Many Bloody Returns

by Charlaine Harris

All the larpers had gathered in close, herd instinct kicking in under the tension. Thomas stepped closer to me so that he could answer me under his breath.

  “Nothing yet,” Thomas said. “But I saw something moving out there.”

  I grunted. “Here’s the plan. Molly, Sarah, and me are going to go down to the security office and try to reach someone.”

  “Bad idea,” Thomas said. “We need to get out of here.”

  “We’re too vulnerable. They’re between us and the cars,” I said. “Whatever they are. We’ll never make it out all the way across the parking lot without getting caught.”

  “Fine,” he said. “You fort up here and I’ll go.”

  “No. Once we’re gone, you’ll try to get through to the cops on a cell phone. There’s not a prayer of getting one to work if Molly and me are anywhere nearby—not with both of us this nervous.”

  He didn’t like that answer, but he couldn’t refute it. “All right,” he said, grimacing. “Watch your back.”

  I nodded to him and raised my voice. “All right, everyone. I’m not sure exactly what is going on here, but I’m going to go find security. I want everyone to stay here until I get back and we’re sure it’s safe.”

  There was a round of halfhearted protests at that, but Thomas quelled them with a look. It wasn’t an angry or threatening look. It was simply a steady gaze.

  Everyone shut up.

  I headed out with Molly and Sarah in tow, and as we stepped out of the bistro, there was an enormous crashing sound, and a car came flying sideways through the glass wall of the entranceway about eight feet off the ground. It hit the ground, broken glass and steel foaming around it like crashing surf, bounced with a shockingly loud crunch, and tumbled ponderously toward us, heralded by a rush of freezing air.

  Molly was already moving, but Sarah only stood there staring incredulously as the car came toward us. I grabbed her around the waist and all but hauled her off her feet, dragging her away. I ran straight away from the oncoming missile, which was not the smartest way to go—but since a little perfume kiosk was blocking my path, it was the only way.

  I was fast, and we got a little bit lucky. I pulled Sarah past the kiosk just as the car hit it. Its momentum was almost gone by the time it hit, and it crashed to a halt, a small wave of safety glass washing past our shoes. Sarah wobbled and nearly fell. I caught her and kept going. She started to scream or shout or ask a question—but I clapped my hand over her mouth and hissed, “Quiet!”

  I didn’t stop until we were around the corner and the crashing racket was coming to a halt. Then I stopped with my back against the wall and got Sarah’s attention.

  I didn’t speak. I raised one finger to my lips with as much physical emphasis as I could manage. Sarah, trembling violently, nodded at me. I turned to give the same signal to Molly, who looked pale but in control of herself. She nodded as well, and we turned and slipped away from that arm of the mall.

  I listened as hard as I could, which is actually quite hard. It’s a talent I seem to have developed, maybe because I’m a wizard, and maybe just because some people can hear really well. It was difficult to make out anything at all, much less any kind of detail, but I was sure I heard one thing—footsteps, coming in the crushed door of the mall, crunching on broken glass and debris.

  Something fast enough to snap a man’s neck with the whiplash of its passage and strong enough to throw that car through a wall of glass had just walked into the mall behind us. I figured it was a very, very good idea not to let it know we were there and sneaking away.

  We got away with it, walking slowly and silently out through the mall, which yawned all around us, three levels of darkened stores, deserted shops, and closed metal grates and doors. I stopped a dozen shops later, after we’d gone past the central plaza of the mall and were far enough away for the space to swallow up quiet conversation.

  “Oh my God,” Sarah whimpered, her voice a strangled little whisper. “Oh my God. What is happening? Is it terrorists?”

  I probably would have had a more suave answer if she hadn’t been pressed up against my side, mostly naked from the hips up, warm and lithe and trembling. The adrenaline rush that had hit me when the car nearly smashed us caught up to me, and it was suddenly difficult to keep from shivering, myself. I had a sudden, insanely intense need to rip off the strings on that red bikini top and kiss her, purely for the sake of how good it would feel. All things considered, though, it would have been less than appropriate. “Uh,” I mumbled, forcing myself to look back the way we’d come. “They’re…bad guys of some kind, yeah. Are you hurt?”

