by Jim Butcher
Mavra walked slowly back up the steps, tendons creaking. She bent and gathered up the skull she'd dropped at some point during the discussion. Then turned back to us, looking down with a quiet smile. "No matter," she said. "The hour is up."
"Hour?" Susan asked me, in a tight whisper. "What hour is she talking about, Dresden?"
"The hour of socialization," Mavra whispered back. She continued up to the top of the stairs, and gently shut the doors leading out. They closed with an ominous boom.
All the lights went out. All but the blue nimbus around my hand, and the faded glory of the two crosses.
"Great," I muttered.
Susan looked frightened, her expression hard and tightly controlled. "What happens now?" she whispered, her eyes sweeping around in the dark.
Laughter, gentle and mocking, quiet, hissing, thick with something wet and bubbling, came from all around us. When it comes to spooky laughter, it's tough to beat vampires. You're going to have to trust me on this one. They know it well.
Something glimmered in the dark, and Thomas and Justine appeared in the glow of the power gathered in my hand. He lifted both hands at once, and said, "Would you mind terribly if I stood with you?"
I glanced at Michael, who frowned. Then at Susan, who was looking at Thomas in all his next-to-naked glory … somewhat intently. I nudged her with my hip and she blinked and looked at me. "Oh. No, not at all. I guess."
Thomas took Justine's hand, and the two of them stood off to my right, where Michael kept a wary eye on them. "Thank you, wizard. I'm afraid I'm not well loved here."
I glanced over at him. There was a mark on his neck, black and angry red, like a brand, in the shape of lovely, feminine lips. I would have thought it lipstick, but I sensed a faint odor of burnt meat in the air.
"What happened to your neck?"
His face paled a few shades. "Your godmother gave me a kiss."
"Damn," I said.
"Well put. Are you ready?"
"Ready for what?"
"For Court to be held. To be given our gifts."
The tenuous hold I had on the power faltered, and I lowered my trembling hand, let go of the tension gently, before I lost control of it. The last light flickered and went out, leaving us in a darkness I wouldn't have believed possible.
And then the darkness was shattered by light—the spotlights again, shining up on the dias, upon the throne there, and Bianca in her flaming dress upon it. Her mouth and throat and the rounded slopes of her breasts were smeared in streaks of fresh blood, her lips stained scarlet as she smiled, down at the darkness, at the dozens of pairs of glowing eyes in it, gazing up at the dias in adoration, or terror, or lust, or all three.
"All rise," I whispered, as soft whispers and moans, rustled up out of the darkness around us, not at all human. "Vampire Court is now in session."
Chapter Twenty-nine
Fear has a lot of flavors and textures. There's a sharp, silver fear that runs like lightning through your arms and legs, galvanizes you into action, power, motion. There's heavy, leaden fear that comes in ingots, piling up in your belly during the empty hours between midnight and morning, when everything is dark, every problem grows larger, and every wound and illness grows worse.
And there is coppery fear, drawn tight as the strings of a violin, quavering on one single note that cannot possibly be sustained for a single second longer—but goes on and on and on, the tension before the crash of cymbals, the brassy challenge of the horns, the threatening rumble of the kettle drums.
That's the kind of fear I felt. Horrible, clutching tension that left the coppery flavor of blood on my tongue. Fear of the creatures in the darkness around me, of my own weakness, the stolen power the Nightmare had torn from me. And fear for those around me, for the folk who didn't have the power I had. For Susan. For Michael. For all the young people now laying in the darkness, drugged and dying, or dead already, too stupid or too reckless to have avoided this night.
I knew what these things could do to them. They were predators, vicious destroyers. And they scared the living hell out of me.
Fear and anger always come hand in hand. Anger is my hiding place from fear, my shield and my sword against it. I waited for the anger to harden my resolve, put steel into my spine. I waited for the rush of outrage and strength, to feel the power of it coalesce around me like a cloud.
It never came. Just a hollow, fluttering sensation, beneath my belt buckle. For a moment, I felt the fangs of the shadow demon from my dream once again. I started shaking.
