Jim Butcher - Dresden Files Omnibus

by Jim Butcher

  Like those near Lord Skavis, a core of organization had formed around Lara and her father. Someone—I saw a flash of Justine’s terrified face—was holding a little air horn up and triggering it wildly. I spotted Vitto Malvora, charging the ghouls around his fallen aunt—and watched as he threw himself on the remains with an inhuman howl, and began feasting beside the creatures who had killed her.

  It had taken seconds for intrigue to devolve into insanity in a thousand simultaneous nightmare-inducing vignettes—none of which I could afford to think significant, save one: the dozen ghouls plunging directly toward me like a football team on the kickoff, huge and fast and ferocious, charging me on a straight line from the enemy gate.

  For a second, I thought I saw a dark shape in that gate, the suggestion of an outlined hood and cloak. It might have been Cowl. I’d have hit him with all the fire I could call if I’d had a second to spare, but I didn’t.

  I brought my shield up as the ghouls came over the floor, and held it fast as the leader of the pack slammed into it in a flare of blue and silver light and a cloud of sparks. The ghoul only howled and began slamming at the barrier with his fists. Every single one hit with the energy of a low-speed car crash, and even with my nifty new bracelet, I could feel the surge of power I needed to keep the shield steady when each of the blows came thundering down.

  Boots thudded behind me. Someone was shouting.

  Bam, bam, bam. The ghoul slammed against my shield, and it was an almost painful effort to hold it.

  “Justine!” Thomas screamed.

  I wouldn’t be able to hold this ghoul off for long—which was all right, because the other eleven were going to go right around my shield while he forced me to hold it steady against him, and tear me into tiny pieces and eat me. Hopefully in that order.

  Bootsteps thudded behind me, and a voice barked. A second ghoul, several steps in front of the rest, flung itself around my shield but was intercepted by Ramirez. It leaped at him and hit that gelatinous-looking green cloud of a shield he used.

  What happened to the ghoul as its speed carried its whole mass all the way through the shield does not bear thinking on. But Ramirez was going to need new clothes.

  Bam. Bam. BAM!

  Murphy screamed, “Harry, Thomas, Ramirez, down!”

  I dropped and dragged Carlos down with me, lowering my shield as I went. Thomas hit the ground a fraction of a second after I did.

  And the world came apart in thunder. Sound hammered at my head and ears, and I found myself screaming in pain and shock, before I ground my teeth and shot a quick glance behind me, trying not to lift my head any higher than I had to.

  Murphy knelt on the ground by my feet in her dark fatigues, body armor, black baseball cap, and amber safety glasses. She had a weird little rectangular gun about the size of a big box of chocolates held to one shoulder. It had a tiny little barrel, one of those little red dot optical sights, and Murphy’s cheek was laid on it, one eye aligned with the sight as she poured automatic fire into the oncoming ghouls in neat, chattering bursts that ripped the ghoul that had been pounding on my shield into a spray of broken bits. It went over backward, thrashing one arm and howling in agony.

  Beside Murphy, playing Clifford the Big Red Dog to her Emily Elizabeth, was Hendricks. The huge redheaded enforcer was also kneeling and firing, but the gun he held to his shoulder was approximately the size of an intercontinental ballistic missile and spat out a stream of tracer rounds that ripped into the attacking creatures with a vengeance. Several men I recognized from Marcone’s organization were lined up next to him, all firing. So were several more men I didn’t recognize, but whose clothing and equipment were sufficiently different to make me think they were freelancers, hired for the job. A few more were still pouring through the open gate and into the cavern.

  The ghouls were hardy as hell, but there is a difference between shrugging off a few rounds from a sidearm and wading through the disciplined hail of assault-weapon fire that Marcone’s people laid down on them. Had it been one man firing at one ghoul, it might have been different—but it wasn’t. There were at least twenty of them shooting into a packed mass, and they kept shooting, even after the targets were thrashing on the ground, until their guns were empty. Then they reloaded, and returned to firing. Marcone had given his men the instructions I’d advised—and I imagined the guns he had hired on must have been used to facing supernatural threats of this sort as well. Marcone was nothing if not resourceful.

