Dead Beat
Chapter 31~32
Chapter Thirty-one
I stared at Luccio for a second. "That's a joke," I said. "Right?"
She gave me a brief, bitter smile. "Master McAnally," she said to Mac. "I think we could use a round. Do you have anything decent to drink?"
Mac grunted and said, "Got a new dark."
"Is it worth drinking?" Luccio asked. She sounded tired, but there was a teasing tone to her voice.
Mac glowered at her in answer, and she gave him a smile that was part challenge and part apology, and took a seat at one of the tables. She gestured at the table and said, "Wardens, please join me."
Morgan took the seat to Luccio's right, and the look he gave me could have burned holes in sheet metal. I did what I always did when Morgan did that: I eyed him right back, then dismissed him as if he weren't even there. I pulled out the chair opposite Luccio and sat. The two youngest Wardens sat down, but Ramirez stayed standing until Mac had brought over bottles of his dark ale and left them on the table. He headed back over to the bar.
Ramirez glanced at Luccio, and she nodded. "Close the circle, please, Warden."
The young man drew a piece of chalk from his pocket, and quickly drew a heavy line on the floor all the way around the table. He finished the circle, then touched it lightly with the forefinger of his right hand and spoke a quiet word. I felt a flicker of his will as he released a tiny bit of power into the circle. The circle closed around us in a sudden, silent tension, raising a thin barrier around us that was almost entirely impregnable to magical forces. If anyone had been trying to spy on the meeting with magic, the circle would prevent it. If anyone had left some kind of listening device nearby, the magic-saturated air within the circle would be certain to fry it within a minute.
Ramirez nodded to himself and then reversed the last open chair at the table and straddled it, resting one arm on the back. Morgan slid him the last bottle of ale, and he took it in one hand.
"Absent friends," Luccio murmured, holding up her bottle.
I could get behind that toast. The rest of us muttered, "Absent friends," and we had a drink, and Luccio stared at her bottle for a moment.
I waited in the pregnant silence and then said, "So. Making me a Warden. That's a joke, right?"
Luccio took a second, slower taste of the ale and then arched an eyebrow at the bottle.
Behind the bar again, Mac smiled.
"It's no joke, Warden Dresden," Luccio said.
"As much as we all would like it to be," Morgan added.
Luccio gave him a look of very gentle reproof, and Morgan subsided into silence. "How much have you heard about recent events in the war?"
"Nothing in the past several days," I said. "Not since my last check-in."
She nodded. "I thought as much. The Red Court has begun a heavy offensive. This is the first time that they've concentrated their efforts on disrupting our communications. We suspect that a great many wizards never received word through our usual messengers."
"Then they found weaknesses in the communications lines," I said. "But they waited to exploit them until it would hurt us the most."
Luccio nodded. "Precisely. The first attack came in Cairo, at our operations center there. Several Wardens were taken, including the senior commander of the region."
"Alive?" I asked.
She nodded. "Yes. Which was an unacceptable threat."
When vampires take you alive, it isn't so that they can treat you to ice cream. That was one of the really nightmarish facets of the war with the Red Court. If the enemy got you, they could do worse than kill you.
They could make you one of their own.
If they managed to turn a Warden, especially one of the senior commanders, it would give them access to a treasury of knowledge and secrets-to say nothing of the fact that they would effectively gain, in many ways, a wizard of their own. Vampires didn't use magic in the same way that mortal wizards did. They tapped into the same nauseating well of power that Kemmler and those like him used. But from what I understood of it, the skills carried over. A turned wizard would be a deadly threat to the Wardens, the Council, and mortals alike. We never talked about it, but there was a sort of silent understanding among wizards that we would never be taken alive. And an equally silent fear that we might be.
"You went after them," I guessed.
Luccio nodded. "A major assault. Madrid, Sao Paolo, Acapulco, Athens. We struck at enemy strongholds there to acquire intelligence to the whereabouts of the prisoners. Our people were being held in Belize." She waved a hand vaguely at Morgan.
"Our intelligence indicated the presence of the highest-ranking members of the Red Court, including the Red King himself. The Merlin and the rest of the Senior Council took the field with us," Morgan said quietly.
That made me raise my brows. The Merlin, the leader of the Senior Council, was as defensive-minded as it was possible to be. He'd guided the White Council into the equivalent of a cold war with the Red Court, with everyone moving carefully and unwilling to commit, in the hopes that it would give the war time to settle away into negotiations and some kind of diplomatic resolution. An offensive action like a full assault from the Senior Council, the seven oldest and strongest wizards on the planet, had been long overdue.
"What changed the Merlin's mind?" I asked quietly.
"Wizard McCoy," Luccio said. "When our people were taken, he persuaded most of the Senior Council to take action, including Ancient Mai and the Gatekeeper."
That made sense. My old mentor, Ebenezar McCoy, was a member of the Senior Council. He had a couple of longtime friends on the Council, but that didn't give him a majority vote. If he wanted to get anything done, he had to talk someone from the Merlin's bloc into casting their vote with him-either that, or convince the Gatekeeper, a wizard who habitually abstained from voting, to take a stand with him. If Ebenezar had convinced Ancient Mai and the Gatekeeper to vote with him in favor of action, the Merlin would have little choice but to move.
And just because the Merlin was a master of wards and defensive magic did not mean that he couldn't kick some ass if he needed to. You don't get to be the Merlin of the White Council by collecting bottle caps, and Arthur Langtry, the current Merlin, was generally considered to be the most powerful wizard on earth.
I had seen for myself what Ebenezar McCoy was capable of. A couple of years ago he had pulled an old Soviet satellite out of orbit and brought it down into the lap of Duke Ortega, the warlord of the Red Court. He'd killed a ton of vampires in doing it.
He'd also killed people. He'd taken the force of life and creation and used it to wipe out the lives of mortals-victims of the Red Court's power. And it wasn't the first time he'd done it. Ebenezar, I'd learned, held an office that did not officially exist-that of the White Council's assassin. Known as the Blackstaff, he had a license to kill, as well as to break the other Laws of Magic when he deemed it necessary. When I learned that he was violating and undermining the same laws he'd taught me to obey, to believe in, it had wounded me so deeply that in some ways I was still bleeding.
Ebenezar had betrayed what I believed in. But that didn't change the fact that the old man was the strongest wizard I'd ever seen in action. And he was the youngest and least powerful of the Senior Council.
"What happened?" I asked quietly.
"There was no evidence of the presence of the Red King or his entourage, but other than that the attack went as planned," Morgan said. "We assaulted the vampires' stronghold and took our people back with us."
Luccio's face twisted in sudden and bitter grief.
"It was a lure," I said quietly. "Wasn't it?"
"Yes," she said quietly. "We moved out and took our wounded to the hospice in Sicily."
"What happened?"
"We were betrayed," she said, and her words carried more sharp edges than a sack of broken glass. "Someone within our ranks must have reported our position to the Red Court. They attacked us that night."
"When was that?" I asked.
Luccio frowned, then glanced across the table at Ramirez.
"Three days ago, Zulu time," Ramirez provided quietly.
"I've not slept," Luccio said. "Between that and all the travel, I lose track." She took another drink of ale and said, "The attack was vicious.
They were coming for the Senior Council, and their sorcerers managed to cut us off from escaping into the Nevernever for nearly a day. We lost thirty-eight Wardens that day, in fighting all over Sicily."
I sat there for a moment, stunned. Thirty-eight. Stars and stones, there were only about two hundred Wardens on the Council. Not every wizard had the kind of talent that made them dangerous in a face-to-face confrontation. Most of those who did were Wardens. In a single day, the Red Court had killed nearly 20 percent of our fighting force.
"They paid for it," Morgan rumbled quietly. "But... they seemed almost mad to die in order to kill us. Driven. I saw four different death curses unleashed that day. I saw vampires climb over mounds of their own dead without so much as slowing down. We must have taken twenty of their warriors for every loss of our own." He closed his eyes and his sour face was suddenly masked with very real and very human grief. "They kept coming."
"We had many wounded," Luccio said. "So many wounded. As soon as the Senior Council was able to open the ways into the Nevernever, we retreated to the paths through Faerie. And we were pursued."
I sat up straight. "What?"
Morgan nodded. "The Red Court followed us into the territory of the Sidhe," he said.
"They had to know," I said quietly. "They had to know that by pressing the attack in Faerie itself they would anger the Sidhe. They've just declared war on Summer and Winter alike."
"Yes," Morgan said in a flat voice. "But it didn't stop them. They attacked us as we retreated. And..." He glanced at Luccio as if in appeal.
She gave him a firm look and said to me, "They had called demons to assist them." She inhaled slowly. "Not simply beasts from the Nevernever. They had gone to the Netherworld. They had called Outsiders."
I took a longer drink of Mac's ale. Outsiders. Demons were bad enough, but they were at least something I was fairly familiar with. The reaches of the Nevernever, the world of spirit and magic that surrounds the mortal world, are filled with all kinds of beings. Most of them really don't give a damn about mortal affairs, and we are nothing but a remote and unimportant curiosity to them. When beings of the spirit world are interested in mortal business, it's for a good reason. The ones who like to eat us, hurt us, or generally terrify us are what wizards commonly refer to as demons, as a general term. They're bad enough.
Outsiders, though, were so rarely spoken of that they were all but a rumor. I wasn't really clear on all of the details, but the Outsiders had been the servants and foot soldiers of the Old Ones, an ancient race of demons or gods who had once ruled the mortal world, but who had apparently been cast out and locked away from our reality.
There was a specific Law of Magic against contacting them-Thou Shalt Not Open the Outer Gates. No one wanted to be the one suddenly suspected of opening ways for the Outsiders to enter the mortal world. The Wardens absolutely did not play around with violations of the Laws of Magic. Their entire purpose in life was to protect the Council-first from violators of the seven Laws, and then from everyone else.
