Cold Days (The Dresden Files #14) - Jim Butcher Page 0,217

night, had covered me with an old woolen army surplus blanket that had been in a plastic storage box in the cottage. I eyed him. “Have fun?”

A low, warm rumble of a laugh bubbled in his chest. “Very much so. If I don’t get into a good battle every few years, life just isn’t the same.”

“Even if it’s on Halloween?” I asked.

He eyed me, and his smile became wider and more impish. “Especially then,” he said. “How’s the leg?”

I grunted and checked. Butters’s dressing had stayed on throughout the events of the night. The constant, burning sting was gone, and I peeled off the dressing to see that the little wound on my leg had finally scabbed over. “Looks like I’ll live.”

“Hawthorn dart,” Kringle said. “Nasty stuff. Hawthorn wood burns hot, and doesn’t care for creatures of Winter.” His expression sobered. “I’ve a message for you.”

“Ah?” I asked.

“Mab has taken the new Ladies with her,” he said. “She said to tell you that the new Winter Lady would be returned safely to her apartment in a few days, after some brief and gentle instruction. Mab is on excellent terms with the svartalves, and anticipates no problems with your apprentice’s . . . new position.”

“That’s . . . good, I guess,” I said.

“It is,” Kringle replied. “Dresden . . . this is the business of the Queens. I advise you not to attempt to interfere with it.”

“I already interfered,” I said.

Kringle straightened, and his fierce smile became somehow satisfied. “Aye? Like to live dangerously, do you?” He leaned a little closer and lowered his voice. “Never let her make you cringe—but never challenge her pride, wizard. I don’t know exactly what passed between you, but I suspect that if it had been witnessed by another, she would break you to pieces. I’ve seen it before. Terrible pride in that creature. She’ll never bend it.”

“She’ll never bend,” I said. “That’s okay. I can respect that.”

“Could be that you can,” Kringle said. He nodded to me and turned to go.

“Hey,” I said.

He turned to me pleasantly.

“The whole Winter Knight thing,” I said. “It’s made me stronger.”

“True enough,” he said.

“But not that much stronger,” I said. “You could have beaten me last night.”

“Oh?” Kringle’s smile faded—except from his eyes.

“And I’ve seen goblins move a few times,” I said. “The Erlking could have gotten out of the way of that shot.”

“Really?”

“You meant me to have the Wild Hunt.”

“No one can be given a power like the Wild Hunt, Dresden,” Kringle said. “He can only take it.”

“Really?” I said, as drily as I knew how.

That got another laugh from Kringle. “You have guts and will, mortal. It had to be shown, or the Hunt would never have accepted you.”

“Maybe I’ll just punch you out whenever I feel like it, then,” I said.

“Maybe you’ll try,” Kringle replied amiably. He looked out at the lightening sky and let out a satisfied breath. “It was Halloween, Dresden. You put on a mask for a time. That’s all.” He looked directly at me and said, “Many, many mantles are worn—or discarded—on Halloween night, wizard.”

“You mean masks?” I asked, frowning.

“Masks, mantles,” Kringle said. “What’s the difference?”

He winked at me.

And for the briefest fraction of a second, the shadows falling from the tower and the cottage in the gathering morning behind us seemed to flow together. The eye he winked with vanished behind a stripe of shadow and what looked like a wide scar. His face seemed leaner, and for that instant I saw Vadderung’s wolfish features lurking inside Kringle’s.

I sat straight up, staring.

Kringle finished his wink, turned jauntily, and started walking down the hill, humming “Here Comes Santa Claus” in a rumbling bass voice.

I stared after him.

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered to myself.

* * *

I stood up and wrapped the army surplus blanket around myself before I walked into the cottage. I smelled coffee and soup, and my stomach wanted lots of both.

There was a fire going in the fireplace, and my coffeepot was hanging near the fire. The soup kettle was hanging on its swinger, too. The soup would be made from stock and freeze-dried meat, but I was hungry enough not to be picky. Everyone else there probably felt the same way.

Thomas was sacked out on one of the cots, snoring. Justine had spooned up behind him, her face pressed into his back. They both had clean faces and hands, at least. Mac was snoozing on the other cot, bare to the waist, his chest and stomach evidently