Jim Butcher - Dresden Files Omnibus

by Jim Butcher

  And my body abruptly went numb and useless from my stomach down.

  That scared the hell out of me and confirmed one of my worst fears. When I’d consented to serve Mab, my back had been broken, my spine damaged. Taking up the mantle had covered what would probably have been a crippling and long-term injury. But without it, my body was only mortal. Better than most at recovering over time, but still human. Without the mantle, I wouldn’t have legs, bladder or bowel control, or, most important, independence.

  I was on the ground like that for a subjective week, but it could have been only a few seconds before Thomas reached my side, with Murphy, Butters, and Molly right behind him. I knew they were there because I could see them, but their voices swam down to me from what seemed like a great distance among the cacophony of raking sensations scouring my nervous system. They lifted me to a sitting position—and then abruptly the pain was gone, and my legs started moving again, jerking in a single, gentle spasm.

  The mantle had been restored.

  “Okay,” I said in a ragged voice. “Uh. Maybe we won’t screw Winter Law.”

  “Harry,” Thomas said, as if he’d said my name several times already. “What happened?”

  “Uh,” I said. “I think it’s… a side effect. Fallout from defying the order of things.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Faeries,” I said. “They’re kind of insane, and mischievous, and dangerous as hell, but they all share one trait—they’re good to their word. They obey what they recognize as law. Especially Mab.”

  “You aren’t making much sense right now,” Thomas said.

  “The mantle of power comes from Mab. And now it’s in me. But it’s still a piece of her. If I go violating her own realm’s laws, it looks like the mantle isn’t going to have my back.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning I’d better figure out what the laws are pretty damned quick,” I replied. “Help me up.”

  Thomas hauled me to my feet and I looked at Toot. “You know the Winter Law?”

  “Well,” Toot said as if I were an idiot, “of course.”

  “Where can I learn it?”

  Toot tilted his head. “What?”

  “Winter Law,” I said. “Where can I learn it?”

  “I don’t understand,” Toot said, tilting his head the other way.

  “Oh, for the love of…” I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. “Toot. Can you read?”

  “Sure!” Toot said. “I can read ‘pizza’ and ‘exit’ and ‘chocolate’!”

  “All three, huh?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You’re a scholar and a gentleman,” I said. “But where did you learn Winter Law?”

  Toot shook his head as if mystified. “You don’t learn it, Harry. You just… know it. Everyone knows it.”

  “I don’t,” I said.

  “Maybe you’re too big,” Toot said. “Or too loud. Or, you know—too human.”

  I grunted. Then I eyed Hook, who had continued to sit in the same spot during the entire conversation. “So I’ve gone and made him my guest, eh?”

  “Well. More like your vassal.”

  I frowned. “Uh? What?”

  “That’s what surrender is, duh,” Toot said. “His life is yours to do with as you please. And as long as you don’t starve him or make him an oathbreaker, you can tell him to do whatever you want. And if his liege wants him back, he has to pay you for him.”

  “Ah. Medieval-style ransom.”

  Toot looked confused. “He did run some, but I stopped him, my lord. Like, just now. In front of you. Right over there.”

  There were several conspicuous sounds behind me, the loudest from my apprentice, and I turned to eye everyone else. They were all either covering smiles or holding them back—poorly. “Hey, peanut gallery,” I said. “This isn’t as easy as I’m making it look.”

  “You’re doing fine,” Karrin said, her eyes twinkling.

  I sighed.

  “Come on, Toot,” I said, and walked over to Hook.

  The little faerie sat there, apparently ignoring me, which took considerable nerve. If I fell or stepped on him, it would be like a tree falling on a lumberjack. If I were trying to hurt him, physically, I could twist him up like Stretch Armstrong.

  On the other hand, Hook was a faerie. It probably never even occurred to him that I might violate Mab’s laws.

  “The prisoner will stand and face the Za Lord!” Toot shrilled.

  Hook obediently got up and turned to face me.

  “Identify yourself, please,” I said. “I don’t want your Name. Just something to call you.”

