The Dresden Files Collection 1-6

by Jim Butcher

  “Steel,” I muttered. “So you’re a faerie somethingorother too.” I looked up at the enormous shelves as I ran down the length of them, and a second later I heard the chlorofiend turn and begin pacing after me. I started gathering in my will as I ran, and I allowed the physical shield to fall, leaving me only enough defense to keep the mist from blitzing my head. I would need every bit of strength I could muster to pull off my sudden and desperate plan—and if it didn’t work, my shield wouldn’t protect me for long in any case. Sooner or later, the chlorofiend would batter its way through my defenses and pound me into plant food.

  I pulled ahead of it, but it started gaining momentum, catching up to me. As I reached the end of the row, the end of the steel shelves, I turned to face it.

  Hell’s bells, that thing was big. Bigger than Grum. I could see through it in places, where twists of branches and leaves were not too closely clumped with earth, but that didn’t make it seem any less massive or dangerous.

  If this didn’t work, I wasn’t going to last long enough to regret it.

  Most magic is pretty time-consuming, what with drawing circles and gathering energies and aligning forces. Quick and dirty magic, evocation, is drawn directly from a wizard’s will and turned loose without benefit of guide or limit. It’s difficult and it’s dangerous. I suck at evocation. I only knew a couple that I could do reliably, and even they required a focus, such as my shield bracelet or blasting rod, to be properly controlled.

  But for doing big dumb things that require a lot of energy and not much finesse, I’m usually fine.

  I lifted my arms, and the mist was stirred by a sudden rush of moving air. The chlorofiend pounded closer, and I closed my eyes, pouring more energy out, reaching for the wind.“Vento,” I muttered, feeling more power stir. The chlorofiend bellowed again, sending a jolt of fear through me, and the winds rose even more.“Vento! Vento, ventas servitas!”

  Power, magic, coursed through my outstretched arms and lashed out at the night. The wind rose in a sudden roar, a screaming cyclone that whirled into being just in front of me and then whirled out toward the heavy metal shelving.

  The chlorofiend screamed again, nearly drowned out by the windstorm I’d called, only a few yards away.

  The enormous, heavy shelves, loaded with tons of materials, let out a groan of protest and then fell, toppled over onto the chlorofiend with a deafening din that ripped at my ears and shook the concrete floor.

  The chlorofiend was strong, but it wasn’t that strong. It went down like a bush under a bulldozer, shrieking again as the steel shelves crushed it and burned into its substance. A foul greyish smoke rose from the wreckage, and the chlorofiend continued to scream and thrash, the shelves jerking and moving.

  Exhaustion swept over me with the effort of the spell, and I glowered down at the fallen shelves. “Down,” I panted, “but not out. Dammit.” I watched the shelves for a moment and decided that the chlorofiend probably wouldn’t shrug it off for a few minutes. I shook my head and headed for the gate into the enclosure. Hopefully, Grum hadn’t twisted things up so badly that I couldn’t get out.

  He had. The metal latch on the gate had been pinched into a mess by his talons. They had scored the metal in sharp notches, like an industrial cutter. Note to self: Don’t think steel can stop Grum’s fingernails. I checked above and decided to risk climbing the fence and getting through the barbed wire.

  I had gotten maybe halfway up the chain-link fence when Murphy limped out of the mist on the other side, her gun pointed right at me.

  “Whoa, whoa, Murph,” I said. I showed her my hands and promptly fell off the fence. “It’s me.”

  She lowered the gun and let out her breath. “Christ, Harry. What are you doing?”

  “Texas cage match. I won.” From behind me, the chlorofiend let out another shriek and the shelving groaned as it shifted. I gulped and looked back. “Rematch doesn’t look promising, though. Where have you been?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Shopping.”

  “Where’s Grum and the ghoul?”

  “Don’t know. The ghoul’s blood trail went out, but someone shot at me when I followed it. Haven’t seen the ogre.” She blinked at the gate’s latch. “Damn. Guess he shut you in here, huh?”

  “Pretty much. You get shot?”

  “No, why?”

  “You’re limping.”

