Part I Part 8 (1/2)

The guard turned back to me, leaned over to one side, and pushed a b.u.t.ton somewhere. The gate buzzed and clicked open.

”Come on in, Mr. Dresden,” he said. ”I can have someone come tow your car, if you like.”

”Super,” I told him. I gave him the name of the wrecker Mike has a deal with and told him to tell the guy that it was Harry's car again. Fido the Guard dutifully noted this down, writing on a small notebook he drew from a pocket. While he did, I walked past him toward the house, clicking my cane on the concrete with every pace.

”Stop,” he told me, his voice calm and confident. People don't speak with that kind of absolute authority unless they have a gun in their hands. I stopped.

”Put the cane down,” he told me, ”and put your arms up. You are to be searched before you are allowed inside.”

I sighed, did what he said, and let him pat me down. I didn't turn around to face him, but I could smell the metal of his gun. He found the knife and took it. His fingers brushed the nape of my neck, felt the chain there.

”What's this?” he said.

”Pentacle,” I told him.

”Let me see it. Use one hand.”

I used my left to draw it out of my s.h.i.+rt and show it to him, a silver five-pointed star within a circle, all smooth geometry. He grunted, and said, ”Fine.” The search went on, and he found the plastic squeeze-bottle. He took it out of my pocket, opened it, and sniffed at it.

”What's this?”

”A health cola,” I told him.

”Smells like s.h.i.+t,” he said, capped it, and put it back in my pocket.

”What about my cane?”

”Returned when you leave,” he said.

d.a.m.n. My knife and my cane had been my only physical lines of defense. Anything else I did would have to rely wholly upon magic and that could be dicey on the best of days. It was enough to rattle me.

Of course, Fido the Guard had missed a couple of things. First, he'd overlooked the clean white handkerchief in my pocket. Second, he'd pa.s.sed me on with my pentacle still upon my neck. He probably figured that since it wasn't a crucifix or a cross, I couldn't use it to keep Bianca away from me.

Which wasn't true. Vampires (and other such creatures) don't respond to symbols as such. They respond to the power that accompanies an act of faith. I couldn't ward off a vampire mosquito with my faith in the Almighty-He and I have just never seemed to connect. But the pentacle was a symbol of magic itself, and I had plenty of faith in that.

And, of course, Fido had overlooked my getaway potion. Bianca really ought to trust her guards with more awareness of the supernatural and what sort of things to look for.

The house itself was elegant, very roomy, with the high ceilings and the broad floors that they just don't make anymore. A well-groomed young woman with a short, straight haircut greeted me in the enormous entry hall. I was pa.s.sing polite to her, and she showed me to a library, its walls lined with old books in leather bindings, similar to the leather-cus.h.i.+oned chairs around the enormous old dogfoot table in the room's center.

I took a seat and waited. And waited. And waited. More than half an hour went by before Bianca finally arrived.

She came into the room like a candle burning with a cold, clear flame. Her hair was a burnished shade of auburn that was too dark to cast back any ruddy highlights, but did anyway. Her eyes were dark, clear, her complexion flawlessly smooth and elegantly graced with cosmetics. She was not a tall woman, but shapely, wearing a black dress with a plunging neckline and a slash in one side that showed off a generous portion of pale thigh. Black gloves covered her arms to above the elbows, and her three-hundred-dollar shoes were a study in high-heeled torture devices. She looked too good to be true.

”Mister Dresden,” she greeted me. ”This is an unexpected pleasure.”

I rose when she entered the room. ”Madame Bianca,” I replied, nodding to her. ”We meet at last. Hearsay neglected to mention how lovely you are.”

She laughed, lips shaping the sounds, head falling back just enough to show a flash of pale throat. ”A gentleman, they said. I see that they were correct. It is a charmingly pa.s.se thing to be a gentleman in this country.”

”You and I are of another world,” I said.

She approached me and extended her hand, a motion oozing feminine grace. I bowed over her hand briefly, taking it and brus.h.i.+ng my lips against the back of her glove. ”Do you really think I'm beautiful, Mister Dresden?” she asked me.

”As lovely as a star, Madame.”

”Polite and a pretty one, too,” she murmured. Her eyes flickered over me, from head to toe, but even she avoided meeting gazes with me, whether from a desire to avoid inadvertently directing her power at me, or being on the receiving end of mine, I couldn't tell. She continued into the room, and stopped beside one of the comfortable chairs. As a matter of course, I stepped around the table, and drew out the chair for her, seating her. She crossed her legs, in that dress, in those shoes, and made it look good. I blinked for just a moment, then returned to my own seat.

