Peace Talks (The Dresden Files, #16)(59)

There was a very lonely quality to his old room—posters on the wall advertised bands that few people cared about anymore. The clothes hanging in the closet were years out of style, waiting faithfully for someone who might not even fit into them anymore. The bed seemed too small for the man I knew, who I’d seen fighting some genuine darkness, and paying the price for his courage, and it was certainly too small for the husband and father he’d become.

But I bet it would make a great room for grandkids to stay in when they visited fussy old Grandma and Grandpa Carpenter, the boring squares who never did anything interesting.

Hah.

And meanwhile, it would do quite well for a worried, world-weary wizard.

I slept, not long enough but very hard, and woke to a small face about two inches from mine and late-afternoon sunlight coming through the window.

“Hi,” Maggie said when I managed to get an eye to creak open.

“Hmph,” I said, in as gentle a tone as I could manage.

“Are you awake now?” she asked.

I blinked. It took about five minutes to accomplish that much. “Apparently.”

“Okay,” she said seriously. “I’m not supposed to bother you until you’re awake.” She pushed back from the bed and ran out of the room.

I took that under advisement for a sober moment and then heard her feet pounding back up the stairs. She was carrying a large box, wrapped in white paper and tied with a length of silver cord. She grunted and hefted it onto the general vicinity of my hips, with the inherent accuracy that small children and most animals seemed to possess.

I flinched and caught the box, preventing any real damage, and sat blearily up. “What is this?”

“It was on the porch this morning,” Maggie said. “Mouse doesn’t think there’s a bomb or poison or anything.”

I eyed the box. There was a paper tag on it. I caught it and squinted until I could make out Molly’s handwriting:

I KNOW YOU MEANT TO GET ONE EVENTUALLY. M.



“Hmmm,” I said, and opened the box with Maggie looking on in eager interest.

“Awww,” she said in disappointment a moment later, as I drew a new suit out of the box. “It’s just clothes.”

“Nothing wrong with clothes,” I said.

“Yeah, but it could have been a knife or a gun or a magic sword or something.” She sighed. “You know. Cool wizard stuff to help you fight monsters.” She picked up the silver-grey rough silk of the suit’s coat. “And this is weird fabric.”

I ran my hand over the cloth, musing. “Weird how?”

“It just … feels weird and looks weird. I mean, look at it. Does that look like something you’d see on TV?”

“It’s spider silk,” I mused. “I think it’s a spider-silk suit.”

“Ewg,” Maggie said, jerking her hand back. Then she put it on again, more firmly. “That’s so gross.”

“And it’s enchanted,” I mused. I could feel the subtle currents of energy moving through the cloth, beneath my palms. I closed my eyes for a moment and felt the familiar shapes of my own defensive wardings, the same ones I worked into my leather coat. I’d taught the grasshopper the basics of enchanting gear by using my own most familiar formulae. She was probably the only person alive who could have duplicated my own work so closely. “Yeah, see? Once I’m wearing this, it’s going to store the energy of my body heat, of my movements, and use it to help redirect incoming forces.”

Maggie looked skeptical. “Well. Enchanted armored bug suit is better than just a suit, I guess.”

“Yes, it is,” I said. I checked the box. It included all the extras, including buttons and cuff links and a pinky crest ring in the glittering deep blue opals favored by the Winter Court.

The ring pulsed with stored power, with densely packed magical energy. I could feel it against my skin like the light of a tiny sun. I carefully pocketed it, then changed my mind and put it on. If I needed the thing, I was going to really need it, tout de suite. “It’s also the same material the Warden capes are made of.” I set the suit down and frowned for a moment. “So Molly wants to make a statement with my outfit.”

“That you aren’t afraid of spiders?” Maggie asked. “I mean, what else would that say?”

I pursed my lips. “You know … I’m not really sure.”

So some other crosscurrents were swirling, only no one was saying anything about it. Par for the course when dealing with Mab, but I was used to more open communication with Molly. Only … taking on the mantle of the Winter Lady had given my former Padawan a lot of power, and whether you’re talking about the supernatural world or any other one, more power meant more obligations, more responsibilities. Molly might not have entirely free will, as the concept was generally understood, anymore.

And Mab loved her some secrets. If she wanted them kept, I’m not sure Molly would be able to tell me.

Or maybe I was just being paranoid.

Well. I’d done pretty well, in the survival department, by assuming that my paranoia was justified. Maybe taking out an insurance policy wouldn’t be a bad idea.

“Dad?” Maggie asked me. “What is it? You’ve been staring into space for like three minutes.”

I blinked. “Could you please run and tell Michael that I need to borrow his office for a private phone call?” I asked her.