  “No,” Sarah said.

  “Molly?” I asked.

  “I’m fine,” my apprentice answered.

  “The security office,” I said.

  Sarah stared at me for a second, her eyes still wide. “But…but I don’t understand why—”

  I put my hand firmly over her mouth. “Sarah,” I said, meeting her eyes for as long as I dared. “I’ve been in trouble before, and I know what I’m doing. I need you to trust me. All right?”

  Her eyes widened for a second. She reached up to lightly touch my wrist, and I let her push my hand gently away from her mouth. She swallowed and nodded once.

  “There’s no time. We have to find the security office now.”

  “A-all right,” she said. “This way.”

  She led us off and we followed her, creeping through the cavernous dimness of the unlit mall. Molly leaned in close to me to whisper, “Even if we get the security guards, what are they going to do against something that can do that?”

  “They’ll have radios,” I whispered back. “Cell phones. They’ll know all the ways out. If we can’t call in help, they’ll give us the best shot of getting these people out of here in one—”

  Lights began flickering on and off. Not blinking, not starting up and shutting down in rhythm, but irregularly. First they came on over a section of the third floor for a few seconds. Then they went out. A few seconds later, it was a far section of the second floor. Then they went out. Then light shone from one of the distant wings for a moment and vanished again. It was like watching a child experiment with the switches.

  Then the PA system let out a crackle and a little squeal of feedback. It shut off again and came back on. “Testing,” said a dry, rasping voice over the speakers. “Testing one, two, three.”

  Sarah froze in place, and then backed up warily, looking at me. I stepped up next to her, and she pressed in close to me, shivering.

  “There,” said the voice. It was a horrible thing to listen to—like Linda Blair’s impression of a demon-possessed victim, only less melodious. “I’m sure you all can hear me now.”

  And I’d heard such a voice before. “Oh, hell,” I breathed.

  “This is Constance,” continued the voice. “Constance Bushnell. I’m sure you all remember me.”

  I glanced at Molly, who shook her head. Sarah looked frightened and confused, but when she caught my look, she shook her head, too.

  “You might also remember me,” she continued, “As Drulinda.” And then the voice started singing “Happy Birthday.” The tune wasn’t even vaguely close to the actual song, but the lyrics, sung “to me,” were unmistakable.

  Sarah’s eyes had widened. “Drulinda?”

  “Who the hell is Drulinda?” I asked.

  Sarah shook her head. “One of our characters. But her player ran away from home or something.”

  “And you didn’t recognize her actual name?”

  Sarah gave me a slightly guilty glance. “Well. I never played with her much. She wasn’t really very, you know. Popular.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said. “Tell me whatever you can about her.”

  She shook her head. “Um. About five four, sort of…plain. You know, not ugly or anything, but not really pretty. Maybe a little heavy.”

  “Not that,” I sighed. “Tell me something important about her. People make fun of her?”

  “Some did
,” she said. “I never liked it, but…”

  “Crap.” I looked at Molly and said, “Code Carrie. We’re in trouble.”

  The horrible, dusty song came to an end. “It’s been a year since I left you,” Drulinda’s voice said. “A year since I found what all you whining losers were looking for. And I decided to give myself a present.” There was a horrible pause and then the voice said, “You. All of you.”

  “Code what?” Molly asked me.

  I shook my head. “Sarah, do you know where the announcement system is?”

  “Yes,” Sarah said. “Administration. Right by—”

  “The security office,” I sighed.

  Drulinda’s voice continued. “The entrances are closed and watched. But you should feel free to run for them. You all taste so much better when you’ve had time to be properly terrified. I’ve so been looking forward to seeing your reaction to the new me.”

  With that, the PA system shut off, but a second later, it started playing music: “Only You,” by the Platters.

  “Molly,” I hissed, suddenly realizing the danger. “Veil us, now.”

  She blinked at me, then nodded, bowed her head with a frown of concentration, and folded her arms across her chest. I felt her gather up her will and release it with a word and a surge of energy that made the air sparkle like diamond dust for a half second.

