Death Masks
Chapter Eleven
Ivy seemed reluctant to leave off petting Mister, but she and Kincaid left without further conversation. I shut the door after them and leaned on it, listening with my eyes closed until they'd gone. I didn't feel as tired as I should have. Probably because I had a wealth of experience that suggested I would get a lot more worn out before I got a real chance to rest.
Mister rubbed up against my legs until I'd leaned down to pet him, after which he promptly walked over to his food bowl, ignoring me altogether. I grabbed a Coke from the icebox while he ate, absently pouring a bit onto a saucer and leaving it on the floor by Mister. By the time I'd finished it, I'd made up my mind about what I had to do next.
Make phone calls.
I called the number Vincent had left for me first. I expected to reach an answering service, but to my surprise Vincent's voice, tense and anxious, said, "Yes?"
"It's Harry Dresden," I said. "I wanted to check in with you."
"Ah, yes, just a moment," Vincent said. I heard him say something, caught a bit of conversation in the background, and then heard him walking and a door shut behind him. "The police," he said. "I've been working with them throughout the evening."
"Any luck?" I asked.
"God only knows," Vincent said. "But from my perspective, it seems the only thing accomplished is deciding which department is going to handle the investigation."
"Homicide?" I guessed.
Vincent's tired voice became dry. "Yes. Though the mind boggles at the chain of logic that led to it."
"Election year. City management is politicking," I said. "But once you start dealing with the actual police personnel, you should be all right. There are good people in every department."
"One hopes. Have you found anything?"
"I've got a lead. I don't know how good. The thieves might be on a small craft in the harbor. I'm heading down there presently."
"Very well," Vincent said.
"If the lead is good, do you want me to call CPD?"
"I'd rather you contacted me first," Vincent said. "I am still uncertain of how much trust to place in the local police. I cannot help but think it must have been the reason the thieves fled here-that they possessed some contact or advantage with the local authorities. I'd like as much time as possible to decide whom to trust."
I frowned and thought about Marcone's flunkies taking a shot at me. Chicago PD had an unfair reputation for corruption, thanks in part to the widespread mob activity during Prohibition. It was inaccurate, but people were people, and people aren't immune to being bought. Marcone had attained police-only information with disturbing speed before. "Might be smart. I'll check it out and let you know. Shouldn't be more than an hour or two."
"Very good. Thank you, Mister Dresden. Is there anything else?"
"Yeah," I said. "I should have thought of this last night. Do you have any pieces of the Shroud?"
"Pieces?" Vincent asked.
"Scraps or threads. I know that many samples were analyzed back in the seventies. Do you have access to any of those pieces?"
"Very possibly. Why?"
I had to remind myself that Vincent seemed to be largely a nonbeliever in the supernatural, so I couldn't come out and say that I wanted to use thaumaturgy to track down the Shroud. "To confirm identification when I find it. I don't want to get foxed with a decoy."
"Of course. I'll make a call," Vincent said. "Get a sample FedExed here. Thank you, Mister Dresden."
I said good-bye, hung up, and stared at the phone for a minute. Then I took a deep breath and dialed Michael's number.
Even though the sky was barely light with morning, the phone rang only once before a woman's voice said, "Hello?"
This was my nightmare. "Oh. Uh, hello, Charity. It's Harry Dresden."
"Hi!" the voice said brightly. "This isn't Charity though."
So maybe it wasn't my nightmare. It was my nightmare's oldest daughter. "Molly?" I asked. "Wow, you sound all grown-up now."
She laughed. "Yeah, the breast fairy came to visit and everything. Did you want to talk to my mom?"
Some might find it significant that it took me a second to realize she wasn't being literal about the faerie. Sometimes I hate my life. "Well, um. Is your dad around?"
"So you don't want to talk to Mom, check," she said. "He's working on the addition. Let me get him."
She set the phone down and I heard footsteps walking away. In the background, I could hear recorded children's voices singing, the rattle of plates and forks, and people talking. Then there was a rustling sound, and a thump as the handset on the other end must have fallen to the floor. Then I heard the sound of heavy, squishy breathing.
