Blood Rites df-6

by Jim Butcher

  The rose vines were old ones, some of them as thick as my thumb. Their spreading tendrils twined all around the entirety of the garden and over the feet of the crouching gargoyles. The lighting was all arranged in soft blues and greens, and it made the roses on the vines look black. Thick leaves grew all over the vines, but here and there I could see the wicked needle tips of larger-than-average thorns. The air was filled with their light, heady scent.

  "Help Inari," Lara said. "I will carry Thomas."

  "Considering that you're the one who shot him in the first place, I'll carry Thomas," I said. "You help Inari."

  Her lips compressed slightly, but she nodded. "As you wish."

  Damn straight, as I wish.

  Lara leaned over to pull Inari from the car, but before she could touch the girl the notch-eared puppy sprang up out of his sleep, barking and snarling at Lara in squeaky fury. Lara jerked her hand back, brows lowering in consternation. "What's wrong with your animal?"

  I sighed and slid into my leather duster, then came around to the passenger door. "I keep telling everyone he's not mine." I scooped up the little psychopath and deposited him in one of my coat pockets. He scrambled around in there for a minute, and then he managed to poke his head out. The puppy kept his eyes on Lara and kept growling. "There. Now the beast cannot harm you."

  Lara gave me a cool look and coaxed Inari to her feet. Then she helped me draw Thomas out of the car as gently as possible. He was flaccid and cold, his eyes entirely white, but I could hear his labored breathing. Without knowing the extent of the injuries to his upper body, I didn't dare risk a fireman's carry, so I got an arm under his shoulder blades and hamstrings, and lifted him like a child. He was heavy. My shoulders screamed, and my ears started ringing with a quiet, shrill tone.

  I felt dizzy for a second, and shrugged it off with an effort of will. I couldn't afford to show any weakness now.

  I followed Lara and Inari up the sidewalk to the house. Lara pushed a button on a small plastic panel beside the door and said, "Lara Raith." There was a heavy metallic click-clack, and one of the doors drifted slowly in.

  Just then the lights of another car swept across us. A white limo pulled in beside the Blue Beetle on the circular drive and came to a halt. A moment later a white sedan pulled in behind the limo.

  The limo's driver was woman over six feet tall wearing a grey uniform. Her hair was pulled back in a severe braid, and she wore dark red lipstick. A tall, strong-looking man in a grey silk suit got out on the passenger side of the limo. I caught sight of a shoulder rig while he was settling his jacket. His eyes swept around, taking in everything, including us at the door, the drive, the grounds, the trees, and the roof of the house. He was checking possible lines of fire. A bodyguard.

  Simultaneously, another man and woman got out of the white sedan. At first I thought that they were the same two people. I blinked. The man looked the same, but the second woman was wearing a grey suit a lot like the one of the man with her. Then I got it-two sets of identical twins. They all looked wary, competent, and dangerous. They fanned out around the limo in silent coordination, like they'd done it a jillion times.

  Then the driver opened the back door of the limo.

  The air grew suddenly colder, as if the Almighty had flicked on the air-conditioning. A man slid out of the car. He was about six feet tall, dark of hair and pale of flesh. He was dressed in a white linen suit with a silver-grey silk shirt and Italian leather shoes. There was a scarlet gem of some kind fixed to his left earlobe, though his fine, straight hair hid it until a breeze briefly tossed the dark strands to one side. He had long, spatulate fingers, broad shoulders, the eyes of a drowsy jaguar, and he was better-looking than Thomas.

  Beside me, Lara shuddered, and I heard her whisper, "Dammit, no."

  The newcomer walked over to us, very slowly and deliberately. The doubles fell into position to his sides and behind him, and I couldn't help but think they looked like toys-two matched sets of Bodyguard Barbie and Bodyguard Ken. The pale man paused beside one of the gargoyles and plucked a stem and a rose from one of the plants there. Then he approached again, in no hurry whatsoever, plucking off leaves and thorns from the flower one by one.

  When he was about four feet away he stopped, finally looking up from the rose. "Ah, dearest Lara," he murmured. His voice was deep, quiet, and as smooth as warm honey. "What a pleasant surprise to find you here."

  Lara's expression slipped into a neutral mask, veiling the anxiety I could feel in the tension of her body. She inclined her head in a courtly nod, and left her eyes on the sidewalk.

  The man smiled. His eyes swept over the rest of us meanwhile, distant and alien. "Have you been well?"

  "Yes, my Lord."

  His lips pursed into a pout. "This is hardly a formal occasion, little Lara. I've missed you."

  Lara sighed. She met my eyes for a second, her expression one of warning. Then she turned to step closer to the man. She kissed his cheek without lifting her eyes and whispered, "And I you, Father."

  Oh, crap.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lord Raith looked Lara up and down. "That's… quite a novel ensemble you're wearing."

  "It's been a busy night."

  Raith nodded and went to Inari, gently touching her shoulder, peering at her arm in the makeshift sling. "What happened to you, daughter mine?"

  Inari lifted eyes dull with pain and fatigue and said, "We were mugged. Or something. I think it must have been a gang. That makes sense, doesn't it?"

  Raith didn't hesitate a beat. "Of course it does, dearest." He fixed his eyes on Lara and said, "How could you let something like this happen to your baby sister?"

  "Forgive me, Father," Lara said.

  Raith waved a generous hand. "She needs medical attention, Lara. I believe hospitals provide such a thing."

  "Bruce is here," Lara said. "I'm sure he can take care of it."

  "Which is Bruce?"

  I would have expected her tone to hold annoyance, but if so I didn't hear it. "The doctor."

  "He came with you from California? How fortuitous."

  I couldn't take it anymore. "Hey, people. Chat time is over. The girl's about to pass out on her feet. Thomas is dying. So both of you shut your mouth and help them."

  Raith whipped his head around to stare daggers at me. His voice was cold enough to merit the use of a Kelvin scale. "I do not respond well to demands."

  I ground my teeth and said, "Both of you shut your mouth and help them. Please."

  And they say I can't be diplomatic.

  Raith flicked an irritated hand at the bookend brigade. Bodyguard Kens and Barbies drew their guns in precise unison and raised them to shoot.

  "No!" Lara said. She stepped in front of me and Thomas. "You can't."

  "Can't?" Raith said. His voice was dangerously mild.

  "They might hit Thomas."

  "I am confident in their marksmanship. They will not hit him," Raith said, in a tone that suggested he wouldn't lose any sleep if they did.

  "I've invited him," Lara said.

  Raith stared at her for a moment, and then in that same soft voice asked, "Why?"

  "Because we declared a twenty-four-hour truce while he assisted us," Lara answered. "If not for his help, we might all be dead."

  Raith's head tilted to one side. He regarded me for a long moment, and then smiled. He didn't have Thomas beat when it came to smiles. Thomas's grin had so much life to it that it was practically sentient. Lord Raith's smile made me think of sharks and skulls. "I suppose it would be churlish to ignore my debt to you, young man. I will honor the truce and respect my daughter's invitation and hospitality. Thank you for your assistance."

  "Whatever," I said. "Would you both shut your mouths and help them now. Pretty please. With sugar on top."

  "I used to admire that kind of monolithic determination." Raith waved his hand again, though his eyes looked no less cold. The thugs put their guns away. One man and one woman went to Inari, support
ing her and helping her into the house. "Lara, bring your physician to her quarters, if you would. Assuming he has mind enough left to treat her."

  She bowed her head again, and something told me she resented doing it.

  "I'll expect you and Thomas in my chambers at dawn so that we can discuss what happened. Oh, and if you would, Wizard Dresden-"

  The King of the White Court knew me on sight. This just kept getting better and better.

  "- Lara can show you where Thomas's chambers are. That girl of his is there, I think." Lord Raith drifted into the house, paced by his retainers.

  By my count, there were still two whole goons available for Thomas toting, but I grunted like a big tough guy and set out to do it myself. We started walking into the house. "Nice guy," I commented to Lara. I was a little short of breath. "And I was all worried about meeting him."

  "I know," Lara murmured. "He was really quite pleasant."

  "Except for the eyes," I said.

  She glanced at me again, something like approval in her features. "You saw that."

  "That's what I do."

  She nodded. "Then please believe me when I say that deception is what we do, wizard. My father does not like you. I suspect he wishes to kill you."

  "I get that a lot."

  She smiled at me, and I got hit with another surge of lust-maybe one that wasn't entirely inspired by her come-hither mojo. She was a smart, tough lady, and had plenty of courage. I had to respect that. And she was gliding along beside me dressed in skimpy black lingerie. Admittedly, the blood and ichor detracted from the overall look, but it gave me a good excuse to see the rest of her while making my assessment.

  We went up a shallow, curving stairwell and down a long hall. I tried to stick mental landmarks into my memory so that I'd be able to leave in a hurry if I needed to. My vision blurred for a moment, and the high-pitched buzzing in my ears increased in volume. I took a breath and steadied myself against the wall.

  "Here," Lara said. She turned to me and took Thomas. Either she was stronger than me or she was good at acting like it was no big deal. Probably both.

  I rolled my aching shoulders in relief. "Thanks. How is he?"

  "The bullets aren't going to kill him," she said. "He'd have died already. The Hunger may finish him, though."

  I arched an eyebrow at her in question.

  "The Hunger," she repeated. "Our need to feed. The angel of our darker natures. We can draw upon it to give us a kind of strength, but it's like fire. It can turn on you if you don't keep it under control. Right now Thomas is so hungry that he can't think. Can't move. He'll be all right once he feeds."

  I felt an itch on the back of my neck and checked over my shoulder. "Your father's driver is tailing us."

  Lara nodded. "She'll dispose of the body."

  I blinked. "I thought you said he was going to be all right."

  "He will be," Lara said, her tone carefully neutral. "Justine won't."

  "What?"

  "He's too hungry," Lara said. "He won't be able to control himself."

  "Fuck that," I said. "That isn't going to happen."

  "Then he'll die," Lara said tiredly. "This is the door to his suite."

  She stopped at a door, and with my reflexes on automatic pilot I opened it for her. We went into a rather large room dominated by a sunken pit in the floor. The carpet was lush, a dark crimson, pillows were all over, and a smoking brazier rested in the center of the pit. The air was heavy with sweet incense. Quiet jazz drifted through the room from speakers I couldn't see.

  On the opposite side of the room, a curtain twitched and then the girl appeared from what was evidently a room beyond. Justine's shoulder-length dark hair had been striped with trendy strands of dark blue and deep purple. She wore a white bathrobe several sizes too large for her and looked rumpled from sleep. She blinked dark, sleepy eyes and then gasped and rushed toward us. "Thomas? My God!"

  I looked back over my shoulder. The driver stood just outside the doorway, speaking quietly into a cellular phone.

  Lara carried Thomas down into the pit and carefully laid him upon the pillows and cushions, Justine at her side. The girl's face was twisted in anxiety. "Harry? What happened to him?"

  Lara glanced up and me and said, "I need to make sure Inari is cared for. If you will excuse me." I didn't, but she left the room anyway.

  Justine stared up at me, fear and confusion on her face. "I don't understand."

  "Lara shot him," I said quietly. "And then some Black Court gorillas jumped us."

  "Lara?"

  "Didn't seem like she liked the idea, but she sure as hell gave it a whirl. Lara said he'd spent his reserves fighting, and that he would die if he didn't feed."

  Justine's eyes flicked up to the doorway. She saw the driver standing outside. Justine's face blanched.

  "Oh," she whispered.

  Tears formed in her eyes.

  "Oh, no. No, no," she said. "My poor Thomas."

  I stepped forward. "You don't have to do this."

  "But he'll die."

  "Do you think he'd want it to be you instead?"

  Her lips trembled and she closed her eyes for a moment. "I don't know. I've seen him. I know there's a part of him that wants to."

  "And there's another part that doesn't," I said. "That would want you to be alive and happy."

  She settled on her knees beside Thomas, staring down at him. She put her fingers on his cheek, and he moved for the first time since the fight with One-ear. He turned his head and placed a soft kiss on Justine's hand.

  The girl shivered. "He might not take too much. He tries so hard not to take too much. Not to hurt me. He might stop himself."

  "Do you really believe that?"

  She was silent for a long moment, and then said, "It doesn't matter. I can't stand by and let him die when I can help him."

  "Why not?"

  She looked up at me, her eyes steady. "I love him."

  "You're addicted to him," I said.

  "That too," she agreed. "But it doesn't change anything. I love him."

  "Even if it kills you?" I asked.

  She bowed her head, gently stroking Thomas's cheek. "Of course."

  I started to refute her, but just then the rush of energy from the silver belt buckle petered out. I started trembling violently. The pain of my injuries rushed back over me. Fatigue settled onto me like a backpack full of lead. My thoughts turned to exhausted sludge.

  I vaguely remember Justine cajoling me to my feet and guiding me back through one of the curtains to a lavish bedroom. She helped me onto the bed and said, "You'll tell him for me, won't you?" She was crying through a small smile. "You'll tell him what I said? That I love him?"

  The room was spinning, but I promised her that I would.

  She kissed my forehead and gave me a sad smile. "Thank you, Harry. You've always helped us."

  My vision narrowed to a grey tunnel. I tried to get back up again, but I could barely manage to turn my head.

  So all I could do was watch Justine slide out of the bathrobe and leave the room to go to Thomas.

  And to her death.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sometimes you wake up and there's a little voice inside your head that tells you that today is a special day. For a lot of kids, it sometimes happens on their birthdays and always on Christmas morning. I remember exactly one of those Christmases, when I was little and my dad was still alive. I felt it again eight or nine years later, the morning that Justin DuMorne came to pick me up from the orphanage. I felt it one more time, the morning Justin brought Elaine home from whatever orphanage she had been in.

  And now the little voice was telling me to wake up. That it was a special day.

  My little voice is some kind of psycho.

  I opened my eyes and found myself on a bed the size of a small aircraft carrier. There was light coming into the room from beneath a curtain, but it wasn't enough to see more than vague outlines. I ached from almost a dozen minor cuts and ab
rasions. My throat burned with thirst, and my belly with hunger. My clothes were spattered in blood (and worse), my face was rough with the shadow of a beard, my hair was so mussed that it was approaching trendy, and I can't even imagine what I would have smelled like to anyone walking in. I needed a shower.

  I slipped out into the entrance room, around the passion pit and its pillows. There wasn't a corpse lying in the pit or anything, but then that's what the driver had been for. The pale light of predawn colored the sky deep blue through a nearby window. I'd been down for only a few hours. Time to get into the car and get gone.

  I opened the door to leave Thomas's chambers, but it was locked. I checked, but it was using at least a pair of key-only padlocks and maybe some kind of emergency bolt as well. There was no way I could open it.

  "Fine. We do this Hulk style." I took a few steps back, focused on the wall I thought closest to the outside, and began to draw in my will. I took it slow, concentrating, so that I would have the best chance of keeping the spell under control. "Mister McGee, don't make me angry," I muttered at the wall. "You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

  I was about to huff and puff and blow the wall down when the door rattled, clicked, and opened. Thomas entered, looking as he always did, though this time he wore khakis and a white cotton turtleneck. He had a long coat of brown leather draped over his shoulders, and a gym bag in his hand. He froze when he saw me. His expression showed something I didn't think I'd ever seen in him before-shame. He looked down, avoiding my eyes.

  "Harry," he said quietly. "Sorry about the door. Had to make sure you got left alone until you woke up."

  I didn't say anything. But I remembered my last sight of Justine. Fury, pure and simple, flooded through me.

  "I brought you some clothes, some towels." Thomas tossed the gym bag underhand. It landed on my foot. "There's a guest room two doors down on your left. You can use the shower in there."

  "How's Justine?" I asked. My voice was flat and hard.

  He stood there without lifting his eyes.

  I felt my hands clench into angry fists. I realized that I was barely a breath away from attacking Thomas with my bare hands. "That's what I thought," I said. I walked past him to the door. "I'll clean up at home."