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Title : standard furniture jessica desk

standard furniture jessica desk

"i haven't annoyed anyone new lately," murphysaid. "neither have i." "you've annoyed a lot more people than me,in toto." "in toto?" i said. "who talks like that? besides, car bombs aren't really within…within the, uh…" "idiom?" murphy asked, with what might have been avery slight british accent.

"idiom!" i declared in my best john cleese impersonation. "the idiom of the entities i've ticked off. and you're really turning me on with the montypython reference." "you're pathetic, harry." her smile faded. "but a car bomb is well within the idiom ofex-cons," she said. "mrs. beckitt was inside with us the wholetime, remember?" "and mr. beckitt?"

murphy asked. "oh," i said. "ah. think he's out by now?" "i think we've got some things to find out,"she said. "you'd better go." "i should?" "i'm not on the clock, remember?" murphy said.

"it's my car. simpler if there's only one person answeringall the questions." "right," i said, and pushed myself up. "which end do you want?" "i'll take our odd corpse out and the beckitts,"she said. i offered her a hand up. she took it, which meant more to the two ofus than it would to anyone looking on. "and you?" i sighed.

"i'll talk to my brother." "i'm sure he's not involved," murphy saidquietly. "but…" "but he knows the incubus business," i said,which wasn't what murphy had been about to say. it might have drawn an anger response outof me, but rationally speaking, i couldn't blame her for her suspicion, either. she was a cop. she'd spent her entire adult life dealingwith the most treacherous and dishonest portions

of the human condition. speaking logically, she was right to suspectand question until more information presented itself. people's lives were at stake. but thomas was my brother, my blood. logic and rationality had little to do withit. the first emergency unit, a patrolling policecar, rounded the corner a couple of blocks away. fire trucks weren't far behind.

"time to go," murphy said quietly. "i'll see what i can find out," i told her,and walked away. i took the el back to my neighborhood on highalert, watching for anyone who might be following, lying in wait, or otherwise planning maliciousdeeds involving me. i didn't see anyone doing any of those thingson the el, or as i walked to my apartment in the basement of an old boardinghouse. once there, i walked down a sunken concretestaircase to my front door—one of those nifty all-metal security doors—and witha muttered word and an effort of will, i disarmed the wards that protected my home.

then i used a key to open its conventionallocks, and slipped inside. mister promptly hurtled into my shins witha shoulder block of greeting. the big grey cat weighed about thirty pounds,and the impact actually rocked me back enough to let my shoulder blades bump against thedoor. i reached down and gave his ears a quick rub. mister purred, walking in circles around oneof my legs, then sidled away and hopped up onto a bookshelf to resume the important businessof napping away a summer afternoon in wait for the cool of evening. an enormous mound of shaggy grey-and-blackfur appeared from the shadows in the little

linoleum-floored alcove that passed for mykitchen. it walked over to me, yawning as it came,its tail wagging in relaxed greeting. i hunkered down as my dog sat and thrust hishead toward me, and i vigorously scratched his ears and chin and the thick ruff of furover his neck with both hands. "mouse. all quiet on the home front, boy?" his tail wagged some more, jaw dropping opento expose a lethal array of very white teeth, and his tongue lolled out in a doggy grin, "oh, i forgot the mail," i said.

"you mind getting it?" mouse promptly rose, and i opened the door. he padded out in total silence. mouse moves lightly for a rhinoceros. i crossed my floor of mismatched carpets andrugs to slump into the easy chair by the old fireplace. i picked up my phone and dialed thomas's number. no answer. i glared at the phone for a minute and, becausei wasn't sure what else to do, i tried it

again. no one answered. what were the odds. i chewed on my lip for a minute and beganto worry about my brother. mouse returned a moment later—long enoughto have gone out to the designated dog-friendly little area in the house's yard. he had several bits of mail held gently inhis mouth, and he dropped them carefully onto the surface of the old wooden coffee tablein front of my sofa. then he went over to the door and leaned ashoulder against it.

it hadn't been installed quite right, andit was a real pain in the ass to open, and once it was open it was a pain in the assto close. mouse shoved at the door with a little snortof familiar effort and it swung to. then he came back over to settle down by me. "thanks, boy." i grabbed the mail, scratched his ears again,and flicked to life several candles on the end table next to the recliner with a mutteredspell. "bills," i reported to him, going throughthe mail. "more bills.

junk mail. another best buy catalog, jesus, those peoplewon't give up. larry fowler's new lawyer." i put the unopened envelope against my foreheadand closed my eyes. "he's threatening me with another variationon the same lawsuit." i opened the letter and skimmed it, then tossedit on the floor. "it's as if i'm psychic." i opened the drawer in the end table, feltabout with my fingertips, and withdrew a single silver metallic key, the only one on a ringmarked with an oval of blue plastic that sported

my business card's logo: harry dresden. wizard. paranormal investigations. consulting, advice, reasonable rates. i looked at the key. thomas had given it to me, in case i shouldneed to show up at his place in an emergency. he had a key to my place, too, even afterhe'd moved out. there had been a tacit understanding betweenus. the keys were there in case one or the otherof us needed help.

they had not been given so that one or theother of us could go snooping uninvited around the other one's home and life. (though i suspected that thomas had lookedin on my place a few times, hoping to figure out how the place managed to get so clean. he'd never caught my housekeeping browniesat work, and he never would. they're pros. the only drawback to having faerie housekeepersis that you can't tell people about them. if you do, they're gone, and no, i don't knowwhy.) the faces of the dead women drifted throughmy thoughts, and i sighed and closed my fingers

around the key. "okay, boy," i said. "time to go visit thomas." mouse rose up expectantly, his tags jingling,his tail thrashing energetically. mouse liked going for rides in the car. he trotted over to the door, pulled his leaddown from where it hung on the doorknob, and brought it over to me. "hang on," i told him. "i need the arsenal."

i hate it when bad business goes down in summer. i put on my torturously warm leather duster. i figured i could take death from heat prostrationto whole new levels given the potential presence of further firebombs. and that could land me a spot in the guinnessbook of world records. maybe even a darwin award. see there? that's called positive thinking. i put on my new and improved shield bracelet,too, and slipped three silver rings onto the

fingers of my right hand. i snagged my blasting rod, clipped mouse'slead on, took up my staff, and tromped on out to the car. i told mouse to stay back while i approachedthe blue beetle, my battered, often-repaired, mismatched volkswagen bug. i looked all around it, then lay down to checkthe vehicle's undercarriage. i looked at the trunk and under the hood next. i even examined it for traces of hostile magic. i didn't find anything that resembled a bombor looked dangerous, unless you counted the

half-eaten taco bell burrito that had somehowgotten tossed into the trunk about six months ago. i opened the door, whistled for mouse, andoff we went to invade my brother's privacy. i hadn't actually visited thomas's place before,and i was a little taken aback when i got there. i had assumed that the street address wasto one of the new buildings in cabrini green, where urban renewal had been shoved down thethroat of the former slum by the powers that be—largely because it bordered on the goldcoast, the most expensive section of town, and the second-highest-income neighborhoodin the world.

the neighborhood around the green had becomeslowly more tolerable, and the newer apartment buildings that had replaced the old were fairlynice. but thomas's apartment wasn't in one of thosebuildings. he was across the street, living in the goldcoast. when mouse and i got to the right apartmentbuilding, twilight was fading fast and i felt underdressed. the doorman's shoes were nicer than any iowned. i opened the outer door with thomas's keyand marched to the elevators, mouse walking smartly at heel.

the doorman watched me, and i spotted twosecurity cameras between the front door and the elevator. security would have a pretty good idea whowas a resident and who wasn't—and an extremely tall and gangly man in a black coat with nearlytwo hundred pounds of dog with him wouldn't be something they forgot. so i tried to stall them with body language,walking the walk of the impatient and confident in the hopes that it would make the securityguys hesitate. either it worked or the building's securitypeople were getting paid too much. no one challenged me, and i took the elevatorto the sixteenth floor and walked down the

hall to thomas's apartment. i unlocked the door, gave it a couple of knocks,and then opened it without waiting. i slipped in with mouse, and found the lightswitch beside the door before i closed it. thomas's apartment was… well. chic. the door opened onto a living room biggerthan my entire apartment—which, granted, will never cause anxiety to agoraphobics. the walls were painted a deep crimson, andthe carpeting was a rich charcoal grey. the furniture all matched, from the sofasto the chairs to the entertainment centers,

all of it done in stainless steel and black,and a little more art deco than i would have preferred. he had a tv too big ever to fit into the beetle,and a dvd player and surround sound and racks of dvds and cds. one of the newer video game systems restedneatly on a shelf, all its wires squared away and organized. two movie posters decorated the walls: thewizard of oz and the pirates of penzance, the one with kevin kline as the pirate king. well.

it was good to see that my brother was doingwell for himself. though i had to wonder what he was doing thatpulled down the kind of money this place would require- the kitchen was like the living room—a lotof the same stainless steel and black in the appliances, though the walls had been paintedwhite, as was the expensive tile floor. everything was pristine. no dirty dishes, no half-open cupboards, nofood stains, no papers lying about. every single horizontal surface in the placewas empty and sanitized. i checked the cupboards.

the dishes stood in neat stacks, perfectlyfitted to their storage in the cupboard. none of which made sense. thomas had a lot of positive qualities, butmy brother was a fairly shameless slob. "i get it now. he's dead," i said aloud to mouse. "my brother is dead, and he's been replacedwith some kind of obsessive-compulsive evil clone." i checked the fridge. i couldn't help it.

it's one of those things you do when you'resnooping through someone's house. it was empty, except for one of those boxesof wine, and about fifty bottles of thomas's favorite beer, one of mac's microbrewed ales. mac would have killed thomas for keeping itcold. he would have scowled in disapproval, anyway. for mac, that was tantamount to a homicidalreaction in other people. i checked the freezer. it was packed, wall to wall, with tv mealsin neat stacks. there were three different meals, stackedup in alternating order.

there was room for maybe nine or ten more,and i presumed the others eaten. thomas probably went shopping only every coupleof months. that was more like him—beer, food cookedby pushing one button on a microwave. no dishes needed, and the drawer nearest thefreezer yielded up a container of plastic forks and knives. eat. discard. no cooking or cleaning necessary. i looked around at the rest of the kitchen,then at the fridge and freezer.

then i went down the little hall that ledto two bedrooms and a bath, and snorted in triumph. the bathroom was in total disarray, with toothbrushesand various grooming supplies tossed here and there, apparently at random. a couple of empty beer bottles sat out. the floor was carpeted with discarded clothing. several half-used rolls of toilet paper sataround, with an empty cardboard tube still on the dispenser. i checked in the first bedroom.

it, too, was more thomas's style. there was a king-sized bed with no head orfoot, only the metal frame to support it. it had white sheets, several pillows in whitecases, and a big, dark blue comforter on top. all of them were disheveled. the closet door stood open, and more clotheslay around on the floor. two laundry baskets of fresh, neatly foldedand ironed clothing (mostly empty) sat on a dresser with three of its drawers slightlyopen. there was a bookshelf haphazardly saturatedwith fiction of every description, and a clock radio.

a pair of swords, one of them an old u.s.cavalry saber, the other a more musketeer-looking weapon, were leaned against the wall, wherethey'd be more or less within reach of anyone in the bed. i went back to the hall and shook my headat the rest of the apartment. "it's a disguise," i told mouse. "the front of the apartment. he wants it to give a certain impression. he makes sure no one gets to see the rest." mouse tilted his head and looked at me.

