by Jim Butcher
She drew away from me slowly, her face expressionless behind the sunglasses. She said, “I can’t. You already made me ache for you, Harry. I couldn’t control myself, with you. I couldn’t sort out the hungers.” She pressed the ring into my hand and stood up, gathering her towel and a purse with her. “Don’t come to me again. I’ll call you.”
And she left.
I’d bragged to Kravos, at the end, that I’d been trained to demolish nightmares when I was younger. And to a certain extent it was true. If something came into my head for a fight, I could put up a good one. But now I had nightmares that were all my own. A part of me. And they were always the same: darkness, trapped, with the vampires all around me, laughing their hissing laughter.
I’d wake up, screaming and crying. Mister, curled against my legs, would raise his head and rumble at me. But he wouldn’t pad away. He’d just settle down again, purring like a snowmobile’s engine. I found it a comfort. And I slept with a light always close.
“Harry,” Bob said one night. “You haven’t been working. You’ve barely left your apartment. The rent was due last week. And this vampire research is going nowhere fast.”
“Shut up, Bob,” I told him. “This unguent isn’t right. If we can find a way to convert it to a liquid, maybe we can work it into a supplement of some kind—”
“Harry,” Bob said.
I looked up at the skull.
“Harry. The Council sent a notice to you today.”
I stood up, slowly.
“The vampires. The Council’s at war. I guess Paris and Berlin went into chaos almost a week ago. The Council is calling a meeting. Here.”
“The White Council is coming to Chicago,” I mused.
“Yeah. They’re going to want to know what the hell happened.”
I shrugged. “I sent them my report. I only did what was right,” I said. “Or as close to it as I could manage. I couldn’t let them have her, Bob. I couldn’t.”
The skull sighed. “I don’t know if that will hold up with them, Harry.”
“It has to,” I said.
There was a knock at my door. I climbed up from the lab. Murphy and Michael had shown up at my door with a care package: soup and charcoal and kerosene for me, as the weather got colder. Groceries. Fruit. Michael had, rather pointedly, included a razor.
“How are you doing, Dresden?” Murphy asked me, her blue eyes serious.
I stared at her for a moment. Then at Michael.
“I could be worse,” I said. “Come in.”
Friends. They make it easier.
So, the vampires are out to get me, and every other wizard on the block. The little wizardlings of the city, the have-nots of magic, are making it a point not to go outside after dark. I don’t order pizza for delivery anymore. Not after the first guy almost got me with a bomb.
The Council is going to be furious at me, but what else is new.
Susan doesn’t call. Doesn’t visit. But I got a card from her, on my birthday, Halloween. She only wrote three words.
I’ll let you guess what three.
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 the 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 every facet of life, and where many intelligent races vie for security and survival. The realm of Alera is the monolithic civilization 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 in-fighting 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 upon 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 a merciless horde of 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, and Captain’s Fury are available from Ace Books.
Step into the magical world of Harry Dresden . . .
STORM FRONT
FOOL MOON
GRAVE PERIL
Available from Roc Books
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
SUMMER KNIGHT: BOOK FOUR OF THE DRESDEN FILES
ARoc Book / published by arrangement with the author
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2002 byJim Butcher
This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.
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The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,
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The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address ishttp://www.penguinputnam.com
ISBN: 1-101-13394-5
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This book is for big sisters everywhere who have enough patience not to strangle their little brothers—and particularly for my own sisters, who had more than most. I owe you both so much.
And for Mom, for reasons that are so obvious that they really don’t need to be said—but I thought I would make special mention of candy cane cookies and that rocking chair that creaked me to sleep.
Contents
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The author (that’s me) wishes to thank all the people who should have been thanked in other books—Ricia and A.J., obviously, and the mighty Jen. Thank you to all the folks who have been so supportive of my work all along, including (but not limited to) Wil and Erin (who fed me great Chicago information and who I missed the first time around), Fred and Chris, Martina and Caroline and Debra and Cam and Jess and Monica and April.
Thank you also to you mighty librarians who have tricked people into reading these books, and to the bookstore personnel (and lurkers) who have gone out of their way to help me get noticed. I admit to being somewhat baffled, but I’m very grateful to you all.
I owe thanks to so many people that I probably am incapable of remembering everyone. If I missed someone, let Shannon know. She will club me on the head with a baseball bat and point out the mistake.
(P.S. Shannon and J.J., as always, thank you. I’d promise to be less of a weirdo, but we all know how longthat one would last.)
Chapter One
It rained toads the day the White Council came to town.
I got out of the Blue Beetle, my beat-up old Volkswagen bug, and squinted against the midsummer sunlight. Lake Meadow Park lies a bit south of Chicago’s Loop, a long sprint from Lake Michigan’s shores. Even in heat like we’d had lately, the park would normally be crowded with people. Today it was deserted but for an old lady with a shopping cart and a long coat, tottering around the park. It wasn’t yet noon, and my sweats and T-shirt were too hot for the weather.
I squinted around the park for a moment, took a couple of steps onto the grass, and got hit on the head by something damp and squishy.
I flinched and slapped at my hair. Something small fell past my face and onto the ground at my feet. A toad. Not a big one, as toads go—it could easily have sat in the palm of my hand. It wobbled for a few moments upon hitting the ground, then let out a bleary croak and started hopping drunkenly away.
