breaths of scandalized surprise. “Because of her mate, Dresden,” said Esteban.
“Slain by the wizard of the black stick,” said Esmerelda. “A blood debt.”
“Sacred blood.”
“Holy blood.”
Esteban shook his head. “Not even our Lord can interfere in the collection of a blood debt. It is Arianna’s right.”
Esmerelda nodded. “As it was Bianca’s to collect from you, in the opening days of the war. Though many wished that she would not have done what she did, it was her right, even as a very, very young member of the Court. As her progenitor, Arianna’s mate took up that debt. As Arianna now has done herself.” She looked at Esteban and beamed. “We are so happy with the ragged wizard. It is so civil and pleasant. Completely unlike those other wizards. Might we keep it for our own?”
Esmerelda thrust out her lower lip—and abruptly turned, all motion ceasing, to focus intently in one direction.
“What is it, our love?” Esteban asked quietly.
“The Ik’k’uox,” she said in a distant, puzzled voice. “It is in pain. It flees. It . . .” She opened her eyes very wide, and suddenly they flooded in solid black, just as the creature’s had been. “Oh! It cheated!” Her face turned down to mine, and she bared her fangs. “It cheated! It brought a demon of its own! A mountain ice demon from the Land of Dreams!”
“If you don’t exercise them, they’re impossible,” I said, philosophically.
“The constable,” Esteban said. “Did it kill the constable?”
Esmerelda returned to staring at nothing for a moment and then said, “No. It was attacked only seconds after entering his home.” She shivered and looked up at Esteban. “The ragged wizard’s demon comes this way, and swiftly.”
Esteban sighed. “We had hoped to work out something civilized. This is your last chance, ragged wizard. What say you to my offer?”
“Go fuck yourself,” I said.
Esteban’s eyes went black and flat. “Kill him.”
Esmerelda’s body tightened in what looked like a sexual fervor, and she leaned down, teeth bared, letting out a low sound filled to the brim with erotic and physical need.
During the last few moments, the fingers of my right hand had undone the clasp on my mother’s amulet. As the little vampire leaned into me, she met the silver pentacle necklace, the symbol of what I believed. A five-pointed star, representing the four elements and the spirit, bound within a circle of mortal control, will, and compassion. I’m not a Wiccan. I’m not big on churches of any kind, despite the fact that I’ve spoken, face-to-face, with an archangel of the Almighty.
But there were some things I believed in. Some things I had faith in. And faith isn’t about perfect attendance to services, or how much money you put on the little plate. It isn’t about going skyclad to the Holy Rites, or meditating each day upon the divine.
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.
Faith is a power of its own, and one even more elusive and difficult to define than magic. A symbol of faith, presented with genuine belief and sincerity, is the bane of many an otherworldly predator—and one of the creatures most strongly affected were vampires of the Red Court. I don’t know how it works, or why. I don’t know if some kind of powerful being or Being must get involved along the line. I never asked for one of them to do that—but if so, one of them was backing me up anyway.
The pentacle flared into brilliant silver light that struck Esmerelda like a six-foot wave, throwing her off of me and tearing the flesh mask she wore to shreds, revealing the creature inside it.
I twisted and presented the symbol to Esteban, but he had already backed several paces away, and it only forced him to lift his hand to shade his eyes as he continued retreating.
There was a hissing, serpentine sound from Esmerelda, and I saw a gaunt, black-skinned creature stand up out of the ruins of gown and flesh mask alike. It was just as small as she was, but its limbs were longer, by at least a third, than hers had seemed, long and scrawny. A flabby black belly sagged down, and its face would make one of those really ugly South American bats feel better about itself.