by Jim Butcher
“Good evening,” he said, as he took his seat at the head of the table. “Ladies and gentlemen, please give me your attention. Wizard Dresden, if you would, please give us a brief primer on the nature of Ways and how they open.”
I blinked as every eye on the table turned to me. “Uh,” I said. “Ways are basically passages between the mortal world and some portion of the Nevernever—the spirit world. Any point in the mortal world will open a Way to somewhere, if you know how to do it. The Way opens to a place that shares something in common with the point of origin in the mortal world. Uh, for example, if you wanted to open a Way to Hell, you’d have to find a hellish place in the mortal world and start from there. If you want to go to a peaceful place in the Nevernever, you start with a peaceful place here. Like that. Chicago is a great place for Ways—it’s a crossroads, a big one. You can get just about anywhere from here.”
“Thank you,” Nicodemus said. “Our goal is to open a Way into the secured facility containing our objective.” He accepted a large sheet of rolled paper from a squire who had hurried up to hand it to him. “Bearing all those factors in mind, I’m sure you’ll understand why we will begin the job here.”
With a flick of his wrist, he unrolled the large sheet of paper.
It proved to be blueprints, a floor plan. I frowned and stared at it, but it didn’t look familiar.
Karrin made a choking sound.
“Murph?” I asked.
“Ah,” Nicodemus said, smiling. “You know it.”
“It’s a vault,” Karrin said, looking up at me. “A vault that belongs to a lord of the underworld.”
I felt myself clench up in a place that didn’t bear much more clenching. “Oh,” I said weakly. “Oh, Hell’s bells.”
Binder jerked a thumb at me. “What is he on about?” he asked Karrin.
Karrin put a forefinger on the plans. “This is the Capristi Building,” she said. “It’s the second most secure facility in the city.” She took a deep breath. “It’s a mob bank. And it belongs to Gentleman John Marcone, Accorded Baron of Chicago.”
Twenty-six
I’d been afraid it would come to something like this, though I’d held out hope that Nicodemus would come up with a better way of getting to where we needed to go. Like maybe burning down a building around our ears and hoping to open a Way at the last second. That would have been merely dicey.
Marcone was dangerous.
“Gentleman” Johnnie Marcone had clawed his way to the top of Chicago’s outfit back when I had first set up business in town, and he had ruled the city’s crime with an iron fist ever since, with an eye toward making organized crime safer, more efficient, and more businesslike. It worked. A lot of cops thought he had more power than the government. Those cops kept their mouths shut about it, for the most part, though, because he commanded more cops than the government, too.
Then, a few years back, he’d sought and gained the title of freeholding lord under the Unseelie Accords, the legal document that was the backbone of civilized relations between supernatural nations. He was the first vanilla human being on record as having done so, and he had claimed, fought for, and held Chicago against all comers thus far, as its Baron.
Though, to be fair, I’d been out of town for a lot of that time.
Still, I didn’t think it would be smart to cross him if I wasn’t prepared to go right to the mat, for keeps. Marcone commanded an army of thugs and hired killers, some of whom were truly excellent at their jobs. He kept a small squad of Einherjaren, dead-but-not-gone Viking warriors, on retainer, and I had seen them efficiently take on some of the toughest nasties I’ve ever encountered. He had at least one freaking Valkyrie on the payroll—and the man himself was ruthless, intelligent, and absolutely without fear.
I thought getting into it with Marcone was going to be about two steps shy of getting into it with Hades himself. But all I said out loud was, “Hoo boy.”
“Problem, Dresden?” Nicodemus asked.
“Marcone is not someone to cross lightly,” I said. “Not only that, but he’s a member of the Accords.”
“I’m not,” Nicodemus said. “Not any longer.”
“I am,” I said. “Twice. As a Wizard of the White Council and as the Winter Knight.”
“I’m sure the White Council will be stunned and disappointed should you not conform to their policy,” Nicodemus said. “And as for Mab—you are, in effect, simply my tool during this operation. As far as she is concerned, any obligation you incur with regard to the Accords can be laid at my feet, not hers.”
