Jim Butcher - White Night

"If I'd knocked, I might have woken you up."

"If you'd knocked, you'd have missed out on an outside chance of seeing me getting dressed," she shot back.

"Touche." I glanced around and spotted her bag, all packed. My stomach twisted a little in disappointment. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

She shook her head. "Have you ever tried to watch daytime television? I was glad when the set finally blew. I'd lose my mind just lying here."

"How you feeling?"

"A lot better," Elaine said. "Stronger. Which is another reason to leave. I don't want to have a nightmare and have my powers kill some poor grampa's respirator."

I nodded. "So it's back to California?"

"Yes. I've done enough damage for one trip."

I folded my arms and leaned against the door, watching her brush back her hair enough to get it into a tail. She didn't look at me when she asked, "Did you get them?"

"Yeah," I said.

She closed her eyes, shivered, and exhaled. "Okay." She shook her head. "That shouldn't make me feel better. It won't help Anna."

"It will help a lot of other people in the long run," I said.

She abruptly slammed the brush against the rail of the bed, snapping it. "I wasn't here trying to help a lot of other people, dammit." She glanced down at the brush's handle and seemed to deflate for a moment. She tossed it listlessly into a corner.

I went over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "This just in. Elaine isn't perfect. News at eleven."

She leaned her cheek on my hand.

"You should know," I said. "I got reparations out of the White Court. A weregild for their dependents."

She blinked at me. "How?"

"My boyish charm. Can you get me contact information for the victims' families? I'll get somebody to get the money to them."

"Yes," she said. "Some of them didn't have any dependents. Like Anna."

I grunted and nodded. "I thought we might use that money to build something."

Elaine frowned at me. "Oh?"

I nodded. "We use the money. We expand the Ordo, build a network of contacts. A hotline for middle-class practitioners. We contact groups like the Ordo in cities all around the country. We put the word out that if people are in some kind of supernatural fix, they can get word of it onto the network. Maybe if something like this starts happening again, we can hear about it early and stomp on the fire before it grows. We teach self-defense classes. We help people coordinate, cooperate, support one another. We act."

Elaine chewed on her lip and looked up at me uncertainly. "We?"

"You said you wanted to help people," I said. "This might. What do you think?"

She stood up, leaned up onto her toes, and kissed me gently on the lips before staring into my eyes, her own very wide and bright. "I think," she said quietly, "that Anna would have liked that."

Ramirez woke up late that evening, swathed in bandages, his injured leg in traction, and I was sitting next to his bed when he did. It was a nice switch for me. Usually I was the one waking up into disorientation, confusion, and pain.

I gave him a few minutes to get his bearings before I leaned for-ward and said, "Hey, there, man."

"Harry," he rasped. "Thirsty."

Before he was finished saying it, I picked up the little sports bottle of ice water they'd left next to his bed. I put the straw between his lips and said, "Can you hold it, or should I do it for you?"

He managed a small glare, fumbled a hand up, and held on to the bottle weakly. He sipped some of the water, then laid his head back on the pillow. "Okay," he said. "How bad is it?"

"Alas," I said. "You'll live."

"Where?"

"Hospital," I said. "You're stable. I've called Listens-to-Wind, and he's going to come pick you up in the morning."

"We win?"

"Bad guys go boom," I said. "The White King is still on his throne. Peace process is going to move ahead."

"Tell me."

So I gave him the battle's last few minutes, except for Lash's role in things.

"Harry Dresden," Ramirez murmured, "the human cannonball."

"Bam, zoom, right to the moon."

He smiled a little. "You get Cowl?"

"Doubt it," I said. "He was right by his gate. When he saw me running for the exit, ten to one he just stepped back through it and zipped it shut. In fact, I'm pretty sure he did. If there'd been an open gate there, the blast would have been able to spread into it. I don't think we would have been thrown so far."

"How about Vitto?"

I shook my head. "Vitto was pretty far gone even before the bombs went off. I'm pretty sure we nailed him, and those ghouls, too."

"Good thing you had that army on standby, huh," Ramirez said, a faint edge to his voice.

"Hey," I said, "it's late. I should let you get some rest."

"No," Ramirez said, his voice stronger. "We need to talk."

I sat there for a minute, bracing myself. Then I said, "About what."

"About how tight you are with the vamps," he said. "About you making deals with scumbag mobsters. I recognized Marcone. I've seen his picture in the papers." Ramirez shook his head. "Jesus Christ, Harry. We're supposed to be on the same team. It's called trust, man."

I wanted to spit something hostile and venomous and well deserved. I toned myself down to saying, "Gee. A Warden doesn't trust me. That's a switch."

Ramirez blinked at me. "What?"

"Don't worry about it. I'm used to it," I said. "I had Morgan sticking his nose into every corner of my existence for my entire adult life."

Ramirez stared at me for a second. Then he let out a weak snort and said, "All hail the drama queen. Harry…" He shook his head. "I'm talking about you not trusting me, man."

My increasingly angry retort died unspoken. "Uh. What?"

Ramirez shook his head wearily. "Let me make some guesses. One. You don't trust the Council. You never have, but lately, it's been worse. Especially since New Mexico. You think that whoever is leaking information to the vampires is pretty high up, and the less anyone in the Council knows about what you're doing, the better."

I stared at him and said nothing.

"Two. There's a new player in the game. Cowl's on the new team. We don't know who they are, but they seem to have a hard-on for screwing over everyone equally—vampires, mortals, wizards, whoever." He sighed. "You aren't the only one who's been noticing these things, Harry."

I grunted. "What do you call them?"

"The Black Hats, after our Ringwraith-wannabe buddy, Cowl. You?"

"The Black Council," I said.

"Oooh," Ramirez muttered. "Yours is better."

"Thanks," I said.

"So you can't trust our own people," he said. "But you're cutting deals with the vampires…" He narrowed his eyes. "You think you might be able to find the traitor coming in from the other side."

I put my finger on my nose.

"And the gangster?" Ramirez asked.

"He's a snake," I said. "But his word is good. And Madrigal and Vitto had killed one of his people. And I know he isn't working for Cowl's organization."

"How do you know that?"

"Because Marcone works for Marcone-"

Ramirez spread his hands weakly. "Was that so damned hard, Dresden? To talk to me?"

I settled back in my chair. My shoulders suddenly felt loose and Wobbly. I breathed in and out a few times, and then said, "No."

Ramirez snorted gently. "Idiot."

"So," I said. "Think I should come clean to the Merlin?"

Ramirez opened one eye. "Are you kidding? He hates your guts. He'd have you declared a traitor, locked up, and executed before you got through the first paragraph." He closed his eye again. "But I'm with you, man. All the way."

You don't have much endurance after going through something like Ramirez had. He was asleep before he realized it was about to happen.