  “By some I am called Lacuna,” he replied.

  “Suits me, Lacuna,” I said. “Remove the helmet, please. I want to see who I’m supporting.”

  Lacuna reached up and removed the face-shrouding helmet.

  She was gorgeous.

  Fine black hair bound into a braid at least a foot long spilled down out of the helmet when she did. Her skin was paper white, her huge eyes black all the way through. There were small markings or tattoos of some kind in deep purple ink on her skin, but they shifted slightly as I watched, some fading from sight, others appearing. Her features were long and very lean. She had a straight razor’s elegant, dangerous beauty.

  Toot’s jaw just about dropped off of his head. “Wow!”

  “Hmmm,” Karrin said. “That’s the one who beat you up last night, is it?”

  “And tripped him this morning,” Thomas reminded her.

  “And tripped me this morning,” I growled. I turned back to Lacuna and studied her for a moment. She looked back at me without blinking. Actually, she didn’t move at all—except for her braid, which drifted upward like cobwebs over a heating vent.

  “Huh,” I said. “Was not expecting that.”

  Lacuna stared, her eyes flat.

  “I won’t ask you to break your word,” I told her. “And I will treat you with respect and provide for your needs in exchange for your service. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” Lacuna said.

  “Wow!” said Toot.

  “Without breaking any oath, I would like to know,” I said, “whatever you can tell me about the person you were serving until you were taken prisoner.”

  She stared.

  I caught my mistake and rolled my eyes. “Let me rephrase that. Tell me whatever you can about the person you were serving until you were taken prisoner without breaking any word you’ve given him.”

  Lacuna nodded at that and frowned pensively. Then she looked up and said in a serious, confidential tone, “He does not seem to like you very much.”

  I took a slow, deep breath. There were more titters behind me.

  “I noticed that, too,” I said. “Tell me what you know about what’s happening tonight.”

  “Children,” she said in a sepulchral voice, and her little face twisted up with unmistakable fury. “And candy. Lots and lots of candy.”

  “Wow!” Toot said. He zipped away in a flutter of wings.

  “Without breaking your word, tell me everything else you know about Ace,” I said.

  “He owes me,” Lacuna replied grimly, “for services rendered.”

  I sighed. “I don’t suppose you’d like to volunteer to offer me some more useful information?”

  The armored faerie stared at me without blinking. It was a little creepy.

  “Nah, I didn’t think so,” I said. “Are you hungry?”

  She seemed to consider that for a moment, then said, “Yes.”

  “Do you want some pizza?”

  Lacuna’s face twisted up in disgust. “Ugh. No.”

  My eyebrows went up. That was a grade-A first. The Little Folk would quite literally go to war over pizza. They liked it that much. “Uh. What would you like to eat, then?”

  “Celery,” she replied promptly. “Cheese. Green tea. But mostly celery.”

  “How random,” I said. I look
ed over my shoulder. “Molly?”

  “I’ve got those,” she said, and went to the kitchen.

  “Okay, Lacuna,” I said. “We’ve got a bunch of business to take care of. I want you to eat, get some rest, and make yourself comfortable. You aren’t to leave this apartment. Understood?”

  Lacuna nodded somberly. “Yes.” Her wings blurred and she darted across the apartment to the kitchen, where Molly was preparing a plate with Lacuna-chow on it.

  “Good. I’ll figure out what to do with you later.” I rubbed the back of my neck and went back over to the others. “Well. That was a little frustrating.”

  “Why’d you take her prisoner then?” Thomas asked.

  I glowered at him. “Don’t you have a squad of mercenaries to round up? Or a bridge to jump off?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Okay, everybody,” I said. “You’ve got your assignments. Let’s get them done. Molly, you’ve got the apartment and the phone, so after you send the search parties, you’re coordinating. Anyone learns something, call Molly with it. Otherwise, meet back here by five.”

  There was a round of nods and agreements, and Butters, Thomas, and Karrin headed out into the city.

