by Jim Butcher
"IHOP."
Murphy sighed. "My hips hate you, Dresden."
"Just wait until they get to sit in my ritzy car."
We got in the car and I dropped the pup into the box I'd put in the backseat and lined with some laundry I'd had in the Beetle's trunk. He started wrestling with a sock. I think the sock was winning. Murphy watched him with a smile while I drove.
It was a Saturday morning, and I expected the International House of Pancakes to be packed. It wasn't. In fact, an entire corner had been sectioned off with an accordion-folded screen as reserved seating, and there still weren't enough customers to fill the remaining tables. The usual radio station wasn't on. The people eating breakfast seemed to be doing so in almost total silence, and the only sound was the clink of silverware on plates.
Murphy glanced up at me and then around the room, frowning. She folded her arms over her stomach, which left her right hand near the gun she kept in a shoulder rig. "What's wrong with this picture?" she asked.
Motion in the reserved area drew my eye, and Kincaid appeared and beckoned us. The lean mercenary was dressed in greys and dull blues, very nondescript, and had his hair pulled into a ponytail under a black baseball cap.
I nodded and went over to Kincaid, Murphy at my side. We stepped into the screened-off area. "Morning," I said.
"Dresden," Kincaid replied. His cool eyes slid over Murphy. "I hope you don't mind me asking the manager for a quiet section to sit in."
"It's fine. Kincaid, this is Murphy. Murph, Kincaid."
Kincaid didn't so much as glance at her. He drew the accordion curtains closed. "You said this was business. Why did you bring a date?"
Murphy clenched her jaw.
"She's not a date," I said. "She's going with us."
Kincaid stared at me for a second, all ice and stone. Then he barked out a throaty laugh. "I always heard you were a funny guy, Dresden. Seriously, what is she doing here?"
Murphy's eyes went flat with anger. "I don't think I like your attitude."
"Not now, kitten," Kincaid said. "I'm talking business with your boyfriend."
"He is not my boyfriend," Murphy growled.
Kincaid looked from Murphy to me and back again. "You're kidding me, Dresden. This isn't amateur hour. If we're playing with the Black Court, I don't have time to babysit little Pollyanna here, and neither do you."
I started to speak, and thought better of it. Murphy would have my head if I tried to protect her when she didn't think she needed it. I took a small but prudent step back from them.
Murphy eyed Kincaid and said, "Now I'm sure of it. I don't like your attitude."
Kincaid's lips lifted away from his teeth, and he moved his left arm, showing Murphy the gun rig under his jacket. "I'd love to chat with you over breakfast, cupcake. Why don't you run and find a high chair so that we can."
Murphy's gaze didn't waver. She looked from Kincaid's eyes to his gun and back. "Why don't we sit down. This doesn't need to get ugly."
Kincaid's grin widened, and it wasn't a pleasant expression. He put a broad hand on her shoulder and said, "This is where the big boys play, princess. Why don't you be a good girl and go watch your Xena tapes or something."
Murphy eyed Kincaid's hand on her shoulder. Her voice became softer, but it sure as hell didn't sound weak. "That's assault. But I'll tell you this once. I won't repeat myself. Don't touch me."
Kincaid's face contorted with rage, and he gave her shoulder a shove. "Get out of here, whore."
Murphy didn't repeat herself. Her hands blurred as she caught Kincaid's wrist, broke his balance by half bending her knees, then twisted and threw him hard at a wall. Kincaid slammed over a table and into the wall, but rolled out of it almost instantly, his hand going for his gun.
Murphy trapped his gun arm between her arm and body as he drew, and her own gun appeared with nearly magical swiftness, pressed hard against the underside of Kincaid's chin. "Call me that again," she said in a quiet voice. "I dare you. I double-dog dare you."
Kincaid's angry expression vanished so swiftly that it could only have been artificial. Instead a faint grin made its way onto his mouth, even brushing at his eyes. "Oh, I like her," he said. "I'd heard about her but I wanted to see it myself. I like this one, Dresden."
I bet he always went for his gun when he liked a woman. "Maybe you should stop talking about her like she isn't standing there holding a gun under your chin."
