Proven Guilty df-8

by Jim Butcher

  “I noticed.”

  She didn’t quite smile. “What I mean is… I can’t let relationships come close to my job. It isn’t good for either.”

  I said nothing.

  “I’m a cop, Harry.”

  My belly twisted a little as I realized the rejection in the words, and the lack of any room for compromise. “I know you are.”

  “I serve the law.”

  “You do,” I said. “You always have.”

  “I can’t walk away from it. I won’t walk away from it.”

  “I know that too.”

  “And… we’re so different. Our worlds.”

  “Not really,” I said. “We sort of hang around in the same one, most of the time.”

  “That’s work,” she said quietly. “My work isn’t everything about me. Or it shouldn’t be. I’ve tried a relationship built on having that in common.”

  “Rick,” I said.

  She nodded. Pain flickered in her eyes. I never would have seen that a few years before. But I’d seen Murphy in good times and bad-mostly bad. She’d never say it, never want me to say anything about it, but I knew that her failed marriages had wounded her more deeply than she would ever admit. In a way, I suspected that they explained some of her professional drive and ambition. She was determined to make the career work. Something had to.

  And maybe she’d been hurt even more deeply than that. Maybe badly enough that she wouldn’t want to leave herself open to it again. Long-term relationships have the potential for long-term pain. Maybe she didn’t want to go through it again.

  “What if you weren’t a cop?”

  She smiled faintly. “What if you weren’t a wizard?”

  “Touche. But indulge me.”

  She tilted her head and studied me for a minute. Then she said, “What happens when Susan comes back?”

  I shook my head. “She isn’t.”

  Her tone turned dry. “Indulge me.”

  I frowned. “I don’t know,” I said quietly. “We decided to break it off. And… I suspect we’d see a lot of things very differently now.”

  “But if she wanted to try again?” Murphy asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Let’s say we get together,” Murphy said. “How many kids do you want?”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I don’t…” I blinked a few more times. “I hadn’t really thought about it.” So I thought about it for a second. I thought about the merry chaos of the Carpenter household. God, I’d have given anything for that when I was little.

  But any child of mine would inherit more than my eyes and killer chin. There were a lot of people who didn’t think much of me. A lot of not-people thought that way, too. Any child of mine would be bound to inherit some of my enemies, and worse, maybe some of my allies. My own mother had left me a legacy of perpetual suspicion and doubt, and nasty little surprises that occasionally popped out of the hoary past.

  Murphy watched me, blue eyes steady and serious. “It’s a big question,” she said quietly.

  I nodded, slowly. “Maybe you’re thinking about this too much, Murph,” I said. “Logic and reason and planning for the future. What’s in your heart doesn’t need that.”

  “I used to think that, too.” She shook her head. “I was wrong. Love isn’t all you need. And I just don’t see us together, Harry. You’re dear to me. I couldn’t ask for a kinder friend. I’d walk through fire for you.”

  “You already did,” I said.

  “But I don’t think I could be the kind of lover you want. We wouldn’t go together.”

  “Why not?”

  “At the end of the day,” she said quietly, “we’re too different. You’re going to live for a long time, if you don’t get killed. Centuries. I’m going to be around another forty, fifty years at the most.”

  “Yeah,” I said. It was one of those things I tried really hard not to dwell on.

  She said, even more quietly, “I don’t know if I’ll get serious with a man again. But if I do… I want it to be someone who will build a family with me. Grow old with me.” She reached up and touched the side of my face with warm fingers. “You’re a good man, Harry. But you couldn’t be what I need, either.”

  Murphy took her thumb from the button and left the elevator.

  I didn’t follow her right away.

  She didn’t look back.

  Stab.

  Twist.

  God, I love being a wizard.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The room was typical of my usual hotel experience: clean, plain, and empty. I made sure the blinds were pulled, looked around, and shoved the small round table at one side of the room over against the wall to leave me some open space in the middle of the floor. I slung my backpack down on the bed.

