Battle Ground (The Dresden Files 17) - Page 38


“He left because he’d gotten what he’d come for,” I said.

Listens-to-Wind opened his eyes and nodded. “And because he doesn’t care about what’s happening here today.”

“What’s happening here today is going to affect everyone,” I said.

“Not him,” the old wizard said, his voice certain. “He’s got a different set of priorities.”

“Because he’s starborn,” I guessed.

Listens-to-Wind looked at me sharply.

“Hey,” I said brightly. “What are the stars and stones?”

The old man’s eyes narrowed. He traded a long look with River Shoulders.

“We should get back to the others,” Listens-to-Wind said, and turned to start walking back the way we’d come.

I took a long step and got in his way.

“I asked you a question, Senior Councilman,” I said quietly but firmly.

River Shoulders shook his head tiredly. “Hoss Dresden. We got a lot on our plates right now. There’s plenty that you don’t know yet. And maybe this story isn’t mine to tell.”

“Seriously?” I asked. “That’s your excuse? You don’t want to spoiler me?”

He regarded me levelly. “I’ve said what I’m going to, Hoss Dresden. It ain’t time yet.”

I shook my head impatiently. “I’m getting some damned answers. My whole life I’ve . . . No. Since my parents died, my life has been one person after another trying to get something out of me. Wanting me to make deals. Give them my loyalty. And there’s this whole starborn thing.” My voice dropped. “My whole life, I’ve had to figure it out on my own. I’m getting a damned answer. I’ve put myself at risk over and over for the Council. I’ve lost fr—” I swallowed. “I’ve paid for it. You owe me.”

The old man looked away and wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“We owe you,” he confirmed. “But it ain’t about debt. There’s some secrets that do worse than get you killed. A whole hell of a lot worse.” He eyed me. “You need to trust us.”

I barked out a laugh. It sounded weird in the graveyard. “Pull the other one.”

The old man sighed. Then he said, “Make you a deal.”

“What?”

“You get through tonight,” Listens-to-Wind said, “you give me a little time. I’ll be your advocate. I’ll speak on your behalf to the others.”

“Or you could just tell me yourself.”

“I’m a wizard, Hoss. Which means I’m arrogant.” He smiled a little. “But not that arrogant. That’s how big this is, boy. I, a senior wizard of the White Council, don’t think I’m smart enough to make this call alone.”

I blinked.

That was not a sentiment I’d ever thought I might hear from a Senior Councilman.

“Oh,” I said. “Wow.”

“Best I can do,” he said.

“I’ll wait a month.”

He snorted through his nose. “The people I need to talk to? Make it a year.”

“Fuck that,” I said.

“Oh?” he asked. “Tell me. What’s your next best offer?”

The old man lifted his eyebrows and waited, visibly and politely.

“Fine,” I said sourly. “A year.”

He nodded. “Done.”

The would-be sacrificial girl on River Shoulders’ shoulder stirred, looked around at the Sasquatch, opened her mouth to scream in horror—and almost immediately fainted again.

River Shoulders looked mournful. “I lost my glasses in the fighting.”

“Not your fault, big guy,” I said. “Some people just don’t know good company when they see it. We’d better drop her off with the next group of cops we pass.”

“Agreed,” Listens-to-Wind said.

“You’re just going to keep going,” Ramirez said. His voice shook with intensity. “Those things took our people. They’re profaning them.”

Cold rage suffused me and I whirled on Carlos. “And they’re going to get theirs. But not now. There are eight million people who have no one else to defend them. Just us. So we’re going to take care of business. And once we’re done here, we’re going to settle up with Drakul and his peeps. Right now, there are more important things to handle. But they’re on our list, and we will check them off. Bank on it.”

Ramirez stared hard at me for a second. Then he raised his fist.

I answered.

We bumped knuckles, hard enough to draw blood.

Chapter

Fourteen


If there is anything “good” about a fight, it’s that they don’t tend to last very long. Especially not fights between a terror as absolute as vampires of the Black Court and people slinging around the power of Creation itself. If we hurried, we might catch up with the rest of the group before they got to the front.

It’s easier to move faster with fewer people.

We left the cemetery behind and kept heading east, toward the shores of Lake Michigan. There were more people fleeing now, screams and shouts and hushed, forced whispers. River Shoulders strode openly down the street, carrying the unconscious young woman in one arm and Ramirez in the other. I jogged along, and Listens-to-Wind shook himself into the shape of a rangy old hound and loped easily along beside me.

At the junction of Montrose and Hazel, there was a large group of police officers waving people past them and instructing them to head west at their best speed. There was a little pub there that had a courtyard that had only one entrance, where customers could park their cars. Several cars had been pushed across that entrance as an improvised barricade, and police officers with assault rifles stood at the barricade, looking nervously out into the darkness.

Behind them was a triage area, where several EMTs were working frantically in battlefield conditions to save lives. There were maybe a dozen people back there. Several looked like refugees who had fallen or been hit by some kind of debris. But three of them were Einherjaren—trust me, they stand out like a biker at the Vatican—and they were clearly the worst off.

It was well lit enough by a large fire in a steel barrel and dozens of flares that you could see the walls around the courtyard all the way up to the roof. Three officers had positioned themselves to watch the roof at the head of each wall.

There were bloodstains up there. Something had evidently tried to come over it and been fought back. The light was a problem, really, in this situation. Standing in it meant that you had to stay in it, or else work blind in the dark while your eyes slowly adjusted. Of course, without the light the EMTs couldn’t do their work. It’s an imperfect world.

Tags: Jim Butcher The Dresden Files Suspense
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