  Murphy grimaced. “Yeah. One of those bastards must have thrown a bunch of marbles on the floor. I slipped on one. It’s my knee.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Uh.”

  Murphy blinked at me. “Youdid that?”

  “Well, it was a plan at the time.”

  “Harry, that’s not a plan, it’s a Looney Tune.”

  “Kill me later. Help me out of here now.” I squinted up at the barbed wire. “Maybe if you get a rake, you can push it up for me so that I can slide between it and the fence.”

  “We’re twenty feet from the hardware department, genius,” Murphy said. She limped back into the mist, and returned half a minute later carrying a pair of bolt cutters. She cut a slit in the chain link fence and I squeezed through it while the chlorofiend thrashed, still pinned.

  “I could kiss you,” I said.

  Murphy grinned. “You smell like manure, Harry.” The smile faded. “What now?”

  The trapped monster’s thrashing sent several smaller shelves toppling over, and I rubbernecked nervously. “Getting out is still first priority. That thing is down, but it’ll be coming before long.”

  “What is it?”

  “Chlorofiend,” I said.

  “A what?”

  “Plant monster.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “We need to get out.”

  Murphy shook her head. “Whoever was covering the exit out front can probably see the other doors too. A silhouette in a doorway is a great target. It’s just like a shooting range.”

  “How the blazes did they see you through the mist?”

  “Is that really important right now? They can, and it means we can’t go out the front.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You’re right. The main exits are covered, that thing is in the garden center, and ten to one Ogre Grum is watching the back.”

  “Ogre, check. What’s his deal?”

  “Bullets bounce off him, and he shakes off magic like a duck does water. He’s strong and pretty quick and smarter than he looks.”

  Murphy let out a soft curse. “You can’t blast him like you did the loup-garou?”

  I shook my head. “I gave him a hard shot once already. I may as well have been spitting on him.”

  “Doesn’t look like we have much choice for getting out.”

  “And even if we do, Grum or that plant thing could run us down, so we’ll need wheels.”

  “We have to go through one of them.”

  “I know,” I said, and headed back into the store.

  “Where are you going?” Murphy demanded.

  “I have a plan.”

  She limped after me. “Better than the Looney Tune one, I hope.”

  I grunted in reply. No need to agree with her.

  We both realized that if this plan wasn’t better than the last one, then, as Porky Pig would say, That’s all, folks.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Three minutes later Murphy and I went out the back door, and Grum was waiting for us.

  He rose up out of the shadows by the large trash bins with a bull elephant’s bellow and stomped toward us. Murphy, dragging a leg and wrapped somewhat desperately in a plaid auto blanket, let out a shrill cry and turned to run, but tripped and fell to the ground before the ogre.

  I kept my left hand behind my back and lifted my right. Flame danced up from my cupped fingers, and I thundered, “Grum!”

  The ogre’s beady eyes turned to me, glittering. He let out another rumbling snarl.

  “Stand thee from my path!” I called in that same overdramatic voice, “lest I grow weary of thee and bereft thee of thy life!”<
br />
  The ogre focused wholly on me now, striding forward, past the whimpering form of Murphy. “I do not fear thy power, mortal,” he snarled.

  I lifted my chin and waved my fire-holding hand around a bit. “This is thy last warning, faerie dog!”

  Grum’s beady eyes grew angrier. He let out a harsh laugh and did not slow down. “Feeble mortal trickster. Thy spellfire means nothing to me. Do thy worst.”

  Behind Grum, Murphy threw the auto blanket off of her shoulders, and with one rip of the starting cord fired up her shiny new Coleman chain saw. She engaged the blade with a hissing whirr of air and without preamble swung it in an arc that ended precisely at the back of Grum’s thick, hairy knee. The steel blade chewed through the ogre’s hide as if it was made of Styrofoam. Blood and bits of meat flew up in a gruesome cloud.

  The ogre screamed, his body contorting in agony. The scarlet skin around the injury immediately swelled, darkening to black, and tendrils of infectious-looking darkness spread from the wound up over the ogre’s leg and hip within the space of a breath. He swept one huge fist at Murphy, but she was already getting out of his reach. The ogre’s weight came down on the injured leg, and Grum fell to earth with a heavy thud.

