Chapter 27
Nicodemus's apocalypse lasted exactly one hour.
The fallout would linger for much, much longer.
Cassius had told us the truth, but hadn't told us everything. After my escape that morning, Nicodemus had indeed altered his plan, dividing the Shroud between his mortal servants with him in Chicago. Each Acolyte underwent a ritual to bind them to their segments of cloth; as long as they kept it on their person, the spell would remain active.
Of course, with the pieces bound together through magic, not all of them needed to retain possession in order to keep it going. As long as one of them kept their piece in hand, the rest would continue to spread the contagion.
I assumed that's why Nicodemus kept the largest piece for himself. And why, even after I'd taken it from him, the curse continued its bloody work.
With almost twelve hours to travel, and O'Hare providing direct international flights, his people had plenty of time to reach their destinations. Each was then sent out into the world with a piece, tasked with placing it in a church that held Saturday evening mass, or depending on the local time, in a public venue.
What we didn't know was that additional, smaller cuttings had been sent out without Acolytes to attend them.
Small squares were expressed mailed to every major news outlet. Other packages were addressed to politicians, celebrities, and business leaders. Deliveries were made to other religious institutions, in the hopes that it might spread through their members as well.
When the curse finally activated, it didn't target one place, or even twelve.
It struck at hundreds.
In the end, my spell was successful in destroying both the Shroud and the plague curse. Even the smaller pieces were destroyed, burning bright everywhere they had been sent, until not a trace was left.
I'd stopped the curse, but couldn't undo what had been done. I'd saved lives, but that was little comfort to those that had perished in that long sixty minutes, and to those that the curse affected in the months to come.
As soon as the curse was destroyed, those infected by its power started to recover. It wasn't immediate, but within hours, the last traces of the plagues were gone. A vast majority of the dozens exposed in Chicago, and thousands more across the globe, were left wondering what had happened to them.
But while the supernaturally produced plagues might have disappeared, the physical strain caused by them lingered. Those in ill health were the worst affected, as organs failed and mundane infections claimed lives. Some died in the church and the other locales, while others died while being cared for. Not as many as there would have been, but still too many.
The most fatalities came from the numerous flights that went down while en route to their destinations. Two passenger planes crashed before reaching Tokyo and Beijing. Several carrier planes went down as well, as the contagion spread to the flight crews.
As regrettable as those deaths were, their short-term suffering was nothing compared to what the survivors went through.
Despite the fact that I'd stopped the plague, I couldn't stop what was to come.
In close to a dozen cities, church goers were found suffering from a plethora of plagues that doctors had no means of explaining. Most were found and reported before the curse was destroyed. Some were taken to emergency rooms, where they passed the contagion on to the sickly and infirm. More people died as the panic grew.
Those that recognized the symptoms for what they were did what they could to lessen the impact. Several cities got their people into quarantine, buying the doctors time to run tests. They were left stumped when the victims tested negative for anything. Not believing the results, the infected were kept in quarantine and isolation as more and more exams were run, as officials became desperate to explain the unexplainable.
While the hospitals kept the infected under lockdown, the state and federal governments did the same for everyone else.
Thanks to the pieces mailed across the globe, dozens of hotspots sprung up. With newscasters falling out of their chairs live on television, there was no stopping the panic from spreading.
Airports, train and bus stations, and the targeted churches were all shut down for lengthy periods of time. Any facility that handled the cursed packages was closed. Shipping was all but suspended on a global scale, as nations and locales untouched by the plague tried to remain that way.
Borders were temporarily closed as nations struggled to prevent the spread of the already eradicated plague. Trade goods, including desperately needed food stocks for those still recovering from the previous summer's crisis, sat in warehouses under quarantine. Martial law was declared in most major cities across the globe, in some cases lasting more than three months. While no new cases were reported, the world was terrified of a repeat performance from the 'terrorist group'.
No-one believed that the contagion was gone.
More skirmishes broke out. Fear and paranoia ran rampant. People died.
And for some, so did their faith.
Nicodemus's choice of targets was viciously cruel. With almost a dozen churches acting as ground zero for the plague, some of the masses were reluctant to return to their houses of worship. And it wasn't just the Catholics; every religion saw a drop in attendance, as the public feared a repeat attack.
It led many to question why their gods would allow such a thing to happen. It led others to point to those most affected and denounce their beliefs, declaring the plague as proof that their religions were false. Some believed it was the act of a wrathful God turning on humanity; others thought it was a Bowl of Judgment being unleashed upon the world, a sign that the End was Near.
