by Jim Butcher
“It is also about power,” Lara corrected her. “For people in positions like mine, power concerns are a constant. But Thomas is my only brother. He’s frequently vexing, but …” She shrugged. “I like him. Family isn’t something one discards lightly.”
I thought of the old man. “No, it isn’t,” I said quietly. “So what if I told you I thought we could get Thomas out clean, no bloodshed.”
“To what advantage?” she asked. “Etri’s people would track him and kill him. The Accorded nations will, theoretically, be honor bound to help.”
“I think I can keep him hidden,” I said. “From all of them.”
“Even your own people?”
“Especially those assholes,” I said.
Lara’s eyebrows climbed.
“If we do it smoothly enough,” Murphy said, “we can do this without violence and it will be a fait accompli. He’ll be out of their hands and unreachable. You’ll have time to talk things down. And since you’ll have done it without shedding more blood, there will be pressure from the Accorded nations for Etri to restore peace and resolve the matter via weregild.”
“A very steep weregild,” Lara noted.
“Still cheaper than slugging it out with the svartalves,” I said, “or slapping down another rebellion among your own people.”
Lara frowned, narrowing her eyes in thought for a full minute. Her chin bobbed up and down very slightly. “I take it Mab is fine with this?”
“Mab can be very creative about what she notices or doesn’t,” I said. “Particularly if the forms are observed correctly. The lack of bloodshed at what amounts to her party will go a long way toward pacifying her.”
“But she doesn’t know,” Lara pressed.
“She loaned me to you so that she wouldn’t have to know.”
Lara finished the last of her espresso. “ Meaning … that there might well be consequences for you in the aftermath.”
“Especially if we screw it up,” I said.
“If we attempt and fail,” Lara noted, “my position is even worse than if I do nothing.”
“He’s family.”
Her sapphire eyes met mine for a dangerous second and then turned to Murphy. “I take it this is your plan?”
“I don’t get weepy about who gets credit,” Murphy said. “As long as the plan gets results.”
Lara took a deep breath.
Then she said, “All right. Walk me through it.”
Chapter
Twenty-five
It’s not complicated,” Murphy said.
Lara tilted her head and said, “Please don’t assume I’m too thick to see the obvious options.”
“You’ve been in the building for meetings of the Brighter Future Society,” Murphy said. “I trained there on a daily basis for more than a year. With the guards.”
Lara arched an eyebrow. “I assumed you were watchdogging the imperiled families who were staying there.”
“I was,” Murphy said. “I was also learning everything I could about the place.” She snorted. “Marcone owns it. Keep your friends close.”
Lara’s smile was somehow both appreciative and predatory. “So you have information I didn’t when I was making plans.”
“The strong rooms are in the basement,” Murphy said.
“Only one way in and out,” Lara noted.
“That’s not the first problem to plan for,” Murphy said.
I nodded. “Before we go in, we need to set up a way out.”
I arrived at the reception on time, wearing my silver suit and my Warden’s cloak. It wasn’t the original, which I preferred, sort of. It was a dress cloak, made of shimmery grey silk of some kind, and it didn’t have any tears or burns or patches on it. Once again, I walked in with the Wardens and the members of the Senior Council, though this time Ramirez, dressed as I was, lagged a bit behind, leaning more heavily on his cane than the day before.
Predators would note that he was an easy target, isolated and falling behind like that, and this summit could be fairly described as a convocation of some of the deadliest predators around. I slowed my pace to walk next to him. That way he wouldn’t be alone.
It was a muggy night, with light, sullen rainfall that made the warm air smell like hot asphalt and motor oil and cut grass. The rain was something to be expected when powerful delegates of both Summer and Winter were in proximity for any length of time.
“Hey, man,” I said quietly. “You okay?”
Ramirez set his jaw, glanced at me for a second, and then said, “I will be. Right now it’s inconvenient. At least I’m not stuck in a wheelchair anymore.”
