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"I took her out on my own," she said. "She's free of that place. She will stay that way."
"To be raised among the vampires?" I asked. "Such a lovely child will surely go far."
Justine grimaced and looked away. "She was too small to swim out on her own. I couldn't leave her."
I stared at the young woman for a long moment. Then I said, "You might consider speaking to Father Forthill at St. Mary of the Angels. The Church appears to have some sort of program to place those endangered by the supernatural into hiding. I do not recommend you mention my name as a reference, but perhaps he could be convinced to help the child."
She blinked at me, several times. Then she said quietly, "You, sir, are not very much like I thought you were."
"Nor are you, Agent Justine." I took a deep breath and regarded the child again. "At least we accomplished something today." I smiled at Justine. "Your ride should be here by now. You may go."
She opened her mouth and reached for the envelope.
I slipped it into my pocket. "Do give Lara my regards. And tell her that the next time she sends you out to steal honey, she should find someone else to kill the bees." I gave her a faint smile. "That will be all."
Justine looked at me. Then her lips quivered up into a tiny, amused smile. She bowed her head to me, collected the child, and walked out, her steps light.
I debated putting a bullet in her head but decided against it. She had information about my defenses that could leave them vulnerable--and more to the point, she knew that they were effective. If she should speak of today's events to Dresden . . .
Well. The wizard would immediately recognize that the claymores, the running water, and the magic-defense-piercing bullet had not been put into place to counter Mag or his odd folk at all.
They were there to kill Harry Dresden.
And they worked. Mag had proven that. An eventual confrontation with Dresden was inevitable--but murdering Justine would guarantee it happened immediately, and I wasn't ready for that, not until I had rebuilt the defenses in the new location.
Besides, the young woman had rules of her own. I could respect that.
I would test myself against Dresden in earnest one day--or he against me. Until then, I had to gather as many resources to myself as possible. And when the day of reckoning came, I had to make sure it happened in a place where, despite his powers, he would no longer have the upper hand.
Like everything else.
Location, location, location.
HOUNDED
KELLEY ARMSTRONG
The Cainsville series takes place in a town settled by refugee fae. Welsh fae (Tylwyth Teg) share the region with the Cwn Annwn, the Welsh version of the Wild Hunt, who are tasked with hunting killers and sending their souls to the afterlife. Betrayals introduced a rogue Huntsman, who lost his hound to the protagonists. In "Hounded," he's out to replace the missing canine companion.
As the woman continued to talk, the Huntsman continued ignoring her, his attention absorbed instead by the dog drowsing under her patio chair. The beast's presence gnawed at him, a mocking reminder that he lacked a hound himself.
The Huntsman was Cwn Annwn. The Wild Hunt. The very term meant "Hounds of the Otherworld"--Huntsmen and their hounds, working as one, psychically bonded. But he had no pack--neither fellow Huntsmen nor hounds. Not anymore. And while he didn't miss the former, he was working to replace the latter. Hence the woman and her dog, sitting across from him at the cafe.
When the woman paused her endless prattle, the Huntsman nodded, and that was all she needed to continue, the warmth in his eyes insisting that he found her utterly fascinating. Which he did, in a way.
Cwn Annwn were known for their natural charm. The Huntsman might have traded his for more useful powers, but he'd discovered that charm could also be learned. Act as if you care, and people will believe you actually do.
One Cwn Annwn power he'd retained was far more useful: the ability to peer into the corners of human minds, to tease out darkness and pass judgment on a soul. Eternal judgment.
If he was to judge this woman by what she was saying, the verdict could be summed up with a yawn. It was almost painful to listen to as she reci
ted the mundanities of her existence, all the ways she frittered away her short human life span. Growing up in a middle-class family, going to college, getting a business degree, joining a firm, getting married, opening a business, getting divorced.
There wasn't any part of her past that even she looked back on with fondness. College was tedious. Her first job, drudgery. Her ex-husband, an asshole. Even opening her own business hadn't made her happy, because she was saddled with a partner she loathed.
Why was she telling him all this? Because they were out on a date. A first date, during which, from what the Huntsman understood of human rituals, one was supposed to put one's best self forward, make a good impression. Indeed, this woman was making an impression--and not just with her spot-on impersonation of an incredible bore, though she did pull that off very well. No, as she talked, she told him more. Inadvertent reveals abounded as she nattered on, and the Huntsman gazed into her eyes and saw much more.
So much more.
