Chapter 15

Nicodemus and I took the long walk into the stadium. It seemed to take forever.

"That was an impressive display last night," the demon said, his eyes sliding to look at me.

"If you say so," I replied.

A rueful smile slid onto Nicodemus's face. "Deirdre will be fine, in case you were wondering."

"I wasn't," I told him. "What about Snake Boy?"

The name made Nicodemus laugh. "Ah, Cassius. Yes, he's fine as well. Took him a while to pull himself together, so to speak. And not terribly pleased with you, of course."

"I seem to have that affect on you lot."

"Oh, I don't know," Nicodemus said pleasantly enough. "I've been thoroughly entertained so far."

I cast a glance at him, my eyes catching on his odd choice in tie. His wardrobe didn't have much variety. "That was smooth, sending Snake Boy in as LaRouche."

"Yes, one of Cassius's many talents," Nicodemus replied. "He can form and shed skins quite like a snake."

"Cards, indeed," I said with a shake of my head. "Until the Knights showed up, you had four out of five chances of getting the Shroud."

The Denarian's smile disappeared. "Yes, that was unfortunate." He cast another glance my way, a more weighing look this time. "I take it they must have heard about the auction from others?"

"Didn't hear it from me," I confirmed.

"Good," he replied. "For a minute I thought you might have tried having me eliminated so that you wouldn't have to deliver the Shroud."

"And lose the duel by forfeit?"

Nicodemus tilted his head, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "It did occur to me that with Ortega there as well, you could have gotten out from beneath both of our thumbs at once."

I wished it'd occurred to me. But that's the nature of fast and unexpected fights. You didn't have the convenience of time offered by hindsight. It seemed so simple now; kill Ortega, and make it seem like something he started. Should have been easy enough in the confusion and the dark.

But at the time, my primary concern had been for myself, Sía, and the Shroud. Had I been willing to give up on one of those other two, I could have killed Ortega at my leisure.

I liked to think that was a sign that I wasn't quite yet the monster I felt like. That I was still prioritizing human life over other things.

A lot of good that had done those three families.

"Fear not, Mr. Dresden," Nicodemus said. "Our deal will be concluded soon enough."

"Great," I replied dryly.

We finally made our way into the stadium. The indoor arena was used by both the Bulls and the Blackhawks, the local hockey team. It seemed the next home game was to be basketball, as that was how the arena was configured. From what I understood, the place could be flipped from one to the other in fairly short order.

There was a musty smell to the air that I couldn't quite place. As we made our way out, I saw that the others were standing near mid-court. Ortega was further out, while I noted that Susan was speaking with Kincaid. The man was wearing a long winter coat, which Susan was brushing with her fingers as she spoke with him. The bodyguard didn't seem to care for the conversation or her presence, his face a blank mask.

Susan seemed to sense his displeasure, and took a step back. Once she was out of reach, Kincaid glanced around the arena, as if annoyed the woman had distracted him from keeping a watchful eye on the place. As if there might be someone else present.

Which was a possibility. The place could seat twenty thousand people, and most of it was shrouded in darkness. Only the lights over the court were on. I recalled Susan's warning, and wondered if Ortega had anything planned. Seemed likely.

When Nicodemus and I arrived at center court, the Archive rose from her court-side seat. I noted that she was carrying a large wooden box with her, one that had seen some extensive carvings made into its sides. She carried it as if it were some considerable weight, but that didn't take much for a child of her size. She'd changed out of her lilac outfit and into something a little darker, a little more somber.

As she approached, Susan wrapped up her conversation with Kincaid and returned to Ortega's side. She whispered something to him, but it didn't seem to register. The man didn't give her a second glance; his eyes had been pinned on me since I walked in.

He was wearing a long coat, similar to mine but made of canvas rather than leather. Maybe Susan was offering to buy him one like mine; she'd gotten it for me, after all.

The floorboards creaked as we went, and eventually I took up position across from Ortega, with Nicodemus remaining a pace back. When the Archive reached Kincaid, she looked back and forth between us. "Winter Knight Dresden has inquired as to whether the Red Court would be willing to accept—"

"We would not," Ortega said darkly, his eyes remaining fixed on me as he cut her off.

