Battle Ground (The Dresden Files #17) - Jim Butcher Page 0,158

watching the sun rise on his soul. “I love to give that kind of help. And my rates are very reasonable . . .”

There were footsteps in the wet grass behind us.

We turned to find Carlos Ramirez facing us from beneath a grey umbrella. He wore his Warden’s cloak. His expression was fatigued and grim. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Carlos,” I said quietly. “Good to see you.”

He nodded, once. When he spoke, his voice was ragged, as if he’d been shouting a lot. “Harry Dresden,” he said in a formal tone and cadence. “Greetings from the White Council.”

Not Warden Dresden, I noted. Not even Wizard Dresden.

So.

Michael glanced between us and said, “I’ll excuse myself, gentlemen.”

“Thank you, Sir Michael,” Ramirez said quietly.

Michael turned and limped back toward the cars.

“The vote,” I said. “Forgot all about it. Guess it didn’t go my way.”

Ramirez shook his head.

“You’re out,” he said. “You are no longer to associate yourself with the White Council or harass its members. You will refrain from the public practice of magic to standards of discretion determined by the Council or face the consequences. Wardens will periodically inspect you and your residence for residual black magic. You know the drill.” He shook his head and reached into his coat. “There are some documents. They list all the terms.”

“Terms,” I said. “Pretty bold for the Council to boot me out, then dictate terms to me.”

Ramirez stared at me for a second. Then he said, his voice low, “You had to know this was coming. It’s been coming for a long time. We’ve given you chance after chance, and you keep—” He broke off and looked away. “You never should have gotten mixed up with Mab, Harry. That changed everything.”

“Carlos,” I began.

“You sold out to the monsters, Dresden,” Ramirez spat, his voice harsh. “Don’t you see that? Can’t you see it even now? As beaten as you are, you shouldn’t even be able to stand up. Sixty degrees, windy, and raining and you’re standing there soaking wet and enjoying it.”

“What did you say?” I asked, low and hard.

“You heard me,” he said. He wasn’t budging, either. “I don’t know, Dresden, if what happened here could have been avoided. But I know you were mixed up in it in ways you aren’t saying.” He stared at me beseechingly, shaking his head. “You should have trusted me, man. And you pull that stupid hex on me instead?” Something in his face broke. “Chandler’s gone. Bill and Yukie are gone. And maybe if you’d been willing to talk, that wouldn’t have happened. Maybe it would have made things different.”

“I had to,” I said. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice weary. “I know you think that. And that’s the problem.” He took his hand out of his coat and tossed a thick legal envelope at me. I caught it. “Read that. Believe it. Because as far as the White Council is concerned, you’re one of the monsters now, Dresden. Push us and we’ll push back. Hard.”

“Who’s going to do the pushing, ’Los?” I asked. “You?”

“No,” he said quietly. “McCoy.” He cleared his throat. “We were friends once, Dresden. So I’ll tell you this last bit of gossip. The Senior Council voted in emergency session, while Listens-to-Wind and McCoy were in surgery. They found witnesses who saw you directly murder human servants of the Fomor by means of pyromancy.”

Which was true. “You’ve seen what those guys have done,” I told him. “Would you call them human, strictly speaking?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” Ramirez said. “You know how broadly they interpret the First Law. And why it has to be that way. By unanimous vote, they have already given the Blackstaff the order to execute your death warrant, and suspended it. If you cross the line, they’ll send him. And if he won’t do it, he’ll be charged with treason. So for your sake—and his—don’t make us take action.”

“You son of a bitch,” I said quietly.

“We don’t fight monsters fair,” he said. “I learned that from you.”

We stood there quietly for a moment.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” I said.

“It does,” Ramirez replied. “You made that call when you didn’t talk to me. And sixty thousand people died.”

I let out a frustrated breath.

“One of these days,” I said, “you’re going to look back at today and feel really stupid.”

“Is that a threat?” he asked.

“No, you knob.” I sighed wearily. “Just a fact.”

“The Council has spoken,” he said, just as tiredly, and turned