“I know that things happen to people,” he said. “And maybe you’ve got excellent and real reasons for doing what you’ve done. But . . . at the end of the day, there’s just no replacement for being here. We’re losing people. Kids. Old folks. Hell, there was this thing killing people’s pets for a while.” He turned back to his washing. “It’s enough to make a guy a little bit cynical. And now you show up again, only you’re not talking about what you’re doing. People are worried that you’re going to go bad like the other Winter Knights have.” He spun back to me, his dark eyes hard and pained. “And when you sit up from being sewn up, what’s the first thing you do? Hey, Butters? How you doing, Butters? Sorry about beating up your girlfriend? Didn’t mean to wreck your computer room, man? No. The first thing you start talking about is paying off a debt. Just like one of the Fae.”
Which made a cold chill go through my stomach. Butters might not have all the facts, he might not have the full story, but . . .
He wasn’t wrong.
He started slapping his stuff back into his bag, though his voice stayed gentle. “I’m afraid, man. I know what’s going on out there now, and it’s scary as hell. So you tell me, Harry. Should I be anxious about Superman hanging out with Luthor? When I find out more about what you’re dragging Karrin into, is it going to make me less worried? Because I’m not sure I know you anymore.”
It was maybe fifteen seconds before I could answer.
“It isn’t going to make you any less worried,” I said quietly. “And I still can’t talk to you about it.”
“Honesty,” he said. He nodded a couple of times. “Well. At least we’ve got that much. There’s orange juice in the fridge. Drink some. Get a lot of fluids in the next few days.”
Then Butters took his bag and walked out of the kitchen.
He looked at least as tired as I felt. And I could see how afraid he was, and how the fear had worn him down. He had doubts. Which, in this world, was only smart. He had doubts about me. That hurt. But they were understandable. Maybe even smart. And he’d been up-front with me about it all. That had taken courage. If I truly had been turning into the monster he feared, by being honest with me about it, he would’ve just painted a huge target on his face. He’d done it anyway—which meant that he wasn’t sure, and he was willing to risk it.
And most important, when I’d needed his help, he’d shown up and given it.
Butters was good people.
And he wasn’t wrong.
I heard quiet talking going on in the living room, between Butters and Karrin and another female voice—Andi, presumably. A moment later, the door opened and closed again. The quiet of an emptier house settled over the place.
Karrin appeared in the doorway.
“You heard that, huh?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “I did.” She crossed to the refrigerator, opened it, and took out a jug of orange juice. She got a plastic drinking glass out of the cupboard and poured it full. Then she passed the juice to me.
I grimaced and drank some, then stared down at the rest. “You agree with him?”
“I understand him,” she said.
“But do you agree?”
“I trust you,” she said.
Three words. Big ones. Especially coming from her. For a moment, they filled the room, and I felt something tight in my chest ease out of me.
I looked up at her and smiled with one side of my mouth. She answered it.
“Maybe you shouldn’t,” I said.
The smile deepened around her eyes. “Maybe I’m a big girl who can make up her own mind.”
“Maybe you are,” I allowed.
“It’s been a hard year,” she said. “They’re tired, and scared. People lose faith sometimes. They’ll come around. You’ll see.”
“Thanks,” I said quietly.
She put her hand on my arm and squeezed, then let go of me. “I set Valmont up in the guest bedroom,” she said. “You’re in my room. I’m on the couch.”
“I’ll take the couch,” I said.
“You don’t fit on it, bonehead. You’re the one who got shot, remember? And I need you in the best shape possible if we’re going to do this.”
I swirled the orange juice in the glass. She had a point.
Mister appeared in the doorway, then flung himself at my shins. I pulled the injured one back so that his shoulder hit my left shin alone. I leaned down to rub his notched ear. “Where have you been, fuzzball?”
“It’s funny,” Karrin said. “He vanishes whenever Andi shows up for some reason.”
I remembered a scene of perfect havoc in the living room of my old apartment, and it made me smile. “Maybe she’s not a cat person,” I said.
“Drink your juice,” she said. I did. She filled up the glass and watched me drink it down again before she was satisfied.
“Okay,” she said. “Valmont’s already gone to bed. Go sleep. We’re getting an early start tomorrow, and you need to be sharp.”
This wasn’t my first rodeo, and Karrin had a point. You don’t survive situations like this by shorting yourself on vital rest for no reason. Besides, I’d already dealt with enough for one evening. Let the day’s trouble be enough for the day.
I headed back toward Karrin’s bedroom and paused as I entered the living room.
There were guns on the coffee table. Like, a lot of them, broken out on cloths, being cleaned, leaned against a nearby chair, where a large equipment bag waited to receive them. Karrin’s favorite little Belgian carbine was there, along with what looked like a couple of space guns. “New toys?” I asked.
“I’m a girl, Harry,” she said, rather smugly. “I accessorize.”
“Is that a bazooka?”
“No,” she said. “That is an AT4 rocket launcher. Way better than a bazooka.”
“In case we have to hunt dinosaurs?” I asked.
“The right tool for the right job,” she answered.
“Can I play with it?”
“No. Now go to bed.”
She settled down on the couch and started reassembling one of her handguns. I hesitated for a moment. Did I have the right to drag her into the kind of conflict I was about to start?
I bottled that thought real quick, with a follow-up question: Did I have the capability
to stop her from being involved, at this point?
Karrin looked up at me and smiled, putting the weapon together as swiftly and as automatically as other people tie their shoes. “See you in the morning, Harry.”
I nodded. The best way to get her through this was to focus and get it done. She wouldn’t leave my side, even if I wanted her to. So stop dithering around, Harry, get your head in the game, and lay Nicodemus and company out so hard that they never have the chance to hurt her.
“Yep,” I said. “See you in the morning.”
Fourteen
Whatever it was about the mantle of Winter I held that sustained me during action, it didn’t seem to have nearly as much interest in looking after me once I was safe somewhere.
I had too many stitches to hop into Karrin’s shower, but I bathed myself as best I could with a washcloth and a sink full of warm water and a little soap, and then fell down in the bed. I’d been there for maybe ten seconds before the distant weariness became acute, and the low burn and dull ache of dozens of cuts and bruises swelled up to occupy my full attention.
I was too tired to care. I thought about getting up and getting some aspirin or something for maybe a minute and a half, and then sleep snuck up on me and sucker punched me unconscious.
I dreamed.
It was one of those fever dreams, noisy and bright and disjointed. I don’t remember many of the details—just that I could never keep up with what was happening, and I felt as though as soon as my eyes would focus on something, everything would change, and as soon as I caught up to the action that was happening in the dream, it would roar off in a different direction, leaving me struggling to reorient myself, trying to keep up the pace with my feet dragging in the mud. The whole while, I was conscious of several other Harry Dresdens in the dream, all of them operating a little ways off from me, doing their own confusion dance in parallel to mine, and we occasionally paused to wave at one another and exchange polite complaints.
Toward the end of it, I found myself driving along some random section of road in my old multicolored Volkswagen Bug, the Blue Beetle, scowling ahead through heavy rain. My apprentice, Molly, sat next to me.