by Jim Butcher
A greeter nodded sleepily to me as I came in, and I passed up his offer of a shopping cart. Before I’d gotten all the way into the store, Murphy fell into step beside me. She was wearing a Cubs jacket, jeans, and sneakers, and she had her blond hair tucked up underneath an undecorated black ball cap. She walked with her hands in her pockets, and her expression, one of belligerent annoyance, didn’t seem to fit on someone that short. Wordlessly, we walked past all the little hole-in-the-wall franchise businesses, closed and locked up behind their grills, and settled down at the generic cafe near the deli section of the grocery store.
Murphy chose a booth where she could watch the door, and I sat across from her, where I could watch her back. She picked up a couple of cups of coffee, bless her noble heart. I dumped sugar and creamer into mine until bits floated on the surface, stirred it up, and took a slow sip that nearly scalded my tongue.
"You don’t look so good," Murphy said.
I nodded.
"You want to talk about it?"
To my own surprise, I did. I set the coffee down and said without preamble, "I’m furious, Murph. I can’t think straight, I’m so mad."
"Why?"
"Because I’m screwed. That’s why. No matter what I do, I’m going to take it up the ass."
Lines appeared between her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"
"It’s this job," I said. "Investigating Reuel’s death. There’s a lot of resistance and I don’t know if I can beat it. And if I don’t beat it before tomorrow night, things are really going to go to hell."
"The client isn’t being helpful?"
I let out a bitter laugh. "Hell, for all I know the client is doing this to me just so I can get myself horribly killed."
"You don’t trust them, then."
"Not as far as I could kick her. And the people who are supposed to be working with me are driving me nuts." I shook my head. "I feel like some guy in a magician’s box, just before he starts pushing all those swords through it. Only it’s not a trick, and the swords are real, and they’re going to start skewering me any second. The bad guys are doing their best to get me wiped out or screwed up. The good guys think I’m some kind of ticking psycho, just waiting to go off, and it’s like pulling teeth to try to get a straight answer out of any of them."
"You think you’re in danger."
"I know it," I said. "And it’s just too damned big." I fell quiet for a moment, and sipped my coffee.
"So," Murph said. "Why did you want to see me?"
"Because the people who should be backing me up are about to throw me to the wolves. And because the only person actually helping me is green enough to get himself killed without a babysitter." I set the empty cup down. "And because when I asked myself who I could trust, I came up with a damned short list. You’re it."
She settled back in her seat with a slow, long exhalation. "You’re going to tell me what’s going on?"
"If you’re willing," I said. "I know I’ve kept things from you. But I’ve done it because I thought it was how I could protect you best. Because I didn’t want you to get hurt."
"Yeah," she said. "I know. It’s annoying as hell."
I tried to smile. "In this case, ignorance is bliss. If I tell you this stuff, it’s going to be serious. Just knowing it could be dangerous for you. And you aren’t going to be able to get away from it, Murph. Not ever."
She regarded me soberly. "Then why tell me now?"
"Because you deserve to know, long since. Because you’ve risked your life for me, and to protect people from all the supernatural crud that’s out there. Because being around me has bought you trouble, and knowing more about it might help you if it comes your way again." My cheeks flushed, and I admitted, "And because I need your help. This is a bad one. I’m afraid."
"I’m not going anywhere, Harry."
I gave her a tired smile. "One last thing. If you come in on this, you have to understand something. You have to promise me that you won’t haul SI and the rest of the police in on everything. You can dig up information, use them discretely, but you can’t round up a posse and go gunning for demons."
Her eyes narrowed. "Why the hell not?"
"Because bringing mortal authorities into a conflict is the nuclear assault of the supernatural world. No one wants to see it happen, and if they thought you might do it, they’d kill you. Or they’d pull strings higher up and get you fired, or framed for something. They would never allow it to pass. You’d get yourself ruined or hurt or killed and it’s likely a lot of people would go down with you." I paused to let the words sink in, then asked, "Still want me to tell you?"
