Turn Coat (The Dresden Files 11)

Hell's bells, indeed.

"We're being played against one another," I said.

"That was my conclusion as well."

A couple more pieces clicked into place. "Madeline," I said. "She got to this Aramis guy and coerced him into betraying you."

"Yes," Lara hissed. Barely suppressed, wholly inhuman rage filled her level, controlled voice. "When I catch up to her, I'm going to tear out her entrails with my bare hands."

Which took care of my hormone problem. I shivered.

I'd seen Lara in action. I could never decide if it had been one of the most beautiful terrifying things I'd ever seen, or if it was one of the most terrifying beautiful things I'd ever seen.

"You might try looking at the Hotel Sax, room twelve thirty-three," I said. "If I'm right, you're going to find Mr. Aramis's body there. Madeline's working for someone, a man. She didn't say anything that would help identify him. You should also know that she has hired the services of a mercenary named Binder. Not exactly a rocket scientist, but smart enough to be dangerous."

Lara was silent for a second. Then she said, "How did you learn this?"

"Shockingly, with magic."

I heard her speaking to someone in the room with her. Then she got back on the phone and said, "If Aramis is dead, Madeline has tied up the loose end in her plan. It will be impossible to provide credible evidence that I did not in fact pay for LaFortier's murder."

"Yeah. That's why she did it."

I heard her make a displeased sound, but it was still ladylike. "What do we intend to do about this, Harry?"

"Do you have a nice dress?"

"Pardon?"

I found myself grinning maniacally. "I'm throwing a party."

Thomas's phone rang four times before the connection opened. There was a moment of silence. Then Thomas spoke, his voice raw and ragged. "Harry?"

My heart just about stopped beating to hear my brother's voice. "Thomas. How's it going?"

"Oh," he rasped, "I'm just hanging around."

I've seen Thomas in agony before. He sounded exactly like this.

The phone emitted random noises, and then the yowl-purring voice of the skinwalker came over the line. "He is here. He is alive. For now. Give me the doomed warrior."

"Okay," I said.

There was a moment of silent consternation from the far end of the line.

"Bring him to me," it said.

"Nah. That isn't going to happen."

"What?"

"You're coming to me."

"Do you wish me to end his life this instant?"

"Frankly, Shaggy, I don't give a damn," I said, forcing boredom into my voice. "It'd be nice to be able to return one of the vampires to his own, get myself a marker I can call in some day. But I don't need it." I paused. "You, on the other hand, need Thomas to be alive, if you expect me to trade Morgan for him. So this is how it's going to go down. At dusk, you will be contacted on this phone. You will be told where our meeting will take place. When you arrive, you will show me the vampire, alive and well, and when he is returned to me, you will take Morgan without contest."

"I am not some mortal scum you can command, mageling," Shagnasty seethed.

"No. You're immortal scum."

"You blind, flesh-feeding worm," Shagnasty snarled. "Who are you to speak to me so?"

"The worm who's got what you need," I said. "Dusk. Keep the phone handy."

I hung up on him.

My heart hammered against my chest and cold sweat broke out over my upper body. I felt myself shaking with terror for Thomas, with weariness, with reaction to the conversation with Shagnasty. I leaned my aching head against the earpiece of the phone and hoped that I hadn't just ended my brother's life.

One more call.

The White Council of Wizards uses telephone communications like everyone else, albeit with a lot more service calls. I gave headquarters a ring, gave them the countersign to their security challenge, and got patched through to one of the administrative assistants, an earnest young woman not quite finished with her apprenticeship.

"I need to get a message to every member of the Senior Council," I told her.

"Very well, sir," she said. "What is the message?"

"Get this verbatim. Okay?"

"Yes, sir."

I cleared my throat and spoke. "Be advised that I have been sheltering Warden Donald Morgan from discovery and capture for the past two days. An informant has come to me with details of how Warden Morgan was framed for the murder of Senior Council Member LaFortier. Warden Morgan is innocent, and what's more, I can prove it.

"I am willing to meet with you tonight, on the uncharted island in Lake Michigan, east of Chicago at sundown. The informant will be present, and will produce testimony that will vindicate Warden Morgan and identify the true culprit of the crime.

"Let me be perfectly clear. I will not surrender Warden Morgan to the alleged justice of the Council. Come in peace and we will work things out. But should you come to me looking for a fight, be assured that I will oblige you."

The assistant had started making choking sounds after the very first sentence.

"Then sign it 'Harry Dresden,' " I said.

"Um. Yes, sir. Sh-shall I read that back to you?"

"Please."

She did. I'd heard sounds of movement in the background around her, but as she read aloud, all of those sounds died to silence. When she finished, she asked, in a rather small, squeaky voice, "Do I have that down correctly, sir?"

Murmurs burst out in the background over the phone, excited and low.

"Yeah," I told her. "Perfect."

Chapter Thirty-eight

I figured I had an hour, maybe, before someone was going to show up from Edinburgh. It was time enough to grab a cab and head to the hospital.

Back in the ICU, Will was sacked out in the waiting room and Georgia was the one sitting with Andi. A middle-aged couple who looked as if they hadn't slept much was in there with her. I knocked on the glass. Georgia said something to the couple and rose to come out into the hallway with me. She looked tired but alert, and had her long, rather frizzy hair pulled back into a ponytail.

"Harry," she said, hugging me.

I returned the hug, cutting it off a little early. "How is she?"

Georgia studied me for a second before she answered. "In bad shape. The doctors don't seem to be willing to say whether or not she'll recover."

"Better that way," I said. "If one of them said she'd be fine and then she wasn't..."