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darktrent182) wrote2009-02-22 12:06 am
darktrent182) wrote2009-02-22 12:06 am
Entry tags:
FIC: Fair Trial (2/4) [The Dresden Files]
The ride back to my place was uneventful, and when I got back inside, I discovered Bob and Luccio chatting in the storefront, the business sign still reading 'closed'. She smiled at him and said something in what I could only guess was Italian, and he grinned back at her. The urge to set something on fire reared its ugly head, and I cleared my throat, feeling like I should be wearing curlers and an old bathrobe. "So, did you two have fun?"
Despite my entrance, they didn't jump or spring apart or anything. Bob nodded to me, the smile still curling his lips. "You could say that we've learned a good many things about one another."
Luccio nodded in agreement. "Is Ebenezar still outside?"
I nodded. "He's waiting in his truck."
She nodded again. "Thank you, Wizard Dresden."
I smiled a little and held the door open for her. Never let it be said that my manners suffered when dealing with a woman I was sure I wasn't going to like. She shot me a smile, complete with killer dimples, and turned to shoot Bob an almost conspiratorial look. "Good luck, Wizard of Bainbridge."
Bob nodded. "Thank you, milady."
With one appraising look aimed at yours truly, she was gone. I closed the door and turned back to Bob. "So, what'd you two talk about while I was gone?"
Bob shrugged. "This and that. Mostly about bladesmithing. And you?" he asked, looking politely curious.
"Ebenezar had me meet a few of the members of the Senior Council," I said, leaning my hip against the edge of my desk as I watched him.
Bob nodded, not looking surprised. "I figured as much," he said mildly. "It would help the Council get a measure of you, and see if they would wish to aid our cause."
I frowned, shaking my head. "Why not have you come with me? It'd make telling if you fell to the Dark Side a lot easier."
Bob shook his head. "Not really. If the Senior Council members you met know anything about me--" He stopped himself, looking curious. "By the by, who did you meet?"
"Martha Liberty, Joseph Listens-to-Wind, and Simon Pietrovich," I said.
Bob's lips pursed in a way that I found very distracting, and he cocked his head to one side. "I remember Master Pietrovich from a few gatherings that Justin hosted at his estate, but I only know the other two by reputation." He narrowed his eyes at me. "What did you think of them?"
I shrugged. "Martha seemed hard-nosed. I thought she might not be willing to go to the mat for us, especially with her going on about how I don't know anything about your history."
Bob nodded. "I expected as much. She's known for being rather stern, but willing to listen. And Joseph Listens-to-Wind?"
I shook my head. "I don't know about him. He's the one who said you and Luccio would be talking shop while we were at lunch, and he seemed all right."
"Need I remind you that other Council members thought that Justin 'seemed all right', and look where we are," Bob said, eying me steadily. "He'll be one to watch, I'm sure."
"All right," I said, mentally switching gears, "what are we going to do about the High Council?"
Bob arched an eyebrow at me. "We?"
I frowned. "What are you talking about? We're in this together, aren't we?"
My old teacher watched me for a moment, looking confused, and then shook his head quickly. "Of course we are," he said, sounding confident. "However, considering that I am the one on trial, I suggest that you leave the talking to me."
"On trial?" I asked. "How do you figure? You haven't broken any Laws."
Bob shot me a faintly amused look. "Not this time, but I'm sure there are those on the Council who will feel it is only a matter of time."
"Mai being among them," I grunted.
"Mai and I have a... complicated past," Bob said, with a small smile. "As you well know."
I nodded. "So, we don't rely on her."
Bob pursed his lips. "I've been thinking about that, actually."
"And?" I frowned.
"And it's quite possible she could go either way with regard to my continued mortality," Bob said. "She was the one who brought me back to life, Harry. She knew what she was doing, and if she was willing to risk a lack of cooperation on my part, even after she returned me to mortality, she might be desperate enough to defend me to the best of her ability."
"But why?" I squinted, trying to think of what Bob could offer her. "What is it that Mai would want out of you?"
Bob gave me a smile I could only describe as incredibly patient. "Our deal was that I would make weapons for her, remember? I'm guessing that, given Captain Luccio's circumstances, I'm the only bladesmith with enough skill for the weaponry she requires."
I frowned, remembering the conversation at the diner. "She said she wanted another dragonslayer, didn't she?"
Bob nodded, noticing my expression and growing curious. "What did you learn over lunch?"
I outlined what little the Council members had said about the threat I hadn't been aware of. When I was finished, Bob pursed his lips.
"Curiouser and curiouser," he murmured. It was enough to send a tiny shiver down my spine, but I fought it down as best I could. "It would seem that the situation might be even more dire than we'd originally thought."
"What makes you say that?"
"Mai wanted me to create a personal arsenal for her, but if the rest of the Council is aware of a growing threat, it might be that they need me to assume Captain Luccio's bladesmithing duties until such a time that Captain Luccio can return to them herself."
"Could this dragon that Mai's going up against be the same threat as the one the Council thinks they're facing?" I asked.
Bob frowned, and shook his head. "I don't know, but it's certainly a possibility."
"Could one dragon really be that much trouble for the entire High Council?" I asked. "We were able to take out that dragon last year."
Bob shot me a look and sighed heavily. "We were halfway between this world and the other side, Harry. All you had to do was reduce the shield enough that the darkness would envelope the dragon and not the rest of you."
"Okay, so we had help," I admitted. "But you faced down Mai before you turned to the Dark Side. How hard can it be?"
That earned me Bob squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing the bridge of his nose as if his head was pounding from the sheer stupidity. "Mai was nearly a thousand years younger than she is now, and I was able to force her to reconsider attacking a small village. If her opponent is younger than she is, I would be very surprised."
"Do you think you'd be able to make another dragonslayer before Bad Dragon shows up?" I asked.
Bob shook his head. "That blade had been the culmination of my education. I knew I would never make another like it, and considering I've been forcibly retired for nearly a thousand years, I would be very surprised if I were able to make a passable sword without a good deal of time and preparation."
I frowned. "Then, how were you supposed to make another dragonslayer for Mai?"
"To borrow a phrase from you," Bob said, a slightly embarrassed smile tugging at his lips, "that was going to be a game-time decision."
"Why, Bob," I said, grinning at him. "I'm astounded. No proper plan in place before you agreed to Mai's proposal?"
Bob snorted a little, still smiling. It looked really good on him. "I still remembered how it felt to breathe, Harry. I wanted that back more than I feared what would happen if Mai discovered I might not have been able to deliver on my promise."
My smile slipped. "You're not going to die, Bob," I said before I could stop myself. "I'm not going to let it happen."
Bob narrowed his eyes at me, and his smile disappeared. "Be careful what kind of vows you make, Harry. You might not be in a position to keep them."
"Why don't you let me worry about that?" I said. "What time is it?"
"Nearly two," he replied. "Why?"
"We might have enough time to get you a robe to wear for the Council meeting if we hurry," I said, patting my pockets until I found my keys.
Bob shook his head. "That won't be necessary. Captain Luccio arranged for me to borrow a set of clothes for the occasion, provided I return them to her at some point, one way or another."
I frowned, looking him up and down. "How are you supposed to fit into her robes? You've got broader shoulders than she does."
Bob arched an eyebrow at me, his lips quirked just a little. "Who said I would be wearing her robes?" he asked, sounding amused. "I've already tried them on. They'll be fine."
"Oh." I felt a little embarrassed, but I muscled it down as best I could. "Well... is there anything I can help with before the meeting?"
Bob thought about it for a moment before he starting ticking items off on his fingers. "I have my proposal already finished, as well as rebuttals for any objections. I will be staying close to Blackstaff McCoy in order to ensure that the Wardens won't accidentally think me a threat and attempt to neutralize me before the meeting starts. The clothes have been fitted and are ready to wear. And your robes are currently hanging in the bathroom, by the by."
"I take it that's a 'no', then?" I asked, feeling a little uncomfortable now that when I wanted to help, Bob didn't need it.
Bob narrowed his eyes, and then gave me a critical glance that I could have almost sworn was an intent, appreciative look. "You might want to consider a shave and a shower before we leave."
I rubbed a hand over my jaw, and guessed that maybe Bob had a point. Scruffy and rumpled did not a presentable wizard make, and the last time I'd faced down the Council, I hadn't been looking my best. I nodded. "You want the shower first?"
"Please?" Bob asked, looking hopeful.
I resisted smiling, and nodded. "Just don't use all the hot water."
Bob nodded. "I shan't. But do knock on the door if I'm taking too long. I'd rather not have you looking damp when we arrive at the meeting."
The thought of Bob taking a hot shower, the water running down his body was enough to make me clear my throat. "Don't worry," I said, my voice sounding a bit hoarse. "I'll make sure you know."
Bob nodded again. "Excellent. Now, if you'll excuse me?" He headed back toward the living room at the back of the building, and then I could hear him go upstairs, and then come back down again.
I shook my head, and headed for the kitchen, getting myself a glass of water and drinking it in one long pull. I needed something to think about other than Bob naked in the shower. Water running down his body, outlining his muscles. His head thrown back as his fingers ran themselves through his hair, practically moaning as the hot water touched skin that had never known what a hot shower felt like.
A run sounded like a really good idea. I put the glass in the sink, and I was about to head for the bathroom when I heard the water start in the shower, and then a yelp. I was next to the bathroom door before I thought about moving. "Bob? Are you okay?"
"I'm all right," he shouted back, his voice muffled. "The water temperature surprised me but I've got it under control."
"You sure?" I asked, belatedly realizing that I hadn't showed him anything about how to change the water pressure, or even told him about how to make sure the shampoo didn't get in his eyes. Then I caught myself thinking about just barging in, and sternly muttered to myself, "No, Harry."
"Harry?" Bob called, "Did you say something?"
I jumped, and then cleared my throat. "Um, no. Are you sure you're all right in there?"
"I have seen showers in use before, Harry." Bob's tone sounded amused and, dare I say, a little teasing. "I'm perfectly fine. Though, would you mind bringing some more towels? There's only yours here, and they felt a bit damp when I came in. You really should allow your bathroom to air out more often, Harry."
