The Dresden Files Collection 1-6

by Jim Butcher

  Maybe it works better on television. The wood gouged the vampire, but I don’t think much of it got past its suit coat, much less pierced its heart. But the blow did manage to throw the thing off balance and send it stumbling past me. Maybe it actually hurt the vampire—the creature let out an earsplitting, creaking shriek of rage and surprise.

  Inari screamed and swung her stake, but her Buffy impersonation wasn’t any better than mine. The vampire caught her arm, twisted its wrist, and broke bones with a snap, crackle, pop. She gasped and fell to her knees. The vampire shoved her over and leaned down, baring its teeth (not fangs, I noticed, just yellow corpse-teeth) and spreading its jaws to tear out her throat and bathe in the flood of blood.

  And as if that weren’t enough, the curse suddenly coalesced and came shrieking out of the night to end Inari’s life.

  I had scant seconds to act. I charged the vampire, leaned back, pictured an invisible beer can beginning an inch above the vampire’s teeth, and stomp-kicked the creature in the chin with my heel. It wasn’t a question of Harry-strength versus undead superstrength. I’d gotten the chump shot in, and while the vampire might have been able to rip through a brick wall, it only weighed as much as a dried corpse and it didn’t have enough experience to have anticipated the attack. I drove the kick home, hard. Physics took over from there, and the vampire fell back with a surprised hiss.

  I seized Inari’s right arm with my left. Energy flows out of the body from the right side. The left side absorbs energy. I stretched out my senses and felt the dark energy of the curse rushing down at Inari. It hit her a second later, but I was ready for it, and with an effort of will I caught the dark power coursing down into the girl before it could do her harm.

  Pain erupted in my left palm. The power was cold—and not mountain-breeze cold, either. It was slimy and nauseating, like something that had come slinking out from the depths of some enormous subterranean sea. In that instant of contact, my head exploded with terror. This power, this black magic, was wrong. Fundamentally, nightmarishly, intensely wrong.

  Since I’d begun my career as a wizard, I’d always believed that magic came from life, but that it was only potential energy, like electricity or natural gas or uranium. And while it may have come from positive origins, only its application would prove it good or evil. That there was no such thing as truly evil, malevolent, black magic.

  I’d been wrong.

  Maybe my own magic worked like that, but this power was something different. It had only one purpose—to destroy. To inflict horror, pain, and death. I felt that power writhe into me through my contact with the girl, and it hurt me on a level so deep that I could not find a specific word, even a specific thought to describe it. It ripped at me within, as though it had found a weakened place in my defenses, and started gouging out a larger opening, struggling to force itself inside me.

  I fought it. The struggle happened all within an instant, and it hurt still more to tear that darkness loose, to force it to flow on through me and out of me again. I won the fight. But I felt a sudden terror that something had been torn away from me; that in simple contact with that dark energy, I had been scarred somehow, marked.

  Or changed.

  I heard myself scream, not in fear or challenge, but in agony. I extended my right hand and the black magic flowed out of it in an invisible torrent, fastening onto the vampire as it gained its feet again and reached out to grab me. The vampire’s expression didn’t even flicker, so I was sure it did not feel the curse coming.

  Which made it a complete surprise when something slammed into the vampire from directly overhead, too quickly to be seen. There was a sound of impact, a raspy, dry scream, and the vampire went down hard.

  It lay on the ground like a butterfly pinned to a card, arms and legs thrashing uselessly. Its chest and collarbone had been crushed.

  By an entire frozen turkey. A twenty-pounder.

  The plucked bird must have fallen from an airplane overhead, doubtlessly manipulated by the curse. By the time it got to the ground, the turkey had already reached its terminal velocity, and was still hard as a brick. The drumsticks poked up above the vampire’s crushed chest, their ends wrapped in red tinfoil.

  The vampire gasped and writhed a little more.

  The timer popped out of the turkey.

  Everyone stopped to blink at that for a second. I mean, come on. Impaled by a guided frozen turkey missile. Even by the standards of the quasi-immortal creatures of the night, that ain’t something you see twice.

