Weird Detectives

by Neil Gaiman, Simon R. Green, Caitlin R. Kiernan

  “Tunnel of Terror,” Murphy said. “We are so cool.”

  “Total badasses,” I said, grinning.

  The car continued its slow grind forward and Murphy unfastened the seatbelt. We moved into the next area, meant to be a zombie-infested hospital. It had a zombie mannequin which burst out of a closet near the track, and plenty of gore. We got out of the car and scouted a couple of spots where he might have been but wasn’t. Then we hopped into the car again before it could leave the set.

  So it went, on through a ghoulish graveyard, a troglodyte-teeming cavern, and a literal Old West ghost town. We came up with nothing, but we moved well as a team, better than I could remember doing with anyone before. Everything felt as smooth and natural, as if we’d been moving together our whole lives. We did it in total silence, too, divining what each other would do through pure instinct.

  Even great teams lose a game here or there, though. We came up with diddly, and emerged from the Tunnel of Terror with neither Maroon nor any idea where he’d gone.

  “Hell’s bells,” I muttered. “This week has been an investigative suckfest for me.”

  Murphy tittered again. “You said ‘suck.’ ”

  I grinned at her and looked around. “Well,” I said. “We don’t know where Maroon went. If they hadn’t made us already, they have now.”

  “Can you pick up on the signal-whatsit again?”

  “Energy signature,” I said. “Maybe. It’s pretty vague though. I’m not sure how much more precise I can get.”

  “Let’s find out,” she said.

  I nodded. “Right, then.” We started around the suspect circle of attractions, moving slowly and trying to blend into the crowds. When a couple of rowdy kids went by, one chasing the other, I put an arm around her shoulders and drew her into the shelter of my body so that she wouldn’t get bowled over.

  She exhaled slowly and did not step away from me.

  My heart started beating faster.

  “Harry,” she said quietly.

  “Yeah?”

  “You and me . . . why haven’t we ever . . . ” She looked up at me. “Why not?”

  “The usual, I guess,” I said quietly. “Trouble. Duty. Other people involved.”

  She shook her head. “Why not?” she repeated, her eyes direct. “All these years have gone by. And something could have happened, but it never did. Why not?”

  I licked my lips. “Just like that? We just decide to be together?”

  Her eyelids lowered. “Why not?”

  My heart did the drum solo from “Wipeout.”

  Why not?

  I bent my head down to her mouth, and kissed her, very gently.

  She turned into the kiss, pressing her body against mine. It was a little bit awkward. I was most of two feet taller than she was. We made up for grace with enthusiasm, her arms twining around my neck as she kissed me, hungry and deep.

  “Whoah,” I said, drawing back a moment later. “Work. Right?”

  She looked at me for a moment, her cheeks pink, her lips a little swollen from the kiss, and said, “Right.” She closed her eyes and nodded. “Right. Work first.”

  “Then dinner?” I asked.

  “Dinner. My place. We can order in.”

  My belly trembled in sudden excitement at that proposition. “Right.” I looked around. “So let’s find this thing and get it over with.”

  We started moving again. A circuit around the attractions got me no closer to the source of the energy I’d sensed earlier.

  “Dammit,” I said when we’d completed the pattern, frustrated.

  “Hey,” Murphy said. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, Harry.” Her hand slipped into mine, our fingers intertwining. “I’ve been a cop a long time. You don’t always get the bad guy. And if you go around blaming yourself for it, you wind up crawling into a bottle or eating your own gun.”

  “Thank you,” I said quietly. “But . . . ”

  “Heh,” Murphy said. “You said, ‘but.’ ”

  We both grinned like fools. I looked down at our twined hands. “I like this.”

  “So do I,” Murphy said. “Why didn’t we do this a long time ago?”

  “Beats me.”

  “Are we just that stupid?” she asked. “I mean, people, in general. Are we really so blind that we miss what’s right there in front of us?”

