The Dresden Files Collection 7-12

by Jim Butcher

  Don’t look at me like that. It’s a lot likelier than you’d think.

  Anyway, the suggestion was another finely crafted spell: delicate, precise, subtle, much like the earlier veil Lasciel had spotted. Whoever or whatever was crafting these workings was a pro.

  I made sure my shield bracelet was ready to go, and marched up to Anna’s door. I could sense the ward there, still active, so I thumped my staff on the floor immediately in front of the door. “Ms. Ash?” I called. It wasn’t like I was going to wake anyone up. “It’s Harry Dresden. We need to talk.”

  There was silence. I repeated myself. I heard a sound, that of someone striving to move silently, a scuff or a creak so faint that I wasn’t sure it had been real. I checked Mouse. His ears were pricked up, swiveled forward. He’d heard it too.

  Someone flushed a toilet on the floor above us. I heard a door open and close, a faint sound, also on another floor. There was no further sound from Anna Ash’s apartment.

  I didn’t like where this was going at all.

  “Stand back, buddy,” I told Mouse. He did, backing away in that clumsy reverse waddle-walk dogs do.

  I turned to the ward. It was like the little pig’s straw house. It wouldn’t last more than a second or two against a big bad wolf. “And I’ll huff and I’ll puff,” I muttered. I drew up my will, took the staff in both hands, and pressed one end slowly toward the door. “Solvos,” I murmured. “Solvos. Solvos.”

  As the staff touched the door, I sent a gentle surge of will coursing down through its length. It passed through the wood visibly, the carved runes in it briefly illuminated from within by pale blue light. My will hit Anna’s door and scattered out in a cloud of pinprick sparkles of white light as my power unbound the patterns of the ward and reduced them to mere anarchy.

  “Anna?” I called again. “Ms. Ash?”

  No answer.

  I tried the doorknob. It was unlocked.

  “That can’t be good,” I told Mouse. “Here we go.” I quietly opened the door, giving it a gentle push so that it would swing wide and let me see inside the darkened apartment.

  At which point the trap sprang.

  For traps to work, though, they need to catch their target off his guard.

  I had my new and improved shield bracelet ready when greenish light flashed in the dark apartment and rushed swiftly toward me. I lifted my left hand. Bound around my wrist was a chain made of braided strands of several metals, silver predominant. The metal shields that hung from the bracelet had, in its previous incarnation, been solid silver as well. They had been replaced with shields of silver, iron, copper, nickel, and brass.

  The new shield wasn’t like the old one. The old one had provided an intangible barrier meant to deflect solid matter and kinetic energy. It hadn’t been made to stop, for example, heat. That’s how my left hand got roasted practically down to the bones. It had been of only limited use against other forms of magic or energy.

  If there hadn’t been a war on, and if I hadn’t been spending so much time drilling Molly in the fundamentals—and therefore getting in all kinds of extra practice, myself—I would never have considered attempting to create such a complex focus. It was far more complicated than almost anything I’d done before. Five years ago, it would have been beyond me completely. More to the point, five years ago, I wouldn’t have been as experienced or as strongly motivated.

  But that was then, and this was now.

  The shield that formed in front of me was not the familiar, translucent part-dome of pale blue light. Instead it flared into place in a blurring swirl of colors that solidified in an instant into a curving rampart of silver energy. The new shield was far more thorough than the old. Not only would it stop everything the old one had, but it would provide shelter against heat, cold, electricity—even sound and light, if I needed it to. It had also been designed to turn aside a fairly broad spectrum of supernatural energies. It was this last that was important at the moment.

  A globe of green lightning sizzled over the apartment’s threshold and abruptly expanded, buzzing arcs of verdant electricity interconnected in a diamond pattern like the weave of a fisherman’s net.

  The spell fell on my shield and the meeting of energies yielded a torrent of angry yellow sparks that rebounded from the shield, scattering over the hall, the doorway, and bouncing back into the apartment.

