Battle Ground (The Dresden Files #17) - Jim Butcher Page 0,173

me and said, “I think you’ll do just fine.” He cocked his head slightly, as if listening to a comment coming from an earbug. He let out a little snort and shook his head.

“What?” I asked him warily. I looked around the room at any potential unseen angelic presences and demanded, “What?”

“Spoilers,” the ex-Knight murmured. “Merry Christmas, Harry.” And he limped silently from the room.

I squinted at him, feeling very much as if I had somehow been bamboozled. Then I muttered something dark about the duplicity of paladins, retired or not, and went back to trying to figure out the bike. I got into it, focusing with as much intensity as I would spend on any spell. This was a mere child’s bicycle. It was no match for the intellect of the Wizard of Chicago.

Plus I had Mouse to help.

I’d been going along for a goodly while when there was a sudden gust of wind outside so cold that it came flooding down the chimney, so intense that it made the flames flicker and gutter before they sprang up again. I looked up sharply, as my wizard’s senses told me that power was in motion. The flames in the fireplace guttered again, leaving the room in almost absolute blackness. When they sprang back up, the flames were green and blue and purple, dancing merrily.

And the Queen of Air and Darkness stood above me.

Queen Mab was as tall as me tonight—it changed, based upon her mood and her intentions. Her skin was white as frost, her lips as dark as frozen mulberries, and her hair had been made from the first snowflakes to fall through the virgin air. She was stunningly beautiful, immortal, had the power of a demigoddess, was the unquestioned queen of the wicked Fae—and she was my boss.

“My Knight,” she murmured, inclining her head.

I wasn’t sure what protocol dictated for this particular circumstance, so I bowed my head slightly and said, “Good evening.”

“Guardian,” Mab said. She bowed her head rather more deeply to Mouse.

I get no respect, no respect at all.

Mouse regarded Mab solemnly. His tail had stopped wagging. But he thumped a paw twice on the floor in response.

Mab regarded the circle of parts around me, her head tilted. “A conjuring?”

“Yeah. Kind of,” I said, scratching at my hair. “You aren’t here to call me in to work, I hope.”

“Do not be ridiculous,” she said. “It is Christmas.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “Christmas spirit? You?”

She lifted her chin slightly. “Christmas falls within the realm of Winter, does it not?”

I huffed out a little laugh. “Yeah. I guess it does. But I thought you had people for that.”

“I do,” Mab said. “Yet . . .” She frowned, as if concentrating to make sure she repeated the phrase correctly. “It does not do for the boss to spend too much time in the office.” She paused for a breath and then said, “I have brought your gift.”

I think my jaw bounced off my knee before it landed in the pile of parts. “What?”

“You are participating in the holiday this year,” Mab said. “I have an obligation to my vassals.”

“What?” I repeated.

She took one hand out from behind her back and presented me with a small gift bag of wintry blue, covered with cheerful silver snowflakes.

I eyed the bag. “Is it going to explode? Or try to eat me?”

“Do not be tiresome,” Mab sighed.

“Faeries don’t give gifts,” I said. “What kind of trick is this?”

“The kind that isn’t,” she replied. “I am not giving you a gift. I am fulfilling to you an obligation.”

I felt a smile touch the corner of my mouth. “Obligation, eh? Suppose I don’t accept?”

A pained expression touched her eyes for about a tenth of a second. “That would be your choice. As would be the consequences.”

“Well. That’s the first time I’ve ever been threatened into accepting a Christmas present,” I said.

I took the bag. Inside was a jewelry box. Inside the jewelry box was a plain band that probably wouldn’t have fit on my pinky. It was made from some kind of silvery, opalescent metal. I brushed a fingertip over it. It hummed with stored energy.

“Potent,” I said. “What does it do?”

“It is meant for your daughter,” Mab said. “And it will give her powers.”

I snapped the box shut and eyed Mab. “Excuse me?”

She made an impatient sound. “Not like that, wizard,” she said. “If you give her the ring, she will . . . have a certain amount of influence, until next stroke of noon,