Changes (The Dresden Files #12) - Jim Butcher Page 0,68

May I present Harry Dresden, wizard and Warden of the White Council of wizards.”

I nodded to Vadderung.

“Wizard, this is Donar Vadderung, CEO of Monoc Secur—”

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea what he’s in charge of,” I said quietly.

The old man’s mouth turned faintly up at the corners when I spoke. He gestured to a steel chair across the desk from him. “Please. Sit down.”

I pointed at the holographic display. “You sure you want to put that at risk? If I stand too close to it . . .”

Vadderung turned his face up to the ceiling and barked out a laugh of genuine amusement. “I’ll take my chances.”

“Suits me,” I said. I walked over to the desk and sat down in the steel chair across from Vadderung’s. It didn’t have a cushion or anything, but it was surprisingly comfortable nonetheless.

“Coffee?” he asked me. “Something to eat?”

I paused for a breath to think before answering. Duties such as this involved the obligations and responsibilities of guest to host and vice versa. If Vadderung was who I thought he was, he had been known, from time to time, to go forth and test people on how well they upheld that particular tradition—with generous rewards for the faithful, and hideous demises for the miserly, callous, or cruel.

In the supernatural world, such obligations and limits seem to be of vital importance to the overwhelming number of supernatural beings. I’m not sure why. Maybe it has something to do with the thresholds of protective energy that form around a home.

“Only if it isn’t too much trouble,” I said.

“And something to eat,” Vadderung told Gard.

She bowed her head and said, “My lord.” Then she padded out.

Though the big man hadn’t stood up, I realized that he was big. Damned near a giant, really. Standing, he’d have more than a couple inches on me, and his shoulders made mine look about as wide as the spine of a book. He rested his chin on the heel of his hand again and studied me with his bright blue eye.

“Well,” he said. “I take it you believe you know who I am.”

“I’ve got a few guesses,” I said. “I think they’re good ones. Sigrun was kind of a tip-off. But honestly, that’s got nothing to do with why I’m here today.”

The blue eye wrinkled at the corners. “Doesn’t it?”

I frowned at him and tilted my head. “How so?”

He lifted a hand palm up as he explained. “Someone with enough foresight might, for example, arrange to be in a position to assist a hot-headed young wizard of the White Council one day. Perhaps who I am is directly responsible for why I am here.”

“Yeah. I guess that could be it,” I said. “It’s technically possible that your motives for assisting me are altruistic. On the other hand, it’s also technically possible that you are speaking with a forked tongue, and that all you’re really trying to do is find some way to take advantage of me when I’m under pressure.” I shrugged. “No offense intended, but there’s kind of a shortage of altruism out there.”

“So cynical for one so young.” He looked me up and down. “But you would be. You would be.”

“I’ve got questions,” I said. “Granted, they aren’t as profound as ‘Who am I?’ or ‘Why am I here?’ but they’re a lot more important to me at the moment.”

Vadderung nodded. “You’re looking for your daughter.”

I felt my body go rigid. “How . . . ?”

He smiled rather wolfishly. “I know things, Dresden. And if I don’t know something, I can find out. Like yourself, it is what I do.”

I stared at the man for most of a minute. Then I said, “Do you know where she is?”

“No,” he said in a quiet, firm voice. “But I know where she will be.”

I looked down at my hands. “What’s it going to cost me to find out?”

“Chichén Itzá,” Vadderung said.

I jerked my head up in surprise. I stared at the man for a moment. “I . . .”

“Don’t understand?” Vadderung asked. “It isn’t complicated. I’m on your side, boy.”

I raked my fingers back through my hair, thinking. “Why there?”

“The Red King and his inner circle, the Lords of Outer Night, have got some big juju to brew up. They need a site of power to do it. For this, they’ll use Chichén Itzá.”

“Why there?”

“They’re enacting a sacrifice. Like in the old days.” A snarl of anger touched his voice, and made it suddenly frightening. “They’re preparing a bloodline