Fic: Best of All Possible Worlds; Harry Dresden; #09 Race
Title: The Best of All Possible Worlds
Chapter Title: Chapter 6 -- Prayers and Promises. Chapter 1 is here; Chapter 2 is here; Chapter 3 is here; Chapter 4 is here; Chapter 5 is here; Chapter 7 is here; Chapter 8 is here.
Fandom: The Dresden Files (Bookverse and TV-verse)
Characters: Harry, John Marcone, a couple of book characters I'd prefer not to announce ahead of time, Hrothbert of Bainbridge, cameo by Murphy
Prompt: #09 Race
Word Count: 5,732
Rating: PG-13. Warnings for language.
Summary: Harry gets his heart's desire, and something he'd rather not have along with it.
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files most emphatically do NOT belong to me. The series belongs to Jim Butcher, ROC Books, the SciFi Channel and Lionsgate Entertainment. No profit is being made, nor is any copyright or trademark infringement intended.
Author's Notes: Harry quotes three well-known lines in this. "There can be only one" is the tagline of both the Highlander movies and the Highlander TV series. "Just one more question" was the famous line of Peter Falk's character, Lieutenant Columbo. "Just the facts, ma'am" is Sergeant Friday's name from the TV show Dragnet.
Table: Conjure at Your Own Risk
***
Marcone was just opening his mouth to ask me just what my cunning plan was when Heaven decided to bless me with divine favor and sent an SUV slamming into my car. I cringed at the rasp and squeal of tortured metal bending in ways it wasn't meant to. Marcone gazed at the security car with a agonized expression, like an artist who's just seen someone beating up a Botticelli.
"Do you always have this kind of luck, Dresden?"
I had to agree with him. The last person I needed to deal with tonight was a normal who was upset about the death of his Yuppie-mobile. Sighing, I trudged over to the SUV and rapped on the window.
"I'm sorry. It was my fault." That's what I started to say, even though I wasn't and it wasn't. But even as I started to speak my piece, the driver's side door opened so fast that I barely stepped back quickly enough to prevent my nose from being knocked off.
Then the driver stepped out of the van.
He was a big guy, and at six-six , I'm not exactly a midget. He gave the impression that he was muscular, too, though it was hard to tell under the under the flannel shirt he had on. And the chain mail. And the breastplate.
I gulped, taking in the armor, the white cloak and, above all, the broadsword in his right hand.
I vaguely remembered scraps about the Knights of the Cross, though I didn't know if the scraps were coming from me or H.J. Morningway. You couldn't be a wizard and not hear about them. But somehow, I had a feeling that I'd long since relegated the Knights to the realm of myth and legend. Because honestly, where were you going to find someone nowadays who'd be willing to spend his whole life fighting evil because it was the right thing to do?
And now someone with that kind of faith and dedication was standing in front of me.
I was elated. Finally, some good luck. I could use it. Hell, Murphy could use it.
He paused for a minute and stared at me. Then, so quickly I didn't even see him do it, he drew his sword.
Uh-oh.
"Morningway." His voice was cold and stern. "This is your doing, then."
"I'm not Morningway--"
"Liar." The contempt in his eyes was as scorching as boiling lead, searing and painful and weighing me down. "Banish the demon now."
"You know, I'd love to," I said with a sigh. "I really would. But I can't."
He pointed a very large and an exceedingly sharp broadsword at my chest. Great. That was all I needed. A chest piercing, Crusader-style. "And why can't you?"
"Well, mostly because I didn't summon the goddamned thing!"
"Try again." He placed the point of the sword on my chest. One good skewer would puncture my heart.
And he was willing to do this. Killing me would, he believed, in some way appease his God. Given that I didn't know how strong my ties to the Courthouse of Death were, I wasn't prepared to say that he was wrong.
However, I wasn't prepared to die to prove him right.
I dodged to the side, which is not easy to do when you're backing away, believe me. "John? A little help here?"
Marcone sounded amused. Bastard. "I don't think you exactly need my help, Dresden."
"He has a holy SWORD! What part of that didn't you understand?"
"You're a wizard of considerable power," he said with exaggerated patience. "You could melt him where he stands. Killing with magic would be easy. So would mindrape and enthralling--"
"I can't do that!"
"But Morningway could, and would. Which is exactly why you don't need my help, Dresden. You've been proving that you aren't Morningway for the past few minutes."
I glared at him. I might be proving it as far as the knight was concerned-though I doubted this-but considering that I'd killed a teenage girl that morning, Marcone had taken a hell of a chance. An unacceptable chance.
"In other words," I snapped, still backing away from the knight, who didn't seem remotely convinced by Marcone's argument, "you gave Morningway an opening. A chance for him to say, 'Oh look, I'm in danger, let me just cremate the source with black fire,' take over my mind and body, and kill one of the ultimate good guys. Are you out of your fucking mind?"
Marcone opened his mouth to argue. I overrode him.
"And we haven't got time for this. Look," I said, turning to the knight, "I'll make this easy for you. Bad-ass demon-in there." I jerked a thumb toward the Courthouse of Doom. "At least one human being, probably more-also in there. There's a Death Curse probably caused by a necromancer surrounding the building, the one opening eats magic and life, and we can't figure out how to get in and rescue anything without ending up helpless, dead, or both.
"So. You coming with us? I mean, you can always kill me later, right?"
The knight sheathed his sword. "Yes. I'll come with you."
I blinked. I hadn't expected that reaction. "Just like that?"
"You asked for my help in saving an innocent-at least one," he said, speaking with a gentle earnestness. "That's the Lord's business. How can I refuse to do His will?"
***
Doing His will turned out to be a bit trickier than any of us had expected.
The knight, whose name was Michael, had no interest in questioning why a wizard steeped in the Black and a former hit man-turned-private eye would ask for God's help. That, as far as he was concerned, was God's business, not his. He was far more intrigued by the courthouse, and once I gave him the Reader's Digest version of the story, started walking off toward the building.
"Where the goddamned fucking hell are you going?" growled Marcone, ignoring the fact that Michael was wincing at his language. "Are you deaf? There's no way to get in there without getting killed!"
"That's not important," Michael said, and kept on walking.
I gave Marcone a sympathetic glance. "He's right, you know. We have to get Murphy and whoever else is in there out--even if it kills us."
"Do you suppose we could push the pause button on the Stupid Heroism program and figure out a way to save people and not die at the same time?"
"There isn't time," Michael said, bringing his sword up to point at the courthouse.
I looked where he was pointing. Green smoke was pouring out of a second-story window.
Oh shit.
Marcone stopped behind me and stared. "Please tell me that's just a chemical fire."
"It's a demon starting to manifest, and it's heading this way." I glared at Marcone. "And if you say 'I asked you not to tell me that, Mister Dresden,' I am going to thwap you one."
"And you're going to fight this thing," he retorted, glaring back.
