Dresden Files 03 - Grave Peril

by Jim Butcher

  “Well,” I greeted him quietly, as he returned. “That looks like it went well enough.”

  He gave me a rather pallid smile. “It . . . she can be rather frightening, when she wishes, can’t she.”

  “Don’t let her get to you,” I advised him. “What did she give you?”

  Thomas accepted Justine into the circle of his arm, and she pressed her body to his as though she wanted to wallow in him and leave one of those angel shapes. He lifted the envelope and said, “A condo in Hawaii. And a ticket there, on a late flight tonight. She suggested that I might want to leave Chicago. Permanently.”

  “One ticket,” I said, and glanced at Justine.

  “Mmmm.”

  “Friendly of her,” I commented. “Look, Thomas. We both want to get out of here tonight. Just stay close to me and follow my lead. All right?”

  He frowned a bit, and then shot Justine a reproachful look. “Justine. I asked you not to—”

  “I had to,” she said, her face earnest, frightened. “I had to do something to help you.”

  He coughed. “I apologize, Mister Dresden. I didn’t want to involve anyone else in my problems.”

  I rubbed at the back of my neck. “It’s okay. We can help each other, I guess.”

  Thomas closed his eyes for a moment. Then he said, very simply and very openly, “Thank you.”

  “Sheesh,” I said. I glanced up at Bianca, who was in converse with one of the robed and hooded shadows. The pair of them vanished to the back of the dais while Bianca watched, and then returned, lugging something that evidently weighed a good deal. They settled the fairly large object, hidden beneath a dark red cloth, on the dais beside Bianca.

  “Harry Dresden,” Bianca purred. “Old and esteemed acquaintance, and wizard of the White Council. Please come forward so that I can give you some of what I’ve been longing to for so long.”

  I gulped, and shot a glance back at Michael and Susan. “Look sharp,” I said. “If she’s going to do something, I guess it will be now, when we’re separated.”

  He put his hand on her shoulder, and said, “God go with you, Harry.” Energy thrummed along my skin, and the nearest vampires shifted about uneasily and took a few steps away. He saw me notice, and gave me a small, sheepish smile.

  “Be careful, Mister Dresden,” Susan said.

  I bobbed my eyebrows at them, nodded to Thomas and Justine, and then walked forward, my cane in one hand, my cheesy cape flowing in the night air as I mounted the stairs to the dais. A bit of sweat stung in the corner of my eye, smearing my makeup, probably. I ignored it, meeting Bianca’s gaze as I came level with her.

  Vampires don’t have souls. She didn’t have to fear my gaze. And she wasn’t good enough to sucker me into her eyes. Or at least, she hadn’t been, a couple years ago. She met my gaze, steady, her eyes dark and lovely and so very, very deep.

  I took the better course of valor, and focused upon the tip of her perfectly upturned nose. I saw her breasts rise and fall in pleasure beneath the flames that gowned her, and she let out a small, purring sound of satisfaction. “Oh, Harry Dresden. I had looked forward to seeing you tonight. You are a very handsome man, after all. But you look utterly ridiculous.”

  “Thanks,” I said. No one, except maybe the pair of robed attendants at the back of the dais, could hear us. “How did you plan on killing me?”

  She fell quiet for a moment, thoughtful. Then she asked me, as she formally inclined her head, for the benefit of the crowd below, “Do you remember Paula, Mister Dresden?”

  I returned the gesture, only more shallowly, just to throw the little zing of insult into it. “I remember. She was pretty. Polite. I didn’t really get to meet her much.”

  “No. She was dead within an hour of you setting foot in my house.”

  “I thought she might have gone that way,” I said.

  “That you might have killed her, you mean?”

  “Isn’t my fault if you lost control and ate her, Bianca.”

  She smiled, teeth blinding white. “Oh, but it was your fault, Mister Dresden. You’d come to my house. Provoked me to near madness. Forced me to go along with you under threat of my destruction.” She leaned forward, giving me a glimpse down the flame-dress. She was naked beneath. “Now I get to return the favor. I’m not someone you can simply walk over, slap around, whenever you have a need. Not anymore.” She paused and then said, “In a way, I’m grateful to you, Dresden. If I hadn’t wanted so very badly to kill you, I would never have amassed the power and the contacts that I have. I never would have been elevated to the Court.” She gestured to the crowd of vampires below, the courtyard, the darkness. “In a way, all of this is your doing.”

