by Jim Butcher
An older man sat in the chair beside the couch, and he took the opportunity to lean over the table and pour hot tea from a china teapot into the cup in front of the young Carpenter. He added a lump of sugar to it, and smiled at Daniel. There was nothing hostile, impatient, or demanding in his eyes, which were the color of a robin’s eggs—only complete certainty that the younger man would accept the tea and settle down.
Daniel eyed the man, then dropped his eyes to the square of white cellulose at his collar and the crucifix hanging beneath it. He took a deep breath, then nodded and stirred his tea. He took the cup in both hands and settled back to wait. After a sip, he appeared to forget he was holding it—but he stayed quiet.
“And you, Ms. Murphy?” asked Father Forthill, holding up the teapot. “It’s a cold night. I’m sure a cup would do you good.”
“Why not?” she said. Forthill filled another cup for Murphy, took it to her, and pulled at his sweater vest, as if trying to coax more warmth from the garment. He turned and walked over to the window where Sir Stuart and I stood, and held out both hands. “Are you sure there isn’t a draft? I could swear I feel it.”
I blinked and eyed Sir Stuart, who shrugged and said, “He’s one of the good ones.”
“Good what?”
“Ministers. Priests. Shamans. Whatever.” His expression seemed to be carefully neutral. “You spend your life caring for the souls of others, you get a real sense of them.” Sir Stuart nodded at Father Forthill. “Ghosts like us aren’t souls, as such, but we aren’t much different. He feels us, even if he isn’t fully aware of it.”
Toto escaped Abby’s lap and came scrambling over the hardwood floor to put his paws up on the walls beneath the windows. He yapped ferociously several times, staring right at me.
“And dogs,” Sir Stuart added. “Maybe one in ten of them seem to have a talent for sensing us. Probably why they’re always barking.”
“What about cats?” I asked. Mister had fled the living room upon the arrival of other people and wasn’t in sight.
“Of course cats,” Sir Stuart said, his voice faintly amused. “As far as I can tell, all cats. But they aren’t terribly impressed with the fact that we’re dead and still present. One rarely gets a reaction from them.”
Father Forthill gently scooped Toto from the floor. The little dog wiggled energetically, tail flailing in the air, and kissed Forthill’s hands soundly before the old priest passed him carefully back to Abby, smiling and nodding to her before refilling his own cup of tea and sitting down again.
“Who are they waiting on?” Sir Stuart asked. “This Molly person?”
“Maybe,” I said. There was one more chair in the room. It was closest to the door—and farthest from every other piece of furniture in the room. Practically every other seat in the room would have a clear line of fire to the last chair, if it came to shooting. Maybe that was a coincidence. “But I don’t think so.”
There was a quick chirping sound, and Murphy picked up a radio smaller than a deck of cards. “Murphy. Go.”
“Ricemobile imminent,” said a quiet voice. “Furry Knockers is running a sweep.”
Will blew out a sudden snort of amused breath.
Murphy smiled and shook her head before she spoke into the radio. “Thanks, Eyes. Pull in as soon as she’s done. Hot tea for you.”
“Weather’s just crazy, right? Only in Chicago. Eyes, out.”
“That is just so wrong,” said Daniel, as Murphy put the radio away. “That’s a terrible radio handle. It could cause mixed messages in a tactical situation.”
Murphy arched an eyebrow and spoke in a dry tone. “I’m trying to imagine the situation in which someone mistakenly being told to be alert for the enemy ends in disaster.”
“If someone on the team was juggling glass vials of a deadly virus,” Will supplied promptly. “Or nitroglycerin.”
Murphy nodded. “Make a note: Discontinue use of radio in the event of a necessary nitro-viro juggling mission.”
“Noted,” Will drawled.
Daniel stiffened. “You’ve got a big mouth, Mr. Borden.”
Will never moved. “It’s not my mouth, kid. It’s your skin. It’s too thin.”