"No," said Michael calmly, "I am. I was sent here to banish the demon, either directly or by slaying its summoner." He gave me an oblique but not apologetic look.
"No, I get that," I muttered. "I kinda wish that the Head Office had sent you a memo telling you that I wasn't the summoner, but I don't object to the task itself. Still don't see how in God's name I can help you, though."
He shrugged. "Neither do I. Why don't you ask Him?"
"Wait, what--?"
And then the demon materialized.
It was hideous-no surprises there, as I've yet to see a demon that's marginally pretty by human standards. Picture something like a radioactively black dodecahedron, with facial features-not human ones-on each 'face' of the shape. Add a wide, smooth triangle of flesh jutting up from the top of the dodecahedron...a bit like a neck with no head on top of it. Now envision black tentacle-like limbs flowing out of the eyes, noses and mouths of the features on the shape, so that it could propel itself along on two limbs, or five, or a hundred, just as it chose, and could reach for Michael with alarming ease.
Michael stepped forward, his holy sword glowing blue.
I started to summon the energy for a fireball. Michael didn't even turn around.
"Don't! I told you, ask Him!"
I don't talk to God, as a rule. I couldn't go into a battle the way that Michael had, certain that whether I lived or died it was God's will. Still can't. I've seen too many foul, despicable, evil things happen, and I can't make myself believe that those things are the will of any god. I couldn't respect a human being who stood by and let others suffer for the greater good, never mind a deity. And if that's blasphemy, well, so be it.
On the other hand, I wasn't about to disregard the words of a guy who worked for God personally. So I came up with a short prayer. Not the most formal one in the world, but I was in a hurry.
God? Harry Dresden here. Listen, I'm in trouble. So are some other people, including Your knight and an ex-cop some version of me hurt horribly. And I'd kind of appreciate it if You'd tell me what the hell to do-because otherwise we're all completely screwed. Do You think You could come up with an answer? Like now?
I didn't expect a voice from on high. What I got, though, was a small thought. I wasn't sure where it had come from. At first it sounded like a truism.
To defeat death, use life.
I already knew the necromancer's magic was far too powerful to be defeated by ordinary mortal magic. I'd need something more concentrated. Life in a bottle, so to speak.
Life in a...
As quickly as that, I had the answer.
"Marcone! Stay put! I'll be right back!" And with that, I ripped a hole into the Nevernever.
***
I was aiming for Summer. I ended up in Winter.
It wasn't one of the more aesthetically pleasing portions of Faerie. It was just an wide, snow-filled meadow surrounded by bare, black trees with snow-covered branches and ice-covered thornbushes. Above, the sky was the greyish-white it gets before a blizzard. It looked and felt inhospitable. Possibly hostile.
I didn't have much time to look around. I no sooner walked into Winter when I found myself surrounded by massive black mastiffs, seemingly made of soot and smoke, and all with flat dark eyes.
And in their midst stood a woman-tall, slender, red-haired, golden-eyed and inhumanly beautiful, clad in a gown of bright green. She was, incidentally, standing on top of the snow, not in it.
I vaguely recalled courtesy counting for a lot with Sidhe lords. However, I didn't have time to go through days and days of protocol. Especially since, now that I thought of it, I didn't actually remember what it was.
Instead, I walked up to the woman of faerie and said, "Will you please show me the way to Summer?" I did give her my most sincere smile. Really, I was quite charming. I was just charming and fast.
The woman laughed, and her laughter was like bells. Slightly out of tune bells. Almost sweet, but not quite. "Child, I am one of Mab's vassals, not Titania's. You know this. Summer and I have naught to do with each other."
"I could guess that, since I'm here," I said, aware that my manners were slipping but too scared to focus on anything what had brought me to Winter in the first place. "But I need to get there fast. There's an emergency. So if you could point me toward a shortcut..."
"There are none that you might take and survive."
"I'll take my chances. Thanks anyway." I turned to go.
And was promptly stopped by a slender hand of pure titanium gripping my shoulder "Before you attempt to leave, I would know why you have come here. You have placed yourself within my power, after all."
"Within your---?" I stared at the woman. "Lady, I don't even know who you are."
She gazed at me, puzzled. "Who are you? Can you tell me that?"
I opened my mouth to tell her-and closed it again swiftly. I couldn't remember a thing-not what I'd come seeking, or why, or even where I'd come from. It was as if someone had hit a huge delete button. I scrambled for some small scraps of memory, but they were gone. Everything I had known and done and been-erased.
Shivering, I stared at her.
She pressed her fingertips to my forehead and frowned. "An evil spell indeed, and one ill cast." She studied me for a moment. "And I cannot claim you as you are. You are but a shell. It seems you will owe me yet another favor soon."
I didn't know what she was talking about. What was worse, I couldn't make myself care. It was as if there was a hole in my mind, and I was slowly seeping out of it.
She gave me an unreadable look, and then glided over the snow to a thornbush covered with ice and broke off a thorn. Swiftly she made her way back to where I was standing-though perhaps "being guarded by her pet humans-turned-mastiffs" would be more accurate-held the thorn up to my gaze
...and drove it into her index finger.
I lunged forward. "Stop!"
She caught me and help me tightly. "Foolish child. I'm doing this to save you!"
"Huh?"
For answer, she slipped her bleeding finger between my lips. I spat it out.
"I don't drink blood!"
"You will drink mine, or you will forget all," she retorted. "You will forget how to speak, how to chew, how to see. In the end, your body will not recall how to breathe. It will be a slow, cruel, mindless death. Is that what you want?"
I shook my head. It was a double negation. Of course I didn't want that. By the same token, I couldn't bear the thought of drinking blood, even the blood of a faerie who was standing right in front of me, ordering me to do so. I would have sealed my mouth shut with a spell if I had still known any magic.
I expected gentle persuasion, blandishments, enchantments.
I did not expect her to pinch my jaw open with a vise-like grip, and then to squeeze her blood into my mouth and down my throat.
Seven drops fell onto my tongue.
I coughed and struggled and tried to spit. No good. I swallowed her blood despite my best efforts.
The memories crashed in on me like an avalanche. And I fell to my knees.
How long I remained there, shivering in Winter's snow, I don't know. When I finally staggered to my feet, though, I had remembered not only who and what I was, as well as what I'd come to do, but also how I'd got into this mess in the first place.
I looked at the red-headed woman and spoke her name. "Lea. Godmother."
She smiled.
"What now? Do I have to stay here?"
The lovely smile vanished from Lea's face, and she shook her head. "Tempting though that is, child, you are still injured. Seven days of inspiration I have given you to mend yourself and your world-and to restore mine to balance as well. But be warned...the Other shares your body, and hence the inspiration I have bestowed. He will fight you-and destroy you, if he can, so that he may live. As you must destroy him, if you are to survive."
"Great," I sighed, rubbing my face. "So I'm no better off than I was before."
"You are considerably better off!" Lea said indignantly, hands on her perfect hips. "You know what caused all this!"