"Maybe you're right," he said. Then he faced Murphy and lifted his empty hand, relaxing. She released his arm, lowered the gun, and stepped back, still scowling, but Kincaid put his gun down, then took a seat with his hands palm flat on the table beside the weapon. "Hope you won't remain offended, Lieutenant," he told her. "I needed to see if you measured up to your reputation before we went forward."
Murphy shot me her patented Harry-you-idiot glare and then focused an opaque expression on Kincaid. "Do you feel better now?"
"I feel satisfied," Kincaid replied. "It's a little easy to get you started, but at least you're competent. Is that a Beretta?"
"SIG," Murphy said. "Do you have a license and permit for your weapon?"
Kincaid smiled. "Naturally."
Murphy snorted. "Sure you do." She looked at Kincaid for a minute and then said, "Get this straight from the get-go. I'm still a cop. It means something to me."
He regarded her thoughtfully. "I heard that about you too."
"Murph," I said, sitting down at the table. "If you have something to say to him, say it to me. I'm his employer at the moment."
She arched an eyebrow. "And you can be sure that his actions are all going to be legal ones?"
"Kincaid," I said. "No felonies without checking with me first. Okay?"
"Yassuh," said Kincaid.
I spread out an open hand at Murphy. "See? Yassuh."
She regarded Kincaid without much in the way of approval but nodded and pulled out a chair. Kincaid rose as she started to sit down. Murphy glared at him. Kincaid sat down again. She pulled at the chair again and I rose. She put a hand on her hip and glared at me. "It doesn't count as chivalrous courtesy if you're only doing it to be a wiseass."
"She's right," Kincaid admitted. "Go ahead, Lieutenant. We won't be polite."
Murphy growled, and started to sit. I began to stand up again anyway, but she kicked me in the shins and plopped down. "All right," she said. "What do we know?"
"That I'm starving," I said. "Wait a second." I held off any business until after we'd ordered breakfast and the waitress brought it out to the reserved section. Once that was done and we were eating, we closed the screen again.
"All right," I said after a moment. It came out muffled by a mouthful of gastronomic nirvana. Say what you will about nutrition; IHOP knows good pancakes. "This meeting is to share some information I've gained in the last day and to go over our basic plan."
"Find them," said Murphy.
"Kill them," said Kincaid.
"Yeah, okay," I said. "But I thought we might flesh out that second one a little more."
"No need to," said Kincaid. "In my experience it's pretty much impossible to kill it if you don't know where it is." He lifted his brows, looking up from his food. "Do you know where it is?"
"Not yet," I said.
Kincaid glanced at his watch, and then went back to his food. "I'm on a schedule."
"I know that," I said. "I'll find them today."
"Before sundown," Kincaid said. "Suicide to go at them after dark."
Murphy scowled at Kincaid. "What kind of attitude is that?"
"A professional one. I have a midnight flight to my next contract."
"Let me get this straight," Murphy said. "You'd just walk away because these murdering creatures didn't fit into your schedule?"
"Yes." Kincaid kept eating.
"It doesn't bother you that innocent people might die because of them?"
"Not much," Kincaid said, and took a sip of coffee.
"How can you just say that?"
"Because it's the truth. Innocent people die all the time." Kincaid's fork and knife scraped on his plate as he sliced up some ham and eggs. "They're better at it than your average murdering monster."
"Jesus," Murphy said, and stared at me. "Harry, I don't want to work with this asshole."
"Easy, Murph," I said.
"I'm serious. You can't condone his attitude."
I rubbed at my eyebrow with a thumb. "Murph, the world is a cruel place. Kincaid didn't make it that way."
"He doesn't care," Murphy said. "Are you sure you want someone who doesn't care about what we're doing along when things go to hell?"
"He agreed to go and fight," Harry said. "I agreed to pay him. He's a professional. He'll fight."
Kincaid pointed a finger at me and nodded, chewing on another bite.
Murphy shook her head. "What about a driver?"
"He'll be here today," I said.
"Who is he?"
"You don't know him," I said. "I trust him."
