“Thank you,” Nicodemus said. “Our goal is to open a Way into the secured facility containing our objective.” He accepted a large sheet of rolled paper from a squire who had hurried up to hand it to him. “Bearing all those factors in mind, I’m sure you’ll understand why we will begin the job here.”

With a flick of his wrist, he unrolled the large sheet of paper.

It proved to be blueprints, a floor plan. I frowned and stared at it, but it didn’t look familiar.

Karrin made a choking sound.

“Murph?” I asked.

“Ah,” Nicodemus said, smiling. “You know it.”

“It’s a vault,” Karrin said, looking up at me. “A vault that belongs to a lord of the underworld.”

I felt myself clench up in a place that didn’t bear much more clenching. “Oh,” I said weakly. “Oh, Hell’s bells.”

Binder jerked a thumb at me. “What is he on about?” he asked Karrin.

Karrin put a forefinger on the plans. “This is the Capristi Building,” she said. “It’s the second most secure facility in the city.” She took a deep breath. “It’s a mob bank. And it belongs to Gentleman John Marcone, Accorded Baron of Chicago.”

Twenty-six

I’d been afraid it would come to something like this, though I’d held out hope that Nicodemus would come up with a better way of getting to where we needed to go. Like maybe burning down a building around our ears and hoping to open a Way at the last second. That would have been merely dicey.

Marcone was dangerous.

“Gentleman” Johnnie Marcone had clawed his way to the top of Chicago’s outfit back when I had first set up business in town, and he had ruled the city’s crime with an iron fist ever since, with an eye toward making organized crime safer, more efficient, and more businesslike. It worked. A lot of cops thought he had more power than the government. Those cops kept their mouths shut about it, for the most part, though, because he commanded more cops than the government, too.

Then, a few years back, he’d sought and gained the title of freeholding lord under the Unseelie Accords, the legal document that was the backbone of civilized relations between supernatural nations. He was the first vanilla human being on record as having done so, and he had claimed, fought for, and held Chicago against all comers thus far, as its Baron.

Though, to be fair, I’d been out of town for a lot of that time.

Still, I didn’t think it would be smart to cross him if I wasn’t prepared to go right to the mat, for keeps. Marcone commanded an army of thugs and hired killers, some of whom were truly excellent at their jobs. He kept a small squad of Einherjaren, dead-but-not-gone Viking warriors, on retainer, and I had seen them efficiently take on some of the toughest nasties I’ve ever encountered. Hehad at least one freaking Valkyrie on the payroll—and the man himself was ruthless, intelligent, and absolutely without fear.

I thought getting into it with Marcone was going to be about two steps shy of getting into it with Hades himself. But all I said out loud was, “Hoo boy.”

“Problem, Dresden?” Nicodemus asked.

“Marcone is not someone to cross lightly,” I said. “Not only that, but he’s a member of the Accords.”

“I’m not,” Nicodemus said. “Not any longer.”

“I am,” I said. “Twice. As a Wizard of the White Council and as the Winter Knight.”

“I’m sure the White Council will be stunned and disappointed should you not conform to their policy,” Nicodemus said. “And as for Mab—you are, in effect, simply my tool during this operation. As far as she is concerned, any obligation you incur with regard to the Accords can be laid at my feet, not hers.”

He was right, twice, which made me scowl. “My point is,” I said, “Marcone is not a man to be taken lightly. If you hit him, he hits you back. Harder.”

“Indeed,” Nicodemus said. “He has an excellent reputation. He would have made a fine monarch only a few centuries ago.”

Good King John Marcone? I shuddered at the thought. “Let’s say we hammer our way into his building,” I said. “Fine. It’s probably doable. Getting back out again is going to be the hard part—and even if we do that, it isn’t over. He isn’t going to forget, or let it go.”

“Dresden’s right,” Karrin said. “Marcone doesn’t suffer intrusions on his territory. Period.”

“We will do what we have come to do,” Nicodemus said calmly. “If necessary, reparations to the Baron can be considered once our mission is accomplished. I believe I can make the point to him that accepting such restitution will be more cost-effective than pursuing more personal collection efforts.”

I traded a look with Karrin, and could see that she was thinking the same thing I was.

Nicodemus had abducted Marcone himself, not so many years back, as part of one of his schemes. Mab had, in fact, sent me to bail Marcone out, back when I’d just owed her a couple of favors. I still remembered Marcone as a helpless prisoner. The image had kind of stuck in my memory.

He would never forget that. There are some things money can’t buy: One of them is redemption from the vengeance of Gentleman Johnnie Marcone.

And if Karrin and I went along with this plan, it would mean as much as declaring war on the Baron of Chicago.

“What do you think?” I asked her.

Karrin could do the math. She knew exactly what I was talking about. “Had to happen sometime.”