Chapter 11
Back before I'd arrived in Chicago, the town had been like any other. As the third largest city in the country, it had a multitude of gangs and criminal organizations. Each controlled different neighborhoods and areas of town, most of them overlapping under different markets. Partnerships and loyalties came and went, as each vied to survive what was a very competitive market.
And then Gentleman John Marcone had stepped up. A previous enforcer and gunman, the would-be boss of Chicago went on a ruthless campaign to seize control of the city's underbelly. One that had been largely successful.
Marcone controlled the largest portion of the city's criminal element. Former gangs fell in line within his organization, or they ended up in a police line-up. Or worse, lined up in the morgue. Between the cops he'd bought and the politicians he'd bankrolled, Marcone made sure that there was nowhere his opponents could hide.
Unfortunately for him, he didn't have sole possession of the city. Margravine Bianca St. Claire still controlled a large portion of the city's prostitution, but had expanded her influence into the drug trade as well. The Streetwolves nipped at his heels in the protection rackets and black market, while working to expand their influence among the businesses and government institutions.
Marcone tolerated neither, and had all but put contracts out on Sía and her people. He was a brutal killer that would rather bury problems than deal with them.
For all that, he didn't look like a mob boss. His fit form and clean cut left you thinking he might be a high school football coach. It was his eyes, the color of dollar bills and free from any sign of remorse or regret, that revealed the monster that he was.
Which meant it wasn't good when those eyes settled on Sía and myself.
"Johnny, it's been too long," I said, offering the gangster a condescending smile.
"Mr. Dresden," the man replied, his low voice sounding courteous to bystanders, leaving his distaste for me apparent to only those that saw his eyes. "Neither you nor Ms. MacTire were on the guest list. Of that I am certain."
"And yet we have tickets," I said, withdrawing mine from an inner pocket.
The two people standing to either side of him tensed at the motion. The first was Hendricks, Marcone's personal bodyguard slash thug slash rock troll. He wasn't actually a troll. But between his height and musculature, I could forgive someone thinking it of him. That they made suits in his size was impressive; they could have clothed a small village with all that fabric.
The second was Marcone's magical contractor. I'd seen Sigrun Gard once or twice, but never in a social setting where we had to play nice. She was pretty, which I couldn't say of Hendricks even if my tendencies went that way. But her beauty was like that of a battle-axe; curvy, sharp, and deadly.
The woman was dressed in an expensive white dress piped in gold. She wore matching jewelry, consisting of a gilded torc around her neck and matching bracelets around each wrist, the latter of which streamed off into a winding golden spiral that looped around each of her forearms. Combined with heeled sandals with ties that wrapped around her calves, the outfit gave her a decidedly Old World appearance.
When the two saw that I was withdrawing nothing more than a ticket, they relaxed, although they remained at the ready. Maybe they were always that tense, or maybe Gard's wards had detected the rods that were tucked beneath my dress coat.
Marcone's eyes glanced at the invitation, and then rose to meet mine again. We didn't need to worry about a soulgaze, as we'd gone through that the first time we'd met. It was that experience that left me convinced Marcone was a cold, heartless creature that had once been a man, but was now hollow of any true human emotion.
"I have no interest in forged tickets, Mr. Dresden," Marcone said, his voice cool. "And I would think you'd know that better than most." His eyes drifted to Sía. "Especially allowing the woman you're dating to use one."
My temper flared, a scarlet rage that coursed through my veins at his not-so-veiled reference to Susan's fate; to the fact that she'd used just such an invitation to force her way into Bianca's party, and gotten herself killed for her efforts.
That Marcone had learned the details of that exchange didn't surprise me. Not with his incessant need to know everything about anyone he considered a threat.
Which I very much was in that moment.
"You'll find they're real," Sía said beside me, her gaze on me rather than Marcone. Apparently something of my rage had shown on my face, as Gard had taken a step forward, and Sía had quietly taken me by one arm. "A corporate friend found that he wouldn't be able to attend, and offered us the opportunity."