The Archive looked to him for a long moment, before turning to me. "It seems we are set to conclude matters with a duel. Are both sides ready?"

I nodded, while Ortega just stared at me.

Slowly the Archive opened the wooden box she held, and a nauseating feeling washed over me, even from a distance. The two vampires didn't react, but Nicodemus's shadow shifted almost nervously.

The Archive saw my reaction. "You know what this is?"

I half nodded, half shook my head. "I think so."

The girl inclined her head again, before turning to the others. "This material is called mordite," she explained, looking around to make sure everyone heard the caution in her tone. "Some call it Deathstone. To come into contact with it is to invite death."

"Deathstone?" Susan mused, one corner of her mouth tilting up in amusement as she studied the odd blob of amorphous mist that seemed to enshroud a small object within the box. The fog writhed along the edges of the wood, as if unable to pass over it of its own accord. "It looks like a bubble with tentacles."

Said tentacles were slowly slithering along the invisible wall around the box's edge. It was as if the stone had a mind of its own, and was seeking out something to destroy.

"It is not of this reality," the Archive continued as she stepped forward, before placing the box right at center court. "Only an enchantment keeps it in check. If freed, it would devour anyone it came into contact with."

"Devour?" Susan repeated, her eyes widening.

"It's from Outside," I explained, although that wouldn't really do much to help someone that hadn't received Council training on such matters. "It's… congealed anti-life. Even being close to it is dangerous."

"So… not something you'd want for your birthday?" she replied, quirking an eyebrow.

"No."

"The enchantment binding the mordite is also sensitive to applied will," the Archive continued. "The duelists will face each other, with the mordite between them. Will it toward your opponent. He with the greatest will controls the mordite. The duel will end once it has devoured one of you."

I might have swallowed nervously at that.

"Seconds will observe from behind and beside, observing their duelist's opponent. Should anyone break the rules of the duel, Mister Kincaid will act accordingly."

"Accord-ingly," I whispered in the general direction of Nicodemus. "Get it?"

The man just gave me a blank stare, his shadow seemingly too large considering the light shining down around us.

"Seconds, please step back to your positions," the Archive stated. Susan and Nicodemus moved at her command, while I noted that Kincaid stepped forward to speak to the Archive. His eyes remained on Nicodemus, which seemed to amuse my second.

After Kincaid finished speaking, the Archive's eyes drifted toward Nicodemus as well. But when she spoke, it was to Ortega and I. "Do either of you have any last words?"

I watched as Ortega drew a band of black and silver beads from his pocket. He quickly wrapped them around his left wrist, and I could feel the defensive energies bound up in the crafting. His eyes were flat as he stared across the way. "Goodbye, Mister Dresden."

"Sunshine and holy piss," I said in reply.

While Ortega's gaze narrowed, I idly wondered if I should have brought something with me to help my focus. My shield bracelet was on my wrist, and my rods were hanging beneath my coat. None of those would help me manifest my will, and using them would most likely be a violation of the rules.

I'd left my staff in the car, figuring they wouldn't let me use it in the fight. The next best thing was my mother's pendant, but I wasn't sure if that would help me right now. It was the symbol I used when channeling magic, but pure will was a completely different flavor of power than I was used to wielding. Maybe it would help, but not as much as a charm designed specifically for that use.

I only had one other item on me, and that wouldn't be of use until after I won. Assuming I won.

But it was too late to worry about that now. The Archive stepped backward and extended one hand toward the box. "Please present your right hands."

Ortega and I obeyed, and I watched as the Archive slowly lifted her own. The mordite rose from the box as she did, the tendrils of translucent smoke wavering around the shard at the center of its mass. The fog expanded outward slightly as it was freed from the enchantments on the box, until it was a roiling mass of mist centered between me and Ortega.

When it was in position, a tension spread across my palm, as if something were pushing against it. Even at a distance, the material was overpowering, threatening to break my concentration with its sheer power. It slithered about, and I could almost feel it trying to slip around my focused will.

Which would be very, very bad.

