“Got it,” Binder said. He produced his circle of wire and began calling up suits, issuing them an Uzi and a couple of spare clips as they arrived. They rushed to the waiting vans, leaping up into them with a will.

Michael watched and shook his head.

“Oh, cheer up, Mr. Carpenter,” Nicodemus said. “By the time the sun rises this morning, you may be twenty million dollars richer.”

“I have a family. I am already rich beyond measure,” Michael said. “But I really wouldn’t expect you to understand that.”

Nicodemus’s face went blank, his eyes cold.

I took note of that. It was far more reaction than I’d seen from him this whole time. Something about what Michael had said struck home.

“The time for talking and planning is over,” Nicodemus said. “Now is the time for action. Everyone get in the vans.”

Thirty-four

The inside of the van was crowded, with twenty of Binder’s goons crammed in with the four of us, and a couple of squires driving.

“All right, Dresden,” Grey said. “Let’s have your wrists.”

“What?” I said. “Oh, right. The manacles.”

“What is he talking about?” Michael asked.

“Thorn manacles,” I said. “They inhibit magical ability. They should greatly reduce the odds that I’ll blow out any of the building’s security systems by walking past—and we need them to stay up and functioning until we get all the doors open.”

“His wrist is broken,” Michael said to Grey. “Will they fit on his ankles?”

Grey held up a set of manacles on a heavy steel chain. They looked just like the ones I’d seen before, only they had the heavy gleam of steel to them, instead of that weird silvery metal the Sidhe used. The inner surfaces of the cuffs were lined with small, sharp thorns of steel. They would bite into the flesh when they were locked on—and with that steel breaking my skin, the Winter mantle would go to pieces.

That wasn’t going to feel good.

“Doesn’t matter,” I said, eyeing them. “If either of the cuffs is on, I can’t use the magic. Just have them both on one wrist and wrap the chain around to keep it out of my way. Gimme.”

“Sure you don’t want me to do it?” Grey asked.

“Nah, I dislike you enough already. I’ll put them on.” I took the manacles from Grey and gave Michael a look to let him know that I wanted him to pay attention. He frowned and did.

I elbowed myself enough room to wrap the chain around my wrist. Then I closed my eyes for a moment and took slow, deep breaths, concentrating. Blocking out pain was a lesson I’d learned a long time ago, and I could do it pretty well if I had time to prepare for it. Mostly, the bad guys aren’t that courteous before they start hurting me, but fortunately this time the bad guy was me, and I was willing to cutmyself a break. It took me a couple of minutes to erect the mental barriers, and then I opened my eyes, pulled up the sleeve of my duster, and fastened both manacles onto my right wrist, locking them on with their key.

Steel bit into my skin with a hundred tiny teeth, and the Winter mantle vanished. As suddenly as light comes on when you flip the switch, my body started reporting injuries.

My arm was pretty horrid, but my back had apparently turned into a single large contusion when the Genoskwa slammed me into that parked car. My calf burned steadily where I’d been shot. My feet were killing me, too, which—what the hell? Had I gotten a pair of shoes the wrong size or something? I was aching in the knees, and somehow I’d collected a cut on my tongue and on one of my gums—I hadn’t really noticed them before, though I sure as hell felt them now.

And my head . . . oh, my aching head. Mab’s little silver earring was as cold as an ice cream truck in Antarctica, but with its numbing influence reduced by the steel, my head felt like it was going to crack open and spill out streams of molten lead.

I realigned my mental shields for a moment, once I knew exactly what I was supposed to be blocking out, and then straightened up slowly.

“Harry,” Michael said. “You just went pale.”

“Hurts,” I said shortly. “I’ll be fine.” I put the key to the manacles in my pocket, then picked up my oversized duffel bag and started rooting around in it. I’d tied a leather thong onto my wizard’s staff, and now wore it over one shoulder like a rifle. “Grey, I’m going to be making all kinds of light and noise once we’re inside. If you feel like doing something about the guards, try to make it nonfatal.”

“Or what?” Grey asked.

“The manacles come off and I get upset with you,” I said.

“Maybe I’ll just let them shoot you,” he said.

I gave him a pleasant smile. “If you do, who is going to open your Way to the vault, eh? Took me years of formal instruction to learn enough to make that happen. I guarantee you that Ascher can’t pull that one off.” I squinted at Grey. “Ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why take money for something like this?” I asked. “Someone with your talents can get it any way he wants.”

Grey shrugged. “No mystery. Everyone’s got to pay the Rent,” he said, and something in his voice put a capital letter on the last word.

“I don’t get it,” I said.

“I know,” Grey replied placidly. “Not my problem.”

“If you don’t mind, gentlemen,” Valmont said, speaking for the first time since we got in the van. “You may think your bits of the job are simple, but mine is the next best thing to impossible. I would appreciate some quiet, please.”