Chapter 12

Sía and I made our way to one of the smaller ballrooms of the hotel. It had less than a quarter of the space of the grand ballroom, but looked bigger due to its limited occupancy.

The hallway outside was packed with people that didn't look like party-goers or hotel staff. I recognized some standing along one side as members of Marcone's organization. Bulges beneath their jackets all but confirmed that they were there as security. Their gaze drifted over us as we passed, but their attention was fixed on those standing against the other wall.

They were more of the same, as far as I could tell. Their sizes and skin colors ran the spectrum, but they all wore the same uniform: a simple black suit with a white shirt and thin red tie. It didn't take much to guess that they were Red Court vampires, or maybe thralls in their service.

The two groups let us past, clearly instructed not to interfere with the auction. We walked down the hall, past one room closed for maintenance, before reaching the designated ballroom.

When we entered, we found the two other groups already there and waiting. Marcone silently watched us enter, with Gard and Hendricks at either side. Gard had apparently stopped somewhere to pick up a moon-shaped axe, an accessory she hadn't had out on the dance floor. Hendricks was openly carrying an assault rifle, something I doubt management would have approved of. I caught a glimpse of a sawed off shotgun hanging on one side.

Ortega and Susan were there as well, along with two more of the suited men with red ties. While the guards had the tell-tale bulges of guns under their jackets, the other two were unarmed.

Other than the two factions, there was no-one else present in the room. I noted the windows, which seemed to be facing out toward the side alley running alongside the hotel. The room was barren, save for a table that had been placed along one wall. A laptop sat atop it, alongside what looked like a squat piece of electronics.

As we approached, a disembodied voice spoke up. I stopped as I realized the device was a speaker-phone of some sort.

"Step forward," the voice said.

"What is this, the Wizard of Oz?" Sía asked softly.

"I'm supposed to be the wizard," I muttered, but obeyed the unseen voice.

When I got close enough, the voice spoke again. "No. Not him."

"Not who?" I asked, looking around. Sía pointed to the laptop and whispered "Camera."

"Not you," the odd voice replied, an electronic warble that made me think someone was using a voice changer. "We're not selling to you."

"Why not?" I asked, although I could guess.

"Because you tried stealing the Shroud earlier," the voice replied.

"That wasn't me. That was my evil twin," I argued petulantly. I pointed at Marcone. "And he works for him, the lousy traitor."

"I have already assured them that I was not involved in the incident earlier," Marcone said calmly. As even as his voice might have been, his eyes were dark and furious.

"You're just a no good lyin' liar," I replied. "Who's going to believe you?"

"We are," the disembodied voice replied. "Get out."

"Alright, I apologize for earlier," I told the computer, making sure to keep my distance from it. The last thing I wanted to do was to have it short out because of my power, and complicate things further. "But I was just trying to get the Shroud away before that thing arrived."

There was a pause. "What was that?"

"A demon," I replied. "One that would have killed the two of you and taken the Shroud, rather than just givin' you a good thumpin'."

"A demon?" the voice asked, the odd tones still somehow relaying their doubt.

"You saw it, didn't you?" I said. "I saw the two of you slip away while I distracted her. You're welcome, by the way."

There was another pause, and then the voice returned. I got the impression that the speaker had changed. "You have money to pay, or are you just going to offer us more thumps on the head?"

"I've got money."

"He doesn't have enough," Marcone said.

"Shows what you know," I replied. "I am the Winter Knight."

That didn't get me as far with the thieves as I hoped it would. "The what?"

Remembering that they weren't clued in, I shrugged. "It means I have the resources."

"He does," Ortega said, surprising me with his vote of confidence. "But he is also allied with the creature that attacked you earlier."

I blinked at that. "Am not."

The blood-sucking vampire just smiled a crooked smile. "Did you not come to terms with them earlier this evening, to acquire it on their behalf?"

"If I were working for them, why would I have fought one?" I countered. "Not to mention the one I killed last night."

That seemed to surprise Ortega, which was refreshing. I looked back to the camera. "The truth is, bad things want the Shroud. And of those you could sell it to, I'm the best."

"How convincing," another voice said.

As a whole, the room turned to watch a couple walk in, arm in arm. The first I recognized, seeing as he had just agreed to be my second only an hour or so earlier.

