The Dresden Files Collection 7-12

by Jim Butcher

  Sanya, Murphy, Martin—Look, you get the picture. There were a lot of people standing around who were more prepared than me. They didn’t have super-duper faerie godmother presents, but they had brains, and it was a sobering reminder to me of which was more important.

  We got finished running a line from the front of the group to the back (except for my godmother, who sniffed disdainfully at the notion of being tied to a bunch of mortals), and I took several deep breaths and opened the next Way.

  Mom’s notes on this Waypoint hadn’t mentioned that the water was cold. And I don’t mean cold like your roommate used most of the hot water. I mean cold like I suddenly had to wonder if I was going to trip over a seal or a penguin or a narwhal or something.

  The cold hit me like a sledgehammer, and it was suddenly all I could do just to keep from shrieking in surprise and discomfort—and, some part of my brain marveled, I was the freaking Winter Knight.

  Though my limbs screamed their desire to contract around my chest and my heart, I fought them and made them paddle. One stroke. Two. Three. Four. Fi—Ow. My nose hit a shelf of rock. I found my will and exhaled, speaking the word Aparturum through a cloud of blobby bubbles that rolled up over my cheeks and eyelashes. I tore open the next Way a little desperately—and water rushed out through it as if thrilled to escape.

  I crashed into the Yucatán jungle on a tide of ectoplasmic slime, and the line we’d strung dragged everyone else through in a rush. Poor Sanya, the last in line, was pulled from his feet, hauled hard through the icy water as if he’d been flushed down a Jotun’s toilet, and then crashed down amidst the slimed forest. Peru to Mexico in three and a half seconds.

  I fumbled back to the Way to close it and stopped the tide of ectoplasm from coming through, but not before the vegetation for ten feet in every direction had been smashed flat by the flood of slime, and every jungle creature for fifty or sixty yards started raising holy hell on the what-the-fuck-was-that party line. Murphy had her gun out, and Molly had a wand in each hand, gripped with white knuckles.

  Martin let out a sudden, coughing bellow that sounded like it must have torn something in his chest—and it was loud, too. And the jungle around us abruptly went silent.

  I blinked and looked at Martin. So did everyone else.

  “Jaguar,” he said in a calm, quiet voice. “They’re extinct here, but the animals don’t know that.”

  “Oooh,” said my godmother, a touch of a child’s glee in her voice. “I like that.”

  It took us a minute to get everyone sorted out. Mouse looked like a scrawny shadow of himself with his fur all plastered down. He was sneezing uncontrollably, having apparently gotten a bunch of water up his nose during the swim. Ectoplasm splattered out with every sneeze. Thomas was in similar straits, having been hauled through much as Sanya was, but he managed to look a great deal more annoyed than Mouse.

  I turned to Lea. “Godmother. I hope you have some way to get us to the temple a little more swiftly.”

  “Absolutely,” Lea purred, calm and regal despite the fact that her hair and her slime-soaked silken dress were now plastered to her body. “And I’ve always wanted to do it, too.” She let out a mocking laugh and waved her hand, and my belly cramped up as if every stomach bug I’d ever had met up in a bar and decided to come get me all at once.

  It. Hurt.

  I knew I’d fallen, and was vaguely aware that I was lying on my side on the ground. I was there for, I don’t know, maybe a minute or so before the pain began to fade. I gasped several times, shook my head, and then slowly pushed myself up onto all fours. Then I fixed the Leanansidhe with a glare and said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Or tried to say that. What came out was something more like, “Grrrrrrbrrrr awwf arrrr grrrrr.”

  My faerie godmother looked at me and began laughing. Genuine, delighted belly laughter. She clapped her hands and bounced up and down, spinning in a circle, and laughed even more.

  I realized then what had happened.

  She had turned us—all of us, except for Mouse—into great, gaunt, long-legged hounds.

  “Wonderful!” Lea said, pirouetting upon one toe, laughing. “Come, children!” And she leapt off into the jungle, nimble and swift as a doe.

  A bunch of us dogs stood around for a moment, just sort of staring at one another.

