Ortega glared at Thomas and made a disgusted sound. Thomas found something else to look at and backed a prudent step away.

"I will monitor both duelists to ensure that no energies are employed on their behalf. I, too, will resolve any infractions with extreme prejudice. Do you understand?"

Ortega nodded. I said, "Yeah."

"Are there any questions, gentlemen?" the Archive asked.

I shook my head. Ortega did too.

"Each of you may make a brief statement," said the Archive.

Ortega drew a band of black and silver beads from his pocket. Without making an effort, I could feel the defensive energies bound up within them. He regarded me with casual mistrust as he bound the bracelet to his left side and said, "This can end in only one way."

In answer, I fished one of the antivenom potions from my pocket, popped the top, and slugged it down. I burped and said, "Excuse me."

"You've really got class, Dresden," Susan said.

"Class oozes out my every orifice," I agreed. I passed her my staff and rod. "Hold these for me."

"Seconds, please retire to your positions," said the Archive.

Susan put her hand on my arm, fingers clenching tight for a second. I reached up and touched her hand. She let go and backed away to third base.

Thomas offered to high-five Ortega. Ortega glared. Thomas smiled a Colgate smile and swaggered over to first base. He drew a silver flask of something from his hip pocket on the way, and took a sip.

The Archive looked back and forth between me and Ortega. She was standing on the pitcher's mound, next to the floating glob of chilling energy, so she was a shade taller than Ortega and a shade shorter than me. Her face was solemn, even grim. It didn't sit well on a child who should have been getting up for school in the morning.

"Are you both resolved to this duel?"

"I am," Ortega said.

"Uh-huh." I nodded.

The Archive nodded. "Gentlemen. Present your right hands, please."

Ortega lifted his right arm, palm faced toward me. I mirrored him. The Archive gestured, and the mordite sphere floated up until it hovered precisely halfway between Ortega and me. Tension gathered against my palm, an invisible and silent pressure. It felt vaguely like holding my hand against a recirculating outlet in a swimming pool-it was a tenuous thing, that felt like it might easily slide to one side.