He was right, twice, which made me scowl. “My point is,” I said, “Marcone is not a man to be taken lightly. If you hit him, he hits you back. Harder.”
“Indeed,” Nicodemus said. “He has an excellent reputation. He would have made a fine monarch only a few centuries ago.”
Good King John Marcone? I shuddered at the thought. “Let’s say we hammer our way into his building,” I said. “Fine. It’s probably doable. Getting back out again is going to be the hard part—and even if we do that, it isn’t over. He isn’t going to forget, or let it go.”
“Dresden’s right,” Karrin said. “Marcone doesn’t suffer intrusions on his territory. Period.”
“We will do what we have come to do,” Nicodemus said calmly. “If necessary, reparations to the Baron can be considered once our mission is accomplished. I believe I can make the point to him that accepting such restitution will be more cost-effective than pursuing more personal collection efforts.”
I traded a look with Karrin, and could see that she was thinking the same thing I was.
Nicodemus had abducted Marcone himself, not so many years back, as part of one of his schemes. Mab had, in fact, sent me to bail Marcone out, back when I’d just owed her a couple of favors. I still remembered Marcone as a helpless prisoner. The image had kind of stuck in my memory.
He would never forget that. There are some things money can’t buy: One of them is redemption from the vengeance of Gentleman Johnnie Marcone.
And if Karrin and I went along with this plan, it would mean as much as declaring war on the Baron of Chicago.
“What do you think?” I asked her.
Karrin could do the math. She knew exactly what I was talking about. “Had to happen sometime.”
“Heh,” I said. “Right.”
“I don’t get it,” Binder said. “Look, if he’s a man of business, why don’t we just make him a proposition and cut him in for a piece of the action?”
“A valid notion,” Nicodemus said. “But it is not possible.”
“Why not?”
“In the first place,” Nicodemus said, “the vault houses materials belonging to more persons than our principal target alone. Marcone has become something of a notoriously neutral party in the affairs of the modern supernatural world. Svartalfheim, the White Court, Drakul, and a number of other individuals of similar weight have entrusted a portion of their wealth to his keeping, and he has given his word to protect it to the best of his ability.”
“That’s it, then,” I said to Binder. “He won’t bargain. Guy’s a murderous asshole, but he’s good to his word.”
Binder settled back, frowning. “What’s the other reason, then?”
“If he let us in, it would change the nature of the place,” I said before Nicodemus could answer. “We’re trying to open a Way into a jealously guarded vault. We probably won’t be able to do it from a vault that’s been opened to the public.”
“Exactly,” Nicodemus said. “Barring a few security systems requiring specific countermeasures, I have complete confidence that we can seize the building. Holding it until the job is done and escaping it with our hides is another matter, and that, Mr. Binder, is where you and your associates will play a critical role.”
Binder grunted and leaned forward to study the map. “How long will I need to hold it?”
“An hour, at most,” Nicodemus said.
“Barring anyone manipulati
ng time on us between here and there,” I put in.
Nicodemus gave me a sour frown and said, “We shall be finished in one hour—one way or the other.” He pointed to a portion of the floor plans. “Here is the master vault door. That, Miss Valmont, is your responsibility—”
“Hang on,” Binder said. “If you leave me playing doorman, how am I supposed to collect my backpack of jewels, eh? I can’t go off to the Nevernever and leave my lads here behind me. That’ll cut the connection between us. I’m not doing this job on salary.”
“I suggest your partner carry and fill two packs,” Nicodemus said. “I will undertake to carry your pack out myself and give it to you upon my return. As I am, with the possible exception of Grey, the one most likely to survive to escape, this arrangement would give you a greater chance of successfully receiving your payment than anyone else here.”
Binder squinted at Nicodemus and sat back in his seat, obviously thinking it over. “What do you think, Ash?”
Hannah Ascher shrugged, which any red-blooded hetero male would have found utterly fascinating. It wasn’t just me. “If you’ll trust me to pick your share, I’m willing.”
