The Law (The Dresden Files #17.4)(25)

“What!?” Tripp was screaming. I knew he was screaming because I could, just barely, hear him over the solid tone of sound my overloaded ears were producing. He’d been a little closer to the blast than me—blood was running from one of his ears, where the drum had burst. “What just happened?! What is happening!?!”

“Congratulations, Tripp,” I muttered wearily. “Now you’ve pissed off someone else really dangerous.”





Chapter Fourteen





Tripp and I shambled away from the explosion. He was in some kind of shock, I think, because he just sort of staggered along dizzily wherever I directed him. The otso had left a hyper-obvious trail of destruction behind it, including a beginning point, and it wouldn’t take the authorities long to find it. We took a long way around and came in from the other direction, and I managed to bundle Tripp into the Munstermobile and pull out quietly as lights and sirens were converging on the site of the destruction.

A police cruiser pulled up next to my car, and the officer in it glanced aside at me, blinked, and then took a second, harder look.

I mean, smushed up car being driven by a guy covered in the dust of an explosion. And it was kind of an obvious car. I probably had this one coming.

I traded a quick glance with the young cop and recognized him with a pang of phantom pain in my chest. He’d been one of the people of Chicago to follow the banner of my will, during the battle. They’d fought like hell against the invaders, despite being a pick-up team of volunteers. Everyone who followed me that night had wound up wounded.

Most were dead.

Wordlessly, he opened the top part of his jacket, to reveal a little homemade craft-store pin with a bean glued to it, the award I’d given the survivors at the wake for the fallen—one of my Knights of the Bean.

He folded the jacket closed over the pin again, gave me a grave nod, and then he simply ignored me and cruised on by.

I got the Munstermobile out of the immediate area, driving slowly and calmly.

Right.

I eyed the shivering figure of Tripp Gregory. Bombs on a busy street. The little weasel had no sense of proportion or personal consequence. This entire business was getting out of hand.

It was time to call a meeting.

I swallowed. I was going to have to make a call I did not want to make.





Marcone and Gard showed up at precisely eleven o’clock that evening, and within half a minute, Talvi Inverno and Ms. Lapland also arrived at a warehouse on the waterfront where I knew both Marcone and the White Council had done business—the kind that left them with evidence to be disposed of. The warehouse was an excellent place to create new bodies. I had chosen the site deliberately.

Tripp Gregory sat on the floor a few feet away from me, shivering and paying very little attention to what was happening around him. His eyes wouldn’t focus on anything, and he just kept muttering about the Heebie Jeebies. We were both still covered in dust and debris.

Marcone took in the scene with a long, silent look. Then he walked over to me, Ms. Gard at his right hand, and stood facing me from about ten feet away.

“Mister Inverno,” Marcone said. “Please join us.”

Talvi eyed me and then Tripp Gregory, and the demigod’s face turned into a frown. His bright green eyes smoldered for a moment, and he directed a slow glare on Ms. Lapland, who was still wearing the attractive number from the earlier meeting.

Lapland’s cheeks colored brightly, but she lifted her chin with a haughty glare, first at Talvi and then at Tripp Gregory. She radiated hatred for the men.

“Thank you for coming,” I said quietly, and I barely had to swallow any of the bitter taste of my mouth to say it. “This is getting messier than it has to get, for all of us. Here’s what I know.”

I gave them all a rundown of what had happened after the meeting earlier that evening. I used short declarative sentences and a neutral tone of voice.

When I finished, Marcone said, “After Dresden’s call, I checked with some contractors who have done work for me. They confirmed that Mister Gregory did commission a device.”

I nodded at Marcone. Then glanced at Talvi.

The handsome man grimaced. “The bear skull is indeed gone from my office. Ms. Lapland has refused to answer my questions regarding its disposition. I presume she lost her temper at the treatment inflicted upon her by Mister Gregory.”

“In summary,” I said. “Both of you have had your people try to end my life in the past three hours.” I exhaled. “This has become an Accords matter.”

The Unseelie Accords were sort of the Geneva Conventions of the supernatural world. They governed how the supernatural powers resolved conflicts between one another.

“Point of order,” Marcone supplied. “Mister Gregory is no signatory.”

“But he is your vassal,” I said irritably, “by every definition and tradition.”

Marcone’s eyes slid aside to Gard, who gave him a careful nod. He opened his hand in a gesture as if dropping something on the ground and said, “Very well. I withdraw the point. As his liege, I bear a measure of responsibility for his actions.”

His voice became very slightly edged. Tripp Gregory was not so far checked out that he didn’t cringe a little away from Marcone when he spoke in that voice.

“And you,” I said, turning to Talvi Inverno. “Nameless son, is it your intention to throw down with me?”