by Jim Butcher
“Nefarious, huh?” I asked.
Tilly nodded. “Good word, isn’t it.” He scrunched up his nose. “Disappoints me, because my instincts said you were playing it level with me. Close to the chest, but level. I guess you can always run into someone better at lying than you are at catching them, huh.”
“Probably,” I said. “But you didn’t. At least not with me.”
He grunted. “Maybe. Maybe.” He glanced back into his office. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re playing with dynamite again, Tilly,” said Murphy’s voice.
“Murph,” I said, relieved. I leaned around Tilly and waved at her. She looked at me and shook her head. “Dammit, Dresden. Can’t you ever do anything quietly and in an orderly fashion?”
“No way,” I said. “It’s the only thing keeping Tilly here from deciding I’m some kind of bomb maker.”
Murphy’s mouth twitched up at one corner, briefly. She asked soberly, “Are you okay?”
“They burned down my house, Murph,” I said. “Mister got out, but I don’t know where he’s at. I mean, I know that a lost cat isn’t exactly a priority right now but . . .” I shrugged. “I guess I’m worried about him.”
“If he misses his feeding,” Murphy said wryly, “I’m more worried about me. Mister is the closest thing to a mountain lion for a few hundred miles. He’ll be fine.”
Tilly blinked and turned to Murphy. “Seriously?”
Murphy frowned at him. “What?”
“You still back him,” Tilly said. “Despite all the flags he’s setting off.”
“Yeah,” Murphy said.
Tilly exhaled slowly. Then he said, “All right, Dresden. Step into my office?”
I did. Tilly shut the door behind us.
“Okay,” he said. “Tell me what’s going on here.”
“You don’t want to know,” Murphy said. She’d beaten me to it.
“That’s funny,” Tilly said. “I just checked in with my brain about an hour ago, and at that time, it told me that it did want to know.”
Murphy exhaled and glanced at me.
I held up both hands. “I hardly know the guy. Your call.”
Murphy nodded and asked Tilly, “How much do you know about the Black Cat case files?”
Tilly looked at her for a moment. Then he looked at his identification badge, clipped to his jacket. “Funny. For a second there, I thought someone must have changed it to say ‘Mulder.’ ”
“I’m serious, Till,” Murphy said.
His dark eyebrows climbed. “Um. They were the forerunner to Special Investigations, right? Sixties, seventies, I think. They got handed all the weirdo stuff. The files make some claims that make me believe several of those officers were having fun with all the wonderful new psychotropic drugs that were coming out back then.”
“What if I told you they weren’t stoned, Till?” Murphy asked.
Tilly frowned. “Is that what you’re telling me?”
“They weren’t stoned,” Murphy said.
Tilly’s frown deepened.
“SI handles all the same stuff the Black Cats did. It’s just been made real clear to us that our reports had better not sound like a drug trip. So the reports provide an explanation. They don’t provide much accuracy.”
“You’re . . . standing there, right in front of me, telling me that when Dresden told me it was vampires, he was being serious?”
“Completely,” Murphy said.
Tilly folded his arms. “Jesus, Karrin.”
“You think I’m lying to you?” she asked.
“You aren’t,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean there are vampires running around out there. It just means that you believe it’s true.”
“Maybe I’m just gullible,” Murphy suggested.
Tilly gave her a reproachful look. “Or maybe the pressure is getting to you and you aren’t seeing things objectively. I mean—”
“If you make some comment even obliquely alluding to menstruation or menopause and its effect on my judgment,” Murphy interrupted, “I will break your arm in eleven places.”
Tilly pressed his lips together sourly. “Dammit, Murphy. Can you hear yourself? Vampires? For Christ’s sake. What am I supposed to think?”
Murphy spread her hands. “I’m not sure. Harry, what’s actually happening?”
I laid out the last couple of days, focusing on the events in Chicago and leaving out everything but the broadest picture of the White Council and the Red Court and their involvement.
“This vampire couple,” Murphy said. “You think they’re the ones who got to Rudolph?”
“Stands to reason. They could put pressure on him a lot of different ways. They wanted to remove him before he could squeal and sent their heavy to do it.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing here,” Tilly said.
“So when are you moving?” Murphy asked me, ignoring him.
“Tonight.”
“No one is moving anywhere until I get some answers,” Tilly said. To his credit, he didn’t stick any bravado into the sentence. He made it as a statement of simple fact.
“Don’t know how many of those I can give you, man,” I said, quietly. “There’s not much time. And my little girl is in danger.”
“This isn’t a negotiation,” Tilly said.
“Agent,” I said, sighing. “There’s still a little time. I’m willing to talk with you.” My voice hardened. “But not for long. Please believe me when I say that I can take Susan out of this building, with or without your cooperation.”
“Harry,” Murphy said, as if I’d just uttered something unthinkably rude for which I ought to be ashamed.
“Tick-tock, Murph,” I answered. “If he pushes me, I can’t afford to stand here and smile.”
“Now I’m curious,” Tilly said, bristling almost visibly. “I think I’d like to see you try that.”
