, about it. I could feel my body becoming more relaxed and aware, my senses more in tune with what was around me.
I heard footsteps in the hall, and a knock at the door. Tera’s voice called, “Wizard. It is time.”
I stood up, but Susan grabbed my wrist. “Harry,” she said. “Wait a minute.” She knelt down by the bag and drew out a heavy box, flat and broad. “I was going to give it to you for your birthday. But I thought you could use it.�
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I tilted my head and took the box in hand. It was heavy. “What is it?” I asked her.
“Just open it, dummy,” she answered, smiling up at me. I did, and inside was the smell of soft, worked leather, sensuous and thick, wrapped up in translucent paper. I tossed the lid aside, took the paper off, and found dark leather, new and matte black, hardly casting back the light. I took it out of the box, and it unfolded into a heavy, long coat, like my own duster in design, even to the mantle around the shoulders and arms, but all made of the finer material.
I blinked at the coat. “It must have cost you a fortune.”
She laughed wickedly. “Yeah. But I got to wear it around naked, just to feel it on my skin.” Her face sobered. “I want you to have it, Harry. Something from me. For luck.” She glided to my side and helped me into the coat.
The coat settled around me with a comforting heaviness and a peculiar sort of familiarity. It just felt right. I plucked my mother’s pentacle on its chain from beneath my shirt and wore it openly. And then I got Harris’s confiscated side arm from my coveralls’ tool pouch, and put it in the coat’s pocket. I didn’t have any other magical tools. And maybe not even any more magic. The gun, all things considered, seemed an uncertain weapon at best.
But I was as ready as I was going to be.
I turned to say good-bye to Susan, to find her hurriedly stepping into her clothes. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“Getting dressed,” she said.
“Why?”
“Someone’s got to drive the van, Dresden.” She tugged on her T-shirt, slung her jacket over her shoulder, and walked past me, pausing to give me a narrow glance. “Besides. This could be the biggest paranormal event I’ve ever had the chance to cover. Did you expect me to stay behind?” She pushed the door open and gave me an expectant look.
Damn, I thought. And double damn. One more person to worry about. One more person to protect. Susan wasn’t a werewolf. She wasn’t a wizard. She didn’t even have a gun. It was crazy to let her even think about going along. But I found myself wanting to make sure she was somewhere close.