by Jim Butcher
Given what I had done with my life lately, I could hardly argue with him. “It means something,” I said.
“Yeah?” Bob asked. “What?”
I shook my head. “Tell you when I figure it out.”
I went back up into my living room through the trapdoor in its floor. The door was a thick one. Sound didn’t readily travel up from the lab when it was closed. Luccio was loaded with narcotics and asleep on my couch, lying flat on her back with no pillow, and covered with a light blanket. Her face was slack, her mouth slightly open. It made her look vulnerable, and even younger than she already appeared. Molly sat in one of the recliners with several candles burning beside her. She was reading a paperback, carefully not opening the thing all the way to avoid creasing the spine. Pansy.
I went to the kitchen and made myself a sandwich. As I did, I reflected that I was getting really tired of sandwiches. Maybe I ought to learn to cook or something.
I stood there munching, and Molly came to join me.
“Hey,” she said in muted tones. “How are you?”
She’d helped me bandage the fairly minor cut on my scalp when I had returned. Strips of white gauze bandage were wound around my head to form a lopsided, off-kilter halo. I felt like the fife player in Willard’s iconic Spirit of ’76.
“Still in one piece,” I replied. “How are they?”
“Drugged and sleeping,” she said. “Morgan’s fever is up another half of a degree. The last bag of antibiotics is almost empty.”
I clenched my jaw. If I didn’t get Morgan to a hospital soon, he was going to be just as dead as he would be if the Council or Shagnasty got hold of him.
“Should I get some ice onto him?” Molly asked anxiously.
“Not until the fever goes over one hundred and four, and stays there,” I said. “That’s when it begins to endanger him. Until then, it’s doing what it’s supposed to do and slowing the infection.” I finished the last bite of sandwich. “Any calls?”
She produced a piece of notebook paper. “Georgia called. Here’s where Andi is. They’re still with her.”
I took the paper with a grimace. If I hadn’t let Morgan in my door half an eternity ago, he wouldn’t have been in Chicago, Shagnasty wouldn’t have been tailing me to find him, Andi wouldn’t be hurt—and Kirby would still be alive. And I hadn’t even tried to call and find out how she was. “How is she?”
“They still aren’t sure,” Molly said.
I nodded. “Okay.”
“Did you find Thomas?”
I shook my head. “Total bust.”
Mouse came shambling over. He sat down and looked up at me, his expression concerned.
She chewed on her lip. “What are you going to do?”
“I . . .” My voice trailed off. I sighed. “I have no idea.”
Mouse pawed at my leg and looked up at me. I bent over to scratch his ears, and instantly regretted it as someone tightened a vise on my temples. I straightened up again in a hurry, wincing, and entertained wild fantasies about lying down on the floor and sleeping for a week.
Molly watched me, her expression worried.
Right, Harry. You’re still teaching your apprentice. Show her what a wizard should do, not what you want to do.
I looked at the paper. “The answer isn’t obvious, which means that I need to put some more thought into it. And while I’m doing that, I’ll go look in on Andi.”
Molly nodded. “What do I do?”
“Hold down the fort. Try to reach me at the hospital if anyone calls or if Morgan gets any worse.”
Molly nodded seriously. “I can do that.”
I nodded and grabbed my gear and the key to the Rolls. Molly went to the door, ready to lock it behind me when I left. I started to do just that—and then paused. I turned to my apprentice. “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
She blinked at me. “Um. What did I do?”
“More than I asked of you. More than was good for you.” I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, Molly.”
She lifted her chin a little, smiling. “Well,” she said. “You’re just so pathetic. How could I turn away?”
That made me laugh, if only for a second, and her smile blossomed into something radiant.
“You know the drill,” I said.
She nodded. “Keep my eyes open, be supercareful, don’t take any chances.”
I winked at her. “You grow wiser, grasshopper.”
Molly started to say something, stopped, fidgeted for half a second, and then threw her arms around me in a big hug.
“Be careful,” she said. “Okay?”
I hugged her back tight and gave the top of her head a light kiss. “Hang in there, kid. We’ll get this straightened out.”
“Okay,” she said. “We will.”
Then I headed out into the Chicago night wondering how—or if—that was possible.
Chapter Thirty
I don’t like hospitals—but then, who does? I don’t like the clean, cool hallways. I don’t like the stark fluorescent lights. I don’t like the calm ring tones on the telephones. I don’t like the pastel scrubs the nurses and attendants wear. I don’t like the elevators, and I don’t like the soothing colors on the walls, and I don’t like the way everyone speaks in measured, quiet voices.
But mostly, I don’t like the memories I’ve collected there.
Andi was still in intensive care. I wouldn’t be able to go in to see her—neither would Billy and Georgia, if they hadn’t arranged for power of attorney for medical matters, a few years back. It was long after standard visiting hours, but most hospital staffs stretch rules and look the other way for those whose loved ones are in ICU. The world has changed a lot over the centuries, but death watches are still respected.
