The Dresden Files Collection 7-12

by Jim Butcher

  Something tight in her shoulders eased. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Sure.”

  Then she turned and strode purposefully away.

  I looked at the bloodstained mattress on the Blue Beetle, and sighed. I didn’t feel like driving it anywhere. It was early. It could wait a few hours. I turned to Mouse and said, “Come on, boy. I need a beer.”

  We descended out of the summer heat into the relative cool of my basement apartment.

  Maybe I needed two.

  It took Justine more than two weeks to get me that meeting with Thomas. When she called, she was speaking in her official secretary tone again. She stipulated a public meeting place, where both of us would have the protection of the need to maintain a low profile. It was a precaution that the White Court had required of me, given how tense things had been between the Council and the White Court’s leadership, of late.

  I met Thomas on a Saturday afternoon outside the Great Cat House at the Lincoln Park Zoo.

  As I came up, I spotted a pair of Lara’s security guys, trying to blend in. Thomas was leaning on the rail that looked into this big pit where they keep a couple of tigers. He was wearing tight blue jeans, and a big loose white shirt. Every woman there and a large chunk of the guys were looking at him, with various degrees of lust, longing, interest, and seething hatred. I walked up and leaned on the rail beside him.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey.”

  We stood there watching the tigers for a few minutes.

  “You asked for the meeting,” he said. “What do you want?”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Thomas, I want to see you. Talk to you. Be sure you’re okay. You’re my brother, man.”

  He didn’t react to my words. Not at all.

  I studied his profile for a few moments. Then I said, “What’s wrong?”

  He moved one shoulder in a careless gesture. “Nothing is wrong, per se. Unless . . . it was me.”

  “You? Were wrong?”

  “I was an idiot to try to live the way I’ve been living,” he said.

  I looked at him sharply. “What?”

  He rolled a hand in a lazy gesture. “The boutique. The constant nibbling, never sating myself. The . . .” He shrugged. “All of it.”

  I stared hard at him. Then I asked, very quietly, “What did the skinwalker do to you?”

  “He reminded me of what I really am.”

  “Oh?”

  Thomas turned to look at me with calm deep grey eyes. “Yes. It didn’t take him long, once he set about it.”

  I felt sick to my stomach. “What happened?”

  “He hung me up by my heels,” Thomas said. “And ripped strips of skin off of me. One at a time.”

  I shuddered.

  “It’s agonizing,” he said. “Not terribly dangerous to one of us. My demon didn’t really have any trouble regenerating the skin—but it did become hungry. Very, very hungry.” His eyes suddenly gleamed paler silver and he looked back at the tigers, which were now restlessly prowling the pit. “He’d taken a female kine to the lair where he had me prisoner. And he fed her to me.”

  “Hell’s bells,” I breathed.

  Thomas watched the tigers pace. “She was lovely. Sixteen or so? I don’t know, exactly. I didn’t ask for her name.” He spread his hands. “It was a fatal feeding, of course. I don’t think I’ve ever really explained to you exactly what that is like.”

  “What is it like?” I asked in a quiet rasp.

  “Like becoming light,” he said, his eyes drifting closed. “Like sinking into the warmth of a campfire when you’ve been shivering for hours. Like a hot steak after a day of swimming in cold water. It transforms you, Harry. Makes you feel . . .” His eyes became haunted, hollow. “Whole.”

  I shook my head. “Thomas. Jesus.”

  “Once she was gone and my body was restored, the skinwalker tortured me again, until I was in the same desperate condition. Then he fed me another doe.” He shrugged. “Rinse and repeat. Perhaps half a dozen times. He gave me young women and then put me in agony again. I was all but chewing out my own innards when he took me to the island. To tell you the truth, I barely remember it.” He smiled. “I remember seeing Molly. But you’ve taught her enough to protect herself, it seems.”

  “Thomas,” I said gently.

  He smirked. “If you ever get tired of her, I hope you’ll let me know.”

  I stared at him, sickened. “Thomas.”

