Ramirez slid out of the Beetle, grenades and gun and willow sword hanging from his belt, and staff gripped in his right hand. He paused to pull on a glove made out of heavy leather overlaid with a layer of slender steel plates, each inscribed with pictoglyphs that looked Aztec or Olmec or something.
"That's new," I commented.
He winked at me, and we checked our guns. My .44 revolver went back into my left-hand duster pocket, his back into its sheath.
"You sure you don't want a grenade or two?" he asked.
"I'm not comfortable with hand grenades," I said.
"Suit yourself," he replied. "How about you, Molly?"
He turned back to the car, hand on one of his grenades.
The car was gone. The engine was still idling audibly.
Ramirez let out a whistle and waved his staff into the space it had occupied until it clinked against metal. "Hey, not a bad veil. Pretty damned good, in fact."
"She's got a gift," I said.
Molly's voice came from nearby. "Thanks."
Ramirez gave the approximate space where my apprentice sat a big grin and a gallant, vaguely Spanish little bow.
Molly let out a suppressed giggle. The car's engine cut out, and she said, "Go on. I've got to keep compensating for the dust you're kicking up, and it's a pain."
"Eyes open," I told her. "Use your head."
"You too," Molly said.
"Don't tell him to start new things now," Ramirez chided her. "You'll just confuse him."
"I'm getting dumber by the minute," I confirmed. "Ask anybody."
From the unseen car, Mouse snorted out a breath.
"See?" I said, and started walking toward the entrance to the estate.
Ramirez kept up, but only by taking a skipping step every several paces. My legs are lots longer than his.
After a hundred yards or so, he laughed. "All right, you made your point."
I grunted and slowed marginally.
Ramirez looked back over his shoulder. "Think she'll be all right?"
"Tough to sneak up on Mouse," I said. "Even if they realize she's there."
"Pretty, a body like that, and talent, too." Ramirez stared back thoughtfully. "She seeing anyone?"
"Not since she drilled holes in her last boyfriend's psyche and drove him insane."
Ramirez winced. "Right."
We fell silent and walked up to the gates to the estate, getting our game faces on along the way. Ramirez's natural expression was a cocksure smile, but when things got hairy, he went with a cool, arrogant look that left his eyes focused on nothing and everything at the same time. I really don't care what my game face looks like. Mine is all internal.
I kept Anna's face and her serious eyes in mind as I tromped up to the gothic gate made of simulated wrought iron, but heavy enough to stop a charging SUV. I struck it three times with my staff and planted its end firmly onto the ground.
The gate buzzed and began to open of its own accord. Halfway through, something near the hinges let out a whine and a puff of smoke, and it stopped moving.
"That you?" I asked him.
"I took out the lock too," he replied quietly. "And the cameras that can see the gate. Just in case."
Ramirez doesn't have my raw power, but he uses what he has well. "Nice," I told him. "Didn't feel a thing."
His grin flickered by. "De nada. I'm the best."
I stepped through the gate, keeping a wary eye out. The night was all but complete, and the woods were lovely, dark and deep. Tires whispered on pavement. A light appeared in the trees ahead, and resolved into headlights. A full-fledged limousine, a white Rolls with silver accents, swept down the drive to the gate, and purred to a halt twenty feet in front of us.
Ramirez muttered under his breath, "You want I should - "
"Down, big fella," I said. "Save ourselves the walk."
"Bah," he said. "Some of us are young and healthy."
The driver door opened and a man got out. I recognized him as one of Lara's personal bodyguards. He was a bit taller than average, leanly muscled, had a military haircut and sharp, wary eyes. He wore a sports jacket, khakis, and wasn't working to hide the shoulder rig he wore under the coat. He took a look at us, then past us at the gate and the fence. Then he took a small radio from his pocket and started speaking into it.
"Dresden?" he asked me.
"Yeah."
"Ramirez?"
"The one and only," Carlos told him.
"You're armed," he said.
"Heavily," I replied.
He grimaced, nodded, and said, "Get in the car, please."
"Why?" I asked him, oh so innocently.
Ramirez gave me a sharp look, but said nothing.
"I was told to collect you," the bodyguard said.
"It isn't far to the house," I said. "We can walk."
"Ms. Raith asked me to assure you that, on behalf of her father, you have her personal pledge of safe conduct, as stipulated in the Accords."
"In that case," I said, "Ms. Raith can come tell me that her personal self."
"I'm sure she will be happy to," the bodyguard said. "At the house, sir."
I folded my arms and said, "If she's too busy to move her pretty ass down here, why don't you go ask her if we can't come back tomorrow instead?"
There was a whirring sound, and one of the back windows of the Rolls slid down. I couldn't see much of anyone inside, but I heard a velvet-soft woman's laugh saunter out of the night. "You see, George. I told you."
The bodyguard grimaced and looked around. "They've done something to the gate. It's open. You're exposed here, ma'am."
"If assassination was their intention," the woman replied, "believe me when I say that Dresden could already have done it, and I feel confident that his companion, Mr. Ramirez, could have managed the same."
Ramirez stiffened a little and muttered between clenched teeth, "How does she know me?"
"Ain't many people ride zombie dinosaurs and make regional commander in the Wardens before they turn twenty-five," I replied. "Betcha she's got files on most of the Wardens still alive."
"And some of the trainees," agreed the woman's voice. "George, if you please."
The bodyguard gave us a flat, measuring look, and then opened the door of the car, one hand resting quite openly on the butt of the pistol hanging under one arm.
The mistress of the White Court stepped forth from the Rolls-Royce.