Blood Rites df-6

by Jim Butcher

  Special Investigations has its office in one of the clump of mismatched buildings comprising Chicago Police Headquarters. I checked in with the desk sergeant and showed him the consultant's ID card Murphy had given me. The man made me sign in and waved me through. I marched up the stairs and came out on the level housing holding cells and Special Investigations.

  I opened the door to SI and stepped inside. The main room was maybe fifty feet long and twenty wide, and desks were packed into it like sardines. The only cubicle walls in the room were around a small waiting area with a couple of worn old couches and a table with some magazines for bored adults and some toys for bored children. One of them, a plush Snoopy doll spotted with old, dark stains, lay on the floor.

  The puppy stood over it, tiny teeth sunk into one of the doll's ears. He shook his head, his own torn ear flapping, and dragged Snoopy in a little circle while letting out small, squeaky growls. The puppy looked up at me. His tail wagged furiously, and he savaged the doll with even more enthusiasm.

  "Hey," I told him. "Murphy's supposed to be watching you. What are you doing?"

  The puppy growled and shook Snoopy harder.

  "I can see that." I sighed. "Some babysitter she is."

  A tall man, going bald by degrees and dressed in a rumpled brown suit, looked up from his desk. "Hey, there, Harry."

  "Sergeant Stallings," I responded. "Nice moves on Murphy today. The way you slammed her foot with your stomach was inspiring."

  He grinned. "I was expecting her to go for a lock. Woman is a nasty infighter. Everyone tried to tell O'Toole, but he's still young enough to think he's invincible."

  "I think she made her point," I said. "She around?"

  Stallings glanced down the long room at the closed door to Murphy's cheap, tiny office. "Yeah, but you know how she is with paperwork. She's ready to tear someone's head off."

  "Don't blame her," I said, and scooped up the puppy.

  "You get a dog?"

  "Nah, charity case. Murphy was supposed to be keeping an eye on him. Buzz her for me?"

  Stallings shook his head and turned his phone around to face me. "I plan to retire. You do it."

  I grinned and went on down to Murphy's office, nodding to a couple other guys with SI along the way. I knocked on the door.

  "God dammit!" Murphy swore from the other side. "I said not now!"

  "It's Harry," I said. "Just stopping by to get the dog."

  "Oh, God," she snarled. "Back away from the door."

  I did.

  A second later the door opened and Murphy glared up at me, blue eyes bright and cold. "Get more away. I've been fighting this computer all day long. I swear, if you blow out my hard drive again, I'm taking it out of your ass."

  "Why would your hard drive be in my ass?" I said.

  Murphy's eyes narrowed.

  "Ah, hah, hah, heh. Yeah, okay. I'll be going, then."

  "Whatever," she said, and shut her office door hard.

  I frowned. Murphy wasn't really a "whatever" sort of person. I tried to remember the last time I had seen Murphy that short and abrupt. When she'd been in the midst of post-traumatic stress, she'd been remote but not angry. When she was keyed up for a fight or feeling threatened, she'd be furious but she didn't draw away from her friends.

  The only thing that had come close to this was when she thought I was involved in a string of supernatural killings. From where she'd been standing, it looked like I had betrayed her trust, and she had expressed her anger with a right cross that had chipped one of my teeth.

  Something was upsetting her. A lot.

  "Murph?" I asked through the door. "Where did the aliens hide your pod?"

  She opened the door enough to scowl at me. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "No pod, huh. Maybe you're an evil twin from another dimension or something."

  The muscles along her jaw clenched, and her expression promised murder.

  I sighed. "You don't seem to be your usual serf. I'm not an analyst or anything, but you kinda look like something is bothering you. Just maybe."

  She waved a hand. "It's this paperwork-"

  "No, it isn't," I said. "Come on, Murphy. It's me."

  "I don't want to talk about it."

  I shrugged. "Maybe you need to. You're about two steps shy of psychotic right now."

  She reached for her door again, but didn't close it. "Just a bad day."

  I didn't believe her, but I said, "Sure, okay. I'm sorry if the dog added to it."