Murphy looked at me for a second and then nodded. "What are we up against?"
"Black Court vampires," I said. "At least two, and maybe more."
"Plus any help they might have," Kincaid said.
"They can flip cars with one hand," I said. "They're fast. Like, Jackie Chan fast. We can't go toe-to-toe with them, so the plan is to hit them in daylight."
"They'll all be asleep," Murphy said.
"Maybe not," Kincaid said. "The old ones don't need to sometimes. Mavra could be functional."
"And what's more," I said, "she's a practitioner. A sorceress at least."
Kincaid inhaled and exhaled slowly through his nose. He finished the bite he was on, and then he said, "Shit," before taking another.
Murphy frowned. "What do you mean, a sorceress at least?"
"Kind of an industry term," I said. "Plenty of people can do a little magic. Small-time stuff. But sometimes the small-timers practice up, or tap into some kind of power source and get enough ability to be dangerous. A sorcerer is someone who can do some serious violence with magic."
"Like the Shadowman," Murphy said. "Or Kravos."
"Yeah."
"Good thing we got a wizard along then," Kincaid said.
Murphy looked at me.
"Wizard means that you can do sorcery if you need to," I said, "but it also means you can do a lot of other things too. A wizard's power isn't limited to blowing things up, or calling up demons. A good wizard can adapt his magic in almost any way he can imagine. Which is the problem."
"What do you mean?" Murphy said.
"Mavra is good at veils," I said, mostly to Kincaid. "Real good. She did some long range mental communications last night, too."
Kincaid stopped eating.
"You're saying that this vampire is a wizard?" Murphy asked.
Kincaid stared at me.
"It's possible," I said. "Maybe even likely. It would go a long way toward explaining how Mavra survived all this time."
"This mission is heading for downtown FUBAR," Kincaid said.
"You want out?" I asked.
He was silent for a minute and then shook his head. "But if Mavra is awake and active, and if she's able to start tossing heavy magic around in closed quarters, we might as well drink some Bacardi-and-strychnine and save ourselves some walking."
"You're afraid of her," Murphy said.
"Damn right," Kincaid said.
She frowned. "Harry, can you shut down her magic? Like you did with Kravos?"
"Depends how strong she is," I said. "But a wizard could handle her. Probably."
Kincaid shook his head. "Magical lockdown. I've seen that work before," he said. "One time I saw it fail. Everybody died."
"Except you?" I asked.
"I was in back, covering our spellslinger when his head exploded. Barely made it out the door." Kincaid pushed a piece of sausage around his plate. "Even if you can shut her down, Mavra's still going to be real tough."
"That's why you get to charge so much," I said.
"True."
"We go in Stoker-standard," I said. "Garlic, crosses, holy water, the works."
"Hey," Murphy said. "What about that pocketful-of-sunshine thing you told me about? With the white handkerchief you used on Bianca a few years back?"
I grimaced. "Can't," I said.
"Why not?"
"It's impossible, Murph. It isn't important why." I hauled the conversation back on course. "We should be able to keep Mavra back until we deal with any goons. Then we can take her down. Any questions?"
Kincaid coughed significantly, and nodded at the table, where the waitress had, at some point, left us a bill. I frowned and fumbled through my pockets. I had enough to cover it, but only because I managed to find a couple of quarters in the various pockets of my duster. I left the money on the table. There wasn't enough for a tip.
Kincaid regarded my lump of wrinkled small bills and change, then studied me with a distant, calculating gaze that would have made some people very nervous. Like people who had agreed to pay a lot of money but didn't have any.
"That's it for now then," I said, rising. "Get anything you need ready, and we'll go later today. I want to hit them as soon as I find them."
Kincaid nodded and turned back to his plate. I left. My shoulder blades felt itchy when I turned my back to Kincaid. Murphy kept pace with me and we headed back to the Beetle.
Murphy and I didn't talk while I drove her back to CPDHQ. Once we got there, and the car had stopped, she looked around the inside of my car, frowning. "What happened to the Beetle?"
"Mold demons."
"Oh."
"Murph?"
