by Jim Butcher
“Then you and I are going to have a serious problem,” I said. I turned to Mab and added, “Right here. Right now.”
Mab’s eyes widened.
If I threw down on Marcone, any number of things could happen—but one of them would certainly be a major disgrace for Mab. She was a guest under Marcone’s roof. For her Knight and instrument to betray that trust would utterly destroy her name in the world—and what’s more, she knew it.
“Come, now, Baron,” Molly said, her voice smooth, soothing. “Consider how much you have gained. You are in the process of destroying the man who truly wronged you. What does it matter if his hirelings go about their business? After all, you might need their services yourself, one day. The offer is a reasonable one.” And on those last words, she reached over to the cash box, unlocked it, and opened it.
Marcone’s expression rarely showed much—but his eyes widened, if only for an instant, as he saw the stones.
I stared at Marcone without blinking or looking away.
Marcone looked up from the diamonds and returned the stare for a long time.
I put my hands on the table, leaned in close to his face, and said, “Just you remember who pulled your ass out of the fire when those maniacs grabbed you. You owe me.”
Marcone considered that for a moment. Then he said quietly, “You did so as a favor to Mab. Not to me.” He reached out and smoothly closed the cash box, then drew it to his side of the table and squared it with the table’s edge. His voice was almost silken—but there was a blade hidden within the folds of it. “However, the fact that there is a debt remains—and I would not see Mab’s name suffer any childish diminishment when she has kept such excellent faith with me. I accept your offer, Dresden. This balances our account. Do you understand my meaning?”
I understood it, all right. It meant that the next time I crossed him, he would feel perfectly free to waste me.
Which was fine. The feeling was pretty much mutual.
Mab was far too contained to give any reaction to the resolution of the situation, beyond a very, very small nod to Marcone. But she regarded me with a look of displeasure that promised me a reckoning later. Molly got the same glare.
I doubt that my former apprentice looked any more chagrined than I did.
* * *
“. . . the point of having a squadron of angels around the place if they aren’t going to do anything to protect it,” Molly said, exasperated.
We were walking up to Karrin’s room in the hospital. Visiting hours were almost over, but I didn’t want the day to go by before I’d seen her.
“Any kind of supernatural threat, they’d have been all over it,” I said. “Nick obviously knew that, too. That’s why he sent purely vanilla mortals in, with purely mortal weaponry.”
Molly scowled. “It’s a pretty darned huge loophole. That’s all I’m saying.”
“So do something about it,” I said.
“I already have,” she said. “The house is being watched now. And I’m buying the place for sale down the street.”
“You can afford that?” I asked. “Mab pays that well?”
“The account balance I have now has eight zeroes in it,” Molly said. “I could buy the neighborhood if I wanted. There will be someone keeping an eye on my parents’ place, twenty-four seven in case anyone tries the same thing again.”
“Unseelie bodyguards.” I grunted. “Not sure they’re going to like that.”
“They don’t have to like it,” Molly said. “In fact, they don’t even have to know about it.”
“I’m sensing a pattern here, Molly.”
She gave me a quick glance, and for a second, I could see the worry in her eyes. “Harry . . . if you hadn’t been there today . . .” She swallowed. “They’re my family. I have to do whatever I can to protect them.”
I walked for a few steps, thinking, and said, “Yeah. You do.”
She smiled faintly as Karrin’s room came into sight and her steps slowed. “You go ahead. I’ve got some things to arrange. I’ll be back later tonight.”
“Cool,” I said, and offered her my closed fist.
She shook her head and said, “Not very respectful of you, sir Knight.”
I waggled my fist and said, “Come on. You know you want it.”
That drew a quick, merry laugh from her. She bumped my fist with hers, and turned away—and as she walked away from me, I saw her pull a cell phone out of her pocket and turn it on.
That stopped me in my tracks.
Cell phones were some of the technology that was absolutely the most sensitive to the unbalanced fields of energy around a mortal wizard. When one of us got near a powered-up cell phone, it was likely to kick the bucket right there.