Nicodemus was wearing the same suit and odd tie, but now had two new accessories. The first was a sword on one hip, a slim blade that he carried with ease. I got the distinct impression he knew how to use it.

The second accessory was wearing an oriental dress that showed off all the right things. The girl's face was too slim to be conventionally pretty, and her dark hair hung wildly about her head.

"Who's that?" the voice from the speaker asked.

"Another potential buyer," Nicodemus replied, his eyes on Gard of all people. "One with more resources than the rest of these fools combined."

"He's also associated with the thing you saw," Ortega said with a frown, clearly upset at the Denarian's arrival.

"That line is getting tired," I replied.

"So it is," the voice said. "Very well. We'll open the auction to all comers. For those that haven't already, please step forward and enter your account numbers into the laptop."

The girl left Nicodemus's arm and started forward. She glanced my way as she did, casting a baleful look. I realized with a start that this must be Deirdre, who Nicodemus had said wasn't all that pleased with me.

The girl bent at the computer, and I looked away, simply because I didn't want to be the only lecher in the room. "We have a problem," I whispered to Sía.

"Let me guess," she replied drolly. "You don't know your bank account number."

"That's not something normal people know," I argued.

The gold-flecked green eyes just rolled. "Whatever. I'll use mine."

When Deirdre was finished, Sía stepped up. I didn't bother looking away as she bent over. I mean, she was my date after all. I was just watching her back. Literally.

While she worked, Nicodemus strolled over to me. "Glad you could make it."

I shot him a scowl. "What are you doing here?"

Nicodemus's eyebrow arched up. "Simply improving my odds of acquiring that which I desire."

I glanced toward Ortega, who was watching us. "Seems like you've got more cards to play than anyone else."

That made Nicodemus smile. "You have no idea."

As he was speaking, the girl arrived at his side. When she slipped her arm around Nicodemus's waist, he did the same, pulling her close. "Allow me to introduce my daughter, Deirdre."

My eyes might have widened at that. Particularly because of where Nicodemus's hand came to a rest. "Your daughter?"

Nicodemus just nodded and smiled. "Say hello to Harry, Deirdre."

"Hello Harry," the girl replied flatly.

"I love what you've done with your hair," I told her. "Listen, a friend of mine wanted to ask. When you're in your other form, are your boobs… you know. Soft?"

The humor left Nicodemus's face, while Deirdre's eyes simply narrowed with hate. "How humorous."

"No, I'm really curious," I replied, trying for my most innocent. "If I were trying to be humorous, I'd ask if you shave your legs with your own hair." My eyes widened. "Oh, wait, do you have to shave down there?" I asked, pointing discreetly. "Because I bet there aren't many guys that would want their junk lopped off by your pubes."

I didn't think Deirdre's gaze could have grow any narrower. And I was right, except for the fact that she had one other card to play.

A second pair of glowing green eyes appeared on her forehead, as narrow as the first set, which began to glow a crimson red.

"Now, now, dear," Nicodemus cautioned, although he looked like he'd rather let her loose. "We mustn't do anything to Mr. Dresden until after he's acquired the Shroud for us."

His words calmed Deirdre, who slowly let the lights fade away along with the second set of eyes. But they didn't fade before Sía returned, who's own gaze widened when she saw the girl.

"I take it she's the one you mentioned? The offspring of Colossus and Medusa?" Sía asked, her eyes on Deirdre. Apparently she hadn't heard that her father was standing right beside her.

The girl just looked to Sía with disinterest. "I take it this is his pet dog you told me about? The one we might have to put down?" Deirdre replied, her languid voice just as irritating as her words.

"I thought you said she was tough?" Sía said, looking to me after sizing up the tiny girl. "I bet if you gave me thirty minutes and a bottle of Nair, she'd be as harmless as a hairless rodent."

"Thirty minutes and I'd have you on your back screaming," Deirdre said with a snarl. "And not in a pleasant way."

"Ladies, ladies," Nicodemus said with the patience of a man that had dealt with women across numerous lifetimes. "Can't we all be civil until this matter is resolved?"

"Why do we need him?" Deirdre replied, clearly irritated that she couldn't just strangle the both of us.

