White Night (38 page)

I found her inside, dressing. She was just pulling a pair of jeans up over strong, slender legs that looked just as good as I remembered. When I opened the door, she spun, thorn-wand in hand.

I put my hands up and said, "Easy there, gunslinger. I'm not looking for any trouble."

Elaine gave me a gentle glare and slipped the wand into a small leather case that clipped to the jeans. She did not look well, but she looked a lot weller than she had the last time I'd seen her. Her face was still quite pale and her eyes were sunken and bruised, but she moved with brisk purpose for all of that. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that," she said.

"If I'd knocked, I might have woken you up."

"If you'd knocked, you'd have missed out on an outside chance of seeing me getting dressed," she shot back.

"Touche." I glanced around and spotted her bag, all packed. My stomach twisted a little in disappointment. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

She shook her head. "Have you ever tried to watch daytime television? I was
glad
when the set finally blew. I'd lose my mind just lying here."

"How you feeling?"

"A lot better," Elaine said. "Stronger. Which is another reason to leave. I don't want to have a nightmare and have my powers kill some poor grampa's respirator."

I nodded. "So it's back to California?"

"Yes. I've done enough damage for one trip."

I folded my arms and leaned against the door, watching her brush back her hair enough to get it into a tail. She didn't look at me when she asked, "Did you get them?"

"Yeah," I said.

She closed her eyes, shivered, and exhaled. "Okay." She shook her head. "That shouldn't make me feel better. It won't help Anna."

"It will help a lot of other people in the long run," I said.

She abruptly slammed the brush against the rail of the bed, snapping it. "I wasn't
here
trying to help a lot of other people, dammit." She glanced down at the brush's handle and seemed to deflate for a moment. She tossed it listlessly into a corner.

I went over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "This just in. Elaine isn't perfect. News at eleven."

She leaned her cheek on my hand.

"You should know," I said. "I got reparations out of the White Court. A weregild for their dependents."

She blinked at me. "How?"

"My boyish charm. Can you get me contact information for the victims' families? I'll get somebody to get the money to them."

"Yes," she said. "Some of them didn't have any dependents. Like Anna."

I grunted and nodded. "I thought we might use that money to build something."

Elaine frowned at me. "Oh?"

I nodded. "We use the money. We expand the Ordo, build a network of contacts. A hotline for middle-class practitioners. We contact groups like the Ordo in cities all around the country. We put the word out that if people are in some kind of supernatural fix, they can get word of it onto the network. Maybe if something like this starts happening again, we can hear about it early and stomp on the fire before it grows. We teach self-defense classes. We help people coordinate, cooperate, support one another. We
act."

Elaine chewed on her lip and looked up at me uncertainly. "We?"

"You said you wanted to help people," I said. "This might. What do you think?"

She stood up, leaned up onto her toes, and kissed me gently on the lips before staring into my eyes, her own very wide and bright. "I think," she said quietly, "that Anna would have liked that."

Ramirez woke up late that evening, swathed in bandages, his injured leg in traction, and I was sitting next to his bed when he did. It was a nice switch for me. Usually I was the one waking up into disorientation, confusion, and pain.

I gave him a few minutes to get his bearings before I leaned for-ward and said, "Hey, there, man."

"Harry," he rasped. "Thirsty."

Before he was finished saying it, I picked up the little sports bottle of ice water they'd left next to his bed. I put the straw between his lips and said, "Can you hold it, or should I do it for you?"

He managed a small glare, fumbled a hand up, and held on to the bottle weakly. He sipped some of the water, then laid his head back on the pillow. "Okay," he said. "How bad is it?"

"Alas," I said. "You'll live."

"Where?"

"Hospital," I said. "You're stable. I've called Listens-to-Wind, and he's going to come pick you up in the morning."

"We win?"

"Bad guys go boom," I said. "The White King is still on his throne. Peace process is going to move ahead."

"Tell me."

So I gave him the battle's last few minutes, except for Lash's role in things.

"Harry Dresden," Ramirez murmured, "the human cannonball."

"Bam, zoom, right to the moon."

He smiled a little. "You get Cowl?"

