Jim Butcher - Cold Days

That was frustrating in so many ways that I could avoid a stroke only by refusing to engage. “Lacuna,” I said, “humans wear clothes. It’s one of the things we do. And as long as you are in my service, I expect you to do it as well.”

“Why?”

“Because if you don’t, I . . . I . . . might pull your arms out of your sockets.”

At that, she frowned. “Why?”

“Because I have to maintain discipline, don’t I?”

“True,” she said gravely. “But I have no clothes.”

I counted to ten mentally. “I’ll . . . find something for you. Until then, no desocketing. Just wear the armor. Fair enough?”

Lacuna bowed slightly at the waist. “I understand, my lord.”

“Good.” I sighed. I flicked a comb through my wet hair, for all the good it would do, and said, “How do I look?”

“Mostly human,” she said.

“That’s what I was going for.”

“You have a visitor, my lord.”

I frowned. “What?”

“That is why I came in here. You have a visitor waiting for you.”

I stood up, exasperated. “Why didn’t you say so?”

Lacuna looked confused. “I did. Just now. You were there.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Perhaps you have brain damage.”

“It would not shock me in the least,” I said.

“Would you like me to cut open your skull and check, my lord?” she asked.

Someone that short should not be that disturbing. “I . . . No. No, but thank you for the offer.”

“It is my duty to serve,” Lacuna intoned.

My life, Hell’s bells. I beckoned Lacuna to follow me, mostly so I would know where the hell she was, and went back out into the main room.

Sarissa was there.

She sat at the kitchen table, her small hands clutched around one of Molly’s mugs, and she looked like hell. There was a dark red mouse on her left cheekbone, one that was swelling and beginning to purple nicely. Her hands and forearms were scraped and bruised—defensive injuries. She wore a pale blue T-shirt and dark blue cotton pajama pants. Both were soaked from the rain and clinging in a fashion that made me want to stare. Her dark hair was askew, and her eyes were absolutely haunted. They darted nervously toward me when I appeared, and her shoulders hunched slightly.

Molly said something quiet to her and rose from the table, crossing the room to me.

“She said you knew her,” Molly said.

“I do. She all right?”

“She’s a mess,” Molly said. “Showed up and begged security to call me before they called the cops. And it isn’t the first time this has happened to her. She’s terrified to be here—terrified of you personally, I think.”

I frowned at my apprentice.

Molly shrugged. “Her emotions are really loud. I’m not even trying to pick anything up.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Is she on the level?”

I thought about it for a second before I answered. “She’s Mab’s BFF.”

“So that would be a no, then,” Molly said.

“Probably so,” I said. “There’s bound to be an angle here, even if she doesn’t know that there is one. She’s a pawn in Winter. Somebody has got to be moving her.”

Molly winced.

“She’s also a lifelong survivor in Winter, so don’t let your guard down. The last creature who did wound up as frozen kibble.” I jerked my head toward the exit. “Heard anything from the scouts yet?”

She shook her head.

“Okay. We’ll talk to her. Stay close. I might need to pick your brain about something later.”

“Right,” Molly said, blinking a little. Then she followed me back over to Sarissa.

She gave me a nervous smile, and her fingers resettled on the mug a couple of times. “Harry.”

“I didn’t realize you made house calls all the way to Chicago,” I said.

“I wish it were that,” she said.

I nodded. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I was given directions,” she said.

“By who?”

She swallowed and looked down at the tabletop. “The Redcap.”

I sat back slowly in my seat. “Maybe you’d better tell me what happened.”

“He came for me,” she said quietly, without meeting my eyes. “He came this morning. I was hooded, bound, and taken somewhere. I don’t know where. I was there for several hours. Then he came back, took my hood off, and sent me here. With this.”

She reached down to her lap and put a plain white envelope on the table. She pushed it toward me.

I took it. It wasn’t sealed. I opened it, frowned, and then turned it upside down over the table.

Several tufts of hair bound with small bits of string fell out, along with a small metal object.

Molly drew in a sharp breath.

“He said to tell you that he’s taken your friends,” Sarissa said quietly.

I picked up the tufts of hair one at a time. Wiry black, slightly crinkled hairs, sprinkled with silver ones. Butters. Red hairs, luscious and curly. Andi. And a long, soft, slightly wavy lock of pure white hair. I lifted it to my nose and sniffed. Strawberries. I let out a soft curse.

“Who?” Molly asked, her voice worried.

“Justine,” I said.

“Oh, God.”

I picked up the metal object. It was a plain bottle cap, slightly dented where it had been removed.

“And Mac,” I said quietly. “He had someone following me everywhere I went. He took someone from each place.”

“He told me to tell you,” Sarissa said, “that he’ll trade them all for you, if you surrender to him before sundown.”

“And if I don’t?” I asked.

“He’ll give their bones to the rawhead,” she whispered.

Silence fell.

“Okay,” I said into it. “I’ve just about had enough of that clown.”

Molly looked up at me, her eyes worried. “You sure?”

“Guy gets his jollies dipping his hat in people’s blood,” I said.

“You can bargain with the Sidhe sometimes,” Molly said.

“But not this time,” I said, my voice hard. “If we do, he’ll keep the letter of his word and he’ll make sure they don’t make it out anyway. The only way we’re getting our friends back is to take them away from him.”

Molly grimaced, but after a moment, she nodded.

I picked up the clumps of hair and put them in a neat row on the table. “Molly.”

“On it,” she said, collecting them.

“What are you doing?” Sarissa asked, her eyes wide.

“The jerk was kind enough to give me some fresh cuttings from my friends,” I said. “I’m going to use them to track him down and thwart him.”

“Thwart?” Sarissa asked.

“Thwart,” I said. “To prevent someone from accomplishing something by means of visiting gratuitous violence upon his smarmy person.”

“I’m pretty sure that isn’t the definition,” Sarissa said.

“It is today.” I raised my voice. “Cat Sith. I need your assistance, please.”

Sarissa went completely still when I spoke, like a rabbit who has sensed a nearby predator. Her eyes widened, then flicked around the room, seeking escape.

“It’s okay,” I told her. “I’m getting along with him.”

“You’re a wizard and the Winter Knight,” Sarissa hissed. “You have no idea how vicious that creature is, and I don’t have the Queen’s aegis protecting me.”

“You have mine,” I said. I raised my voice, annoyed. “Cat Sith! Kittykittykittykitty!”

“Are you insane ?” Sarissa hissed.

“He might not be able to get through, Harry,” Molly said. “It’s not just a threshold here. The svartalves have wards over the building as well.”

“Makes sense,” I said. “Be right back.”

I went out and looked around, but Sith didn’t appear. I called his name a third time, which as we all know is the charm. With beings of the Nevernever it’s a literal truth. I mean, it’s not an irresistible force, like gravity—it’s more like a kind of obsessive-compulsive disorder that happens to be present, to varying degrees, in most of them. They respond, strongly, to things that happen in threes, be they requests, insults, or commands. So in a way, three really is a magic number.