"Because I have no intention of buying the Shroud," Nicodemus said with a smile. "Mr. Dresden is going to steal it, and then deliver it to us tomorrow."

Sía blinked at that, and I remembered that I hadn't had a chance to tell her about the details of the meeting.

"Alright," the voice from the speaker-phone said. "I guess that's everyone. Each of your accounts passed authentication for the million dollar minimum, so we'll begin bidding in just a few minutes."

It was my turn to look to Sía, my eyes wide. "You have an account with a million dollars in it?"

"Doesn't everyone?" she replied smartly.

Before I could respond, the doors opened again, drawing everyone's gaze.

Three more figures stepped into the room, moving to stand one beside the other as they came. I think my mouth gaped open in surprise at the sight of the three, and the armament they bore.

"Harry," Michael Carpenter said softly, his eyes shifting unsurely between Nicodemus and myself. I looked him up and down, seeing that he was wearing his solid plate-mail beneath his white cloak, the front of which bore a red cross. Amoracchius hung in its sheath on his hip, while I spotted several other knives stashed across his armored body.

Sanya was decked out in armor as well, although his was more contemporary, consisting of a bulletproof vest and dark fatigues. Esperacchius hung at one side, while a short barreled automatic hung on the other.

Of the three, only Shiro could pass himself off as a civilian. His garb was authentic Miyagi, with loose hakama pants and a shitagi shirt tied shut around his waist. He walked with his cane, although he put no weight on it.

"Michael, what are you doing here?" I asked, shooting a glance at the Denarian.

If I thought I was surprised by the appearance of the three Knights of the Cross, Nicodemus was down-right disturbed. The man's eyes had narrowed as he took a step back, squaring his shoulders to them. Deirdre did so as well, her hands clenching as if preparing for a fight.

But between all of us, our reactions were nothing compared to that of Nicodemus's shadow.

Which began to writhe on the floor of its own accord.

"What the hell?" I breathed, watching the shadow act completely unnaturally. For a second I wondered if he was Peter Pan, and his shadow was about to tear loose from his feet.

"Nicodemus," Shiro said softly, his body resting very lightly on the cane that I suspected bore one of the Swords of the Cross.

"If it isn't the Jap," Nicodemus snarled, his veneer of civility peeled away at the appearance of the Knights. His eyes shifted toward Sanya. "And the traitor."

"I was the betrayed, not the betrayer," Sanya replied stoically. "It is your side that has a history of betraying those that loved them."

Nicodemus's face twisted again, even as his shadow thrummed with agitation. "I didn't realize you'd become a believer."

"I do not have to believe to know right from wrong," Sanya said, his disapproving gaze shifting to me. "Even the faithless can recognize the devil in their presence."

While I felt like I missed a lot in that exchange, I couldn't help but note the look he cast my way. I don't know if it was because I was standing with Nicodemus, or if it was because I was the Winter Knight. All I knew was this Knight of the Cross was looking at me as if I were the enemy, rather than someone that was just doing the best he could in a desperate situation.

As for his part, Nicodemus just nodded, and slowly began backing away from the three Knights, all of whom had their hands on their weapons. "Devil I may be, but you have no cause against me," Nicodemus said softly. "This is simply a transaction, one in which you have no part. Unless you've started charging those you help a consultant's fee?" he added, one eyebrow raised.

None of the Knights responded. They just watched Nicodemus back away, before turning to me.

"Harry," Michael began, his tone troubled.

"Don't start, Michael," I said with a frown. "What are you doing here?"

"A question we would all like answered," Marcone said as he approached from behind.

"We are here to retrieve that which rightfully belongs to the Church," Michael declared for all to hear, meeting the gangster's flat stare with one of infinite patience.

"Ownership is nine-tenths of the law," the voice from the speaker-phone announced. "So unless you happen to own a bank account with a lot of money in it, we're going to have to ask you to leave."

"We will not be leaving," Sanya announced to the room. "Not without the Shroud."

"Don't do this," I hissed at Michael. "I've got things under control."

"Is that what you think?" he replied, his voice filled with disappointment. "Do you know who he is?"

I assumed he was talking about Nicodemus. "Yeah. He's the Big Bad. The personification of evil. The greatest threat to mankind, yadda yadda."

