Battle Ground (The Dresden Files #17) - Jim Butcher Page 0,70
she?”
“Looks that way, boss.”
“Makes sense,” I said.
“Why?” Murphy asked.
“In a lot of ways, it’s the heart of Chicago. The city’s energy will be most potent there. Lots of fuel for magic.”
“Including the Eye, right?” Murphy asked.
“Exactly,” I said. “What else can you tell me, Bob?”
The skull spoke in a nervous voice. “Um, good news, the cavalry is on the way. Bunch of National Guard units. Bad news—”
“This will be over before they get here,” I said harshly.
“Don’t kill me,” Bob said quickly.
I blinked down at him. Then around me.
My friends were all staring at me as if I were . . . Darth Vader or somebody.
Murphy searched my face for a moment. There wasn’t any fear in her expression. Only deep, pained concern.
I closed my eyes for a second and squeezed her gently with one arm. I tried to consciously make my voice sound calm and reasonable. Why did my throat hurt so much? “Okay. What’s Mab got with her? And what’s the enemy got with them?”
“Her personal guard,” Bob said. “A cohort of warrior Sidhe. Sure as hell would be nice if she still had that elite troop of trolls right now. Lara’s people are with her, and all the heavy hitters from the svartalf command post.”
“All grouped up where they can be taken out at the same time,” I said. All in the open in Millennium Park, no less. Mab was daring Ethniu to come at her, giving her a nice juicy group of enemies to target with the Eye.
Don’t get me wrong: Mab was perfectly capable of kicking someone’s teeth right down their throat. If she thought a slugfest with Ethniu would get things done, she wouldn’t hesitate an instant. But if she decided it was time for podiatric dentistry, she wouldn’t be waiting for Ethniu to come to her. Not Mab. Mab would be moving forward like Juggernaut, an inexorable force, not standing her ground.
So she was up to something else, and I was pretty sure I knew what.
My senses were suddenly filled with a harsh, swampy scent that wasn’t being reported by my own nose. It took me a second to work out what the hell was happening, but it came to me as easily and instinctively as breathing.
A screen of half a dozen malks, savage feline creatures of Winter that bore as much resemblance to cats as serial killers did to kindergartners, had spread out in a skirmish line in front of my banner, and they’d found the enemy waiting for us. I could feel their eagerness and bloodlust rising, got just a hint of expended propellant and gun oil on a wind that never touched my physical nose. More turtlenecks, then. The other creatures of Winter sensed the enemy’s presence, too, and a rising violent instinct spread among them—two shaggy, lurking ogres, seven or eight Black Dogs, a dozen psychotic gnomes with hooked knives, and a phobophage, a fear-eater, who had taken the form of a goddamned rake and whose shadowy profile, as it slipped past an open doorway, looked like a cross between a long-limbed Jack Skellington and Wolverine.
And tonight, in this battle, every single one of them was mine to command. I knew it the way I knew which way was down.
The enemy had taken an office building half a block down that would give them a good field of fire at an intersection and had evidently driven CPD away from the area. A number of silent uniformed figures on the ground testified to their deadliness.
But honestly.
Mab’s “people” are the things the scary stories get written about.
“Stop,” I said quietly.
Murphy brought the bike to a halt.
“This will just take a minute.”
And as naturally as moving my own muscles, I sent the monsters for the Fomor.
The malks went in first, through the openings blasted into the building, silent as ghosts. The pony-sized Black Dogs followed, running right through the freaking walls, which I did not know they could do. The rake slithered up a power wire like a snake, and the ogres and gnomes leapt onto the roof. I saw only vague shapes moving in the scarlet haze. Mostly, I just knew where they were.
The building erupted in screams and gunfire. There were even a couple of crunching explosions.
And then there were only screams.
The creatures of Winter enjoy their killing. They think it’s worth taking the time to do it right. And given the pain and suffering Listen and his turtlenecks had inflicted, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer bunch.