  I dropped the shield as I brandished my staff, sent a savage torrent of power down my arm, and snarled, “Forzare!”

  Unseen force lashed through the doorway—and splashed against the apartment’s threshold. Most of the spell’s power struck that barrier, grounded out, and was dissipated. What amounted to less than a percent of the power I had cast out actually made it through the doorway, as I had known it would. Instead of delivering a surge of energy strong enough to flip over a car, I delivered only a blow strong enough to knock an adult from her feet.

  I heard a woman’s voice let out a surprised grunt at the impact, and heavy objects clattered to the floor.

  “Mouse!” I shouted.

  The big dog bounded forward through the doorway, and I went in right behind him. Once again, the apartment’s threshold stripped away my power, leaving me all but utterly unable to wield magic.

  Which is why I’d brought my .44 revolver with me, tucked into a duster pocket. I had it in my left hand as I came through the door and hit the main light switch with my right elbow, bellowing, “I have not had a very good day!”

  Mouse had someone pinned on the ground, and kept them there by virtue of simply sitting on them. Two hundred pounds of Mouse is an awfully effective restraint, and though he had his teeth bared, he wasn’t actively struggling or making any noise.

  To my right, Anna Ash stood frozen like a rabbit in a spotlight, and my gun tracked to her immediately. “Don’t move,” I warned her. “I don’t have any magic at the moment, and that always makes me really, really ready to pull the trigger.”

  “Oh, God,” she said, her voice a rough whisper. She licked her lips, visibly trembling. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. D-don’t hurt me, please. You don’t have to do this.”

  I told her to walk over to Mouse and his prisoner. Once she was standing where I could watch both of them at once, I could relax a little, and though I did not lower the gun, I took my finger off the trigger. “Do what?”

  “What you’ve done to the others,” Anna said, her voice thready. “You don’t have to do this. Not to anyone.”

  “The others?” I demanded. I probably sounded at least half as disgusted as I felt. “You think I came here to kill you?”

  She blinked at me a few times. Then she said, “You came here, broke down my door, and pointed a gun at me. What am I supposed to think?”

  “I did not break down your door! It was unlocked!”

  “You tore apart my ward!”

  “Because I thought you might be in trouble, you twit!” I hollered. “I thought the killer might be here already.”

  A woman let out a couple of choking gasps. After a moment, I realized that it was the person Mouse had pinned down, letting out breathless laughter.

  I lowered the gun and put it away. “For crying out loud. You thought the killer was coming for you? So you laid a trap for him?”

  “Well, no,” Anna said, now looking somewhat confused again. “I mean, I didn’t do it. The Ordo…we hired a private investigator to look into it. It was her idea to trap the killer when he came here.”

  “A private investigator?” I looked over at the other woman and said, “Mouse.”

  My dog, tail waving gently, backed off right away and trotted over to stand beside me. The woman he’d been holding down sat up.

  She was pale—not the sickly pallor of no time in the sun, but the color of the living, healthy skin of a tree beneath the outer bark. Her lean face was intensely attractive—more intriguing than beautiful, with wide, intelligent eyes set over an expressive, generous mouth. She had a slim build, all long legs and long arms, and
wore a simple pair of jeans along with a black Aerosmith T-shirt, and brown leather Birkenstocks. She propped herself up on her elbows, a tendril of wheat-colored hair falling to almost insolently conceal one eye, and gave me a wry smile.

  “Hello, Harry.” She dabbed her fingers at a little bloody spot on her lower lip and winced, though there was still amusement in her voice. “Is that a new staff, or are you just happy to see me?”

  And after my heart had skipped a couple of beats, I blinked and said, in a very quiet voice, to the first woman I’d ever everythinged, “Hello, Elaine.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I sat on the love seat while Anna Ash made coffee. Mouse, ever hopeful to cadge a snack, followed Anna into the kitchen, and sat there giving her his most pathetic, starving-doggy body language and wagging his tail.

