SMALL FAVOR tdf-10

by Jim Butcher

  “Connect the dots with magic,” Molly said. “Cool.”

  “Exactly,” Luccio said. “The only method that would have a chance of restraining the Archive’s power would be the use of a greater circle-and one that uses an enormous amount of energy, at that.”

  I grunted acknowledgment. “It would have to be dead solid perfect, too, or she could break loose at the flaw.”

  “Correct.”

  “How much energy are we talking about?” I asked her.

  “You might be able to empower such a circle for half an hour or an hour, Dresden. I couldn’t have kept it up that long, even before my, ah”-she waved a hand down at herself-“accident.”

  “So it would take loads of power,” I mused. “So how are they powering it?”

  “That’s the real question,” she said. “After all, the Sign they raised at the Aquarium suggests that they have an ample supply.”

  I shook my head. “No,” I stated. “That was Hellfire.”

  Luccio pursed her lips. “You seem fairly certain of that.”

  “I seem completely certain of that,” I said. “It’s powerful as Hell, literally, but it isn’t stable. It fluctuates and stutters. That’s why they couldn’t keep the Sign up any longer than they did.”

  “To imprison the Archive, they would need a steady, flawless supply,” Luccio said. “A supply that big would also be able to support a very complex veil-one that could shield them from any tracking spell. In fact, it’s the only way they could establish a veil that impenetrable.”

  “Ley lines,” I breathed.

  “Ley lines,” she said with satisfaction.

  “I know of a couple around town, but I didn’t realize there were that many of the things,” I said.

  “The Great Lakes region is rife with them,” Luccio said. “It’s an energy nexus.”

  “So?” Molly asked. “What does that mean?”

  “Well, it’s one reason why so much supernatural activity tends to happen in this area,” I said. “Three times as many ships and planes have vanished in Lake Michigan as in the Bermuda Triangle.”

  “Wow,” Molly said. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Next summer I think I’ll stick to the pool.”

  Luccio started tracing various lines on the map with a fingertip. “The colors denote what manner of energy seems to be most prevalent in the line. Defensive energy here. Disruptive force here, restorative lines here and here, and so on. The thickness of the line indicates its relative potency.”

  “Right, right,” I said, growing excited. “So we’re looking for an energy source compatible with the use of a greater circle, and strong enough to keep a big one powered up and stable.”

  “And there are four locations that I think are most likely,” Luccio said. She pointed up toward the north end of Lake Michigan. “North and South Manitou islands both have heavy concentrations of dark energy running through them.”

  “There’s plenty of spook stories around them, too,” I said. “But that’s better than two hundred miles away. If I were Nicodemus, I wouldn’t want to risk moving her that far.”

  “Agreed. A third runs directly beneath the Field Museum.” She glanced up at me and arched an eyebrow as her voice turned dry. “But I think you’re already familiar with that one.”

  “I was going to put the dinosaur back,” I said. “But I was unconscious.”

  “Which brings us to number four,” Luccio said. Her fingertip came to rest on a cluster of tiny islands out in the center of the lake, northeast of the city, and the heavy, dark purple line running through it. “Here.”

  Molly leaned across me and frowned down at the map. “There aren’t any islands in that part of Lake Michigan. It’s all open water.”

  “Listens-to-Wind gave this map to me, Miss Carpenter,” Luccio said seriously. “He’s spent several centuries living in this general region.”

  I grunted. “I hear a lot of things. I think that there are some islands out there. They were used as bases for wilderness fighters in several wars. Bootleggers used them as a transfer point for running booze in from Canada, back in the Prohibition days. But there were always stories around them.”

  Molly frowned. “What kind of stories?”

  I shrugged. “The usual scary stuff. Hauntings. People driven insane by unknown forces. People dragged into the water by creatures unknown, or found slaughtered by weaponry several centuries out-of-date.”

  “Then why aren’t they on the maps and stuff?” Molly asked.

