by Jim Butcher
“That’s the idea,” Michael said.
“You don’t get it, man,” I said. “This building we’re going to hit belongs to John Marcone. We’re supposed to go in without taking down their electronic systems. That means there will be cameras and pictures. The blindest security tech in the world could identify you—and your guardian angels won’t protect you from Marcone’s people.”
Michael shook his head. “It won’t come to that.”
“You say that,” I said, “but you don’t know what Marcone is like.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “But I do know what the Almighty is like, Harry. And He wouldn’t give me the strength to do this only to have it result in harm to my family.”
I grimaced. “Seems to me it would be polite of you to take a couple of prudent steps—like wearing dark clothes and a mask—so that the Almighty wouldn’t need to go out of His way to arrange things for you.”
He barked out a quick laugh and gave me a rueful smile. “So you have been listening to me, all this time.” He shook his head. “Nicodemus and his ilk operate in the shadows, in secret. The Swords aren’t meant for that. I have nothing to hide.”
“Hey,” I said, letting my voice be annoyed, “as shadowy ilk myself, I think I resent that statement.”
Michael snorted. “You destroy buildings, fight monsters openly in the streets of the city, work with the police, show up in newspapers, advertise in the phone book, and ride zombie dinosaurs down Michigan Avenue, and think that you work in the shadows? Be reasonable.”
“I will if you will,” I said. “At least wear a ski mask.”
“No,” Michael said calmly. “The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me. Trust Him, Harry.”
“Probably not in the cards,” I said.
His smile widened. “Then trust me.”
I threw up my hands. “Fine. Whatever. Are you sure your people can find someplace safe to keep the Grail if we get it back? Because apparently they go out and use the Coins to get snacks out of the vending machine, the things go back into circulation so fast.”
“Part of the nature of the Coins is to be in circulation, as you put it,” Michael said. “They can only be contained for so long. The Grail is a different proposition entirely. They’ll keep it safe.”
“And you know the rules I have to play by, right?” I asked.
“You have to help Nicodemus recover the Grail,” he said. “After that, you can go weapons free.”
“Right. And you’ll respect that?”
“I will do what is right,” Michael said.
I licked my lips. “Yeah, but . . . could you maybe put off doing what is right until we get clear of Mab’s restrictions?”
“All things considered,” Michael said, “no. I’m not taking chances.”
Translation: He wasn’t going to do anything—or not do anything—that might screw up Uriel’s grace, no matter what.
Thank you, Mab, for this wonderful, wonderful game. Maybe next time we can play pin the tail on the wizard.
“I’m pretty sure Nicodemus is going to play it straight, at least until right before we get back to Chicago,” I said.
“Why would he?”
“Because I’m going to say please.”
Michael arched an eyebrow at me.
“I’m going to say it in his native tongue,” I said.
“Power?”
“Bingo.”
* * *
Nicodemus hadn’t warned his squires what to expect, and when Michael strode in at my side, Jordan and his brothers-in-arms produced a truly impressive number of weapons in what appeared to be a state of pure panic.
Michael just stood there with his thumbs hooked into his belt, Amoracchius hanging quietly at his side in its scabbard. “Son,” he said to Jordan, “don’t you have anything better to do than point that thing at me?”
“Lower your weapons,” I snarled in a voice loud enough to carry throughout the slaughterhouse. “Before I start downsizing your organization.”
They didn’t put their guns down, but my threat did make a lot of the squires eye me nervously. Go me.
“Hey, Nick,” I shouted. “Your boys are all jittery. You want to calm them down or should I do it?”
“Gentlemen,” Nicodemus called, a moment later, “I know who is with Dresden. Let them through.”
Jordan and the others lowered their weapons with manifest reluctance, but kept their hands on them, ready to bring them to bear again at any time. Michael didn’t move or take a threatening posture, but he swept his gaze from squire to squire, one by one.
They all dropped their eyes from his. Every one of them.
We started down to the conference table, and Michael said, “I feel sorry for these men.”
“The tongue thing?” I asked.
“Removing their tongues is one way to keep their loyalty,” Michael said.
“Yeah. I love people who mutilate my body parts.”
He frowned. “It’s designed to keep them isolated. Think what it does to them. They can’t talk—so how much more difficult is it for them to connect with other people? To form the kinds of bonds that might let them free themselves of this cult? They can’t taste their food, which precludes eating for pleasure—and eating together is one of the primary means of forming real relationships between human beings. Think how much more difficult it makes even the simplest of interactions with outsiders. And how the shared experience of that hardship means that one’s fellow squires will always be the only ones who truly understand his pain.” He shook his head. “It’s the last step of their indoctrination for a reason. Once it’s done, they no longer have a voice of their own.”
“It’s not the same as not having a choice,” I said. “These guys have made their call.”
“Indeed. After being manipulated by Nicodemus and Anduriel as unwise young men.” He shook his head. “Some men fall from grace. Some are pushed.”
“Once their fingers pull the trigger, does it matter?”
“Of course it matters,” Michael said, “but it doesn’t change what has to be done. I just wish they could find another way to fill the empty place inside them.”
