I've been clouted in the head a few times in my day. The bump Anna Valmont had given me was smaller than some, but my head pounded all the way home. At least my stomach settled down before I started throwing up all over myself. I shambled in, washed down a couple of Tylenol with a can of Coke, and folded some ice into a towel. I sat down by the phone, put the ice pack against the back of my head, and called Father Vincent.
The phone rang once. "Yes?"
"It's in town," I said. "The two Churchmice had it on a boat in Burnham Harbor."
Vincent's voice gained an edge of tension. "You have it?"
"Uh," I said. "Not strictly speaking, no. Something went wrong."
"What happened?" he demanded, his voice growing more frustrated, angrier. "Why didn't you call me?"
"A third party made a grab for it, and what do you think I'm doing right now? I had a shot to recover the thing. I took it. I missed."
"And the Shroud was taken from the thieves?"
"Thief, singular. Chicago PD is probably recovering the body of her partner right now."
"They turned on each other?"
"Not even. A new player killed Garcia. Valmont duped the third party into taking a decoy. Then she grabbed the real McCoy and ran."
"And you didn't see fit to follow her?"
My head pounded steadily. "She ran really fast."
Vincent was silent for a moment before he said, "So the Shroud is lost to us once more."
"For now," I said. "I might have another lead."
"You know where it has gone?"
I took in a deep breath and tried to sound patient. "Not yet. That's why it's called a lead and not a solution. I need that sample of the Shroud."
"To be frank, Mister Dresden, I did bring a few threads with me from the Vatican, but -"
"Great. Get one of them to my office and drop it off with security downstairs. They'll hold it for me until I can pick it up. I'll call you as soon as I have anything more definite."
"But- "
I hung up on Vincent, and felt a twinge of vindictive satisfaction. "'You didn't see fit to follow her,'" I muttered to Mister, doing my best to imitate Vincent's accent. "I gotcher didn't see fit to follow her. White-collar jerk. How about I ring your bell a few times, and then you can go say Mass or something."
Mister gave me a look as if to say that I shouldn't say such things about paying clients. I glared at him to let him know that I was well aware of it, got up, went into my bedroom, and rummaged in my closet until I found a stick of charcoal and a clipboard. Then I lit several candles on the end table next to my big comfy chair and settled down with the memo pad I'd taken from the Etranger. I brushed the stick of charcoal over it as carefully as I could, and hoped that Francisca Garcia hadn't been using a felt tip.
She hadn't. Faint white letters began to appear amidst the charcoal on the paper. It read Marriott on the first line and 2345 on the second.
I frowned down at the pad. Marriott. One of the hotels? It could have been someone's last name, too. Or maybe some kind of French word. No, don't make it more complicated than it has to be, Harry. It probably meant the hotel. The number appeared to be military time for a quarter to midnight. Maybe even a room number.
I glared at the note. It didn't tell me enough. Even though I may have had the time and place, I didn't know where and when.
I looked at the cell phone I'd taken. I knew as much about cell phones as I did about gastrointestinal surgery. There were no markings on the case, not even a brand name. The phone was off, but I didn't dare turn it on. It would probably stop working. Hell, it would probably explode. I would need to ask Murphy to see what she could find out when I talked to her.
My head kept pounding and my eyes itched with weariness. I needed rest. The lack of sleep was making me sloppy. I shouldn't have chanced going onto the ship in the first place, and I should have been more careful about watching my back. I'd had a gut instinct someone was watching me, but I had been too tired, too impatient, and I'd nearly gotten myself shot, impaled, concussed, and drowned as a result.
I headed into the bedroom, set my alarm clock for a couple hours after noon, and flopped down on my bed. It felt obscenely good.
Naturally it didn't last.
The phone rang and I gave serious thought to blasting it into orbit, where it could hang around with Asteroid Dresden. I stomped back into the living room, picked up the phone, and snarled, "What."
"Oh, uh," said a somewhat nervous voice on the other end. "This is Waldo Butters. I was calling to speak to Harry Dresden."
I moderated my voice to a mere snarl. "Oh. Hey."
"I woke you up, huh?"
"Some."
"Yeah, late nights suck. Look, there's something odd going on and I thought maybe I could ask you something."
"Sure."
"Sullen monosyllabism, a sure sign of sleep deprivation."
"Eh."
"Now descending into formless vocalization. My time is short." Butters cleared his throat and said, "The germs are gone."
"Germs?" I asked.
"In the samples I took from that body. I ran all the checks again just to be sure, and better than half of them turned up negative. Nothing. Zip, zero."
"Ungh," I said.
"Okay, then, Caveman Og. Where germs go?"
"Sunrise," I said. "Poof."
Butter's voice sounded bewildered. "Vampire germs?"
"The tiny capes are a dead giveaway," I said. I started pulling my train of thought into motion at last. "Not vampire germs. Constructs. See, at sunrise it's like the whole magical world gets reset to zero. New beginnings. Most spells don't hold together through even one sunrise. And it takes a lot to make them last through two or three."
"Magic germs?" Butters asked. "Are you telling me I've got magic germs?"
"Magic germs," I confirmed. "Someone called them up with magic."
"Like an actual magic spell?"
"Usually you call nasty hurtful spells a curse. But by tomorrow or the next day, those other samples will probably have zeroed out too."
"Are they still infectious?"
"Assume they are. They're good as real until the energy that holds them together falls apart."
"Christ. You're serious. It's for real."
"Well, yeah."
"Is there a book or a Cliff's Notes or something on this stuff?"
