Peace Talks (The Dresden Files, #16)(43)

“Oh for God’s sake,” Andi said. “He’s an adult human being, guys. And I’m tired. Draw conclusions, Harry. You won’t be far off. And I’m not cleaning this mess up.” She turned, took Marci’s hand, and walked firmly back toward the bedroom. Marci’s cheeks flushed bright red, but she went with Andi.

I looked at Butters, whose earlobes could have been mistaken for tamales, and arched an eyebrow.

The little guy took a deep breath. Then he said, in a calm and sincere tone, “Harry, tease me about this or screw it up for me and I’ll knock your teeth out.”

And he said it right.

I mean, there’s a way to convey your sincere willingness to commit violence. Most people seem to think it involves a lot of screaming and waving your arms. It doesn’t. Really dangerous people don’t feel a need to shout about it. Delivering that kind of warning, sincerely, takes mostly the sort of confidence that only comes from experience.

Butters had only had the Sword since the end of winter. He’d only been doing full-speed Knight work for about a month. But I’d seen him square off against maybe the scariest and most dangerous bad guy I personally knew—and Butters won.

And here he was, facing off with me like a grouchy badger. He told me to back off and made me want to do it.

Damn. Little guy had gotten all grown up on me.

I lifted my hands, palms out in a gesture of peace, and said, “Okay. But I reserve the right to talk to you about it later.”

“Oh God, can we not?” Butters said. He went to rummage in the fridge, restless and uncomfortable as a schoolboy caught with adult magazines. “We’re sort of keeping this low-key.”

“Low-key, huh?”

“Look,” he said plaintively, “I’m honestly not quite sure how this happened, and I am not going to let anyone screw it up.”

“Butters,” I said. I waited until he turned to look at me. Then I said, “You’re not sitting in my kitchen asking for my help, man. I’m pretty sure you can make the choices for your own damned life. And there’s too much glass in my house to throw stones at anyone.”

His eyes searched my expression for a moment before some of the tension went out of him. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Sorry, man.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” I said. I glanced back toward where the women had disappeared to and opened my mouth. Then I ran my tongue thoughtfully over my teeth and closed it.

Honestly, it’s really kind of startling how many problems that avoids. I should think about doing it more often.

“Well,” Butters said, in the tone of a man getting back to business. “The Paranet has sent out advance warning. Everyone’s been told to see something, say something. How about some details?”

I nodded and let him know what was up with the Accorded nations and their peace talks, and what had happened to Thomas.

He listened, his expression growing increasingly concerned. “That sounds, um, like it could get interesting.”

Something in his tone made me look up at him. “Oh?”

“Sanya’s in town,” Butters explained. “Hotel by the airport. He was just transferring through O’Hare, but his flight got delayed. Seven times.”

There were currently two Knights operating in the whole world. Two of them. And the Knights of the Sword (or Cross, depending on how you looked at their professional priorities) tended to wind up wherever they were needed most, always by pure coincidence. In fact, the coincidence was so freaking pure that it basically told me that it wasn’t. I have a dubious relationship with God—but judging from the timing of the entrances of the Knights He sponsored, He would have made one hell of a travel agent.

“Ah,” I said. “Um. Maybe Sanya could visit for a couple of days. You guys could swap some Knightly stories or something.”

Butters gave me a tight smile. “Right. How do I help you?”

I shook my head. “I’ve learned by now that you guys are gonna show up exactly where the Almighty wants you, and I’m probably smart not to bump anybody’s elbow. So it’s up to you. How do you think you’ll do the most good?”

He regarded me for a moment. Then he said quietly, “It’s the Paranet crowd I’m worried about.”

Magical talent is like the rest of it—not everybody gets the same amount. There are people like me who can sling around the forces of the universe as if they were their personal play toys. And then there are folks who, while gifted, just can’t do that much. The have-nots of the magical world had an unenviable position in life—aware of the world of the paranormal, but without sufficient personal power to affect it.

Until the Paranet, anyway. Use of the Internet had done something for the have-nots that nothing else had before—it had united them. Meeting people, making friends, coordinating activities, had all become more possible to do in relative safety, and it had created something just as powerful as tremendous inborn magical talent: a community. Supernatural predators were having less and less luck against the have-nots these days, as they coordinated actions, communicated with one another about possible threats—and joined their individually unimpressive talents into coordinated efforts that made them, in some senses, damned near as strong as a wizard themselves.

But though they had gathered enough strength to keep the vermin at bay, they still couldn’t stand against a storm like the one that was brewing.