  “That’s a lie,” I said, quiet. “I didn’t make you rope Mavra into working for you. I didn’t make you order her to torture those poor ghosts, stir up the Nevernever and bring Kravos’s pet demon back across to send after a bunch of innocents while you tried to get to me.”

  Her smile widened. “Is that what you think happened? Oh, my, Mister Dresden. You have an unpleasant surprise awaiting you.”

  Anger made me lift my eyes to meet her gaze, gave me the strength not to get pulled in by it—no mistaking. She had grown stronger in the past couple of years. “Can we just get this over with.”

  “Anything worth doing is worth doing slowly,” she murmured, but she reached out a hand and tugged on the dark red cloth, uncovering the object there. “For you, Mister Dresden. With all of my most fervent sincerities.”

  The cloth slid away from a white marble tombstone, set with a pentacle of gold in its center. Block letters carved into it read HERE LIES HARRY DRESDEN, above the pentacle. Below it, they read HE DIED DOING THE RIGHT THING. An envelope had been taped to the side of the tombstone.

  “Do you like it?” Bianca purred. “It comes complete with your own plot at Graceland, near to dear little Inez. I’m sure you’ll have ever so much to talk about. When your time comes, of course.”

  I looked from the tombstone back up to her. “Go ahead,” I said. “Make your move.”

  She laughed, a rich sound that spilled back down into the crowd below. “Oh, Mister Dresden,” she said, lowering her voice. “You really don’t understand, do you. I can’t openly strike you down. Regardless of what you may have done to me. But I can defend myself. I can stand by while my guests defend themselves. I can watch you die. And if things are hectic and confusing enough, and a few others die along with you, well. That’s hardly to be blamed upon me.”

  “Thomas,” I said.

  “And his little whore. And the Knight, and your reporter friend. I’m going to enjoy the rest of the evening, Harry.”

  “My friends call me Harry,” I said. “Not you.”

  She smiled, and said, “Revenge is like sex, Mister Dresden. It’s best when it comes on slow, quiet, until it all seems inexorable.”

  “You know what they say about revenge. I hope you got a second tombstone, Bianca. For the other grave.”

  My words stung her, and she stiffened. Then she beckoned the attendants forward, to lift my tombstone in their gloved hands and carry it back. “I’ll have it delivered to Graceland, Mister Dresden. They’ll have your bed all ready for you, before the sun rises.” She flicked her wrist at me, curt dismissal.

  I bowed my head, a bare, stark motion, cold. “We’ll see.” How’s that for a comeback? Then I turned and descended the stairs, my legs shaking a little, my back rigid and straight.

  “Harry,” Michael said, as I drew close. “What happened?”

  I held up my hand and shook my head, trying to think. The trap was already closing around me. I could feel that much. But if I could figure out Bianca’s plan, see it coming, maybe I could think my way out ahead of her.

  I trusted Michael and the others to keep an eye out for trouble while I furiously pondered, tried to work through Bianca’s logic. My godmother glided forward at Bianca’s bidding, and I paused for a moment, to glance up to the dais.

 
Bianca presented her with a small black case. Lea opened it, and a slow tremble ran down her body, made her flame-red hair shift and glisten. My godmother closed it again and said, “A princely gift. Happily, as is the custom of my people, I have brought a matter of equal worth, to exchange with you.”

  Lea beckoned the attendant forward, and was given a long, dark case. She opened it, displaying it for a moment to Bianca, and then turned, showing it to the gathered Court.

  Amoracchius. Michael’s sword. It lay gleaming in the dark box, casting back the ruddy light with a pure, argent radiance. Michael went stiff beside me, stifling a shout.

  A murmur went up from the assembled vampires and sundry creatures. They recognized the sword as well. Lea basked in it for a moment, until she folded the case closed and passed it over to Bianca. Bianca settled it across her lap, and smiled down at me and, I thought, at Michael.

  “A worthy reply to my gift,” Bianca said. “I thank you, Lady Leanandsidhe. Let Mavra of the Black Court come forward.”

