by Jim Butcher
“He didn’t mean it, Lord,” Michael said. “Harry? What did you mean?”
I clenched my teeth, eyes flickering around. Everyone was watching me, all the vampires, Mister Ferro, everyone. They all knew what was coming. “The tombstone. It was written on my damned tombstone.”
Bianca watched the realization come over me, still smiling. “Then please, Mavra, accept these minor tokens of my goodwill, and with them my hopes that vengeance and prosperity will belong to you and yours.” She offered forth the case, containing the sword, which Mavra accepted. Bianca then beckoned to the background, and the attendants brought out another covered bundle.
The attendants jerked the cover off of the bundle—Lydia. Her dark, tousled hair had been trimmed into an elegant cut, and she wore a halter and shorts of black Lycra that emphasized her hips, the beauty of her pale limbs. Her eyes stared into the lights, glazed, drugged, and she sagged helplessly between the attendants.
“My God,” Susan said. “What are they going to do with that girl?”
Mavra turned to Lydia, reaching into the case as she did. “Sweet,” her hissing voice rasped. Her eyes went to Michael again. “Now to open my gift. It may tarnish the steel a bit, but I’m sure I’ll get over it.”
Michael drew in a sudden breath.
“What’s going on?” Susan blurted.
“The blood of innocents,” he snarled. “The Sword is vulnerable. She means to unmake it. Harry, we cannot allow it.”
All around me, vampires dropped their wineglasses, slid out of their jackets, bared their scarlet-smeared fangs in slow smiles to me. Bianca started laughing, up above me, as Mavra opened the case and withdrew Amoracchius. The sword seemed to almost chime with an angry sound as the vampire touched it, but Mavra only sneered down at the blade as she lifted the sword.
Thomas moved closer to us, pushing Justine behind him as he drew his sword. “Dresden,” he hissed. “Dresden, don’t be a fool. It’s only one life—one girl’s life and a sword balanced against all of us. If you act now, you condemn us all.”
“Harry?” Susan asked, her voice shaking.
Michael too turned to look at me, his expression grim. “Faith, Dresden. Not all is lost.”
All looked pretty damned lost to me. But I didn’t have to do anything. I didn’t have to lift a finger. All I had to do, to get out of here alive, was to sit still. To do nothing. All I had to do was stand here and watch while they murdered a girl who had come to me a few days before, begging me for protection. All I had to do was ignore her screams as Mavra gutted her. All I had to do was let the monsters destroy one of the major bastions standing against them. All I had to do was let Michael go to his death, claim the protection of the laws of hospitality upon Susan, and I could walk away.
Michael nodded at me, then drew both knives and turned toward the dais.
I closed my eyes. God forgive me for what I’m about to do.
I grabbed Michael’s shoulder before he could start walking. Then I drew the sword blade forth from the cane, holding the cane in my left hand, reversing it in my grip as I drew in my will, sent it coursing down the haft of the cane, caused blue-white light to flare in the runes etched there.
Michael flashed me a fighting grin and took position at my right. Thomas took one look at me and whispered, “We’re dead.” But he fell in at my left, crystalline sword glittering in his hand. A howl went up from the vampires, a sudden wave of deafening sound. Mavra turned her eyes to us, gathering night into the fingers of her free hand again. Bianca slowly rose, dark eyes glowing in triumph. Over to one side, Lea laid her hand on Mister Ferro’s arm, frowning faintly, standing well out of the way.
Mavra hissed, lifting Amoracchius up high.
“Harry?” Susan asked. Her shaking hand touched my shoulder. “What are we going to do?”
“Stay behind me, Susan.” I clenched my teeth. “I guess I’m going to do the right thing.”
Even if it kills me, I thought. And all of you, too.
Chapter Thirty
In games and history books and military science lectures, teachers and old warhorses and other scholarly types lay out diagrams and stand-up models in neat lines and rows. They show you, in a methodical order, how this division forced a hole in that line, or how these troops held their ground when all others broke.
