Turn Coat

Chapter Ten

The hot summer night outside Zero felt ten degrees cooler and a million times cleaner than what we’d left behind us. Thomas turned sharply to the right and walked until he’d found a spot of shadow between streetlights, and leaned one shoulder against the wall of the building. He bowed his head, and stayed that way for a minute, then two.

I waited. I didn’t need to ask my brother what was wrong. The display of strength and power he’d used on Madeline had cost him energy—energy that other vampires gained by feeding on victims, as Madeline had done to that poor sap inside. He wasn’t upset by what had happened in Zero. He was hungry.

Thomas’s struggle against his own hunger was complicated, difficult, and maybe impossible to sustain. That never stopped him from trying, though. The rest of the Raith family thought he was insane.

But I got it.

He walked back over to me a minute later, his cool features distant and untouchable as Antarctic mountains.

He fell into pace beside me as we began walking down the street toward the lot where he’d parked his car.

“Ask you a question?” I said.

He nodded.

“The White Court only get burned when they try to feed on someone touched by true love, right?”

“It isn’t as simple as that,” Thomas said quietly. “It’s got to do with how much control the hunger has over you when you touch.”

I grunted. “But when they feed, the hunger’s in control.”

Thomas nodded slowly.

“So why’d Madeline try to feed on Justine? She had to know it would hurt her.”

“Same reason I do,” Thomas said. “She can’t help it. It’s reflex.”

I frowned. “I don’t get it.”

He was quiet long enough to make me think he wasn’t going to say anything, before he finally spoke. “Justine and I were together for years. And she . . . means a lot to me. When I’m near her, I can’t think about anything else but her. And when I touch her, everything in me wants to be nearer to her.”

“Including your hunger,” I said quietly.

He nodded. “We agree on that point, my demon and I. So I can’t touch Justine without it being . . . close to the surface, I suppose you could call it.”

“And it gets burned,” I said.

He nodded. “Madeline is the other end of the spectrum. She thinks she should get to feed on anyone she wants, anywhere, anytime. She doesn’t see other people. She just sees food. Her hunger controls her completely.” He smiled a bitter little smile. “So for her it’s reflex, just like for me.”

“You’re different. For her it’s everyone,” I said, “not only Justine.”

He shrugged. “I don’t care about everyone. I care about Justine.”

“You’re different,” I said.

Thomas turned to face me, his expression rigid and cold. “Shut up, Harry.”

“But—”

His voice dropped to a low snarl. “Shut. Up.”

It was a little scary.

He stared hard at me for a while longer, then shook his head and exhaled slowly. “I’ll get the car. Wait here.”

“Sure,” I said.

He walked away on silent feet, his hands in his pockets, his head bowed. Every woman he passed, and some of the men, turned their heads to watch him go by. He ignored them.

I got a lot of looks, too, but that was because I was standing on a sidewalk near a lot of Chicago’s night spots on a hot summer night wearing a long leather coat and carrying a quarterstaff carved with mystic runes. Thomas’s looks had all been subtitled: Yum. My looks all said: Weirdo.

Tough to believe I was coming out ahead on that one.

While I waited, my instincts nagged me again, a hairs-on-the-back-of-my-neck certainty that someone was focused on me. My instincts had been on a streak, so I paid attention to them, quietly preparing my shield bracelet as I turned my head in a slow, casual look up and down the street. I didn’t spot anybody, but my vision sort of flickered as it passed over an alley across the street. I focused on that point intently for a moment, concentrating, and was able to make out a vaguely human shape there.

Then the flicker was abruptly replaced with the form of Anastasia Luccio, who raised a hand and beckoned me.

Yikes.

I jaywalked over to her, timing my crossing in between the occasional passing car, and we took several steps back into the alley.

“Evening, Stacy,” I said.

She turned to me and, in a single motion, drew a curved saber from a sheath at her hip and produced a gun in her other hand. The tip of the blade menaced my face, and I had to jerk my head back, which put me off balance, and I wound up with my shoulders pressed up against a wall.

Anastasia arched an eyebrow, her soft mouth set in a hard line. “I hope for your sake that you are the true Harry Dresden, only using that abomination of a nickname to make sure that I was the true Anastasia”—she emphasized the word slightly—“Luccio.”

