by Jim Butcher
“Ugh,” Murphy said, shaking her head. “No. If that many people have been taken, it means one of the larger powers is at work. If the Fomor have come to Oregon in strength, we’d just be throwing our scout into a snake pit.”
“If we move quickly enough,” Abby disagreed firmly, “we might be able to save some of them.”
Murphy’s expression turned introspective. “True. But there’s nothing we can do from here.” She looked at Forthill.
“I’ll find out what I can through our channels,” he promised. “But . . . I fear you will find little in the way of remedy there.”
Murphy nodded. “We’ll kick this one up to the Wardens.”
Daniel snorted at exactly the same time I did. “Oh, sure, the White Council,” the young man said. “They’re the answer to this. Because they care so much about the little guy and the immediate future. They’ll wander in right away—a mere year or two from now.”
Will gave Daniel a flat look, and the muscles along his jaw twitched.
Murphy lifted a hand and said, “I’ll call Ramirez and ask him to expedite. I’ll ask Elaine Mallory to back me up.”
Elaine Mallory. When Murphy said it, the name cracked something in my head and a geyser of memories erupted from it. Elaine had been my first. First friend. First crush. First lover. First victim—or so I had believed for years, at any rate. She somehow escaped the flames that consumed my old mentor, Justin DuMorne.
About a million sense-memories hit me all at once. It was like trying to watch a warehouse wall lined with televisions, all of them on different stations, all of them blaring at maximum volume. Sunshine on skin. Smooth curve of slender waist and leanly muscled back as Elaine dove into a moonlit swimming pool. The blindingly gentle sensation of our first kiss, slow and tentative and careful as it had been.
Elaine. Who had been subverted into Justin’s slave. Who hadn’t been strong enough to defend herself when Justin came to claim her mind. Who I failed to protect.
Joy and pain came with those memories. It was deliriously intense, as disorienting and overwhelming as any drug.
Hell’s bells, I hate being the new guy.
I managed to push the memories off after a few moments, in time to hear the vampire speak. Felicia cleared her throat and lifted a hand. “As it happens,” she said, “I know that we have some assets in the area. It’s possible they might be able to find something.”
“It’s also possible that they’re responsible for the disappearances,” Marci said mildly.
“Nonsense, child,” Felicia responded with a little toss of her head. “We hardly need to capture our prey and corral them where their thick numbers will make hunting simple.” She gave Marci a sweetly dimpled smile. “We already have such pens. They’re called cities.”
“We will be happy for any information the White Court is willing to provide, Felicia,” Murphy said, her calm, professional, neutral tone expertly dulling the edges of the previous words. “What about Chicago, Abby?”
“We lost two this week,” Abby said. “Nathan Simpson and Sunbeam Monroe.”
“A ghoul took Simpson,” Will supplied at once. “We settled his account.”
Murphy glanced at Will in approval. “Have I met Sunbeam?”
Abby nodded. “The college student from San Jose.”
Murphy winced. “Right. Tall girl? Hippie-esque parents.”
“That’s her. She was accompanied to the El station, and someone was waiting at her destination. She never arrived.”
Murphy made a growling sound that more than made up for Toto’s lack. “We know anything?”
Will looked at Marci. The stringy girl shook her head. “The snow is holding too many scents in place. I couldn’t find anything solid.” She looked down at her knees and added, “Sorry.”
Murphy ignored that last bit. “She shouldn’t have been traveling alone. We’re going to have to stress the importance of partnering up.”
“How?” Abby asked. “I mean, it’s in every circular.”
Murphy nodded. “Will?”
Will drummed his fingertips on his biceps and nodded. “I’ll see to it.”
“Thank you.”
Abby blinked several times and then said, “Karrin . . . you can’t possibly mean . . .”
“People are dying,” Murphy said simply. “A good scare can do wonders to cure stupidity.”
“Or we could try protecting them,” said Daniel.
