Death Masks

"Do you think that you frighten me, wizard?" said the Denarian. "I was destroying men more powerful than you before this pathetic nation was born."

"Where is Nicodemus and what is he doing with the Shroud? I’ll give you a hint. It’s got something to do with a plague curse."

"I have served Nicodemus since-"

"Since my last dental appointment, I get it," I said. "But let me point something out to you. Nicodemus isn’t here." I held my palms out to either side of me, Vanna White-style. "These two gentlemen are very much here. And very much angry."

Sanya stared at the Denarian, the saber in his hand swishing back and forth a little. He growled. It was enough to make me want to edge away from him.

"Look," I told him. "We’re going to find Nicodemus and push his face in. We’re going to shut down whatever he’s got in mind, and we’re going to get Shiro back. And you’re going to tell us what we need to know."

"Or?"

Michael said, in a very quiet voice, "I end you."

The snakeman stared at me for a very long time. Then he started to rasp and shake. It took me a minute to realize that he was laughing at me. Snakes weren’t really meant for laughter. It didn’t sit well on a serpentine body.

"You cannot threaten me," he said. "There is nothing you can do to me."

"I see a couple of holy swords here that make me think otherwise."

"No," the Denarian said. He reached up to his forehead and clawed at the sigil there, as if trying to peel off his own skin. The symbol flashed, and then faded, along with the second set of eyes. The whole of him rippled, scales abruptly melting away. For a second, the features of Father Vincent emerged from beneath the scales. Then they too faded away, replaced by a man’s pinched and hardened features. He was dark of skin, maybe Moorish, and he wasn’t big. Five feet and a little change, and not more than one-fifty. Average height, several centuries ago.

The man lowered his hand and let a slightly tarnished silver coin roll across the floor to Michael’s feet. "My name is Quintus Cassius, and I have long been slave to the will of the demon Saluriel." His dark eyes glittered with malice, and his tone dripped with sarcasm. "I beg you for mercy and the chance to mend my ways. How ever can I thank you, Sir Knight, for saving me from that torment."

Shit. He was playing the morality card. I shot a glance at Michael.

The big man frowned at snakeboy Cassius, but didn’t miss a beat in drawing out a white handkerchief embroidered with a silver cross, and folding the coin up in it. Michael and Sanya exchanged a long look, and then both of them put away their swords.

"Uh, guys. What the hell are you doing? Dangerous demon murderer here, remember?"

"Harry," Michael said. "We can’t. Not if he’s surrendered the coin and asked mercy."

"What?" I demanded. "That’s stupid."

"Of course it is," Cassius said. Glee danced in his voice. "They know that I am not sincere. They know I will turn on them at the first opportunity. That I will obtain one of the other coins and return to what I have done for centuries."

I stood up, angry enough that the chair fell over. "Michael, if you turn the other cheek on this bastard he’ll tear it off your face. You’re supposed to be the freaking Fist of God."

"No, I’m not, Harry," Michael said. "The purpose of the Knights is not to destroy those who serve evil."

"Indeed not," Cassius said. Somehow, there was more of a hiss in his voice now than when he’d been a snake. "They’re here to save us."

"To save them?" I stared at Michael. "Is he kidding?"

Michael shook his head. "No one else can face the Denarians, Harry. No one else can challenge the Fallen. This moment might be the only chance Cassius has to turn aside from what he has chosen. To change his path."

"Great. I’m all for changing his path. Let’s change it to a direct line to the bottom of Lake Michigan."

Michael’s expression was pained. "The Knights are here to protect freedom. To give those who are under the oppression of dark forces the chance to win free of them. I cannot sit in judgment on this man’s soul, Harry Dresden. Not for you. Not for anyone. All I can do is remain faithful to my calling. Give him the chance to see hope for his future. To show him the love and compassion any human being should show another. The rest is out of my hands."

I watched Cassius’s face while Michael spoke. His expression changed. It became harder. More brittle. And bitter. What Michael said had touched him. I didn’t believe for a second that it had touched Cassius enough to change his mind. But it touched him enough to drive him toward fury.

I turned to Michael and said, "Do you really think that thing is going to start sipping of the milk of human kindness?"

"No," Michael said. "But that doesn’t change my purpose. He has surrendered his coin, and the influence of it. The rest is not for Sanya or me to decide. It is Cassius’s choice."

"You’ve seen these things," I snarled, stalking over to face Michael. "I’ve seen the corpses they’ve left. They would have killed me, Susan, you-hell, all of us-without blinking an eye. God only knows what they have in mind with that curse they’re putting together."

"All power has its limits, Harry." He shook his head. "This is the limit of mine."

Without really thinking about it, I shoved his shoulder. "They might already have killed Shiro. And you’re going to let this bastard walk?"

Michael caught my arm in one hand and twisted. Michael is strong. I had to rise up onto my toes to relieve the pressure he put on my elbow, and he shoved me back from him, his eyes hard and cold and angry as hell.

"I know that," he said in that same deadly quiet voice. "I know they’ve hurt him. That they’re going to kill him. Just as Shiro knew that Nicodemus would betray his promise to set you free. It’s one of the things that makes us different than they are, Harry. The blood on their hands does not make it right to bloody my own. My choices are measured against my own soul. Not against the stains on theirs." He looked at Cassius, and the Denarian flinched away from the silent flame in Michael’s expression. "It is not for me to judge his soul. No matter how much I might want to."

"Hell’s bells," I muttered. "No wonder Nicodemus has killed so many Knights, if you’re all as idiotic as this."

"Harry- " Michael began.

I interrupted him. "Look at him, Michael. He isn’t a victim. He’s a freaking collaborator. That poor bastard Rasmussen might have been dragooned into working with the Denarians, but Cassius does it because he wants to do it."