Binder grunted and then nodded slowly. “I like the red ones.”
“I’ll remember,” Ascher promised.
I idly scratched at an itch on the back of my neck. “So what’s the big deal with Valmont cracking the door? And why drag poor Harvey into this?”
“Poor Harvey,” Nicodemus said, with all the sympathy of a bullet in flight, “was our principal’s factor in Chicago. He had exclusive access to the vault in question, which is kept shut by the best vault door money can buy in combination with what is known as a retina scan. A retina scan—”
“We know what a retina scan is,” Ascher said impatiently. “But why do you need it? Why not just blow the vault instead of going to all the trouble of getting Grey to duplicate the guy?”
“Same deal as before,” I said. “We’re trying to get into a secure vault, not one that’s been blown the hell open already. If we alter the place in the real world too much, we screw up the Way to the one in the Nevernever.” I glanced at Nicodemus and thumped a finger on the blueprint. “Our target has a private vault here?”
“Precisely. An inner security room inside the main vault. This location is one of several in which he acquires additional items for his collection by proxy,” Nicodemus said.
I had to give Nick this much: He’d thought this business through, lining up like to like, the way you needed to do to make magic work. “So first we have to get to the main vault?”
“Through two security doors, which Miss Ascher will see to with her newly practiced spell,” Nicodemus said, “the better not to activate the seismic sensors in the vault that will lock down the building more thoroughly and force us to take much more destructive measures to gain access.”
I nodded. “Then Valmont does the door on the main vault, and Grey does the private security room with the retina scan.” I blinked and eyed Grey. “Right down to his retinas, seriously?”
Grey looked up from where he sat in the shadows and gave me a modest smile.
I shuddered visibly. “You are an extremely creepy man,” I said. I looked back at Nicodemus. “I can see a possible problem.”
“Yes?”
“Marcone is not a dummy,” I said. “He’s gone up against supernatural powers more than once. He knows that sooner or later, he and I are going to get into it. He doesn’t make mistakes often, and he never fails to learn from them. He’ll have supernatural precautions as well as physical ones.”
“Such as?” Nicodemus asked.
“If I was him,” I said, “I’d have something rigged to shut down all the electronic gizmos and close off the vault as soon as the building’s power got disrupted—which just might happen when Ascher and I start throwing magic around. In fact, I’d set it up to happen as soon as any amount of magic started flying.”
“It would be smart,” Binder said in agreement. “Don’t think it’d be too hard to fix, either. Have circuits set up around the place, something delicate that would go out without too much trouble.”
“Like the ones in cell phones or something,” I added. “Those things go to pieces if a wizard looks at them funny.”
“Yeah,” Binder said, nodding. “I can use one, but only just. Had to start keeping it powered off when I took up with Ash, here.”
“Assuming such a . . . wizard alarm, I suppose, exists,” Nicodemus said, “how shall we defeat it?”
“Not a problem for me,” Binder said. “It wouldn’t even blink. These two, though, we’d have to . . .”
I eyed Binder sourly and rubbed at the itch on my neck again.
“Sorry, mate,” he said. He sounded genuine about it. “Thorn manacles,” he said to Nicodemus. “You know the ones?”
“I have some in stock,” Nicodemus said. “Though mine are svartalf make, not faerie. Steel. I suppose they’ll keep the talent of you and Miss Ascher suppressed as much as possible. Simpler than keeping running water flowing over you both, in any case.”
He gave me a small smirk when he said it. He’d once had me chained up under a freezing-cold stream to prevent me from using my talents to escape or make mischief. If another good man hadn’t given himself in exchange for me, I might have died there. Thorn manacles were uncommon but by no means unattainable magical bindings that accomplished the same thing, dampening a wizard’s powers to the point of uselessness.
And they hurt like a son of a bitch. In fact, if he had some that worked the same way but were made of steel, they were going to hurt me to an outstanding degree, given how they functioned.
I returned Nicodemus’s smirk with a wintry smile.