I looked around me and saw other toads on the ground. A lot of them. The sound of their croaking grew louder as I walked further into the park. Even as I watched, several more amphibians plopped out of the sky, as though the Almighty had dropped them down a laundry chute. Toads hopped around everywhere. They didn’t carpet the ground, but you couldn’t possibly miss them. Every moment or so, you would hear the thump of another one landing. Their croaking sounded vaguely like the speech-chatter of a crowded room.
“Weird, huh?” said an eager voice. I looked up to see a short young man with broad shoulders and a confident walk coming toward me. Billy the Werewolf wore sweatpants and a plain dark T-shirt. A year or two ago the outfit would have concealed the forty or fifty extra pounds he’d been carrying. Now they concealed all the muscle he’d traded it in for. He stuck out his hand, smiling. “What did I tell you, Harry?”
“Billy,” I responded. He crunched down hard as I shook his hand. Or maybe he was just that much stronger. “How’s the werewolf biz?”
“Getting interesting,” he said. “We’ve run into a lot of odd things lately when we’ve been out patrolling. Like this.” He gestured at the park. Another toad fell from the sky several feet away. “That’s why we called the wizard.”
Patrolling. Holy vigilantes, Batman. “Any of the normals been here?”
“No, except for some meteorological guys from the university. They said that they were having tornadoes in Louisiana or something, that the storms must have thrown the toads here.”
I snorted. “You’d think ‘it’s magic’ would be easier to swallow than that.”
Billy grinned. “Don’t worry. I’m sure someone will come along and declare it a hoax before long.”
“Uh-huh.” I turned back to the Beetle and popped the hood to rummage in the forward storage compartment. I came out with a nylon backpack and dragged a couple of small cloth sacks out of it. I threw one to Billy. “Grab a couple of toads and pitch them in there for me.”
He caught the bag and frowned. “Why?”
“So I can make sure they’re real.”
Billy lifted his eyebrows. “You think they’re not?”
I squinted at him. “Look, Billy, just do it. I haven’t slept, I can’t remember the last time I ate a hot meal, and I’ve got a lot to do before tonight.”
“But why wouldn’t they be real? They look real.”
I blew out a breath and tried to keep my temper. It had been short lately. “They could look real and feel real, but it’s possible that they’re just constructs. Made out of the material of the Nevernever and animated by magic. I hope they are.”
“Why?”
“Because all that would mean is that some faerie got bored and played a trick. They do that sometimes.”
“Okay. But if they’re real?”
“If they’re real, then it means something is out of whack.”
“What kind of out of whack?”
“The serious kind. Holes in the fabric of reality.”
“And that would be bad?”
I eyed him. “Yeah, Billy. That would be bad. It would mean something big was going down.”
“But what if—”
My temper flared. “I don’t have the time or inclination to teach a class today. Shut the hell up.”
He lifted a hand in a pacifying gesture. “Okay, man. Whatever.” He fell into step beside me and started picking up toads as we walked across the park. “So, uh, it’s good to see you, Harry. Me and the gang were wondering if you wanted to come by this weekend, do some socializing.”
I scooped up a toad of my own and eyed him dubiously. “Doing what?”
He grinned at me. “Playing Arcanos, man. The campaign is getting really fun.”
Role-playing games. I made a monosyllabic sound. The old lady with the shopping cart wandered past us, the wheels of the cart squeaking and wobbling.
“Seriously, it’s great,” he insisted. “We’re storming the fortress of Lord Malocchio, except we have to do it in disguise in the dead of night, so that the Council of Truth won’t know who the vigilantes who brought him down were. There’s spells and demons and dragons and everything. Interested?”
“Sounds too much like work.”
Billy let out a snort. “H
arry, look, I know this whole vampire war thing has you jumpy. And grouchy. But you’ve been lurking in your basement way too much lately.”
“What vampire war?”
Billy rolled his eyes. “Word gets around, Harry. I know that the Red Court of the vampires declared war on the wizards after you burned down Bianca’s place last fall. I know that they’ve tried to kill you a couple of times since then. I even know that the wizards’ White Council is coming to town sometime soon to figure out what to do.”
I glowered at him. “What White Council?”
He sighed. “It’s not a good time for you to be turning into a hermit, Harry. I mean, look at you. When was the last time you shaved? Had a shower? A haircut? Got out to do your laundry?”
I lifted a hand and scratched at the wiry growth of beard on my face. “I’ve been out. I’ve been out plenty of times.”
Billy snagged another toad. “Like when?”
“I went to that football game with you and the Alphas.”
He snorted. “Yeah. In January, Dresden. It’s June.” Billy glanced up at my face and frowned. “People are worried about you. I mean, I know you’ve been working on some project or something. But this whole unwashed wild man look just isn’t you.”
I stooped and grabbed a toad. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know better than you think,” he said. “It’s about Susan, right? Something happened to her last fall. Something you’re trying to undo. Maybe something the vampires did. That’s why she left town.”
I closed my eyes and tried not to crush the toad in my hand. “Drop the subject.”
Billy planted his feet and thrust his chin out at me. “No, Harry. Dammit, you vanish from the face of the earth, you’re hardly showing up at your office, won’t answer your phone, don’t often answer your door. We’re your friends, and we’re worried about you.”
