by Jim Butcher
“Yes, sir,” she said. She sounded almost grateful. “I’ll pass word up the line.”
“Thank you,” I said, and hung up.
I took a deep breath. Word was on its way to the Wardens, and now I was committed.
There was a knock, and then Forthill opened the door. “Finished?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Of course. Is there anything else I might do?”
I shook my head. “You’ve done more than enough already.”
He smiled a little. “Arguable,” he said. “Though, may I ask you something?”
I nodded.
“The young man,” he said. “Nelson. Is he truly pursued?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. No reason for him to be. Molly worked a spell on him that forced him to feel fear of drug use.”
He frowned. “And you think it brought on a sense of paranoia?”
“She didn’t know how badly her own feelings for him would disrupt the spell. She didn’t mean to do it, but she laid a world of hurt on the boy.” I shook my head. “Paranoia. Nightmares. Phobias. And he’s feeling the physical withdrawal from the drugs, to boot. He could be permanently damaged.”
“Poor lad,” Forthill said.
“I don’t know how to begin helping him, Father,” I said. I paused for a moment, then said, “He’s an orphan.”
Forthill smiled and took off his spectacles. He polished them with a handkerchief. “You may not know where to begin to help. I do. Don’t worry, Dresden. The boy won’t be left alone.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“I don’t do it for you,” he said, “but for the boy. And from obedience to our Lord. But you’re welcome.”
I put the notebook away and stood up, but Forthill remained in the doorway, his expression direct.
“Tell me,” Forthill said. He squinted at his glasses, making sure they were clean. “Do you believe that you’ll be able to protect the girl?”
“I think so,” I said quietly. I didn’t have many friends on the Council. But the ones I did have were on the Senior Council—it’s an executive body, especially in wartime. They’d support me. It wouldn’t clear the kid completely, but at least she could be placed on a kind of zero-tolerance probation rather than executed.
Forthill watched me with patient, bright blue eyes. “You sound familiar with this situation.”
I smiled a little. “Intimately.”
“I begin to see,” he said.
“Tell me,” I said. “Do you really believe what you told Charity about me? That God arranged for me to be there for Molly?”
He regarded me as he replaced his spectacles, bright blue eyes steady. “I do. I know that you don’t much hold with religion, Dresden. But I’ve come to know you over the years. I think you’re a decent man. And that God knows his own.”
“Meaning what?” I asked.
He smiled and shook his head. “Meaning, mostly, that I have faith that all things work together for the good of those who love the Lord. I meant what I said about you.”
I snorted gently and shook my head. “Harry Dresden. I’m on a mission from God.”
“Seems an awfully unlikely coincidence, does it not? That the one person Michael knows on the Council should be the one in the position to best help his daughter, just when he was called away?”
I shrugged. “Coincidences happen,” I said. “And I don’t think God’s got me warming up in the bullpen to be one of his champions.”
“Perhaps not,” Forthill said. “But I think that you are being prepared, nonetheless.”
“Prepared?” I asked. “For what? By whom?”
Forthill shook his head. “It’s an old man’s hunch, that’s all. That the things you’re facing now are there to prepare you for something greater. Something more.”
“God,” I said. “I hope not. I’ve got problems enough without working up to bigger ones.”
He chuckled and nodded. “Perhaps you’re right.”
I frowned over a thought. “Padre. Tell me something. Why in the world would the Almighty send Michael off on a mission just when his family most needed him to protect them?”
Forthill arched an eyebrow. “My son,” he said, “God knows all things at all times. By His very nature, his omniscience enables Him to know what has happened, is happening, and will happen. Though we might not be able to see His reasons, or to agree with them from our perspectives, they are yet there.”
“So what you’re saying is that the Almighty knows best, and we just have to trust Him.”
Forthill blinked. “Well. Yes.”
“Is there any reason that the Almighty couldn’t do something blatantly obvious?”
Poor Forthill. He’d been preparing himself for years for a theological duel with the shadowy wizard Dresden, and when the moment came, I wasn’t even giving him a real fight. “Well. No. What do you mean?”
“Like maybe the Almighty didn’t send Michael away right when he was needed to protect his daughter. Maybe He sent Michael away because that’s exactly what He wanted him to do.” I let out a short laugh. “If I’m wrong, it would be one hell of a coincidence….” I frowned for a moment, then said, “Do me a favor. Go get Molly for me. Council procedure says that I can’t leave her alone. I’ve got to keep her with me until it’s done.”
He rose and nodded, agreeable if still slightly baffled. “Very well.”
“And I need to know something, Father. Do you know where Michael is right now?”
Forthill shook his head.
“Could you get word to him?” I asked. “I mean, if you really had to?”
He tilted his head, frowning, and asked, “Why?”
“Because I’ve had an idea,” I said. “Can you get in touch with him?”
Forthill smiled.
Chapter Forty-four
My mechanic’s skills bordered on the supernatural. He left word with me that the Beetle was ready to resume active duty, and that while it didn’t look like much, the car would roll when I pushed the pedals—which was all I really needed it to do. So Molly and I rolled up to the lakeside warehouse where I’d met with the Council at the start of this mess.