Inhuman practitioners, on the other hand, had no problem with that effect whatsoever.
And I suddenly felt very afraid for Molly.
She was hiding a lot of things from her parents. And now I had to wonder how many things she might be hiding from me.
More things to keep an eye on in the future.
I traded a greeting with Rawlins and walked into Karrin’s room, to find Butters sitting in the chair by her bed, his feet on the seat, his butt on the back, waving his hands animatedly as he spoke. “. . . and I looked at him and said, ‘Mister, where I come from there is no try.’ And I went straight at him, and the evil son of a bitch bailed.”
Karrin looked like she’d been beaten with rubber hoses after a double triathlon, but she was sitting up, and if she looked a little bleary, she also looked composed. One of her arms had been wrapped up and immobilized in a sling fixed to her body. Her hair was a lank mess, and she had an IV line running to her unwounded arm. “You are telling me lie after lie, Waldo Butters,” she said. She turned to me and her smile widened. “Hey, Harry. You look terrible.”
“I’m in good company,” I said, and put my hand on her head for a second, grinning.
“Tell her,” Butters said. “Harry, you were there, right? Tell her.” He blinked. “Oh, God, you were pretty out of it. Don’t tell me you don’t remember.”
“I remember,” I said. “Butters went full-on Jedi Knight on us. Sword. Vomm. Vroom, krsoom, kazark, skreeow.”
Karrin gave me a suspicious glance, and looked back and forth between us. “You can’t be serious.”
“Got it with you?” I asked Butters.
“Are you kidding?” he said, grinning. “I may never put it down again.”
“So show her,” I said.
“You think that’s . . . you know. Okay? To show it off like that?”
“You aren’t showing off,” I said. “You’re confirming her faith.”
Butters screwed up his face and then said, “Yeah. I guess that’s okay, then.” He reached into his coat and produced the hilt of Fidelacchius. The moment he drew it from his coat, the blade of light hissed out to its full length, banishing shadows from the room and humming with power.
Karrin’s eyes widened. “Mary, Mother of God,” she said. “And . . . he just ran?”
“Not right away,” I said. “He took a swing at Butters here, first. And that thing sliced through Nick’s sword like it was made of pasta.”
“Yeah,” Butters said. “Seemed to catch him totally off guard. And even if he’d still had a sword, I don’t think it would have helped him much. I mean, lightsaber. Actually, it was kinda unfair.”
“That guy’s earned it,” I said.
“Butters,” Karrin said, shaking her head. “That’s . . . that’s really amazing. I’m so proud of you.”
If Butters could have floated up off the floor, Karrin’s words would have made him do so. “Yeah, I . . . Thanks, Murph.”
Murph.
Well, look at you, Butters. One of the boys.
“Well deserved,” she said. “But . . .” Her face turned grim. “You don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to, you know.”
Butters frowned and moved to return the handle to his coat. The blade vanished seemingly of its own acc
ord. “Why wouldn’t I keep it?”
“Lot of responsibility, bearing one of those,” Karrin said.
“Lot of travel, too,” I said, just as seriously.
“Bad guys,” Karrin noted.
“Hopeless situations you’ll be expected to overcome,” I said.
“Monsters, ghosts, ghouls, vampires,” Karrin said.
“And all the Knights of the Blackened Denarius will want to stuff you and mount you on the wall,” I said, my voice harder. “Butters, you took Nicodemus by surprise on what was probably the worst day he’s had in a couple of thousand years, when his only backup was a woman twisty enough to marry him, who had spent the past two days trying to derail his plans. He retreated because he was facing a new and unknown threat and it was the smart thing to do. Next time you see him, he won’t be running away. He’ll be planning to kill you.”
Butters looked at me uncertainly. “Do . . . do you guys not think I can do it?”
I stared at him, expression suitably grave. Karrin too.