Towels? Somewhere in the world, someone was laughing at me. "I'll see what I can find, but no promises," I called back, and then headed back up to my bedroom. I usually kept spare towels in one of the dresser drawers, but I hadn't had a chance to get to a laundromat lately, so it was quite possible that there weren't any left. And, because someone really hates me, I had a sudden mental image of Bob wearing nothing but a towel, his skin still damp from the shower, his hair sticking up every which way and half-dry.
I groaned, and went upstairs to check.
A quick search yielded two dark green towels, which I brought down. I tapped on the door with a knuckle. "Hey, Bob, found some. You're going to have to open the door to let me in, though."
"No, I won't," Bob said, sounding surprised. "It's not locked."
Not locked? I cleared my throat.
"You're still going to have to get out of the shower to take them," I said. "If I come in, it'll just let all the cold air in." Let's see him fight that logic, I thought to myself.
I barely heard a snort over the shower spray. "You seem to forget that I lived in a time when cold water was the norm for bathing. Just come in and set them down on the sink."
There was no getting out of it. Taking a deep breath, and sternly telling parts of me not to get excited because this was not the cheesy opening to shower porn, I marched in and set the stack of towels on the sink, like Bob had asked.
"Oh," Bob said, causing me to nearly leap out of my skin. I whirled around to face the shower, but the curtain was drawn, and all I could see was a faint outline of a toned body. Or, at least, I was assumed Bob was toned. He hadn't looked that out of shape when I'd seen him shirtless a few days ago. I did see broad shoulders, though. And a narrow waist.
"Yeah?" I asked, fighting to keep my tone casual.
"Would you mind passing me the bar of soap from the sink? The one in here seems to be a sliver." A wet, pale hand appeared, palm up.
I found the bar of soap and passed it to him, trying not to imagine where that bar of soap was going to touch his skin as soon as I left. "Anything else?" I asked.
There was a pause, and then I saw Bob shake his head. "No, thank you. Just close the door on your way out."
"Right," I said, a bit too quickly, and got out of there before what little dignity I had left abandoned me and I was about to suggest we try to conserve water by showering together. I reminded myself that I was still mad at Bob because of the timing of his little revelation, as well as the fact that now was really a bad time to demand answers to all the questions I still wanted to ask him. If, by some miracle, we got out of the meeting in one piece, I... would think it over.
My libido was fully in favor of jumping in right now, damn the consequences, but the rational part of my brain was talking fast in order to keep me out of the bathroom until Bob was finished.
Of course, that's when Bob decided to start singing.
Now, singing in the shower isn't that weird. I've had a few girlfriends who stayed the night, and some of them sang in the shower. I might or might not have sung in the shower myself, but the only way I would ever admit to doing so would be under torture, and even then, that's not admissible in court. The first time Bob had heard me, he'd asked if I had been trying to imitate buffalo mating calls. The less said about it, the better.
Of course, now that Bob was in the shower, he started singing. And inevitably, he sounded a lot better than I did.
I don't know what he was singing, since the only old language I really know is Latin and that's sketchy on my best days, but he made it sound good. I found myself lingering in front of the door for a minute or two before I remembered where I was, and I sternly forced myself to go to the lab.
What had once been a den in a perpetual state of organized chaos was now neat and orderly. Shelves that usually sported book-sized holes were now straightened, marble bookends that I vaguely remembered buying years ago at a garage sale keeping the books from falling onto the floor. Containers of potions ingredients were now clearly labeled in handwriting that wasn't mine, and organized in such a way that I didn't know where to find anything. The cabinets were now all closed, even the one that had always had trouble closing, and the candlesticks were now lined along one wall, the candles all topped with metal caps. What surprised me most was the table was bare for the first time in years, the burns and score marks in the wood standing out in stark relief. When I ran my hand over the surface, it felt clean and smooth. The only thing left on the table was a stack of papers with Bob's skull serving as a paperweight, and a golf pencil tucked behind the wisdom teeth on the right-hand side.
On a whim, I checked the copper circle that I had embedded in the floor with U-bolts, and sure enough, it was bare and looked freshly swept. My broom, which I had thought I'd lost years ago, stood in a corner, right next to the popcorn tin where I usually kept my snow shovel and my spare staff. Of course, the popcorn tin used to be in the living room, but my guess was that my new roommate thought that the lab would be a more appropriate place for it.
Part of me was pretty annoyed. Bob had been grumbling about my housekeeping habits for years, and now that he had had free rein of my lab, he'd apparently made good on his threat to clean and re-organize my lab.
And yet, part of me felt... warm and fuzzy? I mean, don't get me wrong, I don't like anyone messing with my stuff, and I was definitely going to have a talk with Bob about rearranging the lab without my say-so. But at the same time, it showed that he cared enough about me to want to make sure I could find everything in my lab. I'd gotten into the habit of asking Bob where something was while I was in the lab, but now, as soon as I figured out whatever arcane system he'd come up with and I rearranged everything so I could find everything again, I'd have an easier time of working. Not only that, but I wouldn't have a repeat of the times I've needed my circle free from obstructions in a hurry.
I heard the sound of footsteps behind me, and I saw Bob walk in, wearing only a dark green towel around his waist. The contrast made his pale skin seem even paler. He used a smaller towel of the same shade to rub at his hair vigorously. "What do you think?" he asked, smiling. His lips were a dark pink, and curved invitingly.
I blinked and swallowed with some difficulty. "Um, what?"
Bob looked at me and blinked. "The lab. What do you think?"
I frowned at him. "It's fine. Aren't you cold?"
Bob looked puzzled for a moment, and then smiled indulgently. "It's not actually that cold, Harry. And I'm already mostly dry."
Okay, Bob just wasn't playing fair. If he'd used anything remotely close to these kinds of tactics with his former guardians, I wasn't surprised they'd gone insane. Me, I was about to go crazy from sheer lust. What was worse was that I was fairly sure he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on me.
"If we were to close the door," Bob said, his voice dropping to something resembling a cat purring, "I'm sure we'd be even warmer."
I cleared my throat and resisted the urge to tug at my shirt collar. "I'm sure we would. Are your clothes still in the bathroom? I'm going to need to take my shower."
"I knew I forgot something," Bob said, turning around to head back into the hallway, affording me a look at the curve of his spine, the muscles in his back, and one raggedly circular burn that centered over his left shoulder blade. I blinked, and before I could stop myself, my hand rested on his back, right over the scar. He stopped, the muscles in his back going rigid.
"What happened?" I asked, my voice quiet as I lightly touched the waxy-looking skin.
Bob paused, and then looked over his shoulder at me. "You're not going to like it," he murmured.
I glared at him, growling, "Stop trying to protect me, Bob."
He looked away from me, turning his face forward until all I saw was mussed grey hair, his broad shoulders, and the scar I was still touching.
"Are you familiar with how the medieval Church extracted confessions from those they believed to be heretics and unbelievers?"
My blood felt like ice in my veins. Once upon a time, the Catholic church believed that in order to bring people back to the fold, they needed to be shown what eternal torment would await them in the afterlife if they didn't come back to the church. People frequently died as a result of the torture if they didn't recant or convert, or whatever it was the church wanted from them.
And Bob thought I never paid attention during my history lessons.
I licked my lips and tried to swallow. "When?"
The question must have surprised him, because he glanced over his shoulder at me again. "After my arrest. The Council wanted me to repent for the sins I had committed. If I had repented, I was told that I would be spared eternal torment."
I frowned, surprised. "You didn't?" I hadn't thought that the High Council of his time would've been that merciful. Then again, Bob had been stuck in his skull for all eternity instead of a quick death. It wasn't hard to piece together what had happened. And if I was right, and the burn was close to Bob's heart, only one person on the Council would've been able to do such a thing and then make sure he was able to face the High Council after his non-repentance.
I was beginning to think that maybe Bob didn't like what position Ebenezar served on the High Council, rather than actually disliking Ebenezar himself.
Bob shook his head. "I was too far gone at that point," he said softly. "All I wanted was Winifred in my arms again. The rest of the world could go hang, for all I cared."
"Bob..." I murmured, setting my jaw and trying not to get choked up.
He stepped away from me and turned around, blue-green eyes meeting mine steadily. "I was a necromancer then, Harry," he said firmly, his tone not allowing any room for argument. "The man I was then doesn't deserve your pity."
I looked down at his chest, and the waxy, almost painful scar I had seen the morning after Bob had been returned to life was right where I suspected it was. "The Blackstaff burned your heart."
"More likely the lung, rather than the heart," Bob admitted. "But yes, it was the Blackstaff's doing."
My gaze lifted from the scar back to his blue-green eyes. "You broke one Law of Magic, and that meant they got to torture you?" I asked in a low, deadly tone.
"Oh, I broke more than one Law, Harry," Bob said, a sneer curving his lips. "I was a criminal in custody, and the Council was just as dangerous then as it is now."
"They're not going to get the chance to do it again," I growled. "They're not."
Bob's eyes narrowed at me. "If the Council decides to return me to my original sentence, swear to me you will not interfere."
"Not only no," I snapped, "but hell no."
Faster than I had expected, Bob's hand lashed out and grabbed my wrist in a punishing grip. I gasped in surprise, but he glared at me, his crooked teeth bared in a snarl. "Swear it on your magic."
"I already said no," I said in a clipped voice, trying to wrench out of his grip.
Bob said something in a guttural, rough language, and I found myself slammed against one of the cabinets, my breath whooshing out of me. Bob, still wearing the dark green towel, the other now slung over one shoulder, was holding up his right hand toward me, as though his hand were planted against my chest, and he was keeping me pinned.
"You will swear it," he snarled. "Or you're going to remain pinned against that cabinet door indefinitely."
"You can't hold me here forever," I gasped out, trying to ignore how cliche that sounded. Geez, I needed to think of better lines. "Sooner or later, you're going to get tired."
"Ah, but being a ghost has taught me patience above all else," he said, an ugly smile twisting his lips. "Sooner or later, you'll give in because if Hrothbert of Bainbridge doesn't appear for his defense, the Council will send the Wardens after me and surely execute me."