When I shut down the engine, the Beetle rattled and shuddered hard enough to click my teeth together before it died. It continued wheezing and clicking for several seconds afterward.
Molly stared out ahead of her, her face pale. “Is this the place?”
The rundown old warehouse looked different in the orange evening light than it had at high noon. Shadows were longer and darker, and emphasized the flaws and dents in the building, giving the place a much more rundown, abandoned appearance than I had remembered. There were fewer cars there, as well, and it gave the place an even more abandoned atmosphere.
“That’s the place,” I said quietly. “You ready?”
She swallowed. “Sure,” she said, but she looked frightened and very, very young. “What comes next?”
I got out of the car as an answer, and Molly followed suit. I squinted around, but no one was in sight until the air shimmered about twenty feet away and Ramirez stepped out of the veil that had hidden him.
Carlos Ramirez was the youngest wizard ever given the post of regional commander in the Wardens. He was average height, his skin glowing with bronze health, and he wore both the grey cloak of the Wardens and one of their—or rather, our, except that I don’t have one—silver swords at his left hip. At his right he wore a heavy semiautomatic in a holster, and his military-style web belt also bore several hand grenades.
“Good veil,” I said. “Way better than the other day.”
“I wasn’t here the other day,” he assured me with bland confidence.
“Your work?” I asked.
“I make it look easy,” he said without a trace of modesty. “It’s a curse to be so damned talented when I’m already obscenely good-looking, but I try to soldier on as best I can.”
I laughed and offered him my hand. He shoo
k it. “Dresden,” he said.
“Ramirez.” I nodded to my right. “This is Molly Carpenter.”
He glanced at the girl, looking her up and down. “Miss,” he said, without a polite bow of his head. He glanced at me, indicated a direction with his hand, and said, “They’re ready for you. But walk with me for a minute? I need to talk with you.” He glanced at Molly. “Privately.”
I arched a brow at him. “Molly, I’ll be right back.”
She bit her lip and nodded. “O-okay.”
“Miss,” Ramirez said with a somewhat apologetic smile. “I need you to remain exactly where you’re standing now. All right?”
“Hell’s bells,” I muttered. “You think she’s that dangerous?”
“I think it’s security protocol,” Ramirez said. “If you didn’t want me doing it, you shouldn’t have asked me.”
I started to snarl an answer, but I choked it down and said, “Fine. Molly, just stand there for now. I won’t go out of sight of you.”
She nodded, and I turned with Ramirez. We walked several paces away over the gravel before he asked, “That the kid?”
Ramirez wasn’t old enough to get good car insurance rates himself, much less to refer to someone as “kid,” though he’d had to grow up awfully swiftly. He’d been an apprentice when the war with the Red Court erupted, and he’d done good service for the Council upon attaining status as a full wizard, fighting in several nasty engagements with the vampires. It was the kind of thing that made a man age in a hurry.
“That’s her,” I confirmed. “Did you get a chance to examine the victims?”
“Yeah.” He frowned and watched me for a moment before he said, “She’s someone you know.”
I nodded.
He glanced back at her. “Crud.”
I frowned at him. “Why?”
“I don’t think today is going to go well for her,” Ramirez said.
My stomach suddenly felt cold. “Why not?”
“Because of how the battle in Oregon played out,” he said. “Once the forces from Summer attacked their rear, we gave the vamps one hell of a beating. Morgan got within about twenty feet of the Red King himself.”
“Morgan killed him?”
“No. But it wasn’t for a lack of trying. He cut down a Duke and a pair of Counts before the Red King got away.”
“Damn,” I said, impressed. “But what does that have to do with Molly?”
“We had the Reds by the balls,” Ramirez said. “Sunrise was coming in the real world, and when they tried to retreat into the Nevernever the faeries were on them like a school of piranha. The Reds had to find a way to draw off some of our heavies and they found it. Luccio’s boot camp.”
I drew in a breath. “They attacked Luccio and the newbies?”
“Yeah. McCoy, Listens-to-Wind, and Martha Liberty led a force from the battle to relieve the camp.”
“They did, huh? How’d it go?”
He took a deep breath and said, “They haven’t reported in yet. And that means…”
“It means that my support in the Senior Council isn’t here to help me.”
Ramirez nodded.
“Who has their proxies?”
“We didn’t hear from you until after they had left, so they didn’t entrust their proxies to anyone.”
I sighed. “So the Merlin holds them by default. And he doesn’t much like me. He’d cast the votes to condemn her just to spite me.”
“It gets better,” he said. “Ancient Mai is still in Indonesia, and LaFortier is covering the Venatori while they relocate. The Merlin has their votes too—and I don’t think the Gatekeeper is coming.”
“So the only one whose opinion counts is the Merlin,” I said.
“Pretty much.” Then Ramirez frowned at me. “You don’t look surprised.”
“I’m not,” I said. “If something can go wrong, it does. I’ve accepted that by now.”
He tilted his head. “I’ve just told you the kid will probably be found guilty before she’s been tried.”