“Michael and Charity said they’d train me,” he said seriously. “And Michael said he’d show me how to work out and eat right and help me figure out what the Sword can do. I mean . . . I know I’m just a little guy but”—he took a deep breath—“I can do something. Make a difference. Help people. That’s a chance a lot of people never get. I want it.”
Karrin glanced at me and asked, “What do you think?”
I winked at her, and we both grinned as I said, “He’ll do. I mean, he routed Nicodemus Archleone and all. I guess that’s something.”
“Yeah,” Karrin said. “That’s something.”
Butters grinned in relief. “Oh,” he said. “There is one thing I . . . I sort of have an issue with.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
He spread his hands and said, “A Jewish Knight of the Cross?”
Karrin burst out into something suspiciously like giggles. Later, she would swear that it had been the drugs.
* * *
Butters left Karrin and me alone a little while later. We had a few minutes until some polite nurse would be along to kick me out.
“You’re going to have to take care of yourself,” Karrin said quietly. “Over the next few weeks. Rest. Give yourself a chance to heal. Keep the wound on your leg clean. Get to a doctor and get that arm into a proper cast. I know you can’t feel it, but it’s important that—”
I stood, leaned over the bed, and kissed her on the mouth.
Her words dissolved into a soft sound that vibrated against my lips. Then her good arm slid around my neck, and there wasn’t any sound at all. It was a long kiss. A slow one. A good one. I didn’t draw away until it came to its end. I didn’t open my eyes for a moment after.
“. . . oh . . . ,” she said in a small voice. Her hand slid down my arm to lie upon mine.
“We do crazy things for love,” I said quietly, and turned my hand over, fingers curling around hers.
She swallowed. Her cheeks were flushed with color. She lowered her eyes.
“I want you to rest and get better, too,” I said. “We have some things to do.”
“Like what?” she asked.
I felt myself smile. There might have been something merrily wolfish in it. “Things I’ve only dreamed about.”
“Oh,” she breathed. Her blue eyes glittered. “That.” She tilted her head. “That was . . . was me?”
“That was you,” I said. “Seems fair. It was your bed.”
Her hand tightened on mine and her face broke into an open grin. I lifted her hand and kissed her fingers, one at a time.
“I am on so many drugs right now,” she said.
I grinned. She wasn’t really talking about her IV.
The nurse came in while we were kissing again. She cleared her throat pointedly. Two or three times. I let her. The kiss wasn’t finished yet. The nurse went out in the hallway to complain to Rawlins, who appeared to listen politely.
Karrin ended the kiss with another little laugh.
And she didn’t even know I’d slipped her half of my diamonds in a couple of knotted-off socks when she wasn’t looking.
* * *
By about ten that night, I was back at the Carpenters’ house. The evening had turned unseasonably gentle, even if it was a little muggy. I was sitting on the porch with Michael, in one of a pair of rocking chairs that he had made himself. Both of us had a bottle of Mac’s Pale Ale in hand, having already emptied the pair of bottles at our feet.
Maggie was sitting with her legs across my lap. She’d fallen asleep with her head against my chest half an hour before, and I wouldn’t have disturbed her for the world. Or a third beer. Mouse dozed at my feet, delighted to be able to take up a station close to both of the people he most wanted to slobber on.
“So Karrin’s surgery was successful? She’s going to recover?” Michael asked.
“Probably not ever to where she was,” I said. “But the doctors told her she could get to ninety percent.”
“That’s wonderful,” Michael said. I saw him glance down at his bad leg, propped up on a kitchen chair Molly had brought out for the purpose. I could practically hear him wondering what it would have been like to get back to fifty percent. At least Nicodemus had stabbed him in the leg that was already messed up.
“What was it like?” I asked him. “Getting out into the fight again?”
“Terrifying,” he said, smiling. “And for a little while . . . like being young again. Full of energy and expectation. It was amazing.”
“Any regrets?” I asked.