"I'm afraid the invitations are non-transferable," Marcone replied, his gaze shifting to her. Whatever had been in my look that had set off the others, it'd had no effect on him. "And I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"And where would the fun be in that?" a familiar voice said from behind me. As loath as I was to turn my back on Gard, I did, to see Susan Rodriguez arrive, still stunning in that red dress.
I saw her eyes drift to where Sía held my arm. Something flashed in them, and Sía unconsciously removed her hand. I was too busy trying to figure out what Susan was doing there, until the now familiar form of Paolo Ortega stepped up to her side.
"Mr. Dresden," the man said smoothly. "I'm so glad to see you out and enjoying yourself on your last night on this earth."
"Ortega," I said, my smile brittle. "I think I saw an antique sarcophagus for sale in the auction." My grin spread. "It might be tight, but I think all your bits and pieces will fit. And then we'll go to that picnic on a hill."
Before the vampire could reply, Marcone reasserted his lack of authority over us. "As pleased as I am to meet someone else that wishes Mr. Dresden to be dearly departed, I'm afraid you were not invited either." His eyes shifted to Susan. "You'd think you'd have learned your lesson by now."
"Oh, we won't be staying long," Susan replied, her smile bright and vicious but somehow still hers. "We're just waiting for a particular item to go up for sale."
Her words made me blink, and then curse silently to myself.
It seemed word of the Shroud's sale had reached Bianca's court as well. And as one of her lieutenants, Susan had been dispatched to acquire it.
I had no idea what the Reds might want with it, but I knew letting them have it wouldn't be any better than Marcone or Nicodemus. Not to mention that my odds of getting away with it had just gone down.
Susan's comment did not go unnoticed by Marcone, either. "I think you will find some items out of your price range," he replied. "By my estimate, the cost will be far more than you'll be willing to pay."
"Oh, Johnny," Susan replied with her still warm smile. "When will you realize that we never pay for anything. We make others do that for us."
Whatever pleasant feeling I'd had at seeing Susan acting like herself faded quickly as I heard her lump herself in with the Reds. "Susan, I think you should stay out of this."
At my words, she turned to me in surprise. "Excuse me?"
I knew that tone of voice all too well. It was Susan's I-know-you're-not-telling-me-what-to-do voice. "I'm serious, Susan. This is bigger than you realize."
Susan's eyes flashed again, a familiar anger bubbling up. Back when she'd been a reporter for the Midwestern Arcane, she'd taken a perverse pleasure in investigating things that were outside of the mundane. She'd flown in the face of convention countless times, doing what needed to be done not only to get the story, but to establish herself as a serious journalist.
It seemed she'd adapted that same go-to attitude to everything in her after-life as well. "You think I don't understand what's going on?"
Before I could reply, Ortega spoke up. "We are fully aware of the situation, Mr. Dresden. Particularly in concern to the individual you met with earlier."
As his smile spread, I cursed myself for a fool yet again. Marcone and the others looked confused, but they hadn't been there for the meeting. They hadn't been there when Nicodemus had demanded I get the Shroud.
But Ortega had. And as a Red Court vampire, he had most likely heard our exchange from across the room.
Which explained why the Red Court had just taken an interest in the Shroud. If they got their hands on it, it'd make me worthless to Nicodemus. The Reds might even hand it over to him, at the low low cost of walking away from being my second.
Which would mean I wouldn't live long enough to fight the bastard grinning at me now.
"I've got some good news, Pauly," I said, my breath frosting in the air as I did. The others didn't fail to notice. "I wasn't exactly looking forward to tomorrow. But now I'm thinking I'm going to enjoy the hell out of it."
"Harry—" Sía began, her hand taking hold of my arm again.
"It's fine," I told her, stepping back from Ortega. "I'll wait until the duel. Maybe we'll sell tickets after all."
