Turn Coat

by Butcher, Jim

“I appreciate that. Quite a bit, actually.” She looked off to one side. Mouse, now that the work was done, came out of a shamelessly lazy doze he’d been holding in the doorway and trotted over to Luccio. He sat down and offered her his paw.

  She smiled quietly and took it. Then she ruffled the fur behind his ears with her fingers, the way she knew he liked, and stood up. “I, ah . . . I wanted to be sure you were recovering.”

  “That’s very responsible of you,” I said.

  She winced. “Ah. Dammit to hell, Dresden.” She shook her head. “I spent almost two hundred years not getting close to anyone. For damn good reasons. As can be evidenced by what happened here.”

  “Can it?”

  She shook her head. “I was . . . distracted, by you. By . . . us, I suppose. Maybe if I hadn’t been, I’d have seen something. Noticed something. I don’t know.”

  “I kind of thought that you were distracted by the mind mage who had you twisted in knots.”

  She grimaced. “They’re separate things. And I know that. But at the same time, I don’t know that. And here I’m talking like some flustered teenager.” She put her hands on her hips, her mouth set in annoyance. “I’m not good at this. Help.”

  “Well,” I said. “I take it that you came here to let me know that you weren’t going to keep pursuing . . . whatever it is we had.”

  “It’s not because of you,” she said.

  “I know,” I said. “Never was, was it?”

  She exhaled through her nose, a slow sigh. Her eyes lingered on me. “I’ve always liked you, Dresden. For a long time, I thought you were dangerous. Then I saw you in action against the Heirs of Kemmler, and I respected you.” She smiled slightly. “You’re funny. I like that.”

  “But?” I asked.

  “But someone pushed me toward you,” she said. “And that pisses me off. And . . .” She started weeping, though her posture and her voice didn’t waver. “And I thought that maybe I had broken through some kind of . . . scar. Or old wound. Or something. That I had grown closer to you, and maybe would keep growing closer to you, and it made me feel . . .” She shook her head as her voice finally broke. “Young. It made everything feel new.”

  I walked around the car to stand in front of her. I reached a hand toward her shoulder, but she raised hers in a gesture of denial. “But it was a lie. I’m not young, Harry. I’m not new. I’ve seen and done things that . . . that you can’t understand. That I pray to God you’ll never need to understand.” She took a deep breath. “This is ridiculous. I should be better at handling this.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked quietly. “I mean, other than the obvious.”

  “I got to have sex again,” she snarled. “And I liked it. I really liked it. I had forgotten exactly how mind-numbingly incredible sex is. And right now I’m having trouble forming complete sentences because I want to rip your shirt off and bite your shoulder while you’re still sweating while you—” She broke off abruptly, her cheeks turning bright red. “You’re not even forty.”

  I leaned against the car, looking at her, and started laughing quietly.

  She shook her head, scowling ferociously at me, her dark eyes bright. “How am I supposed to give you orders, now?” she asked. “When you and I have . . . done all the things we’ve done.”

  “Well. What if I promise not to put the pictures on the Internet.”

  She blinked at me. “Pictures . . . you are joking, Dresden? Aren’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “Because I had quite enough of that during my first young adult-hood,” she said. “Italy may not have had an Internet back then, but you’d be shocked how quickly pictures can circulate even when they’re painted on canvas.”

  “Ana,” I said quietly.

  She bit her lip and looked at me.

  I reached out and took her hands. I squeezed them. Then I lifted them to my lips and kissed them each once, gently. “Whatever the reason, I’m happy to remember the time we had.”

  She blinked her eyes several times, looking up at me.

  “I get it,” I said. “Things have changed. And maybe that time is over. But you’ll be okay. And I’ll be okay. You don’t have to feel guilty about that.”

  She lifted my hands to her lips and kissed them, once each, just as I had. A tear fell on my knuckle. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “It’ll be okay,” I said. “It’s okay.”

  She nodded and looked up at me. I could see the calm, collected strength of the Captain of the Wardens, ready to assume its guiding role. I could see the uncertainty of Anastasia, who hadn’t been close to anyone in a long time. And maybe I could see something lonely and sad that was a part of who she had been when she was a young woman, well over a century before I was born.