  “The islands are dangerous,” I said. “Long way from any help, and the lake can be awfully mean in the winter. There are stone reefs out there, too, that could gut a boat that came too close. Maybe someone down at city hall figured that the islands would prove less of a temptation to people if everyone thought they were just stories, and invested some effort in removing them from the public record.”

  “That wouldn’t be possible,” Molly said.

  “It might be,” Luccio responded. “The energies concentrated around those islands would tend to make people unconsciously avoid them. If one did not have a firm destination fixed in mind, the vast majority of people in the area would swing around the islands without ever realizing what they were doing.”

  I grunted. “And if there’s that much bad mojo spinning around out there, it would play merry hell with navigational gear. Twenty bucks says that the major flight lanes don’t come within five miles of the place.” I thumped my finger on the spot and nodded. “It feels right. She’s there.”

  “If she is,” Molly asked, “then what do we do about it?”

  Luccio tilted her head at me, frowning.

  “Captain, I assume you already contacted the Council about getting reinforcements?”

  “Yes,” she said. “They’ll be here as soon as possible-which is about nine hours from now.”

  “Not fast enough,” I said, and narrowed my eyes in thought. “So we call in some favors.”

  “Favors?” Luccio asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I know a guy with a boat.”

  Chapter Forty

  I rushed around setting up details for the next half an hour. Everyone left to get into position except for me, Molly, and Kincaid. And Mouse.

  My dog was clearly upset that I wasn’t going to be bringing him along, and though he dutifully settled down on the floor near Molly’s feet, he looked absolutely miserable.

  “Sorry, boy,” I told him. “I want you here to help Molly and warn her about any danger.”

  He sighed.

  “I got along just fine without you for quite a while,” I told him. “Don’t you worry about me.”

  He rolled onto his back and gave me another pathetic look.

  “Hah. Just trying to cadge a tummy rub. I knew it.” I leaned down and obliged him.

  A minute later the back door opened, and Thomas came in. “Finally,” he said. “I’ve been sitting in my car so long, I think I left a dent in the seat.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I’ll live. What can I do to help?”

  “Get back in your car and give me a ride to my place.”

  Thomas gave me a level look. Then he muttered something under his breath, pulled his keys out of his pocket, and stalked back out into the snow.

  “You’re horrible,” Molly said, grinning.

  “What?” I said. “I’m expressing my brotherly affection.”

  I shrugged into my coat and picked up my staff. “Remember the plan?”

  “Man the phone,” Molly said, ticking off each point on her fingers. “Keep my eyes open. Make sure Mouse stays in the same room as me. Check on Kincaid every fifteen minutes.”

  At one time she would have been sullen about the prospect of being forced to sit at home when something exciting was under way-but she had grown up enough to realize just how dangerous things could be out there, and to respect her own limitations. Molly was extraordinarily sensitive when it came to the various energies of magic.
It was one of the things that made her so good at psycho-mancy and neuromancy. It also meant that when violent personal or supernatural events started happening, she experienced them in such agonizing clarity that it would often incapacitate her altogether, at least for a few minutes. Combat magic was never going to be her strong suit, and in a real conflict she could prove to be a lethal liability to her own allies.

  But at least the kid knew it. She might not like it very much, but she’d applied herself diligently to finding other ways to help fight the good fight. I was proud of her.

  “And don’t forget your homework,” I said.

  She frowned. “I still don’t understand why you want to know about our family tree.”

  “Humor me, grasshopper. I’ll buy you a snow cone.”

  She glanced out the window at the world of white outside. “Goody.” She looked back at me and gave me a small, worried smile. “Be careful.”

  “Hey, there were almost twenty of these losers at the Shedd. Now we’re down to six.”

  “The six smartest, strongest, and oldest,” Molly said. “The ones who really matter.”

  “Thank you for your optimism,” I said, and turned to go. “Lock up behind me.”

  Molly bit her lip. “Harry?”

  I paused.

  Her voice was very small. “Look out for my dad. Okay?”

