“These Denarian creeps are also signatories of the Accords,” I said. “Marcone’s retainers are crying foul. They’ve asked me to formally protest the abduction and summon an Emissary to resolve the dispute.”
Seconds of silence ticked by.
“In what way,” Luccio repeated, her voice much harder this time, “is that relevant to the White Council?”
“The Accords don’t mean anything if they aren’t enforced and supported,” I said. “In the long run, it’s in our own best interests to make sure they’re supported now, before a precedent is set and—”
“Don’t bullshit me,” the captain of the Wardens snarled, a hint of an Italian accent creeping into her speech. “If we take formal action it could provoke a war—a war we simply cannot afford. We all know the Red Court is only catching its breath. We can ill afford the losses we’ve already taken, much less those we might assume in a new conflict.”
I made sure to keep my voice steady, grim. “Mab has contacted me personally. She has indicated that it is strongly in our own best interests to intervene.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie. I hadn’t ever specified who we meant. And with any luck the mention of Mab would keep Luccio’s attention completely. The only reason the Red Court hadn’t wiped us out in the years-long war was that Mab had given the Council right-of-way through the portions of the Nevernever under her control, allowing us wizards to stay as mobile as our opponents, who had considerably less difficulty employing mortal vehicles to maneuver its soldiery.
“Jesu Christi,” Luccio spat. “She means to withdraw our right-of-way through Winter if we don’t accede to her demands.”
“Well,” I said, “she never actually came out and said that.”
“Of course she didn’t. She never speaks plainly at all.”
“She does keep her deals, though,” I pointed out.
“She doesn’t make deals she can’t slide out of. She’s forbidden the Ways to her people but also to the Wyldfae as a gesture of courtesy. All she needs to do is relax her ban against the Wyldfae, and we’d be forced to travel in strength every time we went through the Ways.”
“She’s a sneaky bitch,” I agreed. I crossed my fingers.
Luccio exhaled forcefully through her nose. “Very well. I will forward the appropriate notifications, pending approval by the Senior Council. Which Emissary would you prefer?”
“The Archive. We have a working relationship.”
Luccio mmmmm ed again. I heard a pencil scratching. “Dresden,” she said, “I cannot stress to you enough how vital it is that we avoid general hostilities, even with a relatively small power.”
Translation: Don’t start another war, Harry.
“But,” she continued, “we can afford to lose the paths through Winter even less.”
Translation: Unless you really have to.
“I hear you,” I said. “I’ll do my best.”
“Do better,” Luccio said, her tone blunt. “There are those on the Senior Council who hold the opinion that we’re already fighting one war because of your incompetence.”
I felt heat flush up my neck. “If they bring that up, remind them that my incompetence is the only reason they weren’t all blasted to molecules by a newborn god,” I shot back. “And after that, remind them that because of my incompetence, we’re enjoying a cease-fire that we desperately needed to replace our losses. And after that—”
“That is enough, Warden,” the captain snapped.
I fought down my frustration and clamped my mouth shut.
Hey, we were coming up on the holidays. They’re a time of miracles.
“I’ll notify you when I learn something,” Luccio said, and hung up the phone.
I hung up too, harder than I really needed to. I turned to find Michael and Sanya staring at me.
“Harry,” Michael said quietly, “that was Captain Luccio, was it not?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“You never told us that Mab threatened to go back on her bargain.”
“Well, no.”
Michael watched me with troubled eyes. “Because she didn’t. You just lied to Luccio.”
“Yeah,” I said shortly. “Because I need the Council’s say-so to set up the meeting. Because I’ve got to set up the meeting so that the gang of murdering bastards who tortured Shiro to death will have a chance to prove to you that they’ve still got it coming.”
“Harry, if the Council learns that you’ve misled them—”
“They’ll probably charge me with treason,” I said.
Michael rose from his seat. “But—”
I stabbed a finger at him. “The longer we delay, the longer those creeps stay in town, the longer Summer’s hit men keep coming after me, and the more likely it is that innocent people are going to get hurt in the cross fire. I’ve got to move fast, and the best way to get the Council to move is to let it think its own ass is about to fall into the fire.”
“Harry—” Michael began.
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t give me the speech about redemption and mercy and how everyone deserves a second chance. I’m all for doing the right thing, Michael. You know that. But this isn’t the time.”
“Then what is right changes because we’re in a hurry?” he asked gently.
“Even your Book says that there’s a time for all things,” I said. “A time to heal—and a time to kill.”
Michael looked from me to the corner by the back door, where the broadsword Amoracchius rested in its humble leather scabbard, its plain, crusader-style hilt bound in wire. “It isn’t that, Harry. I’ve seen more of what they’ve done than you have. I have no qualms with fighting them, if it comes to that.”
“They’ve already blown up a building, tried to murder me, and set off a situation that nearly got your own children burned down in the cross fire. In what way has it not come to that?”
Instead of answering, Michael shook his head, took up Amoracchius, and walked further into the house.
I scowled after him for a minute and muttered darkly under my breath.
“You confused him,” Sanya rumbled.
I glanced at the dark-skinned Knight. “What?”
“You confused him,” Sanya repeated. “Because of what you did.”
“What? Lying to the Council? I don’t see that I had much choice.”
“But you did,” Sanya said placidly. He reached into the gym bag on the floor next to him and drew out a long saber, an old cavalry weapon—Esperacchius. A nail worked into the hilt declared it a brother of Michael’s sword. He started inspecting the blade. “You could have simply moved to attack them.”
“By myself? I’m bad, but I’m not that bad.”
“He’s your friend. He would have come with you. You know that.”
I shook my head. “He’s my friend. Period. You don’t do that to your friends.”
“Precisely,” Sanya said. “So instead you have placed your own life in jeopardy in order to protect his beliefs. You risk your body to preserve his heart.” He brought out a smooth sharpening stone and began stropping the saber’s blade. “I suppose he considers it a particularly messianic act.”