Peace Talks (The Dresden Files, #16)(71)

I traded a nod with him as I passed, and he mouthed the word “Later” at me as I did.

I made it to the buffet without causing any major diplomatic incidents, which for me is remarkable. I picked up a plate and started with the platter of tiny tenderloin steaks. I mean, sure, they were meant to be little nothings, appetizers, but if you stacked a dozen of them together you had something that resembled a real steak.

I was moving on to look for something delicious to go with them when a hairy hand the size of a cafeteria tray, lumpy with scars and muscle, clamped down on my right shoulder.

I nearly flew out of my shoes as panic flashed through me, and my brain took me back to a few months before, when the owner of a hand like that had been stalking me through the burning ruins of one of the weapons vaults kept by the King of the Underworld, Hades himself. The Genoskwa had occupied more than the usual space in my nightmares since, and the sudden surge of adrenaline caused the Winter mantle to go berserk, readying my body for combat in an instant.

Only it was already too late. The fingers, thick as summer sausages, had already tightened down. It had me.

“Dresden,” growled an enormous, rumbling voice. “Good. Finally, I can pay you back properly.”





21


When someone has ahold of you, there’s a basic rule of thumb to follow, which Murphy had taught me a while back. I called it the Rule of Thumb. The idea is to twist whatever part they’ve got hold of toward their thumb in a circling motion. The basic principle is that it’s easier to overcome the power of one thumb than it is four fingers supported by the thumb. The Genoskwa’s grip was incredibly strong—but the Winter mantle gave me enough physical capability, at moments like this, that I wasn’t exactly a ninety-pound weakling, either.

His right hand was on my right shoulder. So I dipped suddenly, spinning clockwise and pulling sharply back and down, pitting the weight and power of my entire body against the monster’s single thumb.

I did it just right—and even so, only barely managed to break the grip and pull away. I also managed to jostle the buffet table, setting the serving trays to clanking, and nearly knocked the thing over with my ass as I crouched, dropping my plate to lift my arms in what would probably be a useless gesture of self-defense.

Only it wasn’t the Genoskwa.

Standing in front of me was a goddamned Sasquatch, a hairy humanoid figure a solid nine feet and change in height, layered with dark brown hair and muscle. He was wearing—I’m not even kidding —what looked like a Victorian-era tuxedo, tailored to his enormous size. He had spectacles across his broad, flat nose, their lenses the size of tea saucers, and they still looked a little small on him. His hair, all of it that was visible, had been shampooed and conditioned, and for a second I thought I was looking at a Wookie.

“Hah,” rumbled the Sasquatch. His face spread into an uneasy smile that showed me broad teeth that looked like they could crunch through a fence post like it was a stalk of celery. “I heard you met my cousin.”

I blinked several times and then realized that everyone in the room nearby was staring at us. I’d dropped both my staff and my snack plate, and the servers behind the buffet table looked like they wanted to quietly vanish. I huffed out a breath, pushed away the Winter mantle’s scream to engage in bloody combat, and said, “Wow. River Shoulders? Is that you?”

“Ungh,” River Shoulders grunted in the affirmative. He gestured down at the tuxedo awkwardly. “Had to put on this monkey suit. Didn’t mean it to be a disguise.”

Strength of a River in His Shoulders was a shaman of the Forest People who had apparently been living right under everyone’s nose for hundreds of years. He’d hired me for some jobs in the past, and he was a decent guy. He also happened to be very large and very scary.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him.

He shrugged. His shoulders were a good five and a half feet across, so it was a fairly impressive motion. “After that mess in Oklahoma, I thought a lot about what you had to say, about my child. And you were right.” He pursed his lips briefly. “Out of line, arrogant, but right.”

I felt myself flash him a grin. “Seems about correct for a wizard.”

“Eh, for a human,” he agreed. “Called a council of my people. Told them to leave my son alone or I’d start breaking skulls. And then we decided to join the Accords.”

I tilted my head. “After lying low for so long?” I asked. “Why?”

River Shoulders glanced around the room, maybe a little nervously. “So I could get the chance to pay you back. What you did for me, for my family, was more than just work for hire. You cared. You chanced making me mad to show me I was being foolish when no one else would. Even when I got mad. Pretty good friend stuff, there. And you gave me my son.”

I cleared my throat and looked away. “Yeah, well. Okay.”

“I heard you went up against one of the Forest People and beat him.”

“Killed him,” I said.

River Shoulders eyed me and repeated, “Beat him.”

A little cold feeling went through me. “What?”

He nodded. “Big part of why I’m here. Wanted to warn you.”

“How?” I demanded. “There was nothing left but ketchup.”

River Shoulders shrugged again. “I don’t know how. But I saw him not a moon ago. Blood on His Soul won’t forget. Keep your eyes open, huh?” Once again, his eyes tracked nervously around the room. “Hey, does it feel hot in here to you?”