Chapter 9
Lacuna and I arrived a little before eight to find Mac's pub all but deserted.
I'd dressed well for the occasion, but not because I'd wanted to. With me being surrounded by enemies, there was nothing I would have rather had than my duster. But as there was little time between the duel meeting and the formal party, I was stuck wearing one of my nice suits.
I wasn't completely defenseless without the duster. With my numerous roles to fulfill as Winter Knight, I'd had to acquire some decent clothes to wear on occasion. But as those occasions were typically more dangerous than dark alleys, I'd worked some defensive spells into the clothes. It was a pain to keep them fresh, and they didn't last as long as the ones on my duster, but they would be enough to keep me alive in a pinch.
As I descended the steps into Mac's, only the bartender himself was present, wiping down the bar with a white rag. Upon our entry, the man looked up, his face neutral as he nodded to me. I returned it, and joined him at the bar, with Lacuna on alert perched upon my shoulder.
Mac was one of those people that don't seem to age. His head was bald and smooth, and he'd gained a few wrinkles at some point over the years. But it was still hard to tell if the man was in his thirties or fifties; sometimes the lines looked to be caused by age, but every once in a while he'd crack a smile, and I'd swear they were just old laugh lines that didn't get used all that much anymore.
I could sympathize with that.
"Give me your best, Mac," I told him as I sidled up.
The man grunted in reply, but retrieved a warm lager that was its own slice of heaven on earth. It would have been better cold, but Mac wouldn't hear of it. And if he knew the ones I bought and took home were kept in an ice box, he was liable to stop selling them to me.
I settled in at the bar, Lacuna settling delicately on the wooden surface. Mac didn't seem to mind, and even offered her a lemonade with ice chips, which she accepted gratefully. The charmer even put it in a small glass small enough for her to hold. I had to wonder if it wasn't made specifically for dew drop fairies; it was smaller and slimmer than a shot glass, and I couldn't think of any other purpose for having such a thing.
But that shouldn't have surprised me. Mac was well attuned to the magical scene, despite having no talent for it himself. His pub was more like an underground den, which most wizarding types appreciated. The place was even designed to break up lingering magical energies.
Thirteen tables were interspersed around thirteen columns, the latter of which were carved with depictions of mythical folklore. Thirteen fans spun idly overhead, never seeming to break down despite the number of practitioners that made their way through. And despite the limited lighting, the place was well lit, with thirteen mirrors hanging on the walls to reflect what illumination there was.
It was a nice sort of place, one that I'd visited as often as I could before my life had irreparably changed. Before I'd become the Winter Knight, and my mere presence became enough to scare most patrons off.
No, like many things, my time for lingering at Mac's was over. Now I just settled for stopping in to pick up beers to enjoy at home.
I had enjoyed most of the bottle he'd given me by the time the door opened. I turned to see the familiar form of Kincaid standing in the doorway, looking down the steps at me. He scanned the room quickly, before stepping aside to let the Archive in.
She was wearing the same pink outfit as before, sans the parasol. As she stepped into the room, she made a courteous — and surprisingly deep — bow to Mac. "Good evening, sir."
"Good evening," Mac grumbled softly, inclining his head. "Would you care for anything?"
"No thank you," she replied with all the seriousness of a seven-year-old. "It's past my bedtime."
I blinked at that, and looked to Kincaid, who had ditched the hat at some point. "Late night out on the town?" I asked.
The man just looked at me with a flat glare. "She wouldn't have come, but for some reason felt it was necessary."
"Why?"
"Because of you," he replied. At my surprised look, he added. "She thinks your behavior will be better if the big stick is here to smack you down."
"I am not a stick," the Archive replied primly, seating herself at one of the tables.
"Big stick," Kincaid mouthed to me while nodding at the girl. I interpreted it as the threat that it was.
"Whatever," I replied, trying to not let it get to me. It'd taken me over an hour to calm down after Murphy's visit, and I didn't want to get worked up again. "Where are the others?"
"They have a few minutes yet," Kincaid replied, checking his watch. Mac lifted an eyebrow at the man, but he just shook his head. "I'm driving."
"The Archive can't drive herself?" I asked, trying to goad him.
"I can't reach the pedals," she replied. Despite her serious tone, her legs were swinging beneath the chair, unable to touch the floor. I smiled at the idea of her trying to drive.
And then I remembered Lacuna's comments on the ward readings, and that she could crush me like a bug.
My smile faded, and I resolved myself to finish my beer in silence.
I did, and was considering ordering a second when the front door opened again. I turned to see who had arrived, and saw two more figures descend into the room.