I eyed the folded grey cloak on the table in front of me.
"I thought only mortal magic could call up Outsiders," I said quietly.
Luccio said quietly, "You are correct."
My stomach lurched a little. Someone had told the Red Court where to find the Council. Someone had blocked off their escape route to the Nevernever so strongly that the most powerful wizards on the planet had required a full day to open them again. And someone had begun calling up Outsiders in numbers, sending them to attack the White Council.
The Council is not what it was, Cowl had said. It has rotted from the inside. It will fall. Soon.
"The Wardens fell back to fight a holding action against the Red Court so that our wounded could escape to safety," Luccio reported, her crisp voice at odds with her weary eyes. "That was when they loosed the Outsiders upon us. We lost another twenty-three Wardens in the first moments of combat, and many more were wounded." There was silence while she took a long pull from her bottle, emptying it, then setting it down sharply on the table, anger flickering in her eyes. "If Senior Council members McCoy and Liberty had not come to our aid, we might have all died there. Even with them, we managed to hold them only long enough for the Gatekeeper and the Merlin to raise a ward behind us, to give us time to escape."
"A ward?" I blurted. "Are you telling me that they stonewalled an entire army of vampires and demons? With one ward?"
"You don't get to be Merlin of the White Council by collecting bottle caps," Ramirez said, his voice dry.
I glanced aside at Ramirez. He grinned at me and swigged beer.
"McCoy was injured," Luccio continued.
Ramirez snorted. "Who wasn't?"
Luccio snapped, "Carlos."
He lifted a hand in surrender and settled back onto his chair again, but his grin never faded.
"There were many injuries," Luccio continued. "But as the hospice in Sicily had been taken, we diverted the worst cases to a hospital we control in the Congo." She stared at her bottle for a moment. Her mouth opened, and then she closed it again. She closed her eyes.
Morgan frowned at her. Then he put a hand on Luccio's shoulder, looked at me, and said, "The vampires knew."
I got a sick, twisting feeling in my stomach. "Oh, God."
"It was daylight there," Morgan said. "And the place was a fortress of the Merlin's wards. There was no way for the vampires to breach it from the Nevernever, and nothing short of a demon lord could have broken through them." His mouth twisted, and his eyes glittered with rage and hate. "They sent mortals against us. Against men and women lying injured, unconscious, helpless in their beds." The anger in his voice seemed to strangle him for a moment.
"But..." I said. "Look, I know what it's like going up against mortals you don't want to kill. It's difficult, but they can be stopped. Fought. Bullets and explosives can be defended against."
"Which is why they used gas," Ramirez said quietly, stepping in where Morgan's and Luccio's voices had failed. His own tone was serious. His grin had vanished. "A nerve agent, probably sarin. They deployed it against the entire hospital, the people we had protecting it, and six square blocks of city around it." He put his own bottle down and said, "No one survived."
"My God..." I whispered.
There was dead silence.
"Ebenezar?" I asked in a whisper. "You said he was wounded. Was he..."
Ramirez shook his head. "Stubborn old bastard wouldn't go to the hospital," the young Warden said. "He went with one of the teams staging a counteroffensive with the Fellowship of Saint Giles."
"Thousands of innocent mortals died," Luccio said, and there was a slow, low snarl in her voice. She kept it tightly leashed and under control, but I heard it. I recognized it, and I knew what it was like to feel it permeating my words. "Women. Children. Thousands. And today I buried one hundred and forty-three Wardens."
I sat there, stunned.
In a single, vicious stroke, the Red Court had very nearly destroyed the White Council.
"They have crossed every line," Luccio said, her voice quiet and precise. "Violated every principle of war of our world and the mortal world alike. Madness. They have gone mad."
"They've committed suicide," I said quietly. "They don't have a prayer against the Council and the Faerie Courts alike."
"The Sidhe were taken by surprise," Morgan rumbled. "They aren't prepared for a fight. And we're holding on by our fingernails. We've got less than fifty Wardens capable of combat. Without our communications network in order, members of the Council have been attacked individually and by surprise. We don't know how many more wizards have died."
"And it gets even better," Ramirez said. "Agents of the Red Court are haunting the ways through Faerie. We were attacked on the way here, twice."
"Our priority," Luccio said, voice crisp, "is to consolidate our forces and to draw upon every available resource to restore the Wardens as a fighting force. We must draw the members of the Council together and make sure that they are protected. We're reorganizing our security." She shook her head. "And frankly, we must protect the lives of the Senior Council. So long as they are concealed from the enemy and still able to take action, they are a dangerous force. Together they wield more power than any hundred members of the Council, and it can be concentrated with deadly effect, as the Merlin showed in the Nevernever. So long as they stand ready to strike, the enemy cannot openly unveil his full strength."
"More important," Morgan growled, "the mortal wizards who betrayed us, whoever they are, fear the Senior Council. That is why their first move was an attempt to destroy them."
Luccio nodded. "If we can hold on until the Faerie Courts mobilize for action, we can recover from this attack. Which brings us to today," Luccio said, and studied me, tired and frank. "Every other Warden able to fight is currently either engaged against the enemy or safeguarding the Senior Council. Our lines of support and communication are tenuous." She gestured at those seated at the table. "This is every resource the White Council has to spare."
I looked at the weary captain of the Wardens. At the battered Morgan. At Ramirez, who had reclaimed his cocky smile, and at Yoshimo and Kowalski, untried, quiet, and frightened.
"Warden Luccio," I said. "May I speak to you privately?"
Morgan scowled and said in a hot voice, "Anything you have to say to her you can say to all-"
Luccio put her hand on Morgan's arm, a gentle gesture, but it cut him off. "Morgan. Perhaps you would be so kind as to get me another bottle. And I'm sure McAnally would be willing to provide us all with some dinner."
Morgan stared at her for a second, then at me. Then he rose, smudged the chalk circle with a boot, and broke the circle around the table, releasing the buzzing tension from the air.
"Come on, kids," Ramirez told the other two younger wardens, rising. "We have to go sit with Uncle Morgan while the other adults have a serious talk." He put a hand on my shoulder on the way past and squeezed. "Hey, bartender! Are those onion rings I smell?"
I waited until they had all settled down at the far end of the bar and Mac began to bring them some food. Then I turned to Luccio and said, "I can't be a Warden."
She studied me for a second and then asked, in a very precise, very polite voice, "And why not?"
"Because you people have been threatening to kill me for doing something I didn't do since I was sixteen years old," I said. "You're all convinced I'm some sort of hideous threat, and every time you get the chance you try to make my life miserable."
Luccio listened attentively and then said, "Yes. And?"
"And?" I said. "I've spent my entire adult life with the Wardens looking over my shoulder waiting for a chance to accuse me of things I didn't do, and trying to set me up and entrap me when you never found me doing anything."
Luccio's eyebrows shot up. "What?"
"Don't give me that," I said. "You know damned well that Morgan tried to provoke me into attacking him just before we got the treaty with Winter, so he and the Merlin would have an excuse to throw me to the vampires."
Luccio's eyes widened, and her voice came out harder. "What?" She shot a look at Morgan, and then back at me. "Are you telling me the truth?"
There was some kind of cadence to the question that her words didn't usually have, and on pure instinct I reached out with my senses. I could feel a light tension in the air, humming like the space between the tines of a tuning fork.
"Yes," I told her. The humming chime continued unabated. "I'm telling you the truth."
She stared at me for a long second and then settled back onto her chair. The humming tension faded. She folded her hands on the table, frowning down at them. "Then... There were rumors. Of how Morgan behaved around you. But I thought that they were only that."
"They weren't," I said. "Morgan has threatened and persecuted me every time he got the chance." I clenched my right hand into a fist. "And I have done nothing. I won't become a part of that, Warden Luccio. So keep the cape. I wouldn't polish my car with it."
She regarded her folded hands, eyes narrow. "Dresden," she said quietly. "The White Council is at war. Would you simply abandon your own people to the mercies of the Red Court? Would you stand aside and let Kemmler's disciples have their way?"
"Of course not," I said. "And I never said I wouldn't fight. But I won't be wearing this." I shoved the cloak across the table. "Keep it."
She shoved it back to the table before me. "Put it on."
"Thank you, no."
"Dresden," Luccio said, and her voice was calm and agate-hard. "It is not a request."
"I don't respond well to threats," I said.
"Then respond to reality," she snapped. "Dresden, the Wardens are all but shattered. We need every battle-capable wizard we can recruit, train, or conscript."
"A lot of wizards can fight," I growled.
"And they aren't Harry Dresden," she said. "You idiot. Don't you know what I am offering you?"
"Yeah. The chance to hunt down teenage kids who were never told the Laws of Magic and execute them for breaking them. The chance to badger and intimidate and interrogate anyone who doesn't suit me. Neither of which I want anything to do with."
"Ebenezar said you were stubborn, but not that you were a fool. The Council has been betrayed, Dresden. And you are the most infamous wizard in it. There are many who have spoken out against you. Many who say that you began the war with the Red Court intentionally so that you could create an opportunity to bring about the fall of the Council.
I burst out in bitter laughter. "Me? That's insane. For crying out loud, I can't even balance my stupid checkbook!"
Luccio's eyes softened a little, and she sighed. "I believe you." She shook her head. "But you have a reputation, and the members of the Council will be badly unsettled by this loss. Their fear could easily turn upon you. That is why you are going to join the Wardens."
I scowled. "I don't get it."
"It is time to set our past differences aside. If you wear the cloak of a Warden and step in to fight when the Council is in its hour of need, it will make our people look at you differently."
I took a deep breath. "Oh. Vader syndrome."