  We sat down together with coffee, like civilized people, a few minutes later.

  “Ms. Ash,” I said, taking my cup.

  “Anna, please.”

  I nodded to her. “Anna. First, I wish to apologize for frightening you. It wasn’t my intention.”

  She sipped her coffee, frowning at me, and then nodded. “I suppose I can understand your motivations.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’m sorry I blew up your ward. I’ll be glad to replace it for you.”

  “We put a lot of hours in on that thing.” Anna sighed. “I mean, I know it wasn’t…expert work.”

  “We?” I asked.

  “The Ordo,” she said. “We worked together to protect everyone’s home.”

  “Community project. Sort of a barn raising,” I said.

  She nodded. “That’s the idea.” She bit her lip. “But there were more of us, when we did that.”

  For just a second, the capable exterior wavered, and Anna looked very tired and very frightened. I felt a little pang inside at the sight. Real fright isn’t like the movies. Real fear is an ugly, quiet, relentless thing. It’s a kind of pain, and I hated seeing it on Anna’s face.

  I found Elaine watching me, her eyes thoughtful. She sat on the sofa, leaning forward so that her elbows rested on her spread knees. She held her cup in one hand at a slight, negligent angle. On anyone else, it would have looked masculine. On Elaine, it only looked relaxed, strong, and confident.

  “He truly meant you no harm, Anna,” she said, turning to our host. “He’s got this psychosis about charging to the rescue. I always thought it gave him a certain hapless charm.”

  “I think we should focus on the future, for the time being,” I said. “I think we need to pool our information and try to work together on this.”

  Anna and Elaine exchanged a long look. Anna glanced at me again and asked Elaine, “Are you sure?”

  Elaine gave a single, firm nod. “He isn’t the one trying to hurt you. I’m sure now.”

  “Sure now?” I said. “Is that why you veiled yourself when I was here earlier?”

  Elaine’s fine eyebrows lifted. “You didn’t sense it when you were here. How did you know?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe a little bird told me. Do you really think I’m capable of something like that?”

  “No,” Elaine said. “But I had to be sure.”

  “You know me better than that,” I said, unable to keep a little heat out of my voice.

  “I trust you,” Elaine said, without a trace of apology in her tone, “but it might not have been you, Harry. It could have been an impostor. Or you could have been acting under some form of coercion. People’s lives were at stake. I had to know.”

  I wanted to snarl back at her that if she so much as thought I might be the killer, she didn’t know me at all. If that’s how it was going to be, I might as well get up and walk right out of the apartment before—

  And then I sighed.

  Ah, sweet bird of irony.

  “You were obviously expecting the killer to show up,” I said to Anna. “The sleeping spell. The ambush. What made you think he might be coming?”

  “Me,” Elaine said.

  “And what made you think that?”

  She gave me a dazzling, innocent smile and imitated my tone and inflection. “Maybe a little bird told me.”

  I snorted.

  Anna’s eyes suddenly widened. “You two were together.” She turned to Elaine. “That’s how you know him.”

  “It was a long time ago,” I said.

  Elaine winked at me. “But you never really forget your first.”

  “You never forget your first train wreck, either.”

  “Train wrecks are exciting. Fun, even,” Elaine said. She kept smiling, though her eyes turned a little sad. “Right up until the very last part.”

  I felt half a smile tug up one side of my mouth. “True,” I said. “But I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t try to dodge questions by throwing up a smoke screen of nostalgia.”

  Elaine took a long sip of coffee and shrugged a shoulder. “I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.”

  I folded my arms, frowning. “Sixty seconds ago, you said that you trusted me.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Trust is a two-way street, Harry.”

  I leaned back, took another sip of coffee, and said, “Maybe you’re right. I put it together after the fact, when I was making notes of our conversation. I couldn’t remember noticing anything about the woman on the love seat, which doesn’t happen to me. So I figured it must have been a veil, and came over here because it was possible that whoever was under it was a threat to the Ordo.”