“Yeah,” I said. I chewed on my lip. This would make things more difficult. I had been counting on at least a little help from Ebenezar and his cronies. They knew the Council procedures better than I did, and how to manipulate them. They also knew the Merlin, who, magical talents aside, was a damned slippery fish when it came to maneuvering through a Council meeting.
The Merlin had every reason to oppose me, and therefore Molly. Now, if he wielded the votes of the people I’d been counting on to support me, he could literally be Molly’s judge, jury, and executioner.
Well. Judge and jury, anyway. Morgan would do the executing.
I ground my teeth. My plan could still work, theoretically, but there was very little I could do to alter the outcome from here on in. I glanced back at Molly. Here we were. I’d brought her to this turn. I’d see it through.
“Fine,” I said. “I can deal with this.”
Ramirez arched an eyebrow at me. “I thought you’d look more upset.”
“Would it help anything if I started foaming at the mouth?”
“No,” Ramirez said. “It might explain a few things, but it wouldn’t help, per se.”
“Water, bridge,” I said. “Spilt milk. Accept things you cannot change.”
“In other words, you have a plan,” Ramirez said.
I shrugged and smiled tightly at him, and just then a low, throbbing engine approached the old warehouse.
Ramirez’s hand went to the butt of his gun.
“Easy,” I told him. “I invited them.”
A motorcycle wound its way through the maze of alleys and potholes between warehouses, and then crunched to a stop in the gravel beside the Blue Beetle. Fix flipped the bike’s kickstand down, and then he and Lily got off the motorcycle. Fix flipped me a little salute, and I nodded back to him.
Ramirez arched an eyebrow and said, “Is that who I think it is?”
“Summer Knight and Lady,” I confirmed.
“Well, crap,” he said, and scowled at me. “You going to turn this into some kind of fight?”
“Los,” I chided him. “Would I do that?”
He gave me a steady look and then said, “You just had to ask me to handle security.”
“What can I say, man? No one else was pretty and talented enough.”
“No one is so talented that you couldn’t make him look bad, Dresden,” he muttered. Then he gave Lily and Fix a calculating look and said, “Well. This should be interesting, at any rate. Introduce me?”
“Yep.”
I did. Then Ramirez led us through the veil protecting the warehouse from perception. Two Wardens at the door searched everyone for weapons. They even had one of the animate statues of a temple dog they used to detect hostile enchantments, veils, and concealed weaponry. The stone construct made me a little nervous—I had nearly been attacked by one over a false alarm once—but this time it passed me by without showing any interest. It lingered longest on Molly, once emitting a grindstone growl, but it subsided after a moment and returned to its post beside the door.
I started to go inside, but Ramirez touched my arm. I stopped and frowned at him. He glanced at Molly and drew a black cloth from his belt.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.
“It’s protocol, Harry.”
“It’s sadistic and unnecessary.”
He shook his head. “I’m not offering an option, here.” He lowered his voice so that only I could hear him. “I don’t like it either. But if you violate protocol now, especially in a case that involves mind-control magic, it will be all the excuse the Merlin needs to declare the proceedings potentially compromised. He’ll be able to pass summary judgment on the girl, and put you and me both on precautionary probation.”
I ground my teeth, but Ramirez was right. I remembered when I’d been brought before the Council for the first time. One thing, more than any other, stuck in my memory of that night—the scent of the black cloth hood they’d had
over my head, over my face. It had smelled slightly of dust, slightly of mothballs, and no light whatsoever had come through to me. Some terrified corner of my brain had noted that so long as the hood was over my face, I wasn’t really a person. I was only a creature, a statistic, and one that was a potential threat at that. It would be far easier to pass and mete out a death sentence when one did not have to look at the face of the damned.
I took the hood from Ramirez and turned to Molly. “Don’t be afraid,” I told her quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She stared back into my eyes, terrified and trying to look brave. She swallowed and nodded once, then closed her eyes.
I cast a resentful look at the warehouse. Then I slipped the hood over Molly’s pink-and-blue hair and pulled it down over her pale face.
“Good enough?” I asked Ramirez.
It wasn’t fair of me to blame him for it, but the note of accusation in my voice came through far more strongly than I had intended. Ramirez glanced away, shame on his face, and nodded. Then he held open the warehouse door.
I took Molly’s hand and led her inside.
Chapter Forty-five
Blood might not stain a Warden’s cloak, but it’s all but impossible to get it out of an old, porous concrete floor. The Merlin, Morgan, and a dozen Wardens stood in the same places they had before, a loose circle that surrounded the dark brown stain that yet remained in the spot where the young warlock had been beheaded.
Morgan had a fresh cut on one of his ears and his left wrist was tightly wrapped in medical tape. Even so, he stood calmly and steadily, the sword of the White Council’s justice resting with its tip on the floor, his hands folded over the weighted pommel. His expression, as he saw me, was impossible to read. I was used to flat contempt and hostility from the man. Hell, I was used to feeling the same thing about Morgan in reply.
But I’d seen him in action. I’d learned a little bit about what his life was like. I understood what moved him better than I had in the past, and I couldn’t simply dislike him anymore. I respected the man. It didn’t mean that I wouldn’t pants him on national television if I got the opportunity, but I couldn’t simply dismiss him outright anymore, either.