by Jim Butcher
“By the way,” he asked, “where do you want to go?”
“First things first,” I said. “I need food.”
“You need sleep.”
“Tick-tock. Food will do for now.” I pointed. “There, an IHOP.”
He hauled the big truck into a slow, steady turn. “Then what?”
“I ask people impertinent questions,” I said. “Hopefully turning up pertinent answers.”
“Assuming someone doesn’t kill you while you do.”
“That’s why I’m bringing my very own vampire bodyguard.”
Thomas parked across three spaces in the tiny, otherwise unoccupied lot of an International House of Pancakes.
“I like the scarf,” I said. I leaned over and inhaled through my nose as best I could. It stung, but I detected a faint whiff of vanilla and strawberries. “She make it for you?”
Thomas nodded without saying anything. The leather-gloved fingers of one hand traced over the soft, simple yarn. He looked quietly sad. I felt bad for mentioning Justine, my brother’s lost lover. Then I understood why he wore the gloves: If she’d made it for him, a token of her love, he didn’t dare touch it with his skin. It would sear him like a hot skillet. So he kept it close enough for him to smell her touch upon it, but he didn’t dare let it brush against him.
Every time I think my romantic life is a wasteland, I look at my brother and see how much worse it could be.
Thomas shook his head and killed the engine and we sat for a moment in silence.
So I clearly heard a deep male voice outside the truck say, “Don’t either of you move.” There was the distinct click-clack of a shotgun’s pump working. “Or I will kill you.”
Chapter Nine
W hen there’s a gun pointed at you, you’ve got two options: Either you move, fast and unexpectedly, and hope that you get lucky, or you freeze and try to talk your way clear. Given that I had really limited room in which to attempt to dodge or run, I went with option B: I held still.
“I don’t suppose,” I asked hopefully, “that this is the full military model?”
“It has individually heated seats and a six-disk CD changer,” Thomas said.
I scowled. “Uh-huh. Those are way cooler than silly features like armor and bulletproof glass.”
“Hey,” Thomas said, “it’s not my fault you have special needs.”
“Harry,” said the man with the shotgun, “hold up your right hand, please.”
I arched an eyebrow at that. Typically the vocabulary of thugs holding guns to your head ran a little light on courtesy phrases like please.
“You want me to kill him?” Thomas murmured, barely audible.
I twitched my head in a tiny negative motion. Then I lifted up my right hand, fingers spread.
“Turn it around,” said the man outside. “Let me see the inside of your wrist.”
I did.
“Oh, thank God,” breathed the voice.
I’d finally placed it. I turned my head to one side and said through the glass, “Hey, there, Fix. Is that a shotgun you’re holding to my head, or are you just glad to see me?”
Fix was a young, slender man of medium height. His hair was silver-white and very fine, and though no one would ever accuse him of beauty, there was a confidence and surety in his plain features that gave them a certain appeal. He was a far cry from the nervous, scrawny kid I’d first met several years ago.
He wore jeans and a green silk shirt-nothing more. He obviously should have been freezing, and he just as obviously wasn’t. The thickly falling snowflakes weren’t striking him. Every single one seemed to find its way to the ground around him somehow. He held a pump-action shotgun with a long barrel against his shoulder, and wore a sword on a belt at his hip.
“Harry,” he said, his voice steady. His tone wasn’t hostile. “Can we have a polite talk?”
“We probably could have,” I said, “if you hadn’t started off by pointing a gun at my head.”
“A necessary precaution,” he said. “I needed to be sure you hadn’t taken Mab’s offer.”
“And become the new Winter Knight?” I asked. “You could have asked me, Fix.”
“If you’d become Mab’s creature,” Fix said, “you would have lied. It would have changed you. Made you an extension of her will. I couldn’t trust you.”
“You’re the Summer Knight,” I replied. “So I can’t help but wonder if that wouldn’t make you just as controlled and untrustworthy. Summer’s not all that happy with me right now, apparently. Maybe you’re just an extension of Summer’s will.”