"Hmm?"
"You okay?"
She pressed her lips into a line. "I'm trying to adjust. In my head, I think what we're doing is just about the only thing we responsibly can. But I've been a peace officer since before I could drink, and this kind of cowboy thing feels… wrong. It isn't what a good cop does."
"Depends on the cop, I think," I said. "Mavra and her scourge are above the law, Murph, in every sense that matters. The only way they're going to get stopped is if someone steps up and takes them down."
"I know that here," she said, and touched her own forehead with her finger. Then she clasped her hand into a fist and put it over her heart. "But I don't feel it here." She was quiet for a moment more and said, "The vampires aren't the problem. I can fight that. Glad to. But there are going to be people around them, too. I don't know if I can pull the trigger when there are going to be people around who could get hurt. I signed on to protect them, not to trap them in a cross fire."
Not much I could say to that.
"Can I ask you something?" she said after a minute.
"Sure."
She studied me with a faint, concerned frown. "Why can't you do the sunshine thing? Seems like it would be really handy about now. It isn't like you to call something impossible."
I shrugged. "I tried it a couple years back," I said. "After the war started. Turns out that you've got to be genuinely happy to be able to fold sunshine into a hankie. Otherwise it just doesn't work."
"Oh," said Murphy.
I shrugged.
"I guess I'll be in Wolf Lake Park, at the picnic, for a few hours at lunchtime. But I'll have my pager with me," she said.
"Okay. Sorry I didn't drag you into some horrifying, morally questionable, bloodthirsty carnage in time."
She smiled, more with her eyes than her mouth. "See you in a while, Harry." Murphy got out of the car. She checked her watch and sighed. "T minus two hours and counting down."
I blinked at her. "Whoa."
Murphy gave me a skeptical glance. "What?"
"Whoa," I said again. Thoughts were congealing in my brain, and I raked through my memory to see if the facts fit the idea. "Countdown. Son of a bitch."
"What are you talking about?"
"Do you have the police reports on the two women who died in California?"
Murphy lifted an eyebrow, but said, "In my car. Hang on a second." She jogged a couple of spaces down to her car. I heard her pop open the trunk and slam it again. She reappeared with a thick manila folder and passed it to me.
I found the reports inside and scanned over them in rising excitement. "Here it is," I said, jabbing a finger at the report. "I know how they're doing it. Damn, I should have guessed this sooner."
"How they're doing what?" Murphy asked.
"The Evil Eye," I said, the words hurrying together as I grew more excited. "The malocchio. The curse that's hitting Genosa's people. It's on a timer."
She tilted her head. "It's automated?"
"No, no," I said, waving my hands. "It's on a schedule. Both women who died were killed in the morning, a little bit before ten o'clock." I closed my eyes, trying to picture the reports Genosa had given me. "Right… nine forty-seven and nine forty-eight. They died at the same time."
"That's not the same time, Harry."
I waved a hand, impatient. "They are. I'll bet you anything. The recorded time gets written down by officers on the scene in their report, and who would worry about a minute either way?"
"Why is it significant?" Murphy said.
"Because the two curses that have struck here in Chicago arrived at eleven forty-seven in the morning, and damned close to that last night. Add two hours to the deaths in California to account for the difference in time zones. The curse was sent at the same time. Thirteen minutes before noon or midnight." I followed the logic chain forward from that one fact. "Hell's bells," I breathed.
"I'm not going to ask you to explain every time you pause, Harry, because you know damned well I don't have a clue about what you're saying or what it means."
"It means that the killer isn't doing the curse on his own," I said. "I mean, there's no reason to do it that way, unless it's because you don't have a choice. The killer is using ritual magic. They've got a sponsor."
"You don't mean a corporation," Murphy said.
"No," I answered. "What time is it?"
"Ten- thirty," Murphy said.
"Yes," I hissed, and slammed the clutch into gear. "If I haul ass there's time."
"Time?"
"To protect Genosa and his people," I said. "That entropy curse is coming down on them in about an hour." I stomped on the gas and shouted out the window over my shoulder, "This time I'll be ready for it!"