But the Winter mantle didn't care about that. It simply saw its enemy and wanted to destroy it. The best way to do that was to get in close and rip out Fix's throat.

Except that wasn't how the last Winter Knight had killed the last Summer Knight. Lloyd Slate had iced the stairs underneath the other guy's feet and pushed him down. And Slate had been young and in good shape, whereas the other Summer Knight had been an old man. So I thought it would be smart to assume that the instinctual knowledge of the Winter mantle, while it could be handy, was basically that of a starving predator, a wolf in winter-it wanted blood, lots of it, now.

And if I played it like that, Fix was going to leave my guts on the ground.

Instead of charging ahead, I veered to one side for several steps and then froze. An instant later, another bolt of fire lit up the mist, right through where I would have been if I'd followed the mantle's instinct.

Of course-it had to be that way. Winter's Knight was the mountain lion, the wolf. Summer's was the stag, the bison. Winter was oriented to stalking, hunting, and killing prey. Summer to avoiding a confrontation until an advantage could be had, then savagely pressing that advantage for all it was worth. Fix would have a wealth of instinctive knowledge to draw on if I went after him Winter's way, and would be at his most dangerous the same way as, for example, a student of pure aikido. He would use the strength of an attack to assist his own defense, turning it back on the attacker. But if I didn't give him that kind of aggressive assault, I would rob him of his instinctive advantage.

Screw being the Winter Knight. Before everything else, I was a wizard.

So I flicked my wrist, whispered, "Obscurata," and vanished behind a veil.

My veils aren't much good compared to the grasshopper's, or almost anyone else's, really, but when you're standing in a giant fog bank they don't need to be very good to make you effectively invisible-and I know how to move very quietly. I wouldn't have trusted them against one of the Sidhe, but Fix wasn't one. He was a changeling, with one mortal parent and one fae one, but except for the Summer mantle, he was as human as the next guy.

I prowled ahead, Listening, sharpening the acuity of my ears to a far greater level than that of which they were normally capable, and heard Fix's smooth breathing before I'd taken a dozen steps. I froze in place. I couldn't locate him exactly, but-

I kept myself from making an impatient sound and consulted my intellectus. Fix was standing thirty-six feet, four inches away, about twenty-two degrees to the left of the way my nose was facing. If I'd had a gun, I was pretty sure I could have shot him.

Fix had frozen in place, too.

Bah. His mantle was probably advising him to be patient, just as mine was screaming at me to stop waiting, stalk him, and pounce. I took advantage of it for maybe a minute, consulting my intellectus and moving fifty feet to oneside, where I could pick something up off the ground. Then I went back and waited-but he still hadn't stirred.

This wouldn't work if he stood his ground. I had to make him move.

I retreated a few more steps into the mist and spoke away from him, hoping the lousy visibility and my veil would confuse the exact origin of my voice. "I get Lloyd Slate a little better now, you know," I said. "The mantle. It drove him. Made him want things."

"Lloyd Slate was a monster," came Fix's voice.

I hated to do it but . . . I had to push his buttons. "He was as human as the next man," I said. "It just . . . made his desires louder and louder. There wasn't anything he could have done about it."

"Do you hear yourself, Harry?" Fix called. There was an edge in his voice. "You sound like a man making excuses-or justifications."

"Yeah, but I'm not Slate," I shot back, my voice hotter. "Slate was some pathetic bully. I had as much power as a hundred Slates way before I cut his throat."

Fix's breathing came faster. He had it under control-but he was scared. "The Harry Dresden I knew never would have said something like that."

"That was ten years, a persecution complex, and a war ago, Fix," I told him, "and you haven't got room to get all righteous with me. I know you're feeling things, too, just like I am." Time to sink the right barb, to goad him into movement, aggression. "What do you see when you look at Lily, man? She's gorgeous. I have a hard time thinking about anything else when she's there."

"Shut up," he said in a quiet voice.

"Seriously," I continued. The dialogue came easily-too easily. The Winter mantle was talking to a part of me that did not have much in the way of restraint. "That hot little ass? I mean, gosh, just thinking about it . . . If you could see me now, I'd be a little embarrassed."

"Shut up," he said again.

"Come on, bros before hos, man. That Summer mantle got a herd instinct going? 'Cause for something as sweet as that, I'm thinking we could share i-"

If my intellectus hadn't been focused on him, to let me see what was coming, I'd have been burned alive. I flung myself to one side as he turned and hurled another bolt of fire at me. I had to gather more Winter around myself to protect my vulnerable hide, thickening the mists even more-and Fix seemed to key on the surge of cold. He pivoted toward me, took two steps, and leapt with his sword held in both hands.

Thirty-seven feet. That was how far he jumped, and it had come effortlessly-he could have done more. I knew exactly how much force he pressed the ground with when he left it, exactly what angle he'd jumped at. My intellectus could track the air and the mist he was displacing as he leapt through it.