Fix stared at me down the barrel of the shotgun. Then he lowered it abruptly and said, “Touchй.”
Thomas produced from nowhere a semiautomatic pistol scaled to fit his truck, and had it trained on Fix’s head before the other man had finished speaking the second syllable of the word.
Fix’s eyes widened. “Holy crap.”
I sighed and took the gun gently from Thomas’s grip. “Now, now. Let’s not give him the wrong idea about the nature of this conversation.”
Fix let out a slow breath. “Thank you, Harry. I-”
I pointed the gun at Fix’s head, and he froze with his mouth partly open.
“Lose the shotgun,” I told him. I made no effort to sound friendly.
His mouth closed and his lips pressed into a thin line, but he obeyed.
“Step back,” I said.
He did it.
I got out of the car, carefully keeping the gun trained on his head. I recovered the shotgun and passed it back to Thomas. Then I faced the silver-haired Summer Knight in dead silence while the snow fell.
“Fix,” I said quietly, after a moment had passed. “I know you’ve been spending a lot of time in the supernatural circles lately. I know that plain old things like guns don’t seem like a significant threat, in some ways. I know that you probably meant it as a message, that you weren’t coming after me with everything you could bring to bear, and that I was supposed to consider it a token of moderation.” I squinted down the sight of Thomas’s gun. “But you crossed a line. You pointed a gun at my head. Friends don’t do that.”
More silence and snowfall.
“Point another weapon at me,” I said quietly, “and you’d damned well better pull the trigger. Do you understand me?”
Fix’s eyes narrowed. He nodded once.
I let him look down the gun’s barrel for a few more seconds and then lowered it. “It’s cold,” I said. “What do you want?”
“I came here to warn you, Harry,” Fix said. “I know Mab has chosen you to act as her Emissary. You don’t know what you’re getting into. I came to tell you to stand clear of it.”
“Or what?”
“Or you’re going to get hurt,” Fix said quietly. He sounded tired. “Maybe killed. And there’s going to be collateral damage along the way.” He held up a hand and continued, hurriedly, “Please understand. I’m not threatening you, Harry. I’m just telling you about consequences.”
“I’d have an easier time believing that if you hadn’t opened the conversation by threatening to kill me,” I said.
“The last Summer Knight was murdered by his Winter counterpart,” Fix replied. “In fact, that’s how most of them die. If you’d taken service with Mab, I wouldn’t stand a chance in a fair fight against you, and we both know it. I did what I had to in order to warn you and still protect myself.”
“Oh,” I said. “It was a precautionary shotgun aimed at my skull. That makes it different.”
“Dammit, Dresden,” Fix said. “What do I have to do to get you to listen to me?”
“Behave in a vaguely trustworthy fashion,” I said. “For instance, next time you know that Summer’s hitters are about to make a run at me, maybe you could call me on a telephone and give me a little heads-up.”
Fix grimaced. His face twisted into an expression of effort. When he spoke his jaws stayed locked together, but I could, with difficulty, understand the words. “Wan
ted to.”
“Oh,” I said. A big chunk of my anger evaporated. It was probably just as well. Fix wasn’t the one who deserved to be on the receiving end of it. “I can’t back off.”
He drew in a breath and nodded as if in comprehension. “Mab’s got a handle on you.”
“For now.”
He gave me a rather bleak smile. “She isn’t the sort to let go of anyone she wants to keep.”
“And I’m not the sort who gets kept,” I replied.
“Maybe not,” Fix said, but he sounded dubious. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider?”
“We’re going to have to agree to disagree.”
“Jesus,” Fix said, looking away. “I don’t want to square off against you, Dresden.”
“Then don’t.”
He stared quietly at me, his expression serious. “I can’t back off, either. I like you, Harry. But I can’t make you any promises.”
“We’re playing for opposite teams,” I said. “Nothing personal. But we’ll do what we have to do.”
Fix nodded.