Daniel narrowed his eyes, but Forthill put a hand on the brawny youth’s shoulder. The old man couldn’t possibly restrain Daniel physically, but his touch might as well have been a steel chain attached to a battleship’s anchor. His move to rise became an adjustment of himself in his seat, and he folded his arms, scowling.
“Pasty Face in five, four, three . . .” came from Murphy’s radio.
Backs tightened. Faces became masks. Several hands vanished from sight. Someone’s teacup clinked several times in rapid succession against a saucer before it settled.
I could see the front door from where I stood outside the window, and a couple of seconds after the radio stopped counting aloud, it opened upon a White Court vampire.
She was maybe five-two, with a dimpled smile and dark, curly hair that fell to her waist. She was wearing a white blouse with a long, full white skirt and bright scarlet ballet slippers. The first thought that went through my head was Awww, she’s tiny and adorable—followed closely by the notion that she would be fastidious when blood was everywhere. I could just see her carefully lifting the hem of her pristine skirt so that only the scarlet slippers would touch it.
“Good evening, everyone,” she said, breezing through the door without an invitation, speaking with a strong British accent. “I apologize for being a few moments late, but what’s a lady to do with weather like this? Tea? Lovely.” She minced over to the table and poured some hot tea into an empty cup. Her eyes fastened on Daniel as she did, and she bowed just low enough to draw the young man’s eyes to her décolletage. He flushed and looked away sternly. After a second.
Tough to blame the kid. I’ve been a young man. Boobs are near the center of the universe, until you turn twenty-five or so. Which is also when young men’s auto insurance rates go down. This is not a coincidence.
The vampire smirked, a surprisingly predatory expression on her cupid’s-bow lips, and glided back to the empty chair by the door, seating herself in it like Shirley Temple on a movie set, sure that she held the attention of everyone there.
“Gutsy,” I said quietly.
“Why do you say that?” Sir Stuart asked.
“She came in without an invitation,” I said.
“I thought vampires couldn’t do that.”
“The Reds ca—That is, they couldn’t without being half-paralyzed. The Black Court vampires can’t cross a threshold, period. The Whites can, but it cripples their abilities, makes it very difficult to draw on their Hunger for strength and speed.”
Sir Stuart shook his head. “Ah yes. She’s a succubus.”
“Well . . . not exactly, but the differences are academic.”
The shade nodded. “I’m not exposing Mortimer to that creature.”
“Probably not a bad idea,” I agreed. “He’s got access to way too much information. They’d love to get someone like Mort under their thumb.”
“Hello, Felicia,” Murphy said, her tone cool and professional. “All right, people. Mr. Childs won’t be here tonight. I’m holding his proxy.”
Felicia curled the fingers of both tiny hands around the teacup and sipped it. The tea had been scalding when the others had first sipped it. They’d been cautious. The vampire took a mouthful as if it had been room-temperature Kool-Aid and swallowed it down with a little shiver of apparent pleasure. “How convenient for you. Shall we ever see the dapper gentleman again?”
“That will be up to Marcone,” Murphy replied. “Abby?”
Toto was staring at Felicia and standing with stiff legs on Abby’s lap. If he’d been capable of a threatening growl, he’d have been doing it. Instead, there was just a steady squeaking sound coming from his general direction.
Abby took a firmer grip on Toto and looked down at a notebook in her lap. “The Paranet continues to oper
ate at better than seventy-five percent of its original capacity. We actually regained contact with Minnesota, Massachusetts, and Alabama this week.” She cleared her throat and blinked her eyes several times. “We lost contact with Oregon.”
“Seattle or Tacoma?” Murphy asked.
“Yes,” Abby said quietly. “No one has heard from a member in either place there for the past three days.”
Forthill crossed himself and said something beneath his breath.
“Amen, Father,” Felicia murmured.
“Someone got their roster,” Daniel said, his voice harsh.
Will grunted and nodded. “Do we know who?”
“Um,” Abby said, giving Will a brief, apologetic smile. “We haven’t heard from anyone. So no. We’ll have to send someone to investigate.”
“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 kill 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.