We’d reached the conference table by that time, where the crew was making final preparations. Anna Valmont, Hannah Ascher, and Binder were all there, dressed in close-fit, dark clothing, and each of them was wearing a shoulder holster. Valmont had a roll-up leather tool pouch laid out on the table and was going through various bits of equipment in it one by one. Ascher was sipping coffee, her bagel untouched on the plate in front of her. Binder was going over his gang’s Uzis one more time.
The loading doors at one end of the slaughterhouse rolled open, and a pair of large stepside vans rumbled into the place a moment later. Several squires set about getting them lined up and then rolling their rear doors open.
“Morning, Dresden,” Hannah Ascher said. “What happened to your girlfriend?”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I said. “And she had a misunderstanding with Nicodemus.”
Anna Valmont’s eyes flicked up to me, hard.
“She’s alive,” I told her. “But she wasn’t in any shape to go to work today.”
“So you brought Captain Crusader instead?” Ascher asked. “He looks like a Renaissance fair.”
Binder abruptly stood up, his eyes widening. “Bloody hell, girl. That’s a Knight of the Sword.”
Ascher frowned. “I thought there were only, like, three of those guys in the whole world.”
“Two,” Michael said, “at the moment.”
Binder stared at Michael, and narrowed his eyes in calculation. “Aw, dammit. Dresden, this is what you do because Nicodemus gets in a tiff with your girlfriend?”
“She’s not my g—” I rubbed at the bridge of my nose. “Look, I want someone
I know and trust watching my back. Murphy couldn’t do it, so he’s doing it instead.”
“What a load of tripe,” Binder said. “You think I don’t know what the Coins and the Swords are like with each other? You didn’t bring him to watch your back. You brought him to fight.”
“Let’s just say I don’t mind having a deterrent around,” I said. “If Nicodemus plays it straight and keeps his word, I will too and we’ll all get rich.”
Binder scowled and eyed Michael. “Is that right, Knight?”
“Harry’s generally a very honest man,” Michael said. “I really don’t care about the money, though.”
Binder and Ascher both tilted their heads to one side, like dogs that have just heard a new noise.
Anna Valmont smiled and shook her head slightly, going back to checking her tools.
“So what happened last night?” Ascher asked me. “Binder’s goons drew him a picture of a lion. The ones who came back, I mean.”
“Yeah, it got a little crazy,” I said.
“Did you get the guy?” Binder asked.
“Nah, he skated,” I said. “Nobody’s fault, really. Tricky, slippery little bastard.”
Binder eyed me. “Yeah. Right. You give me a big speech about how you’ll come down on my neck if I hurt anyone in your town. Then you two tear out of here to take up the chase, and Murphy winds up too busted up to continue after a ‘misunderstanding’ with Nicodemus.”
I gave him a beatific smile. “Binder, relax. The op isn’t in any danger. I made sure he’s not going to go to anyone. That was the point of chasing him down in the first place, right?”
Binder frowned. “I thought the White Council didn’t let you use mind magic.”
Which I hadn’t meant, at all, and which I really couldn’t do, considering my utter lack of talent in that area, but Binder didn’t know that. “I did what needed to be done,” I said. “And think of it like this—I don’t have to stomp on your neck now.”
Binder looked skeptical, but he didn’t push it—which was smart. Binder had a really formidable skill, but he was a one-trick pony. He wasn’t up to facing a Wizard of the White Council directly, and he knew it.
Michael rounded himself up a cup of coffee and looked at me. I nodded, and he brought me back one. “That’s a very large pen for just four goats,” he noted.
Which meant that the Genoskwa had come back here last night, and gotten a couple more meals in. Damn, but that thing ate a lot. It ate more than something that size should have been able to consume—but a lot of supernatural creatures had supernatural metabolisms that helped fuel their exceptional speed and strength. Ghouls could put down forty or fifty pounds of meat in a meal, and need more the next day. Maybe Big Shaggy had a similar high-consumption engine fueling its physical power.
I sipped coffee and waited. At a quarter to four, Goodman Grey came ambling in. The unassuming-looking man stopped ten feet short of the table and stared hard at Michael. The Knight returned the shifter’s look, and dropped the heel of his hand casually to the hilt of Amoracchius, resting it there with his fingers relaxed.
“What’s wrong?” I asked him.
“I don’t like that man very much,” Michael said. “He’s done terrible things.”
“Obviously,” Goodman Grey said, his tone wary. “I’m a monster for hire. But I’ve got no quarrel with you today, sir Knight.”
“Maybe,” Michael said. “Maybe not.”
Grey’s eyes flicked to me. “Do you really expect me to work with someone like this, wizard, on our side?”
“Yes,” I said. “You’ve been hired, haven’t you? Show a little professionalism.”
Grey grunted and seemed to relax a little. “Well. I won’t give him any cause to take issue with me. But if he does, don’t think I won’t take him apart.”
“Pretty sure you can’t,” I told him. “But it might be fun to watch you try it.”
Grey gave me a sour look and went over to the coffeepot.