  I started forward to help, but everything was happening fast, and my movements felt nightmarishly slow. The ogre rolled to his belly at once, maddened at the touch of the iron in the chain saw’s blade, and started dragging himself toward Murphy faster than I would have believed with just his arms, talons gouging into the concrete. She hurried away from him, limping, but Grum slammed one fist down on the concrete so hard that half a dozen feet away, she was jarred off balance and fell.

  Grum got hold of Murphy’s foot and started dragging her back toward him. She let out a hollow gasp, then twisted and wriggled. She slipped out of her sneaker and hauled herself away from the ogre, her face gone white and drawn.

  I ran up behind Grum, pulling my left hand out from behind my back, the fingers of my right hand still curled around the flickering flame I’d shown the ogre. A large yellow-and-green pump-pressure water gun sloshed a little in my left fist. I lowered it and squeezed the trigger. A stream of gasoline sprayed out all over Grum’s back, soaking the ogre’s skin. Grum whirled toward me halfway through, and I shot the gasoline into his eyes and nose, eliciting another scream. He bared his fangs and glared at me through eyes swollen almost shut.

  “Wizard,” he said, hardly understandable through the fangs and the drool, “your spellflame will not stop me.”

  I turned my right hand slowly, and showed Grum the burning can of Sterno I’d been palming. “Good thing I’ve got this plain old vanilla fire, then, huh?”

  And I tossed the lit can of Sterno onto the gasoline-soaked ogre.

  Hamstrung and blazing like a birthday candle, Grum screamed and thrashed. I skipped back and around him, helping Murphy up to her feet as the ogre slammed himself against the ground and then against the back wall of the Wal-Mart. He did that in a frenzy for maybe twenty seconds, before uttering an odd, ululating cry and hurling himself at a deep shadow behind a trash bin—and vanished, the light from the flames simply disappearing.

  Murphy got up only with my help, her face pale with pain. She could put no weight at all on her wounded leg. “What happened?”

  “We whipped him,” I said. “He packed up and headed back to Faerie.”

  “For good?”

  I shook my head. “For now. How’s your leg?”

  “Hurts. Think I broke something. I can hop on the other one.”

  “Lean on me,” I said. We went a few paces, and she swayed dangerously. I caught her before she toppled. “Murph?”

  “Sorry, sorry,” she gasped. “Hopping, bad idea.”

  I helped her back down to the ground. “Look, stay here, against the wall. I’ll get the Beetle and pull it around here to you.”

  Murphy was in enough pain to keep her from arguing. She did draw her gun, switch the safety on, and offer it to me. I shook my head. “Keep it. You might need it.”

  “Dresden,” Murphy said, “my gun has been about as useful as fabric softener in a steel mill tonight. But someone out there has a rifle. If they’re using one, it’s because they’re a human, and you don’t have most of your magic stuff with you. Take the gun.”

  She was right, but I argued anyway. “I can’t leave you defenseless, Murph.”

  Murphy hauled up the leg of her jeans and pulled a tiny automatic from an ankle holster. She worked the slide, checked the safety, and said, “I’m covered.”

  I took the Colt, checked the chamber and the safety, more or less by reflex. “That’s acute little gun there, Murph.”

  She scowled at me. “I have small ankles. It’s the only one I can hide there.”

  I chanted, teasing, “Murphy’s got a girl gun, Murphy’s got a girl gun.”

  Murphy glowered at me and hauled the chain saw to within easy reach. “Come a little closer and say that.”

  I snorted at her. “Give me a couple minutes,” I said. “I’ll tell you it’s me. Some of these bad guys can play dress up—so if you aren’t sure who it is . . .”

  Murphy nodded, pale and resolved, and rested her hand on the gun.