"What happened to wanting to breathe again?" I managed, trying to wriggle out from the weight against my chest pinned me against the cabinet.
"I've drawn enough breath over the past few days to last me another lifetime or two," Bob said calmly. "But if I can prevent you from dying heroically in my defense, I will count my death a victory."
"What about me?" I demanded, my anger rising. "If you really love me, you wouldn't ask me to sit on the sidelines and watch them execute you."
"And that is where you're wrong, Harry," Bob said, his voice maddeningly calm. "If I die, I have a chance of returning to life." The skull sat on the lab table, a silent reminder of what he once was. "If you die, there is nothing left. And I will ensure your death will never happen."
That stopped me cold. "You're telling me that you'd turn evil to make sure I didn't die?" I asked, my voice almost a whisper.
A grey eyebrow arched. "Will I need to, Harry?" he asked coldly.
I stared at him, and all I could think of was the soulgaze we'd shared just a few days ago. He hadn't just obliterated himself for Winifred. He'd thrown away everything, murdered people, turned evil in order to get her back.
Gulp.
From the very beginning, Bob had warned me that black magic consumed a man from the inside out, until there was nothing left. I hadn't known at the time that he'd been speaking from personal experience -- all Justin had ever told me was that his soul had been damned for eternity, and Bob had never elaborated about why -- but there had been an urgency in Bob's words the first time we'd ever talked about black magic. It had been something that, at eleven years old, I couldn't ignore.
Facing that same intensity, twenty-some years later, was kind of scary.
"Well?" Bob asked, his eyes boring into mine.
I shook my head, trying to calm myself down.
"Will you swear?" There were sub-zero winter days that were warmer than his voice was at that moment.
I licked my lips. "No."
Bob glared at me.
"You're asking me to betray everything I am for you," I told him. "You might be able to do that, but I can't."
"Perhaps you don't realize the gravity of the situation," he said, his hand never wavering, "but if you get it in your fool head to interfere with a Warden carrying out his lawful duty, you could be executed as well. And that," he snarled, "is unacceptable."
"Bullshit," I snapped.
"Excuse me?" Bob asked, sounding dangerous.
"You heard me," I sneered. "I'm calling bullshit. It's not okay for me to interfere with the Wardens if they're going to execute you right in front of me, but it's perfectly all right for you to turn evil because of me? I'll tell you what's acceptable, Bob. What's acceptable is getting through this damn Council meeting with both of us in one piece. What's acceptable is you trusting me to do the right thing. What's acceptable is you not throwing your soul away on my account. Do you think I want to see you get executed right in front of me? You died in my arms once already." I gritted my teeth and forced myself to say what I was thinking out loud, because maybe if I said it, it would make Bob think twice about trying to make me swear not to protect him. "I don't want that to happen. Ever. Again."
For a minute, I saw Bob's resolve crack, just a little. If I hadn't been paying attention, I wouldn't have noticed when his hand wavered. When I tried to push the invisible weight off of my chest, Bob's shoulders straightened, and I was pushed back against the cabinet door again.
"There's one thing you're forgetting, Harry," he said, his soft voice at odds with how confident he looked, facing me down in nothing but a towel.
"What's that?" I asked.
"I can't lose you either."
I opened my mouth to say something, but then Bob lowered his hand, the weight disappearing as he turned away from me. "You should take your shower if we're going to make it to the meeting on time."
Then he left me alone in the lab to puzzle out if he'd really just told me without saying the words just how much he loved me.
I took a quick shower and got dressed, only to find that the robe that Bob had found for me to wear had a long, visible tear near one of the lapels, and a large stain on the back that I had a feeling was Mister's doing. Grumbling under my breath, I slung it on and thought to myself that I hadn't looked any better when I'd faced down the High Council before. The last time I'd done that, I'd been named the keeper of Bob's skull, so that kind of cheered me up a bit.
What little cheer I had was gone after I'd managed to cut myself with a razor a few times, and I headed out into the living room with my hair still damp.
Then my libido smacked me over the back of the head and stared appreciatively at the picture Bob made.
When he'd mentioned a set of clothes, I'd figured that he would've gotten some kind of robe that would've worked with the suit he'd been wearing when he'd been brought back to life. It looked like whatever clothes he'd borrowed from Captain Luccio, it came as a full set, and given the amount of leather he was wearing, I had a feeling the clothes belonged to Joseph Listens-to-Wind.
As much as the suits he wore emphasized lean curves and lines when he was a ghost, the leather gave Bob a more physical look. He still looked pale, but the earth tones made him look less like a ghost and more like a guy who didn't get out in the sun very often. The vest he wore attracted the eye to the way he filled out his shirt, and the robe he was wearing resembled a duster that had seen more than its share of years on the road. The boots looked supple, and the pants were worn and sported a hole or two, but they showed off his legs very nicely.
What can I say? I'm a legs man.
"Harry?"
"Huh?" I looked up. Bob arched an eyebrow at me, and gave me a look that plainly said he'd said my name more than once. Only Bob could've pulled off that combination of fond exasperation and smugness.
"Are you ready to leave--" He stopped, and then frowned at the lapel of my robe. "Apparently not," he answered himself, reaching out to finger my robe critically. "Really, Harry, you need to take better care of your formal wear." Then he noticed what I was wearing underneath of it. "And why aren't you wearing your suit?"
"Suit?" I asked, pretending to not know what he was talking about. He knew as well as I did that I have exactly one suit, and I had a pretty good reason not to wear it.
Bob sighed through his nose, looking singularly unimpressed as he absently straightened my collar. "Yes, Harry, your suit. In case it had escaped your attention, this is a formal function, and wearing black jeans and a button-down shirt isn't appropriate."
"Oh, I don't know," I said casually. "It worked so well for me the last time."
Bob's hands slowly gathered the lapels of my robe into two white-knuckled fists. The look he was giving me made the Arctic look warm. "Wear the damn suit, Harry," he growled, his voice sounding sexy even when he was pissed off.
"Or what?" I challenged, smirking a little. It was about time that I got under Bob's skin.
The only warning I had was a deep growl. Bob surprised me by yanking on the two handfuls he had of my robe, but as soon as his lips crushed against mine, my libido bashed my rational side over the head and insisted on dragging Bob back to my cave for a good, long time. It felt good to have him in my arms, the way I've wanted to for years and never realistically thought would happen. Bob started fighting dirty by sucking on my tongue, but even as he kissed me, the way his hands let go of my robe and traveled southward, I could feel my rational mind clearing its throat and reminding me that there was actually a good reason for me not to be kissing him. There's not a lot of people in the world that I trust, and when one of them lies to me, it's something I tend to notice, no matter how good they are at making my libido stand up and say hello.
My mind annoyingly clear, I reached down and kept his hips in place with both hands. He groaned into the kiss, his lips buzzing against mine, and when we finally surfaced, both of us were breathing hard, and Bob's cheeks were red.
"It's not going to kill me to wear this," I pointed out, my voice huskier than I was expecting.
Bob blinked a few times, and I could see his attention coming back. "Harry."
"I'm not wearing that suit," I said firmly. "And the next time you think you can distract me by kissing me, think again."
Bob looked surprised, and when he realized just where his hands were, he cleared his throat and backed away a few steps. "That wasn't a distraction," he said stiffly.
"What was it?" I asked, not believing him for a second.
He thought about it for a moment before he said, "Think of it as years of pent-up frustration over your pigheadedness."
I snorted. "Let me go find my keys, and we can hit the road. Is it at the convention center?"
"Yes, it is, and here are your keys," Bob said, depositing the keys in my hand before offering me my staff. "Do you know how to get there?"
"We'll be fine," I replied, taking the staff from him before heading outside and locking up behind us.
The drive to the convention center was smooth sailing, compared to how the day had been going so far, and pretty soon, I was pulling the Jeep into the parking garage. There weren't any other cars that I could see, but it never hurt to be on the lookout for trouble. I don't know how the two of us looked, walking side by side, but I'm pretty sure Bob looked more impressive. I tend to look more gawky than menacing, and the hockey stick I made into a staff didn't really make me look anymore intimidating. Bob, unarmed and wearing a lot more leather than usual, looked like he was ready to kick ass and take names.
The convention center hadn't changed much since the last time I was here. The strips of carpet muffled our footsteps, and the high, arched ceilings showed off just how large the place was. I couldn't hear the rush of air coming from any air vents, and while the building was warmer than it was outside, it could've been a little warmer. And as I expected, the lights weren't on. I might the walking Murphy's Law to any technology I'm around, but get more than a few wizards in one place, and even things like electricity were going to foul up.
All of the double-doors leading into the theater were closed except for one set, where three men stood, two of them wearing Council robes and grey Warden cloaks. The third man was Ebenezar.
When he saw us approach, he broke off and joined us. "Hoss," he said with a nod to me. "Bob."
Bob nodded back to him. "Master McCoy. I hope all is well?"
Ebenezar snorted. "Well, even if it wasn't, it's about to get a lot more interesting. C'mon." He nodded toward the two Wardens, both of them guys I'd never met. One of them was a short blond, and the other with his dark hair neatly parted in a way that reminded me of spy movies.
"Names?" the taller one asked, looking us up and down lazily, even though I was pretty sure he didn't miss much.
I gave him mine, handed over my staff for inspection, and when the blond checked my chakra points with one of the pendants, it didn't glow. All very routine security when showing up to one of these meetings. The blond Warden waved me through, but I hung back, wondering what kind of reception Bob would get.
"Hrothbert of Bainbridge," Bob replied calmly.
The first Warden paused, frowning at Bob. "Sorry?"
Ebenezar rolled his eyes. "I'll assume you're not deaf. Yes, he's that Hrothbert of Bainbridge. Yes, he's actually standing right in front of you. And yes, he actually wants to go inside. He's not a threat, and if he turns out to be, I'm going to be taking care of it. Now, can we finish this up and go inside?"
"Master McCoy, I appreciate your ability to take care of any unpleasantness that might arise--" the dark-haired one began.
