Changes (The Dresden Files, #12)

by Jim Butcher

“I burn things to ash and smash holes in buildings when I’m angry,” I said. “I’m a couple of steps past that point right now.”

“Do?” I said. “The Reds stole our little girl. We sure as hell aren’t going to pay them for that.” A hot and terrible hunger flared up in Susan’s eyes in response to my voice. “We find Maggie,” I said. “We take her back. And we kill anyone who gets in the way.”

can look after myself, Harry. It’s still daylight.” “Your weapons, grasshopper,” I said in my Yoda voice. “You will not need them.” She frowned at me in annoyance and said, “You know, I believe it is possible to reference something other than Star Wars, boss.” I narrowed my eyes in Muppetly wisdom. “That is why you fail.”

“I choose my battles, Dresden. Not you.” She looked up at me calmly. “Let me put this in terms that will get through your skull: My friend is going to save a child from monsters. I’m going with him. That’s what friends do, Harry.”

“I’m not responsible for everyone else in the world, Murph. I’m going to find a little girl and take her somewhere safe. That’s all. The rest of the world can manage without me.” “What if that’s the last straw, Harry? The little girl. What will you do then?” I growled as a column of pure rage rose up my spine and made my voice rough. “I will make Maggie safe. If the world burns because of that, then so be it. Me and the kid will roast some marshmallows.”

Bob started tittering. “Look out! Look out for the vicious megasquirrel, boss!” he said, hardly able to speak clearly. “My gosh! That ficus is about to molest you!”

People who ask questions and think about their faith are the last ones to embrace dogma—and the last to abandon their path once they’ve set out on it. I felt fairly sure that the Almighty, whatever name tag He had on at the moment, could handle a few questions from people sincerely looking for answers. Hell, He might even like it.

Martin plummeted from the ceiling and landed on a threadbare throw rug covering the concrete floor. Nobody was there to catch him, which was awful. Just awful.

“It is good that you have taken my lessons to heart, child. It is a cold and uncaring universe we live in. Only with strength of body and mind can you hope to control your own fate. Be wary of everyone. Even your protector.”

“Life is too short, Harry. And there’s nowhere near enough joy in it. If you find it, grab it. Before it’s gone.”

“Okay, right. We need a plan B. If we only had a wheelbarrow, that would be something.” Susan let out a puff of laughter, and then I turned to her, my eyes alight. “We have a great big truck,” Susan said. “Then why didn’t you list that among our assets?” I said, in a bad British accent. “Go!”

PS—Why, yes, I can in fact capitalize any words I desire. The language is English. I am English. Therefore mine is the opinion which matters, colonial heathen.

“One can have only as much preparation as he has foresight.”

“They say you can know a man by his enemies, Dresden.” He smiled, and laughter lurked beneath his next words, never quite surfacing. “You defy beings that should cow you into silence. You resist forces that are inevitable for no more reason than that you believe they should be resisted. You bow your head to neither demons nor angels, and you put yourself in harm’s way to defend those who cannot defend themselves.” He nodded slowly. “I think I like you.”

“Wizards don’t giggle,” I said, hardly able to speak. “This is cackling.”

The true nature of any given being supersedes its outer appearance in terms of importance.”

Faith is about what you do. It’s about aspiring to be better and nobler and kinder than you are. It’s about making sacrifices for the good of others—even when there’s not going to be anyone telling you what a hero you are.

“Whatever you do, do it for love. If you keep to that, your path will never wander so far from the light that you can never return.”

“So many terrible things are done for love,” Mab’s voice said. “For love will men mutilate themselves and murder rivals. For love will even a peaceful man go to war. For love, man will destroy himself, and that right willingly.”

Certainly, it might influence my decision, but when a stark naked truth stares you in the face . . . shouldn’t it? I’m not sure it’s possible to manipulate someone with candor and truth. I think you call that enlightenment.

so I did what any good mortician would,” Butters continued. “Hit you with a bolt of lightning and tried to reanimate you.”

“Butters,” I said. “Look at me.” He did, his eyes wide. “Polka,” I said, “will never die.”

“There is, I think, humor here which does not translate well from English into sanity.” “That’s pretty rich coming from the agnostic Knight of the Cross with a holy Sword who takes his orders from an archangel,” I said.

“I am only saying that I do not need the written code of a spiritual belief to act like a decent human being.”

“This one and about a hundred smaller ones. And five times that many part-timers I can call in once in a while.” I thought about it. “It isn’t so much that they serve me as that we have a business arrangement that we all like. They help me out from time to time. I furnish them with regular pizza.” “Which they . . . love,” Sanya said. Toot spun in a dizzy, delighted circle on one heel, and fell onto his back with perfectly unself-conscious enthusiasm, his tummy sticking out as far as it could. He lay there for a moment, making happy, gurgling sounds. “Well,” I said. “Yes.” Sanya’s eyes danced, though his face was sober. “You are a drug dealer. To tiny faeries. Shame.”

