by Butcher, Jim
He laughed. “That’s better. I know you’re afraid, son. Afraid for your friends. Afraid for yourself. But know this: You are not alone.”
I blinked at him several times. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’m not a part of your own subconscious, son. I’m me. I’m real.”
“No offense, but of course the dream version of you would say that,” I said.
He smiled. “Is that what your heart tells you I am? A dreamed shadow of memory?”
I stared at him for a minute and then shook my head. “It can’t be you. You’re dead.”
He stood up, walked around the fire, then dropped to one knee beside me. He put his hand on my shoulder. “Yes. I’m dead. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not here. It doesn’t mean that I don’t love you, boy.”
The light of the fire blurred in front of my eyes, and a horrible pang went through my chest. “Dad?”
His hand squeezed tighter. “I’m here.”
“I don’t understand it,” I said. “Why am I so afraid?”
“Because you’ve got more to lose than you ever have before,” he said. “Your brother. Your friends. You’ve opened yourself up to them. Loved them. You can’t bear the thought of someone taking them away from you.”
“It’s getting to be too much,” I said. My voice shook. “I just keep getting more wounded and tired. They just keep coming at me. I’m not some kind of superhero. I’m just me. And I didn’t want any of this. I don’t want to die.”
He put his other hand on my other shoulder and faced me intently. I met his eyes while he spoke. “That fear is natural. But it is also a weakness. A path of attack for what would prey upon your mind. You must learn to control it.”
“How?” I whispered.
“No one can tell you that,” he said. “Not me. Not an angel. And not a fallen angel. You are the product of your own choices, Harry, and nothing can change that. Don’t let anyone or anything tell you otherwise.”
“But…my choices haven’t always been very good,” I said.
“Whose have?” he asked. He smiled at me and rose. “I’m sorry, son, but I have to go.”
“Wait,” I said.
He put his hand on my head, and for that brief second I was a child again, tired and small and utterly certain of my father’s strength.
“My boy. There’s so much still ahead of you.”
“So much?” I whispered.
“Pain. Joy. Love. Death. Heartache. Terrible waters. Despair. Hope. I wish I could have been with you longer. I wish I could have helped you prepare for it.”
“For what?” I asked him.
“Shhhhh,” he said. “Sleep. I’ll keep the fire lit until morning.”
And darkness and deep, silent, blissfully restful night swallowed me whole.
Chapter
Twelve
The next morning my brain was throbbing with far too many thoughts and worries to allow for any productive thinking. I couldn’t afford that. Until I knew exactly what was going on and how to stop it, the most important weapon in my arsenal was reason.
I needed to clear my head.
I got my running clothes on as quietly as I could, but as tired as Butters looked I could probably have decked myself in a full suit of Renaissance plate armor without waking him. I took Mouse on his morning walk, filled up a plastic sports bottle with cold water, and headed for the door.
Thomas stood waiting for me at the SUV, dressed as I was in shorts and a T-shirt. Only he made it look casually chic, whereas I looked like I bought my wardrobe at garage sales.
“Where’s the Beetle?” he asked.
“Shop,” I said. “Someone beat it up.”
“Why?”
“Not sure yet,” I said. “Feel like a run?”
“Why?” he asked.
“My head’s full. Need to move.”
Thomas nodded in understanding. “Where?”
“Beach.”
“Sure,” he said. He hooked a thumb at the SUV. “What’s with the battleship?”
“Billy and Georgia loaned it to me.”
“That was nice of them.”
“Nice and stupid. It won’t last long with me driving it.” I sighed. “But I need the wheels. Come on. It’s after dawn, but I still don’t want to leave Butters alone for long.”
He nodded, and we got into the SUV. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
“God, not until I can blow off some steam running.”
“I hear you,” he said, and we remained silent all the way to the beach.
North Avenue Beach is one of the most popular spots in town in the summer. On a cloudy morning at the end of October, though, not many folk were about. There were two other cars in the parking lot, probably belonging to the two other joggers moving steadily on the running trail.
I parked the SUV, and Thomas and I got out. I spent a couple of minutes stretching, though it probably wasn’t as thorough as it should have been. Thomas just leaned against the SUV, watching me without comment. From what I’ve seen, vampires don’t seem to have a real big problem with pulled muscles. I nodded to him, and we both hit the running trail, starting off at the slowest jog I could manage. I ran like that for maybe ten minutes before I felt warm enough to pick up the pace. Thomas matched me the whole time, his eyes half-closed and distant. My breathing hit a comfortable stride, hard but not labored. Thomas didn’t breathe hard at first, either, but my legs are a lot longer than his, and I’d developed a taste for running as exercise over the past few years. I shifted into a higher gear, and finally made him start working to keep up with me.
We ran down the beach, past the beach house—a large structure built to resemble the top few decks of an old riverboat, giving the impression that the vessel had sunk into the sand of the beach. At the far end of the beach we would turn and come back. We went all the way down and back three times before I slowed the pace a little, and said, “So you wanna hear what’s going on?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Okay.” There was no one nearby, and by now the sun had risen enough to touch the top of the Chicago skyline behind me. Mavra couldn’t have been listening in herself, and it was unlikely any mortal accomplice could, either. It was as close to ideal privacy as I was likely to get. I started with the arrival of Mavra’s package and told Thomas of the events of the entire evening.
