Part 36 (1/2)

There was one new feature to the grounds. The eight-foot-high stone wall was the same, but it had been topped with a double helix of razor wire, and lighting had been s.p.a.ced along the outside of the wall. I could see security cameras at regular intervals as well. The old Lord Raith had disdained the more modern security precautions in favor of the protection of intense personal arrogance. Lara, however, seemed more willing to acknowledge threats, to listen to her mortal security staff, and to employ the countermeasures they suggested. It would certainly help keep the mortal riffraff out, and the Council had plenty of mortal allies.

More important, it said something about Lara's administration: She found skilled subordinates and then listened to them. She might not look as overwhelmingly confident as Lord Raith had-but then, Lord Raith wasn't running the show anymore, either, even if that wasn't public knowledge in the magical community.

I reflected that it was entirely possible that I might have done the Council and the world something of a disservice by helping Lara a.s.sume control. Lord Raith had been proud and brittle. I had the feeling that Lara would prove to be far, far more capable and far more dangerous as the de facto White King.

And here I was, about to go to her aid again and help solidify her power even more.

”Stop here,” I told Molly quietly. The gates to the chateau were still a quarter mile down the road. ”This is as close as you get.”

”Right,” Molly said, and pulled the Beetle over-onto the far side of the road, I noted with approval, where anyone wanting to come to her would have to cross the open pavement to get there.

”Mouse,” I said. ”Stay here with Molly and listen for us. Take care of her.”

Mouse looked unhappily at me from the backseat, where he'd sat with Ramirez, but leaned forward and dropped his s.h.a.ggy chin onto my shoulder. I gave him a quick hug and said in a gruff voice, ”Don't worry; we'll be fine.”

His tail thumped once against the backseat, and then he s.h.i.+fted around to lay his head on Molly's shoulder. She immediately started scratching him rea.s.suringly behind the ear, though her own expression was far from comfortable.

I gave the girl half of a smile, and then got out of the car. Summer twilight was fading fast, and it was too hot to wear my duster. I had it on anyway, and I added the weight of the grey cloak of the Wardens of the White Council to the duster. Under all that, I wore a white silk s.h.i.+rt and cargo pants of heavy black cotton, plus my hiking boots.

”Hat,” I muttered. ”Spurs. Next time, I swear.”

Ramirez slid out of the Beetle, grenades and gun and willow sword hanging from his belt, and staff gripped in his right hand. He paused to pull on a glove made out of heavy leather overlaid with a layer of slender steel plates, each inscribed with pictoglyphs that looked Aztec or Olmec or something.

”That's new,” I commented.

He winked at me, and we checked our guns. My .44 revolver went back into my left-hand duster pocket, his back into its sheath.

”You sure you don't want a grenade or two?” he asked.

”I'm not comfortable with hand grenades,” I said.

”Suit yourself,” he replied. ”How about you, Molly?”

He turned back to the car, hand on one of his grenades.

The car was gone. The engine was still idling audibly.

Ramirez let out a whistle and waved his staff into the s.p.a.ce it had occupied until it clinked against metal. ”Hey, not a bad veil. Pretty d.a.m.ned good, in fact.”

”She's got a gift,” I said.

Molly's voice came from nearby. ”Thanks.”

Ramirez gave the approximate s.p.a.ce where my apprentice sat a big grin and a gallant, vaguely Spanish little bow.

Molly let out a suppressed giggle. The car's engine cut out, and she said, ”Go on. I've got to keep compensating for the dust you're kicking up, and it's a pain.”

”Eyes open,” I told her. ”Use your head.”

”You too,” Molly said.

”Don't tell him to start new things now,” Ramirez chided her. ”You'll just confuse him.”

”I'm getting dumber by the minute,” I confirmed. ”Ask anybody.”

From the unseen car, Mouse snorted out a breath.

”See?” I said, and started walking toward the entrance to the estate.

Ramirez kept up, but only by taking a skipping step every several paces. My legs are lots longer than his.

After a hundred yards or so, he laughed. ”All right, you made your point.”

I grunted and slowed marginally.

Ramirez looked back over his shoulder. ”Think she'll be all right?”

”Tough to sneak up on Mouse,” I said. ”Even if they realize she's there.”

”Pretty, a body like that, and talent, too.” Ramirez stared back thoughtfully. ”She seeing anyone?”

”Not since she drilled holes in her last boyfriend's psyche and drove him insane.”

Ramirez winced. ”Right.”

We fell silent and walked up to the gates to the estate, getting our game faces on along the way. Ramirez's natural expression was a c.o.c.ksure smile, but when things got hairy, he went with a cool, arrogant look that left his eyes focused on nothing and everything at the same time. I really don't care what my game face looks like. Mine is all internal.

I kept Anna's face and her serious eyes in mind as I tromped up to the gothic gate made of simulated wrought iron, but heavy enough to stop a charging SUV. I struck it three times with my staff and planted its end firmly onto the ground.

The gate buzzed and began to open of its own accord. Halfway through, something near the hinges let out a whine and a puff of smoke, and it stopped moving.

”That you?” I asked him.

”I took out the lock too,” he replied quietly. ”And the cameras that can see the gate. Just in case.”

Ramirez doesn't have my raw power, but he uses what he has well. ”Nice,” I told him. ”Didn't feel a thing.”

His grin flickered by. ”De nada. ”De nada. I'm the best.” I'm the best.”

I stepped through the gate, keeping a wary eye out. The night was all but complete, and the woods were lovely, dark and deep. Tires whispered on pavement. A light appeared in the trees ahead, and resolved into headlights. A full-fledged limousine, a white Rolls with silver accents, swept down the drive to the gate, and purred to a halt twenty feet in front of us.

Ramirez muttered under his breath, ”You want I should-”

”Down, big fella,” I said. ”Save ourselves the walk.”

”Bah,” he said. ”Some of us are young and healthy.”

The driver door opened and a man got out. I recognized him as one of Lara's personal bodyguards. He was a bit taller than average, leanly muscled, had a military haircut and sharp, wary eyes. He wore a sports jacket, khakis, and wasn't working to hide the shoulder rig he wore under the coat. He took a look at us, then past us at the gate and the fence. Then he took a small radio from his pocket and started speaking into it.

”Dresden?” he asked me.