Turn Coat (The Dresden Files 11)

I had to stop him before he got that far.

I plunged through the doorway and noted that both Wardens on guard outside were of the younger generation who had risen to the ranks since the disastrous battle with the Red Court in Sicily. Both young men were standing blankly at attention, showing no reaction whatsoever to the furor in the Speaking Room.

A corner of a black formal robe snapped as its wearer rounded a corner in the hallway to my right, and I was off and running. I felt like hell, but for a refreshing change of pace, I had an advantage over an older, more experienced wizard-I was younger and in better shape.

Wizards might stay alive and vigorous for centuries, but their bodies still tend to lose physical ability if they do not take great pains to stay in training. Even then, they still don't have the raw capabilities of a young person-and running at a dead sprint is as raw as physical activity gets.

I rounded the corner and caught a glimpse of Peabody, running up ahead of me. He turned another corner, and by the time I rounded that one, I had gained several steps on him. We blew through Administration and passed the Warden barracks, where three Wardens who were still freaking teenagers, the dangerous babies we'd hurried through military training for the war, emerged from the doors twenty feet ahead of Peabody.

"The end is nigh!" he snarled.

All three of them froze in their tracks, their expressions going blank, and Peabody went through the group, puffing, and knocked one of them down. I pushed harder, and he started glancing over his shoulder, his eyes wide.

He ducked around the next corner, and my instincts twigged to what he was about to try. I came around the corner and flung myself into a diving roll, and a spray of conjured liquid hissed as it went by overhead. It smacked against the wall behind me with a frantic chewing noise, like a thousand bottles of carbonated soda all shaken and simultaneously opened.

I hadn't had time to recharge my energy rings, and they were still on my dresser back home, but I didn't want Peabody to get comfortable taking shots at me over his shoulder. I lifted my right hand, snarled, "Fuego!" and sent a basketball-sized comet of fire flying down the hallway at him.

He spat out a few words and made a one-handed defensive gesture that reminded me of Doctor Strange, and my attacking spell splashed against something invisible a good three feet short of him. Even so, some of it wound up setting the hem of his formal robes on fire, and he frantically shucked out of it as he continued to flee.

I made up even more distance on him, and as he turned into one of the broad main hallways of the complex, I wasn't twenty feet away, and the first security checkpoint was right in front of us. Four Wardens, all of them young, manned the gate-which was to say that, since all the grown-ups, grandpas, and fussbudgets who might object were at the trial, they were sitting on the floor playing cards.

"Stop that man!" I shouted.

Peabody shrieked, obviously terrified, "Dresden's gone warlock! He's trying to kill me!"

The young Wardens bounced to their feet with the reaction speed of youth. One of them reached for his staff, and another drew his gun. A third turned and made sure the gate was locked-and the fourth acted on pure instinct, whipping her hand around her head in a tight circle and making a throwing gesture as she shouted.

I brought up my shield in time to intercept an invisible bowling ball, but the impact hit the shield with enough force to stop me cold. My legs weren't ready for that, and I staggered, bouncing a shoulder off of one wall.

Peabody's eyes gleamed with triumph as I fell, and he snapped, "The end is nigh!" freezing the young Wardens in place, as he'd done before. He ripped the key on its leather thong from around the neck of one of the Wardens, opened the gate, then turned with a dagger in his hand and sliced it along the thigh of the young woman who had clobbered me. She cried out and her leg began spurting blood in rhythm with her heart, a telltale sign of a severed artery.

I got back to my feet and hurled a club of raw force at Peabody, but he defeated it as he had the fireball, leapt through the gate, and ripped at the air, peeling open a passage between this world and the next.

He plunged through it.

"Son of a bitch," I snarled. None of the young Wardens were moving, not even the wounded girl. If she didn't get help, she would bleed to death in minutes. "Dammit!" I swore. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!" I threw myself onto the girl, ripping the belt off of my jeans and praying that the wound was far enough down her leg for a tourniquet to do any good.

Footsteps hammered the floor, and Anastasia Luccio appeared, gun in her good hand, her face white with pain. She slid to a halt next to me, breathing hard, set the weapon on the floor, and said, "I've got her. Go!"

On the other side of the security gate, the Way was beginning to close.

I rose and rushed it, diving forward. There was a flash of light, and the stone tunnel around me abruptly became a forest of dead trees that smelled strongly of mildew and stagnant water. Peabody was standing right in front of the Way as he tried to close it, and I hit him in a flying tackle before he could finish the job. He went over backward and we hit the ground hard.

For a stunned half second, neither of us moved, and then Peabody shifted his weight, and I caught the gleam of the bloodied dagger at the edge of my vision.

He thrust the point at my throat, but I got an arm in the way. He opened a vein. I grabbed at his wrist with my other hand, and he rolled, gaining the upper position and gripping the dagger with both hands, leaning against my one arm with all of his weight. Drops of my own blood fell onto my face as he forced the point slowly toward my eye.

I struggled to throw him off me, but he was stronger than he looked, and it was clear that he had more experience in close-quarters fighting than I did. I clubbed at him with my wounded arm, but he shrugged it off.

I felt my triceps giving way and watched the tip of the knife come closer. The breaking point was at hand and he knew it. He threw more effort into his attack, and the dagger's tip suddenly stung hot against my lower eyelid.

Then there was a huge noise, and Peabody went away. I remained still for a stunned moment, and then looked up.

Morgan lay on the ground just inside the still-open Way, Luccio's gun smoking in his hand, his wounded leg a mass of wet scarlet.

How he'd managed to run after us given his injury, I had no idea. Even with painkillers, it must have hurt like hell. He stared at Peabody's body with hard eyes. Then his hand started to shake, and he dropped the gun to the ground.

He followed it down with a groan.

I went to him, breathing hard. "Morgan." I turned him over and looked at his wound. It was soaked in blood, but it wasn't bleeding much anymore. His face was white. His lips looked grey.