  “Goodbye, Harry,” she whispered.

  “Goodbye, Ana,” I said.

  She squeezed my hands and turned to walk away. She stopped after half a dozen paces and looked back.

  “Dresden?”

  I looked at her.

  “Rashid doesn’t talk much about the night Morgan died. I barely remember anything myself, after Peabody said what he said.”

  I knew what she was after. “He wasn’t alone,” I said. “I was with him. And he knew that he’d found the traitor. He was content.”

  Something tight in her shoulders eased. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Sure.”

  Then she turned and strode purposefully away.

  I looked at the bloodstained mattress on the Blue Beetle, and sighed. I didn’t feel like driving it anywhere. It was early. It could wait a few hours. I turned to Mouse and said, “Come on, boy. I need a beer.”

  We descended out of the summer heat into the relative cool of my basement apartment.

  Maybe I needed two.

  It took Justine more than two weeks to get me that meeting with Thomas. When she called, she was speaking in her official secretary tone again. She stipulated a public meeting place, where both of us would have the protection of the need to maintain a low profile. It was a precaution that the White Court had required of me, given how tense things had been between the Council and the White Court’s leadership, of late.

  I met Thomas on a Saturday afternoon outside the Great Cat House at the Lincoln Park Zoo.

  As I came up, I spotted a pair of Lara’s security guys, trying to blend in. Thomas was leaning on the rail that looked into this big pit where they keep a couple of tigers. He was wearing tight blue jeans, and a big loose white shirt. Every woman there and a large chunk of the guys were looking at him, with various degrees of lust, longing, interest, and seething hatred. I walked up and leaned on the rail beside him.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey.”

  We stood there watching the tigers for a few minutes.

  “You asked for the meeting,” he said. “What do you want?”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Thomas, I want to see you. Talk to you. Be sure you’re okay. You’re my brother, man.”

  He didn’t react to my words. Not at all.

  I studied his profile for a few moments. Then I said, “What’s wrong?”

  He moved one shoulder in a careless gesture. “Nothing is wrong, per se. Unless . . . it was me.”

  “You? Were wrong?”

  “I was an idiot to try to live the way I’ve been living,” he said.

  I looked at him sharply. “What?”

  He rolled a hand in a lazy gesture. “The boutique. The constant nibbling, never sating myself. The . . .” He shrugged. “All of it.”

  I stared hard at him. Then I asked, very quietly, “What did the skinwalker do to you?”

  “He reminded me of what I really am.”

  “Oh?”

  Thomas turned to look at me with calm deep grey eyes. “Yes. It didn’t take him long, once he set about it.”

  I felt sick to my stomach. “What happened?”

  “He hung me up by my heels,” Thomas said. “And ripped strips of skin off of me.
One at a time.”

  I shuddered.

  “It’s agonizing,” he said. “Not terribly dangerous to one of us. My demon didn’t really have any trouble regenerating the skin—but it did become hungry. Very, very hungry.” His eyes suddenly gleamed paler silver and he looked back at the tigers, which were now restlessly prowling the pit. “He’d taken a female kine to the lair where he had me prisoner. And he fed her to me.”

  “Hell’s bells,” I breathed.

  Thomas watched the tigers pace. “She was lovely. Sixteen or so? I don’t know, exactly. I didn’t ask for her name.” He spread his hands. “It was a fatal feeding, of course. I don’t think I’ve ever really explained to you exactly what that is like.”

  “What is it like?” I asked in a quiet rasp.

  “Like becoming light,” he said, his eyes drifting closed. “Like sinking into the warmth of a campfire when you’ve been shivering for hours. Like a hot steak after a day of swimming in cold water. It transforms you, Harry. Makes you feel . . .” His eyes became haunted, hollow. “Whole.”

  I shook my head. “Thomas. Jesus.”