"Me making a stupid wish on Ancient Mai's say-so."
A surprised expression flickered across Lea's face. "Blame not yourself for the dragon's sorcery. All did not have to go awry. Your intention was foolish, but well-meant."
"Yeah, well, road to Hell and all that. And I don't know how I'm going to fix this. Not in seven million years, never mind seven days."
She laughed that slightly off-key bell-like laugh again. "As you usually do, godson. As you usually do."
"Maybe. I'm going to need some Beltane wine to accomplish it."
Beltane wine was legendary. Picture sun and fire and sex and life distilled into a bottle-that's the wine of the Summer Court. If anything could break the death curse on the courthouse and help heal any injuries the curse had caused, Beltane wine could do so.
Lea pouted. "I have told you. I cannot go to Summer."
"Which is not the same thing as saying that you can't get the wine." I sighed. "Lea, please. I have to get back. People are dying. I have to stop that. It's part of what you just said...mending the world. If I had time to experiment, I'd try to concoct a life potion--"
"-which no wizard has ever done--"
"But I'd try, if there were time. There isn't time. There are demons and death curses and necromancers, and I gotta stop them now, Lea." I paused, hoping she'd take this in the right way, and knowing there was nothing I could do if she didn't. "Consider it inspiration."
She grinned, and let me tell you, seeing a faerie grin is scary. I've never seen one yet that wasn't up to something. "Clever. Very well, you shall have what you came for. But in exchange for something. That is only just, after restoring you to health and granting you what you wish."
"I don't have anything to pay you with."
"Oh, you underestimate yourself," Lea purred, looking me over in a way that made me turn both hot and cold. "However, I have a payment in mind. And the price is not negotiable."
That worried me already. "What do you have in mind, Godmother?"
"Something of little value," she assured me. "One day out of your life. Twenty-four hours, as you measure time. I will even be kind and claim a day on which you are doing nothing important, personally or professionally."
There had to be a catch. Had to. I couldn't find it, but that didn't mean it wasn't there.
"I don't like it," I said. "Cripes, you just gave me seven days back."
"Yes."
I turned the notion over in my mind. I didn't like it, but I didn't see what else I could do. It was the only price Lea would accept. And if I didn't agree to pay it, I could be here for a very long time-while back in Chicago, people died whom I could have saved.
I took a deep breath. "All right. Agreed."
She smiled triumphantly, then placed two fingers from her uninjured hand in her mouth and whistled. One of the dogs loped off toward the forest at my left. Well, not so much loping than racing past like wind-blown smoke, really.
It's hard to measure time in the Nevernever. It might have been a minute. It might have been a day. I couldn't tell, and I really didn't care. I was more worried about how much time had passed back in the world? Hours? Days? Weeks? Was anyone still alive?
The dog came speeding back, light as a cloud's shadow over snow. It had a wineskin in its mouth. Lea gave it a negligent pat, and it gazed up at her with what would have been an adoring expression if not for those flat black eyes.
Then she removed the wineskin from its jaws and handed it to me.
I would have opened it-just to check--but she shook her head.
"Go now," she said. "And do not return to the Nevernever; your mind can scarce endure two sets of memories from two different worlds. It must not cope with a third. I might not be here next time."
"Nice to know you care." I only half-meant the sarcasm.
"Of course. I must safeguard my property." She gave me a wicked smile, then motioned me to turn around. "Go. Do not look back."
Sighing and reminding myself that I wouldn't enjoy being a pillar of salt, I turned around, re-opened the portal that I'd used to get here, and stepped through.
***
"Dresden! Dresden, where the fuck are you?"
Marcone's voice. I blinked and looked around.
A few minutes had gone by-no more than that. Michael was still fighting the geometric demon, and from where I was standing, it looked like an even fight. The knight had slashed several wounds into the demon, but his chest and shoulders had been burned by the touch of the thing's tentacles. Marcone was shooting at it, which didn't surprise me, but the fact that the bullets were actually wounding it did.
I made my way over to Marcone. "I'm here. I had to go get something."
He barely glanced at the wineskin in my hand. "Good one, Dresden. We're still going to die, but at least now we'll die feeling no pain."
I could have explained about the wine, but I was more interested in something else. "Why're your bullets wounding it?"
"Because I'm using blessed bullets." He shrugged. "Father Forthill over at St. Mary of the Angels...he blesses my clips. By the caseload. Murphy's too."
I considered saying something snarky and pointless like Was there some reason you didn't tell me that?, but I could tell there wasn't time. As he fired off three more shots in quick succession, I bobbed, wove and dodged away from the sword-and-gunfight to get closer to the building. I had something in mind. It could work. I just needed to get the timing right, and maintain control. I could manage the first, but I was more than a little unsure about the second.
I suppressed the insecurity as best I could. I didn't have time to dither over this.
First, I tossed the wineskin in the air, lifted my staff and shouted, "Vento cyclis!"
A wind like a reverse cyclone spun out of nowhere and spun skyward, taking the wine with it. Trying to maintain the semi-cyclone, I aimed my wand at the wineskin and focused on creating a dart of air.
It had to be a weapon of air. Fire, even magical fire, doesn't mix well with wine. My handgun and its bullets are steel...tempered iron. Not good for anything wrought in Faerie. And rock-like spikes conjured from earth-well, it would be great if I could snap one off with my bare hands and then hit the wineskin as if it were a bullseye, but I'm not Superman. Also, unlike most of the detectives I've read about, I'm not that great at throwing objects with unerring accuracy, so tossing a staff, wand or silver athamé at the wineskin...definitely out. I'd probably end up losing anything I threw.
The dart zoomed upward toward the wineskin. Now came the point where I really needed good timing. I had to cut the cyclone-like winds; otherwise they'd push the dart away. Of course, once I did that, a little thing called gravity was going to take over. Life would be so much simpler if my magic would just suspend the laws of physics.
I used the winds to push the wineskin above the courthouse, then cut the spell. As the wine began tumbling down, I pushed the dart of air closer and--
A demonic tentacle snared me by the ankle, and I fell, face forward, onto the sidewalk.
Gritting my teeth and trying to ignore the demon's acidic touch, I pushed the dart toward the wine, then punctured the wineskin. Or to be more precise, put so much pressure on one portion of the wineskin that it burst.
The wine spilled out. I was moaning now. And not in a good way. I felt as if the acid was searing my bones, and I couldn't kick the tentacle free, not matter what. The pain was screwing with my concentration, too; I had to struggle not to push all my magic into a powerful storm wind. The impulse to get this spell over and done with was almost overwhelming.
I focused as best I could, trying to weave a large web of magical energy that would catch the droplets of Summer wine--and do it quickly. It was the kind of spell that takes finesse, and I don't do finesse well. Blasts, explosions, fires-that's more my style.
I caught most of the drops in the web. It wasn't ideal; there were gaps where there shouldn't have been, the magic too crude and elementary to form the delicate, finely woven web I really needed. But it was what I had.
