Blood Rites (7 page)

"Telegraphed the kick," Murphy said. "You're a moose, O'Toole. Even a light kick from you will do the job. Don't sacrifice speed to get more power. Keep it quick and simple."

O'Toole nodded, and walked over to an open corner of the mat with his partner.

"Hey, Murphy," I called. "When are you gonna stop picking on little kids and fight someone your own size?"

Murphy flicked her tail over her shoulder, her eyes shining. "Come say that to my face, Dresden."

"Give me a minute to amputate my legs and I will," I responded. I took my shoes off and set them against the wall, along with my duster. Murphy got a smooth wooden staff about five feet long from a rack on the wall. I took my staff into a square marked in tape on the mat, and we bowed to each other.

We warmed up with a simple sequence, alternating strikes in a steady, working rhythm, wooden staves clacking solidly. Murphy didn't start pushing for more speed. "Haven't seen you for almost two weeks. You flaking out on this self-defense notion?"

"No," I said, keeping my voice down. "Been on a job. Finished it up last night." I lost focus, slipped up in the sequence, and Murphy's staff banged down hard on the fingers of my left hand. "Hell's bells,
ow
!"

"Concentrate, wimp." Murphy gave me a second to shake my fingers, and then she started again from the beginning. "You've got something on your mind."

"Something off the record," I said, lowering my voice.

She looked around. No one was close enough to listen in. "Okay."

"I need a thug. You available?"

Murphy arched a brow. "You need manpower?"

"Thugpower," I said.

Murphy frowned. "What do you have in mind?"

"Black Court," I said. "At least two in town, probably more."

"Hitters?"

I nodded. "One of them came pretty close to taking me last night."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. But we have to shut these guys down, and fast. They aren't gentle and fun-loving like the Reds."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that when they feed, their victims don't usually survive. They don't feed as often, but the longer they stay, the more people are going to get killed."

Murphy's eyes glittered with a sudden, angry fire. "What's the plan?"

"Find them. Kill them."

Her brows shot up. "Just like that? No formal balls, no masquerades, no clandestine meetings as preliminaries?"

"Nah. I thought it might be nice to get the drop on the bad guys for a change."

"I like that plan."

"It's simple," I agreed.

"Like you," Murphy said.

"Just like me."

"When?"

I shook my head. "As soon as I find where they're holed up during daylight. I can probably do it in a day or three."

"How's Saturday?"

"Uh. Why?"

She rolled her eyes. "Murphy annual family reunion is this weekend. I try to be working on reunion weekend."

"Oh," I said. "Why don't you just, you know… not show up."

"I need a good excuse not to show up, or my mother won't let me hear the end of it."

"So lie."

Murphy shook her head. "She'd know. She's psychic or something."

I felt my eyebrows go up. "Well, gee, Murph. I guess I'll just try to arrange things so that the deadly monster threat will be convenient to ducking your annual family fun-fest. Your sense of priorities once more astounds me."

She grimaced. "Sorry. I spend time dreading this every year. Things are sort of hard between me and my mother. Family skews your sanity. I don't expect you to under—"

She broke off abruptly, and a little pang of hurt went through me. She didn't expect me to understand. I didn't have a mother. I didn't have a family. I never had. Even my dim memories of my father had all but vanished. I'd been only six years old when he died.

"God, Harry," Murph said. "I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

I coughed and focused on the sequence. "It shouldn't be a long job. I find the vamps. We go in, pound in some stakes, cut some heads, toss some holy water, and we're gone."

She began to speed the pace, evidently as glad as I to leave that comment unremarked. The strength of her swings made my hands buzz when her staff hit mine. "You mean we get to live the cliché?" she asked. "Stakes and crosses and garlic?"

"Yeah. Cakewalk."

Murphy snorted. "Then why do you need thugs?"

"In case they have goons. I need thugpower with countergoon capability."

Murphy nodded. "A few extra hands wouldn't be a bad idea." She sped up again, her staff a blur. I had to struggle to keep up. "Why don't you ask the holy knight guy?"

"No," I said.

"What if we need him?"

