Grave Peril (The Dresden Files #3) - Jim Butcher Page 0,135
held onto that link, to the pressure I had forced against the spell, to the memories of Susan and me, together.
"I love you."
Why it worked right then, why the webbing of my godmother's spell frayed as though the words had been an open flame, I don't know. I haven't found any explanation for it. There aren't any magical words, really. The words just hold the magic. They give it a shape and a form, they make it useful, describe the images within.
I'll say this, though: Some words have a power that has nothing to do with supernatural forces. They resound in the heart and mind, they live long after the sounds of them have died away, they echo in the heart and the soul. They have power, and that power is very real.
Those three words are good ones.
I flooded into her, through the link, into the darkness and the confusion that bound her, and I saw, through her thoughts, that my coming was a flame in the endless cold, a beacon flashing out against that night. The light came, our memories, the warmth of us, she and I, and battered down the walls inside her, crushed away Lea's lingering spell, tore those memories away from my godmother, wherever she was, and brought them back home.
I heard her cry out at the sudden flush of memory, as awareness washed over her. She changed, right there against methe hard, alien tension changed. It didn't vanish, but it changed. It became Susan's tension, Susan's confusion, Susan's pain, aware, alert, and very much herself again.
The power of the spell faded away, leaving only the blurred impression of it, like lightning that crackles through the night, leaving dazzling colors in the darkness behind.
I found myself kneeling against her, holding her hand. She still held my head. Her teeth still pressed against my throat, sharp and hard.
I reached up with my other shaking hand, and stroked at her hair. "Susan," I said, gentle. "Susan. Stay with me."
The pressure lessened. I felt hot tears fall against my shoulder.
"Harry," she whispered. "Oh, God. I'm so thirsty. I want it so much."
I closed my eyes. "I know," I said. "I'm sorry."
"I could take you. I could take it," she whispered.
"Yes."
"You couldn't stop me. You're weak, sick."
"I couldn't stop you," I agreed.
"Say it again."
I frowned. "What?"
"Say it again. It helps. Please. It's so hard not to "
I swallowed. "I love you," I said.
She jerked, as though I'd punched her in the pit of the stomach.
"I love you," I said again. "Susan."
She lifted her mouth from my skin, and looked up, into my eyes. They were her eyes againdark, rich, warm brown, bloodshot, filled with tears. "The vampires," she said. "They"
"I know."
She closed her eyes, more tears falling. "I tr-tried to stop them. I tried."
Pain hit me again, pain that didn't have anything to do with poison or injuries. It hit me sharp and low, just beneath my heart, as though someone had just shoved an icicle through me. "I know you did," I told her. "I know you did."
She fell against me, weeping. I held her.
After a long time, she whispered, "It's still there. It isn't going away."
"I know."
"What am I going to do?"
"We'll work on that," I said. "I promise. We have other problems right now." I filled her in on what had happened, holding her in the dimness.
"Is anyone coming for us?" she asked.
"I I don't think so. Even if Thomas and Michael got away, they couldn't storm this place. If they ever even got out of the Nevernever. Michael could go to Murphy, but she couldn't just smash her way in here without a warrant. And Bianca's contacts could probably stall that for a while."
"We have to get you out of here," she said. "You've got to get to a hospital."
"Works in theory. Now we just have to work out the details."
She licked her lips. "I can you even walk?"
"I don't know. That last spell. If there was much left in me, that spell took it out."
"What if you slept?" she asked.
"Kravos would have his chance to torture me." I paused, and stared at the far wall.
"God," Susan whispered. She hugged me, gently. "I love you, Harry. You should get to hear it't" She stopped, and looked up at me. "What?"
"That's it," I said. "That's what needs to happen."
"What needs to happen? I don't understand."
The more I thought about it, the crazier it sounded. But it might work. If I could time it just right