Battle Ground (The Dresden Files 17) - Page 47


Folks who’d had enough.

Folks who’d decided to take up arms and fight.

And above us, around us, the Little Folk marched behind my psychic banner. Always hidden, always flickers of motion in the corner of your eye, flittering shadows and whispers of sound—and the glitter of tiny weapons.

And there were other things out there in the night. The Winter Court included a vast array of nightmares and boogeymen and predators, any of whom might be roaming the underbelly of Chicago on a given evening. I could feel them responding to the banner of my will, feel them ghosting along the rooftops and alleys, gathering around the power of the Winter Knight, matching themselves to my thoughts and my purpose.

My allies began to take note as well. They saw the numbers gathering behind us. They saw the Little Folk, heard the occasionally manic, terrifying giggle that floated up from the shadows. They sensed the presence of horrible things, leashed to my will.

Will and the Alphas avoided making eye contact with me. Butters stared at me in awe and something like fear. Murphy looked at our forces, then at me, tensed her jaw, and gave me a single harsh nod before turning back to face the front.

This was what it was to be the Winter Knight. This was the purpose for which the office had been made.

“Bob,” I said, and my voice sounded absolutely sepulchral. “What’re we hearing on the radio bands?”

“Not much from in town,” Bob replied in a meek tone. “The Eye keeps blowing out the field units. Scouts are having to observe and then report back to the command centers for any of this information to go out, and I’m not sure how many people are receiving it. Um. We’re going to need new skyline pictures for the tourist postcards: Ethniu is apparently moving down Lake Shore Drive and mowing down buildings along the way.”

“Mab’s set up by the Bean, isn’t she?”

“Looks that way, boss.”

“Makes sense,” I said.

“Why?” Murphy asked.

“In a lot of ways, it’s the heart of Chicago. The city’s energy will be most potent there. Lots of fuel for magic.”

“Including the Eye, right?” Murphy asked.

“Exactly,” I said. “What else can you tell me, Bob?”

The skull spoke in a nervous voice. “Um, good news, the cavalry is on the way. Bunch of National Guard units. Bad news—”

“This will be over before they get here,” I said harshly.

“Don’t kill me,” Bob said quickly.

I blinked down at him. Then around me.

My friends were all staring at me as if I were . . . Darth Vader or somebody.

Murphy searched my face for a moment. There wasn’t any fear in her expression. Only deep, pained concern.

I closed my eyes for a second and squeezed her gently with one arm. I tried to consciously make my voice sound calm and reasonable. Why did my throat hurt so much? “Okay. What’s Mab got with her? And what’s the enemy got with them?”

“Her personal guard,” Bob said. “A cohort of warrior Sidhe. Sure as hell would be nice if she still had that elite troop of trolls right now. Lara’s people are with her, and all the heavy hitters from the svartalf command post.”

“All grouped up where they can be taken out at the same time,” I said. All in the open in Millennium Park, no less. Mab was daring Ethniu to come at her, giving her a nice juicy group of enemies to target with the Eye.

Don’t get me wrong: Mab was perfectly capable of kicking someone’s teeth right down their throat. If she thought a slugfest with Ethniu would get things done, she wouldn’t hesitate an instant. But if she decided it was time for podiatric dentistry, she wouldn’t be waiting for Ethniu to come to her. Not Mab. Mab would be moving forward like Juggernaut, an inexorable force, not standing her ground.

So she was up to something else, and I was pretty sure I knew what.

My senses were suddenly filled with a harsh, swampy scent that wasn’t being reported by my own nose. It took me a second to work out what the hell was happening, but it came to me as easily and instinctively as breathing.

A screen of half a dozen malks, savage feline creatures of Winter that bore as much resemblance to cats as serial killers did to kindergartners, had spread out in a skirmish line in front of my banner, and they’d found the enemy waiting for us. I could feel their eagerness and bloodlust rising, got just a hint of expended propellant and gun oil on a wind that never touched my physical nose. More turtlenecks, then. The other creatures of Winter sensed the enemy’s presence, too, and a rising violent instinct spread among them—two shaggy, lurking ogres, seven or eight Black Dogs, a dozen psychotic gnomes with hooked knives, and a phobophage, a fear-eater, who had taken the form of a goddamned rake and whose shadowy profile, as it slipped past an open doorway, looked like a cross between a long-limbed Jack Skellington and Wolverine.

And tonight, in this battle, every single one of them was mine to command. I knew it the way I knew which way was down.

The enemy had taken an office building half a block down that would give them a good field of fire at an intersection and had evidently driven CPD away from the area. A number of silent uniformed figures on the ground testified to their deadliness.

But honestly.

Mab’s “people” are the things the scary stories get written about.

“Stop,” I said quietly.

Murphy brought the bike to a halt.

“This will just take a minute.”

And as naturally as moving my own muscles, I sent the monsters for the Fomor.

The malks went in first, through the openings blasted into the building, silent as ghosts. The pony-sized Black Dogs followed, running right through the freaking walls, which I did not know they could do. The rake slithered up a power wire like a snake, and the ogres and gnomes leapt onto the roof. I saw only vague shapes moving in the scarlet haze. Mostly, I just knew where they were.

The building erupted in screams and gunfire. There were even a couple of crunching explosions.

And then there were only screams.

The creatures of Winter enjoy their killing. They think it’s worth taking the time to do it right. And given the pain and suffering Listen and his turtlenecks had inflicted, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer bunch.

“All right,” I said. “Proceed.”

“Jesus Christ,” Murphy said, and she crossed herself, something I’d rarely seen her do.

But she took a deep breath and kept going. We passed the office building. It was largely glass. The creatures of Winter, at my will, had turned it into an abattoir, and it dripped with their enthusiasm.

Tags: Jim Butcher The Dresden Files Suspense
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