Jim Butcher - Summer Knight
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
SUMMER KNIGHT: BOOK FOUR OF THE DRESDEN FILES
ARoc Book / published by arrangement with the author
All rights reserved.
Copyright 2002 byJim Butcher
This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.
For information address:
The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address ishttp://www.penguinputnam.com
ISBN: 1-101-13394-5
AROC BOOK
RocBooks first published by The Roc Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
Rocand the Roc design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.
Step into the magical world of Harry Dresden...
STORM FRONT
FOOL MOON
GRAVE PERIL
Available from Roc Books
This book is for big sisters everywhere who have enough patience not to strangle their little brothersand particularly for my own sisters, who had more than most. I owe you both so much.
And for Mom, for reasons that are so obvious that they really dont need to be saidbut I thought I would make special mention of candy cane cookies and that rocking chair that creaked me to sleep.
The author (thats me) wishes to thank all the people who should have been thanked in other booksRicia and A.J., obviously, and the mighty Jen. Thank you to all the folks who have been so supportive of my work all along, including (but not limited to) Wil and Erin (who fed me great Chicago information and who I missed the first time around), Fred and Chris, Martina and Caroline and Debra and Cam and Jess and Monica and April.
Thank you also to you mighty librarians who have tricked people into reading these books, and to the bookstore personnel (and lurkers) who have gone out of their way to help me get noticed. I admit to being somewhat baffled, but Im very grateful to you all.
I owe thanks to so many people that I probably am incapable of remembering everyone. If I missed someone, let Shannon know. She will club me on the head with a baseball bat and point out the mistake.
(P.S. Shannon and J.J., as always, thank you. Id promise to be less of a weirdo, but we all know how longthat one would last.)
It rained toads the day the White Council came to town.
I got out of the Blue Beetle, my beat-up old Volkswagen bug, and squinted against the midsummer sunlight. Lake Meadow Park lies a bit south of Chicagos Loop, a long sprint from Lake Michigans shores. Even in heat like wed had lately, the park would normally be crowded with people. Today it was deserted but for an old lady with a shopping cart and a long coat, tottering around the park. It wasnt yet noon, and my sweats and T-shirt were too hot for the weather.
I squinted around the park for a moment, took a couple of steps onto the grass, and got hit on the head by something damp and squishy.
I flinched and slapped at my hair. Something small fell past my face and onto the ground at my feet. A toad. Not a big one, as toads goit could easily have sat in the palm of my hand. It wobbled for a few moments upon hitting the ground, then let out a bleary croak and started hopping drunkenly away.
I looked around me and saw other toads on the ground. A lot of them. The sound of their croaking grew louder as I walked further into the park. Even as I watched, several more amphibians plopped out of the sky, as though the Almighty had dropped them down a laundry chute. Toads hopped around everywhere. They didnt carpet the ground, but you couldnt possibly miss them. Every moment or so, you would hear the thump of another one landing. Their croaking sounded vaguely like the speech-chatter of a crowded room.
Weird, huh? said an eager voice. I looked up to see a short young man with broad shoulders and a confident walk coming toward me. Billy the Werewolf wore sweatpants and a plain dark T-shirt. A year or two ago the outfit would have concealed the forty or fifty extra pounds hed been carrying. Now they concealed all the muscle hed traded it in for. He stuck out his hand, smiling. What did I tell you, Harry?
Billy, I responded. He crunched down hard as I shook his hand. Or maybe he was just that much stronger. Hows the werewolf biz?
Getting interesting, he said. Weve run into a lot of odd things lately when weve been out patrolling. Like this. He gestured at the park. Another toad fell from the sky several feet away. Thats why we called the wizard.
Patrolling. Holy vigilantes, Batman. Any of the normals been here?
No, except for some meteorological guys from the university. They said that they were having tornadoes in Louisiana or something, that the storms must have thrown the toads here.
I snorted. Youd think its magic would be easier to swallow than that.
Billy grinned. Dont worry. Im sure someone will come along and declare it a hoax before long.
Uh-huh. I turned back to the Beetle and popped the hood to rummage in the forward storage compartment. I came out with a nylon backpack and dragged a couple of small cloth sacks out of it. I threw one to Billy. Grab a couple of toads and pitch them in there for me.
He caught the bag and frowned. Why?
So I can make sure theyre real.
Billy lifted his eyebrows. You think theyre not?
I squinted at him. Look, Billy, just do it. I havent slept, I cant remember the last time I ate a hot meal, and Ive got a lot to do before tonight.
But why wouldnt they be real? They look real.
I blew out a breath and tried to keep my temper. It had been short lately. They could look real and feel real, but its possible that theyre just constructs. Made out of the material of the Nevernever and animated by magic. I hope they are.
Why?
Because all that would mean is that some faerie got bored and played a trick. They do that sometimes.
Okay. But if theyre real?
If theyre real, then it means something is out of whack.
What kind of out of whack?
The serious kind. Holes in the fabric of reality.
And that would be bad?
I eyed him. Yeah, Billy. That would be bad. It would mean something big was going down.
But what if
My temper flared. I dont have the time or inclination to teach a class today. Shut the hell up.
He lifted a hand in a pacifying gesture. Okay, man. Whatever. He fell into step beside me and started picking up toads as we walked across the park. So, uh, its good to see you, Harry. Me and the gang were wondering if you wanted to come by this weekend, do some socializing.
I scooped up a toad of my own and eyed him dubiously. Doing what?
He grinned at me. Playing Arcanos, man. The campaign is getting really fun.
Role-playing games. I made a monosyllabic sound. The old lady with the shopping cart wandered past us, the wheels of the cart squeaking and wobbling.
Seriously, its great, he insisted. Were storming the fortress of Lord Malocchio, except we have to do it in disguise in the dead of night, so that the Council of Truth wont know who the vigilantes who brought him down were. Theres spells and demons and dragons and everything. Interested?
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