White Night (The Dresden Files #9) - Jim Butcher Page 0,63

"Back off. We came here to talk, remember?"

"Harry, we should at least restrain him."

"He isn't going to hurt us," I said.

"Would you listen to yourself for a second?" she said, her voice sharpening. "Harry, despite heavy evidence to the contrary, you're telling me that you like and trust a creature whose specialty lies in subverting the minds of his victims. That's the way they all talk about a White Court vampire, and you know it."

"That isn't what's happened here," I said.

"They say that , too," Elaine insisted. "I'm not saying any of this is your fault, Harry. But if this thing has gotten to you somehow, this is exactly how you'd be responding to it."

"He's not a thing," I snarled. "His name is Thomas."

Thomas took in a deep breath and then managed to say, in a very feeble voice, "It's all right. You can come out now."

The forward wall of the cabin creaked and suddenly shifted, swinging out on a concealed hinge to reveal a small area behind it, not quite as large as a typical walk-in closet. There were several women and two or three very small children huddled in that cramped space, and they emerged into the cabin warily.

One of them was Olivia the dancer.

"There," Thomas said quietly. He turned his head to Elaine. "There they are, and they're fine. Check them out for yourself."

I stood up, my joints creaking, and studied the women. "Olivia," I said.

"Warden," she said quietly.

"Are you all right?"

She smiled. "Except for a muscle cramp I got in there. It's a little crowded."

Elaine looked from the women to Thomas and back. "Did he hurt you?"

Olivia blinked. "No," she said. "No, of course not. He was taking us to shelter."

"Shelter?" I asked.

"Harry," Elaine said, "these are some of the women who have gone missing."

I digested that for a second, and then turned to Thomas. "What the hell is wrong with you? Why didn't you tell me what was going on?"

He shook his head, his expression still a little bleary. "Reasons. Didn't want you involved in this."

"Well, I'm involved now," I said. "So how about you tell me what's going on."

"You were at my apartment," Thomas said. "You saw my guest room wall."

"Yeah."

"They were being hunted. I had to figure out who was after them. Why. I got it, at least well enough to be able to figure out who they were planning to kill. It became a race between us." He glanced at the women and children. "I got everyone I could out of harm's way, and brought them here." He tried to move his head and winced. "Nnngh. There are another dozen at a cabin on an island about twenty miles north of here."

"A safe house," I mused. "You were taking them to a safe house."

"Yeah."

Elaine just stared at the women for a long moment, then at Thomas. "Olivia," she asked. "Is he telling the truth?"

"A-as far as I know," the girl answered. "He's been a perfect gentleman."

I'm pretty sure nobody but me caught it, but at her words, Thomas's eyes flashed with a cold and furious hunger. He may have treated the women gently and politely, but I knew that there was a part of him that hadn't wanted to. He closed his eyes tightly and started taking deep breaths. I recognized the ritual he used to control his darker nature, and said nothing of it.

Elaine talked quietly with Olivia, who began making introductions. I leaned against a wall—unless maybe, since we were on a ship, it was a bulkhead—and rubbed my finger at a spot between my eyebrows where a headache was coming on. The damned oily smoke smell from the nearby ship's sputtering engine wasn't helping matters any, either, and—

My head snapped up and I flung myself up the stairs and onto the deck.

That big ugly boat had been moved from its moorings—and now floated directly beside the Water Beetle, blocking it from the open waters of the lake. Its engine was pouring out so much blue-black oil smoke that it could not have been anything but deliberate. A choking haze had already enveloped the Water Beetle, and I couldn't see beyond the next row of docks.

A figure hurtled from the deck of the boat to land in a tigerish crouch on the little area of open deck at the rear of the Water Beetle. Even as I watched, its features, those of an unremarkable man in his midthirties, began to change. His jaws elongated, face extending into something of a