The Dresden Files Collection 1-6

by Jim Butcher

  “Okay,” I said, thinking out loud. “Guy dies of a zillion diseases he somehow contracted all at once. How long do you think it took?”

  Butters shrugged. “No idea. I mean, the odds against him getting all of those at once like that are beyond astronomical.”

  “Days?” I asked.

  “If I had to guess,” Butters said, “I’d say more like hours. Maybe less.”

  “Okay,” I said. “And during those hours, someone uses a knife on him and turns his chest into tuna cubes. Then when they’re done, they take his hands and his head and dump the body. Where was it found?”

  “Under an overpass on the expressway,” Murphy said. “Like this, naked.”

  I shook my head. “SI got handed this one?”

  Murphy’s face flickered with annoyance. “Yeah. Homicide dumped it on us to take some high-profile case all the municipal folk are hot about.”

  I took a step back from the corpse, frowning, putting things together. I figured odds were pretty good that there weren’t all that many people running around the world torturing victims by carving their skin into graph paper before murdering them. At least I hoped there weren’t all that many.

  Murphy peered at me, her expression serious. “What. Harry, do you know something?”

  I glanced from Murphy to Butters and then back again.

  Butters raised both his hands and headed for the doors, stripping his gloves and dumping them in a container splattered with red biohazard signs. “You guys stay here and Mulder it out. I have to go down the hall anyway. Back in five minutes.”

  I watched him go and said, after the door swung shut, “Bunny slippers and polka music.”

  “Don’t knock it,” Murphy said. “He’s good at his job. Maybe too good.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  She walked away from the autopsy table, and I followed her. Murphy said, “Butters was the one who handled the bodies after the fire at the Velvet Room.”

  The one I’d started. “Oh?”

  “Mmm-hmm. His original report stated that some of the remains recovered from the scene were humanoid, but definitely not human.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Red vampires.”

  Murphy nodded. “But you can’t just stick that in a report without people getting their panties in a bunch. Butters wound up doing a three-month stint at a mental hospital for observation. When he came out, they tried to fire him, but his lawyer convinced them that they couldn’t. So instead he lost all his seniority and got stuck on the night shift. But he knows there’s weirdness out there. He calls me when he gets some of it.”

  “Seems nice enough. Except for the polka.”

  Murphy smiled again and said, “What do you know?”

  “Nothing I can tell you,” I said. “I agreed to keep the information confidential.”

  Murphy peered up at me for a moment. Once upon a time, that comment might have sent her into a fit of stubborn confrontation. But I guess times had changed. “All right,” she said. “Are you holding back anything that might get someone hurt?”

  I shook my head. “It’s too early to tell.”

  Murphy nodded, her lips pressed together. She appeared to weigh things for a moment before saying, “You know what you’re doing.”

  “Thanks.”

  She shrugged. “I expect you to tell me if it turns into something I should know.”

  “Okay,” I said, staring at her profile. Murphy had done something I knew she didn’t do very often. She’d extended her trust. I’d expected her to threaten and demand. I could have handled that. This was almost worse. Guilt gnawed on my insides. I’d agreed not to divulge anything, but I hated doing that to Murphy. She’d gone out on a limb for me too many times.

  But what if I didn’t tell her anything? What if I just pointed her toward information she’d find sooner or later in any case?

  “Look, Murph. I specifically agreed to confidentiality for this client. But…if I were going to talk to you, I’d tell you to check out the murder of a Frenchman named LaRouche with Interpol.”

  Murphy blinked and then looked up at me. “Interpol?”

  I nodded. “If I were going to talk.”

  “Right,” she said. “If you’d said anything. You tight-lipped bastard.”

  One corner of my mouth tugged up into a grin. “Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can’t find out anything about that tattoo.”

  She nodded. “You figure we’re dealing with another sorcerer type?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. But if you give someone a disease with magic, it’s usually so that you make it look like they haven’t been murdered. Natural causes. This kind of mishmash…I don’t know. Maybe it’s something a demon would do.”