"Michael would come in a hot second if I asked him. But I'm tired of seeing him get hurt because of me." I frowned, almost lost the rhythm, then found it again. "God or someone like Him does Michael's event scheduling, and I get the feeling that Michael's a lot less invincible when he isn't officially on the clock."

"But he's a big boy. I mean, he knows the risks. He has brains."

"He also has kids."

Murphy faltered this time, and I hit one of her thumbs. She winced and nodded toward the rookie cop she'd humbled. "O'Toole there is Mickey Malone's nephew. He'd jump through fire for you, if I asked him along."

"God, no. No newbies on this run. A stupid mistake could be fatal."

"I could talk to Stallings."

I shook my head. "Murph, the boys in SI are a lot better at handling supernatural weirdness than the average bear—but a lot of them still don't really believe what they're dealing with. I want someone smart and tough, and who won't freeze or freak out, and that's you."

"They're better than that."

"What happens to them if something goes wrong? If I make a mistake. Or you do. Even if they got out in one piece, how do you think they would handle the backlash when they got back to the real world? Where people don't believe in vampires, and there are bodies to explain?"

Murphy frowned. "The same thing that would happen to me, I guess."

"Yeah. But you're their leader. You want to be responsible for sending them into that kind of mess? Expose them to that?"

Murphy looked at several of the men around the gym and grimaced. "You know I don't want that. But my point is that I'm as vulnerable as they are."

"Maybe. But you know the score. They don't. Not really. You know enough to be careful and smart."

"What about the White Council?" Murphy asked. "Shouldn't they be willing to help you? I mean, you're one of their own."

I shrugged. "By and large they don't like me. I need their help like I need a sword in the neck."

"Gee. Someone actually resisted your charm and finesse."

"What can I say. They have no taste."

Murphy nodded. "So who else are you going to get?"

"You and one more will do for coffin patrol," I said. "I know a guy who is good with vampires. And I'm going to have a driver standing by when it goes down."

"How many laws are you planning on breaking?"

"None," I said. "If I can help it."

"What if these vampires have human goons?"

"We disable them. I'm only gunning for Black Court. But if you want to pull double duty as conscience officer, that's fine by me."

We finished the sequence, backed a step away, and bowed to each other. Murphy walked with me to the edge of the mat, frowning and mulling things over. "I don't want to sidestep any laws. Vampire hunting is one thing. Going vigilante is another."

"Done," I said.

She frowned. "And I'd really, really like it if we did it on Saturday."

I snorted. "If we go early, maybe you can get laid up in the hospital or something, at least."

"Ha-ha," Murphy said.

"Do me a favor and keep an eye on missing persons for a few days. It might help tip us off to their location. I want every bit of information I can get."

"Gotcha," Murphy said. "You want to work on some hand-to-hand?"

I picked up my duster. "Can't. Got to be on the new job in half an hour."

"Harry, aikido is a demanding discipline. If you don't practice every day, you're going to lose what you've learned."

"I know, I know. But it isn't like I can depend on a routine from day to day."

"A little knowledge is a dangerous thing," Murphy said. She held my staff for me while I put on my coat and abruptly frowned as she handed it back.

"What?" I asked her.

Her mouth twisted into the shape it got when she tried to hold back laughter. "Is that a puppy in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?"

I looked down. The puppy had woken from his nap and poked its head out of my duster's pocket, and was panting happily. "Oh. Right."

Murphy plucked the puppy out of my pocket, turned him belly up, and started rubbing his tummy. "What's his name?"

"No name. I'm not keeping him."

"Ah," Murphy said.

"Want a dog?"

She shook her head. "They take too much attention, and I'm gone at all hours."

"Tell me about it. Know anyone who does?"

"Not really."

"Do me a favor. Keep him for a day."

Murphy blinked. "Why me?"

"Because I have to go on a new job this morning and I haven't had time to get him settled with someone. Come on, Murph. He's friendly. He's quiet. You'll never know he's there. Just for the day."

Murphy glowered at me. "I'm not keeping him."

"I know, I know."

"I'm not keeping him."