Carefully, I began bringing the web down over the courthouse. It was almost down when I heard swearing behind me.
"Dresden, I'm out of ammo, could you get your ass over here now?!"
"In a minute!" I called. I'm not sure if Marcone heard me-I was trying to ensure that I was speaking loudly enough for him and Michael to understand, but not loudly enough for the demon or the necromancer to do so. In any case, Marcone didn't hear but the demon did, and it proceeded to pull my leg as if it were playing a game of 'snap the wishbone.'
"AAOOAARRRRRRGH!" Barely managing to keep the magical web from dissolving in a wave of pain, I let it float down over the courthouse like glowing mosquito netting.
As the web enfolded the building, there was a burst of gold-green light...like sunlight shining through new leaves. Needing to be sure that everything was copacetic, I snuck a peek at the building with my Sight.
The deadly white glow was gone, and the fungoid "mouth" that had been devouring magic and life was, if not gone, shrunken, puckered and withered. The courthouse looked...well, how do you say that a building's been deathly ill? If it had been a human, it would have been lying in the hospital bed looking pale and weak and exhausted, but alive. Some people were stumbling out of the front door; to my Sight, they looked battered and bruised, even bloody, but they were alive.
"DRESDEN!"
Forcing the Sight away, I turned around-as much as I could, with one leg out of true-and turned toward Marcone. He was doing his best to help Michael fight the demon, which was slashed and shot in countless places. Though wounded, Michael was still holding up, but Marcone was out of blessed bullets and was now attempting to club the demon with his handgun. This wasn't working, and it showed. The demon had been playing with him for ages, just as it had with me. Rather like a cruel cat playing with two wounded and exhausted mice.
"Why did I have to join a wizard's campaign?" he was grumbling."I knew demons were involved. Why didn't I join a cleric instead of a wizard? A cleric could at least bless something."
True, I couldn't do that. But I could fight with faith, just the same. I may not speak to deities, but I have faith in magic.
I removed my silver pentacle amulet and, before I could think about what I was doing, flung it at the demon.
It struck the monster in the middle of what would have been its back if it were human. The demon wailed as silver flames shot from the point of impact.
Michael stepped forward and brought his sword down in one swift and fatal diagonal slice. "Deo adiuvante!" he cried as the demon fell to the ground, neatly bisected.
"There can be only one!" I yelled back.
Marcone staggered over to help me up.
"You don't have to," I said.
He give me a tired but snarky grin. "If there's going to be a Quickening, I'm not standing next to him." He glanced at me. "Murph got out.She's all right."
He pointed over at a small knot of people huddled near Michael's van. Murphy appeared to be trying to calm and reassure her fellow ex-hostages while asking one more question. And just the facts, ma'am.
"Good," I said, mentally reserving comment till I knew for sure. At least no one was dead, though the pain in my right leg was making me wish I were.
Then Marcone pulled me to my feet, and I wished that I was not only dead but long since turned to dust. Dust wouldn't hurt.
"Come on," he said. "I'll get you to my car."
"Gotta stop by the corpse first," I said. "Or at least where the corpse was before it so politely vanished. I want my amulet back."
Marcone semi-carried and semi-walked me to where the ectoplasmic ruins of the demon were lying. Michael was standing next to it with his hands folded and his eyes closed, so I presumed that he was praying. I scanned the scraps of ectoplasm for a gleam of silver, spotted it and nearly collapsed when I tried to bend down and pick it up.
"Jerk," Marcone said, glaring. "I'll get it. Go lean against a fence or a park bench or something so you don't fall down."
I glanced around, surveying the complete lack of fence or bench.
"Oh, crap, " he muttered. "Well-lean against Michael."
"You want me to use a human being like he's a wall?"
"Hey!" He glared at me. "Faith is supposed to be a support in time of need, right. Well, you're in dire need, so let him support you for a few minutes."
Well, mine is not to reason why. Mine is just to lean against holy knights and hope that their divine boss doesn't decide to smite me with lightning.
Marcone snagged my now-goo-covered amulet with barely a glimmer of distaste. The glimmer became a grimace a few minutes later when, despite the goo, I put the pentacle back on. Considering the way my luck was going, I might need it.
We were shambling back to the cars when the necromancer appeared...as in, materialized right in front of us.
He wasn't exactly what I'd expected. His face wasn't hidden by a mask or concealed by a cowl, and he didn't have the propensity for robes that makes so many older wizards look like Gandalf-wannabes. He didn't have a long white beard. He didn't even have the evil laugh and the sinister smile down. He was clad in a suit that combined formality and peacockery with ease, and resembled a very proud fiftysomething college professor. He was a few inches shorter than I was, but he still managed to look down his nose at me.
"Well. A fine collection of heroes. The frightened criminal attempting to fight for the order his very nature despises. The noble but naïve paladin, battling by the side of two souls long since lost. And..." His lip curled in disdain. "The Black magician. Aethelwold's get."
I leaned forward. "Bob? Is that really you?"
For a moment, his expression changed from cold, enraged hatred to bewilderment. "Harry? What's going on?" But before I could say anything, Bob seeped away and I was facing Hrothbert again.
"You were clever," he said, and his tone made the word sound like a curse. "You eliminated both death curse and demon before I could stop you."
"I didn't notice you doing a hell of a lot!" I snapped.
"Insanely powerful, unimaginably evil and mind-bogglingly unobservant," he said coolly. "What a dreadful combination."
"So enlighten me," I retorted. "Tell me what what you were doing. Or what you're planning on doing next time."
"I think not."
Great. I finally meet an intelligent bad guy, and he's read the Evil Overlord List.
I took a deep breath. "Well, it was great to meet you, Hrothbert. And to see the real you. But I need to get going." I did. For the past few minutes, I'd been gripping Marcone's arm to keep myself upright. My leg hurt so much that I was seeing spots in front of my eyes. "Just one thing. Why do you hate me? I tried to free you!"
"Free me?" And then sudden comprehension swept over his face, followed by black hatred. He advanced on me, radiating the cold of necromantic magic. "You claim that you-you actually dare..."
Whoops. I'd just said exactly the wrong thing, and I had no idea why. "Bob...!"
He kept coming toward me, that terrible expression on his face. He wanted to kill me. To do worse than kill me. I could see it in his eyes.
I couldn't even think about attacking him. I simply flung up my arms to shield my face. That's all I did.
And the bastard inside me took over.
I remember black fire spurting from my fingers as I recited something that sounded like gibberish. Evidently it wasn't, though, as Michael's eyes were growing wider and more sickened every minute.
"Forgive me," he said at last. "But I cannot allow..."
And he struck me. Hard. I landed flat on my ass on the asphalt. The sudden shock of my wounded leg colliding with the road's surface made the world grey out. The last thing I heard before I passed out was Hrothbert saying to Michael, "You may have truly served your god just now, Sir Knight."