"maybe i should just leave him a note." the phone rang, and i about jumped out ofmy skin. after i made sure i wasn't having a cardiacepisode, i padded back out to the living room, debating whether or not to answer it. i decided not to. it was probably building security callingto check up on the stranger who had walked in with a pet woolly mammoth. if i answered and thomas wasn't here, theymight get suspicious. more suspicious.

if i let them eat answering machine, they'dstill be uncertain. i waited. the answering machine beeped, and my brother'srecorded voice said, "you know the drill." it beeped again. a woman's voice poured out of the answeringmachine like warm honey. "thomas," she said. she had a polyglot of a european accent, andpronounced his name "toe-moss," accent on the second syllable. "thomas," she continued.

"it is alessandra, and i am desperate foryou. please, i need to see you tonight. i know that there are others, that there areso many others, but i can't stand it anymore, and i must have you." her tone lowered, thick with sensuality. "there is no one, no one else who can do forme what you do. do not disappoint me, i beg you." she left her number, and her voice made itsound like foreplay. by the time she hung up, i had begun to feeluncomfortably voyeuristic for listening.

i sighed and told mouse, "i so need to getlaid." at least now i knew what thomas had been feedinghis hunger. alessandra and "so many others" must be supplyinghim. i felt… ambiguous about that. he could feed the demonic portion of his natureon many different victims, effectively spreading out the damage he inflicted upon them in abid to avoid fatally overfeeding upon any one of them. even so, it meant that there were a numberof lives who had been tainted by his embrace, women who had become addicted to the sensationof being fed upon—who were now under his

influence, subject to his control. it was power, of a sort, and power tends tocorrupt. wielding such authority over others wouldprovide a great many temptations. and thomas had been distant of late. very distant. i took a deep breath and said, "don't getcarried away, harry. he's your brother. innocent until proven guilty, right? "right," i replied to myself.

i decided to leave thomas a note. i didn't have any paper handy. the stylishly sterile kitchen and living roomyielded none—nor did the bedroom. i shook my head, muttering about people whocouldn't organize their way out of a paper bag, and checked in the second bedroom. i flicked on the light, and my heart stopped. the room looked like the office of rambo'saccountant. there was a desk and computer against onewall. tables lined two of the other walls.

one of them was dedicated to the neatly organizeddisassembly of a pair of weapons—submachine guns i didn't recognize right away. i did, however, recognize the kit for home-convertingthe weapons from legal semiautomatics to fully illegal automatics. a second table looked like a workbench, withthe necessary tools to modify weapons and custom-assemble ammunition. it would not be difficult to create explosivedevices, such as pipe bombs, with what he had there, if the heavy storage containersunder the table contained, as i suspected, explosive compounds.

a nasty thought went through my mind: theycould just as easily be used to create incendiaries. one wall was covered with corkboard. there were papers tacked up on it. maps. photographs. i walked over to the photos with heavy, reluctantfeet. there were photos of dead women. i recognized them all. the victims.

the photos were those instamatic kind. they were a little grainy, the images litby the harsh glare of a flashbulb, but they covered many of the same angles as the policephotos. there was one difference, though. the police photos had all been neatly indexed,with small placards with large, printed numbers appearing in each shot, accompanied by a meticulouswritten diagram recording their relative positions and what they showed, locking the scene downfor future reference. thomas's photos did not have any such placards. which meant that they could only have beentaken before the police got there.

holy shit. what was my brother thinking? leaving all of this stuff sitting out herelike this? anyone who came by with an only slightly biasedpoint of view would come to the conclusion that he had been at all of those sites beforethe police. that he was a killer. i mean, i was his brother, and even i thoughtthat it looked damned peculiar… "hell's bells." i sighed to mouse.

"can this day get any worse?" a heavy, confident hand delivered a shortseries of knocks to the apartment's door. "security," called a man's voice. "here with chicago police. open the door, please, sir." chapter eight i had only a few seconds to think. if security had called in a cop, they werethinking i might be trouble. if i came off as something suspicious, they'dprobably take a look around as a matter of

course. if that happened, and they found what wasin my brother's war room, i'd be buying us both more kinds of trouble than i could count. i needed a lie. a really good, really believable lie. i shut the door to thomas's war room and bedroomand stared around the immaculate, stylish, tracklit living room, trying to think of one. i stared at dorothy, the tin man, the scarecrow,and the cowardly lion, looking for inspiration. nothing.

the pirate king, with his white shirt manfullyopen to his waist, didn't give me any ideas either. and then it hit me. thomas had already established the lie. he'd used it before, no less—and it wasjust his style of camouflage, too. all i had to do was play up to it. "i can't believe i'm about to do this," itold mouse. then i set my coat and staff aside, took adeep breath, flounced to the door, opened it, and demanded, "he sent you, didn't he?

don't try to lie to me!" a patrol cop—god, she looked young—regardedme with a polite, bored expression. "um, sir?" "thomas!" i snarled, pronouncing it the same way asthe woman on the answering machine. "he's not man enough to have come to meetme himself, is he? he sent his bully boys to do it for him!" the cop let out a long-suffering breath. "sir, please, let's stay calm here."

she turned to the building's security guy,a nervous-looking, balding man in his forties. "now, according to building security, youaren't a known resident, but you've entered with a key. it's standard procedure for them to ask afew questions." "questions?" it was hard not to lisp. so hard. but that might have been too much. i settled for saying everything in my murphyimpersonation voice.

"why don't you start with why he hasn't calledme? hmm? after giving me his spare key? ask him why he hasn't come to visit the baby!" i pointed an accusatory finger at mouse. "ask him what excuse he has this time!" the cop looked as if she had a headache. she blinked at me once, lifted a hand to hermouth, coughed, and stepped aside, gesturing to the security guy

he blinked a few times. "sir," the security man said. "um, it's just that mr. raith hasn't actuallylisted with building security any one he's given access to his apartment." "he'd better not have!" "i have given him years, years, and i willnot be cast aside like last season's shoes!" i shook my head and told the young cop, inan aside voice, "never date a beautiful man. it isn't worth what you have to put up with." "i'm sorry to, um, intrude.

but part of what our residents pay for issecurity. may i see your key, please?" "i can't believe that he never even…" i trailed off into a mutter, got the key outof my coat pocket, and showed it to him. the security guy took it, squinted at it,and checked a number on its back against a list on his clipboard. "this is one of the resident's original keys,"he confirmed. "that's right. thomas gave it to me," i said.

"i see," the security man said. "um. would you mind if i saw some photo id, sir? i'll put a copy in our file, so this won't,um… happen again." i was going to kill my brother later. "of course not, sir," i assured him, tryingto appear mollified and reluctantly willing to be gracious. i got out my wallet and handed him my driver'slicense. the cop glanced at it as it went by.

"i'll be right back," he told me, and hustledtoward the elevator. "sorry about this," the cop told me. "they get paid to be a little paranoid." "not your fault, officer," i told her. she regarded me thoughtfully for a moment. "so, you and the owner are, uh…" "we're something." "you can never get the pretty ones to comeout and say exactly, can you?" "not generally, no," she said.

her tone of voice stayed steady, her expressionmild, but i knew a poker face when i saw one. "do you mind if i ask what you're doing here?" i had to be careful. the young cop wasn't dumb. she thought she smelled a rat. i gestured forlornly at the dog. "we were living together in a tiny littleplace. we got a dog and didn't know he was goingto get so big. thomas was feeling crowded, so he moved intohis own place, and…"

i shrugged and tried to look like murphy didwhen talking about her exes. "we were supposed to switch off every month,but he always had some excuse. he didn't want the dog slobbering around hislittle neat-freak world." i gestured at the apartment. the cop looked around and nodded politely. "nice place." but she hadn't been convinced. not completely. i saw her putting a few thoughts together,formulating more questions.

mouse pulled it out of the fire for me. he padded over to the door, looked up at thecop. "good lord, he's huge," the cop said. she leaned slightly away from him. "oh, he's a big softie, isn't he," i croonedto him, and ruffled his ears. mouse gave her a big doggy grin, sat, andoffered her one of his paws. she laughed and shook. she let mouse sniff the back of her hand,and then scratched his ears herself. "you know dogs," i said.

"i'm in training for one of the k-9 units,"she confirmed. "he likes you," i said. "that's unusual. he's usually a great big chicken." she smiled. "oh, i think dogs can tell when someone likesthem. they're smarter about that kind of thing thanpeople give them credit for." "god knows, that seems to be smarter thani can ever manage." "what kind of dogs do they use at the k-9units?"

"oh, it varies a great deal," she said, andstarted in on talking about candidates for police dogs. i kept her going with a couple of questionsand a lot of interested nodding, and mouse demonstrated his ability to sit and lie downand roll over. by the time the security guy and his apologeticexpression got back, mouse was sprawled on his back, paws waving languidly in the air,while the cop scratched his tummy and told me a pretty good dog story about her own childhoodand an encounter with a prowler. "sir," he said, handing my key and licenseback and trying not to look like he was carefully not touching me.

"i apologize for the inconvenience, but asyou are not a resident here, it is standard procedure for visitors to check in with thesecurity personnel at the entrance when entering or leaving the building." "this is just typical of him," i said. "forgetting something like this. i probably should have called ahead and madesure he'd told you." "i'm sorry," he said. "i hate to inconvenience you. but until we do have that written authorizationfrom mr. raith that he wishes you to have

full access, i need to ask you to leave. i know it's just paperwork, but i'm afraidthere's no way around it." "typical. just typical. and i understand you're just doing your job,sir. let me go to the bathroom and i'll be rightdown." "perfectly all right," he told me. "officer." the cop stood up from mouse and gave me alingering look.

then she nodded, and the pair of them headedback down the hall. i let mouse back in, then closed the doormost of the way and listened, narrowing the focus of my attention until nothing existedbut sound and silence. "are you sure?" the cop asked the securityguy. "oh, absolutely," he said. "toe-moss," he said, emphasizing the pronunciation,"is as queer as a three-dollar bill." "he have any other men here?" "once or twice," the man said. "this tall one is new, but he does have oneof the original keys."