"Then you don't have anything to worry about, do you?" Ebenezar asked pointedly.
The blond Warden stepped forward, less visibly startled than his partner, and inspected Bob's chakra points. When the pendant didn't glow, he eyed the taller man. "He's clean."
The dark-haired one frowned suspiciously, but since he couldn't find anything wrong, he sighed and waved them through.
"Two down, a few hundred to go," I muttered as we headed inside.
The theater, like the rest of the building, didn't have any lights on, and the heat of a few hundred wizards kept the place from being too cold from the early winter weather that had started to sweep into Chicago. Candles and braziers lit the place, the light and shadow flickering on people, tables, and chairs. There were seven podiums on the stage, from what I could see, the center podium slightly taller than the rest. The circular tables around the room were filled with wizards talking in languages familiar and foreign, and I could feel the auras of hundreds of practitioners stretching out feelers, crashing and blending and flexing around each other, some melding together harmoniously, others crashing as they collided. Wardens stood in various spots around the room, their grey cloaks noticeable over their robes.1
Bob got more than his share of curious looks as he led the way through the crowd. When people realized who he was, and realized that he had to duck through the tables like Ebenezar and me, the conversation quickly picked up in hushed voices. Some of the wizards I saw grew tense when they saw Bob, but I was surprised by how few of them actually seemed to recognize him on sight. If we were lucky, there might not be that many wizards who knew exactly who Bob was. I wasn't sure if it would work in our favor, but it never hurt to have all the help we could get.
I leaned a bit closer to Ebenezar while dodging around another chair. "Why exactly didn't the Merlin want this to be a private meeting?"
Ebenezar raised a wispy eyebrow at me. "And miss the opportunity to scare the wits out of every single wizard here? If he plays his cards right, he wouldn't even have to order the Wardens to kill Bob on sight."
I felt my blood run cold as I thought of just how many people were here that could panic and turn on us. Wizards might be smarter than your average mortal, and have access to power that the man on the street doesn't, but they can get scared, especially of a necromancer who's been around, if not necessarily alive, for nearly a thousand years.
"But the vote's going to be reduced to the Senior Council, right?" I asked. Ebenezar didn't look at me. "Isn't it?"
"They're gonna try, but nothing's certain," Ebenezar said, still not looking at me.
I frowned at him, but apparently, Bob had found a free table, and was sitting down in a chair facing the stage. The table itself was close to the stage, but off to the side closest to the only double-doors leading out of the convention center. It was close enough to the Senior Council that Bob wouldn't have to shout from the back of the room, but at the same time, I didn't like our odds if we had to get out in a hurry. As I sat down, I wondered if that was what Bob had intended.
Ebenezar sat down to Bob's left and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher that had been placed in the middle of the table. "You ready, Bob?"
Bob nodded, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a piece of paper he'd folded into thirds. "As I'll ever be, Master Blackstaff."
"Call me Ebenezar," Ebenezar grunted.
It might have been a trick of the light, but I thought I saw Bob smile a little. "Very well, Ebenezar." He poured himself a glass of water as well before adding, "I hope you realize that if you're given the order to kill me, I won't allow any harm to come to Harry."
Ebenezar nodded. "He's stubborn as hell, though. I'm going to have a fight on my hands one way or another."
"Hey, he's also sitting right here." I scowled at the two of them.
Bob turned to me, his eyebrows lifting in an innocent expression I didn't believe for a second. "Would you like some water, Harry?"
"No, thanks," I grunted, leaning forward a little to look at Ebenezar. "What's going on? What're we waiting for?"
"Them," he said, nodding at the stage. I looked up to see the members of the Senior Council enter from one of the backstage doors and take a podium. The Merlin, a tall man with flowing white hair, dressed in black Council robes with a rich purple stole over them, stepped up to the center podium. When he spoke, his voice was rolling and deep, with an air of authority that made the crowd's conversations die down. Latin flowed from his lips naturally, and I found myself glancing over at Bob. He noticed, and shot me a small smile before turning to watch the Merlin.
"Due to the recent developments that have necessitated our arrival here," the Merlin was saying in Latin, "I move to dispense with the usual formalities in order to discuss the most pertinent issue before us." His eyes, pale blue, zeroed in on our table, and at Bob specifically. "The resurrection of Hrothbert of Bainbridge."2
Any of the crowd who wasn't aware of Bob was aware of him now. Despite suddenly becoming the center of attention, Bob folded his hands in front of him and faced the Merlin calmly.
"All in favor?" the Merlin asked in Latin.
There was a rumble of agreement from the crowd, though the mood wasn't as murderous as it could've been. For all that Bob's told me that he's a cautionary tale to wizards about the hazards of playing with necromancy, there didn't seem to be a lot of wizards who knew him enough to want his head on a pike.
"I beg your pardon," one of the wizards standing at the podiums, a man who looked more like an average-sized skeleton than a person, spoke in a rich, smooth voice. His face was gaunt, with eyes that looked almost like tennis balls, and cheekbones that looked sharp enough to cut something. The fact that he was also completely hairless didn't help his overall appearance. "While I am familiar with Hrothbert of Bainbridge and his crimes, honored Merlin, I fear that the majority of the Council is not aware of them. Who is this criminal that we needed to convene an emergency meeting to discuss his fate?"3
The murmur from the crowd this time played right into the Merlin's hands. The Merlin nodded his thanks, and then turned to another wizard, this one prim in his robes and scarlet stole. "Wizard Peabody, would you consult the records and read the details of Hrothbert of Bainbridge's crimes to the Council?"
Peabody adjusted the spectacles on his face before reaching underneath him to a bulging satchel that had seen better centuries. He got a glazed look in his eyes and seemingly reached into it without looking before pulling out a sheaf of parchment tied with a black ribbon. Untying the ribbon carefully, he laid it open and began reading from the first page in a thin, reedy-sounding voice.
"In the year of Our Lord, twelve-hundred and seventy-one, Wizard Hrothbert, then a resident of the village of Bainbridge, was tried and found guilty of having committed the following offenses: Thirty-seven violations of the First Law of Magic against mortals. Thirty-seven violations of the Fifth Law of Magic."
I stared at Bob, feeling my skin crawl. I had seen the sea of faces that Bob had murdered in order to bring Winifred back from the dead, but hearing an actual number from the Council's records was something different. "Thirty-seven?" I whispered.
Bob continued to stare at the Merlin, his face expressionless. "Thirty-seven deaths the Council could prove," he murmured in a deceptively mild tone. "I got sloppier in hiding the physical evidence as time progressed."
On Bob's other side, I noticed Ebenezar's cheek twitch a little.
Peabody, apparently, wasn't finished. "Three violations of the Third Law of Magic, committed against duly-appointed Wardens during the course of a lawful investigation. Three violations of the Fourth Law of Magic, committed against duly-appointed Wardens during the course of a lawful investigation."
I glanced at Bob. Bob continued to stare straight at the Merlin. "They were prowling around my house. I needed to know what they had discovered. When I found out they knew nothing, I thought I could send them away, so that I could continue my work uninterrupted."
"Two violations of the Sixth Law of Magic," Peabody read on.
Bob would've tried anything to get her back, including trying to prevent her death in the first place. I knew that much from the soulgaze we'd shared a few days ago.
"Ten violations of the Second Law of Magic against mortals."
I frowned, a bit surprised by that one. The Second Law stated that no wizard would transform others. Transforming yourself was risky at best, because if, for example, a wizard turned himself into a mouse so that he could avoid being discovered somewhere he wasn't supposed to be, he risked losing his human intellect since the mouse's brain is a lot simpler than ours. Granted, there were a few Wardens I could argue wouldn't have to worry about it, but the ones I was thinking of probably weren't bright enough to figure out how to do it in the first place.
Bob whispered, "I thought that perhaps by transforming some of my victims into vessels capable of storing energy, less energy would be lost in the process and the effect would last longer than by simply using a person untouched by magic."
"Five violations of the First Law of Magic against Wardens, committed while evading capture," Peabody continued. "Seven violations of the Fourth Law of Magic against Wardens, committed while evading capture. Six violations of the Fourth Law of Magic against mortals, committed while evading capture."
Peabody's voice droned on, each sentence ending with 'committed while evading capture'. I could only sit there and fight the urge to throw up. Apparently, when Bob had finally been captured, he'd put up one hell of a fight.
Bob's jaw tightened. "I told you I was too far gone, Harry," he whispered, not looking at me.
"The sentence, having been carried out immediately by Captain Aelfric of the Wardens, was death by beheading," Peabody read on. "Through sanctioned ritual, the condemned's soul was bound to his skull, for the purpose of enforced servitude to forthright and responsible members of the High Council who prove themselves to be experienced and proficient in the Art so as to understand the nature of the condemned's crimes and see that the condemned is treated in a manner befitting his actions."
Forthright and responsible. Bob had said those words to me years ago, when I'd first become the guardian of his skull. Bob had been quoting his own death sentence.
I didn't realize how hard I'd been clenching my hands into fists until Bob laid a hand over mine and growled, "Stop."
The pain hit me a second later, and I used it to fuel the anger that had taken up residence in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to hit something really hard.
"Sit down, Harry," Bob whispered, sharp and fast, "and be silent. Please."
"Thank you, Wizard Peabody," the Merlin said, the Latin rippling off his tongue. I could tell he wanted to smirk, but instead, he gave the rest of the assembled wizards a hint of a smile. "Given the heinous nature of Hrothbert of Bainbridge's crimes, I move that we reinstate the previous sentence and return this warlock to the prison he so richly deserves." He turned to the assembled wizards and raised both eyebrows. "All in favor?"
***
[1] Butcher, Jim. Summer Knight. New York: Penguin Group, 2002. Readers of the books might notice that this is similar to the book's description of the convention center in Summer Knight. It's intentional, but at the same time, I ended up with my own mental image of it? Hope it works for you.
[2] Butcher, Jim. Summer Knight. New York: Penguin Group, 2002. Unfortunately, this was lifted word-for-word from Summer Knight. I couldn't think of the Merlin saying anything different in this case? *sigh* As soon as I come up with something, I'll change it, but I'll keep the citation.