  “A real demon? Like Exorcist demon?”

  I shook my head. “Those are the Fallen. The former angels. Not the same thing.”

  “Why not?”

  “Demons are just intelligent beings from somewhere in the Nevernever. Mostly they don’t care about the mortal world, if they notice it at all. The ones who do are usually the hungry types, or the mean types that someone calls up to do thug work. Like that thing Leonid Kravos had called up.”

  Murphy shivered. “I remember. And the Fallen?”

  “They’re very interested in our world. But they aren’t free to act, like demons are.”

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged. “Depends on who you talk to. I’ve heard everything from advanced magical resonance theory to ‘because God said so.’ One of the Fallen couldn’t do this unless it had permission to.”

  “Right. And how many people would give permission to be infected and then tortured to death,” Murphy said.

  “Yeah, exactly.”

  She shook her head. “Going to be a busy week. Half a dozen professional hitters for the outfit are in town. The county morgue is doing double business. City Hall is telling us to bend over backward for some bigwig from Europe or somewhere. And now some kind of plague monster is leaving unidentifiable, mutilated corpses on the side of the road.”

  “That’s why they pay you the big bucks, Murph.”

  Murphy snorted. Butters came back in, and I made my good-byes. My eyes were getting heavy and I had aches in places where I hadn’t known I had places. Sleep sounded like a great idea, and with so many things going on, the smart option was to get lots of rest in order to be as capably paranoid as possible.

  I walked the long route back out of the hospital, but found a hall blocked by a patient on some kind of life-support machinery being moved on a gurney from one room to another. I wound up heading out through the empty cafeteria, into an alley not far from the emergency room exit.

  A cold chill started at the base of my spine and slithered up over my neck. I stopped and looked around me, reaching for my blasting rod. I extended my magical senses as best I could, tasting the air to see what had given me the shivers.

  I found nothing, and the eerie sensation eased away. I started down the alley, toward a parking garage half a block from the hospital, and tried to look in every direction at once as I went. I passed a little old homeless man, hobbling along heavily on a thick wooden cane. A while farther on, I passed a tall young black man, dressed in an old overcoat and tattered and too-small suit, clutching an open bottle of vodka in one heavy-knuckled hand. He glowered at me, and I moved on past him. Chicago nightlife.

  I kept on moving toward my car, and heard footsteps growing closer, behind me. I told myself not to be too jumpy. Maybe it was just some other frightened, endangered, paranoid, sleep-deprived consultant who had been called to the morgue in the middle of the night.

  Okay. Maybe not.

  The steady tread of the footsteps behind me shifted, becoming louder and unsteady. I spun to face the person following me, raising the blasting rod in my right hand as I did.

  I turned around in time to see a bear, a freaking grizzly bear, fall to all four feet and charge. I had already begun preparing a magical strike with the rod, and the tip burst i
nto incandescent light. Shadows fell harshly back from the scarlet fire of the rod, and I saw the details of the thing coming at me.

  It wasn’t a bear. Not unless a bear can have six legs and a pair of curling ram’s horns wrapping around the sides of its head. Not unless bears can somehow get an extra pair of eyes, right over the first set, one pair glowing with faint orange light and one with green. Not unless bears have started getting luminous tattoos of swirling runes on their foreheads and started sprouting twin rows of serrated, slime-coated teeth.

  It came charging toward me, several hundred pounds of angry-looking monster, and I did the only thing any reasonable wizard could have done.

  I turned around and ran like hell.

  Chapter Six

  I’d learned something in several years of professional wizarding. Never walk into a fight when the bad guys are the ones who set it up. Wizards can call down lightning from the heavens, rip apart the earth beneath their enemy’s feet, blow them into a neighboring time zone with gale winds, and a million other things even less pleasant—but not if we don’t plan things out in advance.

