"That's the second time you've mentioned her," I said.
"Yes. I respected her. Which is quite unusual for me."
"You respected her so much you snatched me and brought me here. I see."
Nicodemus waved his hand. "It worked out that way. I needed someone of a certain metaphysical mass. You interfered in my business, you were convenient, and you fit the recipe."
Recipe? "What recipe?"
He sipped at his coffee and closed his eyes in enjoyment. The bastard. "I take it that this is the portion of the conversation where I reveal my plans to you?"
"What have you got to lose?"
"And apparently you expect me to tell you of any vulnerabilities I might have as well. I am wounded by the lack of professional respect this implies."
I ground my teeth. "Chicken."
He picked up a piece of bacon and nibbled at it. "It is enough for you to know that one of two things will happen."
"Oh, yeah?" Master of repartee, that's me.
"Indeed. Either you will be freed and sit down to enjoy a nice breakfast -" He picked up a slightly curved and sharp-looking knife from the table. "Or I will cut your throat as soon as I finish eating."
He said it scary-without any melodrama to it at all. Matter-of-fact. The way most people say that they need to take out the trash. "Ye olde 'join up or die' ultimatum," I said. "Gee, no matter how many times I get it, that one never goes out of style."
"Your history indicates that you are too dangerous to leave alive, I'm afraid-and I am on a schedule," Nicodemus said.
A schedule? He was working against a time limit, then. "I'm really inconvenient that way. Don't take it personal."
"I don't," he assured me. "This isn't easy for either of us. I'd use some sort of psychological technique on you, but I haven't gotten caught up on some of the more recent developments." He took a piece of toast and buttered it. "Then again, I suppose not many psychologists can drive chariots, so perhaps it balances out."
The door opened again, and a young woman came into the room. She had long, sleep-tousled dark hair, dark eyes, and a face a little too lean to be conventionally pretty. She wore a kimono of red silk belted loosely, so that gaps appeared as she moved. She evidently didn't have anything on underneath it. Like I said, Undertown is cold.
The girl yawned and stretched lazily, watching me as she did. She too spoke with an odd, vaguely British accent. "Good morning."
"And you, little one. Harry Dresden, I don't believe you've been introduced to my daughter, Deirdre."
I eyed the girl, who seemed vaguely familiar. "We haven't met."
"Yes, we have," Deirdre said, reaching out to pluck a strawberry from the breakfast table. She took a slow bite from it, lips sealed around the fruit. "At the harbor."
"Ah. Madame Medusa, I presume."
Deirdre sighed. "I've never heard that one before. It's so amusing. May I kill him, Father?"
"Not just yet," Nicodemus said. "But if it comes to that, he's mine."
Deirdre nodded sleepily. "Have I missed breakfast?"
Nicodemus smiled at her. "Not at all. Give us a kiss."
She slid onto his lap and did. With tongue. Yuck. After a moment she rose, and Nicodemus held one of the chairs out for her as she sat down. He reseated himself and said, "There are three chairs here, Dresden. Are you sure you wouldn't like to take breakfast with us?"
I started to tell him what he could do with his third chair, but the smell of food stopped me. I suddenly felt desperately, painfully hungry. The water got colder. "What did you have in mind?"
Nicodemus nodded to one of the goons. The man walked over to me, drawing a jewelry box out of his pocket. He opened it, offering it out to me.
I mimed a gasp. "But this is so sudden."
The goon glared. Nicodemus smiled. Inside the jewelry box was an ancient silver coin, like the one I'd seen in the alley behind the hospital. The tarnish on the coin was in the shape of another sigil.
"You like me. You really like me," I said without enthusiasm. "You want me to join up?"
"You needn't if you do not wish to," Nicodemus said. "I just want you to hear our side of things before you make up your mind to die needlessly. Accept the coin. Have some breakfast with us. We can talk. After that, if you don't want to have anything to do with me, you may leave."
"You'd just let me go. Sure."
"If you accept the coin, I doubt I'd be able to stop you."
"So what says I wouldn't turn around and use it against you?"
"Nothing," Nicodemus said. "But I am a great believer in the benevolence of human nature."
Like hell he was. "Do you actually think you could convince me to join up with you?"
"Yes," he said. "I know you."
"Do not."
"Do too," he replied. "I know more about you than you do yourself."
"Such as?"
"Such as why you chose this kind of life for yourself. To appoint yourself protector of mortal kind, and to make yourself the enemy of any who would do them harm. To live outcast from your own kind, laughed at and mocked by most mortals. Living in a hovel, barely scraping by. Spurning wealth and fame. Why do you do it?"
"I'm a disciple of the Tao of Peter Parker, obviously," I said.
I guess Nicodemus was a DC Comics fan, because he didn't get it. "It is all you will allow yourself, and I know why."
"All right. Why?"
"Because you are ruled by fear. You are afraid, Dresden."
I said, "Of what?"
"Of what you could be if you ever let yourself stray from the right-hand path," Nicodemus said. "Of the power you could use. You've thought about what it might be like to bend the world to your will. The things you could have. The people. Some part of you has considered and found joy in the idea of using your abilities to take what you wish. And you are afraid of that joy. So you drive yourself toward martyrdom instead."
I started to deny his words. But I couldn't. He was right, or at least not wholly wrong. My voice came out subdued. "Everyone has thoughts like that sometimes."
"No," Nicodemus said, "they don't. Most people never consider such actions. It never crosses their minds. The average mortal would have no sure way of taking that kind of power. But for you, it's different. You may pretend you are like them. But you are not."
"That's not true," I replied.
"Of course it is," Nicodemus said. "You might not like to admit it, but that makes it no less true. It's denial. There are a number of ways you express it in your life. You don't want to see what you are, so you have very few pictures of yourself. No mirrors, either."
I ground my teeth. "I'm not different in any way that matters. I'm not any better than anyone else. We all put our pants on one leg at a time."
"Granted," Nicodemus said. "But a century from now, your mortal associates will be rotting in the earth, whereas, barring amputation or radical shifts in fashion, you will still be putting your pants on one leg at a time. All these allies and friends you have made will be withered and gone, while you are just beginning to come into your full strength. You look like a mortal, Dresden. But make no mistake. You aren't one."
"Oh, shut up."
"You are different. You are a freak. In a city of millions, you are all but alone."
"Which explains my dating life," I said, but I couldn't put much zing in the words. Something in my throat felt heavy.
Nicodemus had the valet pour coffee for Deirdre, but he spooned sugar into it himself. "You're afraid, but you don't have to be. You're above them, Dresden. There's an entire world waiting for you. Uncounted paths you could take. Allies who would stand with you over the years. Who would accept you instead of scorning you. You could discover what happened to your parents. Avenge them. Find your family. Find a place where you truly belonged."