“What happened?” I asked.
The muscles in his jaw flexed before he spoke. “Tangled with the wrong monster.”
“Line of duty?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “As it turned out.”
I frowned. There were enormous anger and pain in the spaces between his words. I’d seen Carlos get hurt, during the war with the Red Court. It hadn’t ever stopped his smile for very long.
This had.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
His lips pressed into a line. “Yeah.” He gave his head a little shake, as if dislodging an insect. “I heard about the vote in the Council, man. It’s bullshit. However inconvenient you might be for them, whether any of them like it or not, you’re a wizard, Harry.”
“Yer a wizard, Harry,” I growled.
He didn’t smile, but an amused glint came to his eyes. “Point is, I’ve already cast my vote on your behalf. So have most of the other Wardens.”
I was quiet for a second, with my throat a little tight. “Oh. Thanks.”
“Yeah, well. We’re just the guys who have to do the fighting and the dirty work,” he said bitterly. “All the wizards who sit on their fat asses all day, who knows? To them, you’re scary.”
“You didn’t used to curse so much,” I noted. And he’d never sounded so bitter doing it, either. Man.
Something had done a number on Ramirez.
I made a mental note to grab a bottle of something very flammable and have a long talk with Carlos before long.
“How’s Karrin doing?” he asked.
“Like always, but slower and grouchier.”
“I heard what she did. Went hand to hand with Nicodemus Archleone and survived.”
“You got that backwards, but yeah,” I said. “Difference is, she can still live in her house.”
“Hah,” he said, with a flash of teeth. “Yeah. You wouldn’t believe how many people have come to the Council asking us to help them find him.”
“Are we?”
“Hell, yes,” Ramirez said. “Guy’s a goddamned monster. But he’s slippery as hell.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Someone’s going to get him, sooner or later.”
“Can’t be soon enough for me,” I said. “So what’s the deal with another reception? I thought that was last night. Is one party not enough?”
“Oh, God no,” Ramirez said. “That was just an icebreaker. Tonight is opening ceremonies.”
“Which is another party.”
“Obviously. The Accords provide space for a lot of business at a summit meeting. New applicants, addressal of grievances, public announcements, explicitly stating the purpose of the summit, that kind of thing. That’s what opening ceremonies are for, before the actual haggling starts.”
I grunted. “Whee.”
“Don’t you like parties, Harry?” Ramirez asked. A ghost of his old humor came into his voice and face.
“Well,” I said. “I heard that at least there will be cute girls.”
Wham. It was nearly audible, how fast his expression became a closed door.
“ ’Los?” I asked.
He shook his head once and said, “Just hurting. I’ll get some painkillers after the reception.”
I nodded. Like fire, pain was something that seemed to have its own extra-heavy existential mass. Magic could dull or erase p
ain, but not without side effects that were nearly as serious as those of medicinal palliatives. It took someone with centuries of experience in that kind of magic to do it safely, and that was neither one of us. I had eight years on Carlos, but by wizard standards, both of us were entry-level noobs in a lot of ways. It made sense that he wouldn’t want to have his senses dulled on a night like this one.
Which made what I was about to do difficult, as well as painful.
And necessary.
I put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Hang in there, man. Once we get through this, maybe we should get Wild Bill and Yoshimo and go camping again or something.”
“Sure,” he said in a neutral voice. “That might be good.”
He didn’t notice the little ampule in my hand, or how it broke and spread the liquid inside onto his cloak and my skin. No one would notice one extra splash of liquid on his clothes. I lowered my hand, palming the broken ampule, and Ramirez didn’t notice a thing.
Why would he?
He was a friend. He trusted me.
I felt sick.
“Are you sure you can pull that off on another wizard, Dresden?” Lara asked, her voice intent.
“No reason it shouldn’t work,” I said. “And if I do it to anyone but another wizard, I’m definitely crossing the line, just like that stupid bastard with the violin.”