Michael didn't seem to like my flippant tone. "You jest, but he is." My friend shook his head. "And I find you standing with him."

"I'm not— Damn it, Michael," I growled, as low as I could manage. "I'm not standing with him. I'm just doing what needs to be done."

"To survive."

"Yes, to survive," I snapped.

"At what cost, Harry?" Michael replied. "Living is about more than just breathing; it's about being able to live with yourself, and the things you've done."

My response, which likely would have cost me a friendship, was cut short by the arrival of Susan Rodriguez. Michael and I both turned to her, and I couldn't help but recall the last time we'd been together.

That damned night at Bianca's. The night that had changed everything.

"Mr. Carpenter," Susan said politely, nodding to the man.

"Ms. Rodriguez," Michael replied, his voice neutral. I would have expected something a little more apologetic from him, given his role in her fate. But my friend just stared mutely at her as if she were any other monster.

Which, I guess to him, she was.

"I understand that you want to retrieve the object," Susan said to him, her tone understanding and sympathetic. "But the sellers have stashed it and themselves away. If you do not leave, no-one will get it, including you."

"So be it," Michael replied coolly. "Better it be lost than in the hands of those that would misuse it."

"You think so ill of me?" she asked, sounding offended. "After everything we've been through?"

"We have been through nothing," Michael stated, his tone absolute. "My friendship was with the woman that used to inhabit that body. You are nothing but a poor reflection of the soul that was lost."

That seemed to hit Susan hard, as I saw her literally rock back as if she'd been slapped.

"Michael," I hissed.

"No, Harry," he replied, not taking his eyes off of Susan. "Do not let its voice and appearance confuse you. She is not Susan Rodriguez."

"How can you—"

"Uh, Harry," Sía said from behind me. I felt a tug on my suit coat.

I turned to her, and then looked to where her gaze was fixed. The others were all paying attention to the speaker-phone.

"—is off," the voice said.

"We had a deal," Marcone said. The way he said it made it sound like it was to be written on the thieves' tombstones.

"And now we're breaking it," the voice replied. "This is getting too hot."

To my surprise, Nicodemus just shrugged. "Oh well. I'm fine with that."

That seemed to startle the Knights more than anything. But it was Ortega that stepped up to the computer. "I would recommend you reconsider."

"Too bad," the voice replied. "If you still want to purchase the Shroud, we'll hold an auction at a later date. And until then, we'll hold each of your million dollars as a down payment to bid at that time."

"Excuse me?" Sía said, her accent thickening. She clearly wasn't prepared to part with a cool mil in exchange for a fun fifteen minutes in a room full of monsters.

"If you want the money back, you can have it," the voice replied. "After we're safely out of the city, we will… Gaston? Where have you—"

The change in subject caught everyone's attention, as did the sudden drop in communication.

"What was that?" Ortega asked, frowning. He cast a suspicious look my way.

"LaRouche," I heard Gard whisper to Marcone. Something about her face was odd, as if she were alarmed at the turn of events for some reason.

"What's going on?" Sía asked me softly as I turned and took a few steps away from everyone."

"Nothing good," I replied as I pulled a string from my pocket. Attached was a clear crystal that had been dipped in something red. I dangled the crystal from the string, and watched as it failed to hang straight down. "It sounded like the Churchmice were talking to Gaston LaRouche, one of their partners."

"So?"

"So Gaston LaRouche is dead," I replied, my eyes raising to look in the direction where the crystal pointed. It was subtle, but it was pointing in the opposite direction from the laptop. As I looked, I realized that it was in fact pointing at the next room over, which was separated from ours by one of those large accordion-style divider walls. The kind that can be removed to make one large room when required. "Son of a bitch."

"What?" Sía asked, only to hurry after me as I made my way for the divider wall. "Where are you going? What are you talking about?"

Our departure didn't go unnoticed. Several heads swiveled around as I let loose a trickle of power, just enough to break the latch holding the two accordion doors together. A gap sagged in between them for a moment, until a wind spell blew them apart, sliding both sides back toward the recesses where they were normally hidden from view.

With the doors open, the room beyond was revealed. As were the three people standing there.