Forthill lifted a hand again, but the younger man ignored him, rising to his feet. Daniel’s voice was a rich, strong baritone. “All over the world, dark things are rising up against mortals connected to the supernatural. Killing them or dragging them away into the dark. Creatures that haven’t been seen by mankind in the past two millennia are reappearing. Fighting mortals. Fighting one another. The shadows are boiling over with death and terror, and no one is doing anything about it!
“The Wardens went from fighting the Vampire War to a new one, against an enemy without a face or an identity. The White Council doesn’t have Wardens enough to handle everything that’s happening anyway. If a cry for help is sent up anywhere but a major city, there’s no chance at all of them showing up. Meanwhile, what are we doing?” Daniel’s voice filled with quiet scorn. “Telling people to travel around in herds. Scaring them ourselves to make them do so, as if there wasn’t terror enough in the world already.”
Murphy stared steadily at him. Then she said, her tone hard, “That’s enough.”
Daniel ignored her, planting his feet and squaring his shoulders. “You know. You know what must be done, Ms. Murphy. You’re holding two of the greatest weapons against darkness that the world has ever known. Bring forth the Swords.”
A dead silence settled on the room, into which Sir Stuart asked me, conversationally, “Which swords?”
“The Swords of the Cross,” I said quietly, out of habit—I could have sung it operatically without anyone there noticing. “The ones with the nails from the Crucifixion worked into them.”
“Excalibur, Durendal, and Kusanagi, yes, yes,” Sir Stuart said, his tone a little impatient. “Of course I know the Swords of the Cross. And the little blond woman has two of them?”
I just stared at the burly shade for a long second. I’d found what amounted to a rumor that Amoracchius was, in fact, the same sword given to King Arthur, but I hadn’t ever heard anything about the other two— despite some fairly exhaustive research over the years. The shade had dropped their identities as if they were everyday knowledge.
Sir Stuart frowned at me and said, “What is it?”
“I just don’t . . . Do you know how much research I . . .” I blew out an exasperated breath, scowled, and said, “I went to public school.”
Back inside, Murphy didn’t break the silence. She just stared at Daniel for maybe two minutes. Then she directed a rather pointed glance at Felicia and eyed Daniel again.
The young man glanced at Felicia and closed his eyes as his cheeks got redder and his passion swiftly deflated. He muttered something under his breath and sat down again rather quickly.
The vampire sat in her chair, staring at Daniel over the rim of her teacup and smiling as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. For all I knew, it wouldn’t. “I love young men,” she purred. “I just love them.”
“Mr. Carpenter,” Murphy said. “I assume you have divulged secrets enough to the enemies of humanity for one evening?”
Daniel said nothing.
“Then perhaps you can join Eyes and Fuzz in keeping watch outside.”
He rose at once, slipping into his heavy, fleece-lined, blue denim coat. It was an old, well-used garment. I’d seen his father wearing it, but it was a little big on Daniel. Without a word, he left the living room for the kitchen and went out the back door.
Silence was heavy when he left.
“Both swords,” Felicia said, her tone light, her periwinkle eyes on Murphy. “My, my, my.” She sipped at her tea and said, “Of course, you’ll have to k
ill me, dear. If you can.” The diminutive vampire looked casually at each person in the room. “I give you one chance in four.”
“I can’t let the White Court know about the Swords,” Murphy agreed. Her fingers hung near the handle of her gun.
Will watched with sleepy eyes. But sometime in the past few seconds he had managed to center his weight over his feet. Marci still crouched with her legs curled up to the rest of her, but they were under her dress now. Within a heartbeat, she could have it off and clear it from impeding her shapeshifting.
Felicia was in exactly the same posture as several minutes before. She looked entirely unconcerned with any possible danger. I made a mental note never to play poker with her. “Well, darling. If you intended to dance, there would already be music. So perhaps we should talk.” She smiled, and her eyes glittered, suddenly several shades lighter than before. “Just us girls. We can go for a walk.”