Sanya stood looking steadily at me. I coughed. I waited. “So,” he said. “Mab.” I grunted vaguely in reply. “You hit that,” Sanya said. I did not look at him. My face felt red. “You”—he scrunched up his nose, digging in his memory—“tapped that ass. Presumably, it was phat.”

“The Church is trying to get us information about local security at Chichén Itzá. Meet me at St. Mary of the Angels.” I handed him the change scrounged from my pockets. “Tell them Harry Dresden said you were no Stevie D. We’ll leave from there.” “You . . .” He shook his head a little. “You got the Church to help you?” “Hell, man. I got a Knight of the Cross driving me around.”

Hope is a force of nature. Don’t let anyone tell you different.

“Then you know that Sam was the true hero of the tale,” Sanya said. “That he faced far greater and more terrible foes than he ever should have had to face, and did so with courage. That he went alone into a black and terrible land, stormed a dark fortress, and resisted the most terrible temptation of his world for the sake of the friend he loved. That in the end, it was his actions and his actions alone that made it possible for light to overcome darkness.”

“Shame, child, is for those who fail to live up to the ideal of what they believe they should be.”

Mouse said, again in what sounded like perfectly clear English, “Funny. Now restore them.” Lea turned to look at the big dog and said, “Do you dare to give me commands, hound?” “Not your hound,” Mouse said. I didn’t know how he was doing it. His mouth wasn’t moving or anything. “Restore them before I rip your ass off. Literally rip it off.” The Leanansidhe tilted her head back and let out a low laugh. “You are far from your sources of power here, my dear demon.” “I live with a wizard. I cheat.” He took a step toward her and his lips peeled up from his fangs in unmistakable hostility. “You want to restore them? Or do I kill you and get them back that way?” Lea narrowed her eyes. Then she said, “You’re bluffing.” One of the big dog’s huge, clawed paws dug at the ground, as if bracing him for a leap, and his growl seemed to . . . I looked down and checked. It didn’t seem to shake the ground. The ground was actually shaking for several feet in every direction of the dog. Motes of blue light began to fall from his jaws, thickly enough that it looked quite a bit like he was foaming at the mouth. “Try me.” The Leanansidhe shook her head slowly. Then she said, “How did Dresden ever win you?” “He didn’t,” Mouse said. “I won him.”

She’d already moved her hand halfway to the sword. As I touched her, touched our auras together, spreading my own defenses over hers, and felt the direct and violent strength of her own will to defy the immortal power brought against us, her hand flashed up to the hilt of Fidelacchius and drew the katana from its plain scabbard. White light like nothing that ancient stadium had ever seen erupted from the sword’s blade, a bright agony that reminded me intensely of the crystalline plain. Howls of pain rose from around us, but were drowned by Murphy’s sudden, silvery cry, her voice swelling throughout the stadium and ringing off the vaults of the sky: “False gods!” she cried, her blue eyes blazing as she stared at the Red King and the Lords of Outer Night. “Pretenders! Usurpers of truth! Destroyers of faith, of families, of lives, of children! For your crimes against the Mayans, against the peoples of the world, now will you answer! Your time has come! Face judgment Almighty!”

put Susan on the altar and said, “She’ll be safe. I promise.” She nodded at me, her body jerking and twisting in convulsions, forcing moans of pain from her lips. She looked terrified, but she nodded. I put my left hand over her eyes. I pressed my mouth to hers, swiftly, gently, tasting the blood, and her tears, and mine. I saw her lips form the word, “Maggie . . .” And I . . . I used the knife. I saved a child. I won a war. God forgive me.

“Everything’s never in the open, son,” he responded. “There’re things we keep hidden from one another. Things we hide from ourselves. Things that are kept hidden from us. And things no one knows. You always learn the damnedest things at the worst possible times. Or that’s been my experience.”

“Or maybe stupid,” Ebenezar countered. I thought about it. “Not sure which is scarier.” Ebenezar blinked at me, then snorted. “Stupid, Hoss. Every time. Only so many blackhearted villains in the world, and they only get uppity on occasion. Stupid’s everywhere, every day.”

“We do what we think we must, to protect who we can.”

Even in Winter, the cold isn’t always bitter, and not every day is cruel.

It got dark It got quiet. And I realized that I was all by myself. “Die alone,” whispered a bitter, hateful old man’s voice. “Hush, now,” whispered a woman’s voice. It sounded familiar.