Turn Coat (The Dresden Files 11)

"She does that, she lowers the circle, and my lads tear you apart," Binder replied.

"That won't be your problem, by then," I said.

Binder grinned at me. "All of us go down in a blaze of gory, is it?"

Murphy calmly raised her gun and settled it on Binder's face.

Binder faced her, his grin never fading. "Now, little lady. Don't you be doing nothing you'll regret. Without my, ah, personal guidance, my lads here will tear this good gentleman's throat out right quick. But they're considerably less, ah, professional with ladies." His grin faded. "And you, miss, do not want to know what they're like when they're not professional."

Fingers and slimy tongues and fangs continued pressing against the outer edge of the circle's protective field.

Murphy didn't let it show on her face, but I saw her shudder.

"Decision time, miss," Binder said. "Either pull that trigger, right now, and live with what happens-or put it down like a proper lady and work through this politely."

Murphy's eyes narrowed at his comments. "For all I know, you're about to toss that rock at us. I think I'll keep the gun right where it is."

"Bear something else in mind, Binder," I said. "I know that you think you can just have your pets step in front of you and throw the rock from behind a wall of them, but think about what happens to you if you kill me."

"Your death curse, is it?" he asked. Binder raised his hands and flattened his palms against his cheek in mock horror. "Oh no. A death curse. Whatever shall I do?"

I faced him with a chilly little smile. "You'll spend the rest of your life unable to use magic, I think," I said in a quiet, hopefully confident-sounding voice. "When I die, I take away your power. Forever. No more summoning. No more binding."

Binder's expression began to flatten out into neutrality.

"You ever had a job that you liked, Binder?" I asked him. "I'm betting you haven't. I've read your file. You're the kind who likes to sleep late, spend a lot of money impressing people. Always buys room service, always with the champagne. And you like the women the money gets you." I shook my head. "How many bottles of champagne you think you'll be able to afford when a paper hat becomes part of your professional wear? You've got enough talent to live a nice, long life, man. As a nobody."

He stared at me in silence for a second. "You can't do that," Binder said. "Take away my talent. That isn't possible."

"I'm a wizard of the White Council, Binder. Not some stupid hack who spent his life using his gift to hurt people. Do you think we go around advertising everything we can do? If you knew half the things I've done that you think are impossible, you'd already be running."

Binder faced me, beads of sweat suddenly standing out on his jowls.

"So I'd think real careful before I threw that rock, Binder. Real careful."

A police siren sounded, from fairly nearby.

I smiled, showing teeth. "Hey, cops. This'll get interesting."

"You?" he asked, incredulously. "You'd bring the cops into a private matter?"

I pointed a finger sideways at Murphy, who produced her badge and tucked the back of its folder into her belt, so that the shield faced Binder.

"Already did," Murphy said.

"Besides, the whole reason I picked this joint was how heavily the neighborhood was policed," I said. "One gunshot and nobody reports anything. Half a dozen and people get nervous."

Binder's eyes narrowed, and he looked from us toward the front of the park.

"Tick-tock," I said, applying the pressure as hard as I could. "It's just a matter of time, my lad."

Binder looked around him again, then shook his head and sighed. "Balls. It's always messy when I have to deal with the cops. Idiots dying by the truckload. Buckets of blood." He gestured at his men. "Identical suspects fleeing in all directions. Everyone out chasing them, and more people dying when they manage to catch them." He stared hard at me. "How about it, wizard? Cop? Maybe you've got stones enough to take it when I threaten you. I can admire that."

My stomach got a little sinking feeling. I had been counting out seconds, hoping that my nerves didn't make me rush. There should have been enough time by now.

"How about those policemen? You willing to have their deaths on your conscience?" He rolled his neck a little, like a prizefighter warming up. "Because I'll tell you right now that they aren't going to stop me."

I put my hand out and touched Murphy's wrist. She glanced aside at me, and then lowered the gun.

"That's better," Binder said. There was no hint of jocularity in his manner now. "All I want is the Warden. He's a dead man already, and you know it. What does it matter who takes him?"

Something stirred at the end of the row, behind Binder, and I started smiling.

"I've got no quarrel with you or with this town," Binder continued. "Tell me where he is, I'll leave peaceful, and Bob's your uncle."

Murphy drew in a sharp breath.

"Okay," I said. "He's right behind you."

Binder's smile, this time, was positively vulpine. "Dresden. We have a bit of banter going between us. We're both here in a moment where neither of us wants to act rashly. And that's all good fun. It's one of the little things that makes a day more enjoyable." His voice hardened. "But don't do me the incredibly insulting disservice of assuming that I'm a bloody moron."

"I'm not," I told him. "He's about forty feet behind you. In a wheelchair."

Binder gave me a gimlet stare. Then he rolled his eyes and shot a brief glance over his shoulder-then did a double take as his mouth dropped open.

Morgan sat in his wheelchair about forty feet away from Binder, my shotgun in his hands. Mouse stood beside the chair, focused intently upon Binder and his minions, his body tensed and ready to spring forward.

"Hello, Binder," Morgan said in a flat, merciless tone of voice. "Now, Miss Carpenter."

Molly appeared out of literally nowhere as she dropped the veil she'd been holding over herself since I'd first seen her moving at the beginning of the conversation with Binder. She was holding my spare blasting rod in her hand, its far end covered with pale dust from being dragged through the gravel. She knelt beside the long, lazy arc of the circle she'd drawn in the dust and touched her hand to it, frowning in concentration.

Circles of power are basic stuff, really. Practically anyone can make one if they know how to do it, and learning how to properly establish a circle is the first thing any apprentice is taught. Circles create boundaries that isolate the area inside from the magical energies of the world outside. That's why Binder's minions couldn't cross the plane of the circle I'd drawn on the ground-their bodies were made up of ectoplasm, held into a solid form by magical energy. The circle cut off that energy when they tried to cross it.