  And we’re not all that much tougher than regular folks. I mean, if some nasty creature tears my head off my shoulders, I’ll die. I might be able to lay out some serious magical pounding when I need to, but I’d made the mistake of tangling with a few things that had prepared to go up against me, and it hadn’t been pretty.

  This bear-thing, whatever the hell it was, had followed me. Hence, it had probably picked its time and place. I could have stood and blasted away at it, but in the close quarters of the alley, if it was able to shrug off my blasts, it would tear me apart before I could try Plan B. So I ran.

  One other thing I’d learned. Wheezy wizards aren’t all that good at running. That’s why I’d been practicing. I took off at a dead sprint and fairly flew down the alley, my duster flapping behind me.

  The bear-thing snarled as it came after me, and I could hear it slowly gaining ground. The mouth of the alley loomed into sight and I ran as hard as I could for it. Once I was in the open with room to dodge and put obstacles between me and the creature, I might be able to take a shot at it.

  The creature evidently realized that, because it let out a vicious, spitting growl and then leapt. I heard it gather itself for the leap, and turned my head enough to see it out of the corner of my eye. It flew at my back. I threw myself down, sliding and rolling over the asphalt. The creature soared over me, to land at the mouth of the alley, a good twenty feet ahead. I skidded to a stop and went running back down the alley, a growing sense of fear and desperation giving my feet a set of chicken-yellow wings.

  I ran for maybe ten seconds, gritting my teeth as the creature took up the pursuit again. I couldn’t keep up a full sprint forever. Unless I thought of something else, I was going to have to turn and take my chances.

  I all but flattened the tall young black man I’d seen earlier when I leapt over a moldering pile of cardboard boxes. He let out a startled noise, and I answered it with a low curse. “Come on!” I said, grabbing his arm. “Move, move, move!”

  He looked past me and his eyes widened. I looked back and saw the four glowing eyes of the bear-creature coming at us. I hauled him into motion, and he picked up speed and started running with me.

  We ran for a few seconds more before the little old derelict I’d seen earlier came limping along on his cane. He looked up, and the dim light from the distant street glinted on a pair of spectacles.

  “Augh,” I shouted. I shoved my running partner past me, toward the old man, and snarled, “Get him out of here. Both of you run!”

  I whirled to face the bear-creature, and swept my blasting rod to point right at it. I ran some force of will down into the energy channels in the rod and with a snarled, “Fuego!” sent a lance of raw fire whipping through the air.

  The blast slammed into the bear-creature’s chest, and it hunched its shoulders, turning its head to one side. Its forward charge faltered, and it slid to a stop, crashing against a weathered old metal trash can.

  “What do you know,” I muttered. “It worked.” I stepped forward and unleashed another blast at the creature, hoping to either melt it to bits or drive it away. The bear-thing snarled and turned a hateful, murderous gaze at me with its four eyes.

  The soulgaze began almost instantly.

  When a wizard looks into someone’s eyes, he sees more than just what color they are. Eyes are windows to the soul. When I make eye contact for too long, or too intently, I get to peek in through the windows. You can’t hide what you are from a wizard’s soulgaze. And he can’t hide from you. You both see each other for what you are, within, and it’s with a clarity so intense that it burns itself into your head.

  Looking on someone’s soul is something you never forget.

  No matter how badly you might want to.

  I felt a whirling, gyrating sensation and fell forward, into the bear-thing’s eyes. The glowing sigil on its forehead became a blaze of silver light the size of a stadium scoreboard set against a roundish cliffside of dark green and black marble. I expected to see something hideous, but I guess you can’t judge a monster by the slime on its scales. What I saw instead was a man of lean middle years dressed in rags. His hair was long and straight, wispy grey that fell down to his chest. He stood in a posture of agony, his wiry body stretched out in an arch, with his hands held up and apart, his legs stretched out. I followed the lines of his arms back and up and saw why he stood that way.

  He’d been crucified.

