by Jim Butcher
"There's more to it than that," Luccio said. "I think that you do not realize your own reputation. You have overcome more enemies and battled more evils than most wizards a century your senior. And times are changing. There are more young wizards attaining membership to the Council than ever before-like Ramirez and his companions, there. To them, you are a symbol of defiance to the conservative elements of the Council, and a hero who will risk his life when his principles demand it."
"I am?"
"You are," Luccio said. "I can't say that I approve of it. But right now the Council will need every scrap of courage and faith we can muster. Your presence and support in the face of a greater danger will appease your detractors, and the presence of a wizard who has experience in battle will encourage the younger members of the Council." She grimaced. "Put simply, Dresden, we need you. And you need us."
I rubbed at my eyes for a moment. Then I said, "Let's say I do sign on. I'm willing to wear the cloak. I'm willing to fight for as long as the war is on. But I won't move away from Chicago. There are people here who depend on me." I glowered. "And I won't bow my head to Morgan. I don't want him within a hundred miles of my town."
Luccio rubbed at her jaw, and then nodded slowly, her eyes thoughtful. "I have to reassign Morgan in any case." She nodded again, more sharply. "Then I'm conscripting you into the Wardens as a regional commander."
I blinked.
"You'll be in charge of security and operations in this region, and coordinate with the other three American regional commanders."
"Uh," I said. "What does that mean?"
"That it will be your job to protect mortals in this area. To be vigilant against supernatural threats in your region, and represent the Council in matters of diplomacy. To aid and assist other wizards who come to you for aid and protection, and, when required, to strike out at the enemies of the Council, such as the Red Court and their allies."
I frowned. "Uh, I pretty much do that anyway."
Luccio's face broke into the first genuinely warm smile I'd ever seen on her, the care lines vanishing, replaced with crow's-feet at the corners of her eyes. "So now you'll do it in a grey cloak." Her expression sobered. "You're a fighter, Dresden. If the White Council is to survive, we need more like you."
She pushed away from the table and walked over to the bar, carrying our empty bottles with her.
When she came back, I had just finished getting the cloak pin settled and draping the heavy, soft grey fabric around my shoulders. She stopped in front of me and looked me up and down for a moment. Ramirez glanced at me, and his grin widened. Morgan looked, and from his expression you would think someone had just shoved a knife into his testicles. Mac's brow furrowed, and he studied me in the cloak, his lips quietly pursed.
"Thank you," Luccio said quietly, and offered me an ale.
I accepted it with a nod. We touched bottles and took a drink.
"Very well then, Commander," Luccio said, her tone turning brisk and businesslike. "This is your territory, and you have the most recent intelligence on Kemmler's disciples. What is our next step?"
I shoved my hair back from my eyes and said, "Okay, Warden Luce-uh, Captain Luccio. Let's sit down and get to work. It's getting dark, and we don't have much time."
Chapter Thirty-two
When I walked through the door of Murphy's house, it was raining and I was still wearing the grey cloak. I limped into the kitchen, where Thomas and Butters and Bob were sitting at a table with a bunch of candles, paper, pencils, and empty cans of Coors.
Thomas's jaw dropped open. "Holy crap," he said.
Butters blinked at Thomas and then at me. "Uh. What?"
"Harry!" Bob said, orange eye lights glowing brightly. "You stole a Warden's cloak?"
I scowled at them and took the cloak off. It dripped all over the kitchen floor. "I didn't steal it." Mouse came padding into the room, tail wagging, and I rubbed briefly at his ears.
"Oh," Bob said. "So you took it off a body?"
"No," I said, annoyed, and settled onto a chair at the table. "I got drafted."
"Holy crap," Thomas said again.
"I don't get it," Butters said.
"Harry's joined the wizard secret police!" Bob burbled. "He gets to convict on suspicion and take justice into his own hands! How cool is that!"
Thomas looked at me steadily and then at the door behind me. Then back to me.
"I'm alone," I said quietly. "Relax."
