Battle Ground (The Dresden Files 17)

“Jesus,” someone whispered.

Someone’s baby made a fussing noise and was shushed.

“What about the army?” Bock asked quietly.

I shook my head. “They’ll be all over the place. In the morning. The leading elements of the enemy’s forces are already here.”

That went over with a round of whispers.

“I’m sorry, guys,” I said into the sotto voce aura of fear. “But that’s how it is. Choose now and stick with it. The more you dither, the more dangerous changing your mind gets.” I gestured toward Murph. “You all know who Karrin Murphy is,” I said. “She’s going to be coordinating defense here. Will, that all right with you and your people?”

Will didn’t need to check in with the Alphas. He simply nodded and said, “It is.”

“Thank you,” I told him, and meant it.

Georgia was studying Murphy’s expression intently, and the two of them traded a look I couldn’t read. “Of course, Harry. Whatever we can do to help.”

“Mac, that all right with you?”

Mac didn’t look up from the mug he was polishing with a spotless white cloth. He let his silence be taken as assent.

“Right,” I said. “Gotta move. Saw a bike chained up outside. Whose is it?”

There was a profound silence in the room.

“Oh, come on, guys,” I said plaintively. “It’s not a violation of the Laws of Magic. I just really need wheels to go save the city and whatnot.”

In the back corner of the room, a hand went up, and a skinny kid in sunglasses and a raised, tied hoodie spoke in some kind of Eastern European accent. “It is my bike.”

I squinted at him and said, “Gary?”

Crazy-but-Not-Wrong Gary, the Paranet guy, hunched down so hard that he looked like a cartoon buzzard, and his narrow shoulders nearly knocked off his own sunglasses. “Christ, Dresden,” he said, in a plain midwestern accent, “just out me to everyone.”

I eyed him for a second.

Then I said, “Guys, who knew this was Gary?”

Approximately eighty percent of the people in the room put up a hand, Murphy’s and Mac’s among them.

Gary looked sullen.

“You’re among friends, man,” I said. “Of course they know who you are.”

Gary eyed me suspiciously over the rims of the sunglasses.

“Gary,” I asked, “can I borrow your bike?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

He threw me a key. I caught it without dropping it, which made me feel cool. Then I said, to the room, “Things are going to be bad tonight, kids. I’m not your father, but if you’re staying here and you want to live to see sunrise, I’d do whatever Ms. Murphy asks you to do.”

“First thing we’re going to need is a triage area,” Murphy said to Will. “One way or another, people are going to get hurt.”

“Georgia, get started on that,” Will said. “Marci, Andi, with me. We’ll go round up some more supplies from the drugstore.”

The Alphas got to work with an immediate will, heh-heh. They were good people.

I wondered how many of them would still be alive in the morning.

Will and Georgia had a kid.

I shook myself. I was terrified for them, for the people who were my friends—but if I stood there feeling terrified and sick and worried and helpless to protect them, I wasn’t going to do them any good.

From where I stood, their best bet was for me to coordinate with the rest of the Accorded powers to hit the incoming enemy with as much muscle as could be mustered. The White Council could hit harder than just about anybody else on the planet. I’d personally seen members of the Senior Council tangle with small armies, wrestle with shapeshifting arch demons, and pull satellites down from the sky onto their enemies’ heads, wiping them out by the hundreds.

And, Hell’s bells, my place was among them.

I might be the dumb kid with the sledgehammer from his father’s toolshed, compared to the sword-saint samurai who were the Senior Council—but I had discovered, in my time, that no matter how skilled and elegant a foe might be, a sledgehammer to the skull is a sledgehammer to the skull.

I bounced the binding crystal from the island in my hand and slid it into what was left of my suit coat’s pocket.

I’d find something useful to do.

But I couldn’t do it here. I couldn’t watch over my friends. I couldn’t be the one to protect them. I had to trust that what they’d learned from me, and from the community I’d helped to build, would see them through.

Well. That and an artifact that had been literally stored on the same shelf as the goddamned Holy Grail, and what was left of an ex-angel.

Along with the knife now resting on my left hip and humming with quiet power.

Stop thinking about that, Dresden.

I traded a last look with Karrin. Then I took the key, went out and unlocked Gary’s red twelve-speed, put it in twelfth gear, and pedaled furiously into the night.

I mean, yeah.

I could have run, but come on.

There’s no one human who likes that much cardio.

* * *

* * *

I had gone only a couple of blocks on the bike when I heard someone say, “There he is.”

Another voice shouted, “Dresden! Stop! CPD!”

I thought about not doing it for a second—but assuming the bad guys got stopped tonight, the city would still be here tomorrow, and that would mean dealing with the law. Hell, I was trying to get Maggie into a good school. She’d never get admitted if her dad was, for example, on trial.

So I hit the brakes and let the bike skid to a stop in the darkness between a couple of guard posts. I sat there waiting impatiently as two sets of footsteps came up, one tall and built light and one short and built heavy-duty. The taller, thinner shadow was breathing harder than the massive shorter one.

“Detective Rudolph,” I said. “Detective Bradley. Out for a run?”

“You can fu . . .” Rudolph began, gasping.

Bradley elbowed him in the ribs and said, “Get your breath, sir.”

“Bradley,” Rudolph gasped, barely able to breathe, “goddammit.”

Detective Bradley turned on Rudolph and pointed a finger. Just that. He said nothing and did not move. Bradley was built like an armored vehicle and had hands like a gorilla.