Peace Talks (The Dresden Files, #16)(111)

“How will they do it?” she asked.

“Come in from the lake,” I said. “After that, it’s old-school.”

“Kill everyone they see,” she said.

“And use the Eye to blow away any points of hard resistance,” I said, nodding. “They’ll kill or take anyone they can, while the mortal authorities flounder in the blackout. Do their worst with the Eye, and I have no idea how bad that could be. Then they’ll be gone before the National Guard can get there.”

“The people,” Murphy said quietly. “Tonight. There’s no one to protect them.”

“The hell there isn’t,” I said, and coaxed a little more speed out of the old engine. “I’ll be back before they get here.”

“You, huh,” Murphy said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “Against a protogod with a pocket nuke and an army of monsters.”

“Not just me,” I said. “But if it had to be just me, yeah. I’d be good with that. It’s home. You gotta die somehow. Standing up to a monster at the door isn’t a bad way to do it.”

She was quiet for a moment before she said, “I feel you.”

I squeezed her against me a little harder. “Here I am, getting all dramatic. How are you holding up?”

She shrugged one shoulder. Her voice was heavy and tired. “Everything hurts. But I can move some.”

“Maybe you should take shelter,” I said. “The Paranetters are going to head for Mac’s place. They’ll need someone to keep a cool head and a sharp watch.”

She snorted. “You think I can’t handle myself?”

“Don’t,” I said quietly. “I was ready to take you with me into literal Hell and you know it. Every warrior gets hurt. Has limits. There’s no shame in acknowledging that.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then she asked, “If you were hurt, would you sit this one out?”

I said nothing.

“It’s my home, too, Harry.”

I clenched my teeth.

“And,” she said, leaning her cheek against my biceps, “if you try to strand me on that damned island to keep me safe, I swear to God I will shoot you in the leg.”

I stiffened and gave her a quick guilty glance.

She smiled wanly in the green chemical light, widened her eyes, and said in a dramatic impersonation of my voice, “I’ll be back in time.” She snorted. “Get over yourself. You are who you are. And mostly I like it. But let’s treat each other like grown-ups. Promise me.”

I felt sick.

Karrin was smart, tough, and capable. She was also hurt. She was also right. And what was coming would give her no special consideration whatsoever.

But she was who she was. Karrin Murphy could no more have sat quietly by while Chicago burned than she could grow wings and fly. She would fight for her home. She would die for it.

Some part of me made whimpering animal sounds, way down deep inside.

At the end of the day, people have to be who they are. If you try to take that from them, you diminish them. You reduce them to children, unable to make decisions for themselves. There’s no way to poison your relationship with someone else faster.

I didn’t want to lose her.

If she fought, she might well be taken from me.

If I tried to keep her from fighting, I would lose her for sure.

So while my heart and some enormous portion of my soul quailed in terror, my mouth said, “I promise.”

I felt her arm go around my lower back and she squeezed gently for a moment. “Thank you.”

“Promise me you’ll fight smart,” I said.

She bumped her head against my arm and said, “How would you know if I did?”

I huffed out part of a laugh. And we stood together.





34


The little cheap plastic compass swung and bobbed as the boat did, but I didn’t need it. Now that I had acquainted myself with the island’s arcane functions, I had my own personal compass, a subtle, tiny sensation in my head that always told me where I could find the place.

That was part and parcel of being the Warden of Demonreach.

I felt it when the Water Beetle hit the outer ring of defenses, about a mile out from the island. With a few words and an effort of will, I could have had the island causing treacherous currents, frigid vortexes that would pull intruders down to sharp rocks below. The lake would have boiled like a sea under a storm.

I could tell that Karrin felt the island’s influence as well, a subtle presence that caused unease in all who entered. It prevented casual visitors: No one who came into these waters would feel at ease until they’d changed course to go around the island. Hell, planes didn’t fly directly overhead; that’s how powerful the island’s influence was.

That wasn’t a planned defense, exactly. It was simply the natural presence of the things held prisoner there—a menagerie of supernatural terrors that started with some of the foulest beings I’d ever faced and progressed down into the depths of nightmare from there. Demonreach was the Alcatraz of the supernatural world—and I was the guy holding all the keys.

I could have found that place blindfolded and in the dark. Hell, I was finding it in the dark, piloting the ship without much need to turn the wheel until the looming mass of the island rose above us.