An unholy war was brewing, as humanity's faithful were tested in ways not seen since the Old Testament. Their ongoing paranoia added to the simmering fear and chaos.
Exactly as Nicodemus had hoped.
When I came to, I was already under quarantine at the hospital facility. The others had to tell me about what had happened, both before and after my lapse of consciousness.
While I'd been busy with Ursiel, the others had held their own against Nicodemus and his daughter. But even with two Knights of the Cross present, and fighting on what could only be described as the ultimate home field advantage, Michael and Sanya had been hard-pressed to survive.
With their previous injuries piling up, the two had struggled against the Denarians. And with Charity held captive by Deirdre, Michael had been stuck in a horrific limbo, afraid that the demon would kill his wife if he attacked.
That had all changed with the arrival of my Guard.
While the Knights and I had hastily ran into the church, Murphy had remained outside to oversee the first responders as they arrived. She'd also opened the trunk, where Lacuna's stash of holy water balloons and blessed salt party poppers had been stashed.
I'd been surprised that the fairies had crossed over onto holy ground, but Lacuna explained that Forthill had already invited them into the church earlier that day, when they'd been retrieving the blessed supplies. It was a good thing he had, as that allowed them to play their role as the cavalry.
As they'd explained to me in the church, Lacuna and some of the others had retrieved one of the bowls of holy water from the front of the sanctuary, and dumped it over Deirdre's head. Weakened by the church's threshold, her transformation had failed, and Charity had broken free.
In a way, Lacuna and the Guard had saved the world. I made sure to compensate them how I could, appreciative for them going above and beyond anything I'd dreamed. They'd avenged their fallen comrades, and we mourned the losses when we had a chance. Lacuna finally stopped asking for me to kill her, and things got back to normal.
Unfortunately, not everyone had faired quite so well.
Murphy had largely escaped unscathed, at least physically. Internal Affairs opened up an investigation on her, possibly looking for a scapegoat for the Chicago portion of events. But the first responders at St. Mary's all stood up for her, and her role in stopping the Acolyte in the church somehow leaked to the press. While it was scant on details, the attention brought her enough praise that the case was eventually closed.
Even better, almost every cop that showed up at the church requested to be transfered to Special Investigations. It seems having a department head with her very own lightsaber was great for recruitment. Those that didn't see it firsthand wrote it off as fever dreams of those exposed to the contagion. But Murphy had made believers out of more than handful, and S.I. benefited from it.
As for the other two wielding glowing swords, Michael and Sanya were both hospitalized for their numerous injuries. They were also despondent at the loss of the coins they'd retrieved. While dueling with Nicodemus, Sanya had somehow lost Saluriel's coin. The pocket where he'd been storing it had been cut open when Nicodemus slashed at his leg.
As for Ursiel's coin, it was nowhere to be found. The assumption was that Nicodemus had used his shadow to retrieve both at some point before retreating.
Michael was happy enough that his family got out of things unscathed. All of them survived with no lasting damage from the curse, and according to him, Charity had supposedly said something about me that wasn't entirely offensive. Which was progress, I suppose. Coins be damned, it was a win in his book.
I wasn't excited about the two Fallen finding new hosts, considering what I'd done to them. It seemed my tendency to not leave opponents breathing wasn't going to be quite as efficient when dealing with immortals. I could only take precautions, and hope I saw them coming in time.
Forthill made it through the contagion alright. Being taken in back as the plague spread through the front had most likely saved his life. He hadn't quite forgiven himself for giving up Ursiel's coin. As a means of penance, the man was more than willing to help Lacuna in her quest to build a stockpile of blessed weapons.
To my complete lack of surprise, Francisca Garcia was gone before the authorities could get to her. According to Forthill, she'd been in one of the back rooms sleeping when the attack began. When he went looking for her after it was over, she was nowhere to be found.
The last remaining Churchmouse fled with several million dollars in profits, which Sía wasn't too pleased about.
For my part, I spent only a couple of days in quarantine. To prevent myself from breaking down any of the critical systems, I once again donned the thorned manacles. It didn't help the wounds on my wrists heal any faster, but at least I didn't make a desperate situation worse. And it gave Lacuna an opportunity to practice her lock-picking.
My other numerous injuries were all treated by the medical staff. They confirmed that I'd dislocated my shoulder, and had done a piss-poor job of resetting it. Only the pain-numbing ability of the mantle had let me ignore the collective abuse I'd taken over a very rough twenty-four hours.
It was a long few days. But at least I had company.
Murphy, Michael and the others were all on lockdown as well. The Knights were worried that the Denarians might use the time to make matters worse, but I couldn't see how they could. Things were pretty terrible already.