“Well, yes, Anastasia,” I said, being careful not to move. “And by your reaction, I can tell that it really is you.”

She dropped the sword’s point and lowered the gun. The tension faded from her body, and she put her hardware away. “Well, of course it’s me. Who else would it be?”

I shook my head. “I’ve had a bad shapeshifter night.”

She arched an eyebrow. Anastasia Luccio was the captain of the Wardens of the White Council. She had a couple of centuries of experience.

“I’ve had those,” she said, and put a hand on my arm. “Are you all right?”

We stepped into each other and hugged. I hadn’t realized how stiffly I’d been holding myself until I exhaled and relaxed a little. She felt slender and warm and strong in my arms. “So far I’m not dead,” I said. “I take it you used a tracking spell to run me down—since you don’t seem to be worried about whether or not I’m me.”

She lifted her face to mine and planted a soft kiss on my mouth. “Honestly, Harry,” she said, smiling. “Who would pretend to be you?”

“Someone who wanted to be kissed in dark alleys by seductive older women, apparently.”

Her smile widened for a second, and then faded. “I thought I was going to have to break down the door and come in after you. What were you doing in that White Court cesspit?”

I didn’t think I’d done anything to cause it, but we stepped out of each other’s arms. “Looking for information,” I said quietly. “Something’s up. And someone’s cut me out of the loop.”

Anastasia pressed her lips together and looked away. Her expression was closed, touched with anger. “Yes. Orders.”

“Orders,” I said. “From the Merlin, I guess.”

“From Ebenezar McCoy, actually.”

I grunted in surprise. McCoy had been my mentor when I was young. I respected him.

“I get it,” I said. “He was afraid that if I heard Morgan was on the run, I’d hat up and dish out some payback.”

She glanced up at me, and then across the street at Zero. She shrugged, without quite looking me in the face. “God knows you have enough cause to do so.”

“You agreed with him,” I said.

She looked up at me, her eyes a little wider. “If I did, then why am I standing here?”

I frowned at her and scratched my head. “Okay. You’ve got me on that one.”

“Besides,” she said. “I was worried about you.”

“Worried?”

She nodded. “Morgan’s done something that is hiding him from even the Senior Council’s abilities. I was afraid that he might come here.”

Poker face don’t fail me now . “That’s crazy,” I said. “Why would he do that?”

She squared her shoulders and faced me steadily. “Maybe because he’s innocent.”

“And?”

“There are a number of people who have sought permission from the Senior Council to investigate and interrogate you under the presumption that you were the traitor who has been feeding information to the Red Court.” She looked away again. “Morgan has been one of the most overt agitators.”

I took a deep breath. “You’re saying that Morgan knows he isn’t the traitor. And he thinks it’s me.”

“And he might be moving toward you, in an attempt to prove his own innocence or, failing that . . .”

“Kill me,” I said, quietly. “If he’s going to go down, you think he might have decided to take out the real traitor before he gets the axe.”

And suddenly I had to wonder if Morgan had shown up at my door for the reasons he’d given me. Anastasia had been Morgan’s mentor, when he was an apprentice. She’d known the man for the vast majority of his life, literally for generations.

What if her judgment of him was better than mine?

Sure, Morgan wasn’t in any shape to kill me personally—but he wouldn’t need to. All he had to do is call the Wardens and tell them where he was. A lot of people in the Council didn’t like me much. I’d go down with Morgan, for giving aid and comfort to a traitor.

I suddenly felt naive and vulnerable and maybe a little stupid.

“He was already in custody,” I said. “How did he get away?”

Luccio smiled faintly. “We aren’t sure. He thought of something we didn’t. And he put three Wardens in the hospital when he left.”

“But you don’t think he’s guilty.”

“I . . .” She frowned for a moment and then said, “I refuse to let fear turn me against a man I know and trust. But it doesn’t matter what I think. There’s enough evidence to kill him.”

“What evidence?” I asked.

“Other than finding him standing over LaFortier’s corpse with a literal bloody knife in his hand?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Other than that.”