  My godmother retreated. Mavra glided out of the night and onto the dais.

  “Mavra, you have been a most gracious and honorable guest in my house,” Bianca said. “And I trust that you have found your treatment here fair and equitable.”

  Mavra bowed to Bianca, silent, her rheumy eyes gleaming, glancing down towards Michael.

  “Oh, Jesus,” I whispered. “Son of a bitch.”

  “He didn’t mean it, Lord,” Michael said. “Harry? What did you mean?”

  I clenched my teeth, eyes flickering around. Everyone was watching me, all the vampires, Mister Ferro, everyone. They all knew what was coming. “The tombstone. It was written on my damned tombstone.”

  Bianca watched the realization come over me, still smiling. “Then please, Mavra, accept these minor tokens of my goodwill, and with them my hopes that vengeance and prosperity will belong to you and yours.” She offered forth the case, containing the sword, which Mavra accepted. Bianca then beckoned to the background, and the attendants brought out another covered bundle.

  The attendants jerked the cover off of the bundle—Lydia. Her dark, tousled hair had been trimmed into an elegant cut, and she wore a halter and shorts of black Lycra that emphasized her hips, the beauty of her pale limbs. Her eyes stared into the lights, glazed, drugged, and she sagged helplessly between the attendants.

  “My God,” Susan said. “What are they going to do with that girl?”

  Mavra turned to Lydia, reaching into the case as she did. “Sweet,” her hissing voice rasped. Her eyes went to Michael again. “Now to open my gift. It may tarnish the steel a bit, but I’m sure I’ll get over it.”

  Michael drew in a sudden breath.

  “What’s going on?” Susan blurted.

  “The blood of innocents,” he snarled. “The Sword is vulnerable. She means to unmake it. Harry, we cannot allow it.”

  All around me, vampires dropped their wineglasses, slid out of their jackets, bared their scarlet-smeared fangs in slow smiles to me. Bianca started laughing, up above me, as Mavra opened the case and withdrew Amoracchius. The sword seemed to almost chime with an angry sound as the vampire touched it, but Mavra only sneered down at the blade as she lifted the sword.

  Thomas moved closer to us, pushing Justine behind him as he drew his sword. “Dresden,” he hissed. “Dresden, don’t be a fool. It’s only one life—one girl’s life and a sword balanced against all of us. If you act now, you condemn us all.”

  “Harry?” Susan asked, her voice shaking.

  Michael too turned to look at me, his expression grim. “Faith, Dresden. Not all is lost.”

  All looked pretty damned lost to me. But I didn’t have to do anything. I didn’t have to lift a finger. All I had to do, to get out of here alive, was to sit still. To do nothing. All I had to do was stand here and watch while they murdered a girl who had come to me a few days before, begging me for protection. All I had to do was ignore her screams as Mavra gutted her. All I had to do was let the monsters destroy one of the major bastions standing against them. All I had to do was let Michael go to his death, claim the protection of the laws of hospitality upon Susan, and I could walk away.

  Michael nodded at me, then drew both knives and turned toward the dais.

  I closed my eyes. God forgive me for what I’m about to do.

  I grabbed Michael’s shoulder before he could start walking. Then I drew the sword blade forth from the cane, holding the cane in my left hand, reversing it in my grip as I drew in my will, sent it coursing down the haft of the cane, caused blue-white light to flare in the runes etched there.

  Michael flashed me a fighting grin and took position at my right. Thomas took one look at me and whispered, “We’re dead.” But he fell in at my left, crystalline sword glittering in his hand. A howl went up from the vampires, a sudden wave of deafening sound. Mavra turned her eyes to us, gathering night into the fingers of her free hand again. Bianca slowly rose, dark eyes glowing in triumph. Over to one side, Lea laid her hand on Mister Ferro’s arm, frowning faintly, standing well out of the way.

  Mavra hissed, lifting Amoracchius up high.

  “Harry?” Susan asked. Her shaking hand touched my shoulder. “What are we going to do?”

  “Stay behind me, Susan.” I clenched my teeth. “I guess I’m going to do the right thing.”

  Even if it kills me, I thought. And all of you, too.