"Excuse me?"
"Vader syndrome," I said. "There's no ally so impressive, encouraging, and well loved as an ally who was an enemy that made you shake in your boots a couple of minutes ago."
"There's more to it than that," Luccio said. "I think that you do not realize your own reputation. You have overcome more enemies and battled more evils than most wizards a century your senior. And times are changing. There are more young wizards attaining membership to the Council than ever before-like Ramirez and his companions, there. To them, you are a symbol of defiance to the conservative elements of the Council, and a hero who will risk his life when his principles demand it."
"I am?"
"You are," Luccio said. "I can't say that I approve of it. But right now the Council will need every scrap of courage and faith we can muster. Your presence and support in the face of a greater danger will appease your detractors, and the presence of a wizard who has experience in battle will encourage the younger members of the Council." She grimaced. "Put simply, Dresden, we need you. And you need us."
I rubbed at my eyes for a moment. Then I said, "Let's say I do sign on. I'm willing to wear the cloak. I'm willing to fight for as long as the war is on. But I won't move away from Chicago. There are people here who depend on me." I glowered. "And I won't bow my head to Morgan. I don't want him within a hundred miles of my town."
Luccio rubbed at her jaw, and then nodded slowly, her eyes thoughtful. "I have to reassign Morgan in any case." She nodded again, more sharply. "Then I'm conscripting you into the Wardens as a regional commander."
I blinked.
"You'll be in charge of security and operations in this region, and coordinate with the other three American regional commanders."
"Uh," I said. "What does that mean?"
"That it will be your job to protect mortals in this area. To be vigilant against supernatural threats in your region, and represent the Council in matters of diplomacy. To aid and assist other wizards who come to you for aid and protection, and, when required, to strike out at the enemies of the Council, such as the Red Court and their allies."
I frowned. "Uh, I pretty much do that anyway."
Luccio's face broke into the first genuinely warm smile I'd ever seen on her, the care lines vanishing, replaced with crow's-feet at the corners of her eyes. "So now you'll do it in a grey cloak." Her expression sobered. "You're a fighter, Dresden. If the White Council is to survive, we need more like you."
She pushed away from the table and walked over to the bar, carrying our empty bottles with her.
When she came back, I had just finished getting the cloak pin settled and draping the heavy, soft grey fabric around my shoulders. She stopped in front of me and looked me up and down for a moment. Ramirez glanced at me, and his grin widened. Morgan looked, and from his expression you would think someone had just shoved a knife into his testicles. Mac's brow furrowed, and he studied me in the cloak, his lips quietly pursed.
"Thank you," Luccio said quietly, and offered me an ale.
I accepted it with a nod. We touched bottles and took a drink.
"Very well then, Commander," Luccio said, her tone turning brisk and businesslike. "This is your territory, and you have the most recent intelligence on Kemmler's disciples. What is our next step?"
I shoved my hair back from my eyes and said, "Okay, Warden Luce-uh, Captain Luccio. Let's sit down and get to work. It's getting dark, and we don't have much time."
Chapter Thirty-two
When I walked through the door of Murphy's house, it was raining and I was still wearing the grey cloak. I limped into the kitchen, where Thomas and Butters and Bob were sitting at a table with a bunch of candles, paper, pencils, and empty cans of Coors.
Thomas's jaw dropped open. "Holy crap," he said.
Butters blinked at Thomas and then at me. "Uh. What?"
"Harry!" Bob said, orange eye lights glowing brightly. "You stole a Warden's cloak?"
I scowled at them and took the cloak off. It dripped all over the kitchen floor. "I didn't steal it." Mouse came padding into the room, tail wagging, and I rubbed briefly at his ears.
"Oh," Bob said. "So you took it off a body?"
"No," I said, annoyed, and settled onto a chair at the table. "I got drafted."
"Holy crap," Thomas said again.
"I don't get it," Butters said.
"Harry's joined the wizard secret police!" Bob burbled. "He gets to convict on suspicion and take justice into his own hands! How cool is that!"
Thomas looked at me steadily and then at the door behind me. Then back to me.
"I'm alone," I said quietly. "Relax."
He nodded. "What happened?"
"A lot," I said. "There isn't time to cover it all now. But the Wardens are in town, and I'm not so worried about them crawling all over and finding out everyone's secrets."
"Why not?" Thomas asked.
"Because at the moment all five of them are at a hotel downtown, getting showers and changing bandages while I try to come up with more information about the heirs of Kemmler."
Thomas blinked slowly. "All five... and they have wounded?"
I nodded, my lips pressed hard together.
"Wow," Thomas said quietly. "How bad is it?"
"They drafted me," I said.
"That's bad, all right," Bob said cheerfully.
I looked at the scattered papers and books on the table. "Tell me you guys came up with something."
Butters blinked a few times and then started fumbling at the papers on the table, peering at them in the candlelight. "Uh, well, there's good news and bad news."
"Bad first," I said. "I'm going to need the pick-me-up afterward."
"We've got nothing on those numbers," Butters said. "I mean, they aren't a code. They're too short. They could be an address or an account number, but none of the banks we could get on the phone use that number of digits." He coughed apologetically. "If I could have gotten on the Net I could have gotten you a lot more, but..." He gestured uselessly around the room. "We couldn't get one call in fifty to go through, and at most of the places we called, no one answered. And in the past hour the phones have gone out altogether."
I shook my head. "Yeah. City's going insane, too. There were two fires between here and McAnally's. Some kind of riot going in Buck-town, I heard on a police radio."
"The governor has asked for help from the National Guard," Thomas said quietly. "They're sending troops in to keep order on the streets."
I blinked. "How did you find that out?"
"I called my sister," he said.
I frowned. "I thought Lara wasn't speaking with you."
Thomas's voice went dry. "Just because she cut me off from the family's money, kicked me out of any of our holdings, made it clear that I no longer have their protection, and she's holding the woman I love as a virtual prisoner, don't think she doesn't still like me, personally."
"So she did you a little favor," I said.
"Technically," Thomas said, "she did you a little favor."
"Why did she do that?" I asked.
"Well, I hinted about how since her entire power base depended on a certain secret being kept, and since you were awfully irrational about protecting the good citizens of Chicago, that you might develop loose lips to sink her ship if she didn't help you in your moment of need."
"Urn," I said. "So you're telling me that I just engaged in blackmail against the ruler of the White Court. By proxy."
"Yeah," Thomas said. "You've got some great big brass balls on you to do something like that, Harry."
"I guess I do." I shook my head. "Why did I do that?"
"Because we needed help," Thomas said. "We were getting nowhere fast. Lara's got a ton of resources available to her, and a lot of manpower. She was able to come up with some of the other information we needed."
"Which is the good news," Butters said. "She wasn't blacked out and cut off from the Internet like we are, and she was able to get a bunch of information we couldn't." He passed me a piece of paper. "Not on the numbers-but one of her people was able to find out about Native American artifacts and weapons here in Chicago."
I looked up sharply at Butters. "Yeah?"
He nodded at the paper and I read over it. "Yep," he said. "The Native American Center is using their facility to host this big display on tribal hunting and warfare before all of us palefaces showed up with guns and smallpox. The History Channel is using it as a part of some history-of-warfare special, and they were filming there all last week."
"Yeah," I said. "That could have some old hunter spirits attached to it." I read over the list. "Dammit, I should have remembered this myself. The Field Museum has that big Cahokian artifacts exhibit that Professor Bartlesby was in charge of. Hell, it was a bunch of Indian artifacts that Corpsetaker helped assemble himself. Probably with tonight in mind."
Butters nodded. "And the Mitchell Museum up in Evanston has got more Native American artifacts than either one put together."
"Crap," I said. "That's it."
"How do you know that?" Butters asked.
"It only stands to reason," Bob supplied. "The whole point is to summon up as many old spirits as possible and then consume them. The most spirits are going to be attracted to wherever there is the most old junk."
I nodded. "I remember this place now. That museum's on a college campus, right?"
"Kendall College," Butters confirmed.
"College campus on Halloween night," Thomas said. "Hell of a place for a gang of necromancers to slug it out. There's going to be collateral damage."
"No, there isn't," I said, and I was surprised how vicious my own voice sounded. "Because we're going to stop this stupid summoning. And then we're going to hunt those murderous bastards down and kill them."
There was dead silence in the kitchen.
Thomas and Butters both stared at me, expressions apprehensive.
"Maybe it's the cloak," Bob suggested brightly. "Harry, do you feel any more judgmental and self-righteous than you did this morning?"
I took a slow and deep breath. "Sorry," I said. "Sorry. That came out kinda harsh."
"Maybe a little," Butters said, his voice all but a whisper.
I rubbed at my face and glanced at the battery-powered clock on the wall of Murphy's kitchen. "Okay. Sundown's in just over an hour. I have to be ready to call up the Erlking by then."
"Um," Thomas said. "Harry, if it's the Erlking's presence that's going to attract all of these old spirits to their old tools and stuff, then won't it do the same thing no matter who calls him up?"
"Yeah," I said. "Unless the one who calls him traps him in a circle to contain his power and leaves him there."
Bob made a spluttering sound. "Harry, that's a dangerous proposition. No, scratch that, it's an insane proposition. Even assuming you have the will to trap something like the Erlking in a circle, and even if you keep him there all night, he is not going to let that kind of insult go. He'll come back the next night and kill you. If you're lucky."
"I can worry about that after I've done it," I said.
"Wait," Butters said. "Wait, wait. I mean, will it really matter? These guys don't have the bad magic book, right? Without that book, all they can do is call up the spirits. They can't, you know, eat them. Right?"
"We can't assume that they don't have it," I said. "Grevane might have found it."
"But the other two couldn't, right?" Butters said.
