Dead Beat (The Dresden Files 7)

"Remember when Mouse would slide all the way to the wall when Mister did that?" Thomas asked.

"Heh. Yeah."

"Do you think Mister realizes that the dog is about twenty times bigger than he used to be?" Thomas asked.

"Oh, he realizes it, all right," I said. "He just doesn't see how it's relevant."

"One of these days Mouse is going to disabuse him of the notion."

I shook my head. "He won't. Mister made his point when Mouse was tiny. Mouse is the sort to respect tradition."

"Or he's scared to cross the cat." Thomas's eyes drifted to my bandages and he nodded at my leg. "How bad is it?"

"I can walk. I wouldn't want to go dancing."

"Is that your next move, dancing?"

I leaned my head back on the couch and closed my eyes. "I'm not sure what to do next. How are you as a sounding board?"

"I can look interested and nod at appropriate moments," he said.

"Good enough," I said.

I told Thomas everything.

He listened, taking it all in, and the first thing he said was, "You have a date?"

I opened my eyes and blinked at him. "What. Is that so hard to conceive?"

"Well, yeah," he said. "Christ, Harry, I thought you were going to spend the rest of your life as a hermit."

"What?"

He rolled his eyes. "It isn't like you've gone looking for women," Thomas said. "I mean, you never hit any clubs. Try to get any phone numbers. I figured you just didn't want to." He mulled it over for a minute and then said, "Good God. You're shy."

"I am not," I said.

"The girl practically had to throw herself into your arms. My sister would laugh herself sick."

I glowered at him. "You are not a spectacularly helpful sounding board."

He stretched out a little and crossed his legs at the ankle. "I'm so pretty, it's hard for me to think of myself as intelligent." He pursed his lips. "There are two things you need to know."

"The book," I said, nodding.

"Yeah. Everyone is hot and bothered over this Erlking thing. You read it?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

I raked my fingers through my hair. "And nothing. It's a collection of essays about a particular figure of faerie lore called the Erlking."

"Who is he?"

"He's one of the high sidhe," I said. "And he isn't part of Winter or Summer. He's a wyldfae."

"Powerful?"

"Very," I said. "But just how powerful he is varies depending on who was writing about him. Some of them ranked him among the top faerie nobles. A couple claimed he was on par with one of the Faerie Queens."

"What does he do?"

"He's some kind of hunter spirit," I said. "Associated with all kinds of primal violence. He's apparently one of the beings who can call up and lead the Wild Hunt."

"The what?" Thomas said.

"It's a gathering of some of the more predatory beings of Faerie," I said. "They appear in the autumn and winter usually, usually along with storms and rough weather. A gathering of black hounds the size of horses with glowing red eyes, led by a hunter with the horns of a stag on a black horse."

"The Erlking?" Thomas asked.

"There are several figures who can lead the hunt, apparently," I said. "None of them are particularly friendly. The Hunt will kill anything and anyone it runs across. It's major-league dangerous."

"I think I've heard about it," Thomas said. "Is it true that you can avoid being hunted by joining them?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I've never heard of anyone who met the Hunt and survived. Could be that they won't hunt what they think of as another predator."

"Like sharks," Thomas said. "It's all about body language."

"I wouldn't count on nonverbal cues to protect you from the Hunt," I said. "Assuming you ever saw them. It appears maybe only once every five or six years, and can show up almost anywhere in the world."

"Is it the Hunt you think the Kemmlerites are interested in?"

"I'm not sure," I said. "I can't think what else it would be. The Erlking has a reputation as a being that preys upon children, or at least one that heralds their deaths. A couple of wizards even peg him as a guardian who ensures that children's souls aren't harmed or diverted as they depart dying bodies."

"Sounds like there is a mixed opinion on this Erlking guy."

"Faeries are like that," I said. "They aren't ever quite what they seem to be. It's hard to pin them down."

"But why would a gang of necromancers be interested in him? Is there anything in the book that makes sense?"

"Not that I saw," I said. "There were stories, songs, lectures, accountings, bad sketches, and worse poetry about the Erlking, but nothing practical."

"Nothing you saw," Thomas said.

"Nothing I saw," I confirmed. "But these lunatics would hardly be this serious about the book if it wasn't there somewhere."

"Do you think it's connected to this Darkhallow that Corpsetaker was talking about?" Thomas asked.

"I don't know," I said. "What's a Darkhallow?"

We listened to the fire crackle for a minute before Thomas said, "I hate to say this, but maybe you should contact the Council."

I grimaced. "I know I should," I said. "I don't know what they're doing. And these necromancers are strong, Thomas. Stronger than me. I don't think I can take them in a straight fight."

"Sounds like a good reason to call for help."

"I can't do that," I said. "Mavra would torpedo Murphy."

"I don't think Murphy would want you to get killed over this, Harry," he pointed out. "And what's going to happen if the Council hears that you knew these folk were around and didn't report it to them? They aren't going to be happy."

"I know," I said. "I know. But at the moment it's my choice, and I'm not going to choose for my friend to get hurt. I can't."

He nodded, as if he'd expected the answer.

"Plus there's one more reason not to call in the Council," I said.

"Why?"

"Right now, Cowl, Grevane, and Corpsetaker aren't working together. If I call in the Council it gives them a common enemy and a reason to cooperate."

"They have a common enemy," he pointed out. "You."