  Her expression became tired. She leaned against the doorway. "No. No, he was great. Barely made a sound. Quiet as a mouse all day long. Even used the papers I put down."

  I nodded. "You sure you don't want to talk?"

  She grimaced and glanced around the office. "Maybe not here. Walk with me."

  We left and headed down the hall to the vending machines. Murphy didn't say anything until she bought a Snickers bar. "My mom called," she said.

  "Bad news?" I asked.

  "Yeah." She closed her eyes and bit off a third of the candy bar. "Sort of. Not really."

  "Oh," I said, as if her answer made some kind of sense. "What happened?"

  She ate more chocolate and said, "My sister, Lisa, is engaged."

  "Oh," I said. When in doubt, be noncommittal. "I didn't know you had a sister."

  "She's my baby sister."

  "Um. My condolences?" I guessed.

  She glowered at me. "She did this on purpose. With the reunion this weekend. She knew exactly what she was doing."

  "Well, it's a good thing someone knew, 'cause so far I have no freaking clue."

  Murphy finished the candy bar. "My baby sister is engaged. She's going to be showing up this weekend with her fiancй, and I am going to be there without a fiancй or a husband. Or even a boyfriend. My mother will never let me hear the end of it."

  "Well, uh, you had a husband, right? Two of them, even."

  She glared. "The Murphys are Irish Catholic," she said. "My not one but two, count them, two divorces won't exactly wash clean the stigma."

  "Oh. Well, I'm sure whoever you're dating would show up with you, right?"

  She glanced back toward the SI offices. If looks could kill, hers would have blown that section of the building into Lake Michigan. "Are you kidding? I don't have time. I haven't been on a date in two years."

  Maybe I should have gone for the ultimate inept remark, and started singing about how short people got nobody to love. I decided to sting her pride a little instead. She'd reacted well to it before. "The mighty Murphy. Slayer of various and sundry nasty monsters, vampires, and so on-"

  "And trolls," Murphy said. "Two more when you were out of town last summer."

  "Uh- huh. And you're letting a little family shindig get you down like this?"

  She shook her head. "Look. It's a personal thing. Between me and my mom."

  "And your mom is going to think less of you for being single? A career woman?" I regarded her skeptically. "Murphy, don't tell me you're a mama's girl under all the tough-chick persona."

  She stared at me for a moment, exasperation and sadness sharing space on her features. "I'm the oldest daughter," she said. "And… well, the whole time I was growing up, I just assumed that I'd be… her successor, I guess. That I'd follow her example. We both did. It's one of the things that made us close. The whole family knew it."

  "And if your baby sister is all of a sudden more like your mom than you are, what? It threatens your relationship with her?"

  "No," she said, annoyance in her tone. "Not like that. Not really. And sort of. It's complicated."

  "I can see that," I said.

  She slumped against the vending machine. "My mom is pretty cool," Murphy said. "But it's been hard to stay close to her the past few years. I mean, the job keeps me busy. She doesn't think I should have divorced my second husband, and that's been between us a little. And I've changed. The past couple of years have been scary. I learned more than I wanted to know."


  I winced. "Yeah. Well. I tried to warn you about that."

  "You did," she said. "I made my choice. I can handle living with it. But I can't exactly sit down and chat with her about it. So it's one more thing that I can't talk about with, my mother. Little things, you know? A lot of them. Pushing us apart."

  "So talk to her," I said. "Tell her there's stuff you can't talk about. Doesn't mean you don't want to be around her."

  "I can't do that."

  I blinked. "Why not?"

  "Because I can't," she said. "It just doesn't work like that."

  Murphy had genuine worry on her face and actual tears in her eyes, and I started feeling out of my depth. Maybe because it was a family thing. It seemed like something completely alien, and I didn't get it.

  Murphy was worried about being close to her mom. Murphy should just go talk to her mom, right? Bite the bullet and clear the air. With anyone else she'd have handled the problem exactly that way.

  But I've noticed that people get the most irrational whenever family was around-while simultaneously losing their ability to distinguish reason from insanity. I call it familial dementia.