  “For my next trick,” I panted into the startled silence, “anvils.”

  And then the fight was on again.

  Inari screamed in pain from her knees on the ground. Lara Raith lifted Thomas’s little gun, and tongues of flame licked from it as she shot at One-ear. She was aiming for his legs. I started to help her, but I’d been playing long odds, mixing it up in hand-to-hand with the Black Court, and they caught up to me.

  The vampire I’d dodged in the opening seconds of the fight slammed its arm into my shoulders. The blow was broad and clumsy but viciously strong. I managed to roll with it a little, but it still sent me straight down onto the gravel and knocked the wind from my chest. I felt the edges of rock cut me in a dozen places at once, but the pain didn’t bother me. Yet. Nonetheless, it took me a second to get my body moving again.

  The vampire stepped right over me and closed in on the fallen girl. With a simple, brutal motion, it seized her hair and shoved her facedown onto the parking lot, baring the back of her neck. It bent forward.

  Thomas snarled, “Get away from her!” He hauled himself forward using his unwounded leg and one arm, and he got the other around the vampire’s leg. Thomas heaved, and the creature fell, then twisted like an arthritic serpent to grapple with him.

  Thomas went mano a mano, no tricks, no subtlety. The living corpse got a hand on Thomas’s throat and tried to tear his head off. Thomas writhed sinuously away from the full power of the creature, and then rolled over a couple of times. Thomas got hold of the thing’s wrists and tried to force them away from his neck.

  And then Thomas changed.

  It wasn’t anything so dramatic as the vampires of the Red Court, whose demonic forms lurked beneath a masquerade of seemingly normal human flesh. It was far subtler. A cold wind seemed to gather around him. His features stretched, changing, his cheekbones starker, his eyes more sunken, his face more gaunt. His skin took on a shining, almost luminescent luster, like a fine pearl under moonlight. And his eyes changed as well. His irises flickered to a shade of chrome-colored silver, then bleached out to white altogether.

  He snarled a string of curses as he fought, and the sound of his voice changed as well—again, a subtle thing. It was more feral, more vicious, and its tone was not even remotely human. Thomas, despite his deathly injuries, went up against the Black Court killing machine in a contest of main strength and won. He forced the vampire’s hands from his throat, rolled so that his good leg came up beneath the vampire, and, with the combined strength of his arms, Thomas threw the vampire into the brick wall of the nearest building.

  Bricks shattered, and bits and pieces of them flew outward in a cloud of stinging shrapnel. The vampire collapsed to the ground for a moment, stunned. A heartbeat later, it stirred and began to rise again. Thomas’s shoulders heaved, as though to push himself up and continue the fight, but whatever fuel had driven his transformation and sudden strength had been expended.

  He fell limp and loose to the gravel, gaunt face empty of expression. His all-white eyes went out of focus, staring, and he did not move.

  Lara Raith wasn’t doing badly for herself. The wind was blowing the short little black silk robe back off of her, so it was all black lace and pale flesh that somehow did not present a contrast to the gun. One-ear had fallen on his side. Shards of brittle bone protruded from both thighs and both knees, where Lara Raith had exercised her marksmanship. One-ear pushed himself up, and Lara put a shot in the arm supporting the vampire�
��s weight. One-ear’s elbow exploded in a cloud of ruined cloth, moldy flesh, and bone splinters, and the creature fell back to the ground.

  Lara put a bullet through One-ear’s left eye. The smell was indescribably nauseating. Lara aimed at the vampire’s other eye.

  “This won’t kill me,” the creature snarled.

  “I don’t need to,” Lara responded. “Just to slow you down.”

  “I’ll be after you in hours,” One-ear-one-eye said.

  “Look somewhere sunny,” she responded. “Au revoir, darling.”

  The gun’s hammer clicked down and silence ensued.

  Lara had time to blink in disbelief at the gun. Then the vampire Thomas had stunned rushed at Lara’s back. The creature wasn’t quite a blur, but it was fast as hell. I tried to shout a warning at her, but it came out more of a croak than anything.

