Ghost Story (The Dresden Files #13) - Jim Butcher Page 0,147

thing he could have done to his former mentor.

He turned away and ignored him.

“Zero,” Fitz said, “we need an ambulance for the father now. Call nine-one-one. Don’t move him—let the ambulance guys do that.”

Zero nodded and pulled one of those cheap, prepaid cell phones out of the pocket of his oversized jacket. He ran for the door, presumably to get a better signal. Within the next few minutes, rough but serviceable medical supplies had been brought out, and Daniel’s wounds had been cleaned and bound tighter than he’d been able to manage on his own.

Aristedes tried to get a couple of the kids to pay attention to him, but they were following Fitz’s lead. They ignored him. So the sorcerer just sat and watched it all in stunned silence.

Maybe I should have felt a little bit bad for the guy. As far as his world was concerned, he had just died. Only he was still alive to see the unthinkable—a world that existed without him. He was a living, breathing ghost. Maybe I should have felt some empathy there.

But I really didn’t.

Butters stirred and sat up groggily as Fitz finished up tying a second pressure bandage to Daniel’s leg. Michael’s son let out a short grunt of pain and then breathed deeply several times. He was still shaking and pale, but his eyes were steady. He met Fitz’s gaze and said, “Thank you.”

Fitz shook his head. “I didn’t do anything. You two were the ones who beat him.”

“The father was the one who beat him,” Daniel corrected him. “He knew what would happen to him when he came here. And he knew we’d come after him.”

Butters grunted and spoke without opening his eyes. “Forthill wouldn’t have played it like that. He came here to give peace a chance.” He groaned and pressed a hand to his jaw. “Nnngh. Ow.”

Daniel frowned, thinking it over. “So . . . he didn’t want us to come after him?”

Butters snorted. “He knew we would come after him, no matter what he did. And he also knew that if the sorcerer went off on him, there would be someone to come along and do it the other way. He’s a man of peace. Doesn’t mean he’s stupid.”

“Where is he?” Daniel asked.

“By the fire,” Fitz said. “That way about thirty yards. The ambulance is on the way.”

Butters groaned and slowly pushed himself up. He rubbed at his jaw again and said, “Take me to him.”

“Wait,” Daniel said. “Fitz . . . you ran. I don’t blame you. But you came back.”

Fitz paused, pursed his lips, and said, “Yeah. I did, didn’t I?”

“Why?”

Fitz shrugged. “Dresden. He told me that if I ran now, I’d run forever. And I’m sick of that.”

“Heh,” Butters said. “Heh, heh. He totally Kenobied the day.” Dark eyes gleaming, he looked at Daniel. “Still have doubts?”

Daniel shook his head once, smiling. Then he sank down to the floor with a satisfied groan.

“The father, please,” Butters said. Fitz nodded and led Butters over toward the gang’s little camp. But not before Butters looked around and said, “Thanks, Harry. Good to know you’ve still got our backs.”

I watched them go to help Forthill quietly.

“Sure, man,” I said, though I knew no one could hear me. “Anytime.”

Emergency-service personnel arrived. By the time they got there, weapons had been hidden. Stories had been set. Concerned adults had come to discourage some local homeless youth from playing and living in a dangerous, old, ruined building. There had been an altercation with a possibly drunken vagrant that had gotten out of hand. Things had fallen down, injuring several.

It wouldn’t have taken more than half a brain to see the holes in the story, but Butters knew the med techs, no one had been killed, and no one wanted to press any charges. The techs were willing to keep their mouths shut for a couple of greenbacks. Ah, Chicago.

Forthill was in bad shape, but by the time they’d gotten him onto a stretcher and out to the ambulance, the angel of death was nowhere to be seen. Hah. Up yours, Reaper Girl. The father would live to not-fight another day.

Daniel went with the father. Aristedes rode in his own ambulance. He was still stunned by what had happened, or else smart enough to look disoriented and keep his mouth shut. The techs, after a few quiet words from Butters, strapped his arms and legs down for the ride. He never resisted. He never did anything. The doors of the ambulance