Chapter Two
Marcone was a handsome, unassuming-looking man in a well-tailored business suit, maybe in his fifties, though he had the look that made it hard to tell.
His pale green eyes were calm and alert, and he stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
I was a lot taller than him, but it never felt like I was.
There was something about his presence that had always made me feel acutely aware that I was in close proximity to a predator well accustomed to taking down prey larger than itself.
As the kingpin of Chicago’s criminal underworld, he’d always been dangerous.
And then he’d made an alliance with an actual Fallen angel and gained the powers of a Knight of the Blackened Denarius, including the ability to use magic in some ways that I couldn’t yet match.
If I hadn’t been a bona fide wizard, wielder of the primal powers of the cosmos, consistently victorious over monsters and demons and horrors beyond imagination, I might have been a little nervous, standing there facing him in the open, alone.
Don’t get me wrong. Marcone had a certain integrity of his own. He’d made good on his word before. But you don’t turn your back on a tiger. It’s just asking for trouble.
“Sir Knight,” Marcone said, cordially enough, using my proper title.
“Baron,” I replied. Within the nations of the Unseelie Accords, Marcone had earned his rank and held it. He’d gained a considerable amount of respect from them during the Battle of Chicago. He wanted to play nice, I could go along—to a point.
Marcone looked up at the castle, musing. “You’ve learned to make use of Merlin’s fortress. Or so the evidence from last spring would suggest.”
“Weird,” I said. “It’s almost like I’m a wizard or something.”
He smiled without it touching his eyes. “Given the pains I took in transport and reassembly, I suppose I’m glad it’s being used by someone. Allow me to congratulate you on your upcoming nuptials. Lara Raith is a formidable ally.”
I sighed. “Marcone, it’s early. I’ve got things to do today. If you’ve got business, let’s get it done.”
“Business,” he mused. “Not quite that, I think. You are in my personal debt, Dresden.”
I frowned. “How do you figure that?”
“In two counts,” he replied. “First, when I opened my fortress to the protection of the people of this very neighborhood, the night of the Titan’s attack, at your insistence.”
I grunted. “And?”
“And when I saved your life in the wake of the Titan’s binding.”
My frown ranked up to a full scowl. “Oh,” I said. “That.”
“Yes. That. I assure you, I find it as awkward to hold such a marker as you must to owe it.” He let it sink in for a second and then said, “I thought it would be simpler to square the account between the two of us rather than by going through formal channels with your liege.”
Any deal that didn’t have the Queen of Air and Darkness involved in it was a better and less painful deal than it might otherwise be, about ninety-nine times out of a hundred.
I think she did it that way on purpose, to keep people from bothering her with things that weren’t life-and-death important.
Marcone hadn’t exactly been made comfortable when Mab had gotten involved in his affairs, either.
I didn’t like Marcone. I never would. He had built an empire on making people suffer, in one way or another.
But he had fought beside me against the Titan, Ethniu. And he’d protected people of this neighborhood when he didn’t have to. And when I’d fallen with nothing left in me when I’d put the Titan away, he really did save my life.
“Suppose I say no,” I said.
He shrugged a shoulder. “I am neither your liege nor your father. I cannot force you to work with me. I am, of course, capable of putting pressure on you in any number of ways, mundane or otherwise. I am, however, quite familiar with the reactions such tactics elicit when employed upon you. And frankly, I have better things to do with my time and resources than make you miserable.”
I squinted at him sideways. “Why are you here?”
“Because I wish to be clear of you. I’ve come alone. I’ve offered no threats. I’m here to give you a chance to repay your obligation to me, and to do it in a way that I do not believe will run afoul of your … ethical aesthetic. Such as it is.”
Now I felt more wary than ever. “What do you want me to do?”
“There is a member of my organization who wishes to be rid of me and his life in my employ. He wishes to become, as those of diminished intellect take such pleasure in stating, ‘one of the good guys.’ There are obstacles to such in his way. As he has been loyal to me, despite his desire to depart my organization, I wish you to help him overcome them.”
Alarm bells were ringing in my head.
And so was a nagging tension.
I owed Marcone. The scales were out of balance, and I owed him.
That bothered me a lot more than I wanted to admit.
Maybe that was about me. Maybe it was about the fact that as the Winter Knight of the Unseelie Court, the satisfaction of debts occupied a lot more of my consideration than it had when I was just a vanilla human wizard.
“You want me to help one of your guys go straight,” I said.
“Precisely.”
“And that’s it?”
“Assist him in finding his way to legitimacy,” Marcone said, “and I will consider the debt paid.” He gave me a brief smile. “I should think this would be right up your alley. Have you not more than defeated a wicked foe when you make him a convert to the light?”
I exhaled slowly through my nose. “Why does this smell like such a setup?”
“Most likely because you have, despite expectations, gained some measure of wisdom during the course of your misadventures. Of course, this serves my purposes as well.”
“And those are?”
His eyes wrinkled at the corners. “None of your business.”
“Help your guy go straight,” I said. “That’s all you want.”
“I give you my word,” he replied calmly. “It is my sincere wish that he become disentangled from me and an upstanding and benevolent member of society.”
I exhaled through my nose again.
Marcone was not to be trusted.
But I owed him.
In my head, the spirit of my best friend, a good man, murmured, It is never unworthy work to attempt to redeem one who is lost and wishes to be found.
Hell’s bells, the White Council of Wizardry wasn’t much different than the outfit, when it came down to brass tacks.
The whole reason I was helping and teaching Fitz was so that he could deal with them on something more like even terms. I could think of times when I’d wanted out from under their looming influence and threat.
Like yesterday. And tomorrow. And right now.
If someone wanted out from that kind of life, could I just ignore it when I could help make it happen?
“Fine,” I said, warily. “I’m not making promises, but I’ll talk to him, and we’ll see.”
“Excellent,” Marcone said. He turned to one side, lifted his hand, and waved two fingers down the street.
A block and a half away, a dark limousine pulled out from where it was parked on the road, approached sedately, and came to a stop at the curb, three feet behind Marcone. I watched carefully in case it wasn’t what it looked like.
The back door of the limo opened, and a man got out.
He was wearing a camel-colored suit that must have come from Marcone’s tailor. Early forties, broad shoulders, moving fluidly enough to convey physical fitness. He had very short, dark hair, and an immaculate beard, and it took me a second or two to realize that I knew him.
Tripp Gregory. One of the more contemptible people I’d ever had the displeasure to meet.
Tripp faced me, swallowed, and lifted his chin a little. He didn’t say anything, which surprised me a bit. One of his most endearing qualities was an absolute inability to know when to shut his mouth.
I blinked once and then shifted my gaze to Marcone, who had an expression on his face that might, barely, have been a smile. “You must be kidding,” I said, harshly. “This guy?”
“During the Battle,” Marcone said smoothly, “you challenged me on the practice of my principles. It was uncomfortable and necessary. I now return the compliment. Are your principles actually principled, Dresden? Or do they only apply to the people you happen to like.”
Marcone is an asshole.
And I was furious.
But some part of me realized that I would not have been so angry if he didn’t have a point in there somewhere. And I was past the point in my life where I would let my anger direct my reactions.
You know. Mostly.
“You just wanted to see the look on my face, didn’t you?” I snapped.
“Perhaps,” Marcone said, and butter wouldn’t have melted in his mouth as he got into the back of the limo. “Thank you for your time, Sir Knight.”