  And Mouse said, in what sounded to me like perfectly understandable English, “That bitch.”

  We all stared at him.

  Mouse huffed out a breath, shook his beslimed coat, and said, “Follow me.” Then he took off after the Leanansidhe, and, driven by reflex-level instinct, the rest of us raced to catch up.

  I’d been shapeshifted one other time—by the dark magic of a cursed belt, and one that I suspected had been deliberately designed to provide an addictive high with its use. It had taken me a long time to shake off the memory of that experience, the absolute clarity of my senses, the feeling of ready power in my whole body, of absolute certainty in every movement.

  Now I had it back—and this time, without the reality-blurring euphoria. I was intensely aware of the scents around me, of a hundred thousand new smells that begged to be explored, of the rush of sheer physical pleasure in racing across the ground after a friend. I could hear the breath and the bodies of the others around me, running through the night, bounding over stones and fallen trees, slashing through bits of brush and heavy ground cover.

  We could hear small prey animals scattering before us and to either side, and I knew, not just suspected but knew, that I was faster, by far, than any of the merely mortal animals, even the young buck deer who went soaring away from us, leaping a good twenty feet over a waterway. I felt an overwhelming urge to turn in pursuit—but the lead runner in the pack was already on another trail, and I wasn’t sure I could have turned aside if I had tried to do so.

  And the best part? We probably made less noise, as a whole, than any one of us would have made moving in a clumsy mortal body.

  We didn’t cover five miles in half the time, an hour instead of two.

  It took us—maybe, at the most—ten minutes.

  When we stopped, we could all hear the drums. Steady, throbbing drums, keeping a quick, monotonous, trance-inducing beat. The sky to the northwest was bright with the light of reflected fires, and the air seethed with the scents of humans and not-quite humans and creatures that made me growl and want to bite something. Occasionally, a vampire’s cry would run its shrill claws down my spine.

  Lea stood upon a fallen log ahead of us, staring ahead. Mouse walked up to her.

  “Gggrrrr rawf arrrgggrrrrarrrr,” I said.

  Mouse gave me an impatient glance, and somehow—I don’t know if it was something in his body language or what—I became aware that he was telling me to sit down and shut up or he’d come over and make me.

  I sat down. Something in me really didn’t like that idea, but when I looked around, I saw that everyone else had done it too, and that made me feel better.

  Mouse said, again in what sounded like perfectly clear English, “Funny. Now restore them.”

  Lea turned to look at the big dog and said, “Do you dare to give me commands, hound?”

  “Not your hound,” Mouse said. I didn’t know how he was doing it. His mouth wasn’t moving or anything. “Restore them before I rip your ass off. Literally rip it off.”

  The Leanansidhe tilted her head back and let out a low laugh. “You are far from your sources of power here, my dear demon.”

  “I live with a wizard. I cheat.” He took a step toward her and his lips peeled up from his fangs in unmistakable hostility. “You want to restore them? Or do I kill you and get them back that way?”

  Lea narrowed her eyes. Then she said, “You’re bluffing.”

  One of the big dog’s huge, clawed paws dug at the ground, as if bracing him for a leap, and his growl seemed to . . . I looked down and checked. It didn’t seem to shake the ground. The ground was actually shaking for several f
eet in every direction of the dog. Motes of blue light began to fall from his jaws, thickly enough that it looked quite a bit like he was foaming at the mouth. “Try me.”

  The Leanansidhe shook her head slowly. Then she said, “How did Dresden ever win you?”

  “He didn’t,” Mouse said. “I won him.”

  Lea arched an eyebrow as if baffled. Then she shrugged and said, “We have a quest to complete. This bickering does not profit us.” She turned to us, passed a hand through the air in our general direction, and murmured, “Anytime you want it back, dears, just ask. You’d all make gorgeous hounds.”

  Again, agony overwhelmed me, though I felt too weak to scream about it. It took a subjective eternity to pass, but when it did I was myself again, lying on my side, sweating and panting heavily.