He nodded. "What happened?"
"A lot," I said. "There isn't time to cover it all now. But the Wardens are in town, and I'm not so worried about them crawling all over and finding out everyone's secrets."
"Why not?" Thomas asked.
"Because at the moment all five of them are at a hotel downtown, getting showers and changing bandages while I try to come up with more information about the heirs of Kemmler."
Thomas blinked slowly. "All five… and they have wounded?"
I nodded, my lips pressed hard together.
"Wow," Thomas said quietly. "How bad is it?"
"They drafted me," I said.
"That's bad, all right," Bob said cheerfully.
I looked at the scattered papers and books on the table. "Tell me you guys came up with something."
Butters blinked a few times and then started fumbling at the papers on the table, peering at them in the candlelight. "Uh, well, there's good news and bad news."
"Bad first," I said. "I'm going to need the pick-me-up afterward."
"We've got nothing on those numbers," Butters said. "I mean, they aren't a code. They're too short. They could be an address or an account number, but none of the banks we could get on the phone use that number of digits." He coughed apologetically. "If I could have gotten on the Net I could have gotten you a lot more, but…" He gestured uselessly around the room. "We couldn't get one call in fifty to go through, and at most of the places we called, no one answered. And in the past hour the phones have gone out altogether."
I shook my head. "Yeah. City's going insane, too. There were two fires between here and McAnally's. Some kind of riot going in Buck-town, I heard on a police radio."
"The governor has asked for help from the National Guard," Thomas said quietly. "They're sending troops in to keep order on the streets."
I blinked. "How did you find that out?"
"I called my sister," he said.
I frowned. "I thought Lara wasn't speaking with you."
Thomas's voice went dry. "Just because she cut me off from the family's money, kicked me out of any of our holdings, made it clear that I no longer have their protection, and she's holding the woman I love as a virtual prisoner, don't think she doesn't still like me, personally."
"So she did you a little favor," I said.
"Technically," Thomas said, "she did you a little favor."
"Why did she do that?" I asked.
"Well, I hinted about how since her entire power base depended on a certain secret being kept, and since you were awfully irrational about protecting the good citizens of Chicago, that you might develop loose lips to sink her ship if she didn't help you in your moment of need."
"Urn," I said. "So you're telling me that I just engaged in blackmail against the ruler of the White Court. By proxy."
"Yeah," Thomas said. "You've got some great big brass balls on you to do something like that, Harry."
"I guess I do." I shook my head. "Why did I do that?"
"Because we needed help," Thomas said. "We were getting nowhere fast. Lara's got a ton of resources available to her, and a lot of manpower. She was able to come up with some of the other information we needed."
"Which is the good news," Butters said. "She wasn't blacked out and cut off from the Internet like we are, and she was able to get a bunch of information we couldn't." He passed me a piece of paper. "Not on the numbers-but one of her people was able to find out about Native American artifacts and weapons here in Chicago."
I looked up sharply at Butte
rs. "Yeah?"
He nodded at the paper and I read over it. "Yep," he said. "The Native American Center is using their facility to host this big display on tribal hunting and warfare before all of us palefaces showed up with guns and smallpox. The History Channel is using it as a part of some history-of-warfare special, and they were filming there all last week."
"Yeah," I said. "That could have some old hunter spirits attached to it." I read over the list. "Dammit, I should have remembered this myself. The Field Museum has that big Cahokian artifacts exhibit that Professor Bartlesby was in charge of. Hell, it was a bunch of Indian artifacts that Corpsetaker helped assemble himself. Probably with tonight in mind."
Butters nodded. "And the Mitchell Museum up in Evanston has got more Native American artifacts than either one put together."
"Crap," I said. "That's it."
"How do you know that?" Butters asked.
"It only stands to reason," Bob supplied. "The whole point is to summon up as many old spirits as possible and then consume them. The most spirits are going to be attracted to wherever there is the most old junk."
I nodded. "I remember this place now. That museum's on a college campus, right?"