We didn’t speak for almost a minute.
Then I laid the shotgun down in the snow, nodded, and got back into Thomas’s truck. I gave the huge automatic back to my brother. Fix made no move toward the shotgun.
“Harry,” he said, as the truck started to pull out. His mouth twitched a few times before he blurted, “Remember the leaf Lily gave you.”
I frowned at him, but nodded.
Thomas got the truck moving again and started driving. Windshield wipers squeaked. Snow crunched beneath tires, a steady white noise.
“Okay,” Thomas said. “What was that all about? Guy’s supposed to be a friend, and he screwed you over. I thought you were going to pistol-whip him for a minute. Then you start getting all teary-eyed.”
“Metaphorically speaking,” I said tiredly.
“You know what I mean.”
“He’s under a geas, Thomas.”
Thomas frowned. “Lily’s got him in a brain-lock?”
“I doubt she’d do that to Fix. They go back.”
“Who, then?”
“My money is on Titania, the Summer Queen. If she told him to keep his mouth shut and not to help me, he wouldn’t get a choice in the matter. Probably why he showed up armed and tried to intimidate me. He wouldn’t be able to speak to me outright, but if he’s delivering a threat in order to further Titania’s plans, it might let him get around the geas.”
“Seems pretty thin to me. You believe him?”
“Titania’s done it to him before. And she doesn’t really like me.”
“You kill someone’s daughter, that happens,” he said.
I shrugged wearily, tired to my bones. The combination of pain, cold, and multiple bursts of adrenaline had worn me down a lot more than I had realized. I couldn’t stop another yawn.
“What was he talking about as we pulled out?”
“Oh,” I mumbled. “After that mess at Arctis Tor, Lily gave me a silver pin in the shape of an oak leaf. It makes me an Esquire of Summer. Supposedly I can use it to whistle up help from Titania’s Court. It’s their way of balancing the scales for what we did.”
“Never a bad thing to be owed a favor,” Thomas agreed. “You got it on you?”
“Yeah,” I said. It was, in fact, in a little ring box within the inner coat of my duster. I got it out and showed it to Thomas.
He whistled. “Gorgeous work.”
“The Sidhe know pretty,” I agreed.
“Maybe you can use it and get them to back off.”
I snorted. “It’s never that simple. Titania could decide that the best way to help me would be to break my back, paralyze me from the waist down, and dump me into a hospital bed so her gruffs won’t have to kill me.”
Thomas grunted. “Then why would Fix mention it?”
“Maybe he was compelled to,” I said. “Maybe Titania’s hoping I’ll call for help and she’ll have a chance to squash me personally. Or maybe…”
I let my voice trail off for a moment, while I kicked my punch-drunk brain in the stomach until it threw up an idea.
“Or maybe,” I said, “because he wanted to warn me about it. The gruffs have found me twice now, and they haven’t been physically tailing or tracking me. Neither location was one of my regular hangouts. And how did Fix find me just now, in the middle of a blizzard? He sure as hell didn’t coincidentally pick a random IHOP.”
Thomas’s eyes widened in realization. “It’s a tracking device.”
I scowled at the beautiful little silver leaf and said, not without a certain amount of grudging admiration, “Titania. That conniving bitch.”
“Damn,” Thomas said. “I feel a little bad for pointing a gun at the shrimp, now.”
“I probably would, too,” I said, “if I wasn’t so weirded out by the fact that Fix is starting to be as crabwise and squirrelly as the rest of the Sidhe.”
Thomas grunted. “Better get rid of that thing before more of them show up.”
He hit the control that lowered the passenger window. It coughed and rattled a little before it jerked into motion, instead of smoothly gliding down. Wizards and technology don’t get along so well. To high-tech equipment I am the living avatar of Murphy’s Law: The longer I stayed in Thomas’s shiny new oil tanker, the more all the things that could go wrong, would go wrong.
I lifted the leaf to chuck it out, but something made me hesitate. “No,” I murmured.