  “As a species, we’re essentially insane,” I said. “So, yeah, probably.” I lifted our hands and kissed her fingertips. “I’m not missing it now, though.”

  Her smile lit up several thousand square feet of the midway. “Good.”

  The echo of a thought rattled around in my head: Insane . . .

  “Oh,” I said. “Oh, Hell’s bells.”

  She frowned at me. “What?”

  “Murph . . . I think we got whammied.”

  She blinked at me. “What? No, we didn’t.”

  “I think we did.”

  “I didn’t see anything or feel anything. I mean, nothing, Harry. I’ve felt magic like that before.”

  “Look at us,” I said, waving our joined hands.

  “We’ve been friends a long time, Harry,” she said. “And we’ve had a couple of near misses before. This time we just didn’t screw it up. That’s all that’s happening, here.”

  “What about Kincaid?” I asked her.

  She mulled over that one for a second. Then she said, “I doubt he’ll even notice I’m gone.” She frowned at me. “Harry, I haven’t been this happy in . . . I never thought I could feel this way again. About anyone.”

  My heart continued to go pittypat. “I know exactly what you mean,” I said. “I feel the same way.”

  Her smile warmed even more. “Then what’s the problem? Isn’t that what love is supposed to be like? Effortless?”

  I had to think about that one for a second. And then I said, carefully and slowly, “Murph, think about it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know how good this is?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “How right it feels?”

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  “How easy it was?”

  She nodded energetically, her eyes bright.

  I leaned down toward her for emphasis. “It just isn’t fucked up enough to really be you and me.”

  Her smile faltered.

  “My God,” she said, her eyes widening. “We got whammied.”

  We returned to the Tunnel of Terror.

  “I don’t get it,” she said. “I don’t . . . I didn’t feel anything happen. I don’t feel any different now. I thought being aware of this kind of thing made it go away.”

  “No,” I said. “But it helps sometimes.”

  “Do you still . . . ?”

  I squeezed her hand once more before letting go. “Yeah,” I said. “I still feel it.”

  “Is it . . . is it going to go away?”

  I didn’t answer her. I didn’t know. Or maybe I didn’t want to know.

  The old carnie saw us coming and his face flickered with apprehension as soon as he looked at us. He stood up and looked from the control board for the ride to the entranceway to the interior.

  “Yeah,” I muttered. “Sneaky bastard. You just try it.”

  He flicked one of the switches and shambled toward the Tunnel’s entrance.

  I made a quick effort of will, raised a hand and swept it in a horizontal arc, snarling, “Forzare!” Unseen force knocked his legs out from beneath him and tossed him into an involuntary pratfall.

  Murphy and I hurried up onto the platform before he could get to his feet and run. We needn’t have bothered. The carnie was apparently a genuine old guy, not some supernatural being in disguise. He lay on the platform moaning in pain. I felt kind of bad for beating up a senior citizen.

  But hey. On the other hand, he did swindle me out of twenty bucks.

  Murphy stood over him, her blue eyes cold, and said, “Where’s the bolt hole?”

  The carnie blinke
d at her. “Wha?”

  “The trap door,” she snapped. “The secret cabinet. Where is he?”

  I frowned and walked toward the entranceway.

  “Please,” the carnie said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “The hell you don’t,” Murphy said. She leaned down and grabbed the man by the shirt with both hands and leaned closer, a snarl lifting her lip. The carnie blanched.

  Murph could be pretty badass for such a tiny thing. I loved that about her.

  “I can’t,” the carnie said. “I can’t. I get paid not to see anything. She’ll kill me. She’ll kill me.”

  I parted the heavy curtain leading into the entry tunnel and spotted it at once—a circular hole in the floor about two feet across, the top end of a ladder just visible. A round lid lay rotated to one side, painted as flat black as the rest of the hall. “Here,” I said to Murph. “That’s why we didn’t spot anything. By the time you had your light on, it was already behind us.”

  Murphy scowled down at the carnie and said, “Give me twenty bucks.”

  The man licked his lips. Then he fished my folded twenty out of his shirt pocket and passed it to Murphy.