"Kendall College," Butters confirmed.
"College campus on Halloween night," Thomas said. "Hell of a place for a gang of necromancers to slug it out. There's going to be collateral damage."
"No, there isn't," I said, and I was surprised how vicious my own voice sounded. "Because we're going to stop this stupid summoning. And then we're going to hunt those murderous bastards down and kill them."
There was dead silence in the kitchen.
Thomas and Butters both stared at me, expressions apprehensive.
"Maybe it's the cloak," Bob suggested brightly. "Harry, do you feel any more judgmental and self-righteous than you did this morning?"
I took a slow and deep breath. "Sorry," I said. "Sorry. That came out kinda harsh."
"Maybe a little," Butters said, his voice all but a whisper.
I rubbed at my face and glanced at the battery-powered clock on the wall of Murphy's kitchen. "Okay. Sundown's in just over an hour. I have to be ready to call up the Erlking by then."
"Um," Thomas said. "Harry, if it's the Erlking's presence that's going to attract all of these old spirits to their old tools and stuff, then won't it do the same thing no matter who calls him up?"
"Yeah," I said. "Unless the one who calls him traps him in a circle to contain his power and leaves him there."
Bob made a spluttering sound. "Harry, that's a dangerous proposition. No, scratch that, it's an insane proposition. Even assuming you have the will to trap something like the Erlking in a circle, and even if you keep him there all night, he is not going to let that kind of insult go. He'll come back the next night and kill you. If you're lucky."
"I can worry about that after I've done it," I said.
"Wait," Butters said. "Wait, wait. I mean, will it really matter? These guys don't have the bad magic book, right? Without that book, all they can do is call up the spirits. They can't, you know, eat them. Right?"
"We can't assume that they don't have it," I said. "Grevane might have found it."
"But the other two couldn't, right?" Butters said.
"Even if they haven't, they'll still be there," I said. "They can't afford to assume that their rivals haven't gotten the book. So they're going to show up with everything they have to try to prevent one of the others from going through with the ritual."
"Why?" Butters asked.
"Because they hate each other," I said. "And if one of them goes all godly, he's going to enjoy crushing the others. It will probably be the first thing he does."
"Oh," Butters said.
"That's why I need you to do something for me, Thomas."
My brother nodded. "Name it."
I grabbed a blank piece of paper and a pencil and started writing. "This is a note. I want you to take it down to the address I'm writing down and get it to the Wardens."
"I'm not going anywhere close to the Wardens," Thomas said.
"You don't have to," I said. "They're at a hotel. You'll leave it at the desk and ask the clerk to take it to them. Then clear out fast."
"Are they going to trust a note?" Thomas asked, skeptical.
"I told them to expect a messenger if I couldn't get there myself. They know about the Erlking. That I'm trying to sidetrack him. They need to know where the heirs of Kemmler are going to be so that they can take them down."
"Five of them," Thomas said quietly. "They'll be outnumbered by one."
I grimaced. It would be worse than that. Ramirez had looked like he could handle himself, but the two rookies couldn't have stood up to any of the heirs or their companions, from what I'd seen. "Once I've secured the Erlking, I'll be along as quick as I can. Besides that, they're Wardens," I said. "They'll take down Kemmler's flunkies."
"Or die trying," Thomas said. He grimaced. "How should I get down there?"
I went to another kitchen drawer and rummaged in it until I found Murphy's spare keys. I tossed them to Thomas. "Here. Her motorcycle is in the shed."
"Right," he said, but his expression was wary. "She going to mind me stealing her bike?"
"It's in a good cause," I told him. "The streets are bad, and the Wardens need to get moving soonest. Go."
Thomas nodded, pocketed the keys, and shrugged into his leather jacket. "I'll get back here as soon as I'm done."
"Yeah," I said quietly. "Thomas. To the Wardens you're nothing but a White Court vampire. If they see you, they'll be out for blood."
"I understand," he said. His voice was a little bitter. "If I'm not back in time, Harry… good luck."
