Peace Talks (The Dresden Files, #16)(100)

She came to a stop beside King Corb and laid a hand on his shoulder almost fondly. “This ends. Tonight.”

She turned and strode to Vadderung. She dropped to one knee in order to speak to him eye to eye. “I remember what you were. Because I respect you, I assume you have seen some redeeming value among these …” She waved a hand at the room. “Children. And because of that respect, I offer you something I was never given: a choice.”

She looked around the room. “I offer it to all of the divine here. At the witching hour tonight, we who you thought fallen, defeated, banished, and humbled march upon the mortal world—starting with this fetid hive around us.” She smiled, very slowly. “Finally.”

Vadderung spoke, as if someone had superglued his tongue to the back of his teeth. “Ethniu. Do not do this.”

She stared down at him for a moment with something almost like pity. “I remember that once you were great,” she said quietly. “For the sake of the being I remember, I offer you this one chance: Do not interfere. My quarrel is with the mortals. Stand aside and there need be no conflict.” She gestured at the hole in the wall behind the high seat. “That creature cannot protect you. Cannot enforce her justice. Each of the divine here must choose: abandon the mortal world—or burn with it.”

Her closed eye quivered, and suddenly there was a light behind the scarred eyelid, red and pulsing through the thin skin. She leaned back her head, took a breath, and opened that eye, the Eye, screaming.

The scream itself threatened to deafen me by sheer volume, but it was far, far more painful than that. I could feel it press against the vaults of my mind, emotion so violent and intense that it would tear my sanity to pieces if I let even a portion of it into my head.

Light erupted from Ethniu, lashing out furiously at the ceiling. Where it touched the hanging swaths of fabric, they rotted and flaked away, scorching at the edges and bursting into flame. When it touched the ceiling, there was an enormous concussion, and the dark grey stone of the castle suddenly erupted with cold blue glowing light emanating from previously unseen runes and sigils written on every surface. I could feel a surge of pressure, which might have put out my ears had it been physical, as the castle’s magical defenses pitted themselves against the power of a goddess.

They failed.

Stone shattered to dust, and energy exploded upward through the ceiling, through the upper floor, and through the roof into the summer night. Pure magical energy surged out with it, through the room, into the night, in a wave of such breadth and power that five minutes before, I would have considered it impossible.

Looking back, that was the moment everything started to change.

Magic ran rampant into the air. It howled through the streets and alleys of Chicago. It thundered through tunnels and roadways, a tsunami of raw power.

And wherever it went, the mortal world fell into darkness.

Power stations exploded. Electronic devices screamed and showered sparks. Screens played diabolical images and screeched in demonic voices before dying. Cars died; systems failed; trains went powerless and slowed. I heard later that there were nearly fifteen hundred automobile collisions in that single moment, resulting in scores of deaths.

Chicago fell into total darkness.

I found myself on my knees, sometime after, breathing hard, making pained sounds. Others were making similar noises. The lighting in the great hall hadn’t changed—not when it had been firelight in the first place.

King Corb and the Last Titan were gone.

I found myself staring at Vadderung as he fell heavily back into his chair, his expression stunned.





30


Asolid quarter minute of stunned silence followed before Gentleman John Marcone hauled himself to his feet, looked around at the destruction and confusion in the hall, and mused, “It would seem we have the Fomor’s answer with regards to the peace process.”

Ebenezar was the next one up. He looked around the room and said, “Is anyone hurt?”

“The dead, it would appear,” Marcone said. He started for the high seat and offered a hand to Molly. She glowered at him but took his hand and rose with a polite nod. He spoke in a low, intent voice that wouldn’t be overheard by most of the room. “Assess Mab, please, Winter Lady.”

Molly stared at him for a second. Then she went over to the hole in the stone wall behind the high seat. She stared for a moment and said, “What’s on the other side of the wall?”

“Storage,” Marcone said.

“On the other side of that,” Molly said, and vanished into the hole.

Etri and his sister stood up together. Voices rose in a babble of confusion and anxiety. Everyone had begun to recover and no one looked like they were happy about what was going on.

My grandfather looked around, eyes searching. He leaned over to Ramirez and muttered something. The Warden nodded and spoke quietly to the rest of the security team.

Carter LaChaise and his ghouls got up and were heading toward the exit.

“LaChaise,” Marcone said in a voice that very much was meant to carry to the rest of the room.

The ghoul looked over his shoulder at Marcone.

“Where are you going, sir?” Marcone asked.

LaChaise pointed a finger at the hole in the rear wall. His voice was a low, rich Louisiana gumbo with some whiskey added in. “You heard that monster. You saw what she did.”