The first was Paolo Ortega. I'd met him once before, at Bianca's mansion. He'd been the one to deliver the warning to me; that my actions were in danger of inciting a war between the White Council and the Red Court. In a way, he was responsible for me backing down that night. Which made him responsible for everything that had happened since.
He was of average height, with a slightly heavier build that was largely attributed to muscle. His broad shoulders and deep chest looked sharp in his thousand dollar suit, a gray-and-silver affair that was striking. His skin was tanner than I'd imagine of a Red Court vampire, seeing as their kind would burn if exposed to the sun.
I knew from Lacuna's file that he'd fought several previous duels, and had obviously survived each. Word on the street was that he was old and connected; his wife was Duchess Arianna Ortega, daughter of the Red King himself. She was quite possibly the most powerful vampire there was outside of the Lords of Outer Night, the Reds' ruling class.
Keeping such company, I knew Ortega would most likely be one of the most powerful Red Court vampires there was. With centuries of time to acquire power, he would have a strength and speed that exceeded my own, plenty of experience in every type of combat, and a ruthlessness born of bitter survival.
I could relate to the last.
My eyes flitted over him, taking in the details quickly. In the grand scheme of things, he wasn't that important. If I had to go through him to settle the issue with Bianca, so be it. I had bigger concerns. Like a prophecy declaring my death, and Fallen angels trying to make that happen. Like an object that might have more power than anything I'd ever held before, save for a creation of Mother Winter herself. Not to mention the Big Stick in the corner that was ready to smack me down.
But despite all of that, none of it was as important as the second person to walk into the pub. None of it held a candle to the woman that I realized with breath-taking shock was most likely Ortega's second.
My eyes, and my world, became fixated on the beautiful form of Susan Rodriguez.
My old girlfriend looked stunning in a form-fitting red gown. The fabric hung at her curves, displaying just enough cleavage and leg to draw the eye, but leaving you wanting more. She was even more beautiful than I recalled, her dark hair a cascade of loose locks around her striking face. She was a vision, a stunner that set my heart racing.
She was also a blood-sucking vampire.
The last time I'd seen Susan, she'd crouched beside Bianca's throne upon the dais in her courtyard. She hadn't been beautiful then; having just killed Justine, Susan had turned into a Red Court vampire. Her flesh and body had mutated, becoming the dark, twisted thing that was the vampire's true form.
What I was seeing now was nothing more than a flesh mask. A disguise, to let the monster she'd become pass as human.
I had to try and remind myself of that as she slowly approached, an all too familiar smile on her lips.
"Harry Dresden, as I live and breath," she said, her smile growing as she observed the effect she was having on me.
"Well, maybe not the former," I said, the words out of my mouth so fast I didn't have time to even realize what I was saying.
But instead of being offended, Susan just laughed, a real laugh rather than something forced. It made her dress move in intriguing ways, not that I was watching. Her eyes watered with mirth, and she looked up, blinking away the tears. "Damnit, Harry. If my mascara runs, so help me…"
And for an instant, I forgot everything that happened. I forgot that the woman I had known had died in the basement of Bianca's mansion. I forgot that she'd killed another young woman, taking her life blood and completing the transformation into a blood-thirsty killer. I forgot that she'd spent that last couple of years rising in Bianca's small court, making a name for herself.
I forgot all of that, and just enjoyed the sight of the woman I'd loved.
"Hello, Susan," I said softly, letting more tenderness show than I'd intended.
"Hello, Harry," she replied, matching my own tone.
"Would you care to make introductions?" Ortega said politely, ruining the moment.
"Go fuck yourself with a crucifix, blood bladder," I spat, before turning back in time to see Susan's wide-eyed and amused look. "Do you want something to…" I trailed off. "Sorry, I just realized how insensitive that question was going to be."
"I would love a drink," she said, her eyes sparkling with a desire both foreign and familiar. But she turned to Mac, her bright smile charming even the dower bartender. "Whatever Harry was having, please."
Mac moved to retrieve a beverage, and I took the opportunity to study Susan's profile. It was the same as it had always been, the same I'd looked upon in that bar countless times in our almost two years together. The same that had spent countless nights in my bed.
It was the same, and yet not the same at all.
She must have sensed my thoughts, because her smile slowly faded. "Harry."
"You're not her," I said softly, bitterly. "You look like her, and sound like her, and have her memories. But you're not her."
"Of course I'm me," she replied softly. I noted that Ortega had drifted away to speak to Kincaid, who didn't looked thrilled at the development. Lacuna had wandered over to the Archive to tell her about the delicious lemonade, and Mac had left after delivering Susan's beer.
We were as alone as we could be.
"You're not," I repeated, keeping my voice low as I averted my eyes. "Susan Rodriguez died a long time ago."
