The five of us had been through more than a little together, though Chandler had been our handler and point of contact, not usually a field guy.

None of them were smiling.

I could recognize game faces when I saw them.

Harry, I thought to myself. These kids might be here to hurt you.

I sat in the car for a moment while the engine clicked. Then I said, “In the future, you guys should probably look for a crosswalk. Or maybe an adult to hold your hand.”

“We need to talk, Harry,” Ramirez said. “Got a minute?”

I eyed him and then mused, “How’d you pull off the tracking spell?”

“Right wrist,” he said.

I eyed him, then held up my right hand and peered. I had to turn my thumb until it faced almost all the way away from me to spot the dot of black ink on the outside of my wrist.

Ramirez held up his right hand and wiggled his pinky finger, where an identically shaped ink spot marked his skin.

“Wow,” I said in a level tone. “Mistrusting me right from the get-go, huh?”

He shrugged. “I was pretty clear about my intentions,” he said. “If you don’t want others to think you’re shady, man, maybe you shouldn’t be doing shady things at shady times with shady people.” He nodded back the way I’d come, toward the Château. “Come on, Harry. It’s us. Make this simple. Talk to me.”

“Maybe you don’t know about my life’s relationship with simple,” I said. I eyed Ramirez. Then the others. “Hey, guys. What’s up?”

Yoshimo gave me her samurai face. Wild Bill lifted his chin, an almost unconscious gesture of acknowledgment. Chandler rolled his eyes at them and walked forward, extending his hand and speaking in a precise Oxford accent. “Harry, good to see you, man.”

Ramirez and the others tensed as Chandler walked into their lines of fire—a term that among wizards could become especially literal. I took the opportunity to get out of the Munstermobile and regard his extended hand with a skeptically lifted eyebrow.

Chandler’s cobalt blue eyes sparkled, and he held up his hand, showing me his fingers. I inspected them minutely, then traded grips with Chandler in a hearty handshake, eyeing Ramirez over the shorter man’s head as I did.

“How’s the PhD work coming?” I asked him.

“Viciously political,” he said, smiling. “History is such a thorny thing on the Continent.”

“Most people can’t just go talk to folks who were alive for it, I imagine,” I said.

“Precisely. Maddening,” Chandler said. “I’m sorry we’re doing this, Harry. But you’ve got to admit, old boy, you’ve had a damned peculiar day. Or so it would appear from the outside.”

I responded with a genial frown and duplicated his accent badly. “Oh really? How so, if you do not mind me asking?”

Chandler’s smile didn’t falter. But it took on an aspect of granite, somehow. “No one’s that disingenuous, Dresden. The Winter Lady gets you quarters inside the svartalf embassy. Not long after, a known personal agent of Lara Raith and a frequent ally of your own gets inside, somehow, and attempts to assassinate Etri. Hours later, you visit the assassin’s significant other, then have a meeting with Ms. Raith.”

“Um,” I said. “Sure, I mean, when you put it like that, I see how that might look a little suspicious… ”

“We’ve a long tradition of twisty thinking in my homeland,” Chandler said. “Perhaps it has made me cynical and uncharitable, but it occurs to me that there are a disturbing number of connections in these events. It makes one wonder if you’ve been entirely honest with us.”

I held up my wrist so that the spot of black ink Ramirez had put there was showing. “You’re going to lecture me about being open and honest? And, seriously, ink, after the last time around with an actual traitor in the Council? What were you thinking?”

Chandler arched an eyebrow. He glanced over his shoulder at Ramirez and said, “Fair points.” He took a step closer and lowered his voice. “But all the same, Dresden. It’s damned peculiar. Perhaps it’s time you ‘leveled’ with us, I believe is the vernacular.”

I studied Chandler’s face for a moment and then looked at the other Wardens. “How’d you decide who would be the good cop?” I asked him quietly. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

“Don’t be daft,” Chandler replied, “As an academic, I find myself dealing with temperamental potential lunatics on a regular basis. I was the obvious choice. And we drew straws.”

“Lunatic, eh?” I asked.

“There have been certain questions about how much of your will remains your own, yes,” Chandler said frankly.

“I’m my own man, more or less,” I told him.

“Yes, well, you would think that, wouldn’t you?” Chandler said with a wry smile. “You see our predicament. Matters are unfolding here that we don’t quite understand. We have an interest in learning as much as possible.”

The way he said we was something new. He wasn’t using the word as an inclusive one, like, we are all friends. He was using it as an exclusive term. We, all of us, not you.

He was referring to me as someone outside of the White Council. His bright blue eyes were direct, almost pleading as he said it, willing me to get the message. I saw recognition flicker in them as he saw me process what he was actually saying: Be advised, Harry. The White Council now considers you a threat.

Didn’t bode too well for that vote.

“Got it,” I said, looking away from his eyes hurriedly. I gave Chandler the faintest ghost of a nod of thanks, and he twitched his eyebrows in acknowledgment. “Look, you guys are worried about nothing. You told me you want me as a liaison with Winter. Fine. I’m liaising. Mab told me to keep an eye on Lara,” I said, and was technically more or less not lying, “and I came out to talk to her.”

Ramirez nodded. “What’d you find out?”

“She says she’s got no idea why he did it,” I said. “Right now it looks like she means to disavow him in front of the Accorded nations.”

“And you believe her?” Ramirez asked.

“No reason not to,” I said.

Yoshimo hissed, “Vampires are not to be trusted.”

The intensity of the words was, uh, kind of threatening, really.

“I’m not trusting a vampire,” I said to her. “I’m trusting my reason. Lara Raith has been all about supporting the Accords. These peace talks are going to be a major test of them. She wouldn’t do anything to rock the boat this hard right before they’re due to begin.”

“Unless she has deeper plans, and this is only part of them,” Ramirez said. He glanced at Yoshimo and nodded.

Yoshimo looked at me, frowned, and started to say something. Wild Bill put a hand on her shoulder. She glanced back and up at him, some strain visible briefly in her expression—then she smoothed it out into a mask again. Then she came toward me, hands empty, and stopped a couple feet in front of me. I found myself tensing.

When I did, up came Yoshimo’s and Wild Bill’s guns, not quite pointing at me, fingers not actually resting on triggers—but the barrels were only a twitch away from being locked on my chest, and at this range professionals wouldn’t miss.