  Murphy stopped shooting and screamed something at me, but it wasn’t until Marcone stepped forward into the peripheral vision of the armed gunmen and held up a hand with a closed fist that they stopped firing.

  For a second, nothing but a high, heavy tone buzzed in my ears, making me deaf to the other sounds in the cavern. The air was full of the sewer stench of wounded ghoul and the sharp scent of burning cordite. A swath of stone floor ten yards across and thirty deep had just been carpeted in pureed ghoul.

  The fight was still going on all around us, but the main force of ghouls was concentrating on the hard-pressed vampires. We’d bought ourselves a temporary quiet spot, but it couldn’t last.

  “Harry!” Murphy screamed over the merely horrific cacophony of the slaughter.

  I gave her a thumbs-up. I pushed myself to my feet. Someone gave me a hand up and I took it gratefully—until I saw that it was Marcone, dressed in his black fatigues, holding a shotgun in his other hand. I jerked my fingers away as if he were more disgusting than the things fighting and dying all around us.

  His cold green eyes wrinkled at the corners. “Dresden. If it’s all right with you, I think it would be prudent to retreat back through the gate.”

  That was probably a very smart idea. The gate was six feet away from me. We could pull up stakes, hop through, and close it behind us. Gates to the spirit world paid absolutely no attention to trivial things like geography—they obeyed laws of imagination, intention, patterned thought. Even if Cowl was back there, he wouldn’t be able to open a gate to the same place as mine, because he didn’t think like me, feel like me, or share my intent and purpose.

  Seeing fallout from the war with the Red Court had convinced me that running when you didn’t have to fight was a really great idea. In fact, the Merlin had written a letter to the Wardens directing them to do so, rather than lose even more of our dwindling combat resources. If we hung around much longer, no one was getting out of this abattoir.

  Thomas’s sword came down on a thrashing ghoul, and he shouted, with desperation bordering on madness, “Justine!” He spun to me. “Harry, help me!”

  Leaving was smart.

  But my brother wasn’t leaving. Not without the girl.

  So I wasn’t leaving without her, either.

  Come to think of it, there were a whole lot of people who didn’t need to be here. And, in point of fact, there were some damned compelling reasons to take them with us when we went. Those reasons didn’t make it any less dangerous, and they sure as hell didn’t make the idea any less scary, but that didn’t stop them from existing.

  Without Lara’s peace initiative (fronted by her puppet father), the White Court would pitch in more heavily with the Reds than they already had. If I didn’t get Lara and her puppet out, what was already a grim war with the vampires would quite possibly become an impossible one. That was a damned good reason to stay.

  But it wasn’t the one that kept me there.

  I saw another ghoul tear into a helpless, unresisting thrall, closed my eyes for a second, and realized that if I did nothing to save as many as I could, I would never leave this cavern. Oh, sure, I might get out alive. But I’d be back here every time I closed my eyes.

  “Dresden!” Marcone shouted. “I agreed to an extraction. Not to a war.”

  “A war’s all we’ve got!” I shouted back. “We’ve got to get Raith out of this in one piece, or the whole thing was for nothing and no one pays you off!”

  “No one will pay me off if I’m dead, eit
her,” Marcone said.

  I snarled and stepped closer, getting into Marcone’s face.

  Hendricks rolled a half a step toward me and growled.

  Murphy seized the huge man by one enormous paw, did something that involved his wrist and his index finger, and with a grunt Hendricks dropped to one knee while Murphy held one of his arms out straight behind him and angled painfully upward. “Take it easy, big guy,” she said. “Someone might get hurt.”

  “Don’t move,” Marcone snarled—to his men, not to me. His eyes never wavered from mine. “Yes, Dresden?”

  “I could tell you to do it or I’d strand you all in the Nevernever on the way home,” I said quietly. “I could tell you to help me or I’d close the gate, and we’d all die here. I could even tell you to do it or I’d burn you to ashes where you stand. But I won’t tell you that.”

  Marcone narrowed his eyes. “No?”