"Don't be an ass, Harry," Susan replied, surprisingly calm. "I'm not what I was, but I'm still me."
"You're a vampire, Susan," I said. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry—"
"Stop, Harry," she said, cutting me off as I'd grown more contrite. "There's no changing what happened. And it's more my fault than yours."
I looked up at that, into those dark eyes that I'd spent so many nights staring into. The same eyes that I'd soulgazed with, back when she'd had a soul to see.
"I knew it would be dangerous," she was saying, her head slowly shaking back and forth. "But I went anyway. That was my decision. Mine. As are the consequences."
"Do you…" I started, unsure of how to ask what I wanted to ask. "Do you remember everything?"
"About that night?" she asked, her head tilting curiously.
"About us," I replied, my voice a hushed whisper.
The same night Susan had died, my godmother had made a bargain with the woman. Like usual, the Sidhe got the better end of the deal. As a result, Lea had taken all of Susan's memories of us. Of our time together. Of everything we'd been.
In truth, I blamed myself for what had happened to her. And part of me blamed Susan as well, for forging an invitation to the party. But another part blamed Lea. If she hadn't taken Susan's memories, if she hadn't stolen our history, maybe I could have gotten through to her in that basement. Maybe I could have prevented her from attacking me, and nearly killing me. Prevented her from killing Justine.
Sometimes, I could almost imagine a world like that. A world where I'd gotten through to her, and kept her from turning. A world where she might have continued on in the state between life and death, buying me the time I needed to find a cure for her. A world where we might still be together.
But that was just a dream. One that shattered upon waking, to find myself in the nightmare that had become my life.
There was no going back. No changing what had been done.
But there might be a way to change our future.
"Listen…" I said. "After this is over…"
A pained expression flitted across Susan's face. "Harry, even if you survive the duel… we can't be together."
"Yes you can," a voice said, interrupting us again.
I turned to look at Ortega, and realized Kincaid had been right. Because the only thing keeping me from killing the vampire on the spot was the presence of the Archive, who was watching tentatively from across the room.
"You can still be together," the man repeated, his voice conversational and friendly as he looked between us. "All you have to do is except our gift."
"Your gift?" I repeated.
"It would solve all of this," Ortega insisted, his dark eyes fixing on mine. I broke first; not because I didn't want to see his soul. You had to have one first. No, I broke it because things like him can do things to people like me, just by entrancing us with their eyes.
"You're asking me to become like you," I said softly.
"It would end this nonsense," Ortega insisted, seeming earnest. "I do not wish to go to war with the Winter Court. Nor do I wish to kill you, and risk earning the ire of the Winter Queen."
"So you don't want to kill me, but you want to kill me?" I asked, not following his logic.
"Life and death are not that simple, Mr. Dresden," the vampire informed me. "Not so black and white."
"No. There's Red, too," I said.
"I am being serious, Mr. Dresden. This need not end badly for either of us."
"And how do you think Mab would react to losing her Knight to the Red Court?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.
"From what I've heard, she's not that pleased with your service to begin with," Ortega said, echoing my gesture with his own. "I have no doubt she'd find another killer to bestow her mantle upon."
That wasn't entirely wrong. Mab was far from pleased with me on any given day. That I completed her tasks with the bare minimum of grace and propriety, while offering whatever resistance I could, didn't seem to be as amusing for her as it was for me.
But it hadn't been Mab that had made me the Winter Knight. It had been Mother Winter, who took no issue with my antics, as long as her enemies died. Which they did.
"Let me make you a counter offer," I said to him, leaning in. "If you ever ask me to be one of you again, I'm going to lock you in your coffin, drag you out into the middle of a field on a sunny afternoon, and rip the fucking lid off." Frost formed on Susan's bottle as I towered over Ortega. "And when you burst into flames, I'm going to chug down a couple liters of holy water, and piss on you until the flames go out."
Ortega didn't have much to say to that. Instead, I watched as his face went stony, his eyes shifting to a solid black as he let his true nature peek out. "I will take a great pleasure in killing you, Mister Dresden."
"Mister Dresden was my cat's name," I replied softly. "You can call me Your Second Death."
Ortega's hands clenched, and I thought for a second that I'd succeeded in pushing him too far.
It'd been a long shot of a plan to begin with. One that Lacuna thought me foolish to even try. But if I could piss the vampire off enough, to make him attack me at Mac's, then he'd be in violation. And with the Archive present, he'd be dead, and I'd be free of the trial nonsense.
For just a second I dared to hope that it'd worked. But it wasn't to be.