“If you’re caught—”
“If any of us are caught, we’re all screwed,” I said. “No risk, no reward.”
“Point,” Lara said. “What next?”
“Next is plausibly getting you both out of the reception,” Murphy said.
“What do we use to do that?” Lara asked.
Murphy smiled grimly. “Expectations.”
We passed by Childs and his security dog again, to reenter the great hall. Once more, the room had been arranged by camps, borders subtly marked by style of furniture and swaths of overhead silk, giving the whole place a bit of a circus atmosphere, with a single difference—in the exact center of the room, at the focus of all the camps, a small circular speaking stage had been erected.
Music was playing, violins again. Evidently Marcone had managed to replace the offending Sidhe fiddler from the night before. Or maybe the guy lived. I had the same emotions either way.
Speaking of which, the man himself was present tonight, sitting and speaking with Etri on a deep green and dark carved-redwood old-world leather sofa, stuffed thick with cushioning, with gold studs as upholstery pins. Baron Marcone was a handsome man of middle years dressed in an immaculate grey business suit. Perhaps slightly taller than average, he had barely changed in all the years I’d known him. The few marks of age that had come upon him only made him look more reserved, severe, and dangerous.
He was flanked by Sigrun Gard and Hendricks, like always. Gard was a woman who was tall enough to play basketball and built like a powerlifter, visibly girded with muscle. She wore a suit that was every bit as nice as Marcone’s, and her golden blond hair was held back in a tight, complicated, neat braid that left nothing much to grab onto. The lines of the suit were marred by the axe she wore strapped to her back, but it didn’t look like the fashion police were going to have the courage to give her a hard time about it.
Hendricks, who stood at the other end of the couch, was a ginger Mack truck wearing a suit. He had a heavy brow ridge and had grown out a short beard that had come out several shades darker than his hair, and he had hands like shovels. His suit had been custom-made, but not to fit him—it was spending all its time trying not to show off the weapons he was doubtless carrying underneath it.
Marcone glanced up as the White Council’s delegation entered together, and he looked at me for a moment, his expression neutral. The last time I’d taken a big case, I’d done considerable damage to his vault’s exterior, if not much to the contents inside, and one of his people had been killed by the lunatics I’d been working with. I’d paid the weregild for the man’s death—but appeasing someone and being at peace with them were two very different things.
I returned the look with as much of a poker face as I could, and we both looked elsewhere at the same moment, as if we’d planned it. I clenched my jaw. Jerk. I couldn’t think of a time when I hadn’t wanted to punch the guy right in his strong-jawed mouth.
I briefly toyed with the image of Marcone, with several missing teeth, reclining in a dentist’s chair for repair work while Gard and Hendricks menaced the poor DDS with their glowers, and it made me smile. There. Who says I can’t put on a proper party face? I knew the outfit had doctors. Did they also have dentists?
If any underworld boss in the world had a dental plan for his employees, it would be Marcone.
Which reminded me, I should probably be looking into a checkup for Maggie before she went to her new school in the fall, and—No, wait. Focus, Dresden. Survive the evening now; plan Maggie’s dental appointments later.
So I plunged into the party. I exchanged brief words with River Shoulders as he spoke to Evanna. Across from Winter’s blue and purple silks were Summer’s golden and green colors, and I stepped up to the edge of their camp to trade nods with the Summer Lady, Sarissa, and a firm handshake with Fix, the Summer Knight, my opposite number on that side of things and a decent guy, all while being eyed by the Summer Sidhe security detachment they had with them.
I walked past the LaChaise clan and received several dark glares, which I returned with interest. I’m not particularly tolerant on the subject of ghouls, due to the fact that I’d seen them eat some kids I’d been teaching during the war with the now-deceased Red Court. Their particular clan hadn’t been all that easy on people living in the Mississippi delta region, either, and I’d butted heads with them on side cases in the past. Some of LaChaise’s people looked like they wanted to start a fight, but a few glances toward Mab’s still-empty black chair in Winter’s camp seemed to make them think better of it.