“You know what we should do?” Thomas asked when I was finished. “We should kill Mavra. We could make it a family project.”
“No,” I said. “If we take her out, Murphy will be the one to suffer for it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Thomas said. “I’m pretty sure I know what Murphy would have to say about that.”
“I don’t want it to come to that,” I said. “Besides, whatever this Word of Kemmler is, there are some seriously nasty people after it. It’s probably a good idea to make sure they don’t get it.”
“Right,” Thomas said. “So you keep it away from the nasty people so you can give it to the nasty vampire.”
“Not if I can help it,” I said.
“So Murphy gets burned anyway?” he asked.
I narrowed my eyes. “Not if I can help it.”
“How are you going to manage that?”
“I’m working on it,” I said. “The first step is to find The Word of Kemmler, or the whole thing is a bust.”
“How do you do that?”
“The map,” I said. “I don’t think these guys are running around working the major black magic for no reason. I need to check out where they’ve been and figure out what they were doing.”
“What about Butters?” Thomas asked.
“For now we keep him behind my wards. I don’t know why Grevane wanted him, and until I figure it out he’s got to keep his head down.”
“I doubt Grevane was looking for a polka afficionado,” Thomas said.
“I know. It’s got something to do with one of the bodies at the morgue.”
“So why not
go there?” Thomas asked.
“Because the guard was killed there. There’s blood all over the place, maybe the guard’s body, and God only knows what Grevane did to the place after we left. The cops will have it locked down hard by now, and they’ll definitely want to have a nice long talk with anyone who might have been there. I can’t afford to spin my wheels in an interrogation room right now. Neither can Butters.”
“So ask Murphy to look around,” Thomas said.
I ground my teeth together for a few steps. “I can’t. Murphy’s on vacation.”
“Oh,” he said.
“I’m watering her plants.”
“Right.”
“While she’s in Hawaii.”
“Uh-huh,” he said.
“With Kincaid.”
Thomas stopped running.
I didn’t.
He caught up to me a hundred yards later. “Well, that’s a bitch.”
I grunted. “I think she wanted me to tell her not to go,” I said. “I think that’s why she came to see me.”
“So why didn’t you?” he asked.
“Didn’t realize it until it was too late. Besides, she’s not my girlfriend. Or anything. Not my place to tell her who she should see.” I shook my head. “Besides…I mean, if it was going to be right with Murphy, it would have been right before now, right? If we got all involved and it didn’t work out, it would really screw things up for me. I mean, most of my living comes from jobs for SI.”
“That’s real reasonable and mature, Harry,” Thomas said.
“It’s smarter not to try to complicate things.”
Thomas frowned at me for a moment. Then he said, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
I shrugged. “I guess so. Yeah.”
“Little brother,” he said, “I simply cannot get over how stupid you are at times.”
“Stupid? You just told me it was reasonable.”
“Your excuses are,” Thomas said, “but love isn’t.”
“We’re not in love!”
“Never gonna be,” Thomas said, “if you keep being all logical about it.”
“Like you’re one to talk.”
Thomas’s shoes hit the trail a little more sharply. “I know what it’s like to lose it. Don’t be an idiot, Harry. Don’t lose it like I did.”
“I can’t lose what I haven’t ever had.”
“You have a chance,” he said, a snarl in his words, and I had the sudden sense that he had come precariously close to violent action. “And that’s more than I’ve got.”
I didn’t push him. We got to the end of the trail and moved off it, slowing to walk down the beach, winding down. “Thomas,” I said, “what’s wrong with you today, man?”
“I’m hungry,” he said, his voice a low growl.
“We can hit a McDonald’s or something on the way home,” I suggested.
He bared his teeth. “Not that kind of hunger.”
“Oh.” We walked awhile more, and I said, “But you fed just yesterday.”
He laughed, a short and bitter sound. “Fed? No. That woman…that wasn’t anything.”
“She looked like she’d just run a marathon. You took from her.”
“I took.” He spat the words. “But there’s no substance to it. I didn’t take deeply from her. Not from anyone anymore. Not since Justine.”
“But food is food, right?” I said.
“No,” he said. “It isn’t.”
“Why?”
“It isn’t like that.”
“Then what is it like?”
“There’s no point in telling you,” he said.
“Why not?”
“You couldn’t understand,” he said.
“Not if you don’t tell me, dolt,” I said. “Thomas, I’m your brother. I want to understand you.” I stopped and put my hand on his shoulder, shoving him just hard enough to make him turn to face me. “Look, I know it’s not working out the way we hoped. But dammit, if you just go storming off every time you get upset about something, if you don’t give me the chance to understand you, we’re never going to get anywhere.”
He closed his eyes, frustration evident on his face. He started walking down the beach, just at the edge of what passed for surf in Lake Michigan. I kept pace. He walked all the way down the beach, then stopped abruptly and said, “Race me back. Beat me there, and I’ll tell you.”