  I turned and met her eyes. I drew an X over my heart and nodded.

  She blinked her eyes quickly several times and gave me another smile. “All right.”

  “Lock the door,” I told her again, and trudged out into the snow. The lock clicked shut behind me, and Molly watched me slog through the snow to the street. Thomas’s military moving van came rumbling through the snow, tires crunching, and I got in.

  He turned the heater up a little while I stomped snow off of my shoes.

  “So,” he said, starting down the street. “What’s the plan?”

  I told him.

  “That is a bad plan,” he said.

  “There wasn’t time for a good one.”

  He grunted. “November is not a good time to be sailing on Lake Michigan, Harry.”

  “The aftermath of a nuclear holocaust isn’t a good time to be sailing there, either.”

  Thomas frowned. “You aren’t just running your mouth, here, are you? You’re serious?”

  “It’s a worst-case scenario,” I said. “But Nicodemus could do it, so we’ve got to proceed under the presumption that his intentions are in that category. The Denarians want to disrupt civilization, and with the Archive under their control, they could do it. Maybe they’d use biological or chemical weapons instead. Maybe they’d crash the world economy. Maybe they’d turn every program on television into one of those reality shows.”

  “That’s mostly done already, Harry.”

  “Oh. Well. I’ve got to believe that the world is worth saving anyway.” We traded forced grins. “Regardless of what they do, the potential for Really Bad Things is just too damned high to ignore, and we need all the help we can get.”

  “Even help from one of those dastardly White Court fiends?” Thomas asked.

  “Exactly.”

  “Good. I was getting tired of dodging Luccio. There’s a limited amount of help I can give you if I have to stay out of sight all the time.”

  “It’s necessary. If the Council knew that you and I were related…”

  “I know, I know,” Thomas said, scowling. “Outcast leper unclean.”

  I sighed and shook my head. Given that the White Court’s modus operandi generally consisted of twisting people’s minds around in one of several ways, I didn’t dare let anyone on the Council know that Thomas was my friend, let alone my half brother. Everyone would immediately assume the worst-that the White Court had gotten to me and was controlling my head through Thomas. And even if I convinced them that it wasn’t the case, it would look suspicious as hell. The Council would demand I demonstrate loyalty, attempt to use Thomas as a spy against the White Court, and in general behave like the pompous, overbearing assholes that they are.

  It wasn’t easy for either of us to live with-but it wasn’t going to change, either.

  We got to my apartment and I rushed inside. It was cold. The fire had burned down to nothing in the time I’d been gone. I lifted my hand and murmured under my breath, the spell lighting half a dozen candles at the same time. I grabbed everything I was going to need, waved the candles out again, and hurried back out to Thomas’s car.

  “You’ve got Mom’s pentacle with you, right?” I asked him. I had a matching pendant on a silver chain around my own neck-which, other than Thomas, was my mother’s only tangible legacy.

  “Of course,” he said. “I’ll find you. Where now?”

  “St. Mary’s,” I said.

  “Figured.”

  Thomas started driving. I broke open my double-barreled shotgun, which I’d sawed down to an illegal length, and loaded two shells into it. Tessa the Mantis Girl had rudely neglected to return my.44 after the conclusion of hostilities at the Aquarium, and I have rarely regretted taking a gun with me into what could prove to be a hairy situation.

  “Here,” I said when the truck got within a block or so of the church. “Drop me off here.”

  “Gotcha,” Thomas said. “Hey, Harry.”

  “Yeah?”

  “What if they aren’t keeping the little girl on the island?”

  I shook my head. “You’ll just have to figure something out. I’m making this up as I go.”

  He frowned and shook his head. “What about those goons from Summer? What are you going to do if they show up again?”

  “If? I should be so lucky.” I winked at him and got out of the Hummer. “The real question is, what am I going to do if they don’t show up, and at the worst possible time to boot? Die of shock, probably.”

  “See you soon,” Thomas said.

