by Jim Butcher
“And work for guys like Marcone?” I asked.
“You should bear in mind that this is the second such incursion of the fomor,” Gard said in a level voice. “And there have been a half-dozen others nosing at the city in the last eight months alone. All of them have been turned away, courtesy of Marcone.”
“He’s swell,” I said.
“He keeps his word,” Gard replied, “which puts him a step above most of your own superiors, in my opinion. Like him or not, he has defended this city. It’s no minor thing.”
“Every predator defends its territory,” I said. “Pass.”
Her eyes glittered with amusement, and she shook her head. “Vadderung would definitely find you interesting. You’ve even got the hair for it. Don’t be surprised if you get a call sometime.”
“It’s a free country,” I said. “Is there anything else?”
Gard turned to look at the rapidly lightening eastern horizon, and looked from there to the prisoners. “You seem to have things fairly well contained.”
I nodded.
“Don’t worry too much about the scene,” Gard said. “Hardly anyone ever noses around places like this.”
But that wasn’t what she meant. Gard was telling me that the evidence—the bodies, the rounds, the weapons, all of it—was going to disappear. Marcone’s people were very, very good at making evidence vanish. In this particular case, I wasn’t sure I minded. It would protect Will and Marcy, both of whom had left blood there, and it would also cover me.
And Gard hadn’t made me ask for it.
She held up her hand, palm up—another one of those gestures, their meanings forgotten by everyone except for long-term wackjobs like Dresden. I returned it. She nodded in approval, got into her car, and left.
Will came up to stand at my side, watching her go. Then both of us turned to watch the sun beginning to rise over the lake.
“He’s really gone,” Will said quietly. “Dresden, I mean.”
I frowned and stared at the waters that had, by every rational indication, swallowed Dresden’s lifeblood. I didn’t answer him.
“Was she telling the truth, you think? That Marcone’s the one standing in the gap now?”
“Probably,” I said, “to some degree. But she was wrong.”
“Wrong how?”
“Dresden’s not gone,” I said. I touched a hand lightly to my brow. “He’s here.” I touched Will’s bare chest, on the left side. “Here. Without him, without what he’s done over the years, you and I would never have been able to pull this off.”
“No,” he agreed. “Probably not. Definitely not.”
“There are a lot of people he’s taught. Trained. Defended. And he’s been an example. No single one of us can ever be what he was. But together, maybe we can.”
“The Justice League of Chicago?” Will asked, smiling slightly.
“Dibs on Batman,” I said.
His smile turned into a real grin for a minute. Then sobered. “You really think we can do it?”
I nodded firmly. “We’ll cover his beat.”
“That will be a neat trick, if you can do it,” Will said.
“If we can do it,” I corrected him. “I’ll need a deputy, Will. Someone I trust. You.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded. “I’m in. But you’re talking about some very, ah, disparate personalities. How long can you keep it up?”
My answer surprised even me. “Until Dresden gets back.”
Will frowned. “You really think that’s possible?”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t seem to be. But . . . There’s this voice inside me that keeps pointing out that we haven’t seen a body. Until I have . . .”
The sun rose over the horizon, burning gently through the morning haze over the lake, and golden light washed over us, warm and strong. We turned to watch the prisoners, and as the light touched them, they began to shudder. Then they began to stir. The first to rise was Georgia.
Will sucked in a long, slow breath, his eyes shining.
“Until I have,” I said quietly, “I can’t believe he’s dead.”
We walked back to the warehouse together, to see to the business of getting the prisoners safely home.