And then the world went away, and I went with it.
***
Chapter Title: Chapter 6 -- Prayers and Promises. Chapter 1 is here; Chapter 2 is here; Chapter 3 is here; Chapter 4 is here; Chapter 5 is here; Chapter 7 is here; Chapter 8 is here.
Fandom: The Dresden Files (Bookverse and TV-verse)
Characters: Harry, John Marcone, a couple of book characters I'd prefer not to announce ahead of time, Hrothbert of Bainbridge, cameo by Murphy
Prompt: #09 Race
Word Count: 5,732
Rating: PG-13. Warnings for language.
Summary: Harry gets his heart's desire, and something he'd rather not have along with it.
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files most emphatically do NOT belong to me. The series belongs to Jim Butcher, ROC Books, the SciFi Channel and Lionsgate Entertainment. No profit is being made, nor is any copyright or trademark infringement intended.
Author's Notes: Harry quotes three well-known lines in this. "There can be only one" is the tagline of both the Highlander movies and the Highlander TV series. "Just one more question" was the famous line of Peter Falk's character, Lieutenant Columbo. "Just the facts, ma'am" is Sergeant Friday's name from the TV show Dragnet.
Table: Conjure at Your Own Risk
***
Marcone was just opening his mouth to ask me just what my cunning plan was when Heaven decided to bless me with divine favor and sent an SUV slamming into my car. I cringed at the rasp and squeal of tortured metal bending in ways it wasn't meant to. Marcone gazed at the security car with a agonized expression, like an artist who's just seen someone beating up a Botticelli.
"Do you always have this kind of luck, Dresden?"
I had to agree with him. The last person I needed to deal with tonight was a normal who was upset about the death of his Yuppie-mobile. Sighing, I trudged over to the SUV and rapped on the window.
"I'm sorry. It was my fault." That's what I started to say, even though I wasn't and it wasn't. But even as I started to speak my piece, the driver's side door opened so fast that I barely stepped back quickly enough to prevent my nose from being knocked off.
Then the driver stepped out of the van.
He was a big guy, and at six-six , I'm not exactly a midget. He gave the impression that he was muscular, too, though it was hard to tell under the under the flannel shirt he had on. And the chain mail. And the breastplate.
I gulped, taking in the armor, the white cloak and, above all, the broadsword in his right hand.
I vaguely remembered scraps about the Knights of the Cross, though I didn't know if the scraps were coming from me or H.J. Morningway. You couldn't be a wizard and not hear about them. But somehow, I had a feeling that I'd long since relegated the Knights to the realm of myth and legend. Because honestly, where were you going to find someone nowadays who'd be willing to spend his whole life fighting evil because it was the right thing to do?
And now someone with that kind of faith and dedication was standing in front of me.
I was elated. Finally, some good luck. I could use it. Hell, Murphy could use it.
He paused for a minute and stared at me. Then, so quickly I didn't even see him do it, he drew his sword.
Uh-oh.
"Morningway." His voice was cold and stern. "This is your doing, then."
"I'm not Morningway--"
"Liar." The contempt in his eyes was as scorching as boiling lead, searing and painful and weighing me down. "Banish the demon now."
"You know, I'd love to," I said with a sigh. "I really would. But I can't."
He pointed a very large and an exceedingly sharp broadsword at my chest. Great. That was all I needed. A chest piercing, Crusader-style. "And why can't you?"
"Well, mostly because I didn't summon the goddamned thing!"
"Try again." He placed the point of the sword on my chest. One good skewer would puncture my heart.
And he was willing to do this. Killing me would, he believed, in some way appease his God. Given that I didn't know how strong my ties to the Courthouse of Death were, I wasn't prepared to say that he was wrong.
However, I wasn't prepared to die to prove him right.
I dodged to the side, which is not easy to do when you're backing away, believe me. "John? A little help here?"
Marcone sounded amused. Bastard. "I don't think you exactly need my help, Dresden."
"He has a holy SWORD! What part of that didn't you understand?"
"You're a wizard of considerable power," he said with exaggerated patience. "You could melt him where he stands. Killing with magic would be easy. So would mindrape and enthralling--"
"I can't do that!"
"But Morningway could, and would. Which is exactly why you don't need my help, Dresden. You've been proving that you aren't Morningway for the past few minutes."
I glared at him. I might be proving it as far as the knight was concerned-though I doubted this-but considering that I'd killed a teenage girl that morning, Marcone had taken a hell of a chance. An unacceptable chance.
"In other words," I snapped, still backing away from the knight, who didn't seem remotely convinced by Marcone's argument, "you gave Morningway an opening. A chance for him to say, 'Oh look, I'm in danger, let me just cremate the source with black fire,' take over my mind and body, and kill one of the ultimate good guys. Are you out of your fucking mind?"
Marcone opened his mouth to argue. I overrode him.
"And we haven't got time for this. Look," I said, turning to the knight, "I'll make this easy for you. Bad-ass demon-in there." I jerked a thumb toward the Courthouse of Doom. "At least one human being, probably more-also in there. There's a Death Curse probably caused by a necromancer surrounding the building, the one opening eats magic and life, and we can't figure out how to get in and rescue anything without ending up helpless, dead, or both.
"So. You coming with us? I mean, you can always kill me later, right?"
The knight sheathed his sword. "Yes. I'll come with you."
I blinked. I hadn't expected that reaction. "Just like that?"
"You asked for my help in saving an innocent-at least one," he said, speaking with a gentle earnestness. "That's the Lord's business. How can I refuse to do His will?"
***
Doing His will turned out to be a bit trickier than any of us had expected.
The knight, whose name was Michael, had no interest in questioning why a wizard steeped in the Black and a former hit man-turned-private eye would ask for God's help. That, as far as he was concerned, was God's business, not his. He was far more intrigued by the courthouse, and once I gave him the Reader's Digest version of the story, started walking off toward the building.
"Where the goddamned fucking hell are you going?" growled Marcone, ignoring the fact that Michael was wincing at his language. "Are you deaf? There's no way to get in there without getting killed!"
"That's not important," Michael said, and kept on walking.
I gave Marcone a sympathetic glance. "He's right, you know. We have to get Murphy and whoever else is in there out--even if it kills us."
"Do you suppose we could push the pause button on the Stupid Heroism program and figure out a way to save people and not die at the same time?"
"There isn't time," Michael said, bringing his sword up to point at the courthouse.
I looked where he was pointing. Green smoke was pouring out of a second-story window.
Oh shit.
Marcone stopped behind me and stared. "Please tell me that's just a chemical fire."
"It's a demon starting to manifest, and it's heading this way." I glared at Marcone. "And if you say 'I asked you not to tell me that, Mister Dresden,' I am going to thwap you one."
"And you're going to fight this thing," he retorted, glaring back.
"No," said Michael calmly, "I am. I was sent here to banish the demon, either directly or by slaying its summoner." He gave me an oblique but not apologetic look.