  Lara shot a glance over her shoulder and started to move, but my warning had come too late. The vampire seized her by her dark hair and spun her around. Then it hit her with a broad swing of its arm and literally knocked her out of her high-heeled shoes. She flew at the nearest wall, half spinning in the air, and hit hard. The gun tumbled from her fingers and she fell, her eyes wide and frightened, her expression stunned. Her face had been cut on the cheek, at the corner of her mouth, and on her forehead. She was bleeding odd, pale blood in thick, trickling lines.

  The vampire shuddered and leapt after her, landing on all fours. It was graceful, but alien, far more arachnid than feline. The corpse prowled over to her, seized her throat, and shoved her shoulders against the wall. Then it thrust out a long, leathery tongue and started licking her blood, hissing in mounting pleasure.

  One-ear slithered over to her as well, using his unwounded arm and a serpentine writhing of the rest of his body. “Raith’s second in command,” the vampire rasped. “As well as the White who betrayed us. Now you’re both mine.”

  Lara tried to push the vampire licking her blood away, but she wasn’t strong enough, and she still looked dazed. “Get away from me.”

  “Mine,” One-ear repeated. It drew Lara’s hair back away from her throat. The other vampire took her hands and pinned them against the wall above her head.

  One-ear touched its tongue to Lara’s mouth and shivered. “I’ll show you what real vampires are like. You’ll see things differently soon. And you’ll be lovely, still. For a little while. I’ll enjoy that.”

  Lara struggled, but the haze of confusion over her eyes did not clear, and her motions had a dreamlike lack of coordination. Her face took on an expression of horror as both vampires leaned into her, their withered teeth settling onto her flesh. They bit her, and she bucked in terror and agony. There were ugly, slurping sounds beneath Lara Raith’s screams.

  Which was what I’d been waiting for. Once they had bitten down, I gathered up momentum as quietly as I could, closed the last few yards in the springing strides I would have used on a fencing strip, and drove the six-inch heel of one of Lara’s black pumps as hard as I could into the space between the unwounded vampire’s shoulder blades. I had the heel of my hand and the full weight of my body behind the blow, and I hit square and hard, so that the heel drove into its back, just left of its spine, directly at the vampire’s withered heart.

  I didn’t get the response I would have liked best. The vampire didn’t disintegrate or explode into dust. But it did convulse with a sudden scream, its body going into almost the same kind of spastic seizure the other one had displayed on having a turkey rammed through its chest. It staggered and fell to the ground, its dead face locked into a grimace of surprise and helpless pain.

  One-ear was slow to react. By the time it tore its mouth from the gnawed and bleeding slope of Lara Raith’s left breast, I had my mother’s pentacle out and had focused all of my attention on it.

  Now I’ve heard that the power of faith is simply another aspect of the magic I used all the time. I’ve also heard that it is a completely different kind of energy, totally unrelated to the living power I felt all around me. Certainly it garnered a very different reaction from various supernatural entities than my everyday wizardry did, so maybe they weren’t related at all.

  But that didn’t matter. I wasn’t holding a crucifix in the thing’s face. I was holding the symbol of what I believed in. The five-pointed star of the pentacle represented the five forces of the universe, those of air, fire, water, earth, and of spiritual energy, laid into patterns of order and life and bound within a circle of human thought, human will. I believed that magic was fundamentally a force of life, of good, something meant to protect and preserve. I believed that those who wielded it therefore had a responsibility to use that power in the way it was meant to be used—and that was belief enough to tap into the vast power of faith, and to direct it against One-ear.

  The pentacle burst into silver and blue light, a blaze as bright as an airborne flare. One-ear’s stretched facial skin began to peel away, and the thick fluids oozing from its ruined eye socket burst into silver flame. The vampire screamed and threw itself away from that silver fire. If he’d had a crony left, they could have come at me from opposite directions, so that the blazing light from the pentacle could sear only one. But he didn’t, and I followed after One-ear, keeping the pentacle held before me, my concentration locked upon it.

