Peace Talks (The Dresden Files, #16)(6)

“Well. They’re not wrong,” I said seriously. “Do you want any help?”

“I can do it by myself,” she said. “I know how to work the stove and Bonnie knows the recipe.”

“I know two hundred and twenty-seven individual pancake recipes!” Bonnie said. “Sixteen can be made with the current inventory of the kitchen!”

“We’re using number seven,” Maggie said seriously. “From scratch is best.”

That sounded like the makings of a huge mess to me. Mouse gave me what I swear was a smug look and licked his chops. It would be extra work to clean up afterward—but it would probably be good for Maggie to try it. So I leaned down and kissed her on the head and said, “Be careful of the stove. And let me know if you need help with anything, punkin.”

“See there, Miss Maggie?” Thomas said. “I told you so.”

I stopped and eyed him. “Did you set all this up so you could get pancakes?”

Thomas put on a serious expression and widened his eyes a little at Maggie. “I’m not saying that I didn’t.”

I rolled my eyes at him.

My daughter giggled. “Mister Thomas is okay, Dad.”

“You are very young. Tell you what. You let me deal with him,” I said. “You keep your mind on what you’re doing, okay? Be safe.”

“ ’Kay,” she said. She turned back to the task, and though her eyes were still puffy with sleep, she focused on the work with the instant morning energy that can be possessed only by someone who has not yet discovered the immutable necessity of coffee.

I settled down on the couch, nearby. The apartment was basically a single large room, sharing the kitchen, the dining room, and a living room with no walls between. There were two doors to the two bedrooms—Molly’s and mine. Well, technically the room was Molly’s. As far as I knew, she hadn’t actually been in it since I’d moved in, except for a couple of times she’d breezed through, petted Mouse, tickled Maggie, shared some sunny chat with me, and departed again.

It had been a while since we’d really talked.

The apartment reminded me of my old place in the basement of Mrs. Spunkelcrief’s boardinghouse. Only there was no musty, moldy smell of old basement. And it was bigger. And it was more brightly lit. And newer. And quite a bit cleaner. And it just didn’t feel right.

As dumpy as it had been, that grotty little apartment had been my home. Damn the vampires, for burning it down. Damn Marcone, for buying the property and putting up his new headquarters on the ground where home used to be.

I missed it.

Ah, well. There was no sense in brooding over it. Life never stays the same. There’s always some kind of curveball coming at you. Nothing to do but swing away.

Thomas picked a spot of wall to lean against where he could see the kitchen and sipped his coffee. His eyes were focused on Maggie with thoughtful intensity. “Living dangerously, eh?”

“Mouse will let me know if there’s a problem,” I said.

“Good dog, there,” Thomas said.

“You want,” I said, “I could write to Brother Wang. Tell him you want a puppy.”

“You already stole that one from him.” Thomas snorted.

“Accidentally,” I said. “Plus I think the furball stowed away on purpose. Even if Brother Wang doesn’t like it, I figure he won’t gainsay the dog.”

“Well,” Thomas mused, “he is a pretty good dog.”

“Damned right he is,” I said.

“Let me think about it,” Thomas said. “There’s a lot going on.”

He still hadn’t taken his eyes off Maggie.

“Hey, man,” I said. “You okay?”

He glanced aside at me and offered me a faint smile. “ Just … thinking real hard about the future.”

“Well,” I said. “That’s understandable.” I closed my eyes and felt my limbs aching in dull, steady throbs that kept time with my heartbeat. Suddenly, I sneezed, hard.

“God bless you,” Maggie said promptly from the kitchen.

“Nnngh,” I called. “Thank you.” The sneeze had sent a surge of aching sensation through my limbs that took several seconds to fade. I opened one eye. That wasn’t right.

The mantle of power of the Winter Knight was what let me keep pace with my brother the vampire while running in sand and wearing two hundred pounds of extra weight. One of the things the mantle did was to dull pain, to the point where I experienced it only as a kind of tense, silvery sensation. Broken bones were sort of annoying. A bleeding wound was something of a distraction—but I didn’t ever, ever just ache.

Except now I was.

Stupid Winter mantle. It kept up a constant assault of primal, feral emotions and desires that were like supercharged versions of my own instincts. I didn’t go out for intense exercise every morning because I enjoyed it. I did it because discipline and routine helped me keep the more primal instincts in check. Daily intense exercise forced the mantle to expend energy in keeping my body going—on my schedule, at my will—and as a result reduced the amount of pressure it could apply to my conscious thoughts. And while it did make me able to ignore pain and to push my body well beyond the normal limits of human endurance, the mantle’s influence was a steady nuisance that required constant effort to keep buttoned up.