"Even if they haven't, they'll still be there," I said. "They can't afford to assume that their rivals haven't gotten the book. So they're going to show up with everything they have to try to prevent one of the others from going through with the ritual."
"Why?" Butters asked.
"Because they hate each other," I said. "And if one of them goes all godly, he's going to enjoy crushing the others. It will probably be the first thing he does."
"Oh," Butters said.
"That's why I need you to do something for me, Thomas."
My brother nodded. "Name it."
I grabbed a blank piece of paper and a pencil and started writing. "This is a note. I want you to take it down to the address I'm writing down and get it to the Wardens."
"I'm not going anywhere close to the Wardens," Thomas said.
"You don't have to," I said. "They're at a hotel. You'll leave it at the desk and ask the clerk to take it to them. Then clear out fast."
"Are they going to trust a note?" Thomas asked, skeptical.
"I told them to expect a messenger if I couldn't get there myself. They know about the Erlking. That I'm trying to sidetrack him. They need to know where the heirs of Kemmler are going to be so that they can take them down."
"Five of them," Thomas said quietly. "They'll be outnumbered by one."
I grimaced. It would be worse than that. Ramirez had looked like he could handle himself, but the two rookies couldn't have stood up to any of the heirs or their companions, from what I'd seen. "Once I've secured the Erlking, I'll be along as quick as I can. Besides that, they're Wardens," I said. "They'll take down Kemmler's flunkies."
"Or die trying," Thomas said. He grimaced. "How should I get down there?"
I went to another kitchen drawer and rummaged in it until I found Murphy's spare keys. I tossed them to Thomas. "Here. Her motorcycle is in the shed."
"Right," he said, but his expression was wary. "She going to mind me stealing her bike?"
"It's in a good cause," I told him. "The streets are bad, and the Wardens need to get moving soonest. Go."
Thomas nodded, pocketed the keys, and shrugged into his leather jacket. "I'll get back here as soon as I'm done."
"Yeah," I said quietly. "Thomas. To the Wardens you're nothing but a White Court vampire. If they see you, they'll be out for blood."
"I understand," he said. His voice was a little bitter. "If I'm not back in time, Harry... good luck."
He offered his hand, and we traded grips, hard. My hand must have been cold with nerves, because his felt warm. Then he let go of my hand, nodded to Bob and Butters, and headed out into the rain. A minute later Murphy's Harley grumbled in the backyard, and then purred off into the rain and gloom.
I sat there in silence for a minute, then got up and went to the stove. I got the teapot out, filled it up, and put it on the gas burner to boil. It took me a minute to find Murphy's collection of teas, and it was gratuitously complex. I mean, come on, how many different types of tea do you really need? Maybe I'm prejudiced, because I take my tea with so much sugar that the actual flavor is sort of an aftertaste.
I found some in instant bags that smelled vaguely minty. "Tea?" I asked Butters.
"Sure," he said.
I got out two cups.
"What's next?" he asked.
"Hot tea," I said. "Staying warm. Then I go out in the rain and call up the Erlking. You're staying inside while I do."
"Why?" he asked.
"Because it's going to be dangerous."
"Well, yeah," he said. "But why inside the house? I mean, this super-goblin can just rip the walls apart, right?"
"Strong enough to do it, probably," I said. "But it can't. The house is protected by its threshold."
Butters looked at me blankly. "Which means what?"
I leaned a hip on the counter and explained. "A threshold is a kind of energy that surrounds a home. It's..." I frowned, thinking how to explain it. "It's sort of like the home has a positive charge to it. If outside magic wants to come in, it has to neutralize that charge first. Big, tough things from the Nevernever need a lot of power just to stay in our world. They don't usually have enough to take out a threshold and still have enough juice to be dangerous."
"It's like that vampire thing?" he asked. "They can't come in if you don't invite them?"
"Pretty much, yeah. If you invite something in, your threshold won't affect it. But other magical beings and energy have trouble with it. It's a solid defense."
"Didn't help your place much," Butters observed.
"My place is a rental apartment," I said. "And except for the past several months, it's been just me living there. Doesn't give it the same kind of energy as you'd find in a long-established home."
"Oh. Is that what they mean by 'safe as houses,' then?"
I smiled a little. "A house doesn't make a home. When the place has got history, family, emotions, worries, joys worked into the wood, that's when it gets a solid threshold. This house has been in the Murphy clan for better than a hundred years, and lived in for every one of them. It's solid. You'll be safe in here."
"But it's not going to get loose once you call it up," Butters said. "Right?"
"That's the plan. But even if it did, you aren't the one who is going to piss it off. There won't be any reason for it to come after you."
"Oh, good," he said. He blinked at me and said apologetically, "Not that I want it to come after you, Harry."
"I don't blame you," I said.
Butters nodded. "Why zombies?" he asked.
"Huh?"
"Sorry. Changing topics. New question. Why do all these necromancer types use zombies?"
"Not all of them do," I pointed out. "Corpsetaker had called up a bunch of semicorporeal ghosts. Specters."
"But human," Butters said. "Zombies look human. Specters look human. Why not whistle up a pack of decayed rats? Or maybe semicorporeal mosquitos? Why use people?"
"Oh," I said. "It's got to do with a kind of metaphysical impression that any given creature leaves upon its death. Sort of like a footprint. Human beings leave larger footprints than most animals, which means that you can pour more energy into reanimating them."
"They make stronger goons," Butters clarified.
"Yes."
"How come Grevane had fresh corpses when he came to get me, but he attacked your house with old ones? I mean, I saw those things up close." He shivered. "Some of them must have dated back to the beginning of the twentieth century."
"Same reason they animate humans instead of animals," I said. "Older corpses leave a deeper metaphysical imprint. They're harder to call up, but once you get them here they're easier to control, stronger, more difficult to damage."
"Old corpses get you stronger undead flunkies," he said.
"Right," I said. I could see the wheels turning in Butters's head as he processed the information. He looked like he was busy lining up dozens more questions spawned by the answers to the first few, and I had a feeling he would pursue them with relentless curiosity.
"Okay. But what if-"
"Butters," I said as gently as I could. "Not now. All I want to do is have a quiet cup of tea." An inspiration hit me. "Ask Bob," I told him. "Bob knows a hell of a lot more than I do, anyway."
"Oh," Butters said. He looked from me to the skull. "Um. Yeah, I guess Thomas was talking to it."
"He!" Bob said indignantly. "I am very much a he! I'm not some kind of freaking animatronic Tinkertoy!"
"Right," Butters said. "Um. Sorry. Bob. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?"
"It's a waste of my vast intellect and talent," Bob sneered.
"Do it, Bob," I told him.
"Oh, man." The orange lights in the skull's eye sockets rolled. "Fine. I haven't got anything better to do than to teach kindergarten."
"Great!" Butters bubbled, and sat down at the table. He grabbed some more paper and a pencil. "Well, how about we start with..."
I fixed myself a cup of tea and one for Butters. I put the cup down near him, but he took little notice of it. He was deeply involved in a conversation with Bob.
I slipped out into the living room and put my aching leg up on the table, then settled back onto the couch with my tea. I sat in the gloom, sipping hot, sweet mint something-or-other and tried to order my thoughts. I was tired enough that it didn't take too long.
I was about to call up a peer of Queen Mab and try to trap it for an entire night. A garden spider had about as much chance of trapping a Bengal tiger. Except that the Bengal tiger probably wouldn't bother to squash the spider for daring to make the attempt. The Erlking would.
That made the whole notion more stupid than most of my plans, but I didn't have too much choice in the matter. The presence of the Erlking in the area would drastically increase the number and the potency of the undead that the Kemmlerites were planning to summon tonight. If I could block the Erlking's presence from Chicago, it would take a big chunk out of the powers the necromancers would summon. Grevane and company were formidable enough without calling up an army of super-zombies and uber-ghosts. If I could stop that from happening, it might give Luccio and her Wardens a real chance to defeat them.
If I wasn't fast enough to call the Erlking before one of the Kemmlerites, or if he escaped my hold and ran loose through Chicago, people would die. The Erlking would summon the Wild Hunt into a lightless Chicago Halloween night, and anyone they caught in the open would be torn to shreds.
Lightning flickered outside, somehow too dark and dull to be natural. A beat later, thunder ripped through the evening air, shaking the little house. The wind started to pick up, and the steady beat of rain on the windows surged and retreated with its restless gusting.
I didn't feel like a wizard. I didn't feel like a deadly and powerful Warden. I didn't feel like the supernatural champion of Chicago, or a fearless foe of evil, a daring summoner able to cast his defiance into the teeth of a supernatural titan, or an enlightened sage of the mystic arts. I felt like a scarred, battered, aching, one-handed man with few pleasant prospects for the future and a ridiculous pair of pants with one leg slashed off.
Mouse padded over to me through the dimness. He chuffed softly at me, and then laid his head down on my leg. My eyes were closed, but I could hear his tail thumping softly against the couch. I rested my bad hand on Mouse's head and petted him awkwardly. Mouse didn't mind. He just leaned against me, loaning me the warmth of his fur and the silent faithfulness of his presence.
It made me feel better. Mouse might not have been the smartest creature on earth, but he was steady, kind, loyal, and was possessed of the uncanny wisdom of beasts for knowing whom to trust. I might not have been a superhero, but Mouse thought that I was pretty darned cool. That meant something. It would have to be enough.
I set my teacup down, took my foot off Murphy's coffee table, and rose. I picked up my staff without looking at it, took a deep breath, and clenched my jaw.
Then I marched into the kitchen in a lopsided stalk. "Butters," I said.
"Stay here with Bob and Mouse. Watch my back. If you see anyone trying to sneak up on me, give a yell."
"Right," he said. "Will do."
I nodded to him and went out into the rain to test my will against the legendary lord of the Wild Hunt.