  I may not have understood the problem, but Murphy was my friend. She was obviously hurting, and that's all I really needed to know. "Look, Murph, maybe you're making more of it than you need to. I mean, seems to me that if your mom cares about you, she'd be as willing as you are to talk."

  "She doesn't approve of my career," Murphy said tiredly. "Or my decision to live alone, once I was divorced. We've already done all the talking on those subjects and neither one of us is going to budge."

  Now that I could understand. I'd been on the receiving end of Murphy's stubborn streak before, and I had a chipped tooth to show for it. "So you haven't shown up at the reunion, where you'd see her and have to avoid all kinds of awkward topics, for the past two years."

  "Something like that," Murphy said. "People are talking. And we're all Murphys, so sooner or later someone is going to start giving unasked-for advice, and then it will be a mess. But I don't know what to do. My sister getting engaged is going to get everyone talking about subjects I'd rather slash my wrists than discuss with my uncles and cousins."

  "So don't go," I said.

  "And hurt my mom's feelings a little more," she said. "Hell, probably make people talk even more than if I was there."

  I shook my head. "Well. You're right about one thing. I don't understand it, Murph."

  "'S okay," she said.

  "But I wish I did," I said. "I wish I worried about my uncle's opinions, and had problems to work out with my mom. Hell, I'd settle for knowing what her voice sounded like." I put a hand on her shoulder. "Trite but true-you don't know what you have until it's gone. People change. The world changes. And sooner or later you lose people you care about. If you don't mind some advice from someone who doesn't know much about families, I can tell you this: Don't take yours for granted. It might feel like all of them will always be there. But they won't."

  She looked down, so that I wouldn't see a tear fall, I guess.

  "Talk to her, Karrin."

  "You're probably right," she said, nodding. "So I'm not going to kill you for shoving your well-intentioned opinion down my throat in a vulnerable moment. Just this once."

  "That's decent of you," I said.

  She took a deep breath, flicked a hand at her eyes, and looked up with a more businesslike face. "You're a good friend, putting up with this crap. I'll make it up to you sometime."

  "Funny you should say that," I said.

  "Why?"

  "I'm scouting out a money trail, but the information I'm after is apparently on the Internet. Could you hit a few sites for me, help me get my hands on it?"

  "Yes."

  "Gracias." I passed her the addresses and gave her a brief rundown of what I was looking for. "I'm going to be out and about. I'll call you in an hour or two?"

  She sighed and nodded. "Did you find the vampires?"

  "Not yet, but I got some backup."

  "Who?" she asked.

  "Guy named Kincaid. He's tough."

  "A wizard?"

  "No. One of those soldier of fortune types. Pretty good vampire slayer."

  Murphy arched a brow. "Is he clean?"

  "As far as I know," I said. "I should hear from our wheelman tonight. With luck, I'll find the lair and we'll hit them."

  "Hey, if it just so happens that we have to go after them on-"

  "Saturday," I finished for her. "I know."

  I left, and told the pup my theory about familial dementia on the way down the stairs. "It's just a theory, mind you. But it's got the support of a ton of empirical evidence." I felt a quiet pang of sadness as I spoke. Family troubles were something I hadn't ever had. Wouldn't ever have. Murphy's problems with family might have been complicated and unpleasant, but at least they existed.

  Every time I thought I had gotten through my orphan baggage, something like this came up. Maybe I didn't want to admit how much it still hurt. Not even to myself.

  I scratched the pup's notched ear as I walked out to the Beetle. "My theory is just theoretical," I told him. "Because how the hell should I know?"

  Chapter Twelve

  I swung past my apartment to grab lunch, a shower, and some clothes without so much blood on them. A beaten-up old Rabbit had lost a game of bumper tag with a Suburban, and traffic was backed up for a mile. As a result, I got back to the set a few minutes late.

  A vaguely familiar girl with a clipboard met me at the door. She wasn't old enough to drink, but made up for a lack of maturity with what I could only describe as a gratuitous amount of perkiness. She was pretty, more awkwardly skinny than sleek, and had skin the color of cream. Her dark hair was done up in Princess Leia cinnamon rolls, and she wore jeans, a peasant-style blouse, and clunky-looking sandals. "Hi!" she said.

