Battle Ground (The Dresden Files #17) - Jim Butcher Page 0,18

to me on his cane, looked at the knife on my belt, then up at me, and lifted an eyebrow.

“Ritually purified,” I said. “Don’t want to use it until it’s time.”

Ramirez eyed me for a moment before he grunted and produced a gravity knife from his pocket and flicked it open. He was a good-looking man, dark of complexion and eye, a Spaniard by way of California. He flipped the knife, caught it by the blade, and offered me the handle. “You hear what happened?”

“Yeah,” I said, and took the knife. “Had to go grab some tools.” I started trying to scrape the black gunk off my hand. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t actually burning, and that was just my imagination, but as it had cooled it had taken on the consistency and adhesive properties of honey and smelled like offal. My progress was dubious.

“Just keep the knife,” Ramirez said, his expression faintly nauseated.

“Thanks,” I said, and forced myself to keep my tone calm and natural. “Where’s the old man?”

“Roof, with everyone else,” he said. “Everyone’s rushing to bring in all the help we can. Don’t really have many skills in that area. I feel like a fifth wheel.”

“Yeah, well. We’ll get our chance once the fighting starts.”

Ramirez grimaced down at his cane. “True.”

“Hey, at least you aren’t in a wheelchair.”

“True,” he said, more brightly. His expression then sobered. “Harry, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Always the very best way to set up a conversation for success,” I noted drily. I tried to pay no attention to the way my stomach jumped.

“Yeah, well,” he said. He pulled up on the stair above me, so that he could look me more or less in the face, if not in the eye. He regarded me for a moment before he said, “Where did you go tonight?”

My belly tightened even more. I felt everything shutting down, my expression locking into my best poker face.

Regret passed over Carlos’s face. “You can talk to me.”

“What?”

“Harry,” he said slowly, “you and I are friends, right?”

“We’ve heard the chimes at midnight more than a few times,” I said.

He nodded. “And seen a few bad places.”

“We have.”

“Well. Maybe you should . . . at some point . . . consider treating me like a friend.”

I held myself perfectly still. “What?”

Carlos lowered his voice, but it remained intense nonetheless. “I don’t mind that you think of me as the little brother, Dresden, but don’t think I’m a goddamned idiot. Don’t think I can’t see what’s happening.”

I stared through him and said nothing.

“If you’re in trouble,” he said, “if you need help, you can talk to me, man. You should talk to me.”

“Why is that?” I said.

“Because big and goddamned scary things are happening,” Carlos said, his voice hard. “The knives are coming out, and it’s my job to keep them from going into the White Council’s back. Because you are in close alliances with scary creatures who are doing scary things to you, and you barely seem to acknowledge it. And because you’ve got access to way too much power, and you could do way too much damage, man. I know you, Dresden. I love you. But too much is at stake right now to let things slide.”

“Is that a threat?” I asked him. It came out a lot more gently than it could have.

“If I can see it,” he said, “others can, too. Talk to me. Let me help you, Harry.”

I stopped for a second and thought about it.

Ramirez was a formidable ally. And, good God, it would be nice to have a skilled wizard in my corner. Ramirez was popular among the younger members of the Wardens. If I had his help, I’d have their help as well.

But Ramirez was also popular among the establishment. Granted, I wasn’t entirely bereft of allies there, but increasingly as time had gone on, Carlos had come to represent a new ideal for the new generation of Wardens—more compassionate than those who had come before, quicker to investigate and slower to conclude, but every bit as dedicated to the Laws of Magic and the security of the White Council of Wizardry.

My friend Carlos would be an enormous amount of help—but Warden Ramirez would be honor bound to inform the Senior Council about my relationship to Thomas, if I told him the truth. I wasn’t even sure that he would be unwise to do so, all things considered. But if that happened, I might as well leave my brother in