"Harry," sighed another voice from what must have been the same room. She sounded much like Molly but less cheerful. "No, no, honey, don't play with the phone. Give that to me, please." The phone rattled some more, the woman said, "Thank you, sweetie," and then she picked up the phone and said, "Hello? Anyone there?"
For a second I was tempted to remain silent, or possibly try to imitate a recording of the operator, but I steeled myself against that. I didn't want to let myself get rattled. I was pretty sure that Charity could smell fear, even over the phone. It could trigger an attack. "Hello, Charity. It's Harry Dresden. I was calling to speak to Michael."
There was a second of silence during which I couldn't help but imagine the way Michael's wife's eyes must have narrowed. "I suppose it was inevitable," she said. "Naturally if there is a situation so dangerous as to require all three of the Knights, you come crawling out of whatever hole you live in."
"Actually, this is sort of unrelated."
"I assumed it was. Your idiocy tends to strike at the worst possible place and time."
"Oh, come on, Charity, that's not fair."
Growing anger made her voice clearer and sharper, if no louder. "No? At the one time in the last year that Michael most needs to be focused on his duty, to be alert and careful, you arrive to distract him."
Anger warred with guilt for dominance of my reaction. "I'm trying to help."
"He has scars from the last time you helped, Mister Dresden."
I felt like slamming the receiver against the wall until it broke, but I restrained myself again. I couldn't stop the anger from making my words bite, though. "You're never going to give me an inch, are you?"
"You don't deserve an inch."
I said, "Is that why you named your son after me?"
"That was Michael," Charity said. "I was still on drugs, and the paperwork was done when I woke up."
I kept my voice calm. Mostly. "Look, Charity. I'm real sorry you feel the way you do, but I need to talk to Michael. Is he there or not?"
The line clicked as someone else picked up another extension and Molly said, "Sorry, Harry, but my dad isn't here. Sanya says he went out to pick up some doughnuts."
"Molly," Charity said, her voice hard. "It's a school day. Don't dawdle."
"Uh- oh," Molly said. "I swear, it's like she's telepathic or something."
I could almost hear Charity grinding her teeth. "That isn't funny, Molly. Get off the line."
Molly sighed and said, "Surrender, Dorothy," before she hung up. I choked on a sudden laugh, and tried to turn it into a series of coughs for Charity's benefit.
From the tone of her voice, she hadn't been fooled. "I'll give him a message."
I hesitated. Maybe I should ask to wait for him to return. There wasn't any love lost between Charity and myself, and if she didn't pass word along to Michael, or if she delayed before telling him, it could mean my death. Michael and the other Knights were busy with their pursuit of the Shroud, and God only knew if I'd be able to get in touch with him again today. On the other hand, I had neither the time nor the attention to spare to sit there butting heads with Charity until Michael returned.
Charity had been unreservedly hostile to me for as long as I had known her. She loved her husband ferociously, and feared for his safety-especially when he worked with me. In my head, I knew that her antagonism wasn't wholly without basis. Michael had been busted up several times when teamed up with me. During the last such outing, a bad guy gunning for me had nearly killed Charity and her unborn child, little Harry. Now she worried about the consequences that might be visited on her other children as well.
I knew that. But it still hurt.
I had to make a decision-to trust her or not. I decided to do it. Charity might not like me, but she was no coward and no liar. She knew Michael would want her to tell him.
"Well, Mister Dresden?" Charity asked.
"Just let him know that I need to talk to him."
"Regarding?"
For a second, I debated passing Michael my tip on the Shroud. But Michael believed that I was going to get killed if I got involved. He took protecting his friends seriously, and if he knew that I was poking around he might be inclined to knock me unconscious and lock me in a closet now and apologize later. 1 decided against it.
"Tell him that I need a second by sundown tonight or bad things will happen."
"To who?" Charity asked.
"Me."
She paused, then said, "I'll give him your message."
And then she hung up on me.
I hung up the phone, frowning. "That pause wasn't significant," I told Mister. "It doesn't mean that she was chewing over the thought of intentionally getting me killed in order to protect her husband and children."
Mister regarded me with that mystic-distance focus in his feline eyes. Or maybe that was the look he got when his brain waves flatlined. Either way, it was neither helpful nor reassuring.