She closed her eyes for a moment and then nodded, once. "Hit me."
"You’re sure?"
"Yeah."
"All right," I said. And I told Murphy all of it. It took a while. I told her about Justin and about Elaine. I told her about the supernatural forces and politics at play in and around the city. I told her about the war I’d started because of what the Red Court had done to Susan. I told her about the faeries and Reuel’s murder.
And most of all, I told her about the White Council.
"Those spineless, arrogant, egomaniacal sons of bitches," Murphy growled. "Who the hell do they think they are, selling out their own people like that?"
Some silent, delighted part of me let out a mental cheer at her reaction.
She made a disgusted noise and shook her head. "So let me get this straight," she said. "You started a war between the Council and the Red Court. The Council needs the support of the faeries in order to have a chance at victory. But they can’t get that support unless you find this killer and restore the stolen magical power thingie—"
"Mantle," I interjected.
"Whatever," Murphy said. "And if you don’t get the magic whatsit, the Council fixes you up in a carryout box for the vampires."
"Yeah," I said.
"And if you don’t find the killer before Midsummer, the faeries slug it out with each other."
"Which could be bad no matter who won. It would make El Nino look as mild as an early spring thaw."
"And you want my help."
"You’ve worked homicide before. You’re better at it than me."
"That goes without saying," she said, a trace of a smile on her mouth. "Look, Harry. If you want to find out who did the killing, the best way to start is to figure out why."
"Why what?"
"Why the murder. Why Reuel got bumped off."
"Oh, right," I said.
"And why would someone try to take you out in the park yesterday?"
"It could have been almost anyone," I said. "It wasn’t like it was a brilliant attempt, as far as they go."
"Wrong," Murphy said. "Not neat, but not stupid either. After you called earlier tonight, I snooped around."
I frowned at her. "You found something?"
"Yeah. Turns out that there have been two armed robberies in the past three days, first outside of Cleveland and then at a gas station just this side of Indianapolis, coming toward Chicago."
"That doesn’t sound out of the ordinary."
"No," Murphy said. "Not unless you throw in that in both cases, someone was grabbed at the scene and abducted, and both times the video security broke down just as the robbery started. Eyewitnesses in Indiana identified the perpetrator as a woman."
I whistled. "Sounds like our ghoul, then."
Murph nodded, her lips pressed together. "Any chance those people she grabbed are alive?"
I shook my head. "Not likely. She probably ate them. A ghoul can go through forty or fifty pounds of meat a day. She’ll put whatever’s left someplace where animals can get to it, cover her tracks."
She nodded. "I figured. The pattern matches several incidents over the past twenty years. It took me a while to piece it together, but something similar has happened three times in connection with the operations of a contract killer who calls herself the Tigress. A friend at the FBI told me that they suspect her of a number of kil
lings in the New Orleans area and that Interpol thinks she’s pulled jobs in Europe and Africa, too."
"Hired gun," I said. "So who did the hiring?"
"From what you’ve said, my money’s on the vampires. They’re the ones who benefit most from you being dead. If they punch your ticket, the Council will probably sue for peace, right?"
"Maybe," I said, but I doubted it. "If that’s what they had in mind, it’s stupid timing. They Pearl-Harbored a bunch of wizards somewhere in Russia two nights ago, and the Council was pretty angry about it."
"Okay. So maybe they figure that if your investigation finds Reuel’s killer and gets the Council brownie points with the faeries, they’re in for a real fight. Killing you before that happens makes sense."
"Except that when it went down, I wasn’t involved in the investigation yet."
Murphy shook her head. "I wish we could get you together with a sketch artist, describe her."
"Doubt it would help much. She was in makeup at first, and I didn’t give her a second look. By the time I was paying attention, she mostly looked like something out of a Japanese horror cartoon."
She glanced down at her now cold coffee. "Not much we can do but wait, then. I’ve got a couple of sources trying to turn up more, but I wouldn’t bet anything on them. I’ll let you know."