I stared at Luccio for a second. "That's a joke," I said. "Right?"
She gave me a brief, bitter smile. "Master McAnally," she said to Mac. "I think we could use a round. Do you have anything decent to drink?"
Mac grunted and said, "Got a new dark."
"Is it worth drinking?" Luccio asked. She sounded tired, but there was a teasing tone to her voice.
Mac glowered at her in answer, and she gave him a smile that was part challenge and part apology, and took a seat at one of the tables. She gestured at the table and said, "Wardens, please join me."
Morgan took the seat to Luccio's right, and the look he gave me could have burned holes in sheet metal. I did what I always did when Morgan did that: I eyed him right back, then dismissed him as if he weren't even there. I pulled out the chair opposite Luccio and sat. The two youngest Wardens sat down, but Ramirez stayed standing until Mac had brought over bottles of his dark ale and left them on the table. He headed back over to the bar.
Ramirez glanced at Luccio, and she nodded. "Close the circle, please, Warden."
The young man drew a piece of chalk from his pocket, and quickly drew a heavy line on the floor all the way around the table. He finished the circle, then touched it lightly with the forefinger of his right hand and spoke a quiet word. I felt a flicker of his will as he released a tiny bit of power into the circle. The circle closed around us in a sudden, silent tension, raising a thin barrier around us that was almost entirely impregnable to magical forces. If anyone had been trying to spy on the meeting with magic, the circle would prevent it. If anyone had left some kind of listening device nearby, the magic-saturated air within the circle would be certain to fry it within a minute.
Ramirez nodded to himself and then reversed the last open chair at the table and straddled it, resting one arm on the back. Morgan slid him the last bottle of ale, and he took it in one hand.
"Absent friends," Luccio murmured, holding up her bottle.
I could get behind that toast. The rest of us muttered, "Absent friends," and we had a drink, and Luccio stared at her bottle for a moment.
I waited in the pregnant silence and then said, "So. Making me a Warden. That's a joke, right?"
Luccio took a second, slower taste of the ale and then arched an eyebrow at the bottle.
Behind the bar again, Mac smiled.
"It's no joke, Warden Dresden," Luccio said.
"As much as we all would like it to be," Morgan added.
Luccio gave him a look of very gentle reproof, and Morgan subsided into silence. "How much have you heard about recent events in the war?"
"Nothing in the past several days," I said. "Not since my last check-in."
She nodded. "I thought as much. The Red Court has begun a heavy offensive. This is the first time that they've concentrated their efforts on disrupting our communications. We suspect that a great many wizards never received word through our usual messengers."
"Then they found weaknesses in the communications lines," I said. "But they waited to exploit them until it would hurt us the most."
Luccio nodded. "Precisely. The first attack came in Cairo, at our operations center there. Several Wardens were taken, including the senior commander of the region."
"Alive?" I asked.
She nodded. "Yes. Which was an unacceptable threat."
When vampires take you alive, it isn't so that they can treat you to ice cream. That was one of the really nightmarish facets of the war with the Red Court. If the enemy got you, they could do worse than kill you.
They could make you one of their own.
If they managed to turn a Warden, especially one of the senior commanders, it would give them access to a treasury of knowledge and secrets-to say nothing of the fact that they would effectively gain, in many ways, a wizard of their own. Vampires didn't use magic in the same way that mortal wizards did. They tapped into the same nauseating well of power that Kemmler and those like him used. But from what I understood of it, the skills carried over. A turned wizard would be a deadly threat to the Wardens, the Council, and mortals alike. We never talked about it, but there was a sort of silent understanding among wizards that we would never be taken alive. And an equally silent fear that we might be.
"You went after them," I guessed.
Luccio nodded. "A major assault. Madrid, Sao Paolo, Acapulco, Athens. We struck at enemy strongholds there to acquire intelligence to the whereabouts of the prisoners. Our people were being held in Belize." She waved a hand vaguely at Morgan.
"Our intelligence indicated the presence of the highest-ranking members of the Red Court, including the Red King himself. The Merlin and the rest of the Senior Council took the field with us," Morgan said quietly.
That made me raise my brows. The Merlin, the leader of the Senior Council, was as defensive-minded as it was possible to be. He'd guided the White Council into the equivalent of a cold war with the Red Court, with everyone moving carefully and unwilling to commit, in the hopes that it would give the war time to settle away into negotiations and some kind of diplomatic resolution. An offensive action like a full assault from the Senior Council, the seven oldest and strongest wizards on the planet, had been long overdue.
"What changed the Merlin's mind?" I asked quietly.
"Wizard McCoy," Luccio said. "When our people were taken, he persuaded most of the Senior Council to take action, including Ancient Mai and the Gatekeeper."
That made sense. My old mentor, Ebenezar McCoy, was a member of the Senior Council. He had a couple of longtime friends on the Council, but that didn't give him a majority vote. If he wanted to get anything done, he had to talk someone from the Merlin's bloc into casting their vote with him-either that, or convince the Gatekeeper, a wizard who habitually abstained from voting, to take a stand with him. If Ebenezar had convinced Ancient Mai and the Gatekeeper to vote with him in favor of action, the Merlin would have little choice but to move.
And just because the Merlin was a master of wards and defensive magic did not mean that he couldn't kick some ass if he needed to. You don't get to be the Merlin of the White Council by collecting bottle caps, and Arthur Langtry, the current Merlin, was generally considered to be the most powerful wizard on earth.
I had seen for myself what Ebenezar McCoy was capable of. A couple of years ago he had pulled an old Soviet satellite out of orbit and brought it down into the lap of Duke Ortega, the warlord of the Red Court. He'd killed a ton of vampires in doing it.
He'd also killed people. He'd taken the force of life and creation and used it to wipe out the lives of mortals-victims of the Red Court's power. And it wasn't the first time he'd done it. Ebenezar, I'd learned, held an office that did not officially exist-that of the White Council's assassin. Known as the Blackstaff, he had a license to kill, as well as to break the other Laws of Magic when he deemed it necessary. When I learned that he was violating and undermining the same laws he'd taught me to obey, to believe in, it had wounded me so deeply that in some ways I was still bleeding.
Ebenezar had betrayed what I believed in. But that didn't change the fact that the old man was the strongest wizard I'd ever seen in action. And he was the youngest and least powerful of the Senior Council.
"What happened?" I asked quietly.
"There was no evidence of the presence of the Red King or his entourage, but other than that the attack went as planned," Morgan said. "We assaulted the vampires' stronghold and took our people back with us."
Luccio's face twisted in sudden and bitter grief.
"It was a lure," I said quietly. "Wasn't it?"
"Yes," she said quietly. "We moved out and took our wounded to the hospice in Sicily."
"What happened?"
"We were betrayed," she said, and her words carried more sharp edges than a sack of broken glass. "Someone within our ranks must have reported our position to the Red Court. They attacked us that night."
"When was that?" I asked.
Luccio frowned, then glanced across the table at Ramirez.
"Three days ago, Zulu time," Ramirez provided quietly.
"I've not slept," Luccio said. "Between that and all the travel, I lose track." She took another drink of ale and said, "The attack was vicious.
They were coming for the Senior Council, and their sorcerers managed to cut us off from escaping into the Nevernever for nearly a day. We lost thirty-eight Wardens that day, in fighting all over Sicily."
I sat there for a moment, stunned. Thirty-eight. Stars and stones, there were only about two hundred Wardens on the Council. Not every wizard had the kind of talent that made them dangerous in a face-to-face confrontation. Most of those who did were Wardens. In a single day, the Red Court had killed nearly 20 percent of our fighting force.
"They paid for it," Morgan rumbled quietly. "But... they seemed almost mad to die in order to kill us. Driven. I saw four different death curses unleashed that day. I saw vampires climb over mounds of their own dead without so much as slowing down. We must have taken twenty of their warriors for every loss of our own." He closed his eyes and his sour face was suddenly masked with very real and very human grief. "They kept coming."
"We had many wounded," Luccio said. "So many wounded. As soon as the Senior Council was able to open the ways into the Nevernever, we retreated to the paths through Faerie. And we were pursued."
I sat up straight. "What?"
Morgan nodded. "The Red Court followed us into the territory of the Sidhe," he said.
"They had to know," I said quietly. "They had to know that by pressing the attack in Faerie itself they would anger the Sidhe. They've just declared war on Summer and Winter alike."
"Yes," Morgan said in a flat voice. "But it didn't stop them. They attacked us as we retreated. And..." He glanced at Luccio as if in appeal.
She gave him a firm look and said to me, "They had called demons to assist them." She inhaled slowly. "Not simply beasts from the Nevernever. They had gone to the Netherworld. They had called Outsiders."
I took a longer drink of Mac's ale. Outsiders. Demons were bad enough, but they were at least something I was fairly familiar with. The reaches of the Nevernever, the world of spirit and magic that surrounds the mortal world, are filled with all kinds of beings. Most of them really don't give a damn about mortal affairs, and we are nothing but a remote and unimportant curiosity to them. When beings of the spirit world are interested in mortal business, it's for a good reason. The ones who like to eat us, hurt us, or generally terrify us are what wizards commonly refer to as demons, as a general term. They're bad enough.
Outsiders, though, were so rarely spoken of that they were all but a rumor. I wasn't really clear on all of the details, but the Outsiders had been the servants and foot soldiers of the Old Ones, an ancient race of demons or gods who had once ruled the mortal world, but who had apparently been cast out and locked away from our reality.
There was a specific Law of Magic against contacting them-Thou Shalt Not Open the Outer Gates. No one wanted to be the one suddenly suspected of opening ways for the Outsiders to enter the mortal world. The Wardens absolutely did not play around with violations of the Laws of Magic. Their entire purpose in life was to protect the Council-first from violators of the seven Laws, and then from everyone else.