He offered his hand, and we traded grips, hard. My hand must have been cold with nerves, because his felt warm. Then he let go of my hand, nodded to Bob and Butters, and headed out into the rain. A minute later Murphy's Harley grumbled in the backyard, and then purred off into the rain and gloom.
I sat there in silence for a minute, then got up and went to the stove. I got the teapot out, filled it up, and put it on the gas burner to boil. It took me a minute to find Murphy's collection of teas, and it was gratuitously complex. I mean, come on, how many different types of tea do you really need? Maybe I'm prejudiced, because I take my tea with so much sugar that the actual flavor is sort of an aftertaste.
I found some in instant bags that smelled vaguely minty. "Tea?" I asked Butters.
"Sure," he said.
I got out two cups.
"What's next?" he asked.
"Hot tea," I said. "Staying warm. Then I go out in the rain and call up the Erlking. You're staying inside while I do."
"Why?" he asked.
"Because it's going to be dangerous."
"Well, yeah," he said. "But why inside the house? I mean, this super-goblin can just rip the walls apart, right?"
"Strong enough to do it, probably," I said. "But it can't. The house is protected by its threshold."
Butters looked at me blankly. "Which means what?"
I leaned a hip on the counter and explained. "A threshold is a kind of energy that surrounds a home. It's…" I frowned, thinking how to explain it. "It's sort of like the home has a positive charge to it. If outside magic wants to come in, it has to neutralize that charge first. Big, tough things from the Nevernever need a lot of power just to stay in our world. They don't usually have enough to take out a threshold and still have enough juice to be dangerous."
"It's like that vampire thing?" he asked. "They can't come in if you don't invite them?"
"Pretty much, yeah. If you invite something in, your threshold won't affect it. But other magical beings and energy have trouble with it. It's a solid defense."
"Didn't help your place much," Butters observed.
"My place is a rental apartment," I said. "And except for the past several months, it's been just me living there. Doesn't give it the same kind of energy as you'd find in a long-establi
shed home."
"Oh. Is that what they mean by 'safe as houses,' then?"
I smiled a little. "A house doesn't make a home. When the place has got history, family, emotions, worries, joys worked into the wood, that's when it gets a solid threshold. This house has been in the Murphy clan for better than a hundred years, and lived in for every one of them. It's solid. You'll be safe in here."
"But it's not going to get loose once you call it up," Butters said. "Right?"
"That's the plan. But even if it did, you aren't the one who is going to piss it off. There won't be any reason for it to come after you."
"Oh, good," he said. He blinked at me and said apologetically, "Not that I want it to come after you, Harry."
"I don't blame you," I said.
Butters nodded. "Why zombies?" he asked.
"Huh?"
"Sorry. Changing topics. New question. Why do all these necromancer types use zombies?"
"Not all of them do," I pointed out. "Corpsetaker had called up a bunch of semicorporeal ghosts. Specters."
"But human," Butters said. "Zombies look human. Specters look human. Why not whistle up a pack of decayed rats? Or maybe semicorporeal mosquitos? Why use people?"
"Oh," I said. "It's got to do with a kind of metaphysical impression that any given creature leaves upon its death. Sort of like a footprint. Human beings leave larger footprints than most animals, which means that you can pour more energy into reanimating them."
"They make stronger goons," Butters clarified.
"Yes."
"How come Grevane had fresh corpses when he came to get me, but he attacked your house with old ones? I mean, I saw those things up close." He shivered. "Some of them must have dated back to the beginning of the twentieth century."
"Same reason they animate humans instead of animals," I said. "Older corpses leave a deeper metaphysical imprint. They're harder to call up, but once you get them here they're easier to control, stronger, more difficult to damage."
"Old corpses get you stronger undead flunkies," he said.
"Right," I said. I could see the wheels turning in Butters's head as he processed the information. He looked like he was busy lining up dozens more questions spawned by the answers to the first few, and I had a feeling he would pursue them with relentless curiosity.