"You just said that, Murph."

"Just so long as you understand that I'm not keeping him."

"I get it already."

She nodded. "Just this once, then. I'm doing paperwork at my desk today. But you'd better be there to pick him up by five."

"You're an angel, Murph. Thank you."

She rolled her eyes and settled the pup in the curl of her arm. "Yeah, yeah. What's the new job?"

I sighed and told her.

Murphy burst out laughing. "You're a pig, Dresden."

"I didn't know," I protested.

"Oink. Oink, oink."

I glowered at her. "Don't you have some paperwork to do?"

"Get there by five, pig."

"By five." I sighed. I grumbled to myself as I walked out to my car and left for my first day on the set.

Chicago is a business town. Entrepreneurs of every stripe duke it out ferociously in pursuit of the American dream, discarding the carcasses of fallen ventures along the way. The town is full of old business headquarters, most of them held by the long-term commercial giants. When a new business sets its sights on Second City, it's cheaper for them to settle in one of the newer industrial parks littered around the city's suburbs. They all look more or less alike—a grid of plain, blocky, readily adaptable buildings two or three stories high with no windows, no landscaping, and gravel parking lots. They look like enormous, ugly concrete bricks, but they're cheap.

Arturo had acquired a short-term lease on such a building in such an industrial complex twenty minutes west of town. There were three other cars parked in its lot by the time I got there. I had a nylon backpack full of various magical tools I might need to ward off malevolent energies: salt, a bunch of white candles, holy water, a ring of keys, a small silver bell, and chocolate.

Yeah, chocolate. Chocolate fends off all kinds of nasty stuff. And if you get hungry while warding off evil, you have a snack. It's multipurpose equipment.

One end of my carved wooden blasting rod protruded from the backpack in case I needed to make a fast draw. I was also wearing my shield bracelet, my mother's pentacle amulet, my force ring, and a new gizmo I'd been working with—a silver belt buckle carved into the shape of a standing bear. Better to have the magical arsenal and not need it, than to not have it and get killed to death.

I got out of the car. I had on a pair of slacks and a polo shirt, since I had no idea of what a production assistant on an adult film set was supposed to wear. The client would have to be happy with business casual. I slung the backpack over one shoulder and locked up the car. A second car pulled up as I did, a shiny green rental number, and parked next to the Blue Beetle.

Two men got out. The driver was a fit-looking man, maybe in his late thirties. He was a little taller than average and had the build of someone who works out in a nonfanatic kind of way. His medium-brown hair was long enough to look a little disheveled. He wore round-rimmed spectacles, a Nike T-shirt, and Levis, and his cross-trainers probably cost him upwards of a hundred bucks. He nodded at me and said, "Good morning," in a tone of genuine cheer.

"Hi," I responded.

"New guy?" he asked.

"New guy."

"Cameraman?"

"Stunt double."

"Cool." He grinned, pulled a designer-label gym bag out of the back of the rental car, and slung it over his shoulder. He approached, offering his hand. "I'm Jake."

I traded grips with him. His hands had the calluses of someone who worked with them, and he had a confidence that conveyed strength without attempting to crush my fingers. I liked him. "Harry," I responded.

The second man who got out of the rental car looked like a weight-lifting commercial. He was tall and built like a statue of Hercules beneath tight leather pants and a sleeveless workout shirt. He had a high-tech tan, coal-black hair, and wasn't old enough to qualify for decent rates on his auto insurance. His face didn't match the Olympian body. His features rated on the western slope of the bell curve of physical appeal. Though to be fair he was staring at me with a murderous scowl, which probably biased my opinion.

"Who the hell are you?" he growled.

"I the hell am Harry," I said.

He pulled out his own gym bag and slammed the car door closed. "You always a wiseass?"

"No. Sometimes I'm asleep."

He took a pair of hard steps toward me and thrust the heel of one hand at my shoulder in a belligerent push. Classic macho-jitsu. I could have done a bunch of fairly violent things in response, but I try not to get into fights in a gravel parking lot if I can help it. I took the push without yielding and grunted.