"he could have stolen it," the cop said. "an nba-sized gay burglar who works with adog?" the security guy replied. "we'll make sure he's not stealing the fridgewhen he comes out. if raith is missing anything, we'll pointhim right at this guy. we've got him on video, eyewitnesses puttinghim in the apartment, a copy of his driver's license, for crying out loud." "if they're in a relationship," the cop said,"how come this raith guy never cleared his boyfriend?" "you know how queers are, the way they sleeparound," the security guy said.

"he was just covering his ass." "so to speak," the cop said. security guy missed the irony in her tone,and let out a smug chuckle. "like i said. we'll watch him." "do that," the cop said. "i don't like it, but if you're sure." "i don't want a jilted queen making a bigscene. no one wants that."

"heavens, no," the cop said, her tone flat. i eased the door shut and said to mouse, "thankgod for bigotry." mouse tilted his head at me. "bigots see something they expect and thenthey stop thinking about what is in front of them," i told him. "it's probably how they got to be bigots inthe first place." mouse looked unenlightened and undisturbedby it. "we've only got a couple of minutes if i wantthem to stay complacent," i said quietly. i looked around the apartment for a minute,"no note," i said.

"not necessary now." i went back to the war room, turned on thelight, and stared at the huge corkboard wall with its maps, notes, pictures, and diagrams. there was no time to make sense of it. i closed my eyes for a moment, lowered certainmental defenses i'd held in place for a considerable while, and cast a thought into the vaultsof my mind: take a memo. then i stepped up to the wall and scannedmy eyes over it, not really stopping to take in any information. i caught glimpses of each photo and pieceof paper.

it took me maybe a minute. then i turned the lights back out, gatheredmy things, and left. i breezed out of the elevators, stopping atthe security guy's desk. he nodded at me and waved me out, and mouseand i departed the building, secure in our heterosexuality. then i went back to my car and headed hometo seek counsel from a fallen angel. chapter nine i picked up some burgers, four for me andfour for mouse, and went home. i got onion rings, too, but mouse didn't getany because my class-four hazmat suit was

at the cleaners. mister, of course, got an onion ring, becausehe has seniority. he ate some, batted the rest around the kitchenfloor for a minute, then mrowled to be let outside for his evening ramble. by the time i'd eaten it was after ten, andi was entertaining thoughts of putting off more investigation until after a full night'ssleep. pulling all-nighters was getting to be moredifficult than it had been when i was twenty and full of what my old mentor ebenezar mccoywould term "vinegar." staying awake wasn't the issue: if anything,it was far easier to ignore fatigue and maintain

concentration these days. recovering from it was a different story. i didn't bounce back from sleep deprivationquite as quickly as i used to, and a missed night's sleep tended to make me grouchy fora couple of days while i got caught up. too, my body was still recovering from waytoo many injuries suffered in previous cases. if i'd been a normal human being, i'd probablybe walking around with a collection of scars, residual pain, and stiff joints, like an nfllineman at the tail end of an injury-plagued career, or a boxer who had been hit too manytimes. but i wasn't normal.

whatever it is that allows me to use magicalso gives me a greatly enhanced life span—and an ability to eventually recover from injuriesthat would, in a normal person, be permanently disabling. that didn't really help me much on an immediate,day-to-day basis, but given what my body's gone through, i'm just as glad that i couldget better, with enough work and enough time. losing a hand is bad for anyone. living for three or four centuries with onehand would, in the words of my generation, blow goats. sleep would be nice.

but thomas might need my help. i'd get plenty of sleep when i was dead. i glanced at my maimed hand, then picked upmy old acoustic guitar and sat down on the sofa. i flicked some candles to life and, concentratingon my left hand, began to practice. simple scales first, then a few other exercisesto warm up, then some quiet play. my hand was nowhere close to one hundred percent,but it was a lot better than it had been, and i had finally drilled enough basics intomy fingers to allow me to play a little. mouse lifted his head and looked at me.

he let out a very quiet sigh. then he heaved himself to his feet from wherehe'd been sleeping and padded into my bedroom. he nudged the door shut with his nose. everybody's a critic. "okay, lash," i said, and kept playing. "let's talk." "lash?" said a quiet woman's voice. "do i merit an affectionate nickname now?" one minute there was no one sitting in therecliner facing the sofa.

the next, a woman sat there, poof, just likemagic. she was tall, six feet or so, and built likean athlete. generally, when she appeared to me, she appearedas a healthy-looking young woman with girl-next-door good looks, dressed in a white greco-romantunic that fell to midthigh. plain leather sandals had covered her feet,their thongs wrapping up around her calves. her hair color had changed occasionally, butthe outfit had remained a constant. "given the fact that you're a fallen angel,literally older than time and capable of thought and action i can't really comprehend, whereasto you i am a mere mortal with a teeny bit more power than most, i thought of it moreas a thinly veiled bit of insolence."

i smiled at her. "lash." she tilted her head back and laughed, to allappearances genuinely amused. "from you, it is perhaps not as insultingas it might be from another mortal. and, after all, i am not in fact that being. i am only her shadow, her emissary, a figmentof your own perception, and a guest within your mind." "guests get invited," i said. "you're more like a vacuum cleaner salesmanwho managed to talk his way inside for a demonstration

and just won't leave." "touche, my host," she admitted. "though i would like to think i have beenboth more helpful and infinitely more courteous than such an individual." "granted," i said. "it doesn't change anything about being unwelcome." "then rid yourself of me. take up the coin, and i will rejoin the restof myself, whole again. you will be well rid of me."

i snorted. "yeah. up until big sister gets into my head, turnsme into her psychotic boy toy, and i wind up a monster like the rest of the denarians." lasciel, the fallen angel whose full beingwas currently bound in an old roman denarius in my basement, held up a mollifying hand,"have i not given you sufficient space? have i not done as you asked, remained silentand still? when is the last time i have intruded, thelast time we spoke, my host?" i hit a bad chord, grimaced, and muted itout.

then i started over. "new mexico. and that wasn't by choice." "of course it was," she said. "it is always your choice." i shook my head. "i don't speak ghoul. as far as i know, no one does." "none of you have ever lived in ancient sumeria,"lasciel said.

i ignored her. "i had to have answers from the ghoul to getthose kids back. there was no time for anything else. you were a last resort." "and tonight?" she asked. "am i a last resort tonight?" the next couple of chords came out hard andloud. "it's thomas." she folded her hands in her lap and regardedone of the nearby candles.

"ah, yes," she said, more quietly. "you care for him a great deal." "he's my blood," i said. "allow me to rephrase the observation. you care for him to an irrational degree." she tilted her head and studied me. "why?" i spoke in a slower voice. "he's my blood."

"i understand your words, but they don't meananything." "they wouldn't," i said. "not to you." she frowned at that and looked at me, herexpression mildly disturbed. "i see." "no," i said. "you don't. you can't." her expression became remote and blank, hergaze returning to the candle.

"do not be too sure, my host. i, too, had brothers and sisters. once upon a time." i stared at her for a second. god, she sounded sincere. she isn't, harry, i told myself. she's a liar. she's running a con on you to convince youto like her, or at least trust her. from there, it would be a short commute tothe recruiter's office of the legion of doom.

i reminded myself very firmly that what thefallen angel offered me—knowledge, power, companionship—would come at too high a price. it was foolish of me to keep falling backon her help, even though what she had done for me had undoubtedly saved both my lifeand that of many others. i reminded myself that too much dependenceupon her would be a very, very bad thing. but she still looked sad. i concentrated on my music for a moment. it was hard not to experience the occasionalfit of empathy for her. the trick was to make sure that i never forgother true goal—seduction, corruption, the

subversion of my free will. the only way to prevent that was to be sureto guard my decisions and actions with detached reason rather than letting my emotions getthe better of me. if that happened, it would be easy to playright into the true lasciel's hands. hell, it'd probably be fun. i shook off that thought and lumbered through"every breath you take" by the police and an acoustic version of "i will survive" i'dput together myself. after i finished that, i tried to go througha little piece i'd written that was supposed to sound like classic spanish guitar whilegiving me a little exercise therapy on the

mostly numb fingers of my left hand. i'd played it a thousand times, and whilei had improved, it was still something painful to listen to. except this time. this time, i realized halfway in, i was playingflawlessly. i was playing faster than my usual tempo,throwing in a few licks, vibrato, some nifty transitional phrases—and it sounded good. like, santana good. i finished the song and then looked up atlasciel.

she was watching me steadily. "illusion?" i asked her. she gave a small shake of her head. "i was merely helping. i… can't write original music anymore. i haven't made any music in ages. i just… helped the music you heard in yourthoughts get out through your fingers. i circumvented some of the damaged nerves.

it was all you, otherwise, my host." which was just about the coolest thing lasciel'dever done for me. don't get me wrong; the survival-orientedthings were super—but this was playing guitar. she had helped me to create something of beauty,and it satisfied an urge in me so deep-set and vital that i had never really realizedwhat it was. somehow, i knew without a hint of a doubtthat i would never be able to play that well on my own. ever again. could evil, true capital-e evil, do such athing?

help create something whole and lovely andprecious? careful, harry. careful. "this isn't helping either of us," i saidquietly. "thank you, but i'm learning it myself. i'll get there on my own." i set the guitar down on its little stand. "besides, there's work to be done." she nodded once.

"very well. this is regarding thomas's apartment and itscontents?" "yes," i said. "can you show them to me?" lasciel lifted a hand, and the wall oppositethe fireplace changed. technically, it hadn't actually changed, butlasciel, who existed only as an entity of thought hanging around in my head, was ableto create illusions of startling, even daunting clarity, even if i was the only one who couldperceive them. she could sense the physical world throughme—and she carried aeons of knowledge and

experience. her memory and eye for detail were almostentirely flawless. so she created the illusion of the wall ofthomas's war room and put it over my own wall. it was even lit the same way as in my brother'sapartment, every detail, i knew, entirely faithful to what had seen earlier that night. i padded over to the wall and started checkingit out more thoroughly. my brother's handwriting was all but unreadable,which made the notes he'd scribbled of dubious value in terms of actually enlightening meas to what was going on. "my host—" lasciel began.

i held up a hand for silence. "not yet. let me look at it unprejudiced first. then you tell me what you think." "as you wish." i went over the stuff there for an hour orso, frowning. i had to go check a calendar a couple of times. i got out a notebook and scribbled thingsdown as i worked them out. "all right," i said quietly, settling backdown on the sofa.

