by Jim Butcher
“She’ll run,” Murphy said.
“Let her. She can run from the Wardens, but she can’t hide. The White Council is going to have some things to say to her about killing people with magic. Pointed things. Cutting things.”
“Taunting the spellslinger must be a really fun game, since people like you and Raith keep playing it,” Murphy said, “But don’t you think he’s going to notice that you aren’t being held with a gun on you anymore?”
I looked down at the bodyguard’s body and grimaced. “Yeah. The corpse is gonna be a giveaway, isn’t it.”
We looked at each other and then both bent down and grabbed an arm. We dragged the remains of the final Bodyguard Barbie over to the edge of the yawning chasm and dropped her in. After that I reached for my sword cane, still clipped to my belt, and loosened the blade in its sheath.
“Can’t believe Raith let you keep that,” Murphy said.
“The guard didn’t seem to be very good at employing her initiative, and he didn’t specifically mention my losing the cane. Don’t think he noticed it. He was pretty busy gloating, and I was chained up and all.”
“He’s like a movie villain,” Murphy said.
“No. Hollywood wouldn’t allow that much cliché.” I shook my head. “And I don’t think he’s thinking very clearly right now. He’s pretty worked up about beating my mom’s death curse.”
“How tough is this guy?” Murphy asked.
“Very tough. Ebenezar says my magic can’t touch him.”
“How’s about I shoot him?”
“Can’t hurt,” I said. “You might get lucky and solve our problem. But only a really critical shot will drop him, and even then it’s iffy whether or not you’ll get him. White Court vamps don’t soak up gunshots as well as Red Court vampires do, or ignore them like the Black Court, but they can get over them in a hurry.”
“How?”
“They have a kind of reserve of stolen life-energy. They tap into it to be stronger or faster, to recover from injuries, forcibly manipulate the sensations of police lieutenants, that kind of thing. They don’t run around being as tough as the Black Court all the time, but they can rev the engine when they need to do it. It’s probably safe to assume that Lord Raith has a great big honking tank of reserve energy.”
“We’d have to run him out of gas in order to get to him long-term.”
“Yep.”
“Can we do that?”
“Don’t think so,” I said. “But we can force him to push himself pretty hard.”
“So we almost beat him. That’s the plan?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s not a very good plan, Harry,” Murphy said.
“It’s a wascally-wabbit plan,” I said.
“Actually, it qualifies as a crazy plan.”
“Crazy like a fox,” I said. I put my hands on her shoulders. “There’s no time to argue, Murph. Trust me?”
She flipped her hands up in a helpless little gesture (slightly mitigated by the fact that she had a gun in one and a knife in the other) and turned to stalk back to the cushions where Raith had initially thrown her. “We’re going to die.”
I grinned and stepped back to the ring where Raith had me chained up. I stood there in the same pose as when I’d been prisoner, and held the shackles behind my back as if they might still be attached.
I had barely settled into position when there was the sound of one, two, three gazelle-like bounds on the sloped tunnel floor, and Raith shot into the cavern, scowling. “What idiocy!” he snarled toward Madge. “That stupid buck from Arturo’s studio nearly slaughtered my daughter by sheer incompetence. The medical teams are taking them now.”
He stopped talking abruptly. “Guard?” he snapped. “Madge, where did she go?”
Madge widened her eyes, still continuing the twisting, slippery words of the chant, and gave Murphy a significant look.
Raith turned, back stiffening in apprehension, to face Murphy.
Madge should have warned Raith about me. If he’d blown off old Ebenezar’s lethal magic, he had defenses out the wazoo. I didn’t even try to blast away at him with power.
Instead I swung the shackles once over my head and brought the flying steel down on Raith’s right ear with every ounce of strength in my body. The steel cuffs bit into his flesh with vicious strength and laid him out on the floor. He let out a snarl of shock and surprise. He turned to glare at me, his eyes burning a bright, metallic silver, his torn ear already knitting itself whole again.