"No, I get that," I muttered. "I kinda wish that the Head Office had sent you a memo telling you that I wasn't the summoner, but I don't object to the task itself. Still don't see how in God's name I can help you, though."
He shrugged. "Neither do I. Why don't you ask Him?"
"Wait, what--?"
And then the demon materialized.
It was hideous-no surprises there, as I've yet to see a demon that's marginally pretty by human standards. Picture something like a radioactively black dodecahedron, with facial features-not human ones-on each 'face' of the shape. Add a wide, smooth triangle of flesh jutting up from the top of the dodecahedron...a bit like a neck with no head on top of it. Now envision black tentacle-like limbs flowing out of the eyes, noses and mouths of the features on the shape, so that it could propel itself along on two limbs, or five, or a hundred, just as it chose, and could reach for Michael with alarming ease.
Michael stepped forward, his holy sword glowing blue.
I started to summon the energy for a fireball. Michael didn't even turn around.
"Don't! I told you, ask Him!"
I don't talk to God, as a rule. I couldn't go into a battle the way that Michael had, certain that whether I lived or died it was God's will. Still can't. I've seen too many foul, despicable, evil things happen, and I can't make myself believe that those things are the will of any god. I couldn't respect a human being who stood by and let others suffer for the greater good, never mind a deity. And if that's blasphemy, well, so be it.
On the other hand, I wasn't about to disregard the words of a guy who worked for God personally. So I came up with a short prayer. Not the most formal one in the world, but I was in a hurry.
God? Harry Dresden here. Listen, I'm in trouble. So are some other people, including Your knight and an ex-cop some version of me hurt horribly. And I'd kind of appreciate it if You'd tell me what the hell to do-because otherwise we're all completely screwed. Do You think You could come up with an answer? Like now?
I didn't expect a voice from on high. What I got, though, was a small thought. I wasn't sure where it had come from. At first it sounded like a truism.
To defeat death, use life.
I already knew the necromancer's magic was far too powerful to be defeated by ordinary mortal magic. I'd need something more concentrated. Life in a bottle, so to speak.
Life in a...
As quickly as that, I had the answer.
"Marcone! Stay put! I'll be right back!" And with that, I ripped a hole into the Nevernever.
***
I was aiming for Summer. I ended up in Winter.
It wasn't one of the more aesthetically pleasing portions of Faerie. It was just an wide, snow-filled meadow surrounded by bare, black trees with snow-covered branches and ice-covered thornbushes. Above, the sky was the greyish-white it gets before a blizzard. It looked and felt inhospitable. Possibly hostile.
I didn't have much time to look around. I no sooner walked into Winter when I found myself surrounded by massive black mastiffs, seemingly made of soot and smoke, and all with flat dark eyes.
And in their midst stood a woman-tall, slender, red-haired, golden-eyed and inhumanly beautiful, clad in a gown of bright green. She was, incidentally, standing on top of the snow, not in it.
I vaguely recalled courtesy counting for a lot with Sidhe lords. However, I didn't have time to go through days and days of protocol. Especially since, now that I thought of it, I didn't actually remember what it was.
Instead, I walked up to the woman of faerie and said, "Will you please show me the way to Summer?" I did give her my most sincere smile. Really, I was quite charming. I was just charming and fast.
The woman laughed, and her laughter was like bells. Slightly out of tune bells. Almost sweet, but not quite. "Child, I am one of Mab's vassals, not Titania's. You know this. Summer and I have naught to do with each other."
"I could guess that, since I'm here," I said, aware that my manners were slipping but too scared to focus on anything what had brought me to Winter in the first place. "But I need to get there fast. There's an emergency. So if you could point me toward a shortcut..."
"There are none that you might take and survive."
"I'll take my chances. Thanks anyway." I turned to go.
And was promptly stopped by a slender hand of pure titanium gripping my shoulder "Before you attempt to leave, I would know why you have come here. You have placed yourself within my power, after all."
"Within your---?" I stared at the woman. "Lady, I don't even know who you are."
She gazed at me, puzzled. "Who are you? Can you tell me that?"
I opened my mouth to tell her-and closed it again swiftly. I couldn't remember a thing-not what I'd come seeking, or why, or even where I'd come from. It was as if someone had hit a huge delete button. I scrambled for some small scraps of memory, but they were gone. Everything I had known and done and been-erased.
Shivering, I stared at her.
She pressed her fingertips to my forehead and frowned. "An evil spell indeed, and one ill cast." She studied me for a moment. "And I cannot claim you as you are. You are but a shell. It seems you will owe me yet another favor soon."
I didn't know what she was talking about. What was worse, I couldn't make myself care. It was as if there was a hole in my mind, and I was slowly seeping out of it.
She gave me an unreadable look, and then glided over the snow to a thornbush covered with ice and broke off a thorn. Swiftly she made her way back to where I was standing-though perhaps "being guarded by her pet humans-turned-mastiffs" would be more accurate-held the thorn up to my gaze
...and drove it into her index finger.
I lunged forward. "Stop!"
She caught me and help me tightly. "Foolish child. I'm doing this to save you!"
"Huh?"
For answer, she slipped her bleeding finger between my lips. I spat it out.
"I don't drink blood!"
"You will drink mine, or you will forget all," she retorted. "You will forget how to speak, how to chew, how to see. In the end, your body will not recall how to breathe. It will be a slow, cruel, mindless death. Is that what you want?"
I shook my head. It was a double negation. Of course I didn't want that. By the same token, I couldn't bear the thought of drinking blood, even the blood of a faerie who was standing right in front of me, ordering me to do so. I would have sealed my mouth shut with a spell if I had still known any magic.
I expected gentle persuasion, blandishments, enchantments.
I did not expect her to pinch my jaw open with a vise-like grip, and then to squeeze her blood into my mouth and down my throat.
Seven drops fell onto my tongue.
I coughed and struggled and tried to spit. No good. I swallowed her blood despite my best efforts.
The memories crashed in on me like an avalanche. And I fell to my knees.
How long I remained there, shivering in Winter's snow, I don't know. When I finally staggered to my feet, though, I had remembered not only who and what I was, as well as what I'd come to do, but also how I'd got into this mess in the first place.
I looked at the red-headed woman and spoke her name. "Lea. Godmother."
She smiled.
"What now? Do I have to stay here?"
The lovely smile vanished from Lea's face, and she shook her head. "Tempting though that is, child, you are still injured. Seven days of inspiration I have given you to mend yourself and your world-and to restore mine to balance as well. But be warned...the Other shares your body, and hence the inspiration I have bestowed. He will fight you-and destroy you, if he can, so that he may live. As you must destroy him, if you are to survive."
"Great," I sighed, rubbing my face. "So I'm no better off than I was before."
"You are considerably better off!" Lea said indignantly, hands on her perfect hips. "You know what caused all this!"
"Me making a stupid wish on Ancient Mai's say-so."
