He lifted a hand palm up as he explained. “Someone with enough foresight might, for example, arrange to be in a position to assist a hot-headed young wizard of the White Council one day. Perhaps who I am is directly responsible for why I am here.”
“Yeah. I guess that could be it,” I said. “It’s technically possible that your motives for assisting me are altruistic. On the other hand, it’s also technically possible that you are speaking with a forked tongue, and that all you’re really trying to do is find some way to take advantage of me when I’m under pressure.” I shrugged. “No offense intended, but there’s kind of a shortage of altruism out there.”
“So cynical for one so young.” He looked me up and down. “But you would be. You would be.”
“I’ve got questions,” I said. “Granted, they aren’t as profound as ‘Who am I?’ or ‘Why am I here?’ but they’re a lot more important to me at the moment.”
Vadderung nodded. “You’re looking for your daughter.”
I felt my body go rigid. “How . . . ?”
He smiled rather wolfishly. “I know things, Dresden. And if I don’t know something, I can find out. Like yourself, it is what I do.”
I stared at the man for most of a minute. Then I said, “Do you know where she is?”
“No,” he said in a quiet, firm voice. “But I know where she will be.”
I looked down at my hands. “What’s it going to cost me to find out?”
“Chichén Itzá,” Vadderung said.
I jerked my head up in surprise. I stared at the man for a moment. “I . . .”
“Don’t understand?” Vadderung asked. “It isn’t complicated. I’m on your side, boy.”
I raked my fingers back through my hair, thinking. “Why there?”
“The Red King and his inner circle, the Lords of Outer Night, have got some big juju to brew up. They need a site of power to do it. For this, they’ll use Chichén Itzá.”
“Why there?”
“They’re enacting a sacrifice. Like in the old days.” A snarl of anger touched his voice, and made it suddenly frightening. “They’re preparing a bloodline curse.”
“A what?”
“Death magic,” he said, “focused upon the bloodline. From the sacrifice, the child, to her brothers, sisters, and parents. From the parents to their brothers, sisters, and parents, and so on. Spreading up the family tree until there’s no one left.”
A chill hit my guts. “I’ve . . . never even heard of death magic on that kind of scale. The energy required for that . . . It’s enormous.” I stopped for a moment and then said, “And it’s stupid. Susan was an only child, and she’s already lost her parents. Same with me . . .”
Vadderung arched an eyebrow at me. “Is it? They like to be thorough, those old monsters.”
I smoothed my expression over, trying not to give away anything. This spell they were doing would kill me, if they pulled it off. It could also kill my only family, my half brother, Thomas. “How does it work?” I asked him, my voice subdued.
“It tears out the heart,” Vadderung said. “Rips it to bits on the way out, too. Sound familiar?”
“Hell’s bells,” I said quietly. It had been years since I had even thought about Victor Sells or his victims. They had featured in my nightmares for quite a while until I upgraded.
Vadderung leaned toward me, his blue eye very bright. “It’s all connected, Dresden. The whole game. And you’re only now beginning to learn who the players are.” He settled back into his seat, letting silence add emphasis to his statement before he continued. “The sorcerer who used the spell in Chicago before didn’t have strength enough to make it spread past the initial target. The Red Court does. No one has used Power on this scale in more than a millennium.”
“And they’re pointing it at me?”
“They say you can know a man by his enemies, Dresden.” He smiled, and laughter lurked beneath his next words, never quite surfacing. “You defy beings that should cow you into silence. You resist forces that are inevitable for no more reason than that you believe they should be resisted. You bow your head to neither demons nor angels, and you put yourself in harm’s way to defend those who cannot defend themselves.” He nodded slowly. “I think I like you.”
I arched an eyebrow and studied him for a moment. “Then help me.”
Vadderung pursed his lips in thought. “In that, you may be disappointed. I am . . . not what I was. My children are scattered around the world. Most of them have forgotten our purpose. Once the Jotuns retreated . . .” He shook his head. “What you must understand is that you face beings such as I in this battle.”
I frowned. “You mean . . . gods?”
“Mostly retired gods, at any rate,” Vadderung said. “Once, entire civilizations bowed to them. Now they are venerated by only a handful, the power of their blood spread out among thousands of offspring. But in the Lords of Outer Night, even the remnants of that power are more than you can face as you are.”
“I’ve heard that one before,” I said.
Vadderung just looked at me. Then he said, “Let me help you understand.”
And a force like a hundred anvils smashed me out of the chair and to the floor.
I found myself on my back, gasping like a landed fish. I struggled to move, to push myself up, but I couldn’t so much as lift my arms from the ground. I brought my will into focus, with the idea of using it to deflect some of that force from me and—
—and suddenly, sharply felt my will directly in contention with another. The power that held me down was not earth magic, as I had assumed it to be. It was the simple, raw, brute application of the will of Donar Vadderung, Thunder’s Father, the Father and King of the Aesir. Father Odin’s will held me pinned to the floor, and I could no more escape it or force it away than could an insect stop a shoe from descending.
In the instant that realization came to me, the force vanished, evaporating as if it had never been. I lay on the floor gasping.
“It is within my capabilities to kill you, young wizard,” Vadderung said quietly. “I could wish you dead. Especially here, at the center of my power on Midgard.” He got up, came around the desk, and offered me his hand. I took it. He pulled me to my feet, steady as a rock. “You will be at the center of their power. There will be a dozen of them, each nearly as strong as I am.” He put a hand on my shoulder briefly. “You are bold, clever, and from time to time lucky. All of those are excellent qualities to have in battles like yours. But against power such as this you cannot prevail as you are. Even if you are able to challenge the Red King at Chichén Itzá, you will be crushed down as you were a moment ago. You’ll be able to do nothing but watch as your daughter dies.”
He stared at me in silence for a time. Then the door to his office opened, and one of the receptionists leaned in. “Sir,” she said, “you have a lunch appointment in five minutes.”
“Indeed,” Vadderung said. “Thank you, M.”
She nodded and retreated again.
Vadderung turned back to me, as Gard returned to the room, carrying a covered tray. She set it down on the big steel desk and stepped back, unobtrusively.
“You’ve defied fate, Dresden,” Vadderung said. “You’ve stood up to foes much larger than you. For that, you have my respect.”
“Do you think I could swap in the respect for . . . I dunno . . . half a dozen Valkyries, a receptionist, and a couple of platoons of dead heroes?”
Vadderung laughed again. He had a hearty laugh, like Santa Claus must have had when he was young and playing football. “I couldn’t do without my receptionists, I’m afraid.” He sobered. “And those others . . . would be less strong at the center of the Red King’s power.” He shook his head. “Like it or not, this is a mortal matter. It must be settled by mortals.”
“You’re not going to help,” I said quietly.
He went to a steel closet and opened the door, removing an overcoat. He slipped into it, and then walked over to me again. “I’ve been in this game for a long, long time, boy. How do you know I haven’t given you exactly what you need?”