"Doubt it," I said. "He was right by his gate. When he saw me running for the exit, ten to one he just stepped back through it and zipped it shut. In fact, I'm pretty sure he did. If there'd been an open gate there, the blast would have been able to spread into it. I don't think we would have been thrown so far."

"How about Vitto?"

I shook my head. "Vitto was pretty far gone even before the bombs went off. I'm pretty sure we nailed him, and those ghouls, too."

"Good thing you had that army on standby, huh," Ramirez said, a faint edge to his voice.

"Hey," I said, "it's late. I should let you get some rest."

"No," Ramirez said, his voice stronger. "We need to talk."

I sat there for a minute, bracing myself. Then I said, "About what."

"About how tight you are with the vamps," he said. "About you making deals with scumbag mobsters. I recognized Marcone. I've seen his picture in the papers." Ramirez shook his head. "Jesus Christ, Harry. We're supposed to be on the same team. It's called trust, man."

I wanted to spit something hostile and venomous and well deserved. I toned myself down to saying, "Gee. A Warden doesn't trust me. That's a switch."

Ramirez blinked at me. "What?"

"Don't worry about it. I'm used to it," I said. "I had Morgan sticking his nose into every corner of my existence for my entire adult life."

Ramirez stared at me for a second. Then he let out a weak snort and said, "All hail the drama queen. Harry…" He shook his head. "I'm talking about you not trusting
me,
man."

My increasingly angry retort died unspoken. "Uh. What?"

Ramirez shook his head wearily. "Let me make some guesses. One. You don't trust the Council. You never have, but lately, it's been worse. Especially since New Mexico. You think that whoever is leaking information to the vampires is pretty high up, and the less anyone in the Council knows about what you're doing, the better."

I stared at him and said nothing.

"Two. There's a new player in the game. Cowl's on the new team. We don't know who they are, but they seem to have a hard-on for screwing over everyone equally—vampires, mortals, wizards, whoever." He sighed. "You aren't the only one who's been noticing these things, Harry."

I grunted. "What do you call them?"

"The Black Hats, after our Ringwraith-wannabe buddy, Cowl. You?"

"The Black Council," I said.

"Oooh," Ramirez muttered. "Yours is better."

"Thanks," I said.

"So you can't trust our own people," he said. "But you're cutting deals with the vampires…" He narrowed his eyes. "You think you might be able to find the traitor coming in from the other side."

I put my finger on my nose.

"And the gangster?" Ramirez asked.

"He's a snake," I said. "But his word is good. And Madrigal and Vitto had killed one of his people. And I
know
he isn't working for Cowl's organization."

"How do you know that?"

"Because Marcone works for Marcone-"

Ramirez spread his hands weakly. "Was that so damned hard, Dresden? To talk to me?"

I settled back in my chair. My shoulders suddenly felt loose and Wobbly. I breathed in and out a few times, and then said, "No."

Ramirez snorted gently. "Idiot."

"So," I said. "Think I should come clean to the Merlin?"

Ramirez opened one eye. "Are you kidding? He hates your guts. He'd have you declared a traitor, locked up, and executed before you got through the first paragraph." He closed his eye again. "But I'm with you, man. All the way."

You don't have much endurance after going through something like Ramirez had. He was asleep before he realized it was about to happen.

I sat with him for the rest of the night, until Senior Council Member Listens-to-Wind arrived with his team of medical types before dawn the next morning.

You don't leave an injured friend all alone.

The next day, I knocked on the door to the office at Executive Priority and went in without waiting for an answer.

"Tonight you will be visited by three spirits," I announced. "The ghosts of indictment past, present, and future. They will teach you the true meaning of 'you are still a scumbag criminal.'"

Marcone was there, sitting behind the desk with Helen Beckitt, or maybe Helen Demeter, I supposed. She wore her professionally suggestive business suit—and was sitting across Marcone's lap. Her hair and suit looked slightly mussed. Marcone had his third shirt button undone.

I cursed my timing. If I'd come ten minutes later, I'd have opened the door
in medias res.
It would have been infinitely more awkward.