Billy had come to me on the down low to set up power of attorney for me, in case he should be hospitalized without Georgia being nearby to handle matters. Though neither of us said so, we both knew why he really did it. The only reason Georgia wouldn’t be there is if she was dead—and if Billy was in no shape to make decisions for himself, he didn’t want to hang around and find out what his world would be like without her in it. He wanted someone he could trust to understand that.
Billy and Georgia are solid.
I’d spent some endless hours in Stroger’s ICU waiting room, and it hadn’t changed since I’d been there last. It was empty except for Georgia. She lay on the sofa, sleeping, still wearing her glasses. A book by what was presumably a prominent psychologist lay open on her stomach. She looked exhausted.
I bypassed the waiting room and went to the nurses’ desk. A tired-looking woman in her thirties looked up at me with a frown. “Sir,” she said, “it’s well after visiting hours.”
“I know,” I said. I took my notepad out of my pocket and scribbled a quick note on it. “I’ll go back to the waiting room. The next time you go past Miss Macklin’s room, could you please give this to the gentleman sitting with her?”
The nurse relaxed a little, and gave me a tired smile. “Certainly. It will just be a few minutes.”
“Thanks.”
I went back to the waiting room and settled into a chair. I closed my eyes, leaned my head back against the wall, and drowsed until I heard footsteps on tile.
Billy entered with a rolled-up blanket under his arm, glanced around the room, and nodded to me. Then he went immediately to Georgia. He took her glasses off, very gently, and picked up the book. Georgia never stirred. He put the book on the end table, and her glasses on top of it. Then he took the blanket from under his arm and covered her up. She murmured and stirred, but Billy shushed her quietly and stroked his hand over her hair. She sighed and shifted onto her side, then snuggled down under the blanket.
I reached up a hand and flicked the light switch beside my head. It left the room dim, if not really dark.
Billy smiled his thanks to me, and nodded toward the door. I got up and we walked out into the
hallway together.
“Should have tried to call you sooner,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “I know how it is, man. No apology needed.”
“Okay,” I said, without actually agreeing with him. “How is she?”
“Not good,” he replied simply. “There was internal bleeding. It took two rounds of surgery to get it stopped.” The blocky young man shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “They told us if she makes it through the night, she’ll be out of the worst of it.”
“How are you holding up?”
He shook his head again. “I don’t know, man. I called Kirby’s folks. I was his friend. I had to. The police had already contacted them, but it isn’t the same.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“They took it pretty hard. Kirby was an only child.”
I sighed. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “Kirby knew the risks. He’d rather have died than stand by and do nothing.”
“Georgia?”
“I’d have lost it without her. Pillar of strength and calm,” Billy said. He glanced back toward the waiting room and a smile touched the corners of his eyes. “She’s good at setting things aside until there’s time to deal with them. Once things have settled out, she’ll be a wreck, and it’ll be my turn to hold her up.”
Like I said.
Solid.
“The thing that did Kirby took Thomas Raith,” I said.
“The vampire you work with sometimes?”
“Yeah. As soon as I work out how to find it, I’m taking it down. The vampires are probably going to help—but I might need backup I can trust.”
Billy’s eyes flickered with a sudden fire of rage and hunger. “Yeah?”
I nodded. “It’s part of something bigger. I can’t talk to you about everything that’s going on. And I know Andi needs you here. I understand if you don’t—”
Billy turned his eyes to me, those same dangerous fires smoldering. “Harry, I’m not going to move forward blind anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that for years, I’ve been willing to help you, even though you could barely ever tell me what was actually happening. You’ve played everything close to the chest. And I know you had your reasons for that.” He stopped walking and looked up at me calmly. “Kirby’s dead. Maybe Andi, too.”
My conscience wouldn’t let me meet his gaze, even for an instant. “I know.”
He nodded. “So. If I’d had this conversation with you sooner, maybe they wouldn’t be. Maybe if we’d had a better idea about what’s actually going on in the world, it would have changed how we approached things. They follow my lead, Harry. I have a responsibility to make sure that I do everything in my power to make them aware and safe.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I can see your point.”
“Then if you want my help, things are going to change. I’m not charging ahead blindfolded again. Not ever.”
“Billy,” I said quietly. “This isn’t stuff you can unlearn. Right now, you’re insulated from the worst of what goes on because you’re . . . I don’t want to be insulting, but you’re a bunch of amateurs without enough of a clue to be a real threat to anyone.”
His eyes darkened. “Insulated from the worst?” he asked in a quiet, dangerous voice. “Tell that to Kirby. Tell that to Andi.”
I took several steps away, pinched the bridge of my nose between thumb and forefinger, and closed my eyes, thinking. Billy had a point, of course. I’d been careful to control what information he and the Alphas had gotten from me, in an effort to protect them. And it had worked—for a while.
But now things were different. Kirby’s death had seen to that.
“You’re sure you don’t want to back out?” I asked. “Once you’re part of the scene, you aren’t getting out of it.” I clenched my jaw for a second. “And believe it or not, Billy, yes. You have been insulated from the worst.”
“I’m not backing off on this one, Harry. I can’t.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him fold his arms. “You’re the one who wants our help.”