”So, Mister Dresden. What brings you to my humble house? Care for an evening of entertainment? I quite a.s.sure you that you will never have another experience like it.” She placed her hands in her lap, smiling at me.

I smiled at her, and put one hand into my pocket, onto the white handkerchief. ”No, thank you. I came to talk.”

Her lips parted in a silent ah ah. ”I see. About what, if I might ask?”

”About Jennifer Stanton. And her murder.”

I had all of a second's warning. Bianca's eyes narrowed, then widened, like those of a cat about to spring. Then she was coming at me over the table, faster than a breath, her arms extended toward my throat.

I toppled over backward in my chair. Even though I'd started to move first, it almost wasn't enough to get away from her reaching nails in time. One grazed my throat with a hot sensation of pain, and she kept coming, following me down to the floor, those rich lips drawn back from sharp fangs.

I jerked my hand out of my pocket, and flapped open my white hanky at her, releasing the image of sunlight I'd been storing for use in potions. It lit up the room for a moment, brilliant.

The light smashed into Bianca, hurled her back across the old table into one of the shelves, and tore pieces of flesh away from her like bits of rotten meat being peeled off a carca.s.s by a sandblaster. She screamed, and the flesh around her mouth sloughed and peeled away like a snake's scales.

I had never seen a real vampire before. I would have time to be terrified later. I took in the details as I tugged my talisman off over my neck. It had a batlike face, horrid and ugly, the head too big for its body. Gaping, hungry jaws. Its shoulders were hunched and powerful. Membranous wings stretched between the joints of its almost skeletal arms. Flabby black b.r.e.a.s.t.s hung before it, spilling out of the black dress that no longer looked feminine. Its eyes were wide, black, and staring, and a kind of leathery, slimy hide covered its flesh, like an inner tube lathered with Vaseline, though there were tiny holes corroded in it by the sunlight I had brought with me.

It recovered quickly, crouching and spreading long arms that ended in claw-tipped fingers to either side with a hiss of rage.

I drew my pentacle into my fist, raised it like every vampire slayer you ever saw does it, and said, ”Jesus Christ, lady. I just came here to talk.”

The vampire hissed and started toward me with a gangling, weirdly graceful step. Its clawed feet were still wearing the three-hundred-dollar black pumps.

”Back,” I said, taking a step toward it myself. The pentacle began to burn with the cold, clear light of applied will and belief-my faith, if you will, that it could turn such a monster aside.

It hissed, and turned its face aside, lifting its membranous arms to s.h.i.+eld its eyes from the light. It took one step back, and then another, until its hunched back was pressed against a wall of books.

Now what did I do? I wasn't going to go try to put a stake through her heart. But if I lowered my will, she might come at me again-and I didn't think I had anything, even the quickest evocations, that I could get out of my mouth before she tore it off of my head. And even if I got past her, she probably had mortal lackeys, like the security guard at the gate, who would be happy to kill me if they saw me tras.h.i.+ng their mistress. what did I do? I wasn't going to go try to put a stake through her heart. But if I lowered my will, she might come at me again-and I didn't think I had anything, even the quickest evocations, that I could get out of my mouth before she tore it off of my head. And even if I got past her, she probably had mortal lackeys, like the security guard at the gate, who would be happy to kill me if they saw me tras.h.i.+ng their mistress.

”You killed her,” the vampire snarled, and its voice was exactly the same, sultry and feminine, even though twisted by rage and coming from that horrid mouth. It was unsettling. ”You killed Jennifer. She was mine mine, mageling.”

”Look,” I told her. ”I didn't come here for any of this. And the police know I'm here. Save yourself a lot of trouble. Sit down, talk with me, and then we'll both go away happy. Christ, Bianca, do you think that if I'd killed Jennifer and Tommy Tomm I'd just be waltzing in here like this?”

”You expect me to believe that you didn't? You will never leave this house alive.”

I was feeling angry myself, and frightened. Christ, even the vampire vampire thought I was the bad guy. ”What'll it take to convince you that I didn't do it?” thought I was the bad guy. ”What'll it take to convince you that I didn't do it?”

Black, bottomless eyes stared at me through the burning fire of my faith. I could feel some sort of power there, trying to get at me, and held off by the force of my will, just as the creature itself was. The vampire snarled, ”Lower the amulet, wizard.”

”If I do, are you going to come at my throat again?”

”If you do not, I most certainly will.”