  Once they were gone, Molly asked, “Why’d you ditch them like that?”

  I lifted my eyebrows again. The grasshopper just kept getting cleverer. “I wasn’t ditching them,” I said.

  Molly arched an eyebrow. “You weren’t?”

  “Not entirely,” I said. “That stuff needs doing, too.”

  “While you go somewhere dangerous all by yourself. Am I right?”

  I didn’t answer her right away, and she finished making Lacuna’s meal. She put the plate on the counter and the serious little faerie fell upon it like a ravening wolf.

  “Something like that,” I said. “Don’t you have a job to do, too?”

  Molly eyed me. Then she picked up the map on the table, folded it, and walked toward the door. “I’m not going to fight you about it. I just wanted you to know that I knew.”

  Just then, Toot buzzed back into the apartment from somewhere. He zipped in frantic, dizzying circles, starting at the point he’d last seen Lacuna, until his spiral search pattern took him to the kitchen. Then he swooped down to Lacuna, landing neatly on the counter.

  I peered at the two little faeries. Toot held out to Lacuna a wrapped watermelon Jolly Rancher, as if he were offering frankincense and myrrh to the Christ child. “Hi!” he said brightly. “I’m Major General Toot-toot!”

  Lacuna looked up from her food and saw Toot’s gift. Her eyes narrowed.

  And then she sucker punched Toot-toot right in the face.

  My little bodyguard flew back a couple of feet and landed on his ass. Both of his hands went up to his nose, and he blinked in startled bewilderment.

  Toot had dropped the Jolly Rancher. Lacuna calmly kicked it into the disposal drain of the kitchen sink. Then she turned her back on Toot, ignoring him completely, and went back to eating her meal.

  Toot’s eyes were even wider as he stared at Lacuna.

  “Wow!” he said.

  Chapter

  Thirty

  The Montrose Point Bird Sanctuary has a second name—the Magic Hedge. There are about fifteen acres of trees, brush, and winding trails. It’s been an established bird sanctuary for decades, and is a major port of call for birds migrating south for the winter. If you read some flyers about the place, they’ll tell you all about how the Magic Hedge is chock-full to bursting with the magic of birds and nature.

  But the folks who live here also call it the Magic Hedge because it’s a fairly well-known hangout for men who are hoping to hook up with other men. The ratio of cruisers to bird-watchers (and don’t think I didn’t consider an ironic joke about binoculars and watching birds) varies depending on the time of the year. When there are tons of birds and bird lovers around, that means lots of people with binoculars and cameras. That kind of thing really cuts down on the romantic mystique.

  The place sticks out like a hook, almost totally enclosing Montrose Harbor, which is mostly a place for boats that are a lot less grubby than the Water Beetle. There’s a yacht club in there, and a fairly busy beach nearby. So occasionally non-bird-watching, noncruising people wander through the Magic Hedge, too.

  People like me.

  At the end of October, most of the migrating flocks had already gone by, but the Hedge was still a rendezvous for leftover flocks of sparrows, which would gather together over a few days, then merge and leave in an enormous cloud. I spotted two dozen species on my walk in, without binoculars. I knew most of them, if I had bothered to dig their names out of my memories. I didn’t. Ebenezar, when he taught me, had been very serious about making sure I learned the proper names of things.

  The park was mostly empty today, under the cold grey drizzling sky. On the way in to where I wanted to go, I passed a man dressed all in black, with a black hat and black sunglasses—sunglasses, for crying out loud—who tracked me with his needlessly cool gaze as I went by.

  “Not here for that,” I said. “Making a long-distance call. Be gone in half an hour. One way or another.”

  He didn’t say anything, and as I passed he faded back into the brush. There’s a community here. Spotters, runners. The police run stings sometimes. Seems like an awful lot of fuss and trouble for everyone involved, to me, especially in the modern world.