  I nodded to my brother, shut the door, and trudged across the street and into the parking lot of St. Mary of the Angels.

  It’s a big church. A really, really big church. It takes up a full city block, and is one of the town’s more famous landmarks, Chicago’s version of Notre Dame. The drive leading up to the delivery doors in the back of the church had been cleared, as had the little parking lot outside it. Michael’s truck was there. The ambient glow of winter night showed me his form and Sanya’s, standing outside the truck, both of them wearing long white cloaks emblazoned with scarlet crosses over similarly decorated white surcoats-the Sunday-go-to-meeting wear of the Knights of the Cross. They wore their swords at their hips. Michael wore an honest-to-God breastplate, while Sanya opted for more modern body armor. The big Russian, always the practical progressive, also carried a Kalashnikov assault rifle on a sling over his shoulder.

  I wondered if Sanya realized that Michael’s antiquated-looking breastplate was lined with Kevlar and ballistic strike plates. The Russian’s gear wouldn’t do diddly to stop swords or claws.

  I’d made some modification to my own gear as well. The thong that usually secured my blasting rod, on the inside of my duster, now held up my shotgun. I’d tied a similar strip of leather thong to either end of the simple wooden cane that held Fidelacchius, and now carried the holy blade slung over my shoulder.

  Michael nodded to me and then glanced down at his watch. “You’re cutting it a little fine, aren’t you?”

  “Punctuality is for people with nothing better to do,” I said.

  “Or for those who have already taken care of the other details,” murmured a woman’s voice.

  She stepped out of the shadows across the street, a tall and striking woman in motorcycle leathers. She had eyes that were the warm brown shade of hot chocolate, and her hair was dark and braided tightly against her head. She wore no makeup, but even without it she was a knockout. It was the expression on her face that tipped me off to who she was-sadness mingled with regret and steely resolve.

  “Rosanna,” I said quietly.

  “Wizard.
” She strode toward us, somehow arrogant and reserved at the same time, her hips rolling as she walked. The jacket was open almost all the way to her belly button, and there was nothing but skin showing where it was parted. Her eyes, however, remained on the Knights. “These two were not a part of the arrangements.”

  “And it was supposed to be Nicodemus that met me,” I said. “Not you.”

  “Circumstances necessitated a change,” Rosanna replied.

  I shrugged one shoulder-the one bearing Fidelacchius. “Same here.”

  “What circumstances are those?” Rosanna demanded.

  “The ones where I’m dealing with a pack of two-faced, backstabbing, treacherous, murderous lunatics whom I trust no farther than I can kick.”

  She regarded me with level, lovely eyes. “And what is the Knights’ intended role?”

  “They’re here to build trust.”

  “Trust?” she asked.

  “Absolutely. I can kick you a lot farther when they’re around.”

  A very small smile touched her mouth. She inclined her head slightly to me. Then she turned to Sanya. “Those colors hardly suit you, animal. Though it is more than agreeable to see you again.”

  “I am not that man anymore, Rosanna,” Sanya replied. “I have changed.”

  “No, you haven’t,” Rosanna said, those warm eyes locked onto Sanya’s now. “You still long for the fray. Still love the fight. Still revel in bloodshed. That was never Magog. That was always you, my beast.”

  Sanya shook his head with a faint smile. “I still enjoy a fight,” he said. “I simply choose them a bit more carefully now.”

  “It isn’t too late, you know,” Rosanna said. “Make a gift of that toy to my lord and my lady. They will accept you again with open arms.” She took a step toward him. “You could be with me again, animal. You could have me again.”

  Something very odd happened to her voice on the last couple of sentences. It became…thicker somehow, richer, more musical. The individual sounds seemed to have little to do with meaning-but the voice itself carried a honey-slow swirl of sensuality and desire that felt like it was going to glide into my ears and start glowing gently inside my brain. I was only on the fringe of it, too, and had gotten only a watered-down version of the promise contained in that voice. Sanya got it at full potency.