“None,” he said. Then he frowned. “One.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Nick got away with the Grail.”
He nodded, his face darkening with worry.
“Hey, we went four for five on the artifact scoreboard,” I said. “That’s not bad.”
“I’m not sure this is a score that can be tallied,” he said.
“What do you think he’ll do with it?”
Michael shrugged and took a thoughtful sip of beer. “The Grail is the most powerful symbol of God’s love and sorrow on the face of the earth, Harry. I don’t see how he could use it to do harm—but if Nicodemus sacrificed so much to acquire it, I suspect that he does.”
“I figure the Grail was a secondary goal,” I said. “He really wanted something else.”
The knife was still in the pocket of my duster, now draped over the back of my chair in deference to the evening’s warmth.
Michael glanced at my coat and then nodded. “What will you do with the other four?”
“Research them. Learn about them until I can see when and how they should be used.”
“And until then?”
“Store them someplace safe.” I figured the deepest tunnels of Demonreach should do.
He nodded and regarded his bottle. “Did you ever once consider giving them back to the Church?”
“All things considered,” I said, “nope.”
He grimaced and nodded. And after a very long silence he said, “I fear you may be right.”
That made me look at him sharply.
“The Coins we captured should not have been able to escape from storage so quickly or easily,” he said slowly. “Which suggests . . .”
“That someone in the Church facilitated their recirculation,” I said.
“I fear corruption,” Michael said simply.
I thought of the state of affairs in the White Council, and Molly’s cell phone, and shuddered. “Yeah,” I said. “Lot of that going around.”
“Then you’ll understand this.” Michael leaned his head back and called, “Hank!”
A moment later, little Harry appeared at the door. He was carrying Amoracchius in his arms, scabbard, baldric, and all. He passed them off to Michael, who ruffled the boy’s hair and sent him back inside.
“Here,” Michael said simply, and leaned the Sword against the side of my chair. “When you store the artifacts, take that as well. You’re its
keeper again.”
I frowned. “Because I did such an amazing job the last time around?”
“Actually,” Michael said, “you did an excellent job. You defended the Swords from those who would try to claim them, and you issued them to people who used them well.”
“Murphy didn’t,” I said quietly. “I mean, I know it worked out in the end—but my judgment was obviously in error.”
“But you didn’t call her to be a true Knight,” Michael said. “You entrusted her with the Sword for one purpose—to help you save your little girl from Chichén Itzá. She appointed herself the Swords’ keeper after you apparently died. And this morning, you gave the Sword of Faith to the right person at the right time.”
“That was an accident.”
“I don’t believe in accidents,” Michael said. “Not where the Swords are concerned.”
“Suppose I don’t want it.”
“It’s your choice, of course,” Michael said. “That’s sort of the point. But Uriel asked me to pass it to you. And I trust you.”
I sighed. Maggie’s limp, warm little body was emitting a barrage of some kind of subatomic particle that was making me drowsy. Probably sleepeons. Mouse snored a little, generating his own sleepeon field. The gentle night wasn’t helping things, either. Nor was my battered body.
I had a surplus of burdens already.
“The thing is,” I said quietly, “the Swords’ keeper needs clear judgment more than anything else. And I’m not sure I have it anymore.”
“Why not?” Michael asked.
“Because of the Winter mantle. Because of Mab. If I take the Sword, bad things could happen down the line.”
“Of course they could,” Michael said. “But I don’t believe for a second that they would happen because you chose to make them happen.”
“That’s what I mean,” I said. “What if . . . what if Mab gets to me, eventually?” I waved my hand. “Stars and stones, I just spent the weekend working with Denarians on behalf of freaking Marcone. I’ve had this job for . . . what? A couple of years? What will I be like five years from now? Or ten? Or a hundred and fifty?”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” Michael said. “I know you.”
“I’m not sure I do anymore,” I said, “and it scares the hell out of me. What happens if she does it? What happens if she turns me into her personal monster? What is she going to do with me then?”