A surprised expression flickered across Lea's face. "Blame not yourself for the dragon's sorcery. All did not have to go awry. Your intention was foolish, but well-meant."
"Yeah, well, road to Hell and all that. And I don't know how I'm going to fix this. Not in seven million years, never mind seven days."
She laughed that slightly off-key bell-like laugh again. "As you usually do, godson. As you usually do."
"Maybe. I'm going to need some Beltane wine to accomplish it."
Beltane wine was legendary. Picture sun and fire and sex and life distilled into a bottle-that's the wine of the Summer Court. If anything could break the death curse on the courthouse and help heal any injuries the curse had caused, Beltane wine could do so.
Lea pouted. "I have told you. I cannot go to Summer."
"Which is not the same thing as saying that you can't get the wine." I sighed. "Lea, please. I have to get back. People are dying. I have to stop that. It's part of what you just said...mending the world. If I had time to experiment, I'd try to concoct a life potion--"
"-which no wizard has ever done--"
"But I'd try, if there were time. There isn't time. There are demons and death curses and necromancers, and I gotta stop them now, Lea." I paused, hoping she'd take this in the right way, and knowing there was nothing I could do if she didn't. "Consider it inspiration."
She grinned, and let me tell you, seeing a faerie grin is scary. I've never seen one yet that wasn't up to something. "Clever. Very well, you shall have what you came for. But in exchange for something. That is only just, after restoring you to health and granting you what you wish."
"I don't have anything to pay you with."
"Oh, you underestimate yourself," Lea purred, looking me over in a way that made me turn both hot and cold. "However, I have a payment in mind. And the price is not negotiable."
That worried me already. "What do you have in mind, Godmother?"
"Something of little value," she assured me. "One day out of your life. Twenty-four hours, as you measure time. I will even be kind and claim a day on which you are doing nothing important, personally or professionally."
There had to be a catch. Had to. I couldn't find it, but that didn't mean it wasn't there.
"I don't like it," I said. "Cripes, you just gave me seven days back."
"Yes."
I turned the notion over in my mind. I didn't like it, but I didn't see what else I could do. It was the only price Lea would accept. And if I didn't agree to pay it, I could be here for a very long time-while back in Chicago, people died whom I could have saved.
I took a deep breath. "All right. Agreed."
She smiled triumphantly, then placed two fingers from her uninjured hand in her mouth and whistled. One of the dogs loped off toward the forest at my left. Well, not so much loping than racing past like wind-blown smoke, really.
It's hard to measure time in the Nevernever. It might have been a minute. It might have been a day. I couldn't tell, and I really didn't care. I was more worried about how much time had passed back in the world? Hours? Days? Weeks? Was anyone still alive?
The dog came speeding back, light as a cloud's shadow over snow. It had a wineskin in its mouth. Lea gave it a negligent pat, and it gazed up at her with what would have been an adoring expression if not for those flat black eyes.
Then she removed the wineskin from its jaws and handed it to me.
I would have opened it-just to check--but she shook her head.
"Go now," she said. "And do not return to the Nevernever; your mind can scarce endure two sets of memories from two different worlds. It must not cope with a third. I might not be here next time."
"Nice to know you care." I only half-meant the sarcasm.
"Of course. I must safeguard my property." She gave me a wicked smile, then motioned me to turn around. "Go. Do not look back."
Sighing and reminding myself that I wouldn't enjoy being a pillar of salt, I turned around, re-opened the portal that I'd used to get here, and stepped through.
***
"Dresden! Dresden, where the fuck are you?"
Marcone's voice. I blinked and looked around.
A few minutes had gone by-no more than that. Michael was still fighting the geometric demon, and from where I was standing, it looked like an even fight. The knight had slashed several wounds into the demon, but his chest and shoulders had been burned by the touch of the thing's tentacles. Marcone was shooting at it, which didn't surprise me, but the fact that the bullets were actually wounding it did.
I made my way over to Marcone. "I'm here. I had to go get something."
He barely glanced at the wineskin in my hand. "Good one, Dresden. We're still going to die, but at least now we'll die feeling no pain."
I could have explained about the wine, but I was more interested in something else. "Why're your bullets wounding it?"
"Because I'm using blessed bullets." He shrugged. "Father Forthill over at St. Mary of the Angels...he blesses my clips. By the caseload. Murphy's too."
I considered saying something snarky and pointless like Was there some reason you didn't tell me that?, but I could tell there wasn't time. As he fired off three more shots in quick succession, I bobbed, wove and dodged away from the sword-and-gunfight to get closer to the building. I had something in mind. It could work. I just needed to get the timing right, and maintain control. I could manage the first, but I was more than a little unsure about the second.
I suppressed the insecurity as best I could. I didn't have time to dither over this.
First, I tossed the wineskin in the air, lifted my staff and shouted, "Vento cyclis!"
A wind like a reverse cyclone spun out of nowhere and spun skyward, taking the wine with it. Trying to maintain the semi-cyclone, I aimed my wand at the wineskin and focused on creating a dart of air.
It had to be a weapon of air. Fire, even magical fire, doesn't mix well with wine. My handgun and its bullets are steel...tempered iron. Not good for anything wrought in Faerie. And rock-like spikes conjured from earth-well, it would be great if I could snap one off with my bare hands and then hit the wineskin as if it were a bullseye, but I'm not Superman. Also, unlike most of the detectives I've read about, I'm not that great at throwing objects with unerring accuracy, so tossing a staff, wand or silver athamé at the wineskin...definitely out. I'd probably end up losing anything I threw.
The dart zoomed upward toward the wineskin. Now came the point where I really needed good timing. I had to cut the cyclone-like winds; otherwise they'd push the dart away. Of course, once I did that, a little thing called gravity was going to take over. Life would be so much simpler if my magic would just suspend the laws of physics.
I used the winds to push the wineskin above the courthouse, then cut the spell. As the wine began tumbling down, I pushed the dart of air closer and--
A demonic tentacle snared me by the ankle, and I fell, face forward, onto the sidewalk.
Gritting my teeth and trying to ignore the demon's acidic touch, I pushed the dart toward the wine, then punctured the wineskin. Or to be more precise, put so much pressure on one portion of the wineskin that it burst.
The wine spilled out. I was moaning now. And not in a good way. I felt as if the acid was searing my bones, and I couldn't kick the tentacle free, not matter what. The pain was screwing with my concentration, too; I had to struggle not to push all my magic into a powerful storm wind. The impulse to get this spell over and done with was almost overwhelming.
I focused as best I could, trying to weave a large web of magical energy that would catch the droplets of Summer wine--and do it quickly. It was the kind of spell that takes finesse, and I don't do finesse well. Blasts, explosions, fires-that's more my style.
I caught most of the drops in the web. It wasn't ideal; there were gaps where there shouldn't have been, the magic too crude and elementary to form the delicate, finely woven web I really needed. But it was what I had.