Even though our quarantine was lifted after a few days — simply because the government couldn't house and feed all of the people reporting issues — we were ordered to remain isolated. That meant no travel, and no going about in public.
Chicago had declared martial law in the aftermath of the outbreak. It lasted for over a month, which eventually led to riots. The Illinois National Guard had to be called in to bring order, since so many of the local police were similarly under isolation.
It was a rough several months. But eventually, things settled down. They never quite got back to normal, but they got better.
In this grand new world we found ourselves in, that was the best we could hope for.
When my isolation officially ended, I resumed my travels around town. That didn't mean I'd spent those months locked up; mortal concerns were of no concern to Mab. I hadn't gotten out of my Knightly duties during my confinement, but what the city officials didn't know wouldn't hurt them.
The first thing I did once my freedom was restored was go check on Sía, who had escaped all of the hoopla over the plagues due to her injuries. She'd still been in the hospital when the curse hit. Other than a concussion and a broken arm, she was alright. Both were a distant memory by the time I was released.
I found her on Goose Island, overseeing her operations. Things looked hectic, but she took a minute to meet me in my corner office.
"Good to see you out and about," she said, a playful smile breaking the tense look that had been on her face when she'd first walked in.
"Good to be seen," I said. "How are things?"
The woman grimaced, but nodded her head in a so-so gesture. "Could be better. Having the National Guard in town is making things difficult. There aren't nearly as many corrupt soldiers as there are cops."
I nodded, a frown slipping into place at the reminder that my friends were not the noble do-gooders I'd once imagined surrounding myself with. Especially compared to Michael and the Knights.
"Don't worry about us," she said, guessing incorrectly at my thoughts. "We can handle the crackdown."
Something in her tone hinted at other concerns. "What is it?" I asked, my frown deepening.
Sía hesitated to say anything, but realized after a minute that I wasn't going to let it go. "It's Marcone," she finally admitted.
"What about him?" I asked, surprised. "Is he still coming after you guys?"
The Irish woman nodded. "His enforcers have been on a rampage ever since the hotel. Supposedly he's cheesed off about the deaths of his people."
"That sounds like Marcone," I admitted. "But why is he coming after the Streetwolves for that? You were the only one present."
Sía just shrugged. "Guilty by association, I suppose."
My face hardened. "We'll see about that."
Sía smiled, sidling closer as my tone thrilled her. But the smile faltered as I stepped back, keeping out of reach.
"What is it?" she asked with a frown. "You're not worried about being contagious, are you?" She knew that the curse was no longer a concern, which explained her confusion over my reaction.
"No," I said with a shake of my head. "I just… I need some time."
Sía took a step back, her arms crossing in front of her as she did. "I see."
Her gold-flecked eyes were stoic as I grimaced. "I've just got a lot on my mind."
She didn't seem to believe me. "Does this have anything to do with Susan?"
That question surprised me, which I think was apparent. "No. Why?"
The woman just shrugged. "I don't know. Just curious, seeing as you're asking for space as soon as your ex pops back into the picture."
I laughed at that. The lycanthrope looked startled. "This has nothing to do with Susan. She and I… we're as over as anyone can be."
Which was the truth. One of the many things I'd come to realize was that the woman I'd known was gone. Maybe a part of her remained in the new being that lived with her face, but she'd never be the same.
I might have respected what Susan was trying to do, but I would never get over what she'd become. And chosen to remain being. She'd chosen her path, just like she had the night of the party. As much as I'd blamed myself for her fate, Susan and Sía's words had finally made me understand that I wasn't the only one responsible. That Susan had done, and always would do, as she wanted.
I'd accepted that, and for the first time in a long time, felt like a burden had been lifted.
The lycanthrope nodded crisply, sensing the truth in my statement. "So what is it then? After a one-night fling with the Knights, you're reconsidering our relationship?" Based on her tone, it sounded like she meant both me and her, and me and the Streetwolves.
"No," I said with a firm shake of my head. "I still believe in what you're doing. But with everything that's happened… let's just say I'm reevaluating my own weaknesses."
Her stony looked slipped into another frown. "Weaknesses?"
"Sía…" I said, trying to find the right words. "Do you know why all of this happened?"
"Because some shites wanted to break the world?"
"For the most part," I admitted. "But the fact that they succeeded was because of me. Because I let myself be compromised."
A knowing look crossed over Sía's face. "Because of me."
"Because of you," I confirmed with a nod. "And because of others."
"Harry," she said, her tone growing firm. "I told you before that you can't control me. I'm going to be in danger whether we're close or not; I don't exactly live a safe lifestyle."
