Dead Beat (The Dresden Files 7)

But I held myself back. Beauty can be dangerous, and fire, though lovely, can burn and kill when not treated with respect. I faced the fallen angel cautiously, my posture unthreatening but unbowed. I faced her beauty and felt the radiant warmth of her presence and held myself from reaching out for it.

"I'm not fascinating," I said. "I am what I am. It isn't perfect, but it's mine. I'm not making deals with you."

Lasciel nodded, her expression thoughtful. "You've been burned in bargains past, and you have no desire to repeat the experience. You are wary of dealing with me and those like me-and for good reason. I don't think I would have had any lasting respect for you, had you accepted my offer at face value-even though it is genuine."

"Gee. I would have felt crushed by your lack of respect."

She laughed with a lot of belly in it, genuinely pleased. "I admire your will. Your defiance. As something of a defiant being myself, I think we might forge a strong partnership, given time to develop it."

"That won't happen," I said. "I want you to leave."

"Get thee behind me?" she asked.

"Something like that."

She bowed her head. "As you wish, my host. I request that you merely consider my offer. Should you wish to converse with me again, you have only to call my name."

"I won't," I said.

"As it pleases you," she said.

Then she was gone, and the dream cavern was darker and lonelier for her absence. I relaxed and went back to my sleep and my solitary dreams.

I was too tired to remember if any of them had a hot tub.

Chapter Twenty-six

I slept hard and didn't wake up until well after sunrise. I heard voices, and after a minute I identified the sharp, crackling edges of tone that told me they were coming out of a radio. I got up and gave myself a washcloth bath at the bathroom sink. It wasn't as nice as a hot tub, and not even as nice as a shower, but I didn't feel like sticking my aching leg into a trash bag and taping it shut so that I could get one without getting my bandages wet.

I couldn't find my clothes anywhere, so I wandered out into the house in my bare feet and mangled pants. The hospital staff had cut the pant leg mostly off of my wounded leg, and the edges were rough and uneven. I passed a mirror in the hallway of the house and stopped to examine myself.

I looked like a joke. A bad joke.

"... mysterious power outage continues," the radio announcer was saying. "In fact, it's difficult to estimate how long we'll be able to stay on the air, or even how many people are actually receiving this broadcast. Gasoline-powered generators have been encountering odd trouble throughout the city, batteries seem unreliable, and other gasoline-powered engines, including those of vehicles, are behaving unpredictably. The telephone lines have been having all kinds of problems, and cell phones seem to be all but useless. O'Hare is completely shut down, and as you can imagine, it's playing havoc with airline traffic throughout the nation."

Thomas was standing in the kitchen, at the gas stove. He was making pancakes and listening to an old battery-powered radio sitting on Murphy's counter. He nodded to me, put a finger against his lips, and flicked a glance at the radio. I nodded, folded my arms, and leaned against the doorway to listen to the announcer continue.

"National authorities have declined to comment on the matter, though the mayor's office has given a statement blaming the problems on unusual sunspot activity."

Thomas snorted.

The radio prattled on. "That answer doesn't seem to hold much water, given that in cities as near as the south side of Joliet all systems are behaving normally. Other sources have suggested everything from an elaborate Halloween hoax to the detonation of some kind of electromagnetic pulse device, which has disrupted the city's electrical utilities. A press conference has reportedly been scheduled for later this evening. We'll be on the air all through the current crisis, giving you up to date information as quickly as we..."

The announcer's voice broke up into wild static and sound. Thomas reached over and flicked the radio off. "Had it on for twenty minutes," he said. "Got a clear signal for maybe five of them."

I grunted.

"Do you know what's happened?"

"Maybe," I said. "Where's Butters?"

Thomas tilted his head toward the back door. "Walking Mouse."

I took a seat at the little kitchen table, getting my weight off of my injured leg. "Today's going to be pretty intense," I said.

Thomas flipped a pancake. "Because of the heirs of Kemmler?"

"Yeah," I said. "If Mab is right about what they're trying to do, someone has to stop them before tonight."

"Why?"

"Because after that I'm not sure anyone will be able to stop them," I said.

My brother nodded. "Think you can take them?"

"They're fighting among themselves," I said. "They're all going to be more worried about their fellow necromancers than they are about me."

"Uh- huh," Thomas said. "But do you think you can take them?"

"No."

"Then what you're talking about isn't heroism, man. It's suicide."

I shook my head. "I don't need to kill them. I only need to stop them. If I play this right, I won't need to fight anybody."

Thomas flipped another pancake. The cooked side was a uniform shade of perfect light brown. "How are you going to manage that?"

"They need two things to make this godhood thing go," I said. "The Erlking and the knowledge in The Word of Kemmler. If I can deny them either, the whole shebang is canceled."

"You figure out those numbers yet?" Thomas asked.

"No."

"So... what? You going to put a hit on the Erlking to keep him from showing up?"

I shook my head. "Mab gave me the impression that the Erlking was in the same weight class as her."

"She tough?" Thomas asked.

"Beyond the pale," I said.

"So you can't kill the Erlking. What, then?"

"I summon him myself."

He arched an eyebrow.

"Look, no matter how mighty he is, he can't be in two places at once. If I call him up and keep him busy, then the heirs can't summon him to their ceremony."

He nodded. "How are you going to call him?"

"The book," I said. "It's almost got to be one of those poems or songs. One of them must be an incantation to attract the Erlking's attention."

"But you don't have the book," Thomas said.