  Mouse came over and nuzzled my face, his tail wagging happily. He walked around me, sniffing, and began to nudge me to rise. I got up slowly, and actually braced my hand on his broad, shaggy back at one point. I felt an acute need to be gripping a good solid wizard’s staff again, just to hold me up. I don’t think I’d ever appreciated how much of a psychological advantage (i.e., security blanket) it was, either. But I wouldn’t have one until I’d taken a month or so to make one: Mine had been in the Blue Beetle, and died with it, too.

  I was on my feet before anyone else. I eyed the dog and said, “You can talk. How come I never hear you talk?”

  “Because you don’t know how to listen,” my godmother said simply.

  Mouse wagged his tail and leaned against me happily, looking up at me.

  I rested my hand on his head for a moment and rubbed his ears.

  Screw it.

  The important things don’t need to be said.

  Everyone was getting back up again. The canteens made a round, and I let everyone recover for five minutes or so. There was no point in charging ahead before people could get their breath back and hold a weapon in a steady hand.

  I did say something quietly to Susan, though. She nodded, frowned, and vanished.

  She was back a few minutes later, and reported what she’d found into my ear.

  “All right, people,” I said then, still quietly. “Gather in.”

  I swept a section of the jungle floor clean and drew with my fingertip in the dirt. Martin lit the crude illustration with a red flashlight, one that wouldn’t ruin our night vision and had less chance of being glimpsed by a nearby foe.

  “There are guards stationed all over the big pyramid. The girl is probably there, in the temple on top. That’s where I’m going. Me, Susan, and Lea are going to move up through the gallery, here, and head for the temple.”

  “I’m with Susan,” Martin said. “I go where she does.”

  This wasn’t the time or place to argue. “Me, Susan, Lea, and Martin will go in that way. I want all eyes facing north when we head for the pyramid. So I want the rest of you to circle that way and come in from that direction. Right here, there’s a cattle truck where they’re storing their human sacrifices. Get close and spring them. Raise whatever hell you can, and run fast. Head west. You’ll hit a road. Follow it to a town. Get into the church there. Got it?”

  There was a round of nods and unhappy expressions.

  “With any luck, that will draw off enough of them to let us pull a smash and grab on the temple.

  “Also,” I said, very seriously, “what happens in the Yucatán stays in the Yucatán. There will be no jokes about sniffing butts or chasing tails or anything like that. Ever. Agreed?”

  More sober nods, this time with a few smiles.

  “Okay, folks,” I said. “Just so you know, friends—I’m in your debt, and it’s one I’ll never be able to repay. Thank you.”

  “Gush later,” Murphy said, her tone wry. “Rescue now.”

  “Spoken like a true lady,” I said, and put my hand out. Everyone piled hands. Mouse had to wedge in close to put his paw on the pile. All of us, every single one of us, except maybe my godmother, were visibly, obviously terrified, a circle of shivers and short, fast breaths.

  “Good hunting, people,” I said quietly. “Go.”

  Everyone had just gotten to their feet when the brush rattled, and a half-naked man came sprinting almost directly into us, his expression desperate, his eyes wide with mindless terror. He smashed into Thomas, rebounded off him, and crashed to the ground.

  Before anyone could react, there was a muted rustle, and a Red Court vampire in its black-skinned monstrous form came bounding out of the forest five yards away and, upon seeing us, went rigid with startled shock. An instant later, it tried to reverse its course, its claws gouging at the forest floor.

  I’ve heard it said that no plan survives first contact with the enemy.

  It’s true.

  The vampire let out an earsplitting screech, and all hell broke loose.

  Chapter Forty-two

  A lot of things happened very quickly.

  Mouse rushed forward and caught the vampire by one calf just before it could vanish into the thick brush. He set his legs as the vampire struggled wildly, trying to scream again.

  Martin brought his pistol up in a one-handed grip, six inches of sound suppressor attached to its muzzle. Without hesitating for an instant, Martin took a step to one side for a clear shot and fired on the move. The gun made a sound no louder than a man clearing his throat, and blood spattered from the vampire’s neck. Though it kept struggling, its screams suddenly ended, and it bounded and writhed wildly to maneuver Mouse between itself and Martin.