[3] Butcher, Jim. Summer Knight. New York: Penguin Group, 2002. I tried to change the description for Aleron LaFortier from the books, but I don't know how successful I was. Either way, better to cite than plagiarize.
***
Back to Part One.
Continue to Part Three.
Despite my entrance, they didn't jump or spring apart or anything. Bob nodded to me, the smile still curling his lips. "You could say that we've learned a good many things about one another."
Luccio nodded in agreement. "Is Ebenezar still outside?"
I nodded. "He's waiting in his truck."
She nodded again. "Thank you, Wizard Dresden."
I smiled a little and held the door open for her. Never let it be said that my manners suffered when dealing with a woman I was sure I wasn't going to like. She shot me a smile, complete with killer dimples, and turned to shoot Bob an almost conspiratorial look. "Good luck, Wizard of Bainbridge."
Bob nodded. "Thank you, milady."
With one appraising look aimed at yours truly, she was gone. I closed the door and turned back to Bob. "So, what'd you two talk about while I was gone?"
Bob shrugged. "This and that. Mostly about bladesmithing. And you?" he asked, looking politely curious.
"Ebenezar had me meet a few of the members of the Senior Council," I said, leaning my hip against the edge of my desk as I watched him.
Bob nodded, not looking surprised. "I figured as much," he said mildly. "It would help the Council get a measure of you, and see if they would wish to aid our cause."
I frowned, shaking my head. "Why not have you come with me? It'd make telling if you fell to the Dark Side a lot easier."
Bob shook his head. "Not really. If the Senior Council members you met know anything about me--" He stopped himself, looking curious. "By the by, who did you meet?"
"Martha Liberty, Joseph Listens-to-Wind, and Simon Pietrovich," I said.
Bob's lips pursed in a way that I found very distracting, and he cocked his head to one side. "I remember Master Pietrovich from a few gatherings that Justin hosted at his estate, but I only know the other two by reputation." He narrowed his eyes at me. "What did you think of them?"
I shrugged. "Martha seemed hard-nosed. I thought she might not be willing to go to the mat for us, especially with her going on about how I don't know anything about your history."
Bob nodded. "I expected as much. She's known for being rather stern, but willing to listen. And Joseph Listens-to-Wind?"
I shook my head. "I don't know about him. He's the one who said you and Luccio would be talking shop while we were at lunch, and he seemed all right."
"Need I remind you that other Council members thought that Justin 'seemed all right', and look where we are," Bob said, eying me steadily. "He'll be one to watch, I'm sure."
"All right," I said, mentally switching gears, "what are we going to do about the High Council?"
Bob arched an eyebrow at me. "We?"
I frowned. "What are you talking about? We're in this together, aren't we?"
My old teacher watched me for a moment, looking confused, and then shook his head quickly. "Of course we are," he said, sounding confident. "However, considering that I am the one on trial, I suggest that you leave the talking to me."
"On trial?" I asked. "How do you figure? You haven't broken any Laws."
Bob shot me a faintly amused look. "Not this time, but I'm sure there are those on the Council who will feel it is only a matter of time."
"Mai being among them," I grunted.
"Mai and I have a... complicated past," Bob said, with a small smile. "As you well know."
I nodded. "So, we don't rely on her."
Bob pursed his lips. "I've been thinking about that, actually."
"And?" I frowned.
"And it's quite possible she could go either way with regard to my continued mortality," Bob said. "She was the one who brought me back to life, Harry. She knew what she was doing, and if she was willing to risk a lack of cooperation on my part, even after she returned me to mortality, she might be desperate enough to defend me to the best of her ability."
"But why?" I squinted, trying to think of what Bob could offer her. "What is it that Mai would want out of you?"
Bob gave me a smile I could only describe as incredibly patient. "Our deal was that I would make weapons for her, remember? I'm guessing that, given Captain Luccio's circumstances, I'm the only bladesmith with enough skill for the weaponry she requires."
I frowned, remembering the conversation at the diner. "She said she wanted another dragonslayer, didn't she?"
Bob nodded, noticing my expression and growing curious. "What did you learn over lunch?"
I outlined what little the Council members had said about the threat I hadn't been aware of. When I was finished, Bob pursed his lips.
"Curiouser and curiouser," he murmured. It was enough to send a tiny shiver down my spine, but I fought it down as best I could. "It would seem that the situation might be even more dire than we'd originally thought."
"What makes you say that?"
"Mai wanted me to create a personal arsenal for her, but if the rest of the Council is aware of a growing threat, it might be that they need me to assume Captain Luccio's bladesmithing duties until such a time that Captain Luccio can return to them herself."
"Could this dragon that Mai's going up against be the same threat as the one the Council thinks they're facing?" I asked.
Bob frowned, and shook his head. "I don't know, but it's certainly a possibility."
"Could one dragon really be that much trouble for the entire High Council?" I asked. "We were able to take out that dragon last year."
Bob shot me a look and sighed heavily. "We were halfway between this world and the other side, Harry. All you had to do was reduce the shield enough that the darkness would envelope the dragon and not the rest of you."
"Okay, so we had help," I admitted. "But you faced down Mai before you turned to the Dark Side. How hard can it be?"
That earned me Bob squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing the bridge of his nose as if his head was pounding from the sheer stupidity. "Mai was nearly a thousand years younger than she is now, and I was able to force her to reconsider attacking a small village. If her opponent is younger than she is, I would be very surprised."
"Do you think you'd be able to make another dragonslayer before Bad Dragon shows up?" I asked.
Bob shook his head. "That blade had been the culmination of my education. I knew I would never make another like it, and considering I've been forcibly retired for nearly a thousand years, I would be very surprised if I were able to make a passable sword without a good deal of time and preparation."
I frowned. "Then, how were you supposed to make another dragonslayer for Mai?"
"To borrow a phrase from you," Bob said, a slightly embarrassed smile tugging at his lips, "that was going to be a game-time decision."
"Why, Bob," I said, grinning at him. "I'm astounded. No proper plan in place before you agreed to Mai's proposal?"
Bob snorted a little, still smiling. It looked really good on him. "I still remembered how it felt to breathe, Harry. I wanted that back more than I feared what would happen if Mai discovered I might not have been able to deliver on my promise."
My smile slipped. "You're not going to die, Bob," I said before I could stop myself. "I'm not going to let it happen."
Bob narrowed his eyes at me, and his smile disappeared. "Be careful what kind of vows you make, Harry. You might not be in a position to keep them."
"Why don't you let me worry about that?" I said. "What time is it?"
"Nearly two," he replied. "Why?"
"We might have enough time to get you a robe to wear for the Council meeting if we hurry," I said, patting my pockets until I found my keys.
Bob shook his head. "That won't be necessary. Captain Luccio arranged for me to borrow a set of clothes for the occasion, provided I return them to her at some point, one way or another."
I frowned, looking him up and down. "How are you supposed to fit into her robes? You've got broader shoulders than she does."
Bob arched an eyebrow at me, his lips quirked just a little. "Who said I would be wearing her robes?" he asked, sounding amused. "I've already tried them on. They'll be fine."
"Oh." I felt a little embarrassed, but I muscled it down as best I could. "Well... is there anything I can help with before the meeting?"
Bob thought about it for a moment before he starting ticking items off on his fingers. "I have my proposal already finished, as well as rebuttals for any objections. I will be staying close to Blackstaff McCoy in order to ensure that the Wardens won't accidentally think me a threat and attempt to neutralize me before the meeting starts. The clothes have been fitted and are ready to wear. And your robes are currently hanging in the bathroom, by the by."
"I take it that's a 'no', then?" I asked, feeling a little uncomfortable now that when I wanted to help, Bob didn't need it.
Bob narrowed his eyes, and then gave me a critical glance that I could have almost sworn was an intent, appreciative look. "You might want to consider a shave and a shower before we leave."
I rubbed a hand over my jaw, and guessed that maybe Bob had a point. Scruffy and rumpled did not a presentable wizard make, and the last time I'd faced down the Council, I hadn't been looking my best. I nodded. "You want the shower first?"
"Please?" Bob asked, looking hopeful.
I resisted smiling, and nodded. "Just don't use all the hot water."
Bob nodded. "I shan't. But do knock on the door if I'm taking too long. I'd rather not have you looking damp when we arrive at the meeting."
The thought of Bob taking a hot shower, the water running down his body was enough to make me clear my throat. "Don't worry," I said, my voice sounding a bit hoarse. "I'll make sure you know."
Bob nodded again. "Excellent. Now, if you'll excuse me?" He headed back toward the living room at the back of the building, and then I could hear him go upstairs, and then come back down again.
I shook my head, and headed for the kitchen, getting myself a glass of water and drinking it in one long pull. I needed something to think about other than Bob naked in the shower. Water running down his body, outlining his muscles. His head thrown back as his fingers ran themselves through his hair, practically moaning as the hot water touched skin that had never known what a hot shower felt like.
A run sounded like a really good idea. I put the glass in the sink, and I was about to head for the bathroom when I heard the water start in the shower, and then a yelp. I was next to the bathroom door before I thought about moving. "Bob? Are you okay?"
"I'm all right," he shouted back, his voice muffled. "The water temperature surprised me but I've got it under control."
"You sure?" I asked, belatedly realizing that I hadn't showed him anything about how to change the water pressure, or even told him about how to make sure the shampoo didn't get in his eyes. Then I caught myself thinking about just barging in, and sternly muttered to myself, "No, Harry."
"Harry?" Bob called, "Did you say something?"
I jumped, and then cleared my throat. "Um, no. Are you sure you're all right in there?"
"I have seen showers in use before, Harry." Bob's tone sounded amused and, dare I say, a little teasing. "I'm perfectly fine. Though, would you mind bringing some more towels? There's only yours here, and they felt a bit damp when I came in. You really should allow your bathroom to air out more often, Harry."
Towels? Somewhere in the world, someone was laughing at me. "I'll see what I can find, but no promises," I called back, and then headed back up to my bedroom. I usually kept spare towels in one of the dresser drawers, but I hadn't had a chance to get to a laundromat lately, so it was quite possible that there weren't any left. And, because someone really hates me, I had a sudden mental image of Bob wearing nothing but a towel, his skin still damp from the shower, his hair sticking up every which way and half-dry.