"I'm not worried," I said. "Not one bit."
Mister's tail twitched.
I shook my head, got my stuff together, and headed out to investigate the lead at the harbor.
Mister rubbed up against my legs until I'd leaned down to pet him, after which he promptly walked over to his food bowl, ignoring me altogether. I grabbed a Coke from the icebox while he ate, absently pouring a bit onto a saucer and leaving it on the floor by Mister. By the time I'd finished it, I'd made up my mind about what I had to do next.
Make phone calls.
I called the number Vincent had left for me first. I expected to reach an answering service, but to my surprise Vincent's voice, tense and anxious, said, "Yes?"
"It's Harry Dresden," I said. "I wanted to check in with you."
"Ah, yes, just a moment," Vincent said. I heard him say something, caught a bit of conversation in the background, and then heard him walking and a door shut behind him. "The police," he said. "I've been working with them throughout the evening."
"Any luck?" I asked.
"God only knows," Vincent said. "But from my perspective, it seems the only thing accomplished is deciding which department is going to handle the investigation."
"Homicide?" I guessed.
Vincent's tired voice became dry. "Yes. Though the mind boggles at the chain of logic that led to it."
"Election year. City management is politicking," I said. "But once you start dealing with the actual police personnel, you should be all right. There are good people in every department."
"One hopes. Have you found anything?"
"I've got a lead. I don't know how good. The thieves might be on a small craft in the harbor. I'm heading down there presently."
"Very well," Vincent said.
"If the lead is good, do you want me to call CPD?"
"I'd rather you contacted me first," Vincent said. "I am still uncertain of how much trust to place in the local police. I cannot help but think it must have been the reason the thieves fled here-that they possessed some contact or advantage with the local authorities. I'd like as much time as possible to decide whom to trust."
I frowned and thought about Marcone's flunkies taking a shot at me. Chicago PD had an unfair reputation for corruption, thanks in part to the widespread mob activity during Prohibition. It was inaccurate, but people were people, and people aren't immune to being bought. Marcone had attained police-only information with disturbing speed before. "Might be smart. I'll check it out and let you know. Shouldn't be more than an hour or two."
"Very good. Thank you, Mister Dresden. Is there anything else?"
"Yeah," I said. "I should have thought of this last night. Do you have any pieces of the Shroud?"
"Pieces?" Vincent asked.
"Scraps or threads. I know that many samples were analyzed back in the seventies. Do you have access to any of those pieces?"
"Very possibly. Why?"
I had to remind myself that Vincent seemed to be largely a nonbeliever in the supernatural, so I couldn't come out and say that I wanted to use thaumaturgy to track down the Shroud. "To confirm identification when I find it. I don't want to get foxed with a decoy."
"Of course. I'll make a call," Vincent said. "Get a sample FedExed here. Thank you, Mister Dresden."
I said good-bye, hung up, and stared at the phone for a minute. Then I took a deep breath and dialed Michael's number.
Even though the sky was barely light with morning, the phone rang only once before a woman's voice said, "Hello?"
This was my nightmare. "Oh. Uh, hello, Charity. It's Harry Dresden."
"Hi!" the voice said brightly. "This isn't Charity though."
So maybe it wasn't my nightmare. It was my nightmare's oldest daughter. "Molly?" I asked. "Wow, you sound all grown-up now."
She laughed. "Yeah, the breast fairy came to visit and everything. Did you want to talk to my mom?"
Some might find it significant that it took me a second to realize she wasn't being literal about the faerie. Sometimes I hate my life. "Well, um. Is your dad around?"
"So you don't want to talk to Mom, check," she said. "He's working on the addition. Let me get him."
She set the phone down and I heard footsteps walking away. In the background, I could hear recorded children's voices singing, the rattle of plates and forks, and people talking. Then there was a rustling sound, and a thump as the handset on the other end must have fallen to the floor. Then I heard the sound of heavy, squishy breathing.
"Harry," sighed another voice from what must have been the same room. She sounded much like Molly but less cheerful. "No, no, honey, don't play with the phone. Give that to me, please." The phone rattled some more, the woman said, "Thank you, sweetie," and then she picked up the phone and said, "Hello? Anyone there?"