Murphy snorted. She drew her gun from her belt and set it on the armrest of her chair. She rested her hand over it, not quite touching the trigger. “I’m not an idiot, Felicia. You’ll stay right where you are. As will I. Everyone else, outside.”
Abby had risen before Murphy finished speaking, holding Toto carefully as she left.
Will frowned at Murphy. “You sure?”
Father Forthill rose, frowning, and said, “These old legs want to go for a little walk, in any case. Good evening, Ms. Murphy. William?”
Will literally growled, and it came out sounding like no noise a human being ought to be able to make. But then he nodded to Murphy and turned toward the door. Marci hurried to her feet and went after him. Forthill stumped off after them. I heard everyone leave the house by the back door, probably to gather on the stone-paved patio just outside.
“I like this,” Felicia said into the silence, smiling. “This charming little house feels so intimate. Don’t you think?” She tilted her head. “Are the Swords on the premises?”
“I think you should name your price,” Murphy responded.
Felicia arched an eyebrow, a sensual little smile bending one corner of her mouth into a smirk.
“F—” Murphy cleared her throat. “Forget that. It isn’t happening.”
The vampire turned her mouth down in a mocking little pout. “Such a Puritan work ethic. Business and pleasure can coexist, you know.”
“This isn’t business, Ms. Raith. It’s blackmail.”
“To-may-toe, to-mah-toe,” Felicia said with a shrug. “The point is, Karrin, that you can hardly afford to be squeamish.”
“No?”
“No. You’re intelligent, skilled, and strong-willed—quite formidable. . . .” She smiled. “For a mortal. But, in the end, you are a lone mortal. And you are no longer beneath the aegis of city law enforcement or resident members of the White Council.”
Murphy moved nothing but her lips. “Meaning?”
Felicia sighed and said in a practical, dispassionate tone, “The Swords are valuable. They could be traded for a great deal of influence. Should the White Court learn of this and decide to take the Swords, they will take you. They will ask you where they are. They will force you to surrender them.”
Murphy might have twitched one shoulder in a shrug. Then she got up and walked toward Felicia, gripping her gun loosely in hand. “And . . . what? If I give you what you want, you’ll stay quiet?”
Felicia nodded, her eyelids lowering as she watched Murphy approach. “For a few days, at any rate. By which time, you will have been able to take measures to prevent them from being taken.”
Murphy said, “You want to feed on me.”
Felicia ran a very pink tongue over her upper lip, her eyes growing paler. “I do. Very much.”
Murphy frowned and nodded.
Then she whipped the pistol in a bone-breaking stroke, smashing it into the vampire’s jaw.
“Yes!” I hissed, clenching my hands into fists.
The vampire let out a short, stunned gasping sound and rocked beneath the blow. She slid out of the chair to her knees, feebly trying to move away from Murphy.
Murph wasn’t having any of it. She grabbed Felicia by the hair, hauled her halfway to her feet, and then, with a furious shout and a contraction of her whole body, Murphy slammed the vampire’s face down onto the coffee table. Felicia’s head shattered the teapot and the platter beneath, and struck the oak table with such force that a crack erupted from end to end in the wood.
Murph slammed Felicia’s head down with near-equal violence two more times. Then she turned and dragged Felicia over to the front door of her house by the hair. Murphy let her go with a contemptuous shove, stood over her, and pointed a gun at the vampire’s head.
“This is what happens,” Murphy said in a very quiet, hard voice. “You leave here alive. You keep your fucking mouth shut. And we never mention tonight ever again. If the White Court even blinks in the Swords’ direction, I am going to come find you, Felicia. Whatever happens to me in the end, before I am taken, I will find you.”
Felicia stared up at her, wobbling and shaking, clearly dazed. Murphy had broken the vampire’s nose and knocked out at least two teeth. One of Felicia’s high cheekbones was already swelling. The broken teapot had left multiple cuts on her face, and her skin had been scalded by the hot liquid still inside.
Murphy leaned a little closer and put the barrel of the gun against Felicia’s forehead. Then she whispered, very quietly, “Bang.”
