"All right, you primitive screwheads. Listen up. I'm Harry Dresden. I'm the new Winter Knight. I'm instituting a rule: When you're within sight of me, mortals are off-limits." I paused for a moment to let that sink in. Then I continued. "I can't give you orders. I can't control what you do in your own domains. I'm not going to be able to change you. I'm not even going to try. But if I see you abusing a mortal, you'll join Chunky here. Zero warnings. Zero excuses. Subzero tolerance." I paused again and then asked, "Any questions?"

One of the Sidhe smirked and stepped forward, his leather pants creaking. He opened his mouth, his expression condescending. "Mortal, do you actually think that you can-"

"Infriga!" I snarled, unleashing Winter again, and without waiting for the cloud to clear, hurled the second strike, shouting, "Forzare!"

This time I aimed much of the force up. Grisly bits of frozen Sidhe noble came pattering and clattering down to the ice of the dance floor.

When the mist cleared, the Sidhe looked . . . stunned. Even Maeve.

"I'm glad you asked me that," I said to the space where the Sidhe lord had been standing. "I hope my answer clarified any misunderstandings." I looked left and right, seeking out eyes, but didn't find any willing to meet mine. "Are there any other questions?"

There was a vast and empty silence, broken only by Kringle's continued rumbles of amusement.

"Daughter," Mab said calmly. "Your lackey shamed me as the host of this gathering. I hold you accountable. You will return to Arctis Minora at once, there to await my pleasure."

Maeve stared at Mab, her eyes cold. Then she spun in a glitter of gems and began striding away. Several dozen of the Sidhe, including the Redcap and the rawhead, followed her.

Mab turned to Sarissa and said in a much calmer voice, "Honestly. Iron?"

"I apologize, my Queen," Sarissa said. "I'll dispose of it safely."

"See that you do," Mab said. "Now. I would have a dance. Sir Knight?"

I blinked, but didn't hesitate for more than an instant or three. "Um. My arm seems to be an obstacle."

Mab smiled and laid a hand upon my shoulder. My arm popped back into its socket with a silver shock of sensation, and the pain dwindled to almost nothing. I rolled my shoulder, testing it. If it wasn't exactly comfortable, it seemed to work well enough.

I turned to Mab, bowed, and stepped closer to her as the music rose again. It was a waltz. While the stunned Sidhe looked on, I waltzed with Mab to a full orchestral version of Shinedown's "45," and the smaller bits of our enemies crunched beneath our feet. Oddly enough, no one joined us.

Dancing with Mab was like dancing with a shadow. She moved so gracefully, so lightlythat had my eyes been closed, I might not have been able to tell that she was there at all. I felt lumbering and clumsy beside her, but managed not to trip over my own feet.

"That was well-done, wizard," Mab murmured. "No one has lifted a hand to them that way since the days of Tam Lin."

"I wanted them to understand the nature of our relationship."

"It would seem you succeeded," she said. "The next time they come at you, they will not do it so openly."

"I'll handle it."

"I expect nothing less," Mab said. "In the future, try to avoid being at such a stark disadvantage. Sarissa may not be there to rescue you a second time."

I grunted. Then I frowned and said, "You wanted this to happen tonight. It wasn't just about me staring down your nobles. You're setting something into motion."

Her lips quirked slightly at one corner in approval. "I chose well. You are ready, my Knight. It is time for me to give you my first command."

I swallowed and tried not to look nervous. "Oh?"

The song came to a close with Mab standing very close to me, lifting her head slightly to whisper into my ear. The Sidhe applauded politely and without enthusiasm, but the sound was enough to muffle what she whispered into my ear.

"Wizard," she said, her breathy voice trembling. Every syllable bubbled with venom, with hate. "Kill my daughter. Kill Maeve."

Chapter Eight

Dancing with Mab was like rapidly downing shots of well-aged whiskey. Being that close to her, to her beauty, to her bottomless eyes, hit me pretty hard. The scent of her, cool and clean and intoxicating, lingered in my nose, a disorienting pleasure. I'd thrown around a lot of energy to pull off the pair of chunk-making combos, and between that and Mab's proximity, I was having a little trouble walking a straight line after the dance.

It wasn't like I had feelings for her. I didn't feel the kind of low pulse of physical attraction that I would around a pretty woman. I didn't particularly like her. I sure as hell didn't feel any love for her. It was simply impossible to be that close to her, to that kind of deadly power and beauty, to that kind of immortal hunger and desire, without it rattling the bars of my cage. Mab wasn't human, and wasn't meant for human company. I had no doubt whatsoever in my mind that long-term exposure to her would have serious, unpleasant side effects.

And never mind what she had just asked me to do.

The consequences of that kind of action would be . . . really, really huge. And only an idiot would willingly involve himself in direct action on a scale that significant-which really didn't say anything good about me, given how often I'd been the guy wearing the idiot's shoes.