Ghost Story (The Dresden Files 13)

to speak to the sorcerer Aristedes. I was told he was to be found here.” He paused for maybe a second and a half and added, “I’ve a warlock to catch in Trinidad in an hour. I would prefer not to draw this out.”

No one answered. There were soft, furtive sounds: an old tennis shoe dragging across the concrete floor with a faint squeak. Footsteps. A soft exhalation. A faint grunt of exertion.

“Warden,” Butters said. He picked at his teeth with his thumbnail.

Daniel’s shoulders locked up and tightened, and Fitz let out a short yowl. “It’s me!” he called out frantically. “It’s Fitz! Sir, they say they’re here to talk to you about the Fomor.”

“Fitz!” said a voice from off to one side. One of the kids from the drive-by, the little one, emerged from behind a set of metal cabinets. He got a look at Fitz’s situation and tensed into a crouch, ready to run.

“Hey, Zero,” Fitz said, trying to sound casual as he all but dangled from Daniel’s grip. “The boss home?”

There was a swishing sound, as if someone had thrown a large ball at considerable speed. And then Aristedes said, from directly behind us, “I am.”

Daniel twitched, but Butters concealed his reaction masterfully. He simply glanced over his shoulder and regarded Aristedes, who now stood in the newly doorless entryway. Butters arched an eyebrow, as if he’d seen the trick before but at least found it well-done, and turned to face Aristedes.

He gave the man a slight bow and said, “I am Warden Valdo. This is Warden Smythe.”

Daniel glowered.

“If you aren’t otherwise occupied, I wonder if we might ask for a moment of your time.”

Aristedes studied the three of them for a silent moment, his eyes narrowed. He was wearing a ragged, old dark blue bathrobe over loose cotton chinos and a tank top. The hair on his chest was thick and dark. The tattoos around his skull and over his cheekbones stood out sharply against his pale skin.

“You are from the White Council?” he asked.

Butters studied him for a moment and then sighed. “Should I start at the beginning again? Our files describe you as a minor but competent operator. Were they mistaken?”

Aristedes folded his arms, his expression a neutral mask. “I am, of course, aware of the White Council. What business do you have with me? And why are you holding my apprentice prisoner?”

I did a quick circle around Aristedes. Since I was all ghosty, he never knew I was there. He didn’t so much as get goose bumps on the back of his neck. I guessed that he was the opposite of Forthill: Being a selfcentered megalomaniac hadn’t prepared Aristedes to be sensitive to anyone’s soul at all.

“There’s a bulge under the robe at the small of his back,” I said to Fitz. “Blink twice for yes if you know what it is. Blink once for no.”

Fitz shot a glance at me and blinked twice.

“A weapon?” I asked.

Two blinks.

“Gun?”

One blink.

“Knife?”

Two blinks.

“Okay,” I said. “That’s definitely a need-to-know fact. If you get a chance, or if things get violent, tell Daniel about it.”

Two more nervous blinks.

I hesitated, and then said, in a gentler voice, “Hang tough, kid. I’ve been where you are. It’s going to be okay.”

No blinks. Fitz bit his lip.

Butters, meanwhile, kept the dialogue going. “Clearly, the Council finds the recent activities of the Fomor somewhat repulsive. Just as clearly, our recently concluded war with the Red Court has left us less able to act than we would have been otherwise.”

Which, thinking about it, probably wasn’t true. The Council finished the war with the Red Court with more active, experienced, dangerous Wardens than they’d had when it started. Granted, the vast majority of them were a bunch of kids Molly’s age or younger, but they were already veterans. But I was betting that the Fomor picking on a bunch of lowlevel talents was a problem that was fairly far down their priority list.

“I’d heard the Wardens were adept at coming to the point,” Aristedes said. “Should we start again at the beginning to give you another chance to get there?”

Butters gave the sorcerer a frosty smile and a small inclination of his head. “You and your crew are still here. That suggests competence. We approve of competence.”

Aristedes tilted his head to one side and was silent for a moment. “You’ve come to discuss a relationship of some kind?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Butters replied. “I’m not a recruiter. This is a visit.