I nodded. "Even if we find her, it might not help with the faerie stuff."
"Right," she said. "Mind if I ask you a few questions? Maybe I’ll see something you don’t."
"Okay."
"This dreadlock chick. Maeve, you said her name was?"
"Yeah."
"How sure are you in your instinct about her? That she couldn’t have done the murder, I mean."
"Pretty close to certain."
"But not completely."
I frowned thoughtfully. "No. Faeries are tricky that way. Not completely."
Murphy nodded. "What about Mab?"
I rubbed at my chin, feeling the beginnings of stubble. "She never out and out denied responsibility for Reuel’s death, but I don’t think she’s the killer."
"What makes you say that?"
"I don’t know."
"I do. She could have picked anyone she wanted to represent her interests, and she chose you. If she wanted to cover her tracks, it would make more sense for her to choose someone less capable and with less experience. She wouldn’t have picked someone as stupidly stubborn as you."
I scowled. "Not stupidly," I said. "I just don’t like to leave things undone."
Murphy snorted. "You don’t know the meaning of 'give up,' dolt. You see my point."
"Yeah. I guess it’s reasonable."
"So what about this Summer girl?"
I blew out a breath. "It doesn’t seem to hang on her very well. She was kinder than any faerie I ever met. She could have been pretty darned unpleasant to me, but she wasn’t."
"How about the other mortal, then? The Winter Knight."
"He’s a violent, vicious heroin addict. I could see him tossing Reuel down those stairs, sure. But I’m not sure he’s savvy enough to have worked enough magic to steal the mantle. He was more of a plunder-now-and-think-later sort of guy." I shook my head. "I’ve got three more faeries to talk to, though."
"Summer Queen and both Mothers," Murphy nodded. "When will you see them?"
"As soon as I can work out how. The Ladies are the closest to the mortal world. They aren’t hard to find. The Queens and the Mothers, though, will live in Faerie proper. I’ll have to go there to find a guide."
Murphy lifted her eyebrows. "A guide?"
I grimaced. "Yeah. I don’t want to, but it’s looking like I’m going to have to pay my godmother a visit."
Murphy quirked an eyebrow. "Seriously? You have a faerie godmother?"
"Long story," I said. "Okay, I want to get moving. If you could—"
The store lights went out, all at once.
My heart all but stopped. A second later, battery-powered emergency lights came up and revealed a roiling cloud of silver-grey mist spreading into the store from the doors. The mist rolled over a startled cashier, and the woman slumped, her mouth slightly open and her eyes unfocused, staring.
"Good Lord," Murphy said softly. "Harry, what’s happening?"
I had already gotten out of the booth and grabbed the salt shaker from our table, and the one next to it. "Trouble. Come with me."
Chapter Nineteen
At first I tried to circle around to the exit doors, but the mist proved to be flowing in through them as well. "Curse it! We can’t get out that way."
Murphy’s face went more pale as a young man flung himself at the exit doors. The moment he hit the mist, his running steps faltered. He came to a halt, a puzzled expression on his face, and stared around him blankly, as his shoulders slumped.
"Dear God," she whispered. "Harry, what is that?"
"Come on, to the back of the store," I said, and started running that way. "I think it’s a mind fog."
"You think?"
I scowled over my shoulder at Murphy. "I’ve never seen one before, just heard about them. They shut down your head, flatline your ability to remember things, scramble your thoughts. They’re illegal."
"Illegal?" Murphy yelled. "Says who?"
"Says the Laws of Magic," I muttered.
"You didn’t say anything about any Laws of Magic," Murphy said.
"If we get out of here alive, I’ll explain it to you sometime." We ran down a long aisle toward the back of the store, passing housewares, then seasonal goods on our left, while grocery aisles stretched out on our right. Murphy stopped abruptly, broke open the covering over a fire alarm, and jerked it down.
I looked around hopefully, but nothing happened.
"Damn," Murphy muttered.