The vampire shuddered.
“Do what you think best, Felicia,” Murph whispered. Then she straightened again slowly, and spoke in a clear, calm voice as she walked back to her chair. “Now. Get out of my house.”
Felicia managed to stagger to her feet, open the front door, and limp haltingly to the white limousine idling on the snowy street outside the house. Murphy went to the window to watch Felicia get into the limo and depart.
“Yeah,” I said, deadpan. “The little blond woman has two of them.”
“Oh, my,” Sir Stuart said, his voice muted with respect. “I can see why you’d come to her for assistance.”
“Damn skippy,” I agreed. “Better go get Morty while she’s still in a good mood.”
Chapter Ten
I met Morty and Sir Stuart on Murphy’s front porch. I guess it was a cold night. Morty stood with his entire body hunched against the wind, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets. His eyes darted around nervously. He was shivering.
“Hit the bell,” I said. “And this is just my opinion, but if I were you, I’d keep my hands in plain sight.”
“Thanks,” Mort said sourly, jabbing the doorbell. “Have I told you how much brightness you bring to my world whenever you show up in it, Dresden?”
“All in a day’s work when you’re created from the cosmic legends of the universe,” I replied.
“Be advised,” Sir Stuart said, “that there are wolves to the left and right.”
I looked. He was right. One was huge and dark-furred; the other smaller and lighter brown. They were sitting in the shadows, perfectly still, where a casual glance would simply pass over them. Their wary stares were intense. “Will and Marci,” I said. “They’re cool.”
“They’re violent vigilantes,” Mort replied through clenched teeth.
“Buck up, little camper. They’re not going to hurt you, and you know it.”
Mort gave me a narrow-eyed glare, and then Murphy opened the door.
“Ms. Murphy,” Morty said, nodding to her.
“Lindquist, isn’t it?” Murph asked. “The medium?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want?”
“Behind us,” Sir Stuart murmured.
I checked. A slender male figure in heavy winter clothing was crossing the street toward us. A third wolf, this one’s fur edged with auburn, walked beside him.
“I’m here to speak to you on behalf of someone you knew,” Mort told Murphy.
Murphy’s blue eyes became chips of glacial ice. “Who?”
“Harry Dresden,” Mort said.
Murphy clenched her right hand into a fist. Her knuckles made small popping sounds.
Mort swallowed and took half a step back. “Look, I don’t want to be here,” he said, raising his hands and displaying his palms. “But you know how he was. His shade is no less stubborn or annoying than Dresden was in life.”
“You’re a goddamned liar,” Murphy snarled. “You’re a known con artist. And you are playing with fire.”
Mort stared at her for a long moment. Then he winced and said, “You . . . you believed he was still alive?”
“He is alive,” Murphy replied, clenching her jaw. “They never found a body.”
Mort looked down, pressing his lips together, and ran his palm over his bald pate, smearing away a few clinging snowflakes. He blew out a long breath and said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that this is difficult.”
“It isn’t difficult,” Murphy replied. “Just annoying. Because he’s still alive.”
Mort looked at me and spread his hands. “She’s still in denial. There’s not much I can do here. Look, I’ve done this a lot. She needs more time.”
“No,” I said. “We’ve got to make her see. Tonight.”
Mort pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “It isn’t like you’re getting any older, Dresden.”
Murphy fixed Morty with her cop glare. It hadn’t lost any of its intensity. “This is neither believable nor amusing, Lindquist. I think you’d better go now.”
Lindquist nodded, holding up his hands in a gesture of placation. “I know. I’m going. Please understand, I’m just trying to help.”
“Wait!” I snapped. “There’s got to be something you can say.”
Mort glanced at me as he began walking back toward his car and lifted both of his hands, palms up, in a little helpless gesture.
I ground my teeth, standing less than a foot away from Murphy. How the hell did I get her to believe it really was me?
“By having Morty talk about something only you could know, dummy,” I said to myself. “Morty!”
He paused about halfway down the driveway and turned to look at me.