  Inside the veil, the air suddenly turned a few degrees cooler, and the area outside it seemed to become even more dim than it had been a second before. I could sense the delicate tracery of the veil’s magic in the air around us, though I knew that, from the other side, none of that would be detectable—assuming Molly had done it correctly, of course. Veils were one of her strongest areas, and I was gambling our lives that she had gotten it right.

  Not more than a breath or two later, there was a swift pattering sound and a dim blur in the shadows—which ceased moving abruptly maybe twenty feet away and revealed the presence of a vampire of the Black Court.

  Drulinda, or so I presumed her to be, was dressed in dark jeans, a red knit sweater, and a long black leather coat. If she’d been heavy in life, death had taken care of that problem for her. She was sunken and shriveled, as bony and dried up as the year-old corpse she now was. Unlike the older vamps of her breed, she still had most of her hair, though it had clearly not been washed or styled. Most of the Black Court that I’d run into had never been terribly body conscious. I suppose once you’d seen it rot, there just wasn’t much more that could happen to sway your opinion of it, either way.

  Unlike the older vampires I’d faced, she stank. I don’t mean that she carried a little whiff of the grave along with her. I mean she smelled like a year-old corpse that still had a few juicy corners left and wasn’t entirely done returning to the earth. It was noxious enough to make me gag—and I’d spent my day tracking down and dismantling a freaking slime golem.

  She stood there for a moment, while the Platters went through the first verse, looking all around her. She’d sensed something, but she wasn’t sure what. The vampire turned a slow circle, her shriveled lips moving in time with the music coming over the PA system, and as she did, two more of the creatures, slower than Drulinda, appeared out of the darkness.

  They were freshly made vampires—so much so that for a second, I thought them human. Both men wore brown uniforms identical to Raymond’s. Both were stained with blood, and both of them had narrow scoops of flesh missing from the sides of their throats—at the jugular and carotid, specifically. They moved stiffly, making many little twitching motions of their arms and legs, as if struggling against the onset of rigor mortis.

  “What is it?” slurred one of them. His voice was ragged but not the horrible parody Drulinda’s was.

  Her hand blurred, too fast to see. The newborn vampire reacted with inhuman speed, but not nearly enough of it, and the blow threw him from his feet to land on the floor, shattered teeth scattering out from him like coins from a dropped purse. “You can talk,” Drulinda rasped, “when I say you can talk. Speak again and I will rip you apart and throw you into Lake Michigan. You can spend eternity down there with no arms, no legs, no light, and no blood.”

  The vampire, his nose smashed into shapelessness, rose as if he’d just slipped and fallen on his ass. He nodded, his body language twitchy and cringing.

  Drulinda’s leathery lips peeled back from yellow teeth stained with drying, brownish blood. Then she turned and darted ahead, her footsteps making that light, swift patter on the tiles of the floor. She was gone and around the corner, heading for the bistro, in maybe two or three seconds. The two newbie vampires went after her, if far more slowly.

  “Crap,” I whispered as they vanished. “Dammit, dammit, dammit.”

  “What was that, Harry?” Molly whispered.

  “Black Court vampires,” I replied, trying not to inhale too deeply. The stench was fading, but it wasn’t gone. “Some of the fastest, strongest, meanest things out there.”

  “Vampires?” Sarah hissed, incredulous. She didn’t look so good. Her face was turning green. “No, this is, no, no, no—” She broke off and was violently sick. I avoided joining in by the narrowest of margins. Molly had an easier time of it than me, focused as she was on maintaining the veil over us, but I saw her swallow very carefully.

  “Okay, Molly,” I said quietly. “Listen to me.”

  She nodded, turning abstracted eyes to me.

  “Black Court vampires,” I told her. “The ones Stoker’s book outed. All their weaknesses—sunlight, garlic, holy water, symbols of faith. Remember?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Most of the strengths, too. Strong, fast. Don’t look them in the eyes.” I swallowed. “Don’t let them take you alive.”

