Peace Talks (The Dresden Files, #16)(51)

“She says she’s got no idea why he did it,” I said. “Right now it looks like she means to disavow him in front of the Accorded nations.”

“And you believe her?” Ramirez asked.

“No reason not to,” I said.

Yoshimo hissed, “Vampires are not to be trusted.”

The intensity of the words was, uh, kind of threatening, really.

“I’m not trusting a vampire,” I said to her. “I’m trusting my reason. Lara Raith has been all about supporting the Accords. These peace talks are going to be a major test of them. She wouldn’t do anything to rock the boat this hard right before they’re due to begin.”

“Unless she has deeper plans, and this is only part of them,” Ramirez said. He glanced at Yoshimo and nodded.

Yoshimo looked at me, frowned, and started to say something. Wild Bill put a hand on her shoulder. She glanced back and up at him, some strain visible briefly in her expression—then she smoothed it out into a mask again. Then she came toward me, hands empty, and stopped a couple feet in front of me. I found myself tensing.

When I did, up came Yoshimo’s and Wild Bill’s guns, not quite pointing at me, fingers not actually resting on triggers—but the barrels were only a twitch away from being locked on my chest, and at this range professionals wouldn’t miss.

“Easy,” Chandler said, his voice extremely calm and smooth. “Easy, everyone. Let’s not make this into something it doesn’t have to be.”

“What the hell is going on here, people?” I asked.

“We’re trying to help you, Harry,” Ramirez said, his voice like stone. “But you sure as hell aren’t making it easy.”

“Putting a tracker on me?” I asked, much more mildly than I felt at the moment. “Pulling over my car. Pointing weapons at me. You’ve got a damned peculiar idea of what help looks like, Carlos.”

“We have to know that you haven’t been compromised,” Chandler said in that same soothing tone. “Dresden, be reasonable. The last time a member of the Council operating at your level went bad, he bound the head of the Wardens under a geas, provided untold amounts of intelligence to our enemies resulting in tens of thousands of deaths, and summoned a mistfiend that could have wiped out most of the White Council.”

“You think I’m another Peabody,” I snarled.

“I think everyone here wants to show the Council that you aren’t,” Chandler said. He held up his hands helplessly. “We’re living in unstable times and playing for very high stakes, Harry.”

“We’re friends,” I said.

“Then let us be your friends,” Chandler said, his voice all but pleading.

“Yoshimo is just gathering evidence,” Ramirez said. “She isn’t going to hurt you.”

I clenched my jaw a couple of times.

The last time I’d faced off with this many Wardens, they’d been there to arrest me, after the death of Justin DuMorne. I’d been sixteen. I remember how frightening those grim spartan figures had been.

And those people hadn’t been through a war like these guys had. Fighting like mad against a relentless Red Court, always on the back foot, struggling to survive—and eventually turning the tide to a long and ugly stalemate. It was possible that I was looking at the most combat-experienced, dangerous team of Wardens on the planet.

I knew them.

They knew me.

A fight between us would be something swift and ugly, and no one would play fair or pull punches. I’d taught them better than that.

“Bear in mind,” I said in a very quiet voice, “that any spell you cast upon me, you’re also casting upon Mab’s left hand and personal headsman. If this is a sucker punch, she might take it personally. She might even get angry about it.”

For several seconds after that, you could hear the trees breathing. Wild Bill and Chandler traded a look.

“Do it,” Ramirez said.

Yoshimo lowered her rifle until it hung from its strap. Then she lifted her hands, made a few sharp-cornered passes with them, and murmured something low and harsh sounding. There was, as I had expected, a fluttering of breeze around me in time with the movements of her hands, and then a rush of air and a reciprocal fluttering around Yoshimo. She made a few more precise, geometric movements with her hands, and the air around her flickered with sparkles of red and amber light. Yoshimo studied the flickers for a moment and frowned, then slashed a hand at the air and ended the spell. She looked away from me.

“Well?” Ramirez said.

“He’s been with at least one sexual partner in the past several hours,” Yoshimo said. Her voice was smooth and calm on the surface, but there was boiling, acidic anger underneath.

And, as I realized what they’d been doing, my own anger started swelling dangerously. The Council had poked its nose in my business my entire adult life. It didn’t need to start poking it there. My heart started beating faster.

“Who was it?” Ramirez asked me, voice hard.

“The nerve,” I snarled.

“Was it Lara?” he pressed. His jaw set like stone. “Harry, has she gotten to you?”

My fingers tightened on my staff until the wood creaked. “You’re crossing a goddamned line, Carlos.”

“Harry,” Chandler began, his tone soothing. He reached out to put a companionable hand on my shoulder.