I steadied my suddenly rapidly beating heart, and concentrated my will on the Deathstone. Ortega did as well from across the way, his body tensing as he prepared.

"Begin."

As soon as she spoke, the stone lurched toward me. Ortega shouted out something harsh and ancient, a cry that punctuated his will as he thrust his arm forward. The mordite responded to him, swirling in mid-air as it came at me, closing the distance in a blink.

I hardened my will, and the stone froze about a meter away. Ortege's will lashed at it from the other side, a torrent of wild energy that threatened to overpower my own. But a cold feeling had crept into my veins as I stood there, a sense of purpose filling me as I stared down the monster across the way.

"How many?" I asked quietly, my eyes rising to look at Ortega. The power lashed against my hand, but I kept it in check.

"How many what?" the vampire replied, his eyes snapping back and forth between me and the stone. It seemed like he thought he should be doing better than he was.

"How many have you killed over the years?" I clarified.

"Countless," he replied, a confident sneer settling over his face. "And countless more will die after you're dead. Starting with your lycanthrope friends."

"How many?" I repeated.

Ortega's eyes narrowed. "Why bother keeping count? Each was nothing more than a meal. Do you keep track of how many cows have died to keep you fed?" he asked with unbridled contempt. "No. Because such beings are beneath you. Just as you are to me."

The vampire thrust his hand forward again, renewing his efforts. The mordite bobbled in mid-air, before drifting closer. First at five feet, and then three. I could all but feel the air moving as the tendrils of pearly smoke drifted my way, the mordite seeking me out. The pressure of the stone itself had redoubled as it grew closer, requiring me to expend more energy to keep it at bay, much less try and move it away.

"I see," I replied, the first sign of strain creeping into my voice. My hand trembled with my effort, and I could feel a sweat breaking out across my scalp.

"Just let it end, fool," Ortega spat, his own face twisted with effort. "Do not prolong the inevitable. Accept the quick death offered; it is better than you deserve."

"Quick death?" I asked breathlessly, surprised. "What makes you think this would be a quick death?"

"Mordite will kill all that it touches," he replied.

"Yes," I said with a slight, tense nod, even as sweat poured down my neck. My arm was visibly shaking by then, the pressure of the mordite and his will almost too much to bare. "But it doesn't kill instantly. Not if it's only close to touching you."

"What are you—"

His words faded as I allowed the cold feeling to seep through me. The sweat upon my body froze in an instant as I poured my will into the mantle, letting it merge and become one with its power.

And then I sent it at the stone, which snapped through the air toward Ortega's chest.

The stone came to a halt a mere foot from him, the smoky tendrils beginning to lash at him from so short a distance. But rather than striking him, the mist fell just short, rolling over him without making contact.

But contact wasn't required for the mordite to suck the life from you. Being close was enough, and an infinitely slower way to go.

"That's why I wanted to know how many," I said, my voice hard and cold as I stood up straight, my arm almost relaxed as I held the stone in place. Ortega's will didn't spare him any longer; mine did. "I wanted to know just how long I should make this last."

Ortega gasped as he felt the Deathstone sapping his strength. His skin paled, which seemed remarkable for someone with no blood to call his own. I could see it stretch tight over his body, his form visibly thinning as the mordite drank from his aura. His knees almost buckled, which made me move the mordite away slightly, so that he couldn't end it by falling upon the Deathstone.

His right arm spasmed as he finally collapsed, his palm slipping down as he sank to his knees. The vampire's body was convulsing as I pushed the mordite closer, but kept it trapped within my will, unwilling to let the monster's misery end.

"One second for every life seems inadequate," I hissed, my fingers curling as I controlled the mordite with infinite will. Ortega's was all but gone, and with my power merging with the mantle's, it was all but easy to make a thin tendril lick across the man's neck. "But I'm afraid you wouldn't last long enough for any true justice to be meted out."

My voice trembled not with strain, but with rage, as I let the mordite lash out again and again. Everywhere it touched, cloth and skin shriveled and disintegrated as the Deathstone devoured the natural materials of the world. Ortega screamed a silent scream, his eyes as wide as they could go as the stone sucked the air from his lungs. His body contorted painfully as he grew thinner and thinner, wasting away before our eyes.