I eyed the folded grey cloak on the table in front of me.
"I thought only mortal magic could call up Outsiders," I said quietly.
Luccio said quietly, "You are correct."
My stomach lurched a little. Someone had told the Red Court where to find the Council. Someone had blocked off their escape route to the Nevernever so strongly that the most powerful wizards on the planet had required a full day to open them again. And someone had begun calling up Outsiders in numbers, sending them to attack the White Council.
The Council is not what it was, Cowl had said. It has rotted from the inside. It will fall. Soon.
"The Wardens fell back to fight a holding action against the Red Court so that our wounded could escape to safety," Luccio reported, her crisp voice at odds with her weary eyes. "That was when they loosed the Outsiders upon us. We lost another twenty-three Wardens in the first moments of combat, and many more were wounded." There was silence while she took a long pull from her bottle, emptying it, then setting it down sharply on the table, anger flickering in her eyes. "If Senior Council members McCoy and Liberty had not come to our aid, we might have all died there. Even with them, we managed to hold them only long enough for the Gatekeeper and the Merlin to raise a ward behind us, to give us time to escape."
"A ward?" I blurted. "Are you telling me that they stonewalled an entire army of vampires and demons? With one ward?"
"You don't get to be Merlin of the White Council by collecting bottle caps," Ramirez said, his voice dry.
I glanced aside at Ramirez. He grinned at me and swigged beer.
"McCoy was injured," Luccio continued.
Ramirez snorted. "Who wasn't?"
Luccio snapped, "Carlos."
He lifted a hand in surrender and settled back onto his chair again, but his grin never faded.
"There were many injuries," Luccio continued. "But as the hospice in Sicily had been taken, we diverted the worst cases to a hospital we control in the Congo." She stared at her bottle for a moment. Her mouth opened, and then she closed it again. She closed her eyes.
Morgan frowned at her. Then he put a hand on Luccio's shoulder, looked at me, and said, "The vampires knew."
I got a sick, twisting feeling in my stomach. "Oh, God."
"It was daylight there," Morgan said. "And the place was a fortress of the Merlin's wards. There was no way for the vampires to breach it from the Nevernever, and nothing short of a demon lord could have broken through them." His mouth twisted, and his eyes glittered with rage and hate. "They sent mortals against us. Against men and women lying injured, unconscious, helpless in their beds." The anger in his voice seemed to strangle him for a moment.
"But..." I said. "Look, I know what it's like going up against mortals you don't want to kill. It's difficult, but they can be stopped. Fought. Bullets and explosives can be defended against."
"Which is why they used gas," Ramirez said quietly, stepping in where Morgan's and Luccio's voices had failed. His own tone was serious. His grin had vanished. "A nerve agent, probably sarin. They deployed it against the entire hospital, the people we had protecting it, and six square blocks of city around it." He put his own bottle down and said, "No one survived."
"My God..." I whispered.
There was dead silence.
"Ebenezar?" I asked in a whisper. "You said he was wounded. Was he..."
Ramirez shook his head. "Stubborn old bastard wouldn't go to the hospital," the young Warden said. "He went with one of the teams staging a counteroffensive with the Fellowship of Saint Giles."
"Thousands of innocent mortals died," Luccio said, and there was a slow, low snarl in her voice. She kept it tightly leashed and under control, but I heard it. I recognized it, and I knew what it was like to feel it permeating my words. "Women. Children. Thousands. And today I buried one hundred and forty-three Wardens."
I sat there, stunned.
In a single, vicious stroke, the Red Court had very nearly destroyed the White Council.
"They have crossed every line," Luccio said, her voice quiet and precise. "Violated every principle of war of our world and the mortal world alike. Madness. They have gone mad."
"They've committed suicide," I said quietly. "They don't have a prayer against the Council and the Faerie Courts alike."
"The Sidhe were taken by surprise," Morgan rumbled. "They aren't prepared for a fight. And we're holding on by our fingernails. We've got less than fifty Wardens capable of combat. Without our communications network in order, members of the Council have been attacked individually and by surprise. We don't know how many more wizards have died."
"And it gets even better," Ramirez said. "Agents of the Red Court are haunting the ways through Faerie. We were attacked on the way here, twice."
"Our priority," Luccio said, voice crisp, "is to consolidate our forces and to draw upon every available resource to restore the Wardens as a fighting force. We must draw the members of the Council together and make sure that they are protected. We're reorganizing our security." She shook her head. "And frankly, we must protect the lives of the Senior Council. So long as they are concealed from the enemy and still able to take action, they are a dangerous force. Together they wield more power than any hundred members of the Council, and it can be concentrated with deadly effect, as the Merlin showed in the Nevernever. So long as they stand ready to strike, the enemy cannot openly unveil his full strength."
"More important," Morgan growled, "the mortal wizards who betrayed us, whoever they are, fear the Senior Council. That is why their first move was an attempt to destroy them."
Luccio nodded. "If we can hold on until the Faerie Courts mobilize for action, we can recover from this attack. Which brings us to today," Luccio said, and studied me, tired and frank. "Every other Warden able to fight is currently either engaged against the enemy or safeguarding the Senior Council. Our lines of support and communication are tenuous." She gestured at those seated at the table. "This is every resource the White Council has to spare."
I looked at the weary captain of the Wardens. At the battered Morgan. At Ramirez, who had reclaimed his cocky smile, and at Yoshimo and Kowalski, untried, quiet, and frightened.
"Warden Luccio," I said. "May I speak to you privately?"
Morgan scowled and said in a hot voice, "Anything you have to say to her you can say to all-"
Luccio put her hand on Morgan's arm, a gentle gesture, but it cut him off. "Morgan. Perhaps you would be so kind as to get me another bottle. And I'm sure McAnally would be willing to provide us all with some dinner."
Morgan stared at her for a second, then at me. Then he rose, smudged the chalk circle with a boot, and broke the circle around the table, releasing the buzzing tension from the air.
"Come on, kids," Ramirez told the other two younger wardens, rising. "We have to go sit with Uncle Morgan while the other adults have a serious talk." He put a hand on my shoulder on the way past and squeezed. "Hey, bartender! Are those onion rings I smell?"
I waited until they had all settled down at the far end of the bar and Mac began to bring them some food. Then I turned to Luccio and said, "I can't be a Warden."
She studied me for a second and then asked, in a very precise, very polite voice, "And why not?"
"Because you people have been threatening to kill me for doing something I didn't do since I was sixteen years old," I said. "You're all convinced I'm some sort of hideous threat, and every time you get the chance you try to make my life miserable."
Luccio listened attentively and then said, "Yes. And?"
"And?" I said. "I've spent my entire adult life with the Wardens looking over my shoulder waiting for a chance to accuse me of things I didn't do, and trying to set me up and entrap me when you never found me doing anything."
Luccio's eyebrows shot up. "What?"
"Don't give me that," I said. "You know damned well that Morgan tried to provoke me into attacking him just before we got the treaty with Winter, so he and the Merlin would have an excuse to throw me to the vampires."
Luccio's eyes widened, and her voice came out harder. "What?" She shot a look at Morgan, and then back at me. "Are you telling me the truth?"
There was some kind of cadence to the question that her words didn't usually have, and on pure instinct I reached out with my senses. I could feel a light tension in the air, humming like the space between the tines of a tuning fork.
"Yes," I told her. The humming chime continued unabated. "I'm telling you the truth."
She stared at me for a long second and then settled back onto her chair. The humming tension faded. She folded her hands on the table, frowning down at them. "Then... There were rumors. Of how Morgan behaved around you. But I thought that they were only that."
"They weren't," I said. "Morgan has threatened and persecuted me every time he got the chance." I clenched my right hand into a fist. "And I have done nothing. I won't become a part of that, Warden Luccio. So keep the cape. I wouldn't polish my car with it."
She regarded her folded hands, eyes narrow. "Dresden," she said quietly. "The White Council is at war. Would you simply abandon your own people to the mercies of the Red Court? Would you stand aside and let Kemmler's disciples have their way?"
"Of course not," I said. "And I never said I wouldn't fight. But I won't be wearing this." I shoved the cloak across the table. "Keep it."
She shoved it back to the table before me. "Put it on."
"Thank you, no."
"Dresden," Luccio said, and her voice was calm and agate-hard. "It is not a request."
"I don't respond well to threats," I said.
"Then respond to reality," she snapped. "Dresden, the Wardens are all but shattered. We need every battle-capable wizard we can recruit, train, or conscript."
"A lot of wizards can fight," I growled.
"And they aren't Harry Dresden," she said. "You idiot. Don't you know what I am offering you?"
"Yeah. The chance to hunt down teenage kids who were never told the Laws of Magic and execute them for breaking them. The chance to badger and intimidate and interrogate anyone who doesn't suit me. Neither of which I want anything to do with."
"Ebenezar said you were stubborn, but not that you were a fool. The Council has been betrayed, Dresden. And you are the most infamous wizard in it. There are many who have spoken out against you. Many who say that you began the war with the Red Court intentionally so that you could create an opportunity to bring about the fall of the Council.
I burst out in bitter laughter. "Me? That's insane. For crying out loud, I can't even balance my stupid checkbook!"
Luccio's eyes softened a little, and she sighed. "I believe you." She shook her head. "But you have a reputation, and the members of the Council will be badly unsettled by this loss. Their fear could easily turn upon you. That is why you are going to join the Wardens."
I scowled. "I don't get it."
"It is time to set our past differences aside. If you wear the cloak of a Warden and step in to fight when the Council is in its hour of need, it will make our people look at you differently."
I took a deep breath. "Oh. Vader syndrome."
"Excuse me?"