  I drew a deep breath and walked through the mist around the side of the building and toward the front parking lot. I kept close to the wall and moved as quietly as I could, Listening as I went. I gathered up energy for the shield bracelet and held my left hand ready. I held the gun in my right. Holding a pair of defenses focused around my left hand, I would have to do all my shooting with my right. I’m not a very good shot even when I can use both hands, so I just had to hope that no sharpshooting would be required.

  I got to the front of the building before I heard something click in the fenced area of the garden center. I swallowed and pointed the Colt at it, noting that I wasn’t sure how many rounds the gun had left.

  As I came closer, through the mist, I saw the chain fence around the ruined area where I’d been trapped with the chlorofiend. It had been torn down in a swath ten feet wide, and from what I could see of the inside, the tree-thing wasn’t there anymore. Great. I took a few steps closer to the break in the fence to stare at the ruined chain link. I’d expected bent and stretched wire, still hot enough to burn where it had torn. Instead, I found edges cut off as neatly as with a set of clippers and coated with frost.

  I checked around on the ground and found sections of wire, none of them longer than two or three inches. Steam curled up from them, and the cold in the air near the fence made me shiver. The fence had been frozen, chilled until the steel had become brittle and then shattered.

  “Winter,” I muttered. “I guess that wasn’t much of a stretch.”

  I swept my eyes around through the mist, left my ears open, and paced as quietly as I could toward the dim, flickering lights that lay somewhere ahead in the parking lot. I’d parked the Beetle in an aisle almost even with the front doors, but I didn’t have a reference point through the mist. I just headed out, picked the first row of cars, and started prowling silently along them, looking for the Beetle.

  My car wasn’t in the first row, but a thin stream of some kind of yellowish fluid was. I traced it to the next row, and found the Beetle sitting there in its motley colors. Another leak. They weren’t exactly unheard of in a wizard’s car, but this would be a hell of a time for the Beetle to get hospitalized.

  I got in and set the gun down long enough to shove my keys in the ignition. My trusty steed wheezed and groaned a few times, but the engine turned over with an apologetic cough and the car rattled to life. I put it in gear, pulled through the empty space in front of me, and headed for the back of the building to get Murphy.

  I had just passed the garden center with its ruined fence when my windows abruptly frosted over. It happened in the space of a breath, ice crystals forming and growing like plants on a stop-motion film until my view was completely cut off. The temperature dropped maybe fifty degrees, and the car sputtered. I
f I hadn’t given it a bunch of gas, it would have stalled. The Beetle lurched forward, and I rolled down the window, sticking my head out the side in an effort to see what was going on.

  The chlorofiend loomed up out of the mist and brought one huge, knobby fist down on the Beetle like an organic wrecking ball. The force of it crumpled the hood like tin foil and drove the shocks down so that the frame smushed up against the tires. The impact threw me forward against the steering wheel and drove the breath out of me with a shock of pain.

  The impact would have rolled any car with an engine under the hood. Most of the mass of the car would have been driven down, the lighter rear end would have flipped up, and me without my seat belt would have been bounced around like a piece of popcorn.

  The old Volkswagens, though, have their engine in the back. Most of the weight of the car got bounced up a little in the air, then came back down to the ground with a jolt.

  I slammed my foot on the gas harder, and the Beetle’s engine sputtered gamely in response. As big and strong as the chlorofiend might be, it wasn’t solid and it wasn’t as heavy as a living mass of the same size. The Beetle bounced up from the blow that had crumpled the empty storage compartment under the hood and slammed into the chlorofiend without losing much of its momentum.

  The beast let out a shriek of what might have been surprise, and was definitely pain. My car hammered into it with a flickering of scarlet static and a cloud of smoke from the substance of the faerie creature, swept under its legs, and drove the cholorofiend atop its hood.

  I kept my foot on the gas, held the wheel as steadily as I could with one hand, and stuck my head out the window so I could see. The chlorofiend screamed again, the magic around it gathering in a cloud that made the hairs on my neck stand up, but the Beetle rattled through the attempt to hex it down, carrying the chlorofiend the length of the Wal-Mart garden center and to the back of the building.

  “Think of it as payback for all those telephone poles,” I muttered to the Beetle, and slammed on the brakes.