  “Need anything?” Murphy asked. She stood in the doorway to the room. She didn’t want to come in.

  “Think I have it all. Just need some quiet to get it set up.” There was no reason not to give Murphy a way out of the awkwardness the conversation had brought on. “There’s something I’m curious about. Maybe you could check it out.”

  “Pell’s theater,” Murphy guessed. I could hear some relief in her voice.

  “Yes. Maybe you could cruise by it and see what’s to be seen.”

  She frowned. “Think there might be something in there?”

  “I don’t know enough to think anything yet, but it’s possible,” I said. “You get a bad feeling about anything, don’t hang around. Just vamoose.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I already planned to do that.” She went to the door. “Shouldn’t take me long. I’ll contact you in half an hour, let’s say?”

  “Sure,” I said. Neither one of us voiced what we both were thinking- that if Murphy missed the check-in, she’d probably be dead, or dying, or worse. “Half an hour.”

  She nodded and left, shutting the door behind her. Mouse went over to the door, sniffed at it for a moment, then walked in a little circle three times and settled down on the floor to sleep. I frowned down at the carpet and opened my backpack. Chalk wouldn’t do for a circle, not on carpet like that. I’d have to go with the old standby of fine, white sand. The maids would doubtless find it annoying to clean up, but life could be hard sometimes. I pulled out a glass bottle of specially prepared sand and put it on the table, along with the main blob of Play-Doh and Bob the skull.

  Orange lights kindled in the skull’s eye sockets. “Can I talk now?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You been listening to things?”

  “Yeah,” Bob said, depressed. “You are never going to get laid.”

  I glared at the skull.

  “I’m just sayin‘,” he said, voice defensive. “It isn’t my fault, Harry. She’d probably bang you if you didn’t take it so godawful seriously.”

  “The subject. Change it,” I suggested in a flat voice. “We’re working now.”

  “Right,” Bob said. “So you’re planning on a standard detection web-ward for the building?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “It isn’t going to be very helpful,” Bob said. “I mean, by the time something manifests enough to set off your web, it’s going to be all the way into the real world. While you’re running for the stairs, it’s already going to be tearing into somebody.”

  “It isn’t perfect,” I said. “But it’s all I’ve got. Unless you have a better idea?”

  “The thing about having several centuries of experience and knowledge at my disposal is that it doesn’t do me any good unless I know what it is you want me to help you fight,” Bob said. “So far, all you know is that you’ve got an inbound phobophage.”

  “That’s not specific enough?”

  “No!” Bob said. “I can think of about two hundred different kinds of phobophages off the top of my head, and I could probably come up with two hundred more if I took a minute to think about it.”

  “That many of
them who can do what this thing did? Take a solid form and attack?”

  Bob blinked his eyes at me as though he thought me very thick. “Believe it or not, the old ‘take the form of the victim’s worst fear’ routine is pretty much the most common move in the phobophage handbook.”

  “Oh. Right.” I shook my head. “But this whole place is open territory. There’s no threshold to use to anchor anything heavier than a web. At least if I do that much, maybe I can get into position fast enough to directly intervene when the thing shows up again.”

  “Things,” Bob corrected me. “Plural. Phages are like ants. First one shows up, then two, then a hundred.”

  I exhaled. “Crap,” I said. “Maybe we can come at this from a different angle. Is there any way I can redirect them while they’re crossing over? Make it harder for them to get here?”

  Bob’s eyelights brightened. “Maybe. Maybe, yes. You might be able to raise a veil over this whole place-from the other side.”

  “Urk,” I said. “You’re saying I could hide this place from the phages, but only from the Nevernever?”

  “Pretty much,” Bob said. “Even then, it would be a calculated risk.”

  “How so?”

  “It all depends on how they’re finding this place,” Bob said. “I mean, if these are just naturally arriving phages finding a hunting ground, a veil won’t stop them. It might slow them down, but it won’t stop them.”