“Till,” Murphy said in exactly the same voice. “Mother of God, boys, would it kill either of you to behave like adults? Please?”
I folded my arms, scowling. Tilly did the same. But we both shut up.
“Thank you,” Murphy said. “Till . . . Do you remember that tape that was on the news a few years back? After the deaths at Special Investigations?”
“The werewolf thing?” Tilly asked. “Yeah. Blurry, badly lit, out of focus, and terrible effects. The creature didn’t look anything like a werewolf. Only suddenly the tape mysteriously vanishes, so it can’t be verified by anyone. Secondhand versions are probably on the Internet somewhere.” He mused and said, “The actress they had playing you was pretty good, though.”
“That wasn’t an actress, Till,” Murphy said quietly. “I was there. I saw it happen. The tape was genuine. You have my word.”
Tilly frowned again. He ducked his head down slightly, dark eyes focused on his thoughts, as if he were reading from a report only he could see.
“Look, man,” I said quietly. “Think about it like this. What if you’d never heard me say the word vampire? What if I’d said drug cartel or terrorists instead? And I told you that this group of terrorists was financed by shady corporations and that one of them had blown the office building to prevent their illegal data from being stolen and exposed to the world? What if I had told you that because I’d pissed them off, a bunch of terrorists had taken my daughter? That they were going to cut her head off and put the video on the Internet? That Susan and the mystery man were spooks from an organization I was not at liberty to divulge, trying to help me find and recover the girl? Would it still sound crazy?”
Tilly cocked his head for a second. Then he said in a subdued voice, “It would sound like the plot of a cheesy novel.” He shrugged. “But . . . the logic would hold up. I mean . . . they don’t call those assholes ‘extremists’ for nothing.”
“Okay,” I said gently. “Then . . . maybe we can just pretend I said it was terrorists. And go from there. It’s my daughter, man.”
Tilly looked back and for
th from me to Murphy. He said quietly, “Either you’re both crazy—or I am—or you’re telling me the truth.” He shook his head. “And . . . I’m not sure which of the possibilities disturbs me more.”
“You got a piece of paper?” I asked him.
Bemused, he opened his drawer and got out a pad.
I grabbed a pen and wrote on it:
Susan,
Tell him everything.
Harry
I tore off the page, folded the note, and said, “I guess Susan hasn’t said much to you.”
Tilly grunted. “Nothing, in fact. Literally nothing. Which is fairly hard-core, in my experience.”
“She can be stubborn,” I said. “Go give her this. You know I haven’t seen her in hours. Get her story, off the record. See how well it matches up.”
He took the note and looked at it. Then back at me.
“Hard to know who to trust,” I said. “Talk to her. Try to take the story apart. See if it stands up.”
He thought about it for a moment and said, “Keep him here, Murphy.”
“Okay.”
Tilly left.
There were two chairs, and neither looked comfortable. I settled down on the floor and closed my eyes.
“How bad is it?” she asked me.
“Pretty bad,” I said quietly. “Um. I need to ask you a favor.”
“Sure.”
“If . . . Look. I have a will in a lockbox at the National Bank on Michigan. If something should happen to me . . . I’d appreciate it if you’d see to it. You’re on the list of people who can open it. Listed as executor.”
“Harry,” she said.
“Granted, there’s not much to have a will about at the moment,” I said. “Everything was in my house or office, but . . . there are some intangibles and . . .” I felt my throat tighten, and cut short my request. “Take care of it for me?”
There was silence, and then Murphy moved and settled down next to me. Her hand squeezed mine. I squeezed back.
“Sure,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“There’s . . . there’s nothing in there about Maggie, obviously,” I said. “But if I can’t be there to . . . I want her in a good home. Somewhere safe.”
“Hey, emo boy,” she said. “Time to take a gloom break. Right? You aren’t dead yet, as far as I can tell.”
I snorted quietly and opened my eyes, looking up at her.
“You’ll take care of her yourself when this is done.”
I shook my head slowly. “I . . . can’t, Murph. Susan was right. All I can offer her is a life under siege. My enemies would use her. She’s got to vanish. Go somewhere safe. Really safe. Not even I can know where she is.” I swallowed on a choking sensation in my throat. “Father Forthill at St. Mary’s can help. Mouse should go with her. He’ll help protect her.”
Murphy looked at me, troubled. “You aren’t telling me something.”
“It isn’t important for now,” I said. “If you could find Mister . . . Molly might like to have him around. Just so long as he’s taken care of.”
“Jesus, Harry,” Murphy said.
“I’m not planning a suicide run, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I said. “But there’s a possibility that I won’t come back from this. If that happens, I need someone I can trust to know my wishes and carry them out. In case I can’t.”
“I’ll do it,” Murphy said, and let out a short laugh. “For crying out loud, I’ll do it, just so we can talk about something else.”
I smiled, too, and Rudolph entered Tilly’s office and found us both on the floor, grinning.
Everyone froze. No one looked certain of how to react.
“Well,” Rudolph said quietly. “I always figured this for what it was. But, boy, did you have everyone at your headquarters fooled, Murphy.”