I dropped the chains, drew my sword cane, and drove the blade straight at Raith’s left eye. The White lord moved his hand in a blur of motion, batting the scalpel-slender blade aside. I drew a sharp cut across his hand, but it didn’t keep him from kicking my ankles out from underneath me with a sweep of his leg. He rose almost before I was through falling, and picked up the bloodied shackles, his features set in wrath. I went flat and covered my neck with my hands.
Murphy shot Raith in the back. The first bullet came out the left side of his chest, and must have left a hole in his lung. The second exploded out from between two ribs on the other side of his body.
It had taken less than a second for the two shots to hit, but Raith reversed direction, flashing to one side like a darting bat, and two more shots seemed to miss him. The motion was odd to watch, and vaguely disturbing. Raith almost flowed across the room, looking as if he were being lazy, but moving with unnerving speed. He vanished behind an elaborate Oriental-style screen.
And the cave’s lights went out.
The only source of light left in the cavern came from the three black candles at the points of the ritual’s triangle, way the hell at the back of the chamber. Madge’s voice continued its rippling, liquid chant, an edge of smug contempt somehow conveyed in it, her attention focused on the ritual. Thomas’s bruised body twitched as he looked around, eyes wide behind the gag in his mouth. I saw his shoulders tighten as he tested the chains. They didn’t seem to give way for him any more than mine had for me.
Murphy’s voice slid through the darkness a moment later, sounding sharp against the steady, liquid chant of the entropy curse. “Harry? Where is he?”
“I have no idea,” I said, keeping the point of the sword low.
“Can he see in the dark?”
“Um. Tell you in a minute.”
“Oh,” she said. “Crap.”
Chapter Forty-one
Raith’s voice drifted out of the darkness. “I can indeed see you, wizard,” he said. “I must admit, a brute attack was not what I expected of you.”
I tried to orient to the sound of Raith’s voice, but the Deeps had the acoustics of, well, a cave. “You really don’t have a very good idea about what kind of man I am, do you?”
“I had assumed that White Council training would mold you a bit more predictably,” he admitted. “I was certain you’d have some kind of complex magical means of dealing with me without bloodshed.”
I thought I heard something really close to me and swept my slender sword left and right. It whistled as it cut the air. “Blood washes out with enough soda water,” I said. “I’ve got no trouble with the thought of spilling more of yours. It’s sort of pink anyway.”
Murphy was not talking, which meant that she was acting. Either she was using the sound of my voice to get close to me so that we could team up or she had gotten a better idea than I of Raith’s location, and she was stalking close enough to drill him in the dark. Either way, it was to our advantage for the conversation to continue.
“Maybe we can make a deal, Raith,” I said.
He laughed, low and lazy and confident. “Oh?”
“You don’t want to push this all the way,” I said. “You’ve already eaten one death curse. There’s no reason for you to take another if you don’t have to.”
He laughed gently. “What do you propose?”
“I want Thomas,” I said. “And I want Madge. You stop these attacks and leave Arturo alone.”
&nbs
p; “Tempting,” he said. “You want me to allow one of my most dangerous foes to live, you want me to surrender a competent ally, and then you would like me to permit the erosion of my power base to continue. And in exchange, what do I receive?”
“You get to live,” I said.
“My, such a generous offer,” Raith said. “I can only assume this is some sort of clumsy ploy, Dresden, unless you are entirely deluded. I’ll counter your offer. Run, wizard. Or I won’t kill the pretty officer. I’ll keep her. After I kill you, of course.”
“Heh,” I said. “You aren’t in good enough shape for that to be so easy,” I said. “Or you wouldn’t have let me stall you while we batted bullshit back and forth.”
In answer, Raith said absolutely nothing.
The bottom dropped out of my stomach.