  “Once she was gone and my body was restored, the skinwalker tortured me again, until I was in the same desperate condition. Then he fed me another doe.” He shrugged. “Rinse and repeat. Perhaps half a dozen times. He gave me young women and then put me in agony again. I was all but chewing out my own innards when he took me to the island. To tell you the truth, I barely remember it.” He smiled. “I remember seeing Molly. But you’ve taught her enough to protect herself, it seems.”

  “Thomas,” I said gently.

  He smirked. “If you ever get tired of her, I hope you’ll let me know.”

  I stared at him, sickened. “Thomas.”

  He looked at me again, still smirking—but he couldn’t hold it. Once again, his eyes looked hollow, touched with despair. He looked away from me. “You don’t get it, Harry.”

  “Then talk to me,” I said, urgently. “Thomas, Jesus Christ. This is not you.”

  “Yes, it is,” he spat, the words a bladed hiss. “That’s what it taught me, Harry. At the end of the day, I’m just an empty place that needs to be filled.” He shook his head. “I didn’t want to kill those girls. But I did it. I killed them, over and over, and I loved how it felt. When I think back on the memory of it, it doesn’t make me horrified.” He sneered. “It just makes me hard.”

  “Thomas,” I whispered. “Please, man. This isn’t what you want to be. I know you, man. I’ve seen you.”

  “You’ve seen who I wanted to be,” he said. “Who I thought I was.” He shook his head and looked around at the people around us. “Play a game with me.”

  “What game?”

  He nodded toward a pair of young women walking by holding ice-cream cones. “What do you see when you look at them? Your first thought.”

  I blinked. I looked. “Uh. Blonde and brunette, too young for me, not bad to look at. I bet the blonde paid too much for those shoes.”

  He nodded and pointed at an old couple sitting on a bench. “Them?”

  “They’re fighting with each other over something and enjoying it. They’ve been together so long, it’s comfortable for them. Later, they’ll hold hands and laugh over the fight.”

  He pursed his lips, and pointed at a mother chivvying a trio of small children of various sizes along the zoo. “Them?”

  “She’s got an expensive ring, but she’s here at the zoo alone. Her kids all have matching outfits. Her husband works a lot, and she doesn’t look as good as she used to—look how the shoes are biting into her feet. She’s worried that she’s a trophy wife, or maybe an ex-wife in progress. She’s about to start crying.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said. “Can I give you my first thoughts?”

  I nodded, frowning at him.

  Thomas pointed a finger at the young women. “Food.” He pointed a finger at the old couple. “Food.” He pointed a finger at the mother and her children. “Food.”

  I just stared at him.

  He rolled his head, inhaling deeply and then exhaling. “Maybe it was all those kills together like that. Maybe he drove me insane with the torment.” He shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. I just know that things seem a lot simpler now.”

  “What are you trying to tell me?” I asked. “That you’re happy, now?”

  “Happy,” he said, scorn ringing lightly in his voice. “I’m . . . not wandering around blind anymore. Not trying desperately to be something that I’m not.” He looked back down at the tigers. “Something I can never be.”

  I just stood there, shaking my head.

  “Oh, empty night, Harry,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not some kind of ravaging monster. I’m not some kind of psychotic rampaging around the city devouring virgins.” He waved a hand in a casual gesture. “Killing when you feed feels fantastic, but it’s stupid. There are far too many advantages in ensuring that the kine survive. Not only survive, but grow and prosper.” He smiled a bit. “You know, I really think I might have something to offer the world. I never could have exerted any kind of influence on my kin as a moping exile, trying to be human. Maybe this way, I actually can accomplish something. Promote a more responsible standard of relations between humanity and my kind. Who knows?”

  I stared at him and said, “Gosh, that’s noble.”

  He eyed me.

  I hit him with my heaviest sucker punch. “What does Justine think of it?”

  He straightened and turned toward me, and there was imminent violence in the set of his body. “What?” he asked. “What did you say to me?”

  “You heard me,” I said, without changing posture or rising to the threat.

  His hands closed into fists, knuckles popping.

  “Still stings, doesn’t it?” I said quietly. “Still burns you when you try to touch her?”

  He said nothing.