"Vader syndrome," I said. "There's no ally so impressive, encouraging, and well loved as an ally who was an enemy that made you shake in your boots a couple of minutes ago."
"There's more to it than that," Luccio said. "I think that you do not realize your own reputation. You have overcome more enemies and battled more evils than most wizards a century your senior. And times are changing. There are more young wizards attaining membership to the Council than ever before-like Ramirez and his companions, there. To them, you are a symbol of defiance to the conservative elements of the Council, and a hero who will risk his life when his principles demand it."
"I am?"
"You are," Luccio said. "I can't say that I approve of it. But right now the Council will need every scrap of courage and faith we can muster. Your presence and support in the face of a greater danger will appease your detractors, and the presence of a wizard who has experience in battle will encourage the younger members of the Council." She grimaced. "Put simply, Dresden, we need you. And you need us."
I rubbed at my eyes for a moment. Then I said, "Let's say I do sign on. I'm willing to wear the cloak. I'm willing to fight for as long as the war is on. But I won't move away from Chicago. There are people here who depend on me." I glowered. "And I won't bow my head to Morgan. I don't want him within a hundred miles of my town."
Luccio rubbed at her jaw, and then nodded slowly, her eyes thoughtful. "I have to reassign Morgan in any case." She nodded again, more sharply. "Then I'm conscripting you into the Wardens as a regional commander."
I blinked.
"You'll be in charge of security and operations in this region, and coordinate with the other three American regional commanders."
"Uh," I said. "What does that mean?"
"That it will be your job to protect mortals in this area. To be vigilant against supernatural threats in your region, and represent the Council in matters of diplomacy. To aid and assist other wizards who come to you for aid and protection, and, when required, to strike out at the enemies of the Council, such as the Red Court and their allies."
I frowned. "Uh, I pretty much do that anyway."
Luccio's face broke into the first genuinely warm smile I'd ever seen on her, the care lines vanishing, replaced with crow's-feet at the corners of her eyes. "So now you'll do it in a grey cloak." Her expression sobered. "You're a fighter, Dresden. If the White Council is to survive, we need more like you."
She pushed away from the table and walked over to the bar, carrying our empty bottles with her.
When she came back, I had just finished getting the cloak pin settled and draping the heavy, soft grey fabric around my shoulders. She stopped in front of me and looked me up and down for a moment. Ramirez glanced at me, and his grin widened. Morgan looked, and from his expression you would think someone had just shoved a knife into his testicles. Mac's brow furrowed, and he studied me in the cloak, his lips quietly pursed.
"Thank you," Luccio said quietly, and offered me an ale.
I accepted it with a nod. We touched bottles and took a drink.
"Very well then, Commander," Luccio said, her tone turning brisk and businesslike. "This is your territory, and you have the most recent intelligence on Kemmler's disciples. What is our next step?"
I shoved my hair back from my eyes and said, "Okay, Warden Luce-uh, Captain Luccio. Let's sit down and get to work. It's getting dark, and we don't have much time."
Chapter Thirty-two
When I walked through the door of Murphy's house, it was raining and I was still wearing the grey cloak. I limped into the kitchen, where Thomas and Butters and Bob were sitting at a table with a bunch of candles, paper, pencils, and empty cans of Coors.
Thomas's jaw dropped open. "Holy crap," he said.
Butters blinked at Thomas and then at me. "Uh. What?"
"Harry!" Bob said, orange eye lights glowing brightly. "You stole a Warden's cloak?"
I scowled at them and took the cloak off. It dripped all over the kitchen floor. "I didn't steal it." Mouse came padding into the room, tail wagging, and I rubbed briefly at his ears.
"Oh," Bob said. "So you took it off a body?"
"No," I said, annoyed, and settled onto a chair at the table. "I got drafted."
"Holy crap," Thomas said again.
"I don't get it," Butters said.
"Harry's joined the wizard secret police!" Bob burbled. "He gets to convict on suspicion and take justice into his own hands! How cool is that!"
Thomas looked at me steadily and then at the door behind me. Then back to me.
"I'm alone," I said quietly. "Relax."
He nodded. "What happened?"
"A lot," I said. "There isn't time to cover it all now. But the Wardens are in town, and I'm not so worried about them crawling all over and finding out everyone's secrets."
"Why not?" Thomas asked.
"Because at the moment all five of them are at a hotel downtown, getting showers and changing bandages while I try to come up with more information about the heirs of Kemmler."
Thomas blinked slowly. "All five... and they have wounded?"
I nodded, my lips pressed hard together.
"Wow," Thomas said quietly. "How bad is it?"
"They drafted me," I said.
"That's bad, all right," Bob said cheerfully.
I looked at the scattered papers and books on the table. "Tell me you guys came up with something."
Butters blinked a few times and then started fumbling at the papers on the table, peering at them in the candlelight. "Uh, well, there's good news and bad news."
"Bad first," I said. "I'm going to need the pick-me-up afterward."
"We've got nothing on those numbers," Butters said. "I mean, they aren't a code. They're too short. They could be an address or an account number, but none of the banks we could get on the phone use that number of digits." He coughed apologetically. "If I could have gotten on the Net I could have gotten you a lot more, but..." He gestured uselessly around the room. "We couldn't get one call in fifty to go through, and at most of the places we called, no one answered. And in the past hour the phones have gone out altogether."
I shook my head. "Yeah. City's going insane, too. There were two fires between here and McAnally's. Some kind of riot going in Buck-town, I heard on a police radio."
"The governor has asked for help from the National Guard," Thomas said quietly. "They're sending troops in to keep order on the streets."
I blinked. "How did you find that out?"
"I called my sister," he said.
I frowned. "I thought Lara wasn't speaking with you."
Thomas's voice went dry. "Just because she cut me off from the family's money, kicked me out of any of our holdings, made it clear that I no longer have their protection, and she's holding the woman I love as a virtual prisoner, don't think she doesn't still like me, personally."
"So she did you a little favor," I said.
"Technically," Thomas said, "she did you a little favor."
"Why did she do that?" I asked.
"Well, I hinted about how since her entire power base depended on a certain secret being kept, and since you were awfully irrational about protecting the good citizens of Chicago, that you might develop loose lips to sink her ship if she didn't help you in your moment of need."
"Urn," I said. "So you're telling me that I just engaged in blackmail against the ruler of the White Court. By proxy."
"Yeah," Thomas said. "You've got some great big brass balls on you to do something like that, Harry."
"I guess I do." I shook my head. "Why did I do that?"
"Because we needed help," Thomas said. "We were getting nowhere fast. Lara's got a ton of resources available to her, and a lot of manpower. She was able to come up with some of the other information we needed."
"Which is the good news," Butters said. "She wasn't blacked out and cut off from the Internet like we are, and she was able to get a bunch of information we couldn't." He passed me a piece of paper. "Not on the numbers-but one of her people was able to find out about Native American artifacts and weapons here in Chicago."
I looked up sharply at Butters. "Yeah?"
He nodded at the paper and I read over it. "Yep," he said. "The Native American Center is using their facility to host this big display on tribal hunting and warfare before all of us palefaces showed up with guns and smallpox. The History Channel is using it as a part of some history-of-warfare special, and they were filming there all last week."
"Yeah," I said. "That could have some old hunter spirits attached to it." I read over the list. "Dammit, I should have remembered this myself. The Field Museum has that big Cahokian artifacts exhibit that Professor Bartlesby was in charge of. Hell, it was a bunch of Indian artifacts that Corpsetaker helped assemble himself. Probably with tonight in mind."
Butters nodded. "And the Mitchell Museum up in Evanston has got more Native American artifacts than either one put together."
"Crap," I said. "That's it."
"How do you know that?" Butters asked.
"It only stands to reason," Bob supplied. "The whole point is to summon up as many old spirits as possible and then consume them. The most spirits are going to be attracted to wherever there is the most old junk."
I nodded. "I remember this place now. That museum's on a college campus, right?"
"Kendall College," Butters confirmed.
"College campus on Halloween night," Thomas said. "Hell of a place for a gang of necromancers to slug it out. There's going to be collateral damage."
"No, there isn't," I said, and I was surprised how vicious my own voice sounded. "Because we're going to stop this stupid summoning. And then we're going to hunt those murderous bastards down and kill them."
There was dead silence in the kitchen.
Thomas and Butters both stared at me, expressions apprehensive.
"Maybe it's the cloak," Bob suggested brightly. "Harry, do you feel any more judgmental and self-righteous than you did this morning?"
I took a slow and deep breath. "Sorry," I said. "Sorry. That came out kinda harsh."
"Maybe a little," Butters said, his voice all but a whisper.
I rubbed at my face and glanced at the battery-powered clock on the wall of Murphy's kitchen. "Okay. Sundown's in just over an hour. I have to be ready to call up the Erlking by then."
"Um," Thomas said. "Harry, if it's the Erlking's presence that's going to attract all of these old spirits to their old tools and stuff, then won't it do the same thing no matter who calls him up?"
"Yeah," I said. "Unless the one who calls him traps him in a circle to contain his power and leaves him there."
Bob made a spluttering sound. "Harry, that's a dangerous proposition. No, scratch that, it's an insane proposition. Even assuming you have the will to trap something like the Erlking in a circle, and even if you keep him there all night, he is not going to let that kind of insult go. He'll come back the next night and kill you. If you're lucky."
"I can worry about that after I've done it," I said.
"Wait," Butters said. "Wait, wait. I mean, will it really matter? These guys don't have the bad magic book, right? Without that book, all they can do is call up the spirits. They can't, you know, eat them. Right?"
"We can't assume that they don't have it," I said. "Grevane might have found it."
"But the other two couldn't, right?" Butters said.
