Peace Talks (The Dresden Files, #16)(66)

“Nobody ever said the job would be easy,” I said. “Only that it would make us all rich.”

At that a startled huff of laughter went up; Wardens were paid mainly in acrimony.

“Relax, guys,” I said. “Believe me when I say that everyone else is just as afraid to piss off Mab as we are. Stay sharp, be polite, and we’re home by ten.”

“Warden Ramirez,” Ebenezar said.

“You heard the man, folks.” Ramirez sighed. “Let’s mingle.”

Technically, this wasn’t my first visit to Marcone’s little fortress, but it was the first time I’d done so physically. I’d been dead during the last visit, or mostly dead, or comatose and projecting my spirit there, or something.

I try not to get bogged down in details like that.

But as I approached the front door, I was struck by two things: First, a modest, plain bronze plaque fixed to the wall that spelled out the words BETTER FUTURE SOCIETY in letters an inch high. Second, that my magical senses were all but assaulted by the humming power of the defensive enchantments that had apparently been built into each individual stone of the castle. I had to pause for a moment and put up a mild mental defense against the hum of unfamiliar power, and I had the impression that the other wizards with me had to do the same.

Whoever had constructed this place, they’d warded it at least as heavily as the defenses of the White Council’s own headquarters under Edinburgh. I could have hurled Power at this place all the ding-dong day, and it would have about as much effect as tossing handfuls of sand at sheet metal. It was similarly fortified against spiritual intrusion, with the only possible access points being the heavily armored entryways—and even those had been improved upon since I’d slipped my immaterial self through an open door.

Nothing was getting in now. The castle would make one hell of a defensive position.

Or, some nasty, suspicious part of me said, nothing was getting out, making it one hell of a trap.

“Huh,” Ebenezar said, squinting at the castle. “That’s old work. Real old.”

“Our people, you think?” I asked him.

“Nnngh,” he said, which meant that he didn’t think so. “Maybe Tylwyth Teg. Maybe even Tuatha.”

“Tuatha?”

The old man’s mouth curled up at one corner, and his eyes were thoughtful and approving. “The ancient enemy of the Fomor,” he said.

“Ah,” I said. “Statements are being made.”

“Better Future Society?” Ramirez asked, peering at the plaque.

“M—Baron Marcone, the White Court, and the Paranetters have formed an alliance against the Fomor here in Chicago the past few years,” I said. “Too many kids had gone missing.”

Wild Bill scowled darkly. “They turned to criminals and the White Court for help, did they?”

I straightened and turned slowly to Wild Bill, looking directly at him. “Their kids were being taken. And it wasn’t like we were helping them.”

Wild Bill quickly averted his gaze from mine. There was an uncomfortable silence.

“The reason for these talks is to try to undo a lot of bad calls,” Ebenezar said wearily. “Come on, children. Let’s get to work.”

I walked in beside the old man. Inside the doorway was an antechamber where we were politely greeted by a handsome young man of heritage so mixed it was impossible to localize to so much as a given continent but might be generally covered by “Mediterranean.” His hair was bleached white blond, and the man had truly unsettling eyes, somehow blending the colors of metallic gold with old-growth ivy. He wore a grey silk suit that didn’t show the lines of any concealed weapons he might be carrying. I’d observed him once, while I was busy being dead. He was one of Marcone’s troubleshooters, and his name was Childs.

A German shepherd dog stood calmly beside him, wearing a simple black nylon harness with one of those carrying handles on it.

“Hey there, Childs,” I said. “How’s tricks?” I extended my hand to the German shepherd, who gave it a polite sniff and then regarded me with considerably more calmness and professionalism than I was feeling.

“Good evening, ladies, gentlemen,” he said politely. “Have we met, sir?”

“I met you, Childs,” I said. “What’s with the dog?”

The man looked decidedly uncomfortable. “My employer’s main concern tonight is that no one brings any explosive compounds inside,” he said calmly.

“Yeah. That would suck, if everything blew up and the place burned down,” I said. “I speak from experience.” I might have given him a toothy smile as I said it.

“Hoss,” Ebenezar chided me gently.

Childs swallowed, probably exactly as hard as was warranted by the situation, but gave us a polite smile. “Please enjoy your evening, ladies and gentlemen.”

“Hngh,” Ebenezar said, and stumped inside. I let the younger Wardens follow the old man in and brought up the rear.

“Good work,” I said to the dog as I went by. I hooked a thumb at Childs. “Make sure he gets a cookie later. Him such a gentleman.”

The dog tilted his head, as dogs do, and his tail thumped once against Childs’s leg. The troubleshooter gave me a somewhat sour smile and turned his attention deliberately back to the front door.