  “No. Threats won’t deter you. We both know that. I can’t force you to do anything, and we both know that, too.” I jerked my head at the cavern. “People are dying, John. Help me save them. God, please help me.”

  Marcone’s head rocked back as if I’d slapped him. After a second he asked, “Who do you think I am, wizard?”

  “Someone who can help them,” I said. “Maybe the only one.”

  He stared at me with empty, opaque eyes.

  Then he said, very quietly, “Yes.”

  I felt a fierce smile stretch my mouth and turned to Ramirez at once. “Stay here with these guys and hold the gate.”

  “Who are these people?” Ramirez said.

  “Later!” I whirled back to Marcone. “Ramirez is with the Council, like me. Keep him covered and hold the gate.”

  Marcone pointed at several of the men. “You, you, you. Guard this man and hold the gate.” He pointed out several more. “You, you, you, you, you, start rounding up anyone close enough to us to get to without undue risk and help them through.”

  Men leaped to obey, and I felt impressed. I’d never seen Marcone quite like this before: animated, decisive, and totally confident despite the nightmare all around. There was a power to it, something that brought order to the terrifying chaos around us.

  I could see why men followed him, how he had conquered the underworld of Chicago.

  One of the hired guns cut loose with a burst of fire, still shockingly loud enough to make me flinch. “You know what else?” I asked Marcone. “I don’t really need this cave. Neither do you.”

  Marcone narrowed his eyes at me, then nodded once, and said something over his shoulder to one of the hired guns. “Dresden, I would appreciate it if you would ask the sergeant to release my employee.”

  “Murph,” I complained, “can’t you pick on someone your own size?” I took a second to admire Hendricks’s expression, but said, “We need him with his arm still attached.”

  Murphy eased up on the pressure and then released Hendricks’s arm. The big man eyed Murphy, rubbing his arm, but regained his feet and his enormous machine gun.

  “Harry,” Thomas said, voice tight. “We need to move.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Thomas, Murphy, and…” We needed mass. “Hendricks, with me.”

  Hendricks checked that with Marcone, who nodded.

  “Follow me,” I told them. “Stay—What are you doing, Marcone?”

  Marcone had accepted a weapon from one of his gunmen, a deadly little MAC-10 that could spew out about a berjillion bullets in a second or two. He checked it and clipped a strap hanging from it to a ring on his weapon harness. “I’m going with you. And you don’t have enough time to waste any more of it arguing with me about it.”

  Dammit. He was right.

  “Fine. Follow my lead and stay close. We’re going to go round up Lord Raith and get him and everyone else we can out of here before—”

  Marcone abruptly raised his shotgun and put a blast through one of the nearer fallen ghouls that had begun to move. It thrashed, and he put a second shell into it. The ghoul stopped moving.

  That was when I noticed that the black ichor that spewed from the ghouls was on the ground…

  …and it was moving.

  By itself.

  The black fluid rolled and ran like liquid mercury, gathering together in little droplets, then larger gobs. Those, in turn, ran over the floor—uphill, in some cases—back toward broken ghoul bodies. As I watched, bits of missing flesh ripped from the ghouls began to fill in again as the ichor returned to their bodies. The one Thomas had beheaded actually came crawling back over the floor, having regained some of the use of its legs. It was holding its head up against the stump of its neck with its one arm, and the ichor was flowing from both the severed head and the stump, merging, reattaching it. I saw the ghoul’s jaws suddenly stretch, its eyes blink and then focus.

  On me.

  Holy crap.

  Time. We didn’t have much time. If even the gutted and mangled ghouls could get back up again, there was no way the vampires were winning this one. The best they could hope for was to run—and when more vamps ran, more ghouls would be free to overwhelm us. Or possibly they’d do something even more disgusting than they already had, and we’d all puke ourselves to death.

  “This just can’t get much more disturbing,” I muttered. “Follow me.”

  I gripped my staff in both hands and charged ahead, into the mass of maddened vampires and ghouls, to save one monster from another.

  Chapter

  Forty

  I sprinted toward the little knot of struggling vampires around the White King, while dozens of über-ghouls ripped into the leading families of the White Court. I slipped on some slimy ichor, but didn’t fall on my ass. For me, that’s actually pretty good.