  She nodded and flashed her badge. “Get out of here before I realize I witnessed you taking a bribe and endangering lives by letting customers use the attraction in an unsafe manner.”

  The carnie bolted.

  Murphy handed me the twenty. I pocketed it, and we climbed down the ladder.

  We reached the bottom and went silent again. Murphy’s body language isn’t exactly subtle—it can’t be, when you’re her size and working law enforcement. But she could move as quietly as smoke when she needed to. I’m gangly. It was more of an effort for me.

  The ladder took us down to what looked like the interior of a buried railroad car. There were electrical conduits running along the walls. Light came from a doorway at the far end of the car. I moved forward first, shield bracelet at the ready, and Murphy walked a pace behind me and to my right, her Sig held ready.

  The doorway at the end of the railroad car led us into a large workroom, teeming with computers, file cabinets, microscopes, and at least one deluxe chemistry set.

  Maroon sat at one of the computers, his profile in view. “Dammit, Stu,” he snarled. “I told you that you can’t keep coming down here to use the john. You’ll just have to walk to one of the—” He glanced up at us and froze in midsentence, his eyes wide and locked on Murphy’s leveled gun.

  “Stu took the rest of the night off,” I said amiably. “Where’s your boss?”

  A door opened at the far end of the workroom and a young woman of medium height appeared. She wore glasses and a lab coat, and neither of them did anything to make her look less than gorgeous. She looked at us and then at Maroon and said, in a precise, British accent, “You idiot.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Good help is hard to find.”

  The woman in the lab coat looked at me with dark, intense eyes, and I sensed what felt like a phantom pressure against my temples, as if wriggling tadpoles were slithering along the surface of my skin. It was a straightforward attempt at mental invasion, but I’d been practicing my defenses for a while now, and I wasn’t falling for something that obvious. I pushed the invasive thoughts away with an effort of will and said, “Don’t meet her eyes, Murph. She’s a vampire. Red Court.”

  “Got it,” she said, her gun never moving from Maroon.

  The vampire looked at us both for a moment. Then she said, “You need no introduction, Mr. Dresden. I am Baroness LeBlanc. And our nations are not, at the moment, in a state of war.”

  “I’ve always been a little fuzzy on legal niceties,” I said. I had several devices with me that I could use to defend myself. I was ready to use any of them. A vampire in close quarters is nothing to laugh at. LeBlanc could tear three or four limbs off in the time it takes to draw and fire a gun. I watched her closely, ready to act at the slightest resemblance of an attack. “We both know that the war is going to start up again eventually.”

  “You are out of anything reasonably like your territory,” she said, “and you are trespassing upon mine. I would be well within my rights under the Accords to kill you and bury your torso and limbs in individual graves.”

  “That’s the problem with this ride,” I complained to Murphy. “There’s nothing that’s actually scary in the Tunnel of Terror.”

  “You did get your money back,” she pointed out.

  “Ah, true.” I smiled faintly at LeBlanc. “Look, Baroness. You know who I am. You’re doing something to people’s minds, and I want it stopped.”

  “If you do not leave,” she said, “I will consider it an act of war.”

  “Hooray,” I said in a Ben Stein monotone, spinning one forefinger in the air like a New Year’s noisemaker. “I’ve already kicked off one war with the Red Court. And I will cheerfully do it again if that is what is necessary to protect people from you.”

  “That’s irrational,” LeBlanc said. “Completely irrational.”

  “Tell her, Murph.”

  “He’s completely irrational,” Murphy said, her tone wry.

  LeBlanc regarded me impassively for a moment. Then she smiled faintly and said, “Perhaps a physical confrontation is an inappropriate solution.”

  I frowned. “Really?”

  She shrugged. “Not all of the Red Court are battle-hungry blood addicts, Dresden. My work here has no malevolent designs. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  I tilted my head. “That’s funny. All the corpses piled up say differently.”