His left arm flopped limply at his side, and I noticed a movement in his coat a moment before a black limb slipped free. I realized that he'd slipped his true arm out of the flesh mask he wore, the black claws of his hand tucked beneath his jacket and grasping a gun.

The gun clattered to the floor as a woeful wail escaped the shriveled husk that was Paolo Ortega.

His intentions were laid bare to all, especially after the vampires lying in wait burst from cover.

A chorus of terrible screams echoed through the arena as black blubbery forms came from every direction. Some dropped from above, the vampires having clung to the rafters and scoreboard directly overhead. More ran down the bleachers, having remained hidden in the shadows higher up. To my surprise, even the floorboards around us shattered as vampire surged up from below.

The others all reacted without hesitating. A glance revealed that Kincaid had pulled a double-barreled shotgun from beneath his long coat. As he trained it on the closest vampire surging up from beneath the flooring, a fountain of hot fire spat out from one of the barrels. The heat was intense even at a distance, and the flame burned through the vampire just as well as one of my own spells would have.

A second later another column of flame shot out from the second barrel, the metal of which appeared warped and heated after unleashing its payload. The bodyguard cast the gun aside and reached behind him, his hand coming to rest on a golf bag that had slid across the floor from the edge of the court of its own accord.

No, not under its own power. Under the power of the Archive.

"Mr. Dresden," the girl said softly, almost apologetically, before her will reached out and seized the mordite held within my own.

I'd wrapped the substance completely and utterly in my power, to the point that it was entirely under my control. Ortega's will, cultured over lifetimes of feedings, had been nothing more than a stiff wind to swat away as my will crushed it aside. It was nothing compared to my power, and that of the mantle.

In turn, my will was nothing but wind compared to the Archive's.

The girl's arm rose as she plucked the mordite from my telekinetic grasp, seeming to take no more effort than an adult taking something from an infant. I blinked in surprise as the Deathstone shot up, swirling in an arc that was almost too fast to see. Only the tendrils of mist, trailing behind it like a comet's tail, let me track its movement.

Like a whirlwind of death, the little girl directed the mordite through the air, the shard lancing through the heart of each and every one of the dozen vampires falling toward us.

Not a single one lived to reach the floor.

I stared, slack-jawed, as the girl spun the stone about, allowing it to dip down and strike those that had burst from the floor. Some were caught by fresh gouts of flame from the seemingly endless supply of shotguns in the golf bag, while the rest were sent flying as the stone cut through them like a bullet, their bodies lifeless as they plopped to the floor.

But despite their combined efforts, there were still too many to deal with on their own. Ortega had known what he'd be facing by breaking the sanctity of the duel, and had brought forth a small company of vampires to aid him in his betrayal. At least a dozen more had burst from beneath the wooden slats at our feet, while twice that many ran down from the bleachers.

While I couldn't do anything about the latter at the moment, I realized with sudden clarity that those emerging from the floor were soaking wet. A glance into one of the makeshift portals revealed the melted ice beneath the layers of insulation and wood.

When it came time to play basketball in the arena, they couldn't just remove the ice from the hockey rink. Allowing it to thaw and refreeze would take too much time, and be entirely too messy. Instead, they laid down a few layers of insulation before putting down the basketball court.

The ice was usually kept frozen by the cooling rods beneath it and the mats above it. But the vampires, thoroughly preparing for the fight, had apparently removed the layers of insulation, and then cut out the ice itself. That hadn't left enough room for them, so they'd also cut out the cooling pipes in the floor, and then laid the wooden slats back over-top the waiting vampires.

They hadn't done things by halves. But they'd also made the mistake of thawing out some of the ice and ruining the floor, explaining the musty smell and creaking floorboards.

All that meant was that there were a dozen vampires soaked to the bone as they faced the Winter Knight.

"Infriga!"

The power washed out of me, re-freezing the thawed water already present by dropping the temperature in the arena. Those fighting with me were unaffected, but those unfortunate enough to be dripping wet all screamed as their blubbery flesh froze fast.

