Changes (The Dresden Files #12) - Jim Butcher Page 0,33
seemed to have taken care of his own daring escape.
There were chuckles from several voices.
“It isn’t funny,” snapped the other voice. It was Rudolph, all right. “This guy is dangerous.”
“Clear,” called a voice from another room—which meant my bedroom and bathroom, since it was the only other room available. “Nothing in here.”
“Dammit,” Rudolph said. “He’s here somewhere. Are you sure your men spotted him through the window?”
“They saw someone moving around in here not five minutes ago. Doesn’t mean it was him.” There was a pause and then Agent Tilly said, “Or, gee. Maybe he’s down in the subbasement under that trapdoor over there.”
“You still have men in place at the windows?” Rudolph asked.
“Yes,” Tilly said wearily. He raised his voice a bit, as if speaking to someone on the far side of a large room. “This place is buttoned up. There’s nowhere for him to go. Let’s just hope he shows himself and gives himself up quietly. We’ll be sure to respect all his rights and everything, and if he cooperates, this could be over pretty quickly.”
I paused. I had some choices to make.
I could still do as Tilly suggested. In the long run, it was obviously the best choice for me. I’d be questioned and cleared by anyone reasonable (i.e., not Rudolph). I could even point them at the duchess’s business interests and turn them loose to become a thorn in her side. After that, I would be back to the status quo of wary cooperation with the authorities—but that process would take precious time. A couple of days at the very least.
I didn’t have that kind of time.
Agent Tilly struck me as someone not entirely unreasonable. But if I approached him now, protesting my innocence, and then vanished, I’d be up for resisting arrest at the very least. Even if everything else in this mess panned out in my favor, that could get me jail time, which I wished to avoid. Besides. There wasn’t anything Tilly could do for Maggie.
And, I had to admit it, I was angry. This was my home, dammit. You don’t just break down the door of a man’s home on the say-so of a snake like Rudolph. I had plenty of anger already stored up, but hearing those voices in my living room added another large lump to the mound. I doubted my ability to remain polite for very long.
So instead of stopping to talk, I turned to the summoning circle, stepped into it, summoned up my will, and whispered, “Aparturum.”
I waved my staff from left to right, infusing the tool with my will, and reality rolled up along it like a scroll. Soft green light began to emanate from the empty air in front of me in a rectangular area seven feet tall and half as wide—a doorway between my apartment and the Nevernever. I had no idea what was on the other side.
The bolts to the trapdoor began to rattle. I heard someone call for a saw. The door wasn’t closely fitted. They’d be able to slip a saw blade through the crack and slice those two bolts in seconds.
I gathered up my power into a defensive barrier around me, running it through my shield bracelet, and gritted my teeth. My heart pounded against my chest. It was entirely possible that walking through that doorway between worlds would take me to the bottom of a lake of molten lava, or over the edge of a rushing waterfall. There was no way to know until I actually stepped into it.
“I told you so!” Bob chortled.
An electric engine buzzed above me and then abruptly died. Someone made puzzled sounds. Then a slender steel blade slipped through the crack in the door and someone started cutting through the bolts by hand.
I stepped out of the real world and into the Nevernever.
I was braced for whatever would happen. Freezing cold. Searing heat. Crushing depth of water—even utter vacuum. The sphere of force around me was airtight, and would keep me alive even in someplace like outer space, at least for a few moments.
I emerged into the Nevernever, my shields at full strength, my blasting rod ready to unleash hell, as the invisible sphere of force around me slammed into—
—a rather lovely bed of daisies.
My shields mashed them flat. The entire bed, in its little white planter, immediately resembled a pressed-flower collection.
I looked around slowly, my body tight and ready, my senses focused.