I pointed a finger at him. “I don’t want it. I don’t want to drag you into what’s going on. I don’t want you walking into more danger and getting hurt.” I sighed. “But . . . there’s a lot at stake, and I think I might need you.”
“Okay, then,” Billy said. “You know what it will cost.”
He stood facing me solidly, tired eyes steady, and I realized something I hadn’t ever made into a tangible thought before: he wasn’t a kid anymore. Not because he’d graduated, and not even because of how capable he was. He’d seen the worst—death, heartless and nasty, come to lay waste to everything it could. He knew in his heart of hearts, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it could come for him, take him as easily as it had taken Kirby.
And he was making a choice to stand his ground.
Billy Borden, kid werewolf, was gone.
Will was choosing to stand with me.
I couldn’t treat him like a child anymore. Will was ignorant of the supernatural world beyond the fairly minor threats that lurked around the University of Chicago. He and the other werewolves had been kids who learned one really neat magic trick, almost ten years before. I hadn’t shared more with them, and the paranormal community in general is careful about what they say to strangers. He had, at best, only a vague idea of the scope of supernatural affairs in general, and he had not the first clue about how hot the water really was around me right now.
Will had picked his ground. I couldn’t keep him in the dark and tell myself that I was protecting him.
I nodded to a few chairs sitting along the wall at a nearby intersection of hallways. “Let’s sit down. I don’t have much time, and there’s a lot to cover. I’ll tell you everything when I get a chance, but for now all I can give you is a highlights reel.”
By the time I got done giving Will the CliffsNotes version of the supernatural world, I still hadn’t come up with a plan. So, working on the theory that the proper answers just needed more time to cook, and that they could do so while I was on the move, I went back to my borrowed car and drove to the next place I should have visited sooner than I had.
Murphy used to have an office at the headquarters of CPD’s Special Investigations department. Then she’d blown off her professional duty as head of the department to cover me during a furball that went bad on an epic scale. She’d nearly lost her job altogether, but Murph was a third-generation cop from a cop clan. She’d managed to gain enough support to hang on to her badge, but she had been demoted to Detective Sergeant and had her seniority revoked—a dead end for her career.
Now her old office was occupied by John Stallings, and Murphy had a desk in the large room that housed SI. It wasn’t a new desk, either. One leg was propped up with a small stack of triplicate report forms. It wasn’t unusual in that room. SI was the bottom of the chute for cops who had earned the wrath of their superiors or, worse, had taken a misstep in the cutthroat world of Chicago city politics. The desks were all battered and old. The walls and floor were worn. The room obviously housed at least twice as many work desks as it had been meant to contain.
It was late. The place was quiet and mostly empty. Whoever was on the night shift must have been out on a call of some kind. Of the three cops in the room, I only knew one of them by name—Murphy’s current partner, a blocky, mildly overweight man in his late fifties, with hair going steadily more silver in sharp contrast to the dark coffee tone of his skin.
“Rawlins,” I said.
He turned to me with a grunt and a polite nod. “Evening.”
“What are you doing here this late?”
“Giving my wife ammunition for when she drags my ass to court to divorce me,” he said cheerfully. “Glad you made it in.”
“Murph around?” I asked.
He grunted. “Interrogation room two, with the British perp. Go on down.”
“Thanks, man.”
I went dow
n the hall and around the corner. To my left was a security gate blocking the way to the building’s holding cells. To the right was a short hallway containing four doors—two to the bathrooms, and two that led to the interrogation rooms. I went to the second room and knocked.
Murphy answered it, still wearing the same clothes she’d been in at the storage park. She looked tired and irritated. She grunted almost as well as Rawlins had, despite her complete lack of a Y-chromosome, and stepped out into the hall, shutting the door behind her.
She looked up and studied my head for a second. “What the hell, Harry?”
“Got a visit from Shagnasty the Skinwalker when I went to talk to Lara Raith. Any trouble with Binder?”
She shook her head. “I figured he’d have a hard time doing whatever he does if he can’t get out of his chair or use his hands. I’ve been sitting with him, too, in case he tried to pull something.”
I lifted an eyebrow, impressed. There hadn’t been time to advise her how to handle Binder safely, but she’d worked it out on her own. “Yeah, that’s a pretty solid method,” I said. “What’s he in for, officially?”
“Officially, I haven’t charged him yet,” she said. “If I need to stick him with something, I can cite trespassing, destruction of property, and assault on a police officer.” She shook her head. “But we can’t keep this close an eye on him forever. If I do press charges, it won’t be long before he’s under lighter security. I don’t even want to think about what could happen if he got to turn those things loose inside a precinct house or prison.”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “Long term, I don’t think you can hold him.”
Her mouth twisted bitterly. “Hate it when I have to let pricks like that walk.”
“Happen much?”
“All the time,” she said. “Legal loopholes, incorrect procedures, crucial evidence declared inadmissible. A lot of perps who are guilty as hell walk out without so much as a reprimand.” She sighed and twitched her shoulders into something like a shrug. “Ah, well. It’s a messed-up world. Whatcha gonna do?”
“I hear that,” I said. “Want to compare notes?”
