Part I Part 69 (1/2)

”We don't need any fights, Michael. That's not why we're here.”

He looked out the truck window and set his jaw.

”I mean it, Michael. It's their turf. There's probably going to be bad stuff inside, but we have to keep the big picture in focus here.”

”The big picture,” he said. ”Harry, if there's someone in there that needs my help, they're getting it.”

”Michael! If we we break the truce first, we're open game. You could get us both killed.” break the truce first, we're open game. You could get us both killed.”

He turned to look at me, and his eyes were granite. ”I am what I am, Harry.”

I threw my arms up in the air, and banged my hands on the roof of the truck. ”There are people who could get killed if we mess this up. It isn't only our own lives we're talking about, here.”

”I know,” he said. ”My family are some of them. But that doesn't change anything.”

”Michael,” I said. ”I'm not asking you to smile and chat and get cozy. Just keep quiet and stay out of the way. Don't shove a crucifix down anyone's throat. That's all I'm asking.”

”I won't stand by, Harry,” he said. ”I can't.” He frowned and said, ”I don't think you can, either.”

I glared at him. ”h.e.l.l's bells, Michael. I don't want to die, here.”

”Nor do I. We must have faith.”

”Great,” I said. ”That's just great.”

”Harry, will you join me in prayer?”

I blinked at him. ”What?”

”A prayer,” Michael said. ”I'd like to talk to Him for a moment.” He half smiled at me. ”You don't have to say anything. Just be quiet and stay out of the way.” He bowed his head.

I squinted out the window of the truck, silent. I don't have anything against G.o.d. Far from it. But I don't understand Him. And I don't trust a lot of the people that go around claiming that they're working in His best interests. Faeries and vampires and whatnot-those I can fathom. Even demons. Sometimes, even the Fallen. I can understand why they do what they do.

But I don't understand G.o.d. I don't understand how He could see the way people treat one another, and not chalk up the whole human race as a bad idea.

I guess He's just bigger about it than I would be.

”Lord,” Michael said. ”We walk into darkness now. Our enemies will surround us. Please help to make us strong enough to do what needs to be done. Amen.”

Just that. No fancy language, no flashy beseeching the Almighty for aid. Just quiet words about what he wanted to get done, and a request that G.o.d would be on his side-on our side. Simple words, and yet power surrounded him like a cloud of fine mist, p.r.i.c.kling along my arms and my neck. Faith. I calmed down a little. We had a lot going for us. We could do this.

Michael looked up at me and nodded. ”All right,” he said. ”I'm ready.”

”How do I look?” I asked him.

He smiled, white teeth showing. ”You're going to turn heads. That's for sure.”

I had to smile back at him. ”Okay,” I said. ”Let's party.”

We got out of the truck, and started walking toward the gates around Bianca's estate. Michael buckled on the white cloak with its red cross as he went. He had a matching surcoat, boots, and armored guards on his shoulders. He had a pair of heavy gauntlets tucked through his boots, and wore a pair of knives on his belt, one on either side. He smelled like steel and he clanked a little bit when he walked. It sounded comforting, in a friendly, dreadnought kind of way.

It would have been more stylish to drive up through the gates and have a valet park the truck, but Michael didn't want to hand over his truck to vampires. I didn't blame him. I wouldn't trust a bloodsucking, night stalking, fiend of the shadows valet, either.

The gate had an honest-to-goodness guardhouse, with a pair of guards. Neither one of them looked like they were carrying guns, but they held themselves with an armed arrogance that neither myself nor Michael missed. I held up the invitation. They let us in.

We walked up the drive to the house. A black limo pulled up along the drive as we did, and we had to step off to the side to let it past. When we got to the front of the house, the occupants were just getting out of the car.

The driver came around to the rear door of the limo and opened it. Music washed out, something loud and hard. There was a moment's pause, and then a man glided out of the limo.

He was tall, pale as a statue. Sable hair fell in tousled curls to his shoulders. He was dressed in a pair of opalescent b.u.t.terfly wings that rose from his shoulders, fastened to him by some mysterious mechanism. He wore white leather gloves, their gauntlet cuffs decorated in winding silver designs, and similar designs were set around his calves, down to his sandals. At his side hung a sword, delicately made, the handle wrought as though out of gla.s.s. The only other thing he had on was a loincloth of some soft, white cloth. He had the body for it. Muscle, but not too much of it, good set of shoulders, and the pale skin wasn't darkened anywhere by hair. h.e.l.l's bells, I I noticed how good he looked. noticed how good he looked.

The man smiled, bright enough for a toothpaste commercial, and then reached a hand back down to the car. A pair of gorgeous legs in pink high heels slid out of the car, followed by a slender and scrumptious girl barely covered in flower petals. She had a short, tight skirt made out of them, and more petals cupped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s like delicate hands. Other than that, and the baby's breath woven into the tumbled ma.s.s of her black hair, she wore nothing. And she wore it well. In heels, she might have been five-seven, and she had a face that made me think that she was both lovely and sweet. Her cheeks were flushed in a delicate pink blush, vibrant and alive, her lips parted, and she had a look to her eyes that told me she was on something.

”Harry,” Michael said. ”You're drooling.”

”I'm not drooling,” I said.

”That girl can't be nineteen years old.”

”I'm not drooling!” I scowled, gripped my cane in hand, and stalked on up the driveway to the house. And wiped at my mouth with my sleeve. Just in case.

The man turned toward me, and both his eyebrows lifted. He looked me and my costume up and down, and burst out into a rich, rolling laugh. ”Oh, my,” he said. ”You must be Harry Dresden.”

That got my hackles up. It always bugs me when someone knows me and I don't know them. ”Yeah,” I said. ”That's me. Who the h.e.l.l are you?”

If the hostility bothered him, it didn't bother his smile. The girl with him slipped beneath his left arm and nestled against him, watching me with stoned eyes. ”Oh, of course,” he said. ”I forget that you probably know very little of the intricacies of the Court. My name is Thomas, of House Raith, of the White Court.”

”White Court,” I said.

”Three Vampire Courts,” Michael supplied. ”Black, Red, and White.”

”I knew that.”

Michael shrugged one shoulder. ”Sorry.”

Thomas smiled. ”Well. Only two, for all practical purposes. The Black Court has fallen on hard times of late, the poor darlings.” His tone of voice suggested muted glee rather than pity. ”Mister Dresden, allow me to introduce Justine.”

Justine, the girl beneath his arm, gave me a sweet smile. I half-expected her to extend her hand to me to be kissed, but she didn't. She just molded her body to Thomas's in what looked like a most pleasant fas.h.i.+on.

”Charmed,” I said. ”This is Michael.”

”Michael,” Thomas mused, and studied the man up and down. ”Dressed as a Knight Templar.”

”Something like that,” Michael said.

”How ironic,” Thomas said. His eyes returned to me, and that smile widened. ”And you, Mister Dresden. Your costume is ... going to make quite a stir.”

”Why, thank you.”

”Shall we go inside?”