And, better and better, the chant rolling from Madge’s lips rose to a ringing crescendo. A wild, whirling wind rose within the center of the circle, catching her hair and spreading it in a cloud of dark-and-silver strands. As that happened, the tempo of her words shifted, and they shifted from that other tongue into English. “While here we wait, O hunter of the shadows! We who yearn for your shadow to fall upon our enemy! We who cry out in need for thy strength, O Lord of Slowest Terror! May your right arm come to us! Send unto us your captain of destruction! Mastercraftsman of death! Let now our need become the traveler’s road, the vessel for He Who Walks Behind!”
The rest of my stomach promptly followed the bottom, and for a second I thought my sense of logic and reason had vanished with them.
He Who Walks Behind.
Hell’s holy stars and freaking stones shit bells.
He Who Walks Behind was a demon. Well. Not really a demon. The Walker was to a demon what one of those hockey-masked movie serial killers was to the grade-school bully who had tried to shake me down once for lunch money. Justin DuMorne had sent the Walker after me when we’d had our falling-out, and I’d barely managed to survive the encounter. I’d torn apart He Who Walks Behind, but even so he’d left me with some unnerving scars.
And the ritual Madge was using was calling that thing back.
Madge picked up the sacrificial knife and the silver bowl. The whirling wind gathered into a miniature thunderstorm hovering slowly over the triangle where Thomas was bound. “See here our offering to flow into your strength! Flesh and blood, taken unwilling from one who yearns to live! Bless this plea for help! Accept this offering of power! Make known to us your hand that we might dispatch him against our mutual foe—Harry Dresden!”
“Murphy!” I screamed. “Get out of here! Right now! Run!”
But Murphy didn’t run. As Madge raised the knife, Murphy appeared in the light of the black candles, darting into the circle, the knife in her teeth, the gun in one hand—and in her other, the keys she’d taken from the last bodyguard. She knelt down as Madge screamed out the last of the ritual in an ecstasy of power. Murphy had crossed the circle around the ritual, breaking it. That meant that whatever magic Madge was calling up would be able to zip right out of it without delay, the second Madge fed a life to the gathering presence of He Who Walks Behind. Murphy set the gun down and tried one key on Thomas’s chains. Then another.
“Madge!” Raith’s voice snapped in warning. I heard a flutter of movement that began five feet to my right and vanished toward the circle.
Madge opened her eyes and looked down.
Murphy found the key, and the steel bracelet on Thomas’s right arm sprang open.
Madge kept screaming, reversed the knife, and drove it down at Thomas’s chest.
Thomas caught Madge’s knife hand by the wrist, and his skin suddenly shone pale and bright. She leaned on the knife, screaming, but Thomas held her there with one arm.
Murphy picked up the gun, but before she could aim it at Madge, there was a blur, her head snapped to one side, and she dropped to the ground in abrupt stillness. Raith stood over her unmoving form, and bent with businesslike haste to recover her knife, his eyes moving to Thomas.
Fumbling in haste, I seized the sheath of my cane-sword from my belt, grabbing hard at my will, struggling to pull together power through the cloud of raw terror that had descended over my thoughts. I managed it, and normally invisible runes along the length of the cane burst into blue and silver light. There was a deep hum, so low that it could be felt more than heard, as I reached into the power the cane was meant to focus—the enormous and dangerous forces of earth magic.
I reached out through the cane for Lord Raith—
And felt nothing. Not just empty air and drifting dust, but nothing. A cold and somehow hungry emptiness that filled the space where he should have been. I’d felt something like it before, when I’d been near a mote of one of the deadliest substances that any world of flesh or spirit had ever known. My power, my magic, the flowing spirit of life, just vanished into it without getting near Raith.
I couldn’t touch him. The void around him was so absolute, I knew without needing to doubt that there was nothing in my arsenal of arcane skills that could affect him.
But Madge didn’t have any such protection.
I redirected my power, easily found the knife in Madge’s hand, and without the circle to protect her, there was nothing she could do to keep me from seizing the knife in invisible bands of earth force, magnetism, and sending it tumbling out of her grip and into the abyss of the chasm near them.
