gets castle

But I wasn’t finished.
“There is also the matter,” I said, to Mab, “of personal debt. Ethniu was my kill, before all the Accorded nations, in defense of the demesne of Baron John Marcone of Chicago.” I turned to face him. “Acknowledgment of that act is due.”
Eyes turned toward Marcone.
“The Eye seems ample reward for such a deed,” Marcone noted.
“To some,” Sarissa said, her voice very dry.
“Do you have it?” I asked Marcone innocently.
He stood there, suddenly very wary.
“I mean, I’m not sure where it is,” I said, which was technically true—Alfred had it stashed somewhere and I’d told him not to tell me where, specifically for this conversation. Technical truth was, at the moment, the best kind of truth. “But if you want to hand it to me . . .”
“I assumed you claimed it from Ethniu,” Marcone said.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” I said.
“Are we to believe that you just left a weapon like the Eye lying upon the ground?” Marcone asked.
“Dude, there was an apocalypse on,” I said, in a very reasonable tone. “The earth shaking. Giant waves. I almost drowned, you know, in this giant stupid concrete teacup some fool made. It’s all kind of blurry.”
Marcone narrowed his eyes.
“The point is, my people fought and died for your land,” I said, my voice suddenly harder. “I fought and bled for your land. And if I hadn’t, you wouldn’t have a territory to defend. I defended your home. And I lost my own home doing it.”
I pointed at Evanna.
Everyone looked at her.
“There was . . . damage to that apartment during the attack,” she politely lied. “No replacement apartment is available at this time. As such, he may no longer be our guest.”
“See?” I said. “A debt is owed. And we take our debts pretty serious in Winter.”
I felt Mab’s gaze over my shoulder, like a cold draft in the room.
Only it was focused on Marcone.
Marcone eyed me and then Mab, and then Lara. “Surely you don’t believe him.”
A little smile played on the corners of Lara’s mouth. “The last I saw,” she said, “you were the one running off with the Eye, Baron.”
“Queen Mab,” Marcone said in protest.
“He has given me no reason to disbelieve him, Baron,” Mab said. She knew all about technically true things, too.
Marcone turned to me with his eyes narrowed. He regarded me and said, “I know you have it.”
Marcone had put me on a pedestal by telling people I’d taken out Ethniu. That act alone had probably scared enough members of the White Council to get me voted out. But if he was going to put me up there, he shouldn’t be too terribly surprised if I kicked him in the face.
I took a breath, enjoying the moment.
“Prove it,” I said. “Sir Baron.”
Marcone eyed me. Then glanced past me to the Queen of Air and Darkness.
Mab’s eyebrow went up so far that it threatened the line of her skull. Then she said, as if to Marcone, “Much is explained.”
Marcone’s gaze slid around the faces of the Ministry, weighing what he saw there. He yielded with reluctant grace. “Very well, Sir Dresden.” Marcone sighed. “What is it you wish of me?”
I leaned down to look him in the face.
“I want my lab back,” I said. “Move your stuff.”
* * *
I’ll give this to Marcone: When he gives his word, he’s good for it.
He emptied out the little castle built on the site of my old boardinghouse within twenty-four hours. Soldiers, personnel, furniture, lights—by the time we arrived the next day, all of it was gone. The castle was empty of Marcone’s presence, right down to the stones.

Battle Ground Chapter 36, Page 383-385