  My apprentice’s eyes flickered with both apprehension and a sudden, fierce fire. “I understand. What do you want me to do?”

  “Keep the veil up. Take Sarah here. Find a shady spot and lay low. This should be over in half an hour, maybe less. By then, there’s going to be a ruckus getting people’s attention, one way or another.”

  “But I can—”

  “Get me killed trying to cover you,” I said firmly. “You aren’t in this league, grasshopper. Not yet. I have to move fast. And I have friends here. I won’t be alone.”

  Molly stared at me for a moment, her eyes shining with brief, frustrated tears. Then she nodded once and said, “Isn’t there anything I can do?”

  I peered at her, then down at her Birkenstocks. “Yeah. Give me your shoes.”

  Molly hadn’t been my apprentice in the bizarre for a year and a half for nothing. She didn’t even blink, much less ask questions. She just took off her shoes and handed them to me.

  I put a gentle hand on her shoulder, then touched Sarah’s face until she lifted her eyes to me. “I don’t understand what’s happening,” she whispered.

  “Stay with Molly,” I told Sarah. “She’s going to take care of you. Do whatever she says. All right?” I frowned down at her expensive black heels. “Gucci?”

  “Prada,” she said in a numb voice.

  Being all manly, I know dick about shoes, but hopefully it wouldn’t blow my cover as Thomas’s mystery man. “Give them to me.”

  “All right,” she said, and did, too shocked to argue.

  Thomas had been right about the larpers. The corpse of Sarah’s innocence lay on the floor along with her last meal, and she was taking it pretty hard.

  I fought down a surge of anger and rose without another word, padding out from the protection of Molly’s veil, shoes gripped in one hand, my gun in the other. The .44 might as well have been Linus’s security blanket. It wouldn’t do a thing to help me against a vampire of the Black Court—it just made me feel better.

  I went as fast as I could without making an enormous racket and stalked up the nearest stairs—a deactivated escalator. Once I’d reached the second level, I took a right and hurried toward Shoegasm.

  It was a fairly spacious shop that had
originally occupied only a tiny spot, but after ironing out some early troubles, the prosperous little store had expanded into the space beside it. Now, behind a steel mesh security curtain, the store was arranged in an oh-so-trendy fashion and sported several huge signs that went on with a thematically appropriate orgasmic enthusiasm about the store’s quality money-back guarantee.

  “I am totally underappreciated,” I muttered. Then I raised my voice a little, forcing a very slight effort of will, of magic, into the words as I spoke. “Keef! Hey, Keef! It’s Harry Dresden!”

  I waited for a long moment, peering through the grating, but I couldn’t see anything in the dim shadows of the store. I took a chance, slipping the silver pentacle amulet from its chain around my neck, and with a murmur willed a whisper of magic through the piece of jewelry. A soft blue radiance began to emanate from the silver, though I tried to keep the light it let out to a minimum. If Drulinda or her vampire buddies were looking even vaguely in my direction, I was going to stand out like a freaking moron holding the only light in an entire darkened shopping mall.

  “Keef!” I called again.

  The cobb appeared from an expensive handbag hung over the arm of a dressing dummy wearing a pair of six-hundred-dollar Italian boots. He was a tiny thing, maybe ten inches tall, with a big puff of fine white hair like Albert Einstein. He was dressed in something vaguely approximating nineteenth-century urban European wear—dark trousers, boots, a white shirt, and suspenders. He also wore a leather work belt thick with tiny tools and had a pair of odd-looking goggles pushed up over his forehead.

  Keef hopped down from the dressing dummy and hurried across the floor to the security grate. He put on a pair of gloves, pulled out a couple of straps from his work belt, and climbed up the metal grate using a pair of carabiners, nearly as nimble as a squirrel, being very careful not to touch the metal with his bare skin. Keef was a faerie, one of the little folk who dwelled within the shadows and hidden places of our own world, and the touch of steel was painful to him.

  “Wizard Dresden,” he greeted me in a Germanic accent as he came level with my head. The cobb’s voice was pitched low, even for someone as tiny as he. “The market this night danger roams. Here you should not be.”