Thomas blinked. “No?”
“No,” I said with more certainty, closing my hand around the treacherous silver leaf. “I’ve got a better idea.”
Chapter Ten
I finished the spell that I thought would keep the gruffs busy and climbed wearily out of my lab to find Thomas sitting by the fireplace. My big grey dog, Mouse, lay beside him, his fur reflecting highlights of reddened silver in the firelight, watching Thomas’s work with interest.
My brother sat cross-legged on the floor, with my gun lying disassembled on a soft leather cloth upon the hearth. He frowned in concentration as he cleaned the pieces of the weapon with a brush, a soft cloth, and a small bottle of oil.
Mister, my hyperthyroid tomcat, bounded over the minute I opened the trapdoor to the lab, and hurried down the folding staircase into the subbasement.
“Go get ’em, tiger,” I muttered after him by way of encouragement. “Make them run their little hooves off.”
I left the door open, heaved myself to the couch, and collapsed. Mouse’s tail thumped the floor gently.
“You all right?” Thomas asked.
“Tired,” I said. “Big spell.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, working industriously on the weapon’s barrel. “What building did you burn down?”
“Your apartment, if you don’t lay off the wiseass commentary,” I said. “Give me a minute and we’ll get moving.”
Thomas gave me a sidelong, calculating look. “I needed another minute or two anyway. When’s the last time you cleaned this thing?”
“Uh. Who’s the president now?”
Thomas clucked his teeth in disapproval and returned to the gun. “Let me know when you’re ready.”
“Just give me a minute to catch my breath,” I said.
When I woke up there was dim light coming from my mostly buried basement windows, and my neck felt like the bones had been welded together by a badly trained contractor. The various beatings I’d received the night before had formed a corporation and were attempting a hostile takeover of my nervous system. I groaned and looked around.
Thomas was sitting with his back against the wall beside the fireplace, as relaxed and patient as any tiger. His gun, mine, and the bent-bladed kukri knife he’d favored lately lay close at hand.
Down in my lab something clattered to the floor from one of the shelves or tables. I heard Mister’s paws scampering over the metal surface of the center table.
“What are you grinning at?” my brother asked.
“Mist
er,” I said.
“He’s been knocking around down there all morning,” Thomas said. “I was going to go round him up before he broke something, but the skull told me to leave him alone.”
“Yeah,” I said. I creaked to my feet and shuffled to my little alcove with delusions of kitchenhood. I got out the bottle of aspirin and downed them with a glass of water. “For your own safety. Mister gets upset when someone gets between him and his packet of catnip.”
I shuffled over to the lab and peered down. Sure enough, the little cloth bag containing catnip and the silver oak leaf pin still hung from the extra-large rubber band I’d snipped and fixed to the ceiling directly over Little Chicago. As I watched, Mister hopped up onto a worktable, then bounded into the air to bat at the cloth bag. He dragged it down to the table with him, claws hooked in the fabric, and landed on the model of Lincoln Park. My cat rubbed his face ecstatically against the bag for a moment, then released it and batted playfully at it as the rubber band sent it rebounding back and forth near him.
Then he seemed to realize he was being watched. He turned his face up to me, meowed smugly, flicked the stub of his tail jauntily, and hopped to the floor.
“Bob?” I called. “Is the spell still working?”
“Aye, Cap’n!” Bob said. “Arrrrr!”
“What’s with that?” Thomas murmured from right beside me.
I twitched hard enough to take me up off the floor, and glared at him. “Would you stop doing that?”
He nodded, his expression serious, but I could see the corners of his mouth quivering with the effort not to smile. “Right. Forgot.”
I growled and called him something unkind, yet accurate. “He wouldn’t stop begging me to take him to see that pirate movie. So I took him with me the last time I went to the drive-in down in Aurora, and he got into it. It’s been dying down, but if he calls me ‘matey’ one more time I’ll snap.”
“That’s interesting,” Thomas said, “but that’s not what I was asking about.”