The first two were who I was expecting. Anna Valmont and Francisca Garcia looked none the worse for wear from our brief encounter earlier that day, save for some bruising on a forehead and a temple. Both were decked out in dark fatigues they'd picked up somewhere along the way in their travels around town. A duffel bag sat on the floor, which is what Garcia went for as the doors flew open. Valmont just glanced our way, before holding up something in her hand.

"Don't come any closer!" she shouted as the others all moved up to my position. Everyone's attention seemed to be focused on a round white tube sitting on a table next to the ladies. "This is a remote trigger. I've rigged the cannister to blow, so if anyone tries anything, the Shroud goes up in smoke!"

Despite her threat, I started forward, my eyes on the man standing with them. As I moved, Valmont waived the remote in my direction, repeating her threat. "Stop! I mean it!"

"We must go," the man that looked like Gaston LaRouche said urgently to the women. "Things are much worse than we ever could have guessed."

"Okay, we're leaving!" Garcia announced, rising from the bag and holding an automatic rifle. What do they do, hand those out on street corners now? "Sale is off!"

"That's not LaRouche," I said, my eyes on the impostor.

"What are you talking about?" Valmont asked, stepping forward to pick up the cannister with her free hand.

"That's not LaRouche," I repeated. "LaRouche died several days ago."

"Nonsense," the man replied, sounding offended by my accusation as he shot a baffled look at me. "I am quite obviously alive."

To all appearances, he was. His face was the same as the one I'd seen in the photograph. But since there was no way for him to have survived the injuries I'd seen, I knew he wasn't who he claimed. Not if Vincent was correct.

The two women seemed to be taking their friend's word for it rather than mine. Both were sidling toward the door, keeping everyone else at bay with the threat to the Shroud.

"LaRouche was left for dead on a tarmac. That man is an impostor," I insisted, even if a sliver of doubt had crept in. Could the good father have been wrong? Shape-shifters were real, but those with the ability to look like others were very limited in number.

"Keep talking and I'll put one through your throat," Garcia said, taking aim at me as she did so.

"I hate to say it, but Mr. Dresden is correct," Marcone said off to one side. "My people heard of his death as well."

Garcia hesitated, shifting her aim to Marcone. He didn't flinch with the gun pointed at him, but I noticed Hendricks move up a step, so that he might throw himself in front of his boss if things went sideways.

"It's the truth," I told them. "It's like that thing you saw earlier today. The demon. Some things can make themselves look like others."

Now it was Valmont's turn to hesitate. Casting a look at her would-be partner, she asked, "Where have you been?"

"The authorities were on my tail," the man replied, his French accent thickening. "I had no choice but to go the long way around in getting here."

"How'd you know where we were meeting?" Valmont asked, her eyes shifting back and forth between him and us. "We never told you where the exchange was going down."

The man hesitated. "You put word out today. Those I know in town told me."

Valmont seemed to freeze at that, while Garcia hissed and spun toward the man. "Gaston said he didn't know anyone in Chicago."

Oops.

The man that wasn't Gaston LaRouche blinked once. And then he was moving, way too quickly to be even remotely human. Valmont started to turn, but the man was there in a flash, his eyes narrowing even as a second set bloomed on his forehead.

His flesh seemed to ripple before my eyes, and I watched as the skin on his neck and face began to change. Even the hand that he'd wrapped around Valmont's throat changed, becoming a mottled greenish color. From a distance, it looked like his flesh was almost scaly in texture.

"Give me the Shroud," the Denarian hissed. And I don't mean that he spoke raspingly; his voice was that of a snake that had learned how to speak English. As his lips moved, I saw the flash of a forked tongue that flickered in and out of his mouth.

"I'll blow it," Valmont stuttered, her voice pitched high but still braver than anything I would have managed. "I'll blow it to fucking—"

Snake Boy's other arm shot around her, his clawed hand closing on her wrist. I could hear it as her bones broke, shattering beneath his grip. As they did, the remote began to fall toward the floor.

Garcia screamed as she took aim at the Denarian, who casually tore her friend's throat out. Blood spurted across the room as Anna Valmont died, and Snake Boy grabbed at the white tube.

The tension in the room broke, as everyone realized the sale had just become a free-for-all.

And then the chaos began, as we all started trying to kill one another.