"Even if they haven't, they'll still be there," I said. "They can't afford to assume that their rivals haven't gotten the book. So they're going to show up with everything they have to try to prevent one of the others from going through with the ritual."
"Why?" Butters asked.
"Because they hate each other," I said. "And if one of them goes all godly, he's going to enjoy crushing the others. It will probably be the first thing he does."
"Oh," Butters said.
"That's why I need you to do something for me, Thomas."
My brother nodded. "Name it."
I grabbed a blank piece of paper and a pencil and started writing. "This is a note. I want you to take it down to the address I'm writing down and get it to the Wardens."
"I'm not going anywhere close to the Wardens," Thomas said.
"You don't have to," I said. "They're at a hotel. You'll leave it at the desk and ask the clerk to take it to them. Then clear out fast."
"Are they going to trust a note?" Thomas asked, skeptical.
"I told them to expect a messenger if I couldn't get there myself. They know about the Erlking. That I'm trying to sidetrack him. They need to know where the heirs of Kemmler are going to be so that they can take them down."
"Five of them," Thomas said quietly. "They'll be outnumbered by one."
I grimaced. It would be worse than that. Ramirez had looked like he could handle himself, but the two rookies couldn't have stood up to any of the heirs or their companions, from what I'd seen. "Once I've secured the Erlking, I'll be along as quick as I can. Besides that, they're Wardens," I said. "They'll take down Kemmler's flunkies."
"Or die trying," Thomas said. He grimaced. "How should I get down there?"
I went to another kitchen drawer and rummaged in it until I found Murphy's spare keys. I tossed them to Thomas. "Here. Her motorcycle is in the shed."
"Right," he said, but his expression was wary. "She going to mind me stealing her bike?"
"It's in a good cause," I told him. "The streets are bad, and the Wardens need to get moving soonest. Go."
Thomas nodded, pocketed the keys, and shrugged into his leather jacket. "I'll get back here as soon as I'm done."
"Yeah," I said quietly. "Thomas. To the Wardens you're nothing but a White Court vampire. If they see you, they'll be out for blood."
"I understand," he said. His voice was a little bitter. "If I'm not back in time, Harry... good luck."
He offered his hand, and we traded grips, hard. My hand must have been cold with nerves, because his felt warm. Then he let go of my hand, nodded to Bob and Butters, and headed out into the rain. A minute later Murphy's Harley grumbled in the backyard, and then purred off into the rain and gloom.
I sat there in silence for a minute, then got up and went to the stove. I got the teapot out, filled it up, and put it on the gas burner to boil. It took me a minute to find Murphy's collection of teas, and it was gratuitously complex. I mean, come on, how many different types of tea do you really need? Maybe I'm prejudiced, because I take my tea with so much sugar that the actual flavor is sort of an aftertaste.
I found some in instant bags that smelled vaguely minty. "Tea?" I asked Butters.
"Sure," he said.
I got out two cups.
"What's next?" he asked.
"Hot tea," I said. "Staying warm. Then I go out in the rain and call up the Erlking. You're staying inside while I do."
"Why?" he asked.
"Because it's going to be dangerous."
"Well, yeah," he said. "But why inside the house? I mean, this super-goblin can just rip the walls apart, right?"
"Strong enough to do it, probably," I said. "But it can't. The house is protected by its threshold."
Butters looked at me blankly. "Which means what?"
I leaned a hip on the counter and explained. "A threshold is a kind of energy that surrounds a home. It's..." I frowned, thinking how to explain it. "It's sort of like the home has a positive charge to it. If outside magic wants to come in, it has to neutralize that charge first. Big, tough things from the Nevernever need a lot of power just to stay in our world. They don't usually have enough to take out a threshold and still have enough juice to be dangerous."
"It's like that vampire thing?" he asked. "They can't come in if you don't invite them?"
"Pretty much, yeah. If you invite something in, your threshold won't affect it. But other magical beings and energy have trouble with it. It's a solid defense."
"Didn't help your place much," Butters observed.
"My place is a rental apartment," I said. "And except for the past several months, it's been just me living there. Doesn't give it the same kind of energy as you'd find in a long-established home."
"Oh. Is that what they mean by 'safe as houses,' then?"
I smiled a little. "A house doesn't make a home. When the place has got history, family, emotions, worries, joys worked into the wood, that's when it gets a solid threshold. This house has been in the Murphy clan for better than a hundred years, and lived in for every one of them. It's solid. You'll be safe in here."
"But it's not going to get loose once you call it up," Butters said. "Right?"
"That's the plan. But even if it did, you aren't the one who is going to piss it off. There won't be any reason for it to come after you."
"Oh, good," he said. He blinked at me and said apologetically, "Not that I want it to come after you, Harry."
"I don't blame you," I said.
Butters nodded. "Why zombies?" he asked.
"Huh?"
"Sorry. Changing topics. New question. Why do all these necromancer types use zombies?"
"Not all of them do," I pointed out. "Corpsetaker had called up a bunch of semicorporeal ghosts. Specters."
"But human," Butters said. "Zombies look human. Specters look human. Why not whistle up a pack of decayed rats? Or maybe semicorporeal mosquitos? Why use people?"
"Oh," I said. "It's got to do with a kind of metaphysical impression that any given creature leaves upon its death. Sort of like a footprint. Human beings leave larger footprints than most animals, which means that you can pour more energy into reanimating them."
"They make stronger goons," Butters clarified.
"Yes."
"How come Grevane had fresh corpses when he came to get me, but he attacked your house with old ones? I mean, I saw those things up close." He shivered. "Some of them must have dated back to the beginning of the twentieth century."
"Same reason they animate humans instead of animals," I said. "Older corpses leave a deeper metaphysical imprint. They're harder to call up, but once you get them here they're easier to control, stronger, more difficult to damage."
"Old corpses get you stronger undead flunkies," he said.
"Right," I said. I could see the wheels turning in Butters's head as he processed the information. He looked like he was busy lining up dozens more questions spawned by the answers to the first few, and I had a feeling he would pursue them with relentless curiosity.
"Okay. But what if-"
"Butters," I said as gently as I could. "Not now. All I want to do is have a quiet cup of tea." An inspiration hit me. "Ask Bob," I told him. "Bob knows a hell of a lot more than I do, anyway."
"Oh," Butters said. He looked from me to the skull. "Um. Yeah, I guess Thomas was talking to it."
"He!" Bob said indignantly. "I am very much a he! I'm not some kind of freaking animatronic Tinkertoy!"
"Right," Butters said. "Um. Sorry. Bob. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?"
"It's a waste of my vast intellect and talent," Bob sneered.
"Do it, Bob," I told him.
"Oh, man." The orange lights in the skull's eye sockets rolled. "Fine. I haven't got anything better to do than to teach kindergarten."
"Great!" Butters bubbled, and sat down at the table. He grabbed some more paper and a pencil. "Well, how about we start with..."
I fixed myself a cup of tea and one for Butters. I put the cup down near him, but he took little notice of it. He was deeply involved in a conversation with Bob.
I slipped out into the living room and put my aching leg up on the table, then settled back onto the couch with my tea. I sat in the gloom, sipping hot, sweet mint something-or-other and tried to order my thoughts. I was tired enough that it didn't take too long.
I was about to call up a peer of Queen Mab and try to trap it for an entire night. A garden spider had about as much chance of trapping a Bengal tiger. Except that the Bengal tiger probably wouldn't bother to squash the spider for daring to make the attempt. The Erlking would.
That made the whole notion more stupid than most of my plans, but I didn't have too much choice in the matter. The presence of the Erlking in the area would drastically increase the number and the potency of the undead that the Kemmlerites were planning to summon tonight. If I could block the Erlking's presence from Chicago, it would take a big chunk out of the powers the necromancers would summon. Grevane and company were formidable enough without calling up an army of super-zombies and uber-ghosts. If I could stop that from happening, it might give Luccio and her Wardens a real chance to defeat them.
If I wasn't fast enough to call the Erlking before one of the Kemmlerites, or if he escaped my hold and ran loose through Chicago, people would die. The Erlking would summon the Wild Hunt into a lightless Chicago Halloween night, and anyone they caught in the open would be torn to shreds.
Lightning flickered outside, somehow too dark and dull to be natural. A beat later, thunder ripped through the evening air, shaking the little house. The wind started to pick up, and the steady beat of rain on the windows surged and retreated with its restless gusting.
I didn't feel like a wizard. I didn't feel like a deadly and powerful Warden. I didn't feel like the supernatural champion of Chicago, or a fearless foe of evil, a daring summoner able to cast his defiance into the teeth of a supernatural titan, or an enlightened sage of the mystic arts. I felt like a scarred, battered, aching, one-handed man with few pleasant prospects for the future and a ridiculous pair of pants with one leg slashed off.
Mouse padded over to me through the dimness. He chuffed softly at me, and then laid his head down on my leg. My eyes were closed, but I could hear his tail thumping softly against the couch. I rested my bad hand on Mouse's head and petted him awkwardly. Mouse didn't mind. He just leaned against me, loaning me the warmth of his fur and the silent faithfulness of his presence.
It made me feel better. Mouse might not have been the smartest creature on earth, but he was steady, kind, loyal, and was possessed of the uncanny wisdom of beasts for knowing whom to trust. I might not have been a superhero, but Mouse thought that I was pretty darned cool. That meant something. It would have to be enough.
I set my teacup down, took my foot off Murphy's coffee table, and rose. I picked up my staff without looking at it, took a deep breath, and clenched my jaw.
Then I marched into the kitchen in a lopsided stalk. "Butters," I said.
"Stay here with Bob and Mouse. Watch my back. If you see anyone trying to sneak up on me, give a yell."
"Right," he said. "Will do."
I nodded to him and went out into the rain to test my will against the legendary lord of the Wild Hunt.