A soft cough cut through the room, and Ortega turned to look at Mac. The bartender didn't seem pleased with either one of us, most likely because he was worried that we'd cause havoc in his establishment.
"Mr. McAnally is correct," Ortega finally said, slowly looking back to me. When he did, it was with normal eyes. "We shall finish this tomorrow."
I kept my disappoint from showing. "Make sure we know where to send the ashes," I replied.
Ortega's jaw clenched again, but instead of trying to beat me in a match of Who Can Have the Last Laugh, he simply turned and walked toward the Archive, who was watching us carefully from across the room. "My attempt at resolving things peacefully has failed. We are unfortunately resigned to fight."
The Archive nodded, and stood from the table. "Very well. We will begin the final arrangements once Mr. Dresden's second arrives."
I blinked at the girl, my simmering rage cooling at her words. "My second is here."
The girl looked to me in confusion, before glancing around the room. "Where?"
"I am his second," Lacuna announced, flying to stand on the bar-top beside me.
The Archive's head cocked to one side, clearly surprised. "You are not eligible to be his second."
"What are you talking about?" I asked. "You had no problem with it when she called you earlier."
"I did not know that she was a servant of Winter at that time," the girl replied, somehow remaining calm despite my tone.
"She's not," I growled out, taking a step forward. Kincaid did as well, and I stopped myself from making the situation worse. "She's my personal assistant. Sworn to me and me alone."
"Sworn to the Winter Knight," the Archive countered. "As such, she is in service to Winter."
"That's not how it works," I argued, suddenly feeling like someone was pulling the carpet out from beneath my feet. But as there was no carpet, the fall was just going to hurt all the more. "She's sworn an oath to me personally."
"You are the Winter Knight," the Archive said quietly. "There is no separating the two. Your Queen has forbidden anyone in the service of Winter to act as your second. As such, she is not eligible."
A smile that had begun to settle onto Ortega's face bloomed into a full-blown grin. I wanted to take his head off then and there, but that'd just bring the Archive down on me. I glanced to Susan, who seemed honestly surprised and distressed about the turn of events.
"Do you have anyone else to act as your second?" the Archive asked, her eyes fixating on me in an alarming way.
"I…" I began, as my mind struggled to catch up.
My mind raced, trying to think of someone that I could call. I just needed someone to stand beside me for ten fucking minutes. They didn't even have to do anything. Just stand there.
I turned to Mac, but saw that he'd already anticipated my thought. The barest shake of his head told me his answer before I asked. "I'm out," he said simply, as if that were a good enough reason to send me to my death.
"How much time do I have?" I asked the Archive.
Her silence was my answer.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Dresden," the Archive finally said, sounding like she meant it. "The rules require you to have a second. If you do not, then I will be forced to rule against you." Her voice grew firmer. "Immediately."
Bless her heart, Lacuna tensed beside me, ready to go down with her captain. Susan stepped back, her face frozen somewhere between stoic and heartbroken. Even Mac stepped away, as if to distance himself from the consequences of his refusal to help.
Kincaid looked on with a stony face, while Ortega looked on with glee, as the Archive sighed. "Very well. I rule in favor of Duke—"
Her words died as the front door opened.
We all looked as one at the man slowly descending the steps, a relaxed look on his face as he returned our gaze.
"Closed," Mac grunted out. I turned to look at the barkeep when I heard his tone, which was as ugly as I'd ever heard from him. His face matched his voice, his eyes narrow and disapproving.
"I am not here to patronize your establishment, Mr. McAnally," the man replied with the barest of smiles on his lips, while putting an odd emphasis on Mac's name.
"This establishment has been reserved for an Accords function," the Archive explained calmly. "I am afraid you are not welcome at this time."
"I am a member of the Accords, am I not?" the man replied, his smile widening as he looked at the little girl. I blinked, not recalling when Kincaid had moved. But at some point he had, putting himself directly between the girl and the man that came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.
He wasn't terribly tall, probably around average or so. His hair was neat and dark, save for an offset streak of silver running to one side. His build was slim, and he wore a nice suit beneath a tan trench coat. It was a very commonplace look, save for the expensive cut, and the odd choice of a slim gray tie.
"What are you doing here?" Kincaid asked, his voice hard. Even with the most antagonizing version of myself, I hadn't gotten the rise out of him that this man did with a smile.
I looked to the man, who's dark eyes seemed bemused as he turned to me.
"Greetings, Mr. Dresden," he said, offering a shallow inclination of his head. "I am here to be your second."
"And who might you be?" I asked, my senses trying to tell me that this guy was dangerous.
The man's smile widened, his white teeth shining under the lights as the shadows seemed to shift behind him.
"Call me Nicodemus."
