The Law (The Dresden Files #17.4)(7)

Tripp blinked at the fob and then at the car, and tried pushing the button again, right about the same time the hex ran its course, and sparks started flying from the fob and the car alike, before everything went dead.

“Goddamned Japanese junk!” Tripp snarled.

Which… said so much about him.

I caught him by the back of his sports jacket and half-threw him onto the hood of his car, letting the veil fade out as I did, so that as he whirled with a cry, I emerged from a blur of shadowy color, looming over him.

He went for his revolver.

I slammed my staff onto the street, and an effort of will caused the runes along its length to blaze with green-gold power. I pointed my finger again and snarled, “Forzare!” Invisible force struck against his gun hand and sent the revolver tumbling out of his grasp and into the street.

He tried to get his feet back to the ground, and I kicked him lightly in the chest, pushing him back onto the car’s hood. I lifted my right hand into a claw shape, directed my will, and hissed, “Infusiarus!”

Hellish-looking green-white fire, like from Maleficent’s dragon-form, kindled between my fingers, casting unholy light over Tripp Gregory’s wide-eyed visage. I didn’t give him time to think. I’d refined the spell a bit in my spare moments over the past several years, and flickers of not-quite-real fire curled out between my fingers dramatically. I had to be careful with it—even magical fire was still fire. Most of the energy of the spell was used to keep it from burning the crap out of myself, leaving only a fairly small area in the open space at the heel of my palm where the heat could escape.

“I warned you, Tripp,” I said in a cold, hard voice. “But you didn’t listen.”

He squinted at the fire in my hand, and then at me, and then let out a breath of relief and said, “Oh, Jesus Christ. For a second there I thought it was serious. I just got the Heebie Jeebies.”

I blinked.

“The what?” I asked, somewhat blankly.

Hey, I wasn’t used to that reaction from outfit guys being threatened with an orb of smoldering plasma, okay?

“The terrorist attack last month?” he said, as if I was an idiot. “It’s all over the fucking news? Hydro-something or other, the chemical in the hallucination gas the terrorists used. HBGB. I must have been exposed or something cause I’m tripping fucking balls right now.”

I blinked and shook my head and eyed him. “Look, dude. I am going to melt your face off if you don’t back off the lawsuit on Maya.” I pressed my hand a bit closer. “Believe me.”

He rolled his eyes and slapped my arm aside. I had to adjust the position of my hand to keep him from being badly burned.

“Give me a break, Dresden,” he said. “Look, there’s not much use in trying to scare a guy who is already hallucinating. If you’re here to beat me up, get it over with. I got shit to do.”

“I don’t think you understand what’s going on here,” I said, realizing as I did that I was precisely correct.

“Whatever,” Tripp said. “I’ve taken beatings before. And Heebie Jeebies or not, you ain’t got the stones to kill me. I looked into you. You think you’re a white hat. So, throw me a beating, break an arm, take a kneecap, or shut the fuck up.”

I took half a step back, somewhat confused.

I mean, I’ve had a lot of reactions to my magic. Outright denial had never been one of them.

Tripp continued. “News says the Heebie Jeebies are in the water. Probably got it in the shower with Amy.” He wrinkled his nose. “Says you should just go have a nice lie-down in a dark room until things get real again. Christ, maybe I should fucking do that.”

“I… uh…” I said.

“Look,” he said. “You think I don’t know how these tactics work? You can beat me up if you want to. You’re a big guy and I ain’t. But it ain’t gonna change what I do.” He blinked a few times and shook his head. “Fucking Heebie Jeebies. Get it over with or fuck off.”

I stepped back from the idiot, lowered my hand, and let the spell go. You can’t bluff someone that invincibly stupid. It just doesn’t work.

“Whew,” Tripp said, as the spell faded. He blinked his eyes several times. “Think a fucking lie down is a good idea, maybe. You’re shit at being a hardass, Dresden. Go tell Maya that she’s gonna have to pony up the money one way or another. Where’s my fucking gun?”

“Leave it,” I told him.

“Get another one easy enough,” he said, and stood up from the car. He eyed me. “Wait. You might not even fucking be here.” He peered at me, then the gun, and went over and picked it up.

I didn’t stop him. I mean, stars and stones. I kept a defensive spell ready in case he turned the weapon on me, but he only shoved it in his sports coat pocket, and said, “Yeah, might have imagined all of this. Fuck you. I’m going to bed.”

And he stumped off back to his house and left me standing there next to a dead BMW, feeling utterly disoriented. As far as I could tell, HBGB was a propaganda stunt on behalf of the mortal powers-that-be to help cover up the massive presence of the supernatural in Chicago during the attack, and to work to silence anyone who tried to bear witness to what they had experienced. The news was saying that it was a toxin that would linger for a time, and could have long term deleterious psychological effects, but I knew the truth: It didn’t exist.