But that’s an illusion. A real struggle between combatants, whether they number dozens or thousands, is something inherently messy, fluid, difficult to follow. The illusion can show you the outcome, but it doesn’t impress upon you the surge and press of bodies, the screams, the fear, the faltering rushes forward or away. Within the battle, everything is wild motion and sound and a blur of impressions that flash by almost before they have time to register. Instinct and reflex rule everything—there isn’t time to think, and if there’s a spare second or two, the only thought in your head is “How do I stay alive?” You’re intensely aware of what is happening around you. It’s an obscure kind of torture, an acute and temporary hell—because one way or another, it doesn’t last long.
A tide of vampires came toward us. They rushed in, animal-swift, a blur of twisted, bulging faces and staring black eyes. Their jaws hung too far open, fangs bared, hissing and howling. One of them held a long spear and shoved it toward Thomas’s pale belly. Justine screamed. Thomas swept the crystalline sword he bore down in an arc, parrying the spear’s tip aside and cutting through the haft.
Undeterred, the spear-wielding vampire came on, and sank its fangs into Thomas’s forearm. Thomas shoved the vamp back, but it held firm. Thomas switched tactics, abruptly lifting the vampire up and clear of the ground, and then rolled the sword’s blade around its belly, splitting it open in a welter of gore. The vampire fell to the ground, a sound bubbling up from his throat that was one part fury and one part agony.
“Their bellies!” Thomas shouted. “Without the blood they’re too weak to fight!”
Michael caught a descending machete’s blade on the metal guard around his forearm, and whipped one of his knives across the belly of the vamp who held it. Blood splattered out of the vamp, and it went down in convulsions. “I know,” Michael snapped back, flashing Thomas an irritated look.
And then he was buried in a swarm of red-clad bodies.
“Michael!” I shouted. I tried to push toward him, but found myself jostled aside. I saw him struggle and drop to one knee, saw the vampires shoving knives at him, and fangs, teeth tearing and worrying, and if any of them were burning, like before, I couldn’t see it.
Kyle Hamilton appeared, across the dogpile over the fallen knight. He bared his fangs at me, and lifted a semiautomatic, one of the expensive models. Gold-plated. “Fare thee well, Dresden.”
I lifted the cane, its runes shimmering blue and white, and snapped. “Venteferro!”
The magic whispered silently out through the runes on the cane. Earth magic isn’t really my forte, but I like to keep my hand in. The runes and the power I willed into the staff reached out and caught the gun in invisible waves of magnetism. I had been worried that the spells I’d laid on the cane might have gone stale, but they were still hanging in there. The gun flew from Kyle’s hands.
I whipped it through the air, into the face of another vamp coming toward Justine. It hit at something just this side of the speed of sound, and sent the thing flying back into the darkness. Justine whirled, as a second vampire came at her, only to have its legs literally scythed out from beneath it by Thomas’s blade.
“Iesu domine!” Michael’s voice rang out from beneath the vampires like a brass army bugle, and with a sudden explosion of pressure and unseen force, bodies flew back and up, away from him, flesh ripped and torn from them, hanging in ragged, bloodless strips like cloth, showing gleaming, oily black flesh beneath. “Domine!” Michael shouted, rising, slewing gutted vamps off of him like a dog shakes off water. “Lava quod est sordium!”
“Come on!” I called, and strode forward, toward the stairs leading up to the dais. Michael had par
ted the scarlet sea, as it were—stunned vampires gathered themselves from the ground or slowed their attack, hovering several feet away, hissing. Susan and Justine caught one of them starting to creep in closer, and discouraged the others from following its example by splattering it with holy water from Susan’s basket. The thing howled and fell back, clawing at its eyes, flopping and wriggling like a half-crushed bug.
“Bianca!” Thomas shouted. “Our only chance is to take out their leader!” A knife flew out of the dark, too fast for me to see. But Thomas did. He reached out and flicked the blade of his sword across its path with a contemptuous swat, deflecting it out.
We reached the foot of the stairs. “Thomas, hold them here. Michael, we go up.” I didn’t wait to see who was listening—I just turned and headed up the stairs, sword and cane out and ready, my stomach sinking. There was no way we would be in time to save Lydia.
But we were. The carnage had evidently drawn Mavra’s attention, and she stared at the blood, withered lips pulled back from yellow teeth. She looked at me, and her expression twisted in malice. She spun back to Lydia, sword held high.