  “Let’s assume that it isn’t a coincidence,” I said.

  “Okay. Assuming that, the next variable is finding out whether they’re being summoned or sent.”

  I frowned. “There are things strong enough to send them through from the other side? I didn’t think that ever happened anymore. Hence the popularity of working through mortal summoners.”

  “Oh, it’s doable,” Bob assured me. “It just takes a hell of a lot more juice to open the way to the mortal world from the other side.”

  I frowned. “How much power are we talking?”

  “Big,” Bob assured me. “Like the Erlking, or an archangel, or one of the old gods.”

  I got a shivery feeling in my stomach. “A Faerie Queen?”

  “Oh, sure. I guess so.” He frowned. “You think this is Faerie work?”

  “Something is definitely screwy in elfland,” I said. “More so than normal, I mean.”

  Bob made a gulping sound. “Oh. We’re not going to go visiting the faeries or anything, are we?”

  “Not if I can help it,” I said. “I wouldn’t take you with me, if it came to that.”

  “Oh,” he sighed. “Good.”

  “One of these days, you’re gonna have to tell me what you did to make Mab want to kill you.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Bob said, in that tone of voice you use while sweeping things under the rug. “But we should also consider the third possibility.”

  “A summoner,” I said. “Given that someone actually threw a ward in my way the last time the phage showed up, that seems to be the most likely of the three.”

  “I think so, too,” Bob said. “In which case, you’re in trouble.”

  I grunted, and started unpacking candles, matches, and my old army-surplus knife. “Why?”

  “Without a threshold to build on, you can’t put up any proper defense. And even if you do cross over and set up a veil to try to keep the phages from finding the place…”

  “Their summoner is going to draw them in,” I finished, following the line of reasoning. “It’s like… I could blanket the surrounding area in fog, but if they have someone on this end, the phages will have a beacon they can use to home in on the hotel.”

  “Right,” Bob said. “And then the summoner just opens the door from his side, and they’re in.”

  I frowned and said, “It’s all about finding the summoner, then.”

  “Which you can’t do, until they actually summon something,” Bob said.

  “Hell’s bells,” I complained. “There’s got to be something we can do to prevent it.”

  “Not especially,” Bob said. “Sorry, boss. Until you know more, you can’t do anything but react.”

  I scowled. “Dammit. Then it’s the web or nothing. At least if I use that, I might be able to identify the summoner.” At the low, low cost of the phages mauling or killing someone else. Unless…

  “Bob,” I said, frowning over the idea. “What if I didn’t try to hide the hotel or keep these things away. What if I, uh… just put a little topspin on the phages on the way in?”

  Bob’s eyelights brightened even more. “Ooooooo, classic White Council doctrine. When the phages come through, you point them straight at the guy who summoned them. Give him a dose of his own medicine.”

  “Right up the ass,” I confirmed.

  “There’s an image,” Bob said. “A summoning suppository.”

  “It’s doable, isn’t it?”

  “Sure,” Bob said. “I mean, you have everything you need for that. You know the phages are after fear, and that they’re probably using his power as a beacon. Your web tells you something is stirring. You conjure up a big ball of fear, target the same beacon the phages are using, and let it fly.”

  “It’ll be like hanging a steak around his neck and throwing him to the lions,” I said, grinning.

  “Hail Caesar,” Bob confirmed. “The phages will go right after him.”

  “And once he’s out of the game, I veil the hotel from the phages. No more convention attendees get hurt. Bad guy gets a lethal dose of dramatic irony.”

  “The good guys win!” Bob cheered. “Or at least you do. You’re still a good guy, right? You know how confusing the whole good-evil concept is for me.”

  “I’m thinking about changing it to ‘them’ and ‘us,’ for simplicity’s sake,” I said. “I like this plan. So there’s got to be a catch to it somewhere.”