  "Hi, yourself."

  She checked her clipboard. "You must be Harry, then. You're the only one left, and you're late."

  "I was on time this morning."

  "That makes you half as good as a broken watch. You should be proud." She smiled again to let me know she was teasing. "Didn't I see you talking to Justine at Arturo's party?"

  "Yeah, I was there. Had to leave before I turned into a pumpkin."

  She laughed and stuck out her hand. "I'm Inari. I'm an associate production assistant."

  I shook her hand. She wore some light, sweet scent that I liked, something that reminded me of buzzing locusts and lazy summer nights. "Nice to meet you-unless you're stealing my job. You're not a scab, are you?"

  Inari grinned, and it transformed her face from moderately attractive to lovely. She had great dimples. "No. As an associate gofer, I'm down the ladder from you. I think your job is safe." She checked a plastic wristwatch. "Oh, God, we need to get moving. Arturo asked me to take you to his office as soon as you got here. This way."

  "What's he want?"

  "Beats me," Inari said. She started a brisk walk, and I had to lengthen my steps to keep up with her as she led me deeper into the building. She nipped to a second page and took a pen from behind one hair-bun. "Oh, what would you like on your vegetarian pizza?"

  "Dead pigs and cows," I said.

  She glanced up at me and wrinkled her nose.

  "They're vegetarians," I said defensively.

  She looked skeptical. "With all the hormones and things they put in meats, you know that they're having a number of very bad effects on you. Right? Do you know the kind of long-term damage fatty meats can do to your intestinal tract?"

  "I choose to exercise my status as an apex predator. And I laugh in the face of cholesterol."

  "With an attitude like that, you're going to wind up with bulletproof arteries."

  "Bring it."

  Inari shook her head, her expression pleasant and unyielding. "Everyone decided they wanted to stick with veggies when I order. If someone has meat, the grease will get all over the rest of the pizza, so they settled on veggies."


  "Then I guess I will too."

  "But what do you want on yours? I mean, I'm supposed to make everyone happy here."

  "Kill me some animals, then," I said. "It's a protein thing."

  "Oh, you should have said," Inari replied, smiling at me. We stopped in front of a door and she scribbled on her clipboard. "Some extra cheese, maybe some beans and corn. Or wait. Tofu. Protein. I'll fix you up."

  Bean- curd pizza, good grief. I should raise my rates. "You do that." The puppy stirred in my pocket and I stopped. "Here, there's something you could help me with."

  She tilted her head at me. "Oh?"

  I reached into my pocket and drew the pup out. He was sleeping, every inch of him completely limp. "Could you keep my friend company while I talk to Arturo?"

  The girl melted with adoration the way only girls can, and took the pup, cradling him in the crook of her arm and crooning to him. "Oh, he's so sweet. What's his name?"

  "No name," I said. "Just watching him for a day or three. He might be hungry or thirsty when he wakes up."

  "I love dogs," she replied. "I'll take good care of him."

  "Appreciate it."

  She started to walk away. "Oh, Harry, I almost forgot. What do you want to drink? Is Coke okay?"

  I eyed her suspiciously. "It isn't noncaffeinated, is it?"

  She arched a brow. "I'm health-conscious, not insane."

  "Dear child," I said. She gave me another sunny smile and jounced off down the hall, holding the pup as if he were made of glass. I went into the office.

  Arturo Genosa was inside, sitting on the corner of a desk. His silver hair looked rumpled, and a half-smoked cigar smoldered in a thick ashtray beside him. He summoned up a tired smile for me as I came in. "Hey, Harry." He came over and gave me one of those manly Mediterranean hugs, the kind that leave bruises. "God bless you, Mister Dresden. Without you there, I think we would have lost them both. Thank you."

  He kissed me on either cheek. I'm not a kissy-huggy type, really, but I figured it was another manly European affection thing. Either that or he'd just marked me for death. I stepped back and said, "The girl going to be all right?"