"thomas was following several people. the dead women and at least a dozen more,in different parts of the city. he had a running surveillance on them. i think he probably hired a private detectiveor two to cover some of the observation—keeping tabs on where people were going, figuringout the recurring events in their schedules." i held up the notebook. "these are the names of the folks he was"—ishrugged—"stalking, i suppose. my guess is that the other people on thislist are among the missing folk the ladies of the ordo lebes told us about."

"think you thomas preyed upon them?" lasciel asked. i started to deny it, instantly and firmly,but stopped. reason. judgment. rational thought. "he could have," i said quietly. "but my instincts say it isn't him." "why would it not be?"

lasciel asked me. "upon what do you base your reasoning?" "upon thomas," i said. "it isn't him. to engage in wholesaled murder and abduction? no way. maybe he fell off the incubus wagon, sure,but he wouldn't inflict any more harm than he had to. it isn't his way."

"not his way by choice," lasciel said. "though i feel i must point out that—" i cut her off, waving a hand. "i know. his sister could have gotten involved. she already ate lord raith's free will. she could have monkeyed around with thomas'smind, too. and if not lara, then there are plenty ofothers who might have done it. thomas could be doing these things againsthis will.

hell, he might not even remember he's doingthem." "or he might be acting of his own volition. he has another point of weakness," lascielsaid. "eh?" "lara raith holds justine." a point i hadn't yet considered. justine was my brother's… well, i don'tknow if there's a word for what she was to him. but he loved her, and she him.

it wasn't their fault that she was slightlyinsane and he was a life force-devouring creature of the night. they'd been willing to give up their livesfor each other in the midst of a crisis, and the love confirmed by doing so had renderedjustine deadly to my brother, poisonous to love is like that to the white court, an intolerableagony to them, the way holy water is to other breeds. someone touched by pure and honest love cannotbe fed upon—which had more or less put an end to thomas's ability to be near justine. it was probably just as well.

that last time they'd been together had allbut killed justine. the last time i'd seen her, she'd been a wasted,frail, white-haired thing barely capable of stringing sentences together. it had torn my brother apart to see what hehad done to her. to my knowledge he hadn't even tried to bea part of her life again. i couldn't blame him. lara watched over justine now, though shecould not feed upon the girl any more than thomas could. but lara could cut her throat, if it cameto that.

my brother might very well be capable of someunpleasant things in the interests of protecting justine. strike that. he was capable of anything where the girlwas concerned. means. motive. opportunity. the equation of murder was balanced. i looked back at the illusory wall, wherethe pictures, maps, and notes grouped together

in a broad band near the top, then descendedinto fewer notes on the next strip down, and so on, forming a vague v-shape. at the top of the v rested a single, squareyellow sticky note. that note read, in a heavy hand, ordo lebes? find them. "dammit, thomas," i murmured quietly. i addressed lasciel. "get rid of it." lasciel nodded and the illusion disappeared.

"there is something else you should know,my host." i eyed her. "what's that?" "it may concern your safety and the courseof your investigation. may i show you?" the word no came strongly to mind, but i wasalready in for a penny, so to speak. lasciel's wealth of intelligence and experiencemade her an extremely capable adviser. "briefly." she nodded, rose, and suddenly i was standingin anna ash's apartment, as i had been that

afternoon. "my host," lasciel said, "remember you howmany women you observed entering the building?" i frowned. "sure. as many as half a dozen had the right look,though anyone who arrived before murphy and i got there could have already been inside." "precisely," lasciel said. "here." she waved a hand, and an image of me appearedin the apartment's entry, murphy at my side.

"anna ash," lasciel said. she nodded toward me, and anna's image appeared,facing me. "can you describe the others in attendance?" "helen beckitt," i said. "looking leaner and more weathered than thelast time i saw her." beckitt's image appeared where she had beenstanding by the window. i pointed at the wooden rocking chair. "abby and toto were there." the plump blond woman and her dog appeared.

i rubbed at my forehead. "uh, two on the sofa and one on the love seat." three shadowy forms appeared in the namedplaces. i pointed at the sofa. "the pretty one, in the dance leotard, theone worried about time." she appeared. i pointed at the shadowed figure next to her. "bitter, suspicious priscilla who was notbeing polite." the shadowy figure became priscilla's image.

"and there you go," i said. lasciel shook her head, waved her hand, andthe people images all vanished. all except the shadowy figure sitting on thelove seat. i blinked. "what can you remember about this one?" i racked my brain. it's usually good for this kind of thing. "nothing," i said after a moment. "not one damned detail.

nothing." i added two and two together and got trouble. "someone was under a veil. someone good enough to make it subtle. hard to tell it was there at all. not invisible so much as extremely boringand unremarkable." "in your favor," lasciel said, "i should pointout that you had crossed the threshold uninvited, and thus were deprived of much of your power. in such a circumstance it would be most difficultfor you to sense a veil at all, much less

to pierce it." i nodded, frowning at the shadowy figure. "it was deliberate," i said. "anna goaded me into walking over the thresholdon purpose. she was hiding miss mystery from me." "entirely possible," lasciel concurred. "or…" "or they didn't know someone was there, either,"i said. "and if that's the case…"

i tossed the notebook aside with a growl androse. "what are you doing?" she asked. i got my staff and coat, and got mouse readyto go. "if the mystery guest was news to the ordo,she's right in among them and they could be in danger. if the ordo knew about her, then they playedme and lied to me." i ripped open the door with more than my usualeffort. "either way, i'm going over there to straightensome things out." chapter ten

i swept the beetle for bombs again and gotthe impression that i was going to get heartily sick of the chore, fast. it was clean, and off we went. i parked illegally on a street about a blockfrom anna ash's apartment, and walked the rest of the way in. i rang buzzers more or less at random untilsomeone buzzed me in, and headed back up the stairs to anna's apartment. this time, though, i went in armed for bear. as i rode up in the elevator, i got out myjar of unguent, a dark brown concoction that

stained the skin for a couple of days. i dabbed a finger in it and smeared it lightlyonto my eyelids and at the base of my eyes. it was an ointment originally intended tocounter faerie glamour, allowing those who had it to see through illusion to reality. it wasn't quite right for seeing through aveil wrought with mortal magic, but it should be strong enough to show me something of whateverthe veil was hiding. i should be able to glimpse any motion, andthat would at least give me an idea of which way to face if things got dicey. i brought mouse for a reason, too.

besides being a small moun tain of loyal muscleand ferocious fangs, mouse could sense bad guys and dark magic when they were nearby. i had yet to encounter the creature that couldsneak by mouse unobserved, but just in case today was the day, i had the unguent as abackup plan. i got off the elevator, and the hairs on theback of my neck immediately rose up. mouse lifted his head sharply, looking backand forth down the hall. he'd felt what i had. a fine cloud of magic hung over the entirefloor. i touched it carefully and found a suggestionof sleep—one of the classics, really.

this one wasn't heavy, as such things go. i'd seen one sleep spell that flattened anentire ward of cook county hospital. i'd used another to protect murphy's sanity,and it had kept her out for nearly two days. this one wasn't like that. it was light, barely noticeable, and not atall threatening. it was delicate and fine enough to filterinto homes even through their thresholds—most of which were weak enough: apartments neverseemed to have as much defense as a real, discrete home. if those other spells had been sleeping medication,this one would have been a glass of warm milk.

someone wanted the residents of the floorto be insensible enough not to notice something, but not so out as to be endangered shouldthere be an emergency, like the building catching fire and burning down. don't look at me like that. it's a lot likelier than you'd think. anyway, the suggestion was another finelycrafted spell: delicate, precise, subtle, much like the earlier veil lasciel had spotted. whoever or whatever was crafting these workingswas a pro. i made sure my shield bracelet was ready togo, and marched up to anna's door.

i could sense the ward there, still active,so i thumped my staff on the floor immediately in front of the door. "ms. ash?" i called. it wasn't like i was going to wake anyoneup. "it's harry dresden. we need to talk." there was silence. i repeated myself.

i heard a sound, that of someone strivingto move silently, a scuff or a creak so faint that i wasn't sure it had been real. i checked mouse. his ears were pricked up, swiveled forward. he'd heard it too. someone flushed a toilet on the floor aboveus. i heard a door open and close, a faint sound,also on another floor. there was no further sound from anna ash'sapartment. i didn't like where this was going at all.

"stand back, buddy," i told mouse. he did, backing away in that clumsy reversewaddle-walk dogs do. i turned to the ward. it was like the little pig's straw house. it wouldn't last more than a second or twoagainst a big bad wolf. "and i'll huff and i'll puff," i muttered. i drew up my will, took the staff in bothhands, and pressed one end slowly toward the door. "solvos," i murmured.

"solvos. solvos." as the staff touched the door, i sent a gentlesurge of will coursing down through its length. it passed through the wood visibly, the carvedrunes in it briefly illuminated from within by pale blue light. my will hit anna's door and scattered outin a cloud of pinprick?; sparkles of white light as my power unbound the patterns ofthe ward and reduced them to mere anarchy. "anna?" i called again.

i tried the doorknob. it was unlocked. "that can't be good," i told mouse. "here we go." i quietly opened the door, giving it a gentlepush so that it would swing wide and let me see inside the darkened apartment. at which point the trap sprang. for traps to work, though, they need to catchtheir target off guard. i had my new and improved shield braceletready when greenish light flashed in the dark

apartment and rushed swiftly toward me. i lifted my left hand. bound around my wrist was a chain made ofbraided strands of several metals, silver predominant. the metal shields that hung from the bracelethad, in its previous incarnation, been solid silver as well. they had been replaced with shields of silver,iron, copper, nickel, and brass. the new shield wasn't like the old one. the old one had provided an intangible barriermeant to deflect solid matter and kinetic

energy. it hadn't been made to stop, for example,heat. that's how my left hand got roasted practicallydown to the bones. it had been of only limited use against otherforms of magic or energy. if there hadn't been a war on, and if i hadn'tbeen spending so much time drilling molly in the fundamentals—and therefore gettingin all kinds of extra practice, myself—i would never have considered attempting tocreate such a complex focus. it was far more complicated than almost anythingi'd done before. five years ago, it would have been beyondme completely.

more to the point, five years ago, i wouldn'thave been as experienced or as strongly motivated. but that was then, and this was now. the shield that formed in front of me wasnot the familiar, translucent part-dome of pale blue light. instead it flared into place in a blurringswirl of colors that solidified in an instant into a curving rampart of silver energy. the new shield was far more thorough thanthe old. not only would it stop everything the oldone had, but it would provide shelter against heat, cold, electricity—even sound and light,if i needed it to.

it had also been designed to turn aside afairly broad spectrum of supernatural energies. it was this last that was important at themoment. a globe of green lightning sizzled over theapartment's threshold and abruptly expanded, buzzing arcs of verdant electricity interconnectedin a diamond pattern like the weave of a fisherman's net. the spell fell on my shield and the meetingof energies yielded a torrent of angry yellow sparks that rebounded from the shield, scatteringover the hall, the doorway, and bouncing back into the apartment. i dropped the shield as i brandished my staff,sent a savage torrent of power down my arm,

and snarled, "forzare!" unseen force lashed through the doorway—andsplashed against the apartment's threshold. most of the spell's power struck that barrier,grounded out, and was dissipated. what amounted to less than a percent of thepower i had cast out actually made it through the doorway, as i had known it would. instead of delivering a surge of energy strongenough to flip over a car, i delivered only a blow strong enough to knock an adult fromher feet. i heard a woman's voice let out a surprisedgrunt at the impact, and heavy objects clattered to the floor.