“Michael,” I snapped, and stretched out my cane. “Venteferro!”
Amoracchius burst into conflicting shades of blue and golden light, as my power wrapped around it, a coruscation of sparks that made Mavra howl in surprise and pain. The vampire retreated, but kept her pale hands clenched on the blade.
“Suit yourself, sparky,” I muttered. I gritted my teeth as the cane smoked and shook in my hand. “Vente! Venteferro!” I whipped the cane in a wide arc, and with a hiss the vampire found herself lifted clear of the ground by her grip on the sword, and flung like a beach ball toward the courtyard below. She smacked into the stones of the courtyard hard, brittle popping sounds a gruesome accompaniment. The sword exploded in another cloud of vengeful argent sparks and went spinning away from Mavra, the blade flashing where it hit the ground.
A wave of exhaustion and dizziness swept over me, and I nearly fell. Even using a focus, the rune-etched cane, that effort had nearly been more than I could manage. I had to clench my teeth and hope I wouldn’t simply pitch to one side. I was getting down to the bottom of the barrel, as far as magic went.
“Harry!” Michael shouted. “Look out!”
I looked up to see Mavra bound up onto the dais again, not bothering to take the stairs, landing a few feet from me. Michael strode forward, one hand holding a dagger up reversed, point down, a cross extended toward Mavra. The vampire flung her hands at Michael, and darkness spilled out of them like oil, splattering toward the knight. It sizzled and spat against him, going up in puffs of steam, and Michael came on forward through it, white fire gathering around the upheld cross. Mavra let out a dusty, hissing scream and fell back from him, forced away from me.
“Harry,” Thomas shouted up the stairs, “hurry up! We can’t last much longer!”
My eyes swept the dais, but I could see no sign of Bianca or her attendants in the shadows cast by the halogen-brightness of Michael’s blazing cross. I hurried to Lydia, sheathing my slender blade before scooping her up. “Longer? I’m amazed we’re still alive now!”
“Light shines brightest in the deepest dark!” Michael shouted, a fierce joy on his face, his eyes alight with a passion and a vengeance I had never seen in him. He kept forcing Mavra back before the paralyzing fire of the cross, until with a scream she fell from the dais. “Let come the forces of night! We will stand!”
“We will get the hell out of here is what we will do,” I muttered, but louder I said, “back down the stairs. Let’s go!”
I turned to see Thomas, Susan, and Justine holding off a ring of vampires, at the base of the stairs to the dais, between the pair of spotlights. Only scraps of skin and cloth clung to the vampires. Some of the Red Court still had partially human faces, but most stood naked, now, free of the flesh masks they wore. Black, flabby creatures, twisted, horrible faces, bellies bulging, mostly, tight with fresh blood. Black eyes, empty of anything but hunger, glittered in the light. Long, skinny fingers ended in black claws, as did the grasping toes of their feet. Membranes stretched between their arms and flanks, horribly slime-covered, the beautiful bodies and shapes of before given way to the horror beneath.
A vampire lurched toward Thomas, while another reached out to grasp Susan. She thrust her cross in its face, but unlike with Mavra, the wood did not blaze to light. Faith magic isn’t always easy to work, even on vampires, and the Red Court, creatures with a more solid hold on reality than the more magical denizens of the Black, were not so easily repelled. The vampire howled, mouth yawning open, foaming slaver spattering Susan’s red hood.
She twisted and fought, and with her other hand swept up another baby food jar of holy water—not at the vampire, but at the spotlight beside them. With a screaming hiss, the water vaporized against the heat of the light, bursting out in a sudden cloud of steam that enfolded the vampire completely. It let out a screech that swept upward through the range of human hearing, vanishing above it, and fell away from Susan, its skin sloughing off, the black, stringy muscles and bones beneath showing through.
Susan fumbled her basket open and drew her gun. She fired for the vampire’s belly, the rapid thump-thump-thump of panic fire, and the vampire’s abdomen ruptured, blood spraying out in a cloud. The vamp fell to the ground, and I remember thinking that she’d just killed the thing—really and truly taken one of them out. A fierce pride shot through me, and I headed down the stairs.
And then our streak of luck ended.