  He looked at me again, still smirking—but he couldn’t hold it. Once again, his eyes looked hollow, touched with despair. He looked away from me. “You don’t get it, Harry.”

  “Then talk to me,” I said, urgently. “Thomas, Jesus Christ. This is not you.”

  “Yes, it is,” he spat, the words a bladed hiss. “That’s what it taught me, Harry. At the end of the day, I’m just an empty place that needs to be filled.” He shook his head. “I didn’t want to kill those girls. But I did it. I killed them, over and over, and I loved how it felt. When I think back on the memory of it, it doesn’t make me horrified.” He sneered. “It just makes me hard.”

  “Thomas,” I whispered. “Please, man. This isn’t what you want to be. I know you, man. I’ve seen you.”

  “You’ve seen who I wanted to be,” he said. “Who I thought I was.” He shook his head and looked around at the people around us. “Play a game with me.”

  “What game?”

  He nodded toward a pair of young women walking by holding ice-cream cones. “What do you see when you look at them? Your first thought.”

  I blinked. I looked. “Uh. Blonde and brunette, too young for me, not bad to look at. I bet the blonde paid too much for those shoes.”

  He nodded and pointed at an old couple sitting on a bench. “Them?”

  “They’re fighting with each other over something and enjoying it. They’ve been together so long, it’s comfortable for them. Later, they’ll hold hands and laugh over the fight.”

  He pursed his lips, and pointed at a mother chivvying a trio of small children of various sizes along the zoo. “Them?”

  “She’s got an expensive ring, but she’s here at the zoo alone. Her kids all have matching outfits. Her husband works a lot, and she doesn’t look as good as she used to—look how the shoes are biting into her feet. She’s worried that she’s a trophy wife, or maybe an ex-wife in progress. She’s about to start crying.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said. “Can I give you my first thoughts?”

  I nodded, frowning at him.

  Thomas pointed a finger at the young women. “Food.” He pointed a finger at the old couple. “Food.” He pointed a finger at the mother and her children. “Food.”

  I just stared at him.

  He rolled his head, inhaling deeply and then exhaling. “Maybe it was all those kills together like that. Maybe he drove me insane with the torment.” He shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. I just know that things seem a lot simpler now.”

  “What are you trying to tell me?” I asked. “That you’re happy, now?”

  “Happy,” he said, scorn ringing lightly in his voice. “I’m . . . not wandering around blind anymore. Not trying desperately to be something that I’m not.” He looked back down at the tigers. “Something I can never be.”

  I just stood there, shaking my head.

  “Oh, empty night, Harry,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not some kind of ravaging monster. I’m not some kind of psychotic rampaging around the city devouring virgins.” He waved a hand in a casual gesture. “Killing when you feed feels fantastic, but it’s stupid. There are far too many advantages in ensuring that the kine survive. Not only survive, but grow and prosper.” He smiled a bit. “You know, I really think I might have something to offer the world. I never could have exerted any kind of influence on my kin as a moping exile, trying to be human. Maybe this way, I actually can accomplish something. Promote a more responsible standard of relations between humanity and my kind. Who knows?”

 
I stared at him and said, “Gosh, that’s noble.”

  He eyed me.

  I hit him with my heaviest sucker punch. “What does Justine think of it?”

  He straightened and turned toward me, and there was imminent violence in the set of his body. “What?” he asked. “What did you say to me?”

  “You heard me,” I said, without changing posture or rising to the threat.

  His hands closed into fists, knuckles popping.

  “Still stings, doesn’t it?” I said quietly. “Still burns you when you try to touch her?”

  He said nothing.

  “And you still remember what it was to hold her. Like you did the night you trashed Madeline at Zero.”

  “Jesus Christ, Harry,” he said. He turned to face out, away from the tigers, and his voice was full of weariness. “I don’t know. I just know that it doesn’t hurt so bad all the time anymore.” He was quiet for a long time. Then he said, in a very quiet voice, “I have bad dreams.”

  I wanted to put my hand on his shoulder, to give him some support. But some instinct warned me that it wouldn’t be welcomed.