I blinked. “What kind of kindergarten crap is that?”
His grey eyes flashed with anger. “You want to know what it’s like? Beat me down the beach.”
“Of all the ridiculous, immature nonsense,” I said. Then I hooked a foot behind Thomas’s calf, shoved him down to the sand, and took off down the beach at a dead sprint.
There’s an almost primal joy in the sheer motion and power of running a race. Children run everywhere for a reason—it’s fun. Grown-ups can forget that sometimes. I stretched out my legs, still loose from the longer jog, and even though I was running across sand, the thrill of each stride filled my thoughts.
Behind me, Thomas spat out a curse and scrambled to his feet, setting out after me.
We ran through the grey light. The morning had dawned cold, and even at the lakeside the air was pretty dry. Thomas got ahead of me for a couple of steps, looked back, and kicked his heel, flinging sand into my face and eyes. I inhaled some of it, started gasping and choking, but managed to hook my fingers in the back of Thomas’s T-shirt. I tugged hard as he stepped, and I outweighed Thomas considerably. He stumbled again, and, choking and gasping, I got ahead of him. I regained my lead and held it.
The last hundred yards were the worst. The cold, dry air and sand burned at my throat, that sharp, painful dryness that only a long run and hard breathing can really do to you. I swerved off the sand toward the parking lot, Thomas’s footsteps close behind me.
I beat him back to the SUV by maybe four steps, slapped the back of the vehicle with my hand, then leaned against it, panting heavily. My throat felt like it had been baked in a kiln, and as soon as I could manage it I took the keys out of my black nylon sports pouch. There were several keys on the ring, and I fumbled at them one at a time. After the third wrong guess I had a brief, sharp urge to break the window and grab the bottle of water I’d left sitting in the driver’s seat. I managed to force myself to try the keys methodically until I found the right one.
I opened the door, grabbed the bottle, twisted off the cap, and lifted it to ease the parched discomfort in my throat.
I took my first gulp, and the water felt and tasted like it had come from God’s own water cooler. It took the harshest edge off the burning thirst, but I needed more to ease the discomfort completely.
Before I could swallow again, Thomas batted the water bottle out of my hand. It arched through the air and landed on the sand, spilling uselessly onto the beach.
I spun on Thomas, staring at him in surprised anger.
He met my gaze with weary grey eyes and said, “It’s like that.”
I stared at him.
“It’s exactly like that.” His expression didn’t change as he went around and got into the SUV on the passenger side.
I stayed where I was for a moment, trying to ignore my thirst. It was all but impossible to do so. I thought about living with that discomfort and pain hour after hour, day after day, knowing that all I had to do was pick up a vessel filled with what I needed and empty it to make me feel whole. Would I be able to content myself with a quick splash of relief now and then? Would I be able to take enough to keep me alive?
For a time, perhaps. But time itself would make the thirst no easier to bear. Time would inevitably weigh me down. It would become more difficult to concentrate and to sleep, which would in turn undermine my self-control, which would make it more difficult to concentrate and sleep—a vicious cycle. How long would I be able to last?
Thomas had done it for most of a year.
I wasn’t sure I would have done as well in his place.
I got into the
SUV, closed the door, and said, “Thank you.”
My brother nodded. “What now?”
“We go to 7-Eleven,” I said. “Drinks are on you.”
He smiled a little and nodded. “Then what?”
I took a deep breath. The run had helped me clear some of the crap out of my head. Talking to my brother had helped a little more. Understanding him a little better made me both more concerned and a bit more confident. I had my head together enough to see the next step I needed to take.
“The apartment. You keep an eye on Butters,” I said. “I’m hitting these spots on the map to see what I can find. If I can’t turn up anything on my own, I might have to go to the Nevernever for some answers.”
“That’s dangerous, isn’t it?” he said.
I started the car and shrugged my shoulder. “It’s a living.”
Chapter
Thirteen
I took a shower, got dressed, and left Thomas behind with the still-sleeping Butters. Thomas settled down on the couch with a candle, a book, and an old U.S. cavalry saber he’d picked up in an estate sale and honed to a scalpel’s edge. I left the sawed-off shotgun on the coffee table within arm’s reach, and Thomas nodded his thanks to me.
“Keep an eye on him?” I asked.
Thomas turned a page. “Nothing will touch him.”
Mouse settled down on the floor between Butters and the door, and huffed out a breath.
I got into the SUV and got out Mort’s map. I headed for the nearest magical hot spot marked in bloody ink on the map—the spot of sidewalk on Wacker.
It was a bitch to find a parking place. It’s never easy in Chicago, and I had a shot at a pretty good spot on the street, but while the Beetle would have managed just fine, the SS Loaner would have had to smash the cars on either side a few inches apart to fit. I wound up taking out a mortgage to pay for a parking space at a garage, walked a couple of city blocks, and proceeded down the street with my wizard’s senses alert, feeling for the dark energy that the city’s dead had found.
I found the spot on the sidewalk outside of a corner pharmacy.