Turn Coat (The Dresden Files 11)

I'd personally seen what an AP mine could do to human bodies. It wasn't pretty. Imagine what's left of a squirrel when it gets hit with large rounds from a heavy-gauge shotgun. There's not much there but scraps and stains. It's essentially the same when a human gets hit with a load of ball bearings the size of gumballs that spew from an AP mine. I glanced at either wall again. "At least I was right," I said. "Ground zero."

Anastasia smiled faintly. "I just thought I'd mention the possibility. There's a fine line between audacity and idiocy."

"And if she thinks she's in danger, Lara might just detonate them now," I said. "Preemptive self-defense."

"Mmmm. Generally the favored method for dealing with practitioners. The customs of hospitality would have protected us from her as much as her from us."

I thought about that for a second and then shook my head. "If we were all calm and polite, she'd never give away anything. And she won't kill us. Not until she finds out what we know."

She shrugged. "You could be right. You've dealt with the smart, scary bitch more often than me."

"I guess we'll know in a minute."

A minute later, we were still there, and the security guy reappeared. "This way, please," he said.

We followed him through the wealthy splendor of the house. Hardwood floors. Custom carved woodworking. Statues. Fountains. Suits of armor. Original paintings, one of them a van Gogh. Stained-glass windows. Household staff in formal uniform. I kept expecting to come across a flock of peacocks roaming the halls, or maybe a pet cheetah in a diamond-studded collar.

After a goodly hike, the guard led us to a wing of the house that had, apparently, been converted to corporate office space. There were half a dozen efficient-looking people working in cubicles. A phone with a digital ring tone chirruped in the background. Copiers wheezed. In the background, a radio played soft rock.

We went past the office, down a short hall past a break room that smelled of fresh coffee, and to the double doors at the end of the hallway. The guard held open one of the doors for us, and we went inside, to an outer office complete with a secretary's desk manned by a stunning young woman.

By Justine, in fact, her white hair held back in a tail, wearing a conservative grey pantsuit.

As we entered, she rose with a polite, impersonal smile that could have taken any number of competitive pageants. "Sir, ma'am. If you'll come this way, please, Ms. Raith is ready to see you."

She went over to the door on the wall behind her desk, knocked once, and opened it enough to say, "Ms. Raith? The Wardens are here." A very soft feminine voice answered her. Justine opened the door all the way and held it for us, smiling. "Coffee, sir, ma'am? Another beverage?"

"No, thank you," Anastasia said, as we entered. Justine shut the door carefully behind us.

Lara Raith's office had a few things in common with Evelyn Derek's. It had the same rich furnishings-though her style was more rich, dark hardwood than glass-the same clarity of function and purpose. The resemblance ended there. Lara's office was a working office. Mail was stacked neatly on a corner of the desk. Files and envelopes each had their own specific positions upon her desk and the worktable against one wall. A pen and ink set was in evidence on the desktop. Paperwork anarchy threatened the room, but order had been strongly imposed, guided by an obvious will.

Lara Raith, de facto ruler of the White Court, sat behind the desk. She wore a silk business suit of purest white, cut close to the flawless lines of her body. The cut of the suit elegantly displayed her figure, and contrasted sharply with the long blue-black hair, which hung in waves past her shoulders. Her features had the classically immortal beauty of Greek statues, balancing sheer beauty with strength, intelligence, and perception. Her eyes were a deep, warm grey, framed by thick sooty lashes, and just looking at her full soft mouth made my lips twitch and tingle as they demanded an introduction to Lara's.

"Warden Dresden," she murmured, her voice soothing and musical. "Warden Luccio. Please, be seated."

I didn't need to check with Anastasia. Both of us just stood there, staff in hand, regarding her quietly.

She leaned back in her chair and a wicked little smile played over that mouth without ever getting as far as her eyes. "I see. I'm being intimidated. Are you going to tell me why, or do I get three guesses?"

"Stop being cute, Lara," I said. "Your lawyer, Evelyn Derek, hired a private eye to tail me and report on my movements-and every time I turn around, something nasty has shown up to make a run at me."

The smile remained in place. "Lawyer?"

"I took a look at her head," I said. "And found the marks of the White Court all over it-including a compulsion not to reveal who she was working for."

"And you think it was my doing?" she asked.

"In these parts?" I asked. "Why not?"

"I'm hardly the only member of the White Court in the region, Dresden," Lara said. "And while I'm flattered that you think so highly of me, the others of my kind do not love me so well as to consult with me before every action they take."

Anastasia stepped in. "But they wouldn't engage the White Council in this sort of business without your approval." She smiled. "Such a thing would be seen as a challenge to your-to the authority of the White King."

Lara studied Luccio for a while, grey eyes probing. "Captain Luccio," she said, "I saw you dance in Naples."

Anastasia frowned.

"It would have been... what? Two centuries ago, give or take a few decades?" Lara smiled. "You were exquisitely gifted. Granted, that was before your... current condition."

"Ms. Raith," Anastasia said, "that is hardly germane to the subject at hand."

"It could be," Lara murmured. "You and I attended the same party after your performance. I know the sort of appetites you indulged, back then." Her lips curled into a hungry little smile, and it was suddenly all I could do to keep my knees from buckling in sheer, sudden, irrational sexual desire. "Perhaps you'd care to revisit old times," Lara purred.

And, as quickly as that, the desire was gone.

Anastasia took a slow, deep breath. "I'm too old to be amused by such antics, Ms. Raith," she replied calmly. "Just as I'm too intelligent to believe that you don't know something of what's been happening in Chicago."

It took me a couple of seconds to pull my mind back from the places Lara had just sent it, but I managed. "We know you're working with someone inside the Council," I said quietly. "I want you to tell us who it is. And I want you to release Thomas."