Grave Peril (The Dresden Files, #3)

by Jim Butcher

Agatha’s head whipped toward me as I came,

One thing about intimidation is that people can always think up something worse that you could do to them than you can, if you leave their imagination some room to play.

All power, no matter how terrible or benign, whether its wielder is aware of it or not, has a purpose.

“Give me a break. Who are you, Count Dracula?” “Drakul is still in eastern Europe, last time we checked,” I replied.

Besides that, in the circles of the supernatural community, an Old World code of conduct still ruled. When you have a problem, you settle it face to face, within the circle. You don’t bring in the cops and the other mortals as weapons. They’re the nuclear missiles of the supernatural world. If you show people a supernatural brawl going on, it’s going to scare the snot out of them and the next thing you know, they’re burning everything and everyone in sight.

I smiled, remembering the vision, sharp and brilliant in my mind’s eye. Murphy, the guardian angel, coming through the door in a blaze of wrath. It was a picture I wouldn’t mind keeping with me. Sometimes you get lucky.

Technically, everything in the lab was useful, and served some kind of purpose. The ancient books with their faded, moldering leather covers and their all-pervasive musty smell, the plastic containers with resealable lids, the bottles, the jars, the boxes—they all had something in them I either needed or had needed at one time. Notebooks, dozens of pens and pencils, paper clips and staples, reams of paper covered in my restless, scrawling handwriting, the dried corpses of small animals, a human skull surrounded by paperback novels, candles, an ancient battle axe, they all had some significance. I just couldn’t remember what it was for most of them.

Maybe a god someone’s dug up. Hecate, Kali, or one of the Old Ones.”

“It isn’t one of the Old Ones. Guardian spells all over the world would be freaking out, alerting the Gatekeeper and the Council of something like that. No, this is local.”

“Gee, a woman taking advantage of Captain Chivalry. What are the odds.”

“So?” Bob said. “Hat up, go kill her. Problem solved.”

“Bob,” I said. “You can’t just go around killing people.” “I know. That’s why you should do it.” “No, no. I can’t go around killing people, either.” “Why not? You’ve done it before. And you’ve got a new gun and everything.”

I sighed. “No, Bob. She’s got lots of people around her, too. I’d probably have to kill some of them to get to her.” “Oh. Damn. This is one of those right and wrong issues again, isn’t it.” “Yeah, one of those.” “I’m still confused about this whole morality thing, Harry.”

There should be some kind of rule against needing to kill anything more than once.

“If we have to. Hell’s bells, Michael, they might have murdered your son.” His face hardened, and I knew then that I had him, that he’d followed me into Hell to get at whoever had hurt his wife and child. I had him all right—and I hated myself for it. Way to go, Harry. Jerk those heartstrings like a fucking puppeteer.

“Something like that,”

I lifted a white-gloved hand and said, slurring a little through the fangs. “Hi! How are you all doing?” My words rang out on deathly silence, from below. “I still can’t believe,” Michael said, sotto voce, “that you came to the Vampires’ Masquerade Ball dressed as a vampire.” “Not just a vampire,” I said, “a cheesy vampire. Do you think they got the point?”

I watched her, watched behind her. A pair of figures in black cloaks, hardly more than vague shapes behind her stood quietly, as though ready to attack if she snapped a finger. I suppose every decent flame casts shadows.

“I had no idea you were into men, Mister Dresden.” “What can I say? They’re just so big and strong.”

“Let that be a lesson to you. Hands off the Fist of God.”

“There you are,” Thomas said. He glanced down at my goblet and let out a sigh. “I’m glad I found you in time.” “In time for what?” I asked. “To warn you,” he said. He flicked a hand at the refreshments table. “The wine is poisoned.”

“Poisoned?” I said, witlessly. Thomas peered at my face and then down at my goblet. He leaned over it enough to see that it was empty and said, “Ah. Oops.”

“They didn’t think you’d come,”

He waved a hand. “Don’t tempt me to show you what I can do by speaking your name and making an effort, mortal. Suffice to say that you could not comprehend the kind of power I have at my command. That my true form here would shatter this pathetic gathering of monkey houses and crack the earth upon which I stand. If you gazed upon me with your wizard’s sight, you would see something that would awe you, humble you, and quite probably destroy your reason. I am the eldest of my kind, and the strongest. Your life is a flickering candle to me, and your civilizations rise and fall like grass in the summer.”

“Relax, Harry. I’m not letting anyone lick me, and I’m not looking anyone in the eyes. It’s kind of like visiting New York.”

“Finally, with the strength of the entire Court behind us, with the Lords of the Outer Night to empower us, we will face our enemies. And bring them to their knees.”

among us.

The cloth slid away from a white marble tombstone, set with a pentacle of gold in its center. Block letters carved into it read HERE LIES HARRY DRESDEN, above the pentacle. Below it, they read HE DIED DOING THE RIGHT THING.

“Harry?” Susan asked. Her shaking hand touched my shoulder. “What are we going to do?” “Stay behind me, Susan.” I clenched my teeth. “I guess I’m going to do the right thing.” Even if it kills me, I thought. And all of you, too.

His mouth twisted in distaste, and he sidestepped. “I’m sorry, Mister Dresden. Harry. I do like you quite a bit. But I’m afraid that I like myself a whole lot more.”

The Nevernever, near my apartment, looked like . . . my apartment. Only a bit cleaner and brighter. Deep philosophical statement about the spirituality of my little basement? Maybe.

“Something like that,”

More than anything, I wanted to crawl into a hole and pull it in after me. I wanted to be not. But I wasn’t not. I hurt too much. I was very painfully, very acutely, very much alive.

“Almost everyone dies in a hospital. You’d get to be someplace different. Isn’t that better?” “It’s one of those things I could live without,” I said.

“Hell’s bells, Kravos,” I muttered, sitting up again. “Do they produce a Cliched Lines Textbook for Villains or something? Go for broke. Tell me that since you’re going to kill me anyway, you might as well reveal your secret plan.”

The dead came.

Susan doesn’t call. Doesn’t visit. But I got a card from her, on my birthday, Halloween. She only wrote three words. I’ll let you guess what three.