I looked around me. All around, the large courtyard was surrounded by high hedges, cut with crenelated squares, in imitation of castle walls. Trees rose up at the corners, trimmed to form the shapes of the guard towers. Small openings in the hedge led out into the darkness of the house's grounds, but were closed with iron-barred doors. The only other way out that I saw was at the head of the stairs, where Mavra leaned against the doors leading back into the manor and out front. She looked at me with those corpse-milk eyes and her lips cracked as she gave me a small, chill smile.
I gripped my cane with both hands. A sword cane, of course—one made in merry old Jack the Ripper England, not a knock-off from one of those men's magazines that sells lava lamps and laser pointers. Real steel. Clutching it didn't do much to make me feel better. I still shook.
Reason. Reason was my next line of defense. Fear is bred from ignorance. So knowledge is a weapon against it, and reason is the tool of knowledge. I turned back to the front as Bianca started speaking to the crowd, some vainglorious bullshit I didn't pay any attention to. Reason. Facts.
Fact one: Someone had engineered the uprising of the dead, the torment of the restless souls. Most likely Mavra had been the one to actually work the magic. The spiritual turbulence had allowed the Nightmare, the ghost of a demon Michael and I had slain, to cross over and come after me.
Fact two: The Nightmare was out to get me and Michael, personally, by taking shots at us and all of our friends. Mavra might even have been directing it, controlling it, using it as a cat's-paw. Optionally, Bianca could have been learning from Mavra, and used it herself. Either way, the results had been the same.
Fact three: It hadn't come after us at sundown, the way we'd half expected.
Fact four: I was surrounded by monsters, with only the strength of a centuries-old tradition keeping them from tearing my throat out. Still, it seemed to be holding. For now.
Unless …
"Hell's bells," I swore. "I hate it when I don't figure out the mystery that it's too late."
Dozens of gleaming red eyes turned toward me. Susan jabbed her elbow into my ribs. "Shut up, Dresden," she hissed. "You're making them look at us."
"Harry?" Michael whispered.
"That's their game," I said, quietly. "We've been set up."
Michael grunted. "What?"
"This whole thing," I said. The facts started falling into place, about two hours too late. "It's been a setup from the very beginning. The ghosts. The Nightmare demon. The attacks on our family and friends. All of it."
"For what?" Michael whispered. "What's it a setup for?"
"She meant to force us to show here from the very beginning. She's getting set to take a lesson from history," I said. "We have to get out of here."
"A lesson from history?" Michael said.
"Yeah. Remember what Vlad Tepesh did at his inauguration?"
"Oh Lord," Michael breathed. "Lord preserve us."
"I don't get it," Susan said, voice quiet. "What did this guy do?"
"He invited all of his political and personal enemies to a feast. Then he locked them in and burned them all alive. He wanted to start off his administration on a high note."
"I see," Susan said "And you think this is what Bianca's doing?"
"Lord preserve us," Michael murmured again.
"I'm told that He helps those who help themselves," I said. "We've got to get out of here."
Michael's armor clinked as he looked
around. "They've blocked the exits."
"I know. How many of them can you handle without the Sword?"
"If it was only a question of holding them off …"
"But it isn't. We may have to punch a hole through them."
Michael shook his head. "I'm not sure. Maybe two or three, Lord willing."
I grimaced. Only one vampire guarded each way out, but there were another two or three dozen in the courtyard—not to mention my godmother or any of the other guests, like Mavra.
"We'll head for that gate," Michael said, nodding toward one of the gates in the hedges.
I shook my head. "We'd never make it."
"You will," he said. "I think I can manage that much."
"Ixnay on that upidstay anplay," I said. "We need an idea that gets us all out alive."
"No, Harry. I'm supposed to stand between people and the harm things like these offer. Even if it kills me. It's my job."
"You're supposed to have the Sword to help. It's my fault that it's gone, so until I get it back for you, ease off on the martyr throttle. I don't need anyone else on my conscience." Or, I thought, a vengeful Charity coming after me for getting her children's father killed. "There's got to be a way out of this."