“Hi, Rudy,” I said. “You’ve got a beautiful home.”
Rudolph gnashed his teeth and drew an envelope out of his pocket. He flicked it to the floor near Murphy. “For you. A cease-and-desist order, specifying that you aren’t allowed within two hundred yards of this case or anyone involved in the active investigation, until your competence and noncomplicity have been confirmed by a special tribunal of the Chicago Police Board. Also a written order from Lieutenant Stallings, specifying that you are to have nothing to do with the investigation into the explosion, and relieving you of duty forthwith if you do not comply.” His eyes shifted to me. “You. I haven’t forgotten you.”
“Shame,” I said. “I’d almost forgotten you, but you’ve ruined that. Walking into the room and all.”
“This isn’t over, Dresden.”
I sighed. “Yeah. I’ve been having that kind of week.”
Murphy opened the envelope and read over a pair of pages. Then she looked at Rudolph and said, “What did you tell them?”
“You have your orders, Sergeant,” Rudolph said coldly. “Leave the building before I relieve you of your weapon and your shield.”
“You mosquito-dicked weasel,” she said, her voice coldly furious.
“That remark is going into my report for the tribunal, Murphy,” Rudolph said. There was a vicious satisfaction in his voice. “And once they read the rest, you’re done. With your record? They aren’t paying you any more slack, bitch. You’re gone.”
Something dark and ugly stirred in my chest, and the sudden image of Rudolph pinned to the wall by a ton of crystalline ice popped into my brain.
“Bitch?” Murphy said, rising.
“Whoa,” I said, drawing out the word as I came to my own feet, and speaking as much to myself as to the furious woman. “Murph, don’t play his game here.”
“Game?” Rudolph said. “You’re a menace, Murphy, and a disgrace. You belong behind bars. Once you’re out, it’ll happen, too. You and this clown both.”
“Clown?” I said, in the exact same tone Murphy had used.
And the lights went out.
There was a sudden hush all around us, as FBI headquarters was plunged into powerless darkness. After several seconds, the emergency lights still hadn’t come on.
“Harry,” Murphy said, her tone annoyed.
I felt the hairs on the back of my neck crawling around. I lowered my voice and said, “That wasn’t me.”
“Where are the emergency lights?” Rudolph said. “Th-they’re supposed to turn on within seconds. Right?”
“Heh,” I said into the darkness. “Heh, heh. Rudy, old buddy, do you remember the night we met?”
Tilly’s office was adjacent to the elevator. And I distinctly heard the hunting scream of a Red Court vampire echoing around the elevator shaft.
It was followed by a chorus of screams, more than a score of individual hunting cries.
Lots of vampires in an enclosed space. That was bad.
The heavy, throbbing beat of a hideous heart underlay the screams, audible four stories up and through the wall. I shuddered.
Lots of vampires and the Ick in an enclosed space. That was worse.
“What is that?” Rudolph asked in a squeaky whisper.
I willed light into my amulet, prepared my shield bracelet, and drew my blasting rod out of my coat. Beside me, Murphy had already drawn her SIG. She tested the little flashlight on it, found it functional, and looked up at me with the serene expression and steady breathing that told me that she was controlling her fear. “What’s the play?” she asked.
“Get Susan and get out,” I said. “If I’m not here and she’s not here, they’ve got no reason to attack.”
“What is it?” Rudolph asked again. “What is that noise? Huh?”
Murphy leaned her head a bit toward Rudolph, questioning me with a quirked eyebrow.
“Dammit.” I sighed. “You’re right. We’ll have to take him with us, too.”
“Tell me!” Rudolph said, near panic. “You have to tell me what that is!”
“Do we tell him?” I asked.
“Sure.”
Murphy and I turned toward the door
, weapons raised, and spoke in offhanded stereo. “Terrorists.”
Chapter 35
By the time Murphy and I had moved into the hall, gunfire had erupted on the floors below us. It didn’t sound like much—simple, staccato thumping sounds—but anyone who’d heard shots fired in earnest would never mistake them for anything else. I hoped that nobody was carrying rounds heavy enough to come up through the intervening floors and nail me. There just aren’t any minor injuries to be had from something like that.
“Those screams,” Murphy said. “Red Court, right?”
“Yeah. Where’s Susan?”
“Interrogation room, that way.” She nodded to the left, and I took the lead. I walked with my shoulder brushing the left- hand wall. Murph, after dragging the sputtering Rudolph out of the office, walked a step behind me and a pace to my right, so that she could shoot past me if she had to. We’d played this game before. If something bad came for us, I’d stand it off long enough to give her a clean shot.
That would be critical, buying her the extra second to place her shot. Vampires aren’t immune to the damage bullets cause, but they can recover from anything but the most lethal hits, and they know it. A Red Court vampire would almost always be willing to charge a mortal gunman, knowing how difficult it is to really place a shot with lethal effect, especially with a howling monster rushing toward you. You needed a hit square in the head, severing the spine, or in their gut, rupturing the blood reservoir, to really put a Red Court vampire down—and they could generally recover, even from those wounds, with enough time and blood to feed upon.