  “True,” Bob admitted. “It’s gonna be a little tricky when it comes to the timing. You won’t be able to sense the beacon until the phages actually step through from the Nevernever and take material form. If you haven’t redirected them by then, it’ll be too late.”

  I nodded, frowning. “That gives me what? Maybe twenty seconds?”

  “Only if they’re really lame,” Bob said. “Probably ten seconds. Maybe even less.”

  I frowned. “Dammit, that’s a small window.” I thought of another problem. “Not only that, but I’ll be shooting blind. There won’t be any way to tell who I’m setting the phages after. What if he’s standing in a crowd?”

  “He’s going to be summoning fiends from the netherworld to wreak horror and death on the populace,” Bob pointed out in a patient voice. “That won’t lend itself to blending into a crowd.”

  “Good point. He’ll probably be somewhere private, quiet.” I shook my head. “Even so, I’d be a lot happier if this was a little less dicey. But I don’t see any other way to stop these things from hurting anyone else.”

  “Until we have more information, I don’t see what else you could do, boss.”

  I grunted. “I’d better get this web up and running, then.”

  Mouse’s collar tag clinked against the buckle, and I looked over my shoulder. The dog had lifted his head from the floor, staring intently at the door. A second later, someone knocked.

  Mouse hadn’t started growling, and his tail thumped the wall a few times as I went to the door, sounding the all-clear. “That was fast,” I said, opening the door. “I thought you were going to be half an hour, Murph-”

  Molly stood in the hallway, an overnight bag hung over her shoulder. She drooped, the way my house plants always used to when I was still optimistic enough to keep buying new ones. Her pink-and-blue hair hung down listlessly, and her cheeks were marked with the remains of several mascara-laden tear tracks. She looked rumpled, tired, uncertain, and lonely-

  “Hi,” she said. Her voice wasn’t much more than a whisper.

  “Hey,” I told her. “I thought you were waiting for your mom.”

  �
�I was,” she said. “I am. But… I’m kind of messed up.” She waved her hand gingerly at herself. “I wanted to clean up a little, but they won’t let me use the bathroom in Nelson’s room. I was hoping I could borrow yours. Just for a minute.”

  It would have been easier to dropkick a puppy than to turn the kid away. “Sure,” I said. “Just keep it quiet. Okay?”

  I stepped back into the room, and Molly followed me, pausing to scratch Mouse behind the ears. She looked past me, to the open floor space and the things I had sat out.

  “What are you doing?” she asked me.

  “Magic,” I said. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

  She smiled a little. “Oh. Right.”

  I waved a hand at my materials. “I’m going to try to prevent another attack from hurting anyone.”

  “Can you do that?” she asked.

  “Maybe,” I said. “I hope so.”

  “I can’t believe… I mean, I knew there were things out there, but my friends… Rosie.” Her lower lip quivered and her eyes filled with tears that didn’t quite fall.

  I didn’t have much I could say to comfort her. “I’m going to stop it from happening again,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry I didn’t move fast enough the first time.”

  She looked down again, and nodded without speaking. She swallowed several times.

  “Listen,” I told her quietly. “This is serious stuff. You need to talk about it. Not with me,” I added, as she looked up at me. “With your mom.”

  Molly shook her head. “She isn’t-”

  “Molly,” I sighed. “Life can be short. And cruel. You saw that last night. You got a look at the kind of thing your dad deals with all the time.”

  She didn’t respond.

  I said quietly, “Even Knights can die, Molly. Shiro did. It could happen to Michael, too.”

  She lifted her head abruptly, staring at me as if in shock.

  “How does that make you feel?” I asked.

  She chewed on her lip. “Scared.”

  “It scares your mom, too. It scares her a lot. She deals with it by holding on hard to the people around her. Maybe too hard, sometimes. That’s why you feel like she’s trying to keep you a little kid. She probably is. But it isn’t because she’s a control freak. It’s because she loves you all so much-you, your dad, your family-and she’s frightened that something bad could happen. She’s desperate to do everything she can to keep you all safe.”