“No!” Madge screamed, staring up at the whirling cloud of dark energy in horror.
“Hold him!” Raith snarled.
Madge threw herself down on Thomas’s arm, and as strong as he was, he had three limbs chained down, and not even supernatural strength is a substitute for proper leverage. Not only that, but Madge was desperate. She managed to force Thomas’s arm down, and while she obviously couldn’t have held him for long, it was long enough. Lord Raith drove his knife down at Thomas’s chest.
Thomas howled in frustration and sudden pain.
I rammed more power through the cane and stopped the knife a bare instant after the tip hit Thomas, and pinkish blood welled up from the shallow stab wound. Raith cast a snarl at me and shoved down on the knife, his own skin luminous, and he had the power of a pile driver behind his arms. I didn’t have a prayer of stopping him, even if that void around him hadn’t been sapping my power into nothingness—so I redirected my own push instead, switching to a right-angle force instead of going directly against Raith, and the knife swept hard to one side as Raith pushed down. It dug a furrow through Thomas’s flesh on the way, wetting a good three inches of the blade in his blood, but then Raith’s own power drove it down into the stone of the cavern floor, and the steel shattered.
Thomas got his hand free and hit Madge, a backhanded blow that knocked her out of the light of the black candles.
“Harry!” he yelled. “Break the chains!”
Which I couldn’t do. My little displays of earth magic were a long way from being of chain-shattering quality. But I did the next best thing.
Raith had to step back for a second, because a shard from the shattering knife had gone through his hand. He ripped it out of his flesh with a snarl, then turned back to Thomas, and as he did I got the bodyguard’s keys in a magnetic grip and threw them hard at Lord Raith’s face.
Keys are a nasty missile weapon, and any street fighter will tell you so. For fun, get yourself a milk carton and throw a ring of keys at it. You don’t even have to throw it very hard. Odds are better than merely good that the milk carton is going to have holes in it and that milk is going to be dribbling out everywhere.
And eyelids are way thinner than milk cartons.
Raith got a bunch of keys in the face and they hit him hard enough to make him scream. I caught them again on the rebound and sent them zipping back at him, as if they’d been fastened to rubber bands tied to his nose. I don’t care how superhumanly sexy you are, if you’re a vertically symmetrical biped, you don’t have much choice but to react when something tries to pu
t out your eyes.
I pummeled Raith with the keys until he ducked out of the light of the black candles, and then I sent them darting over to Thomas. I shouted his name as I did, and he reached up and caught them with his free hand. He shook one out without delay, and started freeing himself of his chains.
It was just then that the swirling clouds over the empty triangle coalesced into the vague outline of an inhuman face—one that I recognized from the darkest hour of my past and the nightmares it had inhabited since. That demonic mouth split into an eerily soundless scream, as if it had created a sudden void of sound rather than the opposite. That hideous face oriented on the very edge of the remaining candlelight—upon Madge. The cloud surged forward and down, sprouting sudden rows of almost toothlike spines as it did. Madge sat up, raising her hands in a useless gesture of defense. The demonic cloud shot itself forward and into her mouth. The spines tore at her, and Madge struggled to keep it out of her, but it was all useless, and not particularly speedy. She had plenty of time to feel it as the demonic killer, the guiding mind who had been behind the entropy curse, flowed in its semigaseous form into her mouth and throat and lungs, then extruded savage spines and tore her apart from within.
Madge didn’t manage to get out a scream as she died.
But it wasn’t for lack of trying.
Thomas got his arms and legs free and got up, staring in horror at Madge—or more accurately, at the spined cloud still mangling Madge’s corpse from within.
Raith hit Thomas from behind, a blur of motion. There was only a second to see what was happening, but I saw it clearly when Raith seized Thomas by the shoulder and chin, and with a single savage twist, broke his neck.
Thomas fell without so much as a twitch.