"mouse!" i shouted. the big dog bounded forward through the doorway,and i went in right behind him. once again, the apartment's threshold strippedaway my power, leaving me all but utterly unable to wield magic. which is why i'd brought my .44 revolver withme, tucked into a duster pocket. i had it in my left hand as i came throughthe door and hit the main light switch with my right elbow, bellowing, "i have not hada very good day!" mouse had someone pinned on the ground, andkept them there by virtue of simply sitting

on them. two hundred pounds of mouse: is an awfullyeffective restraint, and though he had his teeth bared, he wasn't actively strugglingor making any noise. to my right, anna ash stood frozen like arabbit in a spotlight and my gun tracked to her immediately. "don't move," i warned her. "i don't have any magic at the moment, andthat always make me really, really ready to pull the trigger." "oh, god," she said, her voice a rough whisper.

she licked her lips, visibly trembling. "okay," she said. "okay. d-don't hurt me please. you don't have to do this." i told her to walk over to mouse and his prisoner. once she was standing where i could watchboth of them at once, i could relax a little, and though i did not lower the gun, i tookmy finger off the trigger. "do what?"

"what you've done to the others," anna said,her voice thread "you don't have to do this. not to anyone." "the others?" i demanded. i probably sounded at least half as disgustedas i felt. "you think i came here to kill you?" she blinked at me a few times. then she said, "you came here, broke downmy door, and pointed a gun at me. what am i supposed to think?"

"i did not break down your door! it was unlocked!" "you tore apart my ward!" "because i thought you might be in trouble,you twit!" i hollered. "i thought the killer might be here already." a woman let out a couple of choking gasps. after a moment, i realized that it was theperson mouse had pinned down, letting out breathless laughter.

i lowered the gun and put it away. "for crying out loud. you thought the killer was coming for you? so you laid a trap for him?" "well, no," anna said, now looking somewhatconfused again. "i mean, i didn't do it. the ordo… we hired a private investigatorto look into it. it was her idea to trap the killer when hecame here." "a private investigator?"

i looked over at the other woman and said,"mouse." my dog, tail waving gently, backed off rightaway and trotted over to stand beside me. the woman he'd been holding down sat up. she was pale—not the sickly pallor of notime in the sun, but the color of the living, healthy skin of a tree beneath the outer bark. her lean face was intensely attractive—moreintriguing than beautiful, with wide, intelligent eyes set over an expressive, generous mouth. she had a slim build, all long legs and longarms, and wore a simple pair of jeans along with a black aerosmith t-shirt, and brownleather birkenstocks.

she propped herself up on her elbows, a tendrilof wheat-colored hair falling to almost insolently conceal one eye, and gave me a wry smile. "hello, harry." she dabbed her fingers at a little bloodyspot on her lower lip and winced, though there was still amusement in her voice. "is that a new staff, or are you just happyto see me?" and after my heart had skipped a couple ofbeats, i blinked and said, in a very quiet voice, to the first woman i'd ever everythinged,"hello, elaine." chapter eleven

i sat on the love seat while anna ash madecoffee. mouse, ever hopeful to cadge a snack, followedanna into the kitchen, and sat there giving her his most pathetic, starving-doggy bodylanguage and wagging his tail. we sat down together with coffee, like civilizedpeople, a few minutes later. "ms. ash," i said, taking my cup. "anna, please." i nodded to her. "anna. first, i wish to apologize for frighteningyou.

it wasn't my intention." she sipped her coffee, frowning at me, andthen nodded. "i suppose i can understand your motivations." "thank you," i said. "i'm sorry i blew up your ward. i'll be glad to replace it for you." "we put a lot of hours in on that thing." anna sighed. "i mean, i know it wasn't… expert work."

"we?" i asked. "the ordo," she said. "we worked together to protect every one'shome." "'community' project. sort of a barn raising," i said. she nodded. "that's the idea." she bit her lip.

"but there were more of us, when we did that." for just a second, the capable exterior wavered,and anna looked very tired and very frightened. i felt a little pang inside at the sight. real fright isn't like the movies. real fear is an ugly, quiet, relentless thing. it's a kind of pain, and i hated seeing iton anna's face. i found elaine watching me, her eyes thoughtful. she sat on the sofa, leaning forward so thather elbows rested on her spread knees. she held her cup in one hand at a slight,negligent angle.

on anyone else, it would have looked masculine. on elaine, it only looked relaxed, strong,and confident. "he truly meant you no harm, anna," she said,turning to our host. "he's got this psychosis about charging tothe rescue. i always thought it gave him a certain haplesscharm." "i think we should focus on the future, forthe time being," i said. "i think we need to pool our information andtry to work together on this." anna and elaine exchanged a long look. anna glanced at me again and asked elaine,"are you sure?"

elaine gave a single, firm nod. "he isn't the one trying to hurt you. i'm sure now." "sure now?" "is that why you veiled yourself when i washere earlier?" elaine's fine eyebrows lifted. "you didn't sense it when you were here. how did you know?" i shrugged.

"maybe a little bird told me. do you really think i'm capable of somethinglike that?" "no," elaine said. "but i had to be sure." "you know me better than that," i said, unableto keep a little heat out of my voice. "i trust you," elaine said, without a traceof apology in her tone, "but it might not have been you, harry. it could have been an impostor. or you could have been acting under some formof coercion.

i had to know." i wanted to snarl back at her that if sheso much as thought i might be the killer, she didn't know me at all. if that's how it was going to be, i mightas well get up and walk right out of the apartment before— and then i sighed. ah, sweet bird of irony. "you were obviously expecting the killer toshow up," i said to anna. "the sleeping spell.

the ambush. what made you think he might be coming?" "me," elaine said. "and what made you think that?" she gave me a dazzling, innocent smile andimitated my tone and inflection. "maybe a little bird told me." anna's eyes suddenly widened. "you two were together." she turned to elaine.

"that's how you know him." "it was a long time ago," i said. elaine winked at me. "but you never really forget your first." "you never forget your first train wreck,either." "train wrecks are exciting. fun, even," elaine said. she kept smiling, though her eyes turned alittle sad. "right up until the very last part."

i felt half a smile tug up one side of mymouth. "true," i said. "but i'd appreciate it if you wouldn't tryto dodge questions by throwing up a smoke screen of nostalgia." elaine took a long sip of coffee and shruggeda shoulder. "i'll show you mine if you'll show me yours." i folded my arms, frowning. "sixty seconds ago, you said that you trustedme." she arched an eyebrow "trust is a two-waystreet, harry."

i leaned back, took another sip of coffee,and said, "maybe you're right. i put it together after the fact, when i wasmaking notes of our conversation. i couldn't remember noticing anything aboutthe woman on the love seat, which doesn't happen to me. so i figured it must have been a veil, andcame over here because it was possible that whoever was under it was a threat to the ordo." elaine pursed her lips, frowning for a moment. "your turn." "i've been working out of l.a., taking a lotof cases referred my way—like this one.

and chicago isn't the first city where thishas happened." i blinked at her. "what?" "san diego, san jose, austin, and seattle. over the past year, members of a number ofsmall organizations like the ordo lebes have been systematically stalked and murdered. most of them have appeared to be suicides. counting chicago, the killer's taken thirty-sixvictims." "thirty-six…"

i ran my thumb over the handle of the coffeecup, frowning. "i haven't heard a word about this. a year?" elaine nodded. "harry, i've got to know. is it possible that the wardens are involved?" "no," i said, my tone firm. "no way." "because they're such easygoing, tolerantpeople?" she asked.

"no. because i know ramirez, the regional commanderfor most of those cities. he wouldn't be a part of something like that." "besides, we've got a manpower shortage. the wardens are stretched pretty thin. and there's no reason for them to go aroundkilling people." "you're sure about ramirez," elaine said. "can you say the same about every warden?" "because," elaine said, "in every single oneof those cities, a man in a grey cloak was

seen with at least two of the victims." uh-oh. i put the coffee cup down on an end tableand folded my arms, thinking. it wasn't general knowledge, but someone onthe council was leaking information to the vamps on a regular and devastating basis. the traitor still had not been caught. even worse, i had seen evidence that therewas another organization at work behind the scenes, manipulating events on a scale largeenough to indicate a powerful, well-funded, and frighteningly capable group—and thatat least some of them were wizards.

i had dubbed them the black council, becauseit was obvious, and i'd been keeping my ear to the ground for indications of their presence. and look. i found one. "which explains why i hadn't heard anythingabout it," i said. "if everyone thinks the wardens are responsible,there's not a prayer they'd draw attention to themselves by reporting what was happeningand asking for help. or call in a gumshoe who happens to be a warden,himself." "right.

i started getting called in about a monthafter i got my own license and opened my business." i grunted. "how'd they know to call you?" "i'm in the book under 'wizards.'" "i knew you were copying my test answers allthose years." "if it ain't broke, don't fix it." she pulled a strand of hair back behind oneear, an old and familiar gesture that brought with it a pang of remembered desire and adozen little memories. "most of the business has come in on referral,though, because i do good work.

in any case, one fact about the killer's victimswas almost always the same: people who lived alone or were isolated." "and i," anna said quietly, "am the last livingmember of the ordo who lives alone or were isolated." "these other cities," i said. "did the killer leave anything behind? messages? taunts?" "like what?"

elaine asked. "bible verses," i said. "left in traces, something only one of uswould recognize." she shook her head. nothing like that. or if there was, i never found it." i exhaled slowly. "so far, two of the deaths here have had messagesleft behind. your friend janine and a woman named jessicablanche."

elaine frowned. "i gathered, from what you said earlier. it doesn't make any sense." "yes, it does," i said. "we just don't know why." "could any of the other deaths be attributedto the white court?" elaine frowned and rose. she took her coffee cup to the kitchen andcame back, a pensive frown on her brow. "i… can't be certain they haven't, i suppose.

i certainly haven't seen anything to suggestit. why?" "excuse me," anna said, her voice quiet andunsure. "white court?" "the white court of vampires," i clarified. "there's more than one kind?" she asked. "yeah," i said. "the red court are the ones the white councilis fighting now. they're these bat-monster things that canlook human.

drink blood. the white court are more like people. they're psychic parasites. they seduce their victims and feed on humanlife energy." "but why did you ask me about them, harry?" i took a deep breath. "i found something to suggest that jessicablanche may have died as the result of being fed upon by some kind of sexual predator." elaine stared at me for a moment and thensaid, "the pattern's been broken.

something's changed." i nodded. "there's something else involved in the equation." "or someone." "or someone," i said. she frowned. "there's one place to start looking." "jessica blanche," i said. without warning, mouse came to his feet, facingthe door to the apartment, and let out a bubbling

basso growl. i rose, acutely conscious of the fact thatmy power was still interdicted by the apartment's threshold, and that i didn't have enough magicto spell my way out of a paper bag. the lights went out. mouse continued to growl. "oh, god," anna said. "what's happening?" i clenched my teeth and closed my eyes, waitingfor them to adjust to the sudden darkness, when a very slight, acrid scent tickled mynose.