  The man’s back rested against the cliff, the great glowing sigil stretching out above him. His arms were pulled back at an agonizing angle, and were sunk to the elbow in the green-black marble of the cliff. His knees were bent, his feet sunk into the stone as well. He hung there, the pressure of all his weight on his shoulders and legs. It must have been agonizing.

  The crucified man laughed at me, his eyes glowing a shade of sickly green, and screamed, “As if it will help you! Nothing! You’re nothing!”

  Pain laced his voice, making it shrill. Agony contorted the lines of his body, veins standing out sharply against straining muscle.

  “Stars and stones,” I whispered. Creatures like this bear-thing did not have souls to gaze upon. That meant that regardless of appearances to the contrary, this thing was a mortal. It—no, he—was a human being. “What the hell is this?”

  The man screamed again, this time all rage and anguish, void of words. I lifted a hand and stepped forward, my first instinct to help him.

  Before I got close, the ground began to shake. The cliff face rumbled and slits of seething orange light appeared, and then widened, until I faced the second set of eyes, eyes the size of subway tunnels, opening on the great marble cliff. I stumbled several steps back, and that cliff face proved to be exactly that—a face, cold and beautiful and harsh around that fiery gaze.

  The quaking in the earth increased, and a voice louder than a Metallica concert spoke, the raw sense of the words, the vicious anger and hate behind them hitting me far more heavily than mere volume.

  GET OUT.

  The sheer force of presence behind that voice seized me and threw me violently back, away from the tortured man at the cliffside and out of the soulgaze. The mental connection snapped like dry spaghetti, and the same force that had thrown my mind away from the soulgaze sent my physical body flying back through the air. I hit an old cardboard box filled with empty bottles and heard glass shattering beneath me. The heavy leather duster held, and no broken shards buried themselves in my back.

  For a second or two, I just lay on my back, stunned. My thoughts were a hectic whirlpool I couldn’t calm or control. I stared up at the city’s light pollution against the low clouds, until some tiny voice in me started screaming that I was in danger. I shoved myself to my knees, just as the bear-creature smacked a trash can aside with one of its paws and started toward me.

  My head was still ringing with the aftereffects of the soulgaze and the
psychic assault that had broken the connection. I lifted my blasting rod, summoned up every bit of will I could scrape together out of the confusion, and spat a word that sent another lance of flame toward the bear-creature.

  This time the blast didn’t even slow it down. The set of orange eyes flared with a sudden luminance, and my fire splashed against an unseen barrier, dispersing around the creature in sheets of scarlet. It let out a screaming roar and lumbered toward me.

  I tried to get up, stumbled, and fell at the feet of the little old homeless guy, who leaned on his cane and stared at the creature. I had a dim impression of his features—Asian, a short white beard around his chin, heavy white eyebrows, and corrective glasses that made his eyes look the size of an owl’s.

  “Run, dammit!” I shouted at him. I tried to lead by example, but my balance was still whirling and I couldn’t get off the ground.

  The old man did not turn to run. He took off his glasses and pushed them at me. “Hold, please.”

  Then he took a deliberate step forward with his cane, placing himself between me and the bear-creature.

  The creature hurled itself at him with a bellow, rearing up on its hindmost legs. It plunged down at the white-haired man, jaws gaping, and I couldn’t do anything but watch it happen.

  The little man took two steps to one side, pirouetting like a dancer. The end of his wooden cane lashed out and struck the creature’s jaws with a crunching impact. Bits of broken yellow teeth flew from the creature’s mouth. The little man continued his turn and evaded its claws by maybe an inch. He wound up behind the creature, and it turned to follow him, huge jaws snapping in rage.

  The man darted back, staying just ahead of the thing’s jaws, and in a blur of sudden light on metal he drew from his cane a long blade, the classic single-edged, chisel-pointed katana. The steel flashed at the creature’s eyes, but it ducked low enough that the scything blade only whipped the top couple of inches from one of its ears.

  The creature screamed, entirely out of proportion with the injury, a yowl that almost sounded human. It lurched back, shaking its head, a fine spray of blood sprinkling from its wounded ear.