I actually smiled that time. "Just me. Anything else?"
"Not much. I swept the body for genetic remains but got nothing. The cuts on the corpse were made with either a surgical scalpel or some other kind of small, fine blade. Maybe a utility knife."
"I've seen cuts like that before, yeah."
"Here's the best part. The same blade evidently took off the hands and head. The cuts are cleaner than a surgeon could manage on an operating table. Three single cuts. The heat from it half cauterized parts of the wounds. So what kind of tool can cut fine, precise lines and cleave through bones too?"
"Sword?"
"Have to be one hell of a sharp sword."
"There's a few around like that. Any luck identifying the victim?"
"None. Sorry."
"'S okay."
"You want to know if anything changes?"
"Yeah. Or if you see anyone else come in like that guy."
"God forbid, will do. You find anything on that tattoo?"
"Called the Eye of Thoth," I said. "Trying to narrow down exactly who uses it around here. Oh, give Murphy a call. Let her know about those samples."
"Already did. She's the one who told me to keep you in the loop. I think she was heading toward sleep too. Would she want me to wake her up to talk to you?"
I talked through a yawn. "Nah, it can wait. Thanks for the call, Butters."
"No trouble," he said. "Sleep is god. Go worship."
I grunted, hung up the phone, and didn't get to take the second step toward my bed when someone knocked at the door.
"I need one of those trapdoors," I muttered to Mister. "I could push a button and people would fall screaming down a wacky slide thing and land in mud somewhere."
Mister was far too mature to dignify that with a response, so I kept a hand near my gift rack as I opened the door a crack and peeked out.
Susan tilted her head sideways and gave me a small smile. She was wearing jeans, an old tee, a heavy grey fleece jacket, and sunglasses. "Hi," she said.
"Hi."
"You know, it's hard to tell through the door, but your eyes look sunken and bloodshot. Did you sleep last night?"
"What is this thing you speak of, 'sleep'?"
Susan sighed and shook her head. "Mind if I come in?"
I stepped back and opened the door wider. "No scolding."
Susan came in and folded her arms. "Always so cold in here in the winter."
I had a couple suggestions on how to warm up, but I didn't say them out loud. Maybe I didn't want to see her response to them. I thought about what Murphy had said about setting up a talk. I got some more wood and stirred up the fireplace. "Want me to make some tea or something?"
She shook her head. "No."
Susan never turned down a cup of hot tea. I tried, but I couldn't keep a hard edge out of my voice. "Just going to dump me and run, then. Drive-by dumping."
"Harry, that isn't fair," Susan said. I could hear the hurt in her voice, but only barely. I raked harder at the fire, making sparks fly up, though flames were already licking the new wood. "This isn't easy for anyone."
My mouth kept running without checking in with my brain. My heart maybe, but not my brain. I shot her a look over my shoulder and said, "Except for Captain Mediocrity, I guess."
She raised both eyebrows. "Do you mean Martin?"
"Isn't that what this is about?" A spark flipped out of the fire and landed on my hand, stinging. I yelped and pulled my hand away. I closed the heavy mesh curtain over the fire and put the poker away. "And before you say anything, I know damn well I'm being insane. And possessive. I know that we were quits before you left town. It's been more than a year, and it's been hard on you. It's only natural for you to find someone. It's irrational and childish for me to be upset, and I don't care."
"Harry- " she began.
"And it's not as if you haven't been thinking about it," I continued. Somewhere I knew that I'd start choking on my foot if I kept shoving it in my mouth. "You kissed me. You kissed me, Susan. I know you. You meant it."
"This isn't-"
"I'll bet you don't kiss Snoozy Martin like that."
Susan rolled her eyes and walked to me. She sat down on the lintel of my little fireplace while I knelt before it. She cupped my cheek in one hand. She was warm. It felt good. I was too tired to control my reaction to the simple, gentle touch, and I looked back at the fire.
"Harry," she said. "You're right. I don't kiss Martin like that."
I pulled my cheek away, but she put her fingers on my chin and tugged my face back toward her. "I don't kiss him at all. I'm not involved with Martin."
I blinked. "You're not?"
She drew an invisible X over her heart with her index finger.
"Oh," I said. I felt my shoulders ease up a little.
Susan laughed. "Was that really worrying you, Harry? That I was leaving you for another man?"
"I don't know. I guess."
"God, you are a dolt sometimes." She smiled at me, but I could see the sadness in it. "It always shocked me how you could understand so many things and be such a complete idiot about so many others."
"Practice," I said. She looked down at me for a while, with that same sad smile, and I understood. "It doesn't change anything, does it?"
"Martin?"
"Yeah."
She nodded. "It doesn't change anything."
I swallowed a sudden frog in my throat. "You want it to be over."
"I don't want it," she said quickly. "But I think it's necessary. For both of us."
"You came back here to tell me that?"
Susan shook her head. "I don't have my mind set. I think it wouldn't be fair to do that without talking to you about it. We both have to make this decision."
I growled and looked back at the fire. "Would be a lot simpler if you just gave me the Dear John speech and left."
"Simpler," she said. "Easier. But not fair and not right."
I didn't say anything.
"I've changed," Susan said. "Not just the vampire thing. There's a lot that's been happening in my life. A lot of things that I didn't know."
"Like what?"
"How dangerous the world is, for one," she said. "I wound up in Peru, but I went all over South America, Central America. I couldn't have imagined what things are like there. Harry, the Red Court is everywhere. There are whole villages out in the country supporting groups of them. Like cattle bred for the lord of the manor. The vampires feed on everyone. Addