Twenty-nine
We were two blocks from Michael’s place, back in the residential neighborhoods, when a cab all but teleported out of the sleet, moving too fast. It rolled through a stop sign and forced Karrin to slam on the brakes and swerve to avoid a collision.
The little SUV did its best, but it slid on the sleet-slickened street, bounced over the curb, through a wooden privacy fence, and wound up with its front wheels in someone’s emptied pool.
Karrin slapped the vehicle into reverse and tried to pull out, but the rear tires spun uselessly on the ice. “Dammit!” she snarled. “Go. I’m right behind you!”
I grabbed my staff and leapt out into the sleet without hesitating, wrapping myself in Winter as I went running through the storm and into the hazy pseudo-darkness. I went straight for Michael’s place, sprinting down a sidewalk briefly, and then cutting through yards, bounding over fences and parked cars (Parkour!) as I went.
I got to the Carpenters’ home just as the cab that had caused our wreck slid to a gradual stop a few houses past Michael’s. Butters popped out of the back and threw several wadded bills at the driver, then put his head down and sprinted toward Michael’s house. He looked pale and shaky. I sympathized. That potion had left me feeling like I’d just ridden a couple of dozen roller coasters, all at once, with a bad hangover. He hadn’t run five steps before one of his feet went out from under him on the frozen, slippery sidewalk, and he went down hard. I heard his head rap the concrete, and then felt a sympathetic pang at the explosion of air from his lungs as the fall knocked the wind out of him.
I didn’t slow down until I was close to Butters, sweeping my gaze around the neighborhood, and finding it quiet and still.
“Jesus!” Butters blurted out as I got close. He flinched away from me, raising one hand as if to ward off a blow, reaching for something inside his coat with the other.
“Hell’s bells, Butters,” I said on a note of complaint. “If I was going to hurt you, I’d have blasted you from way the hell over there.”
“You tried . . . ,” he wheezed, hand still poised inside his coat. “Stay . . . back. I . . . mean it.”
“Hell’s bells, you are smarter than this.” I sighed and offered him my hand. “Come on. They’re bound to be right behind you. You can’t stay out here. Let me help you up.”
He stared up at me for a second, clearly a little dazed from the fall, and just as obviously terrified.
I made an impatient clucking sound and stepped forward.
Butters fumbled what looked like a glass Christmas ornament from his coat’s inner pocket and flicked it at me weakly.
Winter was still upon me. I bent my knees a little and caught it on the fly, careful not to break it. “Whoa,” I said. “Easy there, killer. I’d rather not have us both forget why we’re standing out here in the sleet.”
He stared up at me, struggling to draw a steady breath. “Harry . . .”
“Easy,” I said. “Here.” I passed the ornament back to him.
He blinked at me.
“Come on,” I said. I bent down, got a hand under his arm, and more or less hauled the little guy to his feet. He slipped again at once, and would have fallen if I hadn’t held him up. I steadied him, guiding his steps off the treacherous concrete and onto the grass in front of one of the houses. “There, easy. Come on, let’s get you out of the cold at least.”
He groaned and said, “Oh, God, Harry. You’re not . . . You haven’t . . .” We stumbled a few more steps and then he said, “I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I said, looking around us warily. “Be inside.”
“How bad have I screwed things up?” he asked.
“We move fast enough, nothing that can’t be fixed,” I said. Impatient, I ducked down enough to get a shoulder beneath his arm and more or less lifted him up, dragging him along with his feet barely touching the ground toward the Carpenters’ yard.
Twenty yards.
Ten.
Five.
The wind rushed. Something shaped like black sails billowed in the sleet, and then swirling shadow receded, and Nicodemus Archleone stood between us and safety, a slender-bladed sword held in his right hand, blade parallel with his leg. He faced me with a small smile.
Behind him, his shadow stretched out for twenty yards in every direction, writhing in slow waves.
I drew up short. Butters’s legs swung back and forth.
I took a step back and looked over my shoulder.
The Genoskwa blurred into vision through the thick sleet, maybe twenty feet back, staying in the shadows of a large pine tree, his enormous shaggy form blending into its darkness. I could see the gleam of his eyes, though.
“Ah, Dresden,” Nicodemus purred. “You caught him. And in the nick of time.”
I set Butters down warily, and kept him close to my side. The little guy didn’t move or speak, though I could feel him shuddering with sudden intelligent terror.
“The little doctor,” Nicodemus said. “Quite a resourceful rabbit, is he not?”
“He’s quick,” I said. “And not much of a threat. There’s no reason not to let him go.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Nicodemus said. “He’s heard entirely too much—and my files on him say that he’s been associated with Marcone’s Chicago Alliance. Only an idiot wouldn’t recognize a potentially lethal security leak.” He tilted his head to one side. “He dies.”
The Genoskwa let out a hungry, rumbling growl.
Butters stiffened. He did not look behind him. I didn’t blame him. I didn’t want to look back there either.
Nicodemus was enjoying this. “It seems, Dresden,” he said, “that it is time for you to make a choice. Shall I make it easier for you?”
“What’d you have in mind?” I asked.
“Practicality,” Nicodemus said. “Give him to me. I will take him from here. It will be quick and merciful.” His eyes shifted to Butters. “It’s nothing personal, young man. You became involved in something larger than you. That is the price you pay. But I’ve no grudge with you. You will simply stop.”
Butters made a quiet, terrified sound.
“Or,” Nicodemus said, “you can breach Mab’s given word, wizard.” He smiled. “In which case, well, I have no need of you.”
“Without me,” I said, “you’ll never get through the second gate.”
“Once I kill you,” Nicodemus said, “I’m quite certain Mab will loan me her next Knight or another servant as readily as she did you, if it means a chance to make good on her word. Choose.”
“I’m thinking about it,” I said.
Nicodemus opened one hand, a gracious gesture, inviting me to take my time.
Giving him Butters wasn’t on the table. Period. But fighting him did not seem like a good idea either. With Nicodemus on one side and the Genoskwa on the other, I did not like my chances at all. Even with the Winter Knight’s mantle, I didn’t know if I could have beaten either of these guys, let alone both of them at once.