  Elaine pursed her lips, frowning for a moment. “I see.”

  “Your turn.”

  She nodded. “I’ve been working out of L.A., taking a lot of cases referred my way—like this one. And Chicago isn’t the first city where this has happened.”

  I blinked at her. “What?”

  “San Diego, San Jose, Austin, and Seattle. Over the past year, members of a number of small organizations like the Ordo Lebes have been systematically stalked and murdered. Most of them have appeared to be suicides. Counting Chicago, the killer’s taken thirty-six victims.”

  “Thirty-six…” I ran my thumb over the handle of the coffee cup, frowning. “I haven’t heard a word about this. Nothing. A year?”

  Elaine nodded. “Harry, I’ve got to know. Is it possible that the Wardens are involved?”

  “No,” I said, my tone firm. “No way.”

  “Because they’re such easygoing, tolerant people?” she asked.

  “No. Because I know Ramirez, the regional commander for most of those cities. He wouldn’t be a part of something like that.” I shook my head. “Besides, we’ve got a manpower shortage. The Wardens are stretched pretty thin. And there’s no reason for them to go around killing people.”

  “You’re sure about Ramirez,” Elaine said. “Can you say the same about every Warden?”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” Elaine said, “in every single one of those cities, a man in a grey cloak was seen with at least two of the victims.”

  Uh-oh.

  I put the coffee cup down on an end table and folded my arms, thinking.

  It wasn’t general knowledge, but someone on the Council was leaking information to the vamps on a regular and devastating basis. The traitor still had not been caught. Even worse, I had seen evidence that there was another organization at work behind the scenes, manipulating events on a scale large enough to indicate a powerful, well-funded, and frighteningly capable group—and that at least some of them were wizards. I had dubbed them the Black Council, because it was obvious, and I’d been keeping my ear to the ground for indications of their presence.

  And look. I found one.

  “Which explains why I hadn’t heard anything about it,” I said. “If everyone thinks the Wardens are responsible, there’s not a prayer they’d draw attention to themselves by reporting what was happening and asking for help. Or call in a gumshoe who happens to be a Warden, himself.”

  Elaine nodded. “Right. I started getting called in about a mon
th after I got my own license and opened my business.”

  I grunted. “How’d they know to call you?”

  She smiled. “I’m in the book under ‘Wizards.’”

  I snorted. “I knew you were copying my test answers all those years.”

  “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” She pulled a strand of hair back behind one ear, an old and familiar gesture that brought with it a pang of remembered desire and a dozen little memories. “Most of the business has come in on referral, though, because I do good work. In any case, one fact about the killer’s victims was almost always the same: people who lived alone or were isolated.”

  “And I,” Anna said quietly, “am the last living member of the Ordo who lives alone or were isolated.”

  “These other cities,” I said. “Did the killer leave anything behind? Messages? Taunts?”

  “Like what?” Elaine asked.

  “Bible verses,” I said. “Left in traces, something only one of us would recognize.”

  She shook her head. “No. Nothing like that. Or if there was, I never found it.”

  I exhaled slowly. “So far, two of the deaths here have had messages left behind. Your friend Janine and a woman named Jessica Blanche.”

  Elaine frowned. “I gathered, from what you said earlier. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Yes, it does,” I said. “We just don’t know why.” I frowned. “Could any of the other deaths be attributed to the White Court?”

  Elaine frowned and rose. She took her coffee cup to the kitchen and came back, a pensive frown on her brow. “I…can’t be certain they haven’t, I suppose. I certainly haven’t seen anything to suggest it. Why?”

  “Excuse me,” Anna said, her voice quiet and unsure. “White Court?”

  “The White Court of vampires,” I clarified.

  “There’s more than one kind?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “The Red Court are the ones the White Council is fighting now. They’re these bat-monster things that can look human. Drink blood. The White Court are more like people. They’re psychic parasites. They seduce their victims and feed on human life energy.”