"Dresden," Marcone said, his tone pleasant. Helen made no move to stir from where she was. "It's nice to see you alive. Your sense of humor, of course, remains unchanged, which is unsurprising, as it seems to have died in your adolescence. Presumably it entered a suicide pact with your manners."

"Your good opinion," I said, "means the world to me. I see you got out of the Nevernever."

"Simple enough," Marcone said. "I had to shoot a few of the vampires, once we were clear of the fight. I did not appreciate the way they were attempting to coerce my employees."

"Hell's bells." I sighed. "Did you kill any of them?"

"Unnecessary. I shot them enough to make my point. After that, we had an adequate understanding of one another—much as you and I do."

"I understand that you settled matters with Anna's killers, Mister Dresden," Helen said. "With help, of course."

Marcone smiled his unreadable little smile at me.

"The people who did the deed won't be bothering anyone anymore," I said. "And most of the people who motivated them have gone into early retirement." I glanced at Marcone. "With help."

"But not all of them?" Helen asked, frowning.

"Everyone we could make answer," Marcone said, "has answered. It is unlikely we could accomplish more."

Something made me say, "And I'm taking steps to prevent or mitigate this kind of circumstance in the future. Here and elsewhere."

Helen tilted her head at me, taking that in. Then she nodded and said, very quietly, "Thank you."

"Helen," Marcone said. "Would you be so good as to excuse us for a few moments."

"Won't take long," I added. "I don't like being here."

Helen smiled slightly at me and rose smoothly from Marcone's lap. "If it makes you feel any better, Mister Dresden, you should know that he dislikes having you here as well."

"You should see how much my insurance premiums go up after your visits, Dresden." He shook his head. "And they call me an extortionist. Helen, could you send Bonnie in with that file?"

"Certainly."

Helen left. Healthy brunette Bonnie, in her oh-so-fetching exercise outfit, bounced in with a manila folder, gave me a Colgate smile, and departed again. Marcone opened the folder, withdrew a stack of papers, and started flicking through them. He got to the last page, turned it around, slid it across the desk, and produced a pen from his pocket. "Here is the contract you faxed me. Sign here, please."

I walked over to the desk, took the entire stack, and started reading it from page one. You never sign a contract you haven't read, even if you aren't a wizard. If you are one, it's even more important than that. People joke about signing away their soul or their firstborn. In my world, it's possible.

Marcone seemed to accept that. He made a steeple of his fingers and waited with the relaxed patience of a well-fed cat.

The contract was the standard one for approving a new signatory of the Accords, and though he'd had it retyped, Marcone hadn't changed a word. Probably. I kept reading. "So you suggested the name Demeter for Helen?" I asked as I read.

Marcone's expression never changed. "Yes."

"How's Persephone?"

He stared at me.

"Persephone," I said. "Demeter's daughter. She was carried away by the Lord of the Underworld."

Marcone's stare became cold.

"He kept her there in Hades, but Demeter froze the whole world until the other gods convinced him to return Persephone to her mother." I turned a page. "The girl. The one in the coma, who you're keeping in a hospital somewhere, and visiting every week. That's Helen's daughter, isn't it. The one who got caught in the cross fire of one of your shoot-outs."

Marcone didn't move.

"Newspaper file on it said she was killed," I said.

I read several more pages before Marcone answered. "Tony Vargassi, my predecessor, I suppose, had a son. Marco. Marco decided that I had become a threat to his standing in the organization. He was the shooter."

"But the girl," I said, "didn't die."

Marcone shook his head. "It put Vargassi in an awkward position. If the girl recovered, she might identify his son as the shooter, and no jury in the world would fail to send a thug to jail who'd shot a pretty little girl. But if the girl died, and it came back on Marco, he'd be looking at a murder charge."

"And someone who murders little girls gets the needle in Illinois," I said.

"Exactly. There was a great deal of corruption at the time—"

I snorted.

Marcone's little smile returned for a moment. "Pardon me. Say instead that the Vargassis exerted their influence on official matters with a heavy hand. Vargassi had the little girl declared dead. He convinced the medical examiner to sign false paperwork, and he hid the girl away in another hospital."