I groaned, and went upstairs to check.
A quick search yielded two dark green towels, which I brought down. I tapped on the door with a knuckle. "Hey, Bob, found some. You're going to have to open the door to let me in, though."
"No, I won't," Bob said, sounding surprised. "It's not locked."
Not locked? I cleared my throat.
"You're still going to have to get out of the shower to take them," I said. "If I come in, it'll just let all the cold air in." Let's see him fight that logic, I thought to myself.
I barely heard a snort over the shower spray. "You seem to forget that I lived in a time when cold water was the norm for bathing. Just come in and set them down on the sink."
There was no getting out of it. Taking a deep breath, and sternly telling parts of me not to get excited because this was not the cheesy opening to shower porn, I marched in and set the stack of towels on the sink, like Bob had asked.
"Oh," Bob said, causing me to nearly leap out of my skin. I whirled around to face the shower, but the curtain was drawn, and all I could see was a faint outline of a toned body. Or, at least, I was assumed Bob was toned. He hadn't looked that out of shape when I'd seen him shirtless a few days ago. I did see broad shoulders, though. And a narrow waist.
"Yeah?" I asked, fighting to keep my tone casual.
"Would you mind passing me the bar of soap from the sink? The one in here seems to be a sliver." A wet, pale hand appeared, palm up.
I found the bar of soap and passed it to him, trying not to imagine where that bar of soap was going to touch his skin as soon as I left. "Anything else?" I asked.
There was a pause, and then I saw Bob shake his head. "No, thank you. Just close the door on your way out."
"Right," I said, a bit too quickly, and got out of there before what little dignity I had left abandoned me and I was about to suggest we try to conserve water by showering together. I reminded myself that I was still mad at Bob because of the timing of his little revelation, as well as the fact that now was really a bad time to demand answers to all the questions I still wanted to ask him. If, by some miracle, we got out of the meeting in one piece, I... would think it over.
My libido was fully in favor of jumping in right now, damn the consequences, but the rational part of my brain was talking fast in order to keep me out of the bathroom until Bob was finished.
Of course, that's when Bob decided to start singing.
Now, singing in the shower isn't that weird. I've had a few girlfriends who stayed the night, and some of them sang in the shower. I might or might not have sung in the shower myself, but the only way I would ever admit to doing so would be under torture, and even then, that's not admissible in court. The first time Bob had heard me, he'd asked if I had been trying to imitate buffalo mating calls. The less said about it, the better.
Of course, now that Bob was in the shower, he started singing. And inevitably, he sounded a lot better than I did.
I don't know what he was singing, since the only old language I really know is Latin and that's sketchy on my best days, but he made it sound good. I found myself lingering in front of the door for a minute or two before I remembered where I was, and I sternly forced myself to go to the lab.
What had once been a den in a perpetual state of organized chaos was now neat and orderly. Shelves that usually sported book-sized holes were now straightened, marble bookends that I vaguely remembered buying years ago at a garage sale keeping the books from falling onto the floor. Containers of potions ingredients were now clearly labeled in handwriting that wasn't mine, and organized in such a way that I didn't know where to find anything. The cabinets were now all closed, even the one that had always had trouble closing, and the candlesticks were now lined along one wall, the candles all topped with metal caps. What surprised me most was the table was bare for the first time in years, the burns and score marks in the wood standing out in stark relief. When I ran my hand over the surface, it felt clean and smooth. The only thing left on the table was a stack of papers with Bob's skull serving as a paperweight, and a golf pencil tucked behind the wisdom teeth on the right-hand side.
On a whim, I checked the copper circle that I had embedded in the floor with U-bolts, and sure enough, it was bare and looked freshly swept. My broom, which I had thought I'd lost years ago, stood in a corner, right next to the popcorn tin where I usually kept my snow shovel and my spare staff. Of course, the popcorn tin used to be in the living room, but my guess was that my new roommate thought that the lab would be a more appropriate place for it.
Part of me was pretty annoyed. Bob had been grumbling about my housekeeping habits for years, and now that he had had free rein of my lab, he'd apparently made good on his threat to clean and re-organize my lab.
And yet, part of me felt... warm and fuzzy? I mean, don't get me wrong, I don't like anyone messing with my stuff, and I was definitely going to have a talk with Bob about rearranging the lab without my say-so. But at the same time, it showed that he cared enough about me to want to make sure I could find everything in my lab. I'd gotten into the habit of asking Bob where something was while I was in the lab, but now, as soon as I figured out whatever arcane system he'd come up with and I rearranged everything so I could find everything again, I'd have an easier time of working. Not only that, but I wouldn't have a repeat of the times I've needed my circle free from obstructions in a hurry.
I heard the sound of footsteps behind me, and I saw Bob walk in, wearing only a dark green towel around his waist. The contrast made his pale skin seem even paler. He used a smaller towel of the same shade to rub at his hair vigorously. "What do you think?" he asked, smiling. His lips were a dark pink, and curved invitingly.
I blinked and swallowed with some difficulty. "Um, what?"
Bob looked at me and blinked. "The lab. What do you think?"
I frowned at him. "It's fine. Aren't you cold?"
Bob looked puzzled for a moment, and then smiled indulgently. "It's not actually that cold, Harry. And I'm already mostly dry."
Okay, Bob just wasn't playing fair. If he'd used anything remotely close to these kinds of tactics with his former guardians, I wasn't surprised they'd gone insane. Me, I was about to go crazy from sheer lust. What was worse was that I was fairly sure he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on me.
"If we were to close the door," Bob said, his voice dropping to something resembling a cat purring, "I'm sure we'd be even warmer."
I cleared my throat and resisted the urge to tug at my shirt collar. "I'm sure we would. Are your clothes still in the bathroom? I'm going to need to take my shower."
"I knew I forgot something," Bob said, turning around to head back into the hallway, affording me a look at the curve of his spine, the muscles in his back, and one raggedly circular burn that centered over his left shoulder blade. I blinked, and before I could stop myself, my hand rested on his back, right over the scar. He stopped, the muscles in his back going rigid.
"What happened?" I asked, my voice quiet as I lightly touched the waxy-looking skin.
Bob paused, and then looked over his shoulder at me. "You're not going to like it," he murmured.
I glared at him, growling, "Stop trying to protect me, Bob."
He looked away from me, turning his face forward until all I saw was mussed grey hair, his broad shoulders, and the scar I was still touching.
"Are you familiar with how the medieval Church extracted confessions from those they believed to be heretics and unbelievers?"
My blood felt like ice in my veins. Once upon a time, the Catholic church believed that in order to bring people back to the fold, they needed to be shown what eternal torment would await them in the afterlife if they didn't come back to the church. People frequently died as a result of the torture if they didn't recant or convert, or whatever it was the church wanted from them.
And Bob thought I never paid attention during my history lessons.
I licked my lips and tried to swallow. "When?"
The question must have surprised him, because he glanced over his shoulder at me again. "After my arrest. The Council wanted me to repent for the sins I had committed. If I had repented, I was told that I would be spared eternal torment."
I frowned, surprised. "You didn't?" I hadn't thought that the High Council of his time would've been that merciful. Then again, Bob had been stuck in his skull for all eternity instead of a quick death. It wasn't hard to piece together what had happened. And if I was right, and the burn was close to Bob's heart, only one person on the Council would've been able to do such a thing and then make sure he was able to face the High Council after his non-repentance.
I was beginning to think that maybe Bob didn't like what position Ebenezar served on the High Council, rather than actually disliking Ebenezar himself.
Bob shook his head. "I was too far gone at that point," he said softly. "All I wanted was Winifred in my arms again. The rest of the world could go hang, for all I cared."
"Bob..." I murmured, setting my jaw and trying not to get choked up.
He stepped away from me and turned around, blue-green eyes meeting mine steadily. "I was a necromancer then, Harry," he said firmly, his tone not allowing any room for argument. "The man I was then doesn't deserve your pity."
I looked down at his chest, and the waxy, almost painful scar I had seen the morning after Bob had been returned to life was right where I suspected it was. "The Blackstaff burned your heart."
"More likely the lung, rather than the heart," Bob admitted. "But yes, it was the Blackstaff's doing."
My gaze lifted from the scar back to his blue-green eyes. "You broke one Law of Magic, and that meant they got to torture you?" I asked in a low, deadly tone.
"Oh, I broke more than one Law, Harry," Bob said, a sneer curving his lips. "I was a criminal in custody, and the Council was just as dangerous then as it is now."
"They're not going to get the chance to do it again," I growled. "They're not."
Bob's eyes narrowed at me. "If the Council decides to return me to my original sentence, swear to me you will not interfere."
"Not only no," I snapped, "but hell no."
Faster than I had expected, Bob's hand lashed out and grabbed my wrist in a punishing grip. I gasped in surprise, but he glared at me, his crooked teeth bared in a snarl. "Swear it on your magic."
"I already said no," I said in a clipped voice, trying to wrench out of his grip.
Bob said something in a guttural, rough language, and I found myself slammed against one of the cabinets, my breath whooshing out of me. Bob, still wearing the dark green towel, the other now slung over one shoulder, was holding up his right hand toward me, as though his hand were planted against my chest, and he was keeping me pinned.
"You will swear it," he snarled. "Or you're going to remain pinned against that cabinet door indefinitely."
"You can't hold me here forever," I gasped out, trying to ignore how cliche that sounded. Geez, I needed to think of better lines. "Sooner or later, you're going to get tired."
"Ah, but being a ghost has taught me patience above all else," he said, an ugly smile twisting his lips. "Sooner or later, you'll give in because if Hrothbert of Bainbridge doesn't appear for his defense, the Council will send the Wardens after me and surely execute me."
"What happened to wanting to breathe again?" I managed, trying to wriggle out from the weight against my chest pinned me against the cabinet.
"I've drawn enough breath over the past few days to last me another lifetime or two," Bob said calmly. "But if I can prevent you from dying heroically in my defense, I will count my death a victory."