"Worth a try. Look, the people in the fog should be all right once it’s gone, and whoever this is, they won’t have any reason to hurt them once we’re not around. We’ll get out the back door and get away from here."
"Where are we going to go?"
"I don’t know," I confessed, as I started moving again. "But anywhere is better than where the bad guys chose to attack and have their pick of a hundred hostages, right?"
"Okay," Murphy said. "Getting out of here is good."
"I bet the bad guys are counting on that, trying to flush us out into a dark alley. You carrying?"
Murphy was already drawing her gun from under her jacket, a well-used military-issue Colt 1911. "Are you kidding?"
I noticed that her hands were shaking. "New gun?"
"Old reliable," she said. "You told me magic can jam a flaky gun."
"Revolver would be even better."
"Why don’t I just throw rocks and sharp sticks while I’m at it, Tex?"
"Auto bigot." I spotted an EMPLOYEES ONLY sign. "There," I said, and went that way. "Out the back."
We headed for the swinging doors under the sign. I hit them first, shoving them open. A grey wall of mist lay in front of me and I leaned back, trying to stumble to a halt. If I let myself touch the mist, I might not have enough of my wits left to regret it. I stumbled a foot short of it and almost fell forward, but Murphy grabbed my shirt and jerked me sharply back.
We both backed out into the store. "Can’t get out that way," Murphy said. "Maybe they don’t want to herd you anywhere. Maybe they just want to gas you and kill you while you’re down."
I swept my gaze around the store. Cold grey mist rolled forward, slow and steady, in every direction. "Looks like," I said. I nodded down a tall, narrow aisle containing auto parts. "Down there, quick."
"What’s down here?" Murphy asked.
"Cover. I have to get us a defense against that mist." We reached the open space at the end of the aisle, and I nodded to Murphy. "Here, stop here and stand close to me."
She did it, but I could still see her shaking as she asked, "Why?"
I looked up. The mist had reached the far end of the aisle and was gliding slowly down it. "I’m going to put
up a circle that should keep it off us. Don’t step out of it or let any part of you cross outside."
Murphy’s voice took on a higher, more tense pitch. "Harry, it’s coming."
I twisted open both salt shakers and started pouring them out in a circle around us, maybe three feet across. As I finished the circle, I invested it with the slightest effort of will, of intent, and it closed with a sudden snap of silent, invisible energies. I stood up again, holding my breath, until the mist touched it a moment later.
It roiled up against the circle and stopped, as though a cylinder of Plexiglas stood between it and us. Murphy and I both let out our breath in slow exhalations. "Wow," she said quietly. "Is that like a force field or something?"
"Only against magical energies," I said, squinting around us. "If someone comes along with a gun, we’re in trouble."
"What do we do?"
"I think I can protect myself if I’m ready to do it," I said. "But I need to set up a charm on you."
"A what?"
"Charm, short-term magic." I fumbled at my shirt until I found a frayed thread and started pulling it out. "I need a hair."
Murphy gave me a suspicious frown, but she reached under her hat and unceremoniously jerked out several dark gold hairs. I plucked them up and twisted them together with the strand of thread. "Give me your left hand."
She did. Her fingers shook so hard that I could feel it when I put my own around them. "Murph," I said. She kept looking up and down the aisle, her eyes a little wild. "Karrin."
She looked up at me. She looked very young, somehow.
"Remember what I said yesterday," I said. "You’re hurt. But you’ll get through it. You’ll be okay."
She closed her eyes tightly. "I’m scared. So scared I’m sick."
"You’ll get through it."
"What if I don’t?"
I squeezed her fingers. "Then I will personally make fun of you every day for the rest of your life," I said. "I will call you a sissy girl in front of everyone you know, tie frilly aprons on your car, and lurk in the parking lot at CPD and whistle and tell you to shake it, baby. Every. Single. Day."
Murphy’s breath escaped in something like a hiccup. She opened her eyes, a mix of anger and wary amusement easing into them in place of the fear. "You do realize I’m holding a gun, right?"