  “And you still remember what it was to hold her. Like you did the night you trashed Madeline at Zero.”

  “Jesus Christ, Harry,” he said. He turned to face out, away from the tigers, and his voice was full of weariness. “I don’t know. I just know that it doesn’t hurt so bad all the time anymore.” He was quiet for a long time. Then he said, in a very quiet voice, “I have bad dreams.”

  I wanted to put my hand on his shoulder, to give him some support. But some instinct warned me that it wouldn’t be welcomed.

  “You took a beating,” I said quietly. “What that thing did to you . . . ? Thomas, it knew exactly how to get to you. How to torment you the most. But it won’t last. You survived. You’ll get past it.”

  “And go back to that miserable half life I had?” he whispered.

  “Maybe,” I said quietly. “I don’t know.”

  He looked at me.

  “You’re my brother,” I said. “Nothing will ever change that. I’m here for you.”

  “You’re a damn fool,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  “It would be easy to use you. Part of me thinks it’s a fantastic idea.”

  “I didn’t say you weren’t an asshole. I said you were my brother.”

  The bodyguards stirred. Nothing big. They just sort of animated and moved toward the exits.

  Thomas grimaced. “Lara thinks I’ve made great progress. She’s . . .” He shrugged. “Proud of me.”

  “I liked you better the other way,” I said. “So did Justine. Maybe that should tell you something.”

  “I’ve got to go. She’s afraid you’ll think I’m all brainwashed. Didn’t want to risk you trying to deprogram me when I haven’t been programmed.”

  “I confess. The idea occurred to me.”

  “If someone had gotten into my head, I don’t think there’d be so many doubts,” he said. “This isn’t something you can help me with, Harry.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not. Either way, you’re still my brother.”

  “Broken damn record,” he said.

  I held up a fist.

 
; He stared at it for a couple of silent beats before he made a fist of his own and rapped my knuckles against his.

  “Don’t call me,” he said.

  “I’ll be patient,” I said. “But not forever.”

  He hesitated and then nodded once more. Then he thrust his hands into the hip pockets of his jeans and walked quickly away. The bodyguards fell in behind him. One of them said something while he had one hand pressed against his ear.

  Purely from petty malice, I waved a hand and hexed his radio, or phone. Sparks flew out of his ear and he all but fell over trying to get the earbud out.

  Thomas looked back.

  He grinned. Not long but real.

  After he was gone, I turned to regard the tigers. I wondered if I knew them for what they really were, or if all I could see were the stripes.

  I’d missed Kirby’s funeral while I was in the infirmary in Edinburgh. A couple of weeks had gone by after that, and I’d talked to Will and Georgia by phone occasionally.

  Gaming night came along, and as I had most weeks for the past several years, I showed up at Will and Georgia’s place. I had my Arcanos rule book with me, and a Crown Royal bag filled with dice. I was wearing a black T-shirt that had a monochrome image of several multisided dice and said, in block print, “COME TO THE DORK SIDE. DO NOT MAKE ME DESTROY YOU.”

  Will answered the door and smiled at me. “Hey, Harry. Wow, your face is . . . manly.”

  “Chicks dig scars,” I said.

  “Who is it?” came Andi’s voice. It sounded limp, lifeless.

  “It is I, Harry Dresden,” I said solemnly.

  Georgia appeared behind Will, smiling. “Harry.” She looked at my shirt, and my gaming stuff. “Oh . . . we weren’t really going to . . .”

  Kirby had been the one who ran the game for us.

  I stepped aside, grabbed the geek standing behind me, and tugged him forward. “This is Waldo Butters,” I said. “And his geek penis is longer and harder than all of ours put together.”

  Butters blinked, first at Georgia and Will, and then at me. “Oh,” he said. “Um. Thank you?”

  Will looked from Butters to me, his eyes searching. “What is this?” he asked gently.

  “Life,” I said. “It keeps going. Butters says he can handle an Arcanos game. Or he can run a bunch of other ones if we want to try something new.” I cleared my throat. “If you like, we can go over to my place. Change of view and so on.”