It wasn't enough to kill them outright. But it certainly made things easier for the Archive and Kincaid as they laid waste to the trapped vampires.

With those closest to us neutralized and dying, I turned my attention to those coming down from the dark bleachers. But as I looked, I found fewer than I'd thought. My eyes tracked back and forth, looking for the flickering movement of the monsters.

I caught sight of one that was close to reaching the arena floor. But an instant after it stepped out into the light, the shadows flickered out to seize it, pulling it back into the darkness as it screamed helplessly.

I turned to Nicodemus, who hadn't moved a muscle. The man simply looked at me and shrugged absently, even as his shadow writhed across the broken floor of the arena, stretching out to either side and extending into the shadows above.

"As your second, it is my responsibility to help," he said, as if embarrassed to be caught aiding us.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone of your generosity," I grumbled, while turning my attention outward to search for any vampires that had escaped my notice.

After another few moments, the arena grew silent. Kincaid had exhausted his supply of shotguns somewhere along the way and had resorted to a semi-automatic he'd pulled from somewhere. The man's head was on a swivel, searching the shadows all around. I saw him freeze, and then sight the gun up into the upper rafters. A pull of the trigger preceded a single shot, which was followed by a scream from somewhere on high. A body fell, before smacking into the shattered floor near the entrance.

Even with my senses extended, I hadn't picked up on that one. Which made me wonder how the man spotted it.

Putting the thought aside for the moment, I resumed my search, only to realize that we were alone. With dozens of dead vampires around us, only the six of us remained breathing.

I remedied that post-haste. Before anyone could say anything, I sent a basic wind spell at the wheezing form of Paolo Ortega. His body slid into one of the holes in the floor, where it quickly became soaked in the melted ice.

As I walked over, I could see him shivering within, although his gaze was distant. I wondered if there was anything left of the man to feel pain, and guessed probably not. He was little more than a husk of a vampire; the flesh mask he wore was broken and torn, and the black blubbery inside looked withered, like the thousands of year old corpse that it was.

Still, just in case…

"I take it you're going to rule against him?" I asked over my shoulder, sensing the Archive as she approached.

"He is in violation of the Accords," she stated simply, seemingly un-phased by the violence she and the others had wrought. I noted that the mordite had been returned to its box, which had thankfully remained unharmed in the chaos. "And you had all but won."

"Good," I said, before extending a hand toward the hole. The temperature inside dropped slowly, perhaps one degree a second, until it was well below freezing.

What was left of the Duke was gasping out little short breaths, his lips the only thing left exposed as he was covered in ice. The power from the mantle poured out, causing the ice to slowly seep into his flesh, causing him to cry out in pitiful whimpers as frost grew in his veins.

I knelt down beside the hole, watching as those blind eyes flinched as the pain spread. "I warned you," I said softly as I reached a hand into a pocket of my duster. "Nothing I can do about the sunshine right now, but the rest I can manage."

I don't think he could see the water bottle I drew out. Using my mouth to pull out the rubber stopper, I took a swig, before spitting it out onto his exposed lips. It arced over his form, dribbling across the exposed flesh. The water burned like acid, and the echo of a scream sounded within the solid ice encasing his chest.

I looked at the bottle. "I suppose it'll take too long if I drink it," I admitted. "And it'd be rude to whip out my junk in front of the kid anyway. Oh well. You get off easy."

At that, I upended the water bottle and squeezed, shooting a steady stream into the vampire's open mouth. The water poured down his throat, burning along the way, until the temperature froze it within him. I let the rest pool over top his lips, which had finally stopped twitching.

After another moment, the holy water had frozen solid, leaving him fully encased.

"Was that necessary?" the Archive asked from behind me. I think her tone was slightly reproachful.

"Yes," I said as I stood up. "As is this."

Thrusting a palm toward the corpse, I channeled power into a mighty kinetic blow that shattered ice, bone, and flesh. The sound of it echoed through the arena, before the air grew silent again.

When it did, there was nothing left of Duke Paolo Ortega but bloody chunks of ice.