  “The process does have its side effects,” she admitted. “But the lessons garnered from them serve only to improve my work and make it safer and more effective. Honestly, you should be supporting me, Dresden. Not trying to shut me down.”

  “Supporting you?” I smiled a little. “Just what is it you think you’re doing that’s so darned wonderful?”

  “I am creating love.”

  I barked out a laugh.

  LeBlanc’s face remained steady, serious.

  “You think that this, this warping people into feeling something they don’t want to feel, is love?”

  “What is love,” LeBlanc said, “if not a series of electro-chemical signals in the brain? Signals that can be duplicated, like any other sensation.”

  “Love is more than that,” said.

  “Do you love this woman?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “But that isn’t anything new.”

  LeBlanc showed her teeth. “But your current longing and desire is new, is it not? New and entirely indistinguishable from your genuine emotions? Wouldn’t you say, Sergeant Murphy?”

  Murphy swallowed but didn’t look at the vampire. LeBlanc’s uncomplicated mental attack might be simple for a wizard to defeat, but any normal human being would probably be gone before they realized their minds were under attack. Instead of answering, she asked a question of her own. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do this? Why experiment on making people fall in love?”

  LeBlanc arched an eyebrow. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  I sucked in a short breath, realizing what was happening. “The White Court,” I said.

  The Whites were a different breed of vampire than the Reds, feeding on the life-essence of their victims, generally through seduction. Genuine love and genuine tokens of love were their kryptonite, their holy water. The love of another human being in an intimate relationship sort of rubbed off on you, making the very touch of your skin anathema to the White Court.

  LeBlanc smiled at me. “Granted, there are some aberrant effects from time to time. But so far, that’s been a very small percentage of the test pool. And the survivors are, as you yourself have experienced, perfectly happy. They have a love that most of your kind seldom find and even more infrequently keep. There are no victims here, wizard.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Right. Except for the victims.”

  LeBlanc exhaled. “Mort
als are like mayflies, wizard. They live a brief time and then they are gone. And those who have died because of my work at least died after days or weeks of perfect bliss. There are many who ended a much longer life with less. What I’m doing here has the potential to protect mortalkind from the White Court forever.”

  “It isn’t genuine love if it’s forced upon someone,” Murphy said, her tone harsh.

  “No,” LeBlanc said. “But I believe that the real thing will very easily grow from such a foundation of companionship and happiness.”

  “Gosh, you’re noble,” I said.

  LeBlanc’s eyes sparkled with something ugly.

  “You’re doing this to get rid of the competition,” I said. “And, hell, maybe to try to increase the world’s population. Make more food.”

  The vampire regarded me levelly. “There are multiple motivations behind the work,” she said. “Many of my Court agreed to the logic you cite when they would never have supported the idea of strengthening and defending mortals.”

  “Ohhhhh,” I said, drawing the word out. “You’re the vampire with a heart of gold. Florence Nightingale with fangs. I guess that makes it okay, then.”

  LeBlanc stared at me. Then her eyes flicked to Murphy and back. She smiled thinly. “There is a special cage reserved for you at the Red Court, Dresden. Its bars are lined with blades and spikes, so that if you fall asleep they will cut and gouge you awake.”

  “Shut up,” Murphy said.

  LeBlanc continued in a calmly amused tone. “The bottom is a closed bowl nearly a foot deep, so that you will stand in your own waste. And there are three spears with needle-sized tips waiting in a rack beneath the cage, so that any who pass you can pause and take a few moments to participate in your punishment.”

  “Shut up,” Murphy growled.

  “Eventually,” LeBlanc purred, “your guts will be torn out and left in a pile at your feet. And when you are dead, your skin will be flayed from your body, tanned, and made into upholstery for one of the chairs in the Red Temple.”

  “Shut up!” snarled Murphy, and her voice was savage. Her gun whipped over to cover LeBlanc. “Shut your mouth, bitch!”

  I realized the danger an instant too late. It was exactly the reaction that LeBlanc had intended to provoke. “Murph! No!”