"Let me get this straight," Susan said, quietly, as Bianca's speech went on. "We can't leave now because it would be an insult to the vampires."
"And all the excuse they would need to call for instant satisfaction."
"Instant satisfaction," Susan said. "What's that?"
"A duel to the death. Which means that one of them would tear my arms off and watch me bleed to death," I said. "If I'm lucky."
Susan swallowed. "I see. And what happens if we just wait around?"
"Bianca or one of the others finds a way to make us cross the line and throw the first punch. Then they kill us."
"And if we don't throw the first punch?" Susan asked.
"I figure she'll have a backup plan to wipe us out with, just in case."
"Us?" Susan asked.
"I'm afraid so." I looked at Michael. "We need a distraction. Something that will get them all looking the other way."
He nodded and said, "You might be better for that than me, Harry."
I took a breath and looked around to see what I had to work with. We didn't have much time. Bianca was bringing her speech to a close.
"And so," Bianca said, her voice carrying ably, "we stand at the dawn of a new age for our kind, the first acknowledged Court this far into the United States. No longer need we fear the wrath of our enemies. No longer shall we meekly bow our heads and offer our throats to those who claim power over us." At this point, her dark eyes fastened directly upon me. "Finally, with the strength of the entire Court behind us, with the Lords of the Outer Night to empower us, we will face our enemies. And bring them to their knees." Her smile widened, curving fangs, blood red.
She trailed a fingertip across her throat, then lifted the blood to her mouth to suckle it from her finger. She shivered. "My dear subjects. Tonight, we have guests among us. Guests brought here to witness our ascension to real power. Please, my friends. Help me welcome them."
The spotlights swiveled around. One of them splashed onto my little group; me, Michael, Susan, with Thomas and Justine just a little apart. A second illuminated Mavra, at the head of the stairs, in all her stark and unearthly pallor. A third settled upon my godmother, who glowed with beauty in its light, casually tossing her hair back and casting a glittering smile around the courtyard. At my godmother's side was Mister Ferro, unlit cigarette still between his lips, smoke dribbling out his nostrils, looking martial and bland in his centurion gear, and utterly unconcerned with everything that was going on.
Applause, listless and somehow sinister, came out of the dark around us. There should be some kind of law. Anything that is so bad that its applause is sinister should be universally banned or something. Or maybe I was just that nervous. I coughed, and waved my hand politely.
"The Red Court would like to take this opportunity to present our guests with gifts at this time," Bianca said, "so that they may know how very, very deeply we regard their goodwill. So, without further ado, Mister Ferro, would you honor me by stepping forward and accepting this token of the goodwill of myself and my Court."
The spotlight followed Ferro as he walked forward. He reached the foot of the dias, inclined his head in a shallow but deliberate nod, then ascended to stand before Bianca. The vampire bowed to him in return, and made a gesture with one hand. One of the hooded figures behind her stepped forward, holding a small cask, about as big as a breadbox. The figure opened it, and the lights gleamed on something that sparkled and shone.
Ferro's eyes glittered, and he stretched his hand down into the cask, sinking it to the wrist. A small smile stretched his lips, and he withdrew his hand with slow reluctance. "A fine offering," he murmured. "Especially in this age of paupers. I thank you."
He and Bianca exchanged bows where she dipped her head just a fraction lower than his own. Ferro closed the cask and took it beneath one arm, withdrawing a polite step before turning and descending the stairs.
Bianca smiled and faced the courtyard again. "Thomas, of House Raith, of our brothers and sisters in the White Court. Please step forward, that I may give you a token of our regard."
I glanced over at Thomas. He took a slow breath and then said, to me, "Would you stand with Justine for me, while I'm up there."
I glanced at the girl. She stood looking up at Thomas, one hand on his arm, her eyes worried, one sweet little lip between her teeth. She looked small, and young, and frightened. "Sure," I said.