She raked her fingers back through her curly hair. “The information the Red Court has attained was exclusive to a very small pool of suspects, of which he was one. We have telephone records of him in frequent contact with a known operative of the Red Court. We also tracked down an offshore account belonging to him, in which several million dollars had recently been deposited.”

I snorted derisively. “Yeah, that’s him. Morgan the mercenary, nothing but dollar signs in his eyes.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s what I mean about fear clouding people’s judgment. We all know that the Red Court is going to come after us again. We know that if we don’t eliminate the traitor, their first blow could be fatal. The Merlin is desperate.”

“Join the club,” I muttered. I rubbed at my eyes and sighed.

She touched my arm again. “I thought you had a right to know,” she said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get here sooner.”

I covered her hand with mine and pressed gently. “Yeah,” I said. “Thanks.”

“You look awful.”

“You sweet talker, you.”

She lifted her hand to touch my face. “I’ve got a few hours before I need to be back on duty. I was thinking a bottle of wine and a massage might be in order.”

I only barely kept from groaning in pleasure at the very thought of one of Anastasia’s massages. What she didn’t know about inflicting merciless pleasure on a man’s aching body hadn’t been invented. But I sure as hell couldn’t have her back over to the apartment. If she found out about Morgan, and if he truly intended to betray me, it would be frighteningly easy for her head to wind up on the floor next to Morgan’s and mine.

“I can’t,” I told her. “I’ve got to go to the hospital.”

She frowned. “What happened?”

“A skinwalker picked up my trail earlier tonight, when I was at Billy Borden’s place. Kirby’s dead. Andi’s in the hospital.”

She sucked in a breath, wincing in empathy. “Dio, Harry. I’m so sorry.”

I shrugged. I watched my vision blur, and realized that I wasn’t only making an excuse to keep her away from my place. Kirby and I hadn’t been blood brothers or anything—but he was a friend, a regular part of my life. Emphasis on the was.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

I shook my head. Then I said, “Actually, yeah.”

“Very well.”

“Find out whatever you can about skinwalkers. I’m going to kill this one.”

“All right,” she said.

“Meanwhile,” I said, “is there anything I can do for you?”

“For me?” She shook her head. “But . . . Morgan could use whatever help he can get.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Like I’m gonna help Morgan.”

She lifted her hands. “I know. I know. But there’s not much I can do. Everyone knows he was my apprentice. They’re watching me. If I try to help him openly, they’ll suspend me as captain of the Wardens, at best.”

“Don’t you just love it when justice can’t be bothered with petty concerns like fact?”

“Harry,” she said. “What if he’s innocent?”

I shrugged. “The way I was all those years? I’m too busy admiring the karma to lend a hand to the bastard.” Out on the street, Thomas’s Jag cruised by the end of the alley, then pulled up to the curb and stopped.

I glanced at the car and said, “There’s my ride.”

Anastasia arched an eyebrow at Thomas and his car. “The vampire?”

“He owed me a favor.”

“Mmmm,” Anastasia said. Her look at Thomas did not say yum. She looked more like someone who was trying to judge by how much she would need to lead a moving target. “You’re sure?”

I nodded. “The White King told him to play nice. He will.”

“Until he doesn’t,” she said.

“Walkers can’t be choosers,” I said.

“The Beetle died again?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why don’t you get a different car?” she asked.

“Because the Blue Beetle is mycar.”

Anastasia smiled faintly up at me. “I wonder how you make something like that so endearing.”

“It’s my natural good looks,” I said. “I could make athlete’s foot endearing, if I really had to.”

She rolled her eyes, but was still smiling. “I’ll head back to Edinburgh and help coordinate the search. If there’s anything I can do . . .”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

She put her hands on my cheeks. “I’m sorry about your friends. When this is over, we’ll find some quiet spot and relax.”

I turned my head to one side and kissed the pulse in her wrist, then gently clasped her hands with mine. “Look, I’m not making any promises. But if I see something that might help Morgan, I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

She stood up on her toes and kissed me goodbye. Then she turned and vanished into the shadows farther down the alley.

I waited until she was gone to turn around and join my brother in the white Jag.

“Damn, that girl is fit,” Thomas drawled. “Where to?”

“Stop looking,” I said. “My place.”

If Morgan was going to give me the shaft, I might as well find out now.