  One-ear scrambled over the writhing vampire with the turkey-crushed chest, and the creature, maybe younger or more vulnerable than its leader, simply burst into flame as the pentacle glared down upon it. I had to skip back a step from that sudden heat, and the fallen vampire was consumed by blinding fire until nothing was left of it.

  By the time my eyes had adjusted to the comparative darkness of the parking lot again, One-ear was nowhere to be seen. I checked over my shoulder and saw the transformed Lara Raith straddle the staked vampire, her eyes blazing silver and bright, her skin shining as Thomas’s had. She drove blows down at its face, crushing it with the first few, then driving into its skull with sickening squelching sounds during subsequent blows. She continued, screaming at the top of her lungs the whole while, until she’d crushed its face and moved onto its neck, beating it into shapeless pulp.

  And then she tore the vampire’s head off its shoulders, killing it.

  She rose slowly, pale eyes distant and inhuman. Her white skin was streaked with ichor of black, brown, and dark green, mingling with the pale, pinkish blood around her cuts and the bite wounds. Her dark hair had fallen from its mostly up style, and hung around her in a wild tangle. She looked terrified and furious and sexy as hell.

  The succubus turned hungry eyes on me, and began a slow stalk forward. I let the gathered light ease out of my pentacle. It wouldn’t do me any good against Lara. “We have a truce,” I said. My voice sounded harsh, cold, though I hadn’t tried to make it that way. “Don’t make me destroy you too.”

  She stopped in her stockinged tracks. Her expression flickered with uncertainty and fear, and she looked a hell of a lot shorter without the do-me pumps. She shuddered and folded her arms over her stomach, closing her eyes for a moment. The luminous, compelling glow faded from her skin, her features becoming less unreal, if no less lovely. When she opened her eyes again, they were almost human. “My family,” she said. “I have to get them out of here. Our truce stands. Will you help me?”

  I looked at Inari, on the ground and paralyzed with pain. Thomas wasn’t moving. He might have been dead.

  Lara took a deep breath and said, “Mister Dresden, I can’t protect them. I need your help to get them to safety. Please.”

  The last word had cost her something. Somehow, I held back from agreeing to help her on pure reflex. That is a monumentally bad idea, Harry, I cautioned myself. I shoved the knee-jerk chivalry aside and scowled at Lara.

  She stood facing me, her chin lifted proudly. Her injuries looked vicious, and she had to be in pain, but she refused to let it show on her face—except for one moment, when she glanced at Thomas and Inari, and her eyes suddenly glistened. The t
ears fell, but she did not allow herself to blink.

  “Dammit.” I let out my breath in disgust at myself and said, “I’ll get my car.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  I debated talking to Arturo before I left but decided against it. Thomas and Inari were hurt, and the sooner they got medical care, the better. Additionally, One-ear the vampire had consciously gotten his own flunky immolated in order to escape. If he had some mystical method of communicating with Mama Mavra—or a cell phone—she might already be on the way with reinforcements.

  One-ear was still pretty new to the vampire game, and his pair of followers had been virtual infants, and they had almost been more than all of us could handle. Mavra was in a different league entirely. She had been killing for centuries, and the near-extermination of the Black Court had meant that only the smartest, strongest, and most deadly of its members had survived. One-ear was dangerous enough, but if Mavra caught us in the open, she would take us apart.

  So I ran to get the Blue Beetle from the row of parking spaces near the building Arturo was using. It was a quick run, a couple of plots up and one over from where Thomas and Inari lay. I slipped into the building. Only a couple of people saw me, and I ignored them as I ducked into the studio doors, seized my backpack, my coat, and the sleeping puppy, and fumbled in the coat until I found my car keys. I carried the whole kit and caboodle out to the car.

  I coaxed the Beetle to life and tore down the gravel lanes with all the speed its little engine could manage. The Beetle’s single headlight glared over Lara, who had Thomas in a fireman’s carry. She’d taken off the short black robe and had tied it into an improvised sling for Inari, who stumbled along behind her older sister.

  I opened the doors and helped her lower Thomas into the back of the Beetle. Lara stared for a second at my car’s interior. It didn’t look like she approved of the stripped and improvised quality of it. “There’s no seat in back,” she said.