I held out a rather stiff arm. The girl's hands clutched at my forearm, as Thomas turned with a brilliant smile, and swaggered into the spotlight and up the steps. She smelled delicious, like flowers or strawberries, with a low, heady musky smell underneath, sensual and distracting.
"She hates him," Justine whispered. Her fingers tightened on my arm, through my sleeve. "They all hate him."
I frowned and glanced down at the girl. Even worried, she was terribly beautiful, though her proximity to me lessened the impact of her outfit. Or lack thereof. I focused on her face and said, "Why do they hate him?"
She swallowed, then whispered, "Lord Raith is the highest Lord of the White Court. Bianca extended her invitation to him. The Lord sent Thomas in his stead. Thomas is his bastard son. Of the White Court, he is the lowest, the least regarded. His presence here is an insult to Bianca."
I got over my surprise that the girl had spoken that many words all together. "Is there some kind of grudge between them?"
Justine nodded, as on the dias, Thomas and Bianca exchanged bows. She presented him with an envelope, speaking too quietly for the crowd to hear. He responded in kind. Justine said, "It's me. It's my fault. Bianca wanted me to come be hers. But Thomas found me first. She hasn't forgiven him for it. She calls him a poacher."
Which made sense, in a way. Bianca had risen to where she was by being Chicago's most infamous Madame. Her Velvet Room provided the services of girls most men only got to daydream about, for a hefty price. She had enough dirt and political connections that she could protect herself from legal persecution, even without counting any of her vampire tricks, and she'd always had more than her share of those. Bianca would want someone like Justine—sweet looking, gorgeous, unconsciously sexy. Probably dress her up in a plaid skirt and a starched white shirt with—
Down, Harry. Hell's bells. "Is that why you stay with him?" I asked her. "Because you feel that it's your fault he has enemies?"
She looked up at me, for a moment, and then away, her expression more sad than anything. "You wouldn't understand."
"Look. He's a vampire. I know that they can affect people, but you could be in danger—"
"I don't need rescuing, Mr. Dresden," she said. Her lovely eyes sparkled with something hard, determined. "But there is something you can do for me."
I got an edgy feeling and watched the girl waril
y. "Yeah? Like what?"
"You can take Thomas and me with you when you leave."
"You guys showed up in a limo, and you want a ride home with me?"
"Don't be coy, Mr. Dresden," she said. "I know what you and your friends were talking about."
I felt my shoulders creak with tension. "You heard us. You aren't human, either."
"I'm very human, Mister Dresden. But I read lips. Will you help him or not?"
"It isn't my business to protect him."
Her soft mouth compressed into a hard line. "I'm making it your business."
"Are you threatening me?"
Her face flushed as pink as the dress she was almost wearing, but she stood her ground. "We need friends, Mister Dresden. If you won't help us, then I'll try to buy Bianca's favor by exposing your plans to escape and claiming that I heard you talking about killing her."
"That's a lie," I hissed.
"It's an exaggeration," she said, her voice gentle. She lowered her eyes. "But it will be enough for her to call duel. Or to force you to shed blood. And if that happens, you will die." She took a breath. "I don't want it to be like that. But if we don't do something to protect ourselves, she'll kill him. And make me into one of her pet whores."
"I wouldn't let that happen to you," I said. The words poured out of my mouth before I'd had time to run them past the thinking part of my brain, but they had that solid, certain ring of truth. Oh, hell.
She looked up at me, uncertain again, catching one of those soft lips between her teeth. "Really?" she whispered. "You really mean that, don't you."
I grimaced. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do."
"Then you'll help me? You'll help us?"
Michael, Susan, Justine, Thomas. Before long, I was going to need a secretary just to keep track of everyone I was supposed to be looking out for. "You. But Thomas can look out for himself."
Justine's eyes filled with tears. "Mister Dresden, please. If there's anything I can do or say to convince you, I—"
"Dammit," I swore, earning a glare from Michael. "Dammit, dammit, dammit, woman. All women, for that matter." That earned me a glare from Susan. "He's a vampire, Justine. He's eating you. Why should you care if something happens to him?"