Binder continued, either ignoring or not noticing the look between Nicodemus and me. “Once the two of them are inside, get them into a circle before the manacles come off,” Binder said. “That will contain the excess energy when they work their mojo. It should help.”
“Mmm,” Nicodemus mused. “We’ll have to change the entry plan. Dresden won’t be able to provide a distraction. We’ll have to use more”—he glanced toward the Genoskwa—“overt means.”
In the darkness, a faint gleam of yellow appeared beneath the Genoskwa’s eyes.
Hell’s bells, the thing was smiling.
Karrin shot me a look. She was thinking the same thing I was: The Genoskwa wasn’t going to distract anything, except by ripping its head off. Depending on when we went in, God only knew how many people might be in that bank—people with absolutely no knowledge of its provenance. Even the building’s security forces wouldn’t necessarily know they worked for the outfit. And hell, when you got right down to it, I wasn’t willing to feed even a mobster to something like the Genoskwa at Nicodemus’s behest.
I rubbed at my neck again and said, “Nah, I got it still.”
“Excuse me?” Nicodemus said.
“Noisy distraction? I’ll handle it. No sense showing our secret weapon early if we don’t have to do it, right?”
Nicodemus smiled faintly. “What, wizard? Without your talents?”
“I hadn’t planned on using them anyway,” I said. “Could be someone was going to get hurt during this. The White Council takes a pretty dim view of magic used for that kind of thing—and I have to think about my future. You want loud and obvious? Not a problem.”
The Genoskwa’s voice came rumbling from the shadows. “He’s soft.”
“He’s smart,” I said in harsh rejoinder. “The harder you hit things on the way in, the harder Marcone’s going to be ready to hit back on the way out. Hell, if you make a big enough stink, you’ll have the cops there, too. There are only about thirteen thousand of those guys running around Chicago, but I’m sure the eight of us can handle them. Right?”
The Genoskwa let out a low growl. “I am not afraid of them.”
“Sure you aren’t,” I said. “That’s why you cruised all over the place invisible the past two days, because
you didn’t care if you were spotted.”
“Gentlemen,” Nicodemus said, his voice raised and slightly tense. And then he paused, frowning, his head cocked partly to one side, as if trying to identify a distant sound.
Ascher suddenly looked up, frozen in the act of scratching her arm again, and said, “Dresden? Do you feel that?”
The itching on the back of my neck resolved itself into a full-on creepy sensation, the awareness of someone watching me. I closed my eyes and extended my other senses, reaching out with my talent to feel for magic in the air around me—and found the eavesdropping spell almost at once.
Ascher had already given us away with her comment, so there was no point in being cute about it. “Someone’s listening in on us,” I breathed, coming to my feet.
“Where?” Nicodemus spat.
Ascher pointed to the far end of the slaughterhouse. “There, not far. Just outside, I think.”
The sensation abruptly vanished as the spell winked out of existence—but not before I’d found the spell’s focus—the thaumaturgic version of the bug that had been planted so that the eavesdropper could hear us.
“Binder,” Nicodemus said at once.
Binder had already produced a hoop of wire from his suit coat’s pocket. He moved to a clear space of floor, gave it a toss with a flick of his wrist, and the wire unreeled and unfolded into a circle almost three feet across. It landed on the floor even as Binder spoke a few words, and filled with amber light.
Binder was a chump sorcerer, but he had one trick that he could do really, really well—summoning a small army of creatures from the Nevernever that he had somehow bound to his will. It took him less than two seconds to whistle up the first of his suits—humanoid figures dressed in something that resembled a badly fitted suit, their proportions and features looking almost normal, until one looked at them a little more closely. The demonic servitor flung itself up out of the circle like an acrobat emerging from a trapdoor in the stage, and Binder tapped his foot down onto the circle of wire in perfect time, releasing the suit from the circle’s confinement as it tumbled clear. Then he lifted his foot and dropped it down again in metronomic time as a second suit emerged from the Nevernever, and a third, and a fourth, and so on.