Battle Ground (The Dresden Files #17) - Jim Butcher Page 0,151

hardened. “What you did tonight, Dresden. What you took from me on the island. That should be balanced.”

My insides went queasy and I lurched a foot to one side.

“Yeah,” I said. “It should.”

Lara looked blank for a second, and I think I had said something that actually surprised her. Some of the coldness went out of her eyes as she pointed at Justine. “She wants to see him. You should be the one to take her.”

I turned to look at Justine. The young woman was wearing pajamas that had been through the hellish cityscape and holding her arms tightly across her chest. She looked exhausted and terrified. She’d been crying at some point recently. “Harry,” she said. “I’m scared. No one will talk about him. Is he . . .”

“No,” I said. “No. But . . . it’s complicated.” I thought of explaining his condition to her and quailed, but that was just too bad. She deserved to know. I also thought about all the svartalves in their invisible armor and glanced around warily. “And we shouldn’t talk about it in the open.”

Lara eyed me. And I saw the tension and the damage wrought by the evening’s terror in her face. “Justine has given much to my House,” Lara said. “And I take care of my people. Show her. Now. She’s been kept in the dark long enough. That’s what I ask of you.”

Again, that vicious pull on the inside. God, I was tired. I wanted to fall over somewhere and cry for a while. Or drink for a while. Or both.

I wanted to make sure Maggie was all right with my own eyes, my own hands.

I lifted my lip in a snarl at Lara.

But then I looked down at Justine, at her weeping eyes.

I’d done enough harm for one evening.

Maybe I could help someone a little. Start paying off that karma.

And suddenly it was too crowded here. There was just too much. The silence of the island sounded wonderful by comparison. And I think I knew where I’d left at least half a bottle of whiskey, back in the cabin. I could put the Eye in safe storage with the other artifacts I’d acquired. And it was probably a good idea to check on Alfred and the state of the island’s defenses, after the spirit had exerted itself in such an epic fashion. “Fine,” I said. I glanced at Mab. “But I’m not walking to the boat.”

“It is a unicorn,” Mab said, “not a . . . ride-sharing service.”

I sat down and glowered.

* * *

* * *

“Well. That was terrifying,” Justine said a while later. “It wasn’t like being on a horse at all, really. More like . . . riding a living train. That might eat you.”

We were on the Water Beetle. The Winter unicorn had dropped us off, seething in fury and apparent hunger, and I had gotten the boat going, even as the first hint of dawn began to touch the sky. As the light rose, I saw several other vessels out on the lake. Apparently, fleeing the little-A apocalypse on one had been a valid idea, and there were enough engines sufficiently old and well maintained to have escaped being disabled by the Eye. So that was good. I’d have hated to be the only thing moving and to attract the attention of more helicopters.

I got the Beetle settled on course and locked her steering there. The gentle rain had continued, washing terror and leftover black magic out of the air. The coming day was going to be a hot one, but with the rain the current temperature was just about perfect. So I shrugged out of my coat and just turned my face up to the sky for a while.

When I looked down again, Justine was looking up at me from the deck with the first-aid kit. “Harry,” she said, “come into the cabin. We should cover those burns up, at least, so they don’t get infected.”

She was right. I was just about too tired to understand English, but she sounded pretty right. So I stumped down to the cabin. She took some time to clean and cover the burns on my left forearm. I’d lost my shield bracelet along the way somewhere. Dammit. I’d have to make another. A real one this time.

I’d need a lab.

I answered questions mechanically as she worked on me.

“So he’s alive. He’s safe,” she said.

“For now,” I said. “He’s in cold storage until we can figure out a