I was already shaking my head. "It's not because of you, Sía. It's because of me."
That seemed to confuse her. I tried to explain. "When Nicodemus showed up, he threatened the Streetwolves. All of them," I added, as her eyes went wide. "He was ready to massacre the entire gang to prove a point."
"They could try," Sía said, although she didn't sound confident. I'd explained enough about the Denarians for her to know their odds of survival would be slim.
"I'm sure you'd do your best," I assured her. "And going forward, I'll make sure you all are as prepared as possible to defend yourself against any kind of supernatural threat."
That seemed to pique her interest, but I continued. "No, the problem wasn't that the Streetwolves were threatened." I sighed as I shook my head. "The problem was that I wasn't willing to sacrifice you all."
Sía pursed her lips. "I see."
"Do you?" I asked.
The lycanthrope took her time before responding. "Back in Belfast, one of my old crew was grabbed by another faction," she said, her voice quiet. "Someone I was close to. Someone they thought they could hold over me."
"What happened?"
Gold-flecked green eyes met mine. "I did what I had to, for the good of the gang." Her voice hardened. "And later, I avenged him."
I nodded. "That's what I mean. That's what I wasn't willing to do."
Sía stared back at me. "So you need time."
"Yes," I said. "The world's becoming a harder place. And I need to make sure I'm ready for whatever is coming next."
The woman was silent for a long moment. "I can respect that. But now's not the best time for us to lose you."
"I'm not going anywhere," I assured her. "If you all need me, I'll be here." My eyes hardened again. "And as for your current situation, I think I can do something about that."
Marcone's car slowly came to a stop outside the gate to his property. It was a tall ironwork job, similar to the one I had at my place. But unlike my fence, his was a solid wall of stone that wrapped all the way around the acres he owned.
Also like mine, his property was warded to the hilt. The stones in the wall thrummed with power, enough to keep me out unless I wanted to sacrifice both the power available to me as the Winter Knight and my own power.
But you know what Gard couldn't ward? The sidewalk in front of Marcone's place.
Which is why a wall of ice four feet thick stood in front of his gate, preventing him from entering.
The limo idled just outside the makeshift wall. I had no doubt that Marcone was inside the vehicle; my spotters had confirmed that as he'd left one of his facilities. He was most likely looking at the wall and wondering why I'd bothered with such a childish prank.
Only, my days of playing with the gangster were over.
As the car sat there, I stood against the wall, hidden under my veil. With a few muttered words, I activated the spells I'd prepared on the pavement. A flicker of light preceded the sudden formation of two columns of ice that rose up from the ground beneath the vehicle, each three feet in diameter. There'd been others positioned here and there, to account for different angles the car might have taken. But the two I activated were situated close to perfectly, hitting the underside of the vehicle around the axles.
When the driver realized something was amiss, he slammed down on the pedal. But with the ice pushing up from below, the wheels had already left the ground. They spun helplessly as the car rose.
The spell stopped after a foot or so, leaving the car suspended in mid-air. Those in side were most likely debating fleeing on foot or remaining in the armored car.
I made the decision simple when I released the veil concealing not only me, but the six large Streetwolves bearing GE M134 Miniguns.
Despite Sía's protests, her people had found one or two of the National Guard people willing to supply them with a few items. The gatling guns weren't standard issue, but money can buy just about anything.
As we stood on the sidewalk, all six were trained on the side of the vehicle. Each lycanthrope bore a large backpack carrying the ammo for the weapons. Capable of firing six thousand rounds per second, they'd chew through armored glass and door panels with ease. They were the type of thing you'd normally use to mow down a jungle rather than a mob boss, but I was in the mood to make a point.
I stepped off the curb, putting myself between the guns and the vehicle. Walking casually to the back door, I rapped on the window with a knuckle. "Little pig, little pig, let me come in."
There was a long moment as those inside came to a decision on what to do. Most likely Hendricks wanted to roll down the window and shoot me in the face. Gard probably wanted to cast something to try and break the pillars holding the car up. Marcone was probably considering both.
When the reply was too long coming, I rapped on the window again. "If you don't, I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow you to Kingdom fucking Come."
After another second, those inside came to a decision. The window rolled down at a glacial pace to reveal the face of Gentleman John Marcone. And what a face it was.
The rumors were true; the man had indeed lost an eye in the fight with Nicodemus. A black eye-patch sat over his left eye, and I could see the still livid scar extending above and below the shaped plastic. It extended down across his left cheek, which was pinched and scarred where they'd had to sew his face back together.
Overall, it gave him a more menacing, dangerous look. But I wasn't impressed.