I’d be fine with fighting them, if they wanted to start things. I’m not saying that the only good ghoul was a dead ghoul, but I’d never met one that made me think otherwise, and I’d seen too many corpses they’d made to let it bother me. But as long as they respected the truce, they were guests and under the protection of their host. Maybe I could hope for some kind of misunderstanding later on, when the talks were done and everyone was heading home.
There were actually a few folks dancing in the center of the floor, in the open space around the speaker’s podium. Evanna and River Shoulders made a particularly odd couple, with River holding the svartalf lady completely off the ground, with one hand, while walking through the steps of a cautious, stately waltz.
Freydis absolutely slinked up to me, looking fabulous in her white and silver dress. Granted, most ladies wouldn’t have had quite so many fine old scars to show off as she did, but they only lent her a dangerously sexy aura. The red-haired Valkyrie gave me a dazzling smile, ran her hand over my arm, and said, “Hey there, seidrmadr. Who’s a girl gotta stab to get a dance around here?”
I smiled and said, very quietly, “Mab’s not even here yet.”
Freydis ignored my concern and sidled close to me, sliding her left hand up to my shoulder and taking my left hand with her right. “Oh no. You have to dance with a stunning woman for a few extra moments. Whatever will you do, poor bastard?”
Well. She had a point there. So I lifted my arm, put a hand on her waist, and stepped into a simple waltz.
Freydis hadn’t waltzed before, but she picked it up fast and within a minute was flowing gracefully through the steps with me. She squeezed my left hand and asked, “The scars. Burns?”
“Black Court vampire had an office building in a psychic armlock,” I said. “One of her Renfields had a makeshift flamethrower.”
“Just the hand? Or does it go all the way up?”
“To the wrist, on the front,” I said. “Less on the back. I was holding up a shield with that hand.”
“You killed them, I take it?”
“Why would
you say that?”
“In my experience, burns make mortals rather vengeful.”
“It’s … a long story,” I said. “Vamp got away. Mavra.”
“Ah, that one,” Freydis said. “She’s earned a bit of a reputation over the years.”
“Oh?”
“I probably shouldn’t tell you this for free, but I adore dancing, I rarely get the chance, and my boss likes you,” Freydis said.
I stopped to glance over at Vadderung in his chair. Once more he was seated across from Ferrovax- and the two were regarding each other steadily.
“He seems like the kind of guy who would tell you to say something like that when he asked you to pass on some information to me,” I said.
Her green eyes flashed with appreciation. “Oh. You just went from a three to a six, seidermadr. I like men who look past the surface of things. And you can dance.”
“Lucky me,” I said. “So?”
“So if you get me drunk enough, and no one else more interesting turns up, I could show you all kinds of interesting scars. Bring your woman and we can skip some of the drinking.”
That made my cheeks feel warm. “Um. I meant Mavra,” I said.
“Just that we last spotted her movements about a year ago,” Freydis said, unperturbed at the change of subject. “If you were counting on her never coming back, you might need to go over your numbers again.”
“Reunion week around here,” I complained.
“Oh, poor boy,” Freydis said, thrusting out her lower lip mockingly. “Live as long as I have and you’ll realize that none of us ever really escapes the past. It just keeps coming back to haunt you.”
“I haven’t seen much to suggest otherwise,” I admitted. The piece ended and we segued from a waltz into a fox-trot, which again she picked up almost immediately, and during one of the turns I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and the temperature of the room seemed to drop about three degrees. “There. Is that her?”
“Cold, pretty, and scary?” Freydis asked. “Yes, that’s her. Should we do it now?”
“Wait for her to get settled,” I said.
Her green eyes tracked past my shoulder, watching intently. “She’s talking to the big grendelkin.”