  That stopped abruptly when Thomas’s falcata took the vampire’s head from its shoulders.

  The half-naked man looked at us, and babbled something in Spanish. Susan answered him with a curt gesture and a harsh tone, and then the man blurted something, nodding emphatically, then turned to keep running into the darkness.

  “Quiet,” I breathed, and everyone dropped silent while I stood quite still, Listening for all I was worth.

  I have a knack, a skill that some people seem to be able to learn. I’m not sure if it’s something biological or magical, but it allows me to hear things I wouldn’t otherwise pick up, and I figured it was a good time for it.

  For a long breath, there was nothing but the continued rumble of the drums.

  Then a horn, something that sounded a bit like a conch, began to blow.

  A chorus of vampire screams arose and it didn’t take any supergood hearing to know that they were headed our way.

  “There. You see?” Sanya said, his tone gently reproving. “Frontal assault.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Murphy said, her tone more disgusted than afraid.

  “He’s right,” I said, my voice hard. “Our only chance is to hit them hard.” We had only a moment, and my mind raced, trying to come up with a plan that resulted in something other than us drowning in a flood of vampires.

  “Harry,” Susan said. “How are we going to do this?”

  “I need Lea,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and steady. “I need Molly.”

  Molly made a squeaking noise.

  I turned to Susan and said, “We do it in two waves.”

  We moved directly toward the enemy, entering the ancient gallery full of columns, and the vampires came boiling out of the shadows to meet us. I don’t know how many of them there were. More than a hundred, less than a million. I stepped out in front of everyone and said, “Attack!”

  Sanya’s battle roar was loudest. He leapt forward, drawing Esperacchius , and blazing light shone forth from the blade.

  Murphy ran forward upon his right, letting out a scream of her own and holding the shining length of Fidelacchius in her hands. An aura of soft blue light had surrounded her. On Sanya’s left, Susan ran, Amoracchius held aloft and wreathed in white fire, and her scream was something primal and terrible. Thomas flanked Murphy. Martin ran next to Susan, and both of them charged forward with blade and pistol in hand.

  I saw the front ranks of vampires hesitate as they saw the pure, terr
ible light of the three Swords coming toward them, but it wasn’t enough to stop the momentum of that horde. It swallowed all five valiant figures in a tidal wave of dark, flabby bodies, claws, fangs, and lashing tongues.

  Suckers.

  I still stood forward of everyone else, and the meeting of the two ranks of combatants brought the horde to a halt. A brief halt, true, something that lasted no more than a handful of seconds—but it was time enough for me to reach down to touch the slow, terrible power of the ley line flowing beneath my feet.

  The temple atop the pyramid in the ruins was the center of the confluence, but ley lines, each one a vast, roaring current of magical energy, radiated out in all directions—and the one beneath us was an enormous current of raw earth magic. Earth magic wasn’t my forte, and I knew only a couple of applications well enough to use them in a fight.

  But one of them was a doozy.

  I reached out and touched the power of that ley line, desperately wishing I had my staff with me to assist with the effort. I could sense the earth magic in my mind, feel it flowing by with a power that vibrated up through the soles of the big, stompy, armor-plated boots my godmother had put on me. I took a deep breath, and then thrust my thoughts down into that power.

  I was immediately overwhelmed with a rush of images and alien sensations, contacting a power so intense and coherent that it nearly had its own awareness. In a single moment, I saw the ponderous dance of continents clashing against one another to form mountains, felt the slow sleepiness of the earth, its dreaming shivers felt as disasters by the ephemeral things that lived upon its skin. I saw wealth and riches beyond petty mortal imagination, gold and silver flowing hot in rivers, precious gems by the millions being born and formed.

  I fought to contain the images, to control them and channel them, focusing all of those sensations into a well I could see only in my imagination, a point deep below the gallery of crumbling old stone that rested next to the pitifully temporary mortal structure on the surface.