  “You took a beating,” I said quietly. “What that thing did to you . . . ? Thomas, it knew exactly how to get to you. How to torment you the most. But it won’t last. You survived. You’ll get past it.”

  “And go back to that miserable half life I had?” he whispered.

  “Maybe,” I said quietly. “I don’t know.”

  He looked at me.

  “You’re my brother,” I said. “Nothing will ever change that. I’m here for you.”

  “You’re a damn fool,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  “It would be easy to use you. Part of me thinks it’s a fantastic idea.”

  “I didn’t say you weren’t an asshole. I said you were my brother.”

  The bodyguards stirred. Nothing big. They just sort of animated and moved toward the exits.

  Thomas grimaced. “Lara thinks I’ve made great progress. She’s . . .” He shrugged. “Proud of me.”

  “I liked you better the other way,” I said. “So did Justine. Maybe that should tell you something.”

  “I’ve got to go. She’s afraid you’ll think I’m all brainwashed. Didn’t want to risk you trying to deprogram me when I haven’t been programmed.”

  “I confess. The idea occurred to me.”

  “If someone had gotten into my head, I don’t think there’d be so many doubts,” he said. “This isn’t something you can help me with, Harry.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not. Either way, you’re still my brother.”

  “Broken damn record,” he said.

  I held up a fist.

  He stared at it for a couple of silent beats before he made a fist of his own and rapped my knuckles against his.

  “Don’t call me,” he said.

  “I’ll be patient,” I said. “But not forever.”

  He hesitated and then nodded once more. Then he thrust his hands into the hip pockets of his jeans and walked quickly away. The bodyguards fell in behind him. One of them said something while he had one hand pressed against his ear.

  Purely from petty malice, I waved a hand and hexed his radio, or phone. Sparks flew out of his ear and he all but fell over trying to get the earbud out.

  Thomas looked back.

  He grinned. Not long but real.

  After he was gone, I turned to regard the tigers. I wondered if I knew them for what they really were, or if all I could see were the stripes.

  I’d missed Kirby’s funeral while I was in the infirmary in Edinburgh. A couple of weeks had gone by after that, and I’d talked to Will and Georgia by phone occasionally.

  Gaming night came along, and as I had most weeks for the past several years, I showed up at Will and Georgia’s place. I had my Arcanos rule book with me, and a Crown Royal bag filled with dice. I was wearing a black T-shirt that had a monochrome image of several multisided dice and said, in block print, “COME TO THE DORK SIDE. DO NOT MAKE ME DESTROY YOU.”

  Will answered the door and smiled at me. “Hey, Harry. Wow, your face is . . . manly.”

  “Chicks dig scars,” I said.

  “Who is it?” came Andi’s voice. It sounded limp, lifeless.

  “It is I, Harry Dresden,” I said solemnly.

  Georgia appeared behind Will, smiling. “Harry.” She looked at my shirt, and my gaming stuff. “Oh . . . we weren’t really going to . . .”

  Kirby had been the one who ran the game for us.

  I stepped aside, grabbed the geek standing behind me, and tugged him forward. “This is Waldo Butters,” I said. “And his geek penis is longer and harder than all of ours put together.”

  Butters blinked, first at Georgia and Will, and then at me. “Oh,” he said. “Um. Thank you?”

  Will looked from Butters to me, his eyes searching. “What is this?” he asked gently.

  “Life,” I said. “It keeps going. Butters says he can handle an Arcanos game. Or he can run a bunch of other ones if we want to try something new.” I cleared my throat. “If you like, we can go over to my place. Change of view and so on.”

  Georgia looked at me and gave me a small and grateful smile.

  Will looked at me uncertainly. Then he turned back into the apartment. “Andi?”

  She appeared beside Georgia. Andi looked absolutely withered. Multiple broken ribs and major surgery will do that to you. She was on her feet and moving, but it was clear that she’d been staying with Will and Georgia so that they could help care for her until she recovered.