"What about me?" I demanded, my anger rising. "If you really love me, you wouldn't ask me to sit on the sidelines and watch them execute you."
"And that is where you're wrong, Harry," Bob said, his voice maddeningly calm. "If I die, I have a chance of returning to life." The skull sat on the lab table, a silent reminder of what he once was. "If you die, there is nothing left. And I will ensure your death will never happen."
That stopped me cold. "You're telling me that you'd turn evil to make sure I didn't die?" I asked, my voice almost a whisper.
A grey eyebrow arched. "Will I need to, Harry?" he asked coldly.
I stared at him, and all I could think of was the soulgaze we'd shared just a few days ago. He hadn't just obliterated himself for Winifred. He'd thrown away everything, murdered people, turned evil in order to get her back.
Gulp.
From the very beginning, Bob had warned me that black magic consumed a man from the inside out, until there was nothing left. I hadn't known at the time that he'd been speaking from personal experience -- all Justin had ever told me was that his soul had been damned for eternity, and Bob had never elaborated about why -- but there had been an urgency in Bob's words the first time we'd ever talked about black magic. It had been something that, at eleven years old, I couldn't ignore.
Facing that same intensity, twenty-some years later, was kind of scary.
"Well?" Bob asked, his eyes boring into mine.
I shook my head, trying to calm myself down.
"Will you swear?" There were sub-zero winter days that were warmer than his voice was at that moment.
I licked my lips. "No."
Bob glared at me.
"You're asking me to betray everything I am for you," I told him. "You might be able to do that, but I can't."
"Perhaps you don't realize the gravity of the situation," he said, his hand never wavering, "but if you get it in your fool head to interfere with a Warden carrying out his lawful duty, you could be executed as well. And that," he snarled, "is unacceptable."
"Bullshit," I snapped.
"Excuse me?" Bob asked, sounding dangerous.
"You heard me," I sneered. "I'm calling bullshit. It's not okay for me to interfere with the Wardens if they're going to execute you right in front of me, but it's perfectly all right for you to turn evil because of me? I'll tell you what's acceptable, Bob. What's acceptable is getting through this damn Council meeting with both of us in one piece. What's acceptable is you trusting me to do the right thing. What's acceptable is you not throwing your soul away on my account. Do you think I want to see you get executed right in front of me? You died in my arms once already." I gritted my teeth and forced myself to say what I was thinking out loud, because maybe if I said it, it would make Bob think twice about trying to make me swear not to protect him. "I don't want that to happen. Ever. Again."
For a minute, I saw Bob's resolve crack, just a little. If I hadn't been paying attention, I wouldn't have noticed when his hand wavered. When I tried to push the invisible weight off of my chest, Bob's shoulders straightened, and I was pushed back against the cabinet door again.
"There's one thing you're forgetting, Harry," he said, his soft voice at odds with how confident he looked, facing me down in nothing but a towel.
"What's that?" I asked.
"I can't lose you either."
I opened my mouth to say something, but then Bob lowered his hand, the weight disappearing as he turned away from me. "You should take your shower if we're going to make it to the meeting on time."
Then he left me alone in the lab to puzzle out if he'd really just told me without saying the words just how much he loved me.
I took a quick shower and got dressed, only to find that the robe that Bob had found for me to wear had a long, visible tear near one of the lapels, and a large stain on the back that I had a feeling was Mister's doing. Grumbling under my breath, I slung it on and thought to myself that I hadn't looked any better when I'd faced down the High Council before. The last time I'd done that, I'd been named the keeper of Bob's skull, so that kind of cheered me up a bit.
What little cheer I had was gone after I'd managed to cut myself with a razor a few times, and I headed out into the living room with my hair still damp.
Then my libido smacked me over the back of the head and stared appreciatively at the picture Bob made.
When he'd mentioned a set of clothes, I'd figured that he would've gotten some kind of robe that would've worked with the suit he'd been wearing when he'd been brought back to life. It looked like whatever clothes he'd borrowed from Captain Luccio, it came as a full set, and given the amount of leather he was wearing, I had a feeling the clothes belonged to Joseph Listens-to-Wind.
As much as the suits he wore emphasized lean curves and lines when he was a ghost, the leather gave Bob a more physical look. He still looked pale, but the earth tones made him look less like a ghost and more like a guy who didn't get out in the sun very often. The vest he wore attracted the eye to the way he filled out his shirt, and the robe he was wearing resembled a duster that had seen more than its share of years on the road. The boots looked supple, and the pants were worn and sported a hole or two, but they showed off his legs very nicely.
What can I say? I'm a legs man.
"Harry?"
"Huh?" I looked up. Bob arched an eyebrow at me, and gave me a look that plainly said he'd said my name more than once. Only Bob could've pulled off that combination of fond exasperation and smugness.
"Are you ready to leave--" He stopped, and then frowned at the lapel of my robe. "Apparently not," he answered himself, reaching out to finger my robe critically. "Really, Harry, you need to take better care of your formal wear." Then he noticed what I was wearing underneath of it. "And why aren't you wearing your suit?"
"Suit?" I asked, pretending to not know what he was talking about. He knew as well as I did that I have exactly one suit, and I had a pretty good reason not to wear it.
Bob sighed through his nose, looking singularly unimpressed as he absently straightened my collar. "Yes, Harry, your suit. In case it had escaped your attention, this is a formal function, and wearing black jeans and a button-down shirt isn't appropriate."
"Oh, I don't know," I said casually. "It worked so well for me the last time."
Bob's hands slowly gathered the lapels of my robe into two white-knuckled fists. The look he was giving me made the Arctic look warm. "Wear the damn suit, Harry," he growled, his voice sounding sexy even when he was pissed off.
"Or what?" I challenged, smirking a little. It was about time that I got under Bob's skin.
The only warning I had was a deep growl. Bob surprised me by yanking on the two handfuls he had of my robe, but as soon as his lips crushed against mine, my libido bashed my rational side over the head and insisted on dragging Bob back to my cave for a good, long time. It felt good to have him in my arms, the way I've wanted to for years and never realistically thought would happen. Bob started fighting dirty by sucking on my tongue, but even as he kissed me, the way his hands let go of my robe and traveled southward, I could feel my rational mind clearing its throat and reminding me that there was actually a good reason for me not to be kissing him. There's not a lot of people in the world that I trust, and when one of them lies to me, it's something I tend to notice, no matter how good they are at making my libido stand up and say hello.
My mind annoyingly clear, I reached down and kept his hips in place with both hands. He groaned into the kiss, his lips buzzing against mine, and when we finally surfaced, both of us were breathing hard, and Bob's cheeks were red.
"It's not going to kill me to wear this," I pointed out, my voice huskier than I was expecting.
Bob blinked a few times, and I could see his attention coming back. "Harry."
"I'm not wearing that suit," I said firmly. "And the next time you think you can distract me by kissing me, think again."
Bob looked surprised, and when he realized just where his hands were, he cleared his throat and backed away a few steps. "That wasn't a distraction," he said stiffly.
"What was it?" I asked, not believing him for a second.
He thought about it for a moment before he said, "Think of it as years of pent-up frustration over your pigheadedness."
I snorted. "Let me go find my keys, and we can hit the road. Is it at the convention center?"
"Yes, it is, and here are your keys," Bob said, depositing the keys in my hand before offering me my staff. "Do you know how to get there?"
"We'll be fine," I replied, taking the staff from him before heading outside and locking up behind us.
The drive to the convention center was smooth sailing, compared to how the day had been going so far, and pretty soon, I was pulling the Jeep into the parking garage. There weren't any other cars that I could see, but it never hurt to be on the lookout for trouble. I don't know how the two of us looked, walking side by side, but I'm pretty sure Bob looked more impressive. I tend to look more gawky than menacing, and the hockey stick I made into a staff didn't really make me look anymore intimidating. Bob, unarmed and wearing a lot more leather than usual, looked like he was ready to kick ass and take names.
The convention center hadn't changed much since the last time I was here. The strips of carpet muffled our footsteps, and the high, arched ceilings showed off just how large the place was. I couldn't hear the rush of air coming from any air vents, and while the building was warmer than it was outside, it could've been a little warmer. And as I expected, the lights weren't on. I might the walking Murphy's Law to any technology I'm around, but get more than a few wizards in one place, and even things like electricity were going to foul up.
All of the double-doors leading into the theater were closed except for one set, where three men stood, two of them wearing Council robes and grey Warden cloaks. The third man was Ebenezar.
When he saw us approach, he broke off and joined us. "Hoss," he said with a nod to me. "Bob."
Bob nodded back to him. "Master McCoy. I hope all is well?"
Ebenezar snorted. "Well, even if it wasn't, it's about to get a lot more interesting. C'mon." He nodded toward the two Wardens, both of them guys I'd never met. One of them was a short blond, and the other with his dark hair neatly parted in a way that reminded me of spy movies.
"Names?" the taller one asked, looking us up and down lazily, even though I was pretty sure he didn't miss much.
I gave him mine, handed over my staff for inspection, and when the blond checked my chakra points with one of the pendants, it didn't glow. All very routine security when showing up to one of these meetings. The blond Warden waved me through, but I hung back, wondering what kind of reception Bob would get.
"Hrothbert of Bainbridge," Bob replied calmly.
The first Warden paused, frowning at Bob. "Sorry?"
Ebenezar rolled his eyes. "I'll assume you're not deaf. Yes, he's that Hrothbert of Bainbridge. Yes, he's actually standing right in front of you. And yes, he actually wants to go inside. He's not a threat, and if he turns out to be, I'm going to be taking care of it. Now, can we finish this up and go inside?"
"Master McCoy, I appreciate your ability to take care of any unpleasantness that might arise--" the dark-haired one began.
"Then you don't have anything to worry about, do you?" Ebenezar asked pointedly.
The blond Warden stepped forward, less visibly startled than his partner, and inspected Bob's chakra points. When the pendant didn't glow, he eyed the taller man. "He's clean."
The dark-haired one frowned suspiciously, but since he couldn't find anything wrong, he sighed and waved them through.