Carefully, I began bringing the web down over the courthouse. It was almost down when I heard swearing behind me.
"Dresden, I'm out of ammo, could you get your ass over here now?!"
"In a minute!" I called. I'm not sure if Marcone heard me-I was trying to ensure that I was speaking loudly enough for him and Michael to understand, but not loudly enough for the demon or the necromancer to do so. In any case, Marcone didn't hear but the demon did, and it proceeded to pull my leg as if it were playing a game of 'snap the wishbone.'
"AAOOAARRRRRRGH!" Barely managing to keep the magical web from dissolving in a wave of pain, I let it float down over the courthouse like glowing mosquito netting.
As the web enfolded the building, there was a burst of gold-green light...like sunlight shining through new leaves. Needing to be sure that everything was copacetic, I snuck a peek at the building with my Sight.
The deadly white glow was gone, and the fungoid "mouth" that had been devouring magic and life was, if not gone, shrunken, puckered and withered. The courthouse looked...well, how do you say that a building's been deathly ill? If it had been a human, it would have been lying in the hospital bed looking pale and weak and exhausted, but alive. Some people were stumbling out of the front door; to my Sight, they looked battered and bruised, even bloody, but they were alive.
"DRESDEN!"
Forcing the Sight away, I turned around-as much as I could, with one leg out of true-and turned toward Marcone. He was doing his best to help Michael fight the demon, which was slashed and shot in countless places. Though wounded, Michael was still holding up, but Marcone was out of blessed bullets and was now attempting to club the demon with his handgun. This wasn't working, and it showed. The demon had been playing with him for ages, just as it had with me. Rather like a cruel cat playing with two wounded and exhausted mice.
"Why did I have to join a wizard's campaign?" he was grumbling."I knew demons were involved. Why didn't I join a cleric instead of a wizard? A cleric could at least bless something."
True, I couldn't do that. But I could fight with faith, just the same. I may not speak to deities, but I have faith in magic.
I removed my silver pentacle amulet and, before I could think about what I was doing, flung it at the demon.
It struck the monster in the middle of what would have been its back if it were human. The demon wailed as silver flames shot from the point of impact.
Michael stepped forward and brought his sword down in one swift and fatal diagonal slice. "Deo adiuvante!" he cried as the demon fell to the ground, neatly bisected.
"There can be only one!" I yelled back.
Marcone staggered over to help me up.
"You don't have to," I said.
He give me a tired but snarky grin. "If there's going to be a Quickening, I'm not standing next to him." He glanced at me. "Murph got out.She's all right."
He pointed over at a small knot of people huddled near Michael's van. Murphy appeared to be trying to calm and reassure her fellow ex-hostages while asking one more question. And just the facts, ma'am.
"Good," I said, mentally reserving comment till I knew for sure. At least no one was dead, though the pain in my right leg was making me wish I were.
Then Marcone pulled me to my feet, and I wished that I was not only dead but long since turned to dust. Dust wouldn't hurt.
"Come on," he said. "I'll get you to my car."
"Gotta stop by the corpse first," I said. "Or at least where the corpse was before it so politely vanished. I want my amulet back."
Marcone semi-carried and semi-walked me to where the ectoplasmic ruins of the demon were lying. Michael was standing next to it with his hands folded and his eyes closed, so I presumed that he was praying. I scanned the scraps of ectoplasm for a gleam of silver, spotted it and nearly collapsed when I tried to bend down and pick it up.
"Jerk," Marcone said, glaring. "I'll get it. Go lean against a fence or a park bench or something so you don't fall down."
I glanced around, surveying the complete lack of fence or bench.
"Oh, crap, " he muttered. "Well-lean against Michael."
"You want me to use a human being like he's a wall?"
"Hey!" He glared at me. "Faith is supposed to be a support in time of need, right. Well, you're in dire need, so let him support you for a few minutes."
Well, mine is not to reason why. Mine is just to lean against holy knights and hope that their divine boss doesn't decide to smite me with lightning.
Marcone snagged my now-goo-covered amulet with barely a glimmer of distaste. The glimmer became a grimace a few minutes later when, despite the goo, I put the pentacle back on. Considering the way my luck was going, I might need it.
We were shambling back to the cars when the necromancer appeared...as in, materialized right in front of us.
He wasn't exactly what I'd expected. His face wasn't hidden by a mask or concealed by a cowl, and he didn't have the propensity for robes that makes so many older wizards look like Gandalf-wannabes. He didn't have a long white beard. He didn't even have the evil laugh and the sinister smile down. He was clad in a suit that combined formality and peacockery with ease, and resembled a very proud fiftysomething college professor. He was a few inches shorter than I was, but he still managed to look down his nose at me.
"Well. A fine collection of heroes. The frightened criminal attempting to fight for the order his very nature despises. The noble but naïve paladin, battling by the side of two souls long since lost. And..." His lip curled in disdain. "The Black magician. Aethelwold's get."
I leaned forward. "Bob? Is that really you?"
For a moment, his expression changed from cold, enraged hatred to bewilderment. "Harry? What's going on?" But before I could say anything, Bob seeped away and I was facing Hrothbert again.
"You were clever," he said, and his tone made the word sound like a curse. "You eliminated both death curse and demon before I could stop you."
"I didn't notice you doing a hell of a lot!" I snapped.
"Insanely powerful, unimaginably evil and mind-bogglingly unobservant," he said coolly. "What a dreadful combination."
"So enlighten me," I retorted. "Tell me what what you were doing. Or what you're planning on doing next time."
"I think not."
Great. I finally meet an intelligent bad guy, and he's read the Evil Overlord List.
I took a deep breath. "Well, it was great to meet you, Hrothbert. And to see the real you. But I need to get going." I did. For the past few minutes, I'd been gripping Marcone's arm to keep myself upright. My leg hurt so much that I was seeing spots in front of my eyes. "Just one thing. Why do you hate me? I tried to free you!"
"Free me?" And then sudden comprehension swept over his face, followed by black hatred. He advanced on me, radiating the cold of necromantic magic. "You claim that you-you actually dare..."
Whoops. I'd just said exactly the wrong thing, and I had no idea why. "Bob...!"
He kept coming toward me, that terrible expression on his face. He wanted to kill me. To do worse than kill me. I could see it in his eyes.
I couldn't even think about attacking him. I simply flung up my arms to shield my face. That's all I did.
And the bastard inside me took over.
I remember black fire spurting from my fingers as I recited something that sounded like gibberish. Evidently it wasn't, though, as Michael's eyes were growing wider and more sickened every minute.
"Forgive me," he said at last. "But I cannot allow..."
And he struck me. Hard. I landed flat on my ass on the asphalt. The sudden shock of my wounded leg colliding with the road's surface made the world grey out. The last thing I heard before I passed out was Hrothbert saying to Michael, "You may have truly served your god just now, Sir Knight."
And then the world went away, and I went with it.
***