“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?”

Vadderung took the lid off the covered tray, nodded to me pleasantly, and left.

I looked at the tray. A cup of tea steamed there, three empty paper packets of sugar beside it. The tea smelled like peppermint, a favorite. Next to the cup of tea was a little plate with two cake doughnuts on it, both of them covered in thick white frosting and unmarred by sprinkles or any other edible decorations.

I looked up in time to see Vadderung walk by, trailed by the pair of receptionists, and saw them all simply vanish, presumably into a Way.

“Well?” Gard asked me. “Are you ready to go?”

“Just a minute,” I said.

I sat back down. And I drank the tea and ate the doughnuts, thoughtfully.

Chapter 22

I needed sleep.

I rode back to my place with Molly in the midmorning. Mouse came padding up the stairs from the apartment as we got out of the car, his alert, wary stance relaxing into the usual waving of a doggy tail and enthusiastic sniffs and nudges of greeting. I shambled on into my apartment calmly. All was obviously well.

Susan and Martin were both inside, both busy, as Mister looked on from his lordly peak atop the highest bookshelf. Susan had been shaking out all the rugs and carpets that cover the floor of my living room, and was now rolling them back into place, probably not in the same order as they had been before. She picked up one end of a sofa with a couple of fingers of one hand to get an edge into place.

Martin was alphabetizing my bookshelves.

They used to kill men for sacrilege like that.

I suppressed my twitches as best I could, and told myself that they thought they were helping.

“Success,” Susan said. “Or at least a little of it. Our people found out exactly who is tailing us up here.”

“Yeah?” I asked. “Who?”

“The Eebs,” she said.

Molly came in and frowned severely at what they were doing. Granted, the place was kind of a mess after the FBI and cops got done, but still. She was probably as used to the place as I was. “Sounds like the Scoobies, only less distinctive.”

Martin shook his head. “Esteban and Esmerelda Batiste,” he clarified. “One of the husband-wife teams the Red Court uses for fieldwork.”

“One of?” I asked.

“Couples traveling together attract less attention,” Susan said. “They’re often given the benefit of the doubt in any kind of judgment call made by various officers of the law. It smooths things out a little more than they would be otherwise.”

“Hence you and Martin,” I said.

“Yes,” said Martin. “Obviously.”

“Esteban and Esmerelda are notorious,” Susan said. “They’re unorthodox, difficult to predict, which is saying something when you’re talking about vampires. They’ll throw away their personnel, too, if that is what it takes to get results. Personally, I think it’s because they have some kind of gruesome variation of love for each other. Makes them more emotional.”

“They have complementary insanities,” Martin said. “Don’t dignify it with anything more.”

“The one you said got away, Harry?” Susan said. “Esteban, probably. He rabbits early and often, which probably explains why he’s still alive. Esmerelda would have been the spotter on top of a nearby building—also the one who probably triggered the explosives.”

“Gotta figure they’re behind the hit outside the FBI building, too,” I said. “Tinted windows on the car. Shooter was way back inside the backseat, away from the window.”

“Maybe, sure,” Susan said. “They’ll suit up in all-over coverage and head out in the daytime if they think it’s really necessary.”

I grunted. “So Esteban and Esmerelda . . .”

“Eebs,” Susan said firmly.

“So the Eebs aren’t really fighters. They’re planners. Fair to say?”

“Very much so,” said Martin. There might have been a faint note of approval in his voice.

I nodded. “So they and their vampire gang were supposed to follow you, only when they saw you heading into the data center, they were forced to do more than shadow you. They tried to protect the data. All rational.”

Susan began to frown and then nodded at me.

“Of course,” Martin said. “Difficult to predict but never stupid.”

“So why,” I said, “if they were here operating under orders from the duchess to foil your efforts, would they take the trouble to try an assassination on me?”

Martin opened his mouth, and then closed it again, frowning.

“I mean, Arianna wants to see me suffer, right? Thank God for clichéd mind-sets, by the way. I can’t do that if I’m dead. I go early, it cheats her of the fun.”

“There’s division in the ranks of the Red Court,” Susan murmured. “It’s the only thing that would explain it. Countervailing interests—and at the summit of their hierarchy, too.”

“Or,” Martin said, “it was not the”—he sighed—“Eebs . . . who made the attempt.”

“But I haven’t seen any of the other people who want to kill me lately,” I said. “I saw the Eebs just the other night. They’re the simplest explanation.”

Martin tilted his head slightly in allowance. “But remember that what you have is a theory. Not a fact. You are not blessed with a shortage of foes, Dresden.”

“Um, Harry?” Molly asked.

I turned to her.

“I don’t know if I’m supposed to jump in with this kind of thing or not, but . . . if there’s some sort of internal schism going on inside the Red Court . . . what if the kidnapping and so on is . . . like a cover for something else she’s doing, inside her court? I mean, maybe it isn’t all about you. Or at least, not only about you.”

I stared at her blankly for a moment. “But for that to be true,” I said, “I would have to not be the center of the universe.”

Molly rolled her eyes.

“Good thought, grasshopper,” I said. “Something to keep in mind. Maybe we’re the diversion.”

“Does it matter?” Susan asked. “I mean, as far as our interests go?”

I shrugged. “We’ll have to see, I guess.”

She grimaced. “If the Eebs are working for a different faction than Arianna, then there goes our only lead. I was hoping I could convince them to tell us where Maggie was being held.”

“Worth a try in any case,” Martin said. “If we can catch them.”

“We could do that,” I said. “Or we could make sure we’ve got Chichén Itzá staked out and grab her when the Reds bring her there for their über-magic shindig.”

Susan whirled to face me, her eyes wide. “What?”

“They’re pulling off their big ceremony at Chichén Itzá,” I said. I met Susan’s eyes and nodded. “I found her. She’ll be there. And we’ll go get her.”

Susan let out a fiercely joyful cry and pounced upon me clear from the other side of the room. The impact drove my back up against one of the bookshelves. Susan’s legs twined around my waist and her mouth found mine.