Turn Coat: A Novel of the Dresden Files - Hardcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Jim Butcher is a full-time writer who lives in Independence, Missouri, with his wife, son, and ferocious guard dog.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Chapter Forty-three

Chapter Forty-four

Chapter Forty-five

Chapter Forty-six

Chapter Forty-seven

Chapter Forty-eight

Chapter Forty-nine

Author’s Note

ALSO BY JIM BUTCHER

THE DRESDEN FILES

STORM FRONT
FOOL MOON
GRAVE PERIL
SUMMER KNIGHT
DEATH MASKS
BLOOD RITES
DEAD BEAT
PROVEN GUILTY
WHITE KNIGHT
SMALL FAVOR

“THE WARRIOR” IN MEAN STREETS (WITH SIMON R. GREEN, KAT RICHARDSON, AND THOMAS E. SNIEGOSKI)

THE CODEX ALERA

FURIES OF CALDERON
ACADEM’S FURY
CURSOR’S FURY
CAPTAIN’S FURY
PRINCEPS’ FURY

ROC

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First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

First Printing, April 2009

Copyright ? Jim Butcher, 2009 All rights reserved

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:
Butcher, Jim, 1971-
Turn coat: a novel of the Dresden files/Jim Butcher.
p. cm.

ISBN: 9781101032428

1. Dresden, Harry (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Chicago (Ill.)—Fiction. 3. Wizards—Fiction.
I. Title.

PS3602.U85T87 2009

813’.6—dc22

2009000124

Set in Janson Text

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

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For Bob. Sleep well.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank Anne Sowards, my marvelous editor, my agent, Jenn Jackson, and my poor deluded beta readers. I’ve been facing the kinds of problems authors only dream about having, and you all have been a tremendous help to me. With luck, I’ll figure out how best to repay you for the time and effort you’ve all given me.

And, always, for Shannon and JJ, who like me even when I vanish into my own head for days at a time.

Chapter One

The summer sun was busy broiling the asphalt from Chicago’s streets, the agony in my head had kept me horizontal for half a day, and some idiot was pounding on my apartment door.

I answered it and Morgan, half his face covered in blood, gasped, “The Wardens are coming. Hide me. Please.”

His eyes rolled back into his skull and he collapsed.

Oh.

Super.

Up until that moment, I’d been laboring under the misapprehension that the splitting pain in my skull would be the worst thing to happen to me today.

“Hell’s frickin’ bells!” I blurted at Morgan’s unconscious form. “You have got to be kidding me!” I was really, really tempted to slam the door and leave him lying there in a heap. He sure as hell deserved it.

I couldn’t just stand there doing nothing, though.

“You need to get your head examined,” I muttered to myself. Then I deactivated my wards—the magical security system I’ve got laid over my apartment—grabbed Morgan under the arms, and hauled him inside. He was a big man, over six feet, with plenty of muscle—and he was completely limp. I had a hard time moving him, even though I’m no junior petite myself.

I shut the door behind me and brought my wards back up. Then I waved a hand at my apartment in general, focused my will, and muttered,“Flickum bicus.” A dozen candles spaced around the room flickered to life as I pronounced the simple spell, and I knelt beside the unconscious Morgan, examining him for injuries.

He had half a dozen nasty cuts, oozing and ugly and probably painful, but not life-threatening. The flesh on his ribs, beneath his left arm, was blistered and burned, and his plain white shirt had been scorched away. He also had a deep wound in one leg that was clumsily wrapped in what looked like a kitchen apron. I didn’t dare unwrap the thing. It could start the bleeding again, and my medical skills are nothing I’d want to bet a life on.

Even Morgan’s life.

He needed a doctor.

Unfortunately, if the Wardens of the White Council were pursuing him, they probably knew he was wounded. They would, therefore, be watching hospitals. If I took him to one of the local emergency rooms, the Council would know about it within hours.

So I called a friend.

Waldo Butters studied Morgan’s injuries in silence for a few moments, while I hovered. He was a wiry little...