The Law (The Dresden Files #17.4)(15)

I blinked. “You’re giving someone else credit?”

The skull somehow gave the impression of a scowl. “Well, I have to admit this, the kid’s skull would make a fine backup, if you ever decide to make me a new apartment. He’s weird, but his mind is well-organized.”

“Bob, I’m not going to---nnnghf,” I sighed in exasperation. “I’m not going to behead someone and spend years enchanting his skull so that you can have a summer home.”

“Oh,” Bob said innocently. “No. Of course not. I’m just saying.”

The coffee began dripping and started smelling good. “Continue, please.”

“Paranoid Gary and I think that you’re dealing with a deity, or at least a demigod.”

“Jesus,” I said.

“No, this guy is Finnish, not Jewish,” Bob said seriously.

I decided to let it go. “Finnish? Who?”

“You know the goddess Loviatarm, right?”

“The Maiden of Pain?” I asked.

“That’s the old school Dungeons and Dragons version,” Bob said. “The real one was probably a hag that attained apotheosis.”

“Apotheosis?”

“Ascension to immortality and deific levels of power,” Bob supplied cheerfully. “Like Kemmler, but she did it a lot better and without encouraging any World Wars.”

“Okay,” I said thoughtfully, keeping an eye on the coffee pot. “How does this connect, Bob?”

“Well, she had a bunch of offspring,” Bob said. “Nine of them were called the nine diseases, and she sent them up against the Finnish wizard-hero, Vainamoinen.”

I sneezed. Totally a coincidence.

“Anyway,” Bob said. “They didn’t do so good, and they got whacked. But she had a tenth son who she cast out.”

“Cast out why?”

“He was too much trouble, I guess,” Bob said. “She didn’t give him a name, which would have given him even more power. He had a lot of magic and was cast out into the world to cause strife and division. Kind of his raison d’etre. A couple of the wizards I’ve worked for ran across him over the years, and he wound up working for Kemmler and helped him kick off a couple of World Wars.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “Mab Paper Clipped him afterward.”

“What?” Bob said.

“Operation Paper Clip,” I clarified. “The US Government snapped up a bunch of German rocket scientists and researchers after the war, used them to usher in the space age.”

“Oh,” Bob said. “Well, I guess, sure. Once the conflict was done, a lot of flotsam washed up in various places. The nameless son wound up seeking protection under Mab’s banner. He’s been a vassal of Winter ever since—hence, Winter Winter.”

“And Mab’s kept him stationed in the mortal world, familiar with their power structures,” I said. “Presumably so that she can use him to cause strife and division if she ever needs it.”

The coffee finished, but suddenly I wasn’t sure my stomach wanted any. I had wound up working for Mab because I’d needed shelter myself—now more than ever, now that the White Council had given me the boot. Mab had a core of honor that could not be questioned, but she also didn’t possess much in the way of empathy or compassion. She was ultimately a kind of protector of the mortal world, but if she thought the best way to protect that world would be to set mortals at one another’s throats in conflicts that killed billions, she wouldn’t lose a second of sleep doing it. If she slept. I wasn’t really sure.

I poured the coffee defiantly, added creamer and a lot of sugar and sipped, daring my stomach to cross me. “Okay,” I said. “So he’s major bad news. Why is Lapland a tip-off?”

“Well, Talvi’s basically a Finnish wizard-shaman,” Bob said. “Back in the day, before they mostly signed on to the White Council, their mojo was kinda based on boasting.”

“Boasting?” I said.

“Like you’ve never done that before a fight,” Bob complained.

I bobbed my head to one side. He wasn’t wrong. Occasionally it was important to let the bad guys know who they were dealing with. Or maybe it was important to remind myself who they were dealing with. Either way, I’d been known to lay out who I was before a fight to ground myself in my identity. “Okay,” I said.

“Their enemies were the Lapland witches,” Bob said. “Not like mortal women. Hags, scions of Loviatar, breeding amongst the human population. They hated the Finns, like pathologically, did all kinds of horrible stuff to them whenever they could.”

“So, Ms. Lapland is likely a hag--that wasn’t her true form I was seeing,” I said.

“Probably not, boss,” Bob said cheerfully. “My guess? She’s a Lapland witch who lost her bid to sex-enslave a demigod-level sorcerer, got her own spell turned back on her, and she’s likely a pretty damned tough practitioner herself. She probably resents her fate and I expect she doesn’t like men in general, and wizards in particular.”

“Fun,” I said. “How tough?”

“The Wardens took them on at least three to one, back when they were fighting them in the fifteenth century.”

“Ouch,” I said. “How come Lapland and Inverno are working for freaking Marcone?”