"Mr. Dresden," the gangster said calmly, his good eye on me rather than the Streetwolves and their arsenal.
I saw that Gard sat beside him on the bench, her hands clenched around what I assumed were magical items that she would use to try and protect her charge. Since I didn't see Hendricks, I figured he was driving.
"Hi, my name's Harry," I said with a smile. "And I'm going door to door tonight to tell people about my new business."
The gangster's gaze was just as flat and unamused with one eye as it'd been with two. "I'm not interested."
I gave the man an innocent shrug. "Oh, I think you'd be surprised."
The man clearly wanted nothing to do with me, but couldn't resist hearing what I had to say. Not when he was a captive audience. "Very well," he said with a sigh. "What is this new business, Mr. Dresden?"
"I'm going to become a psychic," I explained with a bright smile. "Gonna have cards printed out and everything."
Marcone's eyebrow twitched, clearly confused. "And why would I be interested in that?"
I lifted one hand to my head, resting two fingers at my temple. "Because my first vision of the future involves you."
"I see," the man replied. His gaze finally drifted to the Streetwolves, before returning to me. "And what, pray tell, do you foresee?"
My hand dropped. "I see your death."
There must have been something in my tone, as Gard tensed. I could feel her drawing in power, although it felt odd, something different than my own magic. I realized I'd need to figure out just who and what she was.
For his part, Marcone seemed un-phased. "Is this your idea of a joke, Mr. Dresden?" he asked flatly.
"Oh, no joke," I assured him. I leaned in a little, using my height to look down on the man in the low vehicle. "This situation the world finds itself in is partly because of you," I said, inclining my head for emphasis.
"I hardly think—"
"I don't care what you think," I snapped, cutting him off. "This all started because you meddled in things where you don't belong." I looked to Gard. "With powers you don't understand."
Marcone's jaw tensed. "Get on with it or get out of my way."
I ignored him, taking a step forward rather than back.
"I'm offering you a free piece of advice," I continued, my eyes remaining on his one good one. "Stop meddling with magic. Stop bringing things into my town, and making me have to clean up your mess. This town has had to deal with dark sorcerers, insane werewolves, and Fallen fucking angels, all because of you." My voice pitched lower. "It ends now."
"Or what?" Marcone asked coldly, his green eye glinting. "You have no authority here. Over me or my people."
"That's where you're wrong," I told him, matching his tone. "I may not be on the Council anymore, but I'm putting my foot down on anything and everything supernatural. Chicago is my town. If you, or anyone else, tries anything like this again…"
An echoing whir started up behind us, as all six Gatling barrels started to spin.
Gard's eyes widened. Whatever she'd done to re-enforce the vehicle, whatever defensive magics she was ready to cast, she knew that they wouldn't be enough. Not while sitting in a shooting gallery with thirty-six thousand rounds spitting at them per minute.
What's more, the woman seemed to realize that this was no bluff. That I was prepared to do this. That she and Marcone were about to die if he didn't say the right thing in response.
Whatever he might have said, I don't know. When the woman hissed in shock, Marcone turned to her. He seemed to tense as he noted his inescapable fate in her eyes. As if that alone had helped him understand the situation.
After a moment, he slowly turned back to me. Despite his efforts at remaining stoic, there was no mistaking the loathing in his one eye. But he didn't challenge me either.
I leaned back, letting my face go as flat as Marcone's had been. "Am I understood?"
Rather than speaking, Marcone just gave the shallowest of nods.
"Excellent," I replied with a dark smile as I nodded as well. I started to turn away, but stopped and looked back. "Oh, one more thing. Call your people off of the Streetwolves."
To my surprise, that seemed to anger Marcone more than anything yet. "My people were killed—"
"Your thugs were killed by Bianca's goons," I spat. "The Streetwolves had nothing to do with it. Find your revenge elsewhere, or on some other night, I'll come calling. And I'll do more than huff and puff."
Part of me wanted to end him right then and there. To be rid of him and his evil once and for all. But I knew I couldn't do that. Not yet. The Streetwolves were growing more formidable, but they couldn't stand against Bianca alone. Not yet.
For now, I needed Marcone. To keep the balance, until my people were ready. Until I could finally rid the city of all the evil that had taken root in its shadows.
Maybe I was a Streetwolf. Maybe I wasn't. Labels weren't important. All that mattered was that Marcone understood that he wasn't the Big Bad Wolf anymore.
Without waiting for a reply, I turned away. My veil went up over me and the Streetwolves, concealing our withdrawal as Marcone and his people stared into the darkness, wondering what threat might still be looming.