"Two down, a few hundred to go," I muttered as we headed inside.
The theater, like the rest of the building, didn't have any lights on, and the heat of a few hundred wizards kept the place from being too cold from the early winter weather that had started to sweep into Chicago. Candles and braziers lit the place, the light and shadow flickering on people, tables, and chairs. There were seven podiums on the stage, from what I could see, the center podium slightly taller than the rest. The circular tables around the room were filled with wizards talking in languages familiar and foreign, and I could feel the auras of hundreds of practitioners stretching out feelers, crashing and blending and flexing around each other, some melding together harmoniously, others crashing as they collided. Wardens stood in various spots around the room, their grey cloaks noticeable over their robes.1
Bob got more than his share of curious looks as he led the way through the crowd. When people realized who he was, and realized that he had to duck through the tables like Ebenezar and me, the conversation quickly picked up in hushed voices. Some of the wizards I saw grew tense when they saw Bob, but I was surprised by how few of them actually seemed to recognize him on sight. If we were lucky, there might not be that many wizards who knew exactly who Bob was. I wasn't sure if it would work in our favor, but it never hurt to have all the help we could get.
I leaned a bit closer to Ebenezar while dodging around another chair. "Why exactly didn't the Merlin want this to be a private meeting?"
Ebenezar raised a wispy eyebrow at me. "And miss the opportunity to scare the wits out of every single wizard here? If he plays his cards right, he wouldn't even have to order the Wardens to kill Bob on sight."
I felt my blood run cold as I thought of just how many people were here that could panic and turn on us. Wizards might be smarter than your average mortal, and have access to power that the man on the street doesn't, but they can get scared, especially of a necromancer who's been around, if not necessarily alive, for nearly a thousand years.
"But the vote's going to be reduced to the Senior Council, right?" I asked. Ebenezar didn't look at me. "Isn't it?"
"They're gonna try, but nothing's certain," Ebenezar said, still not looking at me.
I frowned at him, but apparently, Bob had found a free table, and was sitting down in a chair facing the stage. The table itself was close to the stage, but off to the side closest to the only double-doors leading out of the convention center. It was close enough to the Senior Council that Bob wouldn't have to shout from the back of the room, but at the same time, I didn't like our odds if we had to get out in a hurry. As I sat down, I wondered if that was what Bob had intended.
Ebenezar sat down to Bob's left and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher that had been placed in the middle of the table. "You ready, Bob?"
Bob nodded, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a piece of paper he'd folded into thirds. "As I'll ever be, Master Blackstaff."
"Call me Ebenezar," Ebenezar grunted.
It might have been a trick of the light, but I thought I saw Bob smile a little. "Very well, Ebenezar." He poured himself a glass of water as well before adding, "I hope you realize that if you're given the order to kill me, I won't allow any harm to come to Harry."
Ebenezar nodded. "He's stubborn as hell, though. I'm going to have a fight on my hands one way or another."
"Hey, he's also sitting right here." I scowled at the two of them.
Bob turned to me, his eyebrows lifting in an innocent expression I didn't believe for a second. "Would you like some water, Harry?"
"No, thanks," I grunted, leaning forward a little to look at Ebenezar. "What's going on? What're we waiting for?"
"Them," he said, nodding at the stage. I looked up to see the members of the Senior Council enter from one of the backstage doors and take a podium. The Merlin, a tall man with flowing white hair, dressed in black Council robes with a rich purple stole over them, stepped up to the center podium. When he spoke, his voice was rolling and deep, with an air of authority that made the crowd's conversations die down. Latin flowed from his lips naturally, and I found myself glancing over at Bob. He noticed, and shot me a small smile before turning to watch the Merlin.
"Due to the recent developments that have necessitated our arrival here," the Merlin was saying in Latin, "I move to dispense with the usual formalities in order to discuss the most pertinent issue before us." His eyes, pale blue, zeroed in on our table, and at Bob specifically. "The resurrection of Hrothbert of Bainbridge."2
Any of the crowd who wasn't aware of Bob was aware of him now. Despite suddenly becoming the center of attention, Bob folded his hands in front of him and faced the Merlin calmly.
"All in favor?" the Merlin asked in Latin.
There was a rumble of agreement from the crowd, though the mood wasn't as murderous as it could've been. For all that Bob's told me that he's a cautionary tale to wizards about the hazards of playing with necromancy, there didn't seem to be a lot of wizards who knew him enough to want his head on a pike.
"I beg your pardon," one of the wizards standing at the podiums, a man who looked more like an average-sized skeleton than a person, spoke in a rich, smooth voice. His face was gaunt, with eyes that looked almost like tennis balls, and cheekbones that looked sharp enough to cut something. The fact that he was also completely hairless didn't help his overall appearance. "While I am familiar with Hrothbert of Bainbridge and his crimes, honored Merlin, I fear that the majority of the Council is not aware of them. Who is this criminal that we needed to convene an emergency meeting to discuss his fate?"3
The murmur from the crowd this time played right into the Merlin's hands. The Merlin nodded his thanks, and then turned to another wizard, this one prim in his robes and scarlet stole. "Wizard Peabody, would you consult the records and read the details of Hrothbert of Bainbridge's crimes to the Council?"
Peabody adjusted the spectacles on his face before reaching underneath him to a bulging satchel that had seen better centuries. He got a glazed look in his eyes and seemingly reached into it without looking before pulling out a sheaf of parchment tied with a black ribbon. Untying the ribbon carefully, he laid it open and began reading from the first page in a thin, reedy-sounding voice.
"In the year of Our Lord, twelve-hundred and seventy-one, Wizard Hrothbert, then a resident of the village of Bainbridge, was tried and found guilty of having committed the following offenses: Thirty-seven violations of the First Law of Magic against mortals. Thirty-seven violations of the Fifth Law of Magic."
I stared at Bob, feeling my skin crawl. I had seen the sea of faces that Bob had murdered in order to bring Winifred back from the dead, but hearing an actual number from the Council's records was something different. "Thirty-seven?" I whispered.
Bob continued to stare at the Merlin, his face expressionless. "Thirty-seven deaths the Council could prove," he murmured in a deceptively mild tone. "I got sloppier in hiding the physical evidence as time progressed."
On Bob's other side, I noticed Ebenezar's cheek twitch a little.
Peabody, apparently, wasn't finished. "Three violations of the Third Law of Magic, committed against duly-appointed Wardens during the course of a lawful investigation. Three violations of the Fourth Law of Magic, committed against duly-appointed Wardens during the course of a lawful investigation."
I glanced at Bob. Bob continued to stare straight at the Merlin. "They were prowling around my house. I needed to know what they had discovered. When I found out they knew nothing, I thought I could send them away, so that I could continue my work uninterrupted."
"Two violations of the Sixth Law of Magic," Peabody read on.
Bob would've tried anything to get her back, including trying to prevent her death in the first place. I knew that much from the soulgaze we'd shared a few days ago.
"Ten violations of the Second Law of Magic against mortals."
I frowned, a bit surprised by that one. The Second Law stated that no wizard would transform others. Transforming yourself was risky at best, because if, for example, a wizard turned himself into a mouse so that he could avoid being discovered somewhere he wasn't supposed to be, he risked losing his human intellect since the mouse's brain is a lot simpler than ours. Granted, there were a few Wardens I could argue wouldn't have to worry about it, but the ones I was thinking of probably weren't bright enough to figure out how to do it in the first place.
Bob whispered, "I thought that perhaps by transforming some of my victims into vessels capable of storing energy, less energy would be lost in the process and the effect would last longer than by simply using a person untouched by magic."
"Five violations of the First Law of Magic against Wardens, committed while evading capture," Peabody continued. "Seven violations of the Fourth Law of Magic against Wardens, committed while evading capture. Six violations of the Fourth Law of Magic against mortals, committed while evading capture."
Peabody's voice droned on, each sentence ending with 'committed while evading capture'. I could only sit there and fight the urge to throw up. Apparently, when Bob had finally been captured, he'd put up one hell of a fight.
Bob's jaw tightened. "I told you I was too far gone, Harry," he whispered, not looking at me.
"The sentence, having been carried out immediately by Captain Aelfric of the Wardens, was death by beheading," Peabody read on. "Through sanctioned ritual, the condemned's soul was bound to his skull, for the purpose of enforced servitude to forthright and responsible members of the High Council who prove themselves to be experienced and proficient in the Art so as to understand the nature of the condemned's crimes and see that the condemned is treated in a manner befitting his actions."
Forthright and responsible. Bob had said those words to me years ago, when I'd first become the guardian of his skull. Bob had been quoting his own death sentence.
I didn't realize how hard I'd been clenching my hands into fists until Bob laid a hand over mine and growled, "Stop."
The pain hit me a second later, and I used it to fuel the anger that had taken up residence in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to hit something really hard.
"Sit down, Harry," Bob whispered, sharp and fast, "and be silent. Please."
"Thank you, Wizard Peabody," the Merlin said, the Latin rippling off his tongue. I could tell he wanted to smirk, but instead, he gave the rest of the assembled wizards a hint of a smile. "Given the heinous nature of Hrothbert of Bainbridge's crimes, I move that we reinstate the previous sentence and return this warlock to the prison he so richly deserves." He turned to the assembled wizards and raised both eyebrows. "All in favor?"
***
[1] Butcher, Jim. Summer Knight. New York: Penguin Group, 2002. Readers of the books might notice that this is similar to the book's description of the convention center in Summer Knight. It's intentional, but at the same time, I ended up with my own mental image of it? Hope it works for you.
[2] Butcher, Jim. Summer Knight. New York: Penguin Group, 2002. Unfortunately, this was lifted word-for-word from Summer Knight. I couldn't think of the Merlin saying anything different in this case? *sigh* As soon as I come up with something, I'll change it, but I'll keep the citation.
[3] Butcher, Jim. Summer Knight. New York: Penguin Group, 2002. I tried to change the description for Aleron LaFortier from the books, but I don't know how successful I was. Either way, better to cite than plagiarize.
***
Back to Part One.
Continue to Part Three.