The look on my face must have been something, because the ancient monster actually took a step back. His retreat was encouraged by Susan, who took his arm just as Sía had taken mine. The two faded back into the crowd just as quickly as they'd come, leaving us alone with Marcone and his people.
Before the mobster could say anything, I turned back to him. "Marcone, I think you're a corrupt, vile, loathsome piece of filth," I said, my voice still as cold as the air around me. "But at least you're human, if only barely. So I'll give you fair warning." My head dipped so that I could glare down into the man's dead eyes. "Stay out of this."
Marcone wasn't one to retreat, and likely never would. And based on the look he gave me, I knew he wouldn't be giving up on the Shroud. But at least he had the good sense to shut the fuck up.
I let Sía pull me away, and then the gangster was gone, as we were once again milling about amongst the rich and the fabulous.
"I thought you were going to kill him," Sía whispered, her breath quick.
"Which one?" I asked, my voice still a husky growl.
"Both of them," she replied, her eyes wide. "All of them."
Even with the conflict past us, my pulse was still quick, the mantle still forefront in my thoughts. So I didn't fail to notice the way Sía's chest was moving in her dress, or the way she'd pressed her hip against mine.
As a lycanthrope, she was as hot-blooded as they came. And she was no stranger to violence; you didn't become a leader of a gang if you blanched at the sight of blood.
No, Sía wasn't embarrassed or disgusted by my behavior.
She was excited by it.
And part of me was very excited about that.
"Not now, boy," she said, squeezing my bicep. "Save it for later."
I gave off a barbaric grunt, and let her draw me further into the crowd. "How much longer until the auction?"
Sía checked her watch. "Only a couple minutes. I figure we'll let you cool off for another five before heading over."
"Probably a good idea." As I looked about the room, a thought occurred to me. "You know, I just realized. The thieves probably aren't going to be that excited to see me."
Sía looked confused for a moment, until she realized what I was talking about. "You mean after the harbor."
"Yeah."
"Do you not want to go?" she asked.
"No, I have to go," I replied quickly. "I'm just thinking maybe you shouldn't."
"What?" she asked, alarmed. "Why not?"
"Things are dangerous enough as it is," I told her. "We're going to have two other parties in there trying to get this thing. That's bad enough, but the sellers might want to take me out themselves before they even start. Especially if they find out I don't have the cash to actually back up my bids."
"You want to keep me out of it, to keep me safe," she realized. Her eyes slid elsewhere, before coming back to me. "You know, you never told me about Susan."
"What?" I said, thrown by the change of topic. "Sure I did."
"You told me what happened," Sía said with a shake of her head. "But I didn't realize just how much you blamed yourself until I saw you look at her."
"What?" I repeated.
Sia stopped us, turning me to look at her. "Harry, she was your girlfriend. And through that relationship, she got hurt. And you blame yourself."
My throat was thick, and I wasn't sure I could respond, even if I knew what to say. My emotions were still raw from seeing Susan, and the situation I found myself in wasn't helping. And now Sía was hitting me with this.
"And you know what? You should," Sía continued. "But you've got to get over it."
"Get over it?" I asked, my voice low but hard. "How do I just get over it? I got her killed, Sía."
The lycanthrope placed both hands on my face, pulling it down. "By accepting that you didn't control her, any more than you control me." She kissed my lips softly. "Neither of us are your responsibility, Harry. We're your friends." Her smile took on a crooked lean. "Friends with benefits, maybe. But you can't control what we do."
I took a moment, taking a steadying breath. "You're coming, then."
"Yes," she replied. "And whatever happens, it happens because I choose to be there. Just like she did." The lycanthrope bumped me with her hip, a surprising force behind it. "Now get your head in the game, wizard. The last thing I need to be doing is babysitting you in there."
That brought a smile to my lips. "Fair enough."
Sía glanced toward the hallway and checked her watch. "It's time."
"Alright," I said, steeling myself for whatever was about to happen. "Let's go."
