White Night

"That’s part of it," I said. "Yeah."

"I feel… sort of stupid."

"There’s a difference in knowing something" – I poked her head again – "and knowing it." I touched the middle of her sternum. "See?"

She nodded slowly. Then she took the strand back from me and put it back on her wrist. There was just enough left to let her tie it again. She held it up so that I could see and said, "So that I’ll remember."

I grinned at her and hugged her. She hugged back. "Did you get a lesson like this?"

"Pretty much," I said. "From this grumpy old Scot on a farm in the Ozarks."

"When do I stop feeling like an idiot?"

"I’ll let you know when I do," I said, and she laughed.

We parted the hug and I met her eyes. "You still in?"

"Yes," she said simply.

"Then you’ll ride up with Ramirez and me. We’ll stop outside the compound and you’ll stay with the car."

She nodded seriously. "What do I do?"

"Keep your eyes and ears open. Stay alert for anything you might sense. Don’t talk to anyone. If anyone approaches you, leave. If you see a bunch of bad guys showing up, start honking the horn and get out."

"Okay," she said. She looked a little pale.

I pulled a silver cylinder out of my pocket. "This is a hypersonic whistle. Mouse can hear it from a mile away. If we get in trouble, I’ll blow it and he’ll start barking about it. He’ll face where we are. Try to get the car as close as you can."

"I’ll have Mouse with me," she said, and looked considerably relieved.

I nodded. "Almost always better not to work alone."

"What if… what if I do something wrong?"

I shrugged. "What if you do? That’s always possible, Molly. But the only way never to do the wrong thing – "

" – is never to do anything," she finished.

"Bingo." I put a hand on her shoulder. "Look. You’re smart enough. I’ve taught you everything I know about the White Court. Keep your eyes open. Use your head, your judgment. If things get bad and I haven’t started blowing the whistle, run like hell. If it gets past ten P.M. and you haven’t heard from me, do the same. Get home and tell your folks."

"All right," she said quietly. She took a deep breath and let it out unsteadily. "This is scary."

"And we’re doing it anyway," I said.

"That makes us brave, right?"

"If we get away with it," I said. "If we don’t, it just makes us stupid."

Her eyes widened for a second and then she let out a full-throated laugh.

"Ready?" I asked her.

"Ready, sir."

"Good."

Outside, gravel crunched as Ramirez returned with the Beetle. "All right, apprentice," I said. "Get Mouse’s lead on him, will you? Let’s do it."

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chateau Raith hadn’t changed much since my last visit. That’s one of the good things about dealing with nigh-immortals. They tend to adjust badly to change and avoid it wherever possible.

It was a big place, north of the city, where the countryside rolls over a surprising variety of terrain – flat stretches of rich land that used to be farms, but are mostly big, expensive properties now. Dozens of little rivers and big creeks have carved hills and valleys more steep than most people expect from the Midwest. The trees out in that area, one of the older settlements in the United States, can be absolutely huge, and it would cost me five or six years’ worth of income to buy even a tiny house.

Chateau Raith is surrounded by a forest of those enormous, ancient trees, as if someone had managed to transplant a section of Sherwood Forest itself from Britain. You can’t see a thing of the estate from any of the roads around it. I knew it was at least a half-mile run through the trees before you got to the grounds, which were enormous in their own right.

Translation: You weren’t getting away from the chateau on foot speed alone. Not if there were vampires there to run you down.

There was one new feature to the grounds. The eight-foot-high stone wall was the same, but it had been topped with a double helix of razor wire, and lighting had been spaced along the outside of the wall. I could see security cameras at regular intervals as well. The old Lord Raith had disdained the more modern security precautions in favor of the protection of intense personal arrogance. Lara, however, seemed more willing to acknowledge threats, to listen to her mortal security staff, and to employ the countermeasures they suggested. It would certainly help keep the mortal riffraff out, and the Council had plenty of mortal allies.

More important, it said something about Lara’s administration: She found skilled subordinates and then listened to them. She might not look as overwhelmingly confident as Lord Raith had – but then, Lord Raith wasn’t running the show anymore, either, even if that wasn’t public knowledge in the magical community.

I reflected that it was entirely possible that I might have done the Council and the world something of a disservice by helping Lara assume control. Lord Raith had been proud and brittle. I had the feeling that Lara would prove to be far, far more capable and far more dangerous as the de facto White King.

And here I was, about to go to her aid again and help solidify her power even more.

"Stop here," I told Molly quietly. The gates to the chateau were still a quarter mile down the road. "This is as close as you get."

"Right," Molly said, and pulled the Beetle over – onto the far side of the road, I noted with approval, where anyone wanting to come to her would have to cross the open pavement to get there.

"Mouse," I said. "Stay here with Molly and listen for us. Take care of her."

Mouse looked unhappily at me from the backseat, where he’d sat with Ramirez, but leaned forward and dropped his shaggy chin onto my shoulder. I gave him a quick hug and said in a gruff voice, "Don’t worry; we’ll be fine."

His tail thumped once against the backseat, and then he shifted around to lay his head on Molly’s shoulder. She immediately started scratching him reassuringly behind the ear, though her own expression was far from comfortable.

I gave the girl half of a smile, and then got out of the car. Summer twilight was fading fast, and it was too hot to wear my duster. I had it on anyway, and I added the weight of the grey cloak of the Wardens of the White Council to the duster. Under all that, I wore a white silk shirt and cargo pants of heavy black cotton, plus my hiking boots.

"Hat," I muttered. "Spurs. Next time, I swear."