At five minutes to four, Nicodemus and Deirdre arrived together. Deirdre was in her demonic battle form, all purple scales and metallic ribbons of hair. Both sets of her eyes were focused on Michael warily. Nicodemus looked like he always did, but more smug. “Good morning, everyone,” he said. “Table, please.”
In the shadows back behind Nicodemus, I could see the hulking outline of the Genoskwa, lurking in silence.
We all gathered around the table, where Nicodemus had laid out a large piece of paper with a map of the bank drawn cleanly upon it. “This will be a simple entry,” he said. He pointed at the front doors of the bank. “We’ll go in through these doors. There will be between three and six security personnel, and I will expect Binder and Dresden to keep their attention and eventually neutralize them. The rest of us will head straight back to the vaults. There are two large security doors in the way, but we aren’t going to bother opening them. Miss Ascher will go through the walls beside them here and here.” He marked the appropriate places with a red pen. “After that, Miss Valmont and Mr. Grey will move forward into the main vault. Miss Valmont will open the vault’s door, and Mr. Grey will open the target’s private storage room. Once those systems have been circumvented and the doors opened, it will be safe to bring our wizards into the vault.” He smiled widely. “And then the real fun can begin. Are there any questions?”
“What happens when we get where we’re going?” I asked. “You got a map for that?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Nicodemus said. “Though our path should be an obvious one. Our target uses active defenses to protect his vaults, not obfuscation.”
“No map,” I said. “Just some vague references to gates.”
“One does not attain great reward without daring similarly great risk,” Nicodemus said. “We will simply have to adapt to what we find as we enter.”
I did not, for a minute, believe that Nicodemus had no further information about Hades’ vault. But there wouldn’t be much point in saying it.
“If that is all,” Nicodemus said, “we shall load up. Dresden and his escort, Grey, and Valmont will be in the leftmost van. The rest of us will take the one on the right. I took the liberty of stocking them with heavy-duty backpacks for each of you, in order to allow you to gather up your shares. Mr. Binder, twenty of your associates in each van, if you please.”
“Got it,” Binder said. He produced his circle of wire and began calling up suits, issuing them an Uzi and a couple of spare clips as they arrived. They rushed to the waiting vans, leaping up into them with a will.
Michael watched and shook his head.
“Oh, cheer up, Mr. Carpenter,” Nicodemus said. “By the time the sun rises this morning, you may be twenty million dollars richer.”
“I have a family. I am already rich beyond measure,” Michael said. “But I really wouldn’t expect you to understand that.”
Nicodemus’s face went blank, his eyes cold.
I took note of that. It was far more reaction than I’d seen from him this whole time. Something about what Michael had said struck home.
“The time for talking and planning is over,” Nicodemus said. “Now is the time for action. Everyone get in the vans.”
Thirty-four
The inside of the van was crowded, with twenty of Binder’s goons crammed in with the four of us, and a couple of squires driving.
“All right, Dresden,” Grey said. “Let’s have your wrists.”
“What?” I said. “Oh, right. The manacles.”
“What is he talking about?” Michael asked.
“Thorn manacles,” I said. “They inhibit magical ability. They should greatly reduce the odds that I’ll blow out any of the building’s security systems by walking past—and we need them to stay up and functioning until we get all the doors open.”
“His wrist is broken,” Michael said to Grey. “Wil
l they fit on his ankles?”
Grey held up a set of manacles on a heavy steel chain. They looked just like the ones I’d seen before, only they had the heavy gleam of steel to them, instead of that weird silvery metal the Sidhe used. The inner surfaces of the cuffs were lined with small, sharp thorns of steel. They would bite into the flesh when they were locked on—and with that steel breaking my skin, the Winter mantle would go to pieces.
That wasn’t going to feel good.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, eyeing them. “If either of the cuffs is on, I can’t use the magic. Just have them both on one wrist and wrap the chain around to keep it out of my way. Gimme.”
“Sure you don’t want me to do it?” Grey asked.
“Nah, I dislike you enough already. I’ll put them on.” I took the manacles from Grey and gave Michael a look to let him know that I wanted him to pay attention. He frowned and did.
I elbowed myself enough room to wrap the chain around my wrist. Then I closed my eyes for a moment and took slow, deep breaths, concentrating. Blocking out pain was a lesson I’d learned a long time ago, and I could do it pretty well if I had time to prepare for it. Mostly, the bad guys aren’t that courteous before they start hurting me, but fortunately this time the bad guy was me, and I was willing to cut myself a break. It took me a couple of minutes to erect the mental barriers, and then I opened my eyes, pulled up the sleeve of my duster, and fastened both manacles onto my right wrist, locking them on with their key.
Steel bit into my skin with a hundred tiny teeth, and the Winter mantle vanished. As suddenly as light comes on when you flip the switch, my body started reporting injuries.
My arm was pretty horrid, but my back had apparently turned into a single large contusion when the Genoskwa slammed me into that parked car. My calf burned steadily where I’d been shot. My feet were killing me, too, which—what the hell? Had I gotten a pair of shoes the wrong size or something? I was aching in the knees, and somehow I’d collected a cut on my tongue and on one of my gums—I hadn’t really noticed them before, though I sure as hell felt them now.