  Chapter Thirty

  In games and history books and military science lectures, teachers and old warhorses and other scholarly types lay out diagrams and stand-up models in neat lines and rows. They show you, in a methodical order, how this division forced a hole in that line, or how these troops held their ground when all others broke.

  But that’s an illusion. A real struggle between combatants, whether they number dozens or thousands, is something inherently messy, fluid, difficult to follow. The illusion can show you the outcome, but it doesn’t impress upon you the surge and press of bodies, the screams, the fear, the faltering rushes forward or away. Within the battle, everything is wild motion and sound and a blur of impressions that flash by almost before they have time to register. Instinct and reflex rule everything—there isn’t time to think, and if there’s a spare second or two, the only thought in your head is “How do I stay alive?” You’re intensely aware of what is happening around you. It’s an obscure kind of torture, an acute and temporary hell—because one way or another, it doesn’t last long.

  A tide of vampires came toward us. They rushed in, animal-swift, a blur of twisted, bulging faces and staring black eyes. Their jaws hung too far open, fangs bared, hissing and howling. One of them held a long spear and shoved it toward Thomas’s pale belly. Justine screamed. Thomas swept the crystalline sword he bore down in an arc, parrying the spear’s tip aside and cutting through the haft.

  Undeterred, the spear-wielding vampire came on, and sank its fangs into Thomas’s forearm. Thomas shoved the vamp back, but it held firm. Thomas switched tactics, abruptly lifting the vampire up and clear of the ground, and then rolled the sword’s blade around its belly, splitting it open in a welter of gore. The vampire fell to the ground, a sound bubbling up from his throat that was one part fury and one part agony.

  “Their bellies!” Thomas shouted. “Without the blood they’re too weak to fight!”

  Michael caught a descending machete’s blade on the metal guard around his forearm, and whipped one of his knives across the belly of the vamp who held it. Blood splattered out of the vamp, and it went down in convulsions. “I know,” Michael snapped back, flashing Thomas an irritated look.

  And then he was buried in a swarm of red-clad bodies.

  “Michael!” I shouted. I tried to push toward him, but found myself jostled aside. I saw him struggle and drop to one knee, saw the vampires shoving knives at him, and fangs, teeth tearing and worrying, and if any of them were burning, like before, I couldn’t see it.

  Kyle Hamilton appeared, across the dogpile over the fall
en knight. He bared his fangs at me, and lifted a semiautomatic, one of the expensive models. Gold-plated. “Fare thee well, Dresden.”

  I lifted the cane, its runes shimmering blue and white, and snapped. “Venteferro!”

  The magic whispered silently out through the runes on the cane. Earth magic isn’t really my forte, but I like to keep my hand in. The runes and the power I willed into the staff reached out and caught the gun in invisible waves of magnetism. I had been worried that the spells I’d laid on the cane might have gone stale, but they were still hanging in there. The gun flew from Kyle’s hands.

  I whipped it through the air, into the face of another vamp coming toward Justine. It hit at something just this side of the speed of sound, and sent the thing flying back into the darkness. Justine whirled, as a second vampire came at her, only to have its legs literally scythed out from beneath it by Thomas’s blade.

  “Iesu domine!” Michael’s voice rang out from beneath the vampires like a brass army bugle, and with a sudden explosion of pressure and unseen force, bodies flew back and up, away from him, flesh ripped and torn from them, hanging in ragged, bloodless strips like cloth, showing gleaming, oily black flesh beneath. “Domine!” Michael shouted, rising, slewing gutted vamps off of him like a dog shakes off water. “Lava quod est sordium!”

  “Come on!” I called, and strode forward, toward the stairs leading up to the dais. Michael had parted the scarlet sea, as it were—stunned vampires gathered themselves from the ground or slowed their attack, hovering several feet away, hissing. Susan and Justine caught one of them starting to creep in closer, and discouraged the others from following its example by splattering it with holy water from Susan’s basket. The thing howled and fell back, clawing at its eyes, flopping and wriggling like a half-crushed bug.

  “Bianca!” Thomas shouted. “Our only chance is to take out their leader!” A knife flew out of the dark, too fast for me to see. But Thomas did. He reached out and flicked the blade of his sword across its path with a contemptuous swat, deflecting it out.