Justine took a step too far to one side, and Bianca appeared out of nowhere, seizing the girl by the hair and dragging her away from Thomas. Thomas whirled, but too late. Bianca held the girl’s back against her front, her fingers wound with deceptive gentleness around Justine’s throat. With the other hand, Bianca, still quite human-seeming and calm, caressed the girl’s belly. Justine struggled, but Bianca simply turned her head to one side and drew her tongue slowly, sensuously over Justine’s throat. The girl’s eyes widened, panicked. Then they grew heavy. She shuddered, her body relaxing toward Bianca, arching slowly. Bianca’s rich mouth quirked, and she murmured something into Justine’s ear that made the girl whimper.
“Enough,” Bianca said. And as quickly as that, the courtyard grew silent. Michael and I stood on the stairs a bit above Thomas and Susan. The vampires ringed them in, just out of reach of Thomas’s sword. I held Lydia unmoving in my arms. Bianca looked up at me and said, “The game has ended, wizard.”
“You haven’t taken us down yet,” I shot back. “Smart for you and your people to get out of my way, before I get cranky.”
Bianca laughed, idly plucking some of the petals from Justine’s top, baring a bit more of her breasts. “Surely you don’t think me so stupid as to be bluffed now, Dresden. You have already had a measure of your strength taken. What remains barely keeps you standing. If you could force your way out, you’d have done it already.” Her eyes moved to Michael. “And you, Sir Knight. You will die gloriously and take many of the horrid creatures of the night with you. But you are outnumbered and alone, and without the sword. You will die.”
I glanced at Thomas and Susan and said, “Well, then. I guess it’s a good thing we brought help. Your whole Court, Bianca, and you couldn’t take us down.” I swept my eyes back and forth over the vampires below, and said, “All of your little minions here have eternity laid out before them. Eternity is a bad thing to lose. And maybe you would get us, eventually. But whichever one of you would like to lose eternity first, please. Just go ahead and step on up.”
Silence reigned over the courtyard for a moment. I allowed a bit of hope to seep into my pounding heart. Kenny Rogers, eat your heart out. If this bluff worked, I’d be more of a gambler than he’d ever dreamed.
Bianca only smiled, and said, to Thomas, “She’s so beautiful, my cousin of the White Court. I’ve wanted her ever since the moment I saw her.” Bianca licked her lips. “What would you say to a bargain?”
I sneered. “You think we would do business with you?”
Thomas glanced back up at me. Incredibly, he was clean—but for a sprinkling of scarlet droplets on his pale flesh, unmarred, loincloth, wings, and all. “Go ahead,” he said. “I’m listening.”
“Give them to us, Thomas Raith,” Bianca said. “Give us these three, and take the girl as your own, uncontested. I will have as many little pets as I wish, now. What is one over another?”
“Thomas,” I said. “I know we just met, but don’t listen to her. She set you up to get killed already.”
Thomas glanced back and forth between us. He met my eyes for a moment—almost long enough to let me see inside him. Then looked away. I had the impression that he was trying to tell me something. I don’t know what. His expression seemed apologetic, maybe. “I know, Mister Dresden,” he said. “But . . . I’m afraid the situation has changed.” He didn’t kick Susan, so much as he simply planted his sandaled foot against her and shoved her into the crowd of vampires. She let out a short, startled scream, and then they took her, and dragged her into the darkness.
Thomas lowered his sword and turned toward me, his back to the vampires. Leering, hissing, they crept closer to Michael and me, around Thomas, one of them rubbing up against his legs. His mouth twisted in distaste, and he sidestepped. “I’m sorry, Mister Dresden. Harry. I do like you quite a bit. But I’m afraid that I like myself a whole lot more.”
Thomas faded back, while the vampires crowded around the bottom of the stairs. Somewhere, in the dark, Susan let out a short, terrified scream. And then it faded to a moan. And then silence.
Bianca smiled sweetly at me, over Justine’s lolling head. “And so, wizard, it ends. The pair of you will die. But don’t worry. No one will ever find the bodies.” She glanced back, toward where Thomas had faded into the background and said, aside, “Kyle, Mavra. Kill the white-bellied little bastard, too.”
Thomas’s head whipped around toward Bianca and he snarled, “You bitch!”