For a second I was tempted to remain silent, or possibly try to imitate a recording of the operator, but I steeled myself against that. I didn't want to let myself get rattled. I was pretty sure that Charity could smell fear, even over the phone. It could trigger an attack. "Hello, Charity. It's Harry Dresden. I was calling to speak to Michael."
There was a second of silence during which I couldn't help but imagine the way Michael's wife's eyes must have narrowed. "I suppose it was inevitable," she said. "Naturally if there is a situation so dangerous as to require all three of the Knights, you come crawling out of whatever hole you live in."
"Actually, this is sort of unrelated."
"I assumed it was. Your idiocy tends to strike at the worst possible place and time."
"Oh, come on, Charity, that's not fair."
Growing anger made her voice clearer and sharper, if no louder. "No? At the one time in the last year that Michael most needs to be focused on his duty, to be alert and careful, you arrive to distract him."
Anger warred with guilt for dominance of my reaction. "I'm trying to help."
"He has scars from the last time you helped, Mister Dresden."
I felt like slamming the receiver against the wall until it broke, but I restrained myself again. I couldn't stop the anger from making my words bite, though. "You're never going to give me an inch, are you?"
"You don't deserve an inch."
I said, "Is that why you named your son after me?"
"That was Michael," Charity said. "I was still on drugs, and the paperwork was done when I woke up."
I kept my voice calm. Mostly. "Look, Charity. I'm real sorry you feel the way you do, but I need to talk to Michael. Is he there or not?"
The line clicked as someone else picked up another extension and Molly said, "Sorry, Harry, but my dad isn't here. Sanya says he went out to pick up some doughnuts."
"Molly," Charity said, her voice hard. "It's a school day. Don't dawdle."
"Uh- oh," Molly said. "I swear, it's like she's telepathic or something."
I could almost hear Charity grinding her teeth. "That isn't funny, Molly. Get off the line."
Molly sighed and said, "Surrender, Dorothy," before she hung up. I choked on a sudden laugh, and tried to turn it into a series of coughs for Charity's benefit.
From the tone of her voice, she hadn't been fooled. "I'll give him a message."
I hesitated. Maybe I should ask to wait for him to return. There wasn't any love lost between Charity and myself, and if she didn't pass word along to Michael, or if she delayed before telling him, it could mean my death. Michael and the other Knights were busy with their pursuit of the Shroud, and God only knew if I'd be able to get in touch with him again today. On the other hand, I had neither the time nor the attention to spare to sit there butting heads with Charity until Michael returned.
Charity had been unreservedly hostile to me for as long as I had known her. She loved her husband ferociously, and feared for his safety-especially when he worked with me. In my head, I knew that her antagonism wasn't wholly without basis. Michael had been busted up several times when teamed up with me. During the last such outing, a bad guy gunning for me had nearly killed Charity and her unborn child, little Harry. Now she worried about the consequences that might be visited on her other children as well.
I knew that. But it still hurt.
I had to make a decision-to trust her or not. I decided to do it. Charity might not like me, but she was no coward and no liar. She knew Michael would want her to tell him.
"Well, Mister Dresden?" Charity asked.
"Just let him know that I need to talk to him."
"Regarding?"
For a second, I debated passing Michael my tip on the Shroud. But Michael believed that I was going to get killed if I got involved. He took protecting his friends seriously, and if he knew that I was poking around he might be inclined to knock me unconscious and lock me in a closet now and apologize later. 1 decided against it.
"Tell him that I need a second by sundown tonight or bad things will happen."
"To who?" Charity asked.
"Me."
She paused, then said, "I'll give him your message."
And then she hung up on me.
I hung up the phone, frowning. "That pause wasn't significant," I told Mister. "It doesn't mean that she was chewing over the thought of intentionally getting me killed in order to protect her husband and children."
Mister regarded me with that mystic-distance focus in his feline eyes. Or maybe that was the look he got when his brain waves flatlined. Either way, it was neither helpful nor reassuring.
"I'm not worried," I said. "Not one bit."
Mister's tail twitched.
I shook my head, got my stuff together, and headed out to investigate the lead at the harbor.
