White Night Part 32

"She's adjusting," I replied. "Madrigal and his Malvora buddy are still out there."

"Yeah," Thomas said. "So?"

"So that means that this was just a warm-up. They're still a threat," I said. "They've got enough bodies to lay the whole thing out to the White Court and make people like the Ordo look like a casino buffet. If that happens, it won't just be one Skavis running around with a point to prove. It will be a quiet campaign. Thousands of people will die."

Thomas grunted. "Yeah. There's not a lot we can do about that, though."

"Says who?" I replied.

He frowned at me and tilted his head.

"Thomas," I said quietly, "by any chance, is there a gathering of the White Court anytime soon? Perhaps in relation to the proposed summit talks?"

"If there was a meeting of the most powerful hundred or so n.o.bles of the Court scheduled to meet at the family estate the day after tomorrow, I couldn't tell you about it," Thomas said. "Because I gave my sister my word."

"Your sister has guts," I said. "And she sure as h.e.l.l knows how to put on a show." I glanced at the ruined hotel, and dropped my hand to scratch Mouse's ears. They were about the only part of him not stained with too-pale blood. "Of course, I've been known to bring down the house once or twice, myself."

Thomas folded his arms, waiting. His smile was positively vulpine.

"Call Lara," I said. "Pa.s.s her a message for me."

Thomas narrowed his eyes. "What message?"

I bared my teeth in an answering smile.

CHAPTER Thirty-Two

Murphy might not have been officially in charge of Special Investigations, but I don't think that made much difference to many of the other detectives there. She needed help, and when she called, they came. End of story.

For them, at least. For Murphy, it was the beginning of the story. She had to tell a lot of stories around police headquarters. It was a part of her job. Oh, no, those reports of vampire attacks were the results of hysterical drug-induced hallucinations. Troll? It was a large and ugly man, probably drunk or on drugs. He got away, investigation ongoing. Everyone buys it, because that's what SI gets paid to do-explain away the bogeyman.

Murphy should be a novelist, she writes so much fiction.

We had a big mess here, but Murph and her fellow cops in SI would make it fit in the blanks. Terrorists were hot right now. This report would probably have terrorists in it. Scared religious nuts and terrorists who set off incendiary devices at an apartment building and in her car, and who also doubtless set the device that blew up an entire room at a cheap south-side motel. There weren't any corpses to clean up-just one wounded woman who probably needed to see a shrink more than a jail cell. I debated with myself over whether or not to suggest she add in a bit with a dog. People love dogs. You can never go wrong adding a dog to the story.

"Right, Mouse?" I asked him.

Mouse looked unhappily up at me. Thomas had gotten the women and kids clear of the scene and handled what was left of the Skavis agent while I'd gone to a car wash and cleaned his blood off of my dog with the sprayer. Mouse's fur keeps out just about everything, but when it finally gets wet, it soaks up about fifty gallons and stays that way for a long time. He doesn't like it, and he was apparently feeling petulant about the entire process.

"Everybody loves a bit with a dog," I said.

Mouse exhaled steadily, then shook his head once and laid it back down, politely and definitely ignoring me.

I get no respect.

I sat on a hospital bench near the emergency room entrance with Mouse pressed up against one of my legs as he lay on the floor, just in case anyone wondered who he was with. It had been a long night, and despite Elaine's incredible hands, my headache had begun to return. I tried to decide whether Cowl's mental whammy or Madrigal and his stupid a.s.sault rifle deserved more blame for that.

A brawny kid in a brown uniform shirt came up to me the way good security guys do in the Midwest-all friendly and nice, until it's time to not be nice. The wit and wisdom of Patrick Swayze movies lives on. "Sorry, mister," he said in a friendly tone, one hand resting congenially on his nightstick. "No dogs allowed. Hospital rules."

I was tired. "If I don't take him out," I said, "are you going to tonfa me to death?"

He blinked at me. "What?"

"Tonfa," I said. "Imagine all the meal that isn't getting ground so that you can do your job. All the knives going unsharpened."

He smiled, and I could see him cla.s.sify me as "drunk, harmless." He put out one hand in a come-along sort of gesture.

"Your nightstick there. It's called a tonfa. It was originally a pin that held a millstone or a big round grinding stone in a smithy. It got developed into an improvised weapon by people in southeast Asia, Okinawa, places like that, where big friendly security types like yourself took away all the real weapons in the interest of public safety."

His smile faded a little. "Okay, buddy..." He put his hand on my shoulder.

Mouse opened his eyes and lifted his head.

That's all. He didn't growl at the brawny kid. He didn't show his teeth. Like all the most dangerous people I know, he didn't feel a need to make any displays. He just sort of took notice-with extreme prejudice.

The security kid was smart enough to get the picture and took a quick step back. His hand went from the nightstick to his radio. Even Patrick Swayze needed help sometimes.

Murphy came walking up, her badge hanging on a chain around her neck, and said, "Easy there, big guy." She traded a nod with the security kid and hooked a thumb back at me. "He's with us. The dog is a handicap-a.s.sist animal."

The kid lifted his eyebrows.

"My mouth is partially paralyzed," I said. "It makes it hard for me to read. He's here to help me with the big words. Tell me if I'm supposed to push or pull on doors, that kind of thing."

Murphy gave me a gimlet glance, and turned back to the guard. "See what I mean? I'll have him out of your hair in a minute."

The security guard glanced dubiously at me, but nodded at Murphy and said, "All right. I'll check back in a bit, see if you need anything."

"Thanks," Murphy said, her tone even.

The guard departed. Murphy sighed and sat down next to me, her feet on the other side of Mouse. The dog gave her leg a fond nudge and settled back down again.

"He'll be back to see if you need help," I told Murphy in a serious voice. "A sweet little thing like you could get in trouble with a big, crazy man like me."