"you smell that?" elaine's voice was steady, calm. "smell what?" "smoke," i said. "we've got to get out of here. i think the building's on fire." chapter twelve "light," i said. almost before i was finished saying the word,elaine murmured quietly, and the pentacle

amulet she wore, nearly a twin to mine, beganto glow with a green-white light. she held it overhead by its silver chain. by its light, i crossed to the door and feltit, like those cartoons when i was little said you were supposed to do. it felt like a door. "no fire in the hall," i said. "fire stairs," elaine said. "they're not far," anna said. mouse continued staring at the door, growlingin a low and steady rumble.

the smoke smell had thickened. "something's waiting for us in the hall." anna said. elaine looked from mouse to me and bit herlip. "window?" my heart was skipping along too fast. i don't like fire. i don't like getting burned. it hurts and it's ugly.

"might be able to handle the fall," i said,forcing myself to breathe slowly, evenly. "but there's a building full of people here,and none of the alarms or sprinklers have gone off. someone must have hexed them. we've got to warn the residents." mouse's head whipped around and he staredintently at me for a second. then he trotted in a little circle, shookhis head, made a couple of chuffing sounds, and started doing something i hadn't heardhim do since he was a puppy small enough to fit in my duster pocket.

he barked. loud. steady. woof, woof, woof, with the mechanical regularityof a metronome. now, saying he was barking might give youthe general shape of things, but it doesn't convey the scale. everyone in chicago knows what a storm-warningsiren sounds like. they're spread liberally through the midwesternstates that comprise tornado alley. they make your usual warning siren sound.

but i had an apartment about thirty yardsfrom one of them once upon a time, and take it from me, that sound is a whole differentthing when you're next to it. it isn't an ululating wail. when you're that close to the source, it'sa tangible flood, a solid, living, sonic cascade that rattles your brain against your skull. mouse's bark was like that—but on severallevels. every time he barked, i swear to you, severalof my muscles tightened and twitched as if hit with a miniature jolt of adrenaline. i couldn't have slept through half as muchracket, even without the odd little jabs of

energy that hit me like separate charges ofelectricity with each bark. it was deafening in the little apartment,nearly as loud as gunfire. he let out twelve painfully loud barks, andthen stopped. my ears rang in the sudden silence that followed. within seconds i began to hear thumping soundson the floor above me, bare feet swinging out of beds and landing hard on the floor,almost in unison, like something you'd expect in a training barracks. someone shouted in the apartment neighboringanna's. other dogs started barking.

children started crying. doors started slamming open. mouse sat down again, his head tilting thisway and that, ears twitching at each new noise. "hell's bells, harry," elaine breathed, hereyes wide. "is that…? where did you get a real temple dog?" "uh. a place kind of like this, now that you mentionit." i gave mouse's ears a quick ruffling and said,"good dog."

mouse wagged his tail at me and grinned atthe praise. i opened the door with the hand that wasn'tholding a gun, and took a quick look around in the hall. flashlights were bobbing and sweeping fromseveral places, each one producing a visible beam in the thickening pall of smoke. people were screaming, "fire, fire, get everybodyout!" the hallway was in chaos. i couldn't see if anyone out there lookedlike a lurking menace, but odds were good that if i couldn't see them, they wouldn'tsee me, either, in all the milling confusion

of hundreds of people fleeing the building. "anna, where are the fire stairs?" where everyone's running," anna said. "to the right." "right," i said. "okay, here's the plan. we follow all the other flammable people outof the building before we burn to death." "whoever did this is going to be waiting forus outside," elaine warned. "not a very private place for a murder anymore,"i said.

"but we'll be careful. me and mouse first. anna, you right behind us. elaine, cover our backside." "shields?" she asked me. can you do your half?" she arched an eyebrow at me. "what was i thinking?" i took mouse's lead in one hand, glanced atmy staff, and then said, "we're working on

the honor system, here." mouse calmly opened his mouth and held onto his own lead. i picked up my staff in my right hand, keptthe gun in the other, and slipped it into my duster's pocket to conceal the weapon. "anna, keep your hand on my shoulder." i felt her grab on to the mantle of my duster. "good. mouse." mouse and i hit the hallway with anna righton my heels.

we fled. i'm not too manly to admit it. we scampered. retreated. vamoosed. amscrayed. burning buildings are freaking terrifying,and i should know. this was the first time i'd been in one quitethis occupied, though, and i expected more panic than i sensed around us.

maybe it was the way mouse had woken everyone. i saw no one stumbling along the way theywould if they had been suddenly roused from deep sleep. everyone was bright eyed and bushy tailed,metaphorically speaking, and while they were clearly afraid, the fear was aiding the evacuation,not hindering it. the smoke got thicker as we went down oneflight of stairs, then another. it started getting hard to breathe, and iwas choking on it as we descended. i began to panic. it's the smoke that kills most people, longbefore the fire ever gets to them.

but there seemed little to do but press on. then we were through the smoke. the fire had begun three floors below anna'sapartment, and the fire door to that floor was simply missing from its hinges. black smoke rolled thickly out of the hallbeyond it. we had made it down through the smoke, butthere were four floors above ours, and the smoke was being drawn up the stairs like theywere an enormous chimney. the people still above us would be blindedby it, unable to breathe, and god only knew what would happen to them.

"elaine!" i choked out. "got it!" she called back, coughing—andthen she was beside the doorway, black smoke trying to envelop her. she extended her right hand in a gesture thatsomehow managed to be imperious, and the smoke abruptly vanished. well, not exactly. there was a faint shimmer of light over theopen doorway, and on the other side of it the smoke roiled and billowed as if pressingup against glass.

the acoustics of the stairway altered, thechewing roar of fire suddenly muted, the sound of footsteps and panting people becoming louder. elaine examined the field over the doorwayfor a moment, nodded once, and turned to catch up with us, her manner brisk and businesslike. "you need to stay to let anyone through?" mouse leaned against my legs, clearly afraidand eager to leave the building. she held up a hand to silence me. after a moment she said, "no. permeable to the living.

concentrating. we have a minute, maybe two." permeable? holy moly. i could never have managed that on the fly. but then, elaine always was more skilled thanme when it came to the complex stuff. i took her hand, plopped it down on anna'sshoulder, and said, "move, come on." after that, it was nothing but stairs, bobbingflashlights, echoing voices, and footsteps. i run.

not because it's good for me, even thoughit is, but because i want to be able to run whenever something's chasing me. it did me a limited amount of good, giventhat i was spending half of my time coughing on the still-present smoke, but i at leasthad enough presence of mind to keep an eye on anna and the distracted elaine, as wellas making sure that i didn't trip over mouse or get trampled from behind. when we got to the second floor, i preppedmy shield and called over my shoulder, "elaine!" she let out a gasping breath, her head bowingforward. she wavered and clutched at the stair's handrail.

anna moved at once to support her and keepher moving. there was a crashing, roaring sound aboveus, and cries of fright came down the stairs. "move, move," i told them. "elaine, be ready to shield." she nodded once and twisted a simple silverring on her left forefinger around, revealing a kite-shaped shield device not unlike oneof my own charms. we went down the last flight of stairs andhit the door to the street. outside, it was not dark. though the streetlight beside the buildingwas out, the others on the street worked just

fine. added to that was the fire from the burningapartment. it wasn't blinding or anything, since youcould see it only through windows, and whenever one of those was open or broken it tendedto billow black smoke. i could see clearly, though. people came hustling out of the building,all coughing. someone outside the building—or with a cellphone—must have called in the fire, because an impressive number of emergency vehiclesirens were drawing nigh. the escapees filed across the street, forthe most part, getting to what seemed a safe

distance and turning back to look at theirhomes. they were in various states of dishabille,including one rather generously appointed young lady wearing a set of red satin sheetsand dangling a pair of six-inch heels from one hand. the young man with her, with a red silk bathrobebelted kiltlike around his waist, looked understandably frustrated. i noticed only because, as a professionalinvestigator, i have trained myself to be a keen observer. that's why, as i looked around the rest ofthe crowd to see if red satin sheets and spike

heels were becoming a new fad, and if maybei should have some on hand, just in case, i saw the tall man in the grey cloak. he was shadowed by the headlights of firetrucks coming down the street toward us, but i saw the sway of the grey cloak. as if he'd sensed my attention, he turned. i got nothing useful out of his silhouettefor identifying him. i guess the grey-cloaked man didn't know that. he froze for a full second, facing me, andthen turned and sprinted around the corner. i snapped.