  I noted more details on the way, and started trying to think ahead of the next few seconds. Assuming we got to the White King in one piece and convinced Lara to team up and follow us, then what? What was the next step?

  At least a dozen ghouls bounded out the tunnel, heading up that long slope to the cave’s entrance. They’d be in a good position to stop Lara’s mortal security forces from pushing through the tunnel to rescue the King. Stopping a charge over open ground with firearms is one thing. Using a gun to charge a large, deadly, powerful predator in close quarters is a different proposition entirely—and not a winning one.

  Naturally, the ghouls in the tunnel would also be in position to intercept anyone who tried to flee, which meant that we had to leave through the gate, which meant that if Ramirez and Marcone’s men lost it, we were screwed. And that meant that if Cowl was over there and saw what was going on, he would hardly sit by doing nothing.

  I might be able to counter him if I were defending the gate. My skills aren’t fine, but I’m pretty strong, and I’m good at adapting them on the fly. Cowl had cleaned my clock in two fights already, but slowing and delaying him wasn’t the same as trying to wipe the walls with him. Even if I couldn’t be a real threat to him, personally, I could tie him up long enough to hold the gate until we could skedaddle.

  Ramirez couldn’t. He was a dangerous combat wizard, but his skills just weren’t strong enough or broad enough to pose a significant obstacle to Cowl. If Cowl—or Vitto, for that matter—saw what was going on, and the ghouls concentrated on the gate…

  The shrieks and roars of the struggle on our right suddenly got louder, and I saw the resistance around Lord Skavis and his henchmen suddenly buckle. The horrible glee of the ghouls rushing into the opening was almost more terrifying than the carnage that followed. I caught a glimpse of Vitto Malvora in the middle of the mess, shoving a ghoul toward a wounded vampire, snarling at others, giving orders. The largest of the ghouls were with Vitto.

  “That vampire has the strongest and largest of those creatures with him!” Marcone called to me as we ran. “He’ll hit any pockets of resistance with them, use them as a hammer.”

  “I can see that,” I snapped. “Murphy, Marcone, cover our right. Hendricks, Thomas, get ready to go in.”
/>
  “Go in where?” Hendricks asked.

  I took my staff in hand, focused on the fight raging around the White King, and called up my will and Hellfire. “In the hole I’m about to make,” I growled. “Get them out.”

  “They’re mostly…eating now. But the second we start to break them free,” Marcone cautioned from behind me, “these others are going to come after us.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’ll handle it.”

  I felt something warm press up against my lower back—Murphy’s shoulders. “We’ll make sure that—” Her voice broke off suddenly, and that boxy little submachine gun chattered in three quick bursts, punctuated by a single throaty roar from Marcone’s shotgun. “Holy crap, that was close.”

  “Another,” Marcone warned, and the shotgun blasted again.

  The air horn in Justine’s hand started blaring more desperately.

  “Harry!” Thomas shouted.

  “Go!” I shouted at Thomas and Hendricks. Then I leveled the staff at the nearest clump of the enormous ghouls and shouted, “Forzare!”

  My will lashed out, leashed to Lasciel’s Hellfire, and rushed upon the ghouls, exploding in a sphere of raw force that blazed with flickers of sulfurous flame. It blew them up and outward like extras on the set of The A-Team, flying in high arcs. Some of them flew right through the falling curtain of water behind the throne and into the abyssal depths below. Others slammed hard into the nearest wall, and still others fell among the frenzied ghouls now finishing off Lord Skavis and his retainers.

  Thomas and Hendricks charged forward. My brother had slipped his shotgun into a sheath over one shoulder, and now wielded his saber in one hand and that inward-bent knife in the other. The first ghoul he reached was still staggered from the blast that had sent his companions flying, and Thomas never gave him a chance to recover. The saber removed its arm, and a scything, upward-sweeping slash of the crooked knife struck its head from its shoulders. A vicious kick to the small of its back crunched into its spine and sent the maimed, beheaded creature flying into the next in the line.