"Mouse," Murphy said. "If I knock Harry out and write, 'Insufferable wisea.s.s,' on his head in permanent marker, will you help him read it?"

Mouse glanced up at Murphy and c.o.c.ked his head speculatively. Then he sneezed and lay back down.

"Why'd you give him a hard time?" Murphy asked me.

I nodded at a pay phone on the wall next to a drinking fountain and a vending machine. "Waiting for a call."

"Ah," Murphy said. "Where's Molly?"

"She was falling asleep on her feet. Rawlins took her home for me."

Murphy grunted. "I said we'd talk about her."

"Yeah," I said.

"What you did, Harry..." Murphy shook her head.

"She needed it," I said.

"She needed it." The words were crisp.

I shrugged. "The kid's got power. She thinks that means she knows more than other people. That's dangerous."

Murphy frowned at me, listening.

"I'd been planning the little ball-of-face-melty-sunshine thing for a while now," I said. "I mean, come on. Fire is hard to control. I couldn't have done something like that without practicing it, and you can't exactly use a nice, slow, dramatic face-melty fireball in a real fight, can you?"

"Maybe not," Murphy said.

"I had a kind of face-melty thing come at me once, and it made an impression," I said. "Molly... got off to a bad start. She took her magic and reshaped the stuff around her. The people around her. Murph... you can't do anything with magic that you don't believe believe in. Think about the significance of that for a minute. When Molly did what she did, she in. Think about the significance of that for a minute. When Molly did what she did, she believed believed that it was right. That she was doing the right thing. Think about her parents. Think about how far they're willing to go to do the right thing." that it was right. That she was doing the right thing. Think about her parents. Think about how far they're willing to go to do the right thing."

Murphy did that, her blue eyes intense, her expression unreadable.

"I have to keep knocking her on her a.s.s," I said. "If I don't, if I let her recover her balance before she gets smart enough to figure out why why she should be doing things instead of just she should be doing things instead of just how how to do them, or to do them, or if if she can do them, she'll start doing the"-I used air quotes-" 'right' thing again. She'll break the Laws again, and they'll kill her." she can do them, she'll start doing the"-I used air quotes-" 'right' thing again. She'll break the Laws again, and they'll kill her."

"And you?" Murphy asked.

I shrugged. "That's a ways down my worry list."

"And you think what you did is going to help prevent that?" she asked.

"I hope it will," I said. "I'm not sure what else to do. In the end, it's up to the kid. I'm just trying to give her enough time to get it together. Despite herself. h.e.l.l's bells, the girl has a thick skull."

Murphy gave me a lopsided smile and shook her head.

"I know," I said. "I know. Pot. Kettle. Black."

"I wasn't talking about the face-melty thing, Harry," she said then. "Not directly. I'm talking about the stupid trash can. I'm talking about the look on your face right before you made the fire go away. I'm talking about what happened to that movie-monster thing in the hotel last year."

It was my turn to frown. "What?"

Murphy stopped for a minute, evidently considering her words as carefully as a bomb technician considers wiring. "There are moments when I wonder if you are losing control of yourself. You've always had a lot of anger in you, Harry. But over the past few years, it's gotten worse. A lot worse."

"Bulls.h.i.t," I snarled.

Murphy arched an eyebrow and just looked at me.

I gritted my teeth and made myself ease back down into my previous slouch. I took a deep breath and counted to ten. Then I said, "You think I have anger issues."

"When you destroyed that trash can-when you slagged it in a moment of pure frustration, destroyed it, inflicted thousands of dollars of damage on the city sidewalk, the building behind it, the shops inside-"

"All of which are in Marcone's building," I snapped.

"I'm sure the people who work the counter at"-she consulted her little notepad-"the Spresso Spress and run the registers at Bathwurks probably don't know anything about Marcone, or care about him, either. They probably just go to work and try to pay their bills."

I frowned at her. "What?"

"Both shops were hit by bits of concrete and molten metal. They'll be closed for several weeks for repairs."

"They're insured," I said. I didn't sound like I believed it made a difference, even to me.

"People got hurt," Murphy said. "No one's face got melted, but that's not the point. You know the score, Harry, You know the kind of damage you can do if you aren't careful."

I didn't say anything.

"It's just like being a cop. Knowing martial arts. I know that I can do some fairly awful things to people. It's my business to make sure that awful things don't happen to people. I'm careful about how I use what power I have-"

"I'll tell that to my dentist," I said.

"Don't be petty, Harry," she said, her voice serious. "I've made mistakes. Admitted them. Apologized to you. I can't change what's happened, and you're a better man than that."

Unless maybe I wasn't. I felt ashamed for making the remark.

"My point is," Murphy said quietly, "that you knew what kind of damage you could do. But if what you say is true, in the moment you used your magic you thought that what you were doing was right. you thought that what you were doing was right. You thought it was okay to destroy something because you were angry. Even though it might hurt someone else who didn't deserve it." You thought it was okay to destroy something because you were angry. Even though it might hurt someone else who didn't deserve it."

I felt another surge of rage and... ...and...

And holy c.r.a.p.

Murphy was right.

The sigil of angelic script, the only unburned flesh on my left hand, itched madly.

"Oh, h.e.l.l," I said quietly. "Pot, kettle, black, all right. All day long."

Murph sat beside me, not saying anything, not accusing me of anything. She just sat with me.

Friends do that.

I put my right hand out, palm up.

Murphy closed her hand on mine for a moment, her fingers warm and small and strong.

"Thanks," I told her.

She squeezed tight for a moment. Then she got up and went to a vending machine. She came back with a can of c.o.ke and a can of Diet c.o.ke, and handed me the nonvile one. We popped open the cans together and drank.