  Bob wasn’t in my shoulder bag anymore, but I’d replaced him with what I’d need. The lake nearby and the falling rain would do for water. Earth was there in plenty, and I used a garden spade to dig a small pit. The fitful cold winds from the northwest would do for air, and once I got the few pounds of kindling I’d brought piled into a small, hollow pyramid, it didn’t take me long to get a tiny fire going, even in the rain.

  I waited until it had begun to blaze up, building it to make it burn hotter and faster. I didn’t want to cook on it. A few minutes were all I needed. I stayed low and moved as little as possible. The song from hundreds of gathered sparrows was enthusiastic, pervasive.

  Once the fire was burning, I used the trowel to cut a circle into the soft earth around me. I touched it with my finger and invested a minor effort of will, and the magic of the circle snapped up around me. It was a mystic barrier, not a physical one, something that would contain and focus magical forces, and generally make it easier to do what I was about to do. It couldn’t be seen or touched but it was very, very real.

  A lot of important things are like that.

  I gathered my will, sinking into pure focus. People think wizards use magic words, for some reason. There aren’t any magic words, really. Even the ones we use in our spells are just symbols, a way to insulate our minds from the energies coursing through them. Words have a power every bit as terrible and beautiful as magic, and they don’t need a special effects budget to do it, either.

  What drives magic is, at the end of the day, sheer will. Emotions can help reinforce it, but when you draw on your emotions to fuel magic, even that is simply a different expression of will, a different flavor of your desire to make something happen. Some things you do as a wizard require you to set any emotion you have aside. They’re good in a crisis, but in a methodical, deliberate effort they can wreak havoc with your intentions. So I blocked out all my confusion, doubt, and uncertainty, along with my perfectly intelligent terror, until all that remained was my rational self and my need to reach a single goal.

  Only then did I lift my head and speak, infusing every word with the power of my need, casting the summoning forth into the universe. The power made my voice sound strange—louder, deeper, richer.

  “Lady of Light and Life, hear me. Thou who art Queen of the Ever-Green, Lady of Flowers, hear me. Dire portents are afoot. Hear my voice. Hear my need. I am Harry Dresden, Winter Knight, and I needs must speak with thee.” I lifted my joined voice and will and thundered, “Titania, Titania, Titania! I summon thee!”

  The last syllable rebounded from every surfa
ce in sight with booming echoes. It panicked the sparrows. They flew up in a cloud of thousands of wings and little bodies, gathering in a swarm that raced wildly in circles around the meadow.

  “Come on,” I breathed to myself. “Come on already.” I stood in silence for a long, long minute, and I was starting to think that nothing was going to happen.

  And then I saw the clouds begin to rotate, and I knew exactly what it meant.

  I’ve lived in the Midwest for most of my life. Tornadoes are a fact of life out here, part of the background. People think they’re scary, and they are, but they’re very survivable, provided you follow some fairly simple guidelines: Warn people early, and when you hear the warning, head for the safest space you can reach quickly. That’s usually a basement or root cellar. Sometimes it’s beneath a staircase. Sometimes it’s in an interior bathroom. Sometimes the best you can hope for is the deepest ditch you can find.

  But basically it all amounts to “run and hide.”

  Years of life in the Midwest screamed at me to do exactly that. My heart started speeding up and my mouth went dry, while the clouds overhead—and when I say “overhead” I mean directly over my head—turned faster and faster.

  Birds exploded into the sky from all over the Magic Hedge, joining the sparrows in their wild circling. The air suddenly became close, and the drizzling rain cut off as if a valve had been closed. Lightning with no thunder flickered weirdly through the clouds, which turned every shade of white and blue and sea green as the water vapor separated the light into the visible spectrum.

  Then I felt it—a warmth like that I’d felt in Lily, only a hundred times hotter and brighter and more intense. The clouds started to lower, and the frantic birds tightened their circle, until they were a wall of shining feathers and glittering eyes around the meadow. Then there was a flash of light, a toll of thunder that sounded weirdly musical, like the after-tone of some vast gong, and a shower of earth and glowing bits of charred autumn grass flew into the air. I threw up an arm to shield my eyes—but I kept my feet planted.