  I smiled at Andi and said, “I don’t think Kirby would want us to stop playing completely. What do you think? I mean it won’t be the same game, but it might be fun.”

  She looked at me and then at Butters. Then she gave me a little smile and nodded.

  Will swung the door open wide, and we went inside, where I introduced Butters to everyone and produced several bottles of Mac’s best ale.

  See, here’s the thing. Morgan was right: you can’t win them all.

  But that doesn’t mean that you give up. Not ever. Morgan never said that part—he was too busy living it.

  I closed the door behind me, while life went on.

  Author’s Note

  When I was seven years old, I got a bad case of strep throat and was out of school for a whole week. During that time, my sisters bought me my first fantasy and sci-fi novels: the boxed set of Lord of the Rings and the boxed set of Han Solo adventure novels by Brian Daley. I devoured them all during that week.

  From that point on, I was pretty much doomed to join SF&F fandom. From there, it was only one more step to decide I wanted to be a writer of my favorite fiction material, and here we are.

  I blame my sisters.

  My first love as a fan is swords-and-horses fantasy. After Tolkien I went after C. S. Lewis. After Lewis, it was Lloyd Alexander. After them came Fritz Leiber, Roger Zelazny, Robert Howard, John Norman, Poul Anderson, David Eddings, Weis and Hickman, Terry Brooks, Elizabeth Moon, Glen Cook, and before I knew it, I was a dual citizen of the United States and Lankhmar, Narnia, Gor, Cimmeria, Krynn, Amber—you get the picture.

  When I set out to become a writer, I spent years writing swords-and-horses fantasy novels—and seemed to have little innate talent for it. But I worked at my writing, branching out into other areas as experiments, including SF, mystery, and contemporary fantasy. That’s how the Dresden Files initially came about—as a happy accident while trying to accomplish something else. Sort of like penicillin.

  But I never forgot my first love, and to my immense delight and excitement, one day I got a call from my agent and found out that I was going to get to share my newest swords-and-horses fantasy novel with other fans.

  The Codex Alera is a fantasy series set within the savage world of Carna, where spirits of the elements, known as furies, lurk in ever facet of life, and where many intelligent races vie for security and survival. The realm of Alera is the monolithic civi
lization of humanity, and its unique ability to harness and command the furies is all that enables its survival in the face of the enormous sometimes hostile elemental powers of Carna, and against savage creatures who would lay Alera in waste and ruin.

  Yet even a realm as powerful as Alera is not immune to destruction from within, and the death of the heir apparent to the Crown has triggered a frenzy of ambitious political maneuvering and infighting amongst the High Lords, those who wield the most powerful furies known to man. Plots are afoot, traitors and spies abound, and a civil war seems inevitable—all while the enemies of the realm watch, ready to strike at the first sign of weakness.

  Tavi is a young man living on the frontier of Aleran civilization—because let’s face it, swords-and-horses fantasies start there. Born a freak, unable to utilize any powers of furycrafting whatsoever, Tavi has grown up relying up on his own wits, speed, and courage to survive. When an ambitious plot to discredit the Crown lays Tavi’s home, the Calderon Valley, naked and defenseless before a horde of the barbarian Marat, the boy and his family find themselves directly in harm’s way.

  There are no titanic High Lords to protect them, no Legions, no Knights with their mighty furies to take the field. Tavi and the free frontiersmen of the Calderon Valley must find some way to uncover the plot and to defend their homes against merciless horde of the Marat and their beasts.

  It is a desperate hour, when the fate of all Alera hangs in the balance, when a handful of ordinary steadholders must find the courage and strength to defy an overwhelming foe, and when the courage and intelligence of one young man will save the Realm—or destroy it.

  Thank you, readers and fellow fans, for all of your support and kindness. I hope that you enjoy reading the books of the Codex Alera as much as I enjoyed creating them for you.

  —Jim

  Furies of Calderon, Academ’s Fury, Cursor’s Fury,

  Captain’s Fury, and Princeps’ Fury are available

  from Ace Books.

  ALSO BY JIM BUTCHER

  THE DRESDEN FILES