"stay with anna!" then i took off after grey cloak. chapter thirteen thoughtlessly running headlong after someonealone, at night, in chicago, is not generally a bright idea. "this is stupid," i panted to myself. "harry, you jackass, this is how you keepgetting yourself into trouble." grey cloak moved with the long, almost floatingstride of an athlete running the mile and turned into an alley, where the shadows grewthicker and where we would be out of sight

of any of the cops or emergency response people. i had to think about this. i needed to figure out what he was doing. okay, so i'm grey cloak. i want to gack anna ash, so i start a fire—no,wait. so i use one of the incendiary devices likethe one in murphy's saturn, put it on a kitchen timer a couple of floors below anna's place,cut the building's power, phones, and alarms, and set the whole shebang on fire, boom. then i wait outside anna's door for her toemerge in a panic, so that i can murder her,

leave, and let the evidence burn in the subsequentinferno. now it all looks like an accident. only i don't expect anna to have a pair ofworld-class wizards on hand, and i sure as hell never saw mouse coming. the dog barks and all of a sudden the hallis full of people who can witness the murder, and there's no way to make it look accidental. someone is almost certain to contact the authoritiesand send in the whirling lights within a few moments, and there goes my whole evening. no use trying to complete a subtle hit now.

so what do i do? i don't want attention, that's for sure, ori wouldn't be trying so hard to make this murder look like an accident. i'm cautious, smart, and patient, or i wouldn'thave gotten away with it in four other cities. i do what a smart predator does when a stalkgoes sour. i bug out. i've got a car nearby, a getaway vehicle. grey cloak reached the end of the alley andturned left with me about twenty feet behind then he rounded a corner and sprinted intoa parking garage.

i did not follow him. see, since i'm such a competent and methodicalkiller, i assume the worst—that anyone in pursuit will display just as much intelligenceand resourcefulness. so what i do is pull the chase into the parkinggarage, where there's lots of angles that will break line of sight—but my getawaycar isn't parked there. there's no way i'm going to wait around topay the attendant, and smashing my way out would attract the attention i'm trying toavoid. the plan is to lose a pursuer in the ampleshadows, ramps, doorways, and parked cars in the maze of the garage, and go to my caronce i've given him the slip.

i kept sprinting down the street and roundeda corner. then i stopped, crouched and ready to continuerunning. the far side of the garage had no parkingplaces; nor did the alley. so grey cloak's car had to be either on thestreet in front of the garage, or on the street along its side. from that corner, i could watch both. i hunkered down beside a city trash can andhoped that i was as clever as i seemed to think i was. i was pretty sure it would have been at beststupid and at worst lethal to pursue grey

cloak into the dark of the parking garage. i might have one hell of a punch, but i wasas fragile as the next person, and cornering grey cloak might draw out the savagery ofdesperation. if i slipped up, and he got too close to me,he might drop me like a pair of dirty socks. always assuming, of course, that he wasn'tan actual warden, in which case he might well hit me with lightning or fire or any numberof other nasty attacks of choice. that was a thought i found more than a little…comfortable, really. i'd spent most of my adult life living infear of the council's wardens. they'd been my persecutors, my personal furies,and despite the fact that i'd become one,

i felt an almost childish glee in the notionthat a warden might be my bad guy. it would give me a perfect opportunity tolay out some long-deserved payback with perfect justification. unless, of course, it was a warden doing itunder orders. once upon a time, i'd have told you that thewhite council was made up of basically decent people who valued human life. now, i knew better. the council broke the laws when it saw fitto do so. it executed children who, in their ignorance,violated those same laws.

the war, too, had made the council desperate,more willing to take chances and "make hard decisions" that amounted to other people gettingkilled while the council's bony collective ass stayed as covered as possible. it didn't seem reasonable to think that alegitimate warden could have sunk to such measures, or that captain luccio, the wardens'commander, would condone it—but i've gotten used to being disappointed in the honor andsincerity of the council in general, and the wardens in particular. for that matter, i probably shouldn't expecttoo much rationality out of grey cloak, either. my scenario to predict his behavior was plausible,rational, but a rational person wouldn't be

going around murdering people and making itlook like suicide, would he? i was probably wasting my time. a shadowy figure vaulted from the roof ofthe parking garage and dropped six stories to the ground, landing on the sidewalk ina crouch. grey cloak was still for a second, maybe listening,and then rose and began to walk, quickly but calmly, toward the street and the cars parkedalong it. son of a gun. i guess sometimes logic does work. i clenched my teeth, gripped my staff, androse to confront grey cloak and blow him straight

to hell. and stopped. if grey cloak truly was part of the blackcouncil, working to undermine the white council and generally do whatever large-scale badnessthey intended to do, blowing him to hell might not be the smart thing to do. the black council had been, if you will pardonthe phrasing, a phantom menace. i was sure that they were up to no good, andtheir methods thus far seemed to indicate that they had no inhibitions about the endingof innocent lives—reinforced by grey cloak's willingness to burn a building full of peopleto death to cover up the murder of a single

target. it fit their pattern: shadowy, nebulous, leavingno direct, obvious evidence of who they were or what they wanted. if they existed at all, that is. so far, they were just a theory. then again, grey cloak's getaway car had beenjust a theory, too. this could be a chance to gain badly neededintelligence on the black council. knowledge is the ultimate weapon. it always has been.

i could let grey cloak go and tail him tosee what i could learn before i brought the hammer down. maybe he'd lead me to something vital, somethingas critical as enigma had been to the allies in wwii. on the other hand, maybe he'd lead me backto nothing. no covert organization worth its salt wouldallow an operative into the field without planning for the contingency of said operativebeing compromised. hell, even if grey cloak volunteered everythinghe knew, there would almost certainly be cutouts in place.

all of which assumed he really was part ofthe black council. a big assumption. and when you assume, you make an ass out ofyou and umption. if i didn't stop him while i had the chance,grey cloak would strike again. more people would die. yeah, harry. and how many more people will die if the blackcouncil keeps rising to power? dammit. my gut told me to drop grey cloak right now.

the faces from police photos flickered throughmy thoughts, and in my imagination the slain women stood beside me, behind me, their glassy,dead eyes intent upon their killer and their desire to be avenged. i longed with an almost apocalyptic passionto step into the open and lay waste to this murdering asshole. but reason told me otherwise. reason told me to slow down, think, and considerhow to do the most good for the most people. hadn't i been telling myself only hours agothat reason had to guide my actions, my decisions, if i was to keep control of myself?

it was hard. it was really, really hard. but i fought off the adrenaline and lust fora fight, and hunkered back down, thinking furiously, while grey cloak got into a greensedan, started it, and pulled out onto the street. i crouched between two parked cars and waited,out of sight, until grey cloak drove by me. i pointed the end of my staff at the car'sback panel, gathered my will, and whispered, "forzare. " raw force lanced out, focused into the tiniestarea i could envision, and struck the car

with a little pop no louder than that producedby stray bits of gravel tossed up against the vehicle's undercarriage. the car went by without slowing, and i gotthe license number as it left. once it was gone, i murmured, "tractis, " keepingmy will focused on the staff, and drew it back until i could rise into the light ofa street lamp and peer at the end of the length of oak. a fleck of green paint, half the size of adime, had adhered to the end of the staff. i licked my fingertip and pressed it to thepaint, lifting it off the staff. i had a small box of waterproof matches inone pocket of the duster.

i opened it with one hand, dumped the matches,and then carefully placed the fleck of paint inside. "gotcha," i muttered. grey cloak, in all probability, would ditchthe car before long, so i didn't have much time. if he slipped away, any further harm he causedwould be on my own head. i refused to let that happen. i put the closed matchbox into in my pocket,turned, and ran back toward elaine and anna. by the time i got there, the block was litnearly daylight-bright with the roaring flames

from the apartment building and a steadilyincreasing number of flashing emergency lights. i found elaine, anna, and mouse, and walkedtoward them. "harry," elaine said, relief on her face. "hey. you get him?" "not yet," i said. "got some follow-up work to do. you have somewhere safe?" "my room at the hotel should be safe enough.

i don't think anyone here knows who i am. the amber inn." take anna there. i'll call you." "no," anna said firmly. i glanced at the burning building and squintedat anna. "i guess you'd rather have a quiet night athome, huh?" "i'd rather make sure the rest of the ordois all right," she said. "what if the killer decides to go after oneof them?"

"elaine," i said, expecting her support. elaine shrugged. "i'm working for her, harry." i muttered a quiet curse under my breath,and shook my head. "fine. get them all and fort up. i'll call you by morning." "come on, mouse," i said. i took his lead, and we headed for home—andlittle chicago.

chapter fourteen when we got back to my apartment, mouse shambledstraight to the plastic punch bowl that holds his kibble. he ate it with a steady, famished determinationuntil it was all gone. then he emptied his water bowl, went to hisusual nap spot, and slumped to the floor without even turning in a circle first. he was asleep almost before he stopped moving. i stopped by him to ruffle his ears and checkhis nose, which was wet and cold like it was supposed to be.

his tail twitched faintly at my touch, buthe was clearly exhausted. whatever it was about those barks that hadimpossibly roused an entire building all at once must have taken something out of him. i took my duster off, draped it over him,and let him sleep. i called toe-moss's place once again, butgot only his answering machine. so i grabbed my heavy flannel robe—for warmth,since the lab was far enough underground to always be chilly—pulled up the throw rugthat covers the door in the living room floor, and stumped down the folding stair steps,flicking candles to life with a gesture and a whisper of will as i went.

my lab had always been a little crowded, butit had become more so since i had begun teaching molly. the lab was a rectangular concrete box. simple wire shelves covered three walls, stackedup high with books and containers of various ingredients i would use (like the thick, sealedlead box that contained an ounce and a half of depleted uranium filings), and loaded downwith various objects of arcane significance (like the bleached human skull that occupiedits own shelf, along with several paperback romance novels) or professional curiosity(like the collection of vampire fangs the wardens in the united states, me and ramirez,mostly, had gathered in the course of several

skirmishes over the past year). at the far end, on the open wall, i had managedto shoehorn a tiny desk and chair into the lab. molly did some of her studying there, kepther journal, learned power calculations, and had several books i'd told her to read. we'd begun working on some basic potions,and the beakers and burners occupied most of the surface of her desk, which was justas well, considering the stains that got left on it during her first potion meltdown. set into the concrete floor beside the deskwas a simple ring of silver i used as a summoning

circle. the table in the middle of the room had oncebeen my work area. no longer. now it was wholly occupied by little chicago. little chicago was a scale model of chicagoitself, or at least of the heart of the town, which i'd expanded from its original designto include everything within about four miles of burnham harbor. every building, every street, every tree wasrepresented by a custom-made scale model of pewter.

each contained a tiny piece of the realityit represented—bark chipped from trees, tiny pieces of asphalt gouged from the streets,flakes of brick broken from the buildings with a hammer. the model would let me use my magic in newand interesting ways, and should enable me to find out a lot more about grey cloak thani would have been able to do in the past. or… it might blow up. you know. one of the two. i was still a young wizard, and little chicagowas a complex toy containing an enormous amount

of magical energy. i had to work hard to keep it up-to-date,matched to the real chicago, or it wouldn't function correctly—i.e., it would fail,possibly in a spectacular fashion. releasing all that energy in the relativelycramped confines of the lab would most likely render me extra crispy. it was an elaborate and expensive tool, andi never would have so much as considered creating it if i didn't have an expert consultant. i took the matchbox from my pocket and setit on the edge of the table, glanced up at the skull on its shelf, and said, "bob, upand at em."

the skull quivered a little on its woodenshelf, and tiny, nebulous orange lights appeared in its empty eyes. there was a sound like a human yawn, and thenthe skull turned slightly toward me and asked, "what's up, boss?" "evil's afoot." "well, sure," bob said, "because it refusesto learn the metric system. otherwise it'd be up to a meter by now." "you're in a mood," i noted. "i'm excited.

i get to meet the cookie now, right?" i gave the skull a very firm look. "she is not a cookie. neither is she a biscuit, a pop-tart, sweettart,apple tart, or any other kind of pastry. she is my apprentice." "whatever," bob said. "i get to meet her now, yeah?" "no," i said firmly. "oh," bob said, his tone as disappointed andpetulant as a six-year-old child who has just

been told that it is bedtime. "why not ?" "because she still hasn't got a very goodidea of how to handle power wisely," i said. "i could help her!" bob said. "she could do a lot more if i was helping." "exactly," i said. "you're under the radar until i say otherwise. do not draw attention to yourself.

do not reveal any of your nature to her. when molly's around, you're an inanimate knickknackuntil i say otherwise." "hmph," bob said. "at this rate, i'm never gonna get to seeher naked in time." "in time for what?" "in time to behold her in her full, springy,nubile, youthful glory! by the time you let me talk to her, she'llhave started to droop!" "i'm almost certain you'll survive the trauma,"i said. "life is about more than just survival, harry."

"there's also work." bob rolled his eyelights in the skull's emptysockets. "brother. you're keeping her cloistered and workingme like a dog, too. that's not fair." i started getting out the stuff i'd need tofire up little chicago. "dog, right. something odd happened tonight." i told bob about mouse and his barking.

"what do you know about temple dogs?" "more than you," bob said. "but not much. most of what i got is collected hearsay andfolklore." "any of it likely true?" "a bit," he said. "there are a few points of confluence wheremultiple sources agree." "hit me." "well, they're not entirely mortal," bob said.

"they're the scions of a celestial being calleda foo dog and a mortal canine. they're very intelligent, very loyal, tough,and can seriously kick ass if they need to do it. but mostly, they're sentinels. they keep an eye out for dark spirits or darkenergy, guard the people or places they're supposed to guard, and alert others to thepresence of danger." "explains why ancient mai made those templedog statues to assist the wardens in maintaining security, i suppose." i got out a short-handled duster made of arowan wand and a bundle of owl feathers, and

began to carefully clean the dust from themodel city. "what about the barking thing?" "their bark has some kind of spiritual power,"bob said. "a lot of stories say that they can make themselvesbe heard from fifty or sixty miles away. it isn't just a physical thing, either. it carries over into the nevernever, and canbe heard clearly by noncorporeal entities. it startles them, drives most of them away—andif any of them stick around, mouse could take his teeth to them, even though they're spirits. i figure that this alarm-clock bark he didwas a part of that protective power, alerting

others to danger." "superdog." "but not bulletproof. they can be killed just like anything else." there was a thought. i wondered if i could find someone to makemouse a kevlar vest. "okay, bob," i said. "get it fired up and give it a once-over." "right, boss.

i hope you will note that i am doing thiswithout once complaining how unfair it is that you've seen the cupcake nekkid and ihaven't." "so noted." i picked up the skull and set it down on thesheet of translucent, rubbery blue plastic that represented lake michigan. "check it out while i get my spell face on." the skull spun around to face the city whilei settled down on the floor, legs crossed, hands resting lightly on my knees, and closedmy eyes, focusing on drawing my thoughts to stillness, my heart to a slow, slow beat.

i breathed slowly, deeply, systematicallywalling out worries, emotions, everything but purpose. one time, when we'd been discussing martialarts, murphy told me that eventually, no one can teach you anything more about them. once you reach that state of knowledge, theonly way to keep learning and increasing your own skill is to teach what you know to others. that's why she teaches a children's classand a rape-defense course every spring and fall at one of her neighborhood's communitycenters. it sounded kind of flaky-zen to me at thetime, but hell's bells, she'd been right.

once upon a time, it would have taken me anhour, if not more, to attain the proper frame of mind. in the course of teaching molly to meditate,though, i had found myself going over the basics again for the first time in years,and understanding them with a deeper and richer perspective than i'd had when i was her age. i'd been getting almost as much insight andnew understanding of my knowledge from teaching molly as she'd been learning from me. it took me ten minutes, twelve at the most,to prepare my thoughts and will. by the time i stood up again, there was nothingleft in the whole world but me, little chicago,

and my need to find a murderer. "bob?" i whispered. "everything's nominal. we're in the green, captain," he said, affectinga scottish accent. i nodded without speaking. then i drew in my will, and the skull's eyelightsdwindled to the size of pinpricks. so did all the candles. newborn black shadows began stretching betweenthe pewter buildings, overlaying the model

streets. the temperature in the lab dropped anotherdegree or two as i pulled in energy from all around me, and my skin flushed as my bodytemperature went up a couple of degrees. when i slowly exhaled, my heated breath formedvapor that drifted around my nose and mouth. i moved slowly, precisely, and picked up thematchbox. then i opened it and exposed the fleck ofpaint inside, and leaned over to carefully place the paint down on the tiny model ofmy apartment building. i stood over the table, my hand touching thepaint and the map, and released my will with a repeated murmur of, "reperios.

invenios. " i felt my senses blur for a moment, and thenlittle chicago rushed toward me, its buildings growing, until i stood upon the street outsidethe now life-sized pewter replica of my apartment building. i took a moment to look around. it looked like chicago. flickers of motion surrounded me. faint outlines of leaves stirred in the pewtertrees, ghostly images of the real-world leaves

on the trees of the actual chicago. faint lights emanated from blank pewter windowpanes. ghostly cars whispered by on the streets. i could hear the muted sounds of the city,catch the barest hints of scents on the air, unnervingly, i could look up and see… myself,my actual, physical body, towering over the model city like godzilla's hyperthyroid cousin. the sky over little chicago held twinklinglights—the dim glows of the lab's candles and bob's eyelights, all too large to be stars,the way the sun is supposed to look from the outer planets.

i held up the matchbox, my will surging downmy arm. it touched on the little flake of paint, whicherupted into viridian light and rose into the air above my hand, hovered for a moment,and then streaked off to the north like a miniature comet. "maybe you got away with this crap in othertowns, grey cloak," i muttered. "but chicago's mine." my own flesh dissolved into flickering silverlight, and i felt myself rush after the energy of the seeking spell, streaking through theghostly images of chicago's nightlife in the model all around me, one more insubstantialshade among thousands.

the seeking spell came to rest a block anda half south of goudy square park, a little slice of green the city managed to squeezein amidst a bunch of architecture. the brilliant mote of light settled onto aghostly image of a moving car and the image suddenly became solid and visible. "gotcha," i growled under my breath, and driftedclose to the car, hovering right over its rear bumper, and focused on the driver. the ghost image remained hazy, dammit. my magic had latched onto the car, and itwasn't going to be easy to get a better look at the driver than i already had.

i might be able to pour more energy into thespell, attain greater clarity, but i wanted to save that as a last resort. too much could cause the whole thing to blow—andit would certainly leave me too exhausted to maintain the connection. better to hover now, and listen. sound would be easier to pick up, resonatingagainst the car, against the surrounding city i had modeled for the spell. the car stopped a stone's throw from the park. it's a bifurcated little place, simultaneouslytrying to contain a designer garden and a

children's playground, and every time i'dlook at it, it seemed to me that the kids were winning. good for them. nobody who is four, or six, or eight yearsold needs to feel conflicted about their play area impeding the italian renaissance sensibilitiesof a landscape artist. heck, i was probably at least that mature,and i was pretty sure i didn't need it, either. i focused on the spell, and the sounds ofthe city night came to life around me, growing in volume, rising from a distant, ghostlymurmur to simple ambience, as if i'd been standing there.

traffic sounds. a distant siren. the almost subliminal sound of wheels rushingby on the highway a mile off. the cricketlike chirrup of a car alarm. to me, it was the orchestra tuning and warmingup before the overture. footsteps, swift and confident, coming closer. the curtain was going up. the passenger door of the green car opened,and a second shadowy figure joined the first. the door closed, harder than it needed to.

"are you insane," the passenger asked, "meetinghere?" "what's wrong with here?" grey cloak asked. his voice was a light tenor, though it soundeddistant, hazy, like a partially obscured radio transmission. an accent? something from eastern europe, maybe. it was hard to make out the particulars. "it's a bloody upper-class wasp neighborhood,"the passenger snarled.

his voice was deeper, similarly obscured,and bore no trace of foreign accent. he sounded like a newscaster, standard midwesternamerican. "there's private security here. police. if anyone raises any kind of alarm, it's goingto attract a great deal of attention in short order." grey cloak let out a low laugh. "which is why we are safe. it's late at night.

all the little dears are sleeping the sleepof the fat and happy. no one is awake to see us here." the other said something rude. there was a flicker of light in the passengerseat, and it took me a second to work out that he'd just lit a cigarette. "well?" "no." "no?" the passenger said. "no kine?

no wizard? what do you mean, no?" "both," grey cloak said. his tone turned cold. "you told me he was afraid of fire." "he is," the passenger said. "you should see his fucking hand." i felt my left hand clench tight, and thecrackle of popping knuckles in my very real laboratory drifted through the magical simulationof the city.

grey cloak's head whipped around. "what?" the passenger asked. "did you hear that?" "hear what?" "something…" grey cloak said. i felt myself holding my breath, willing myfingers to unclench. the passenger looked around for a moment,then snorted. "you're nervous about him.

that's all. you missed him and you're nervous." "not nervous," grey cloak said. "understandably cautious. he has more resources and more versatilitythan your people realize. it's quite possible that he's keeping trackof me in some way." "i doubt that. it would take a subtle worker of the art tomanage that. he isn't one."

"no?" "he managed to sense the fire before it couldcut him off, to somehow waken the entire building from sound sleep all at the same time, andto track me after i departed." the passenger tensed. "you came here with him behind you?" i lost him before he could do so. but that does not preclude the use of moresubtle means to engage in pursuit." "he's a thug," the passenger said. "plain and simple.

his talents make him good at destruction andlittle else. he's a beast to be prodded and directed." there was silence for a moment. "it amazes me," grey cloak said then, "thatan idiot such as you survived crossing the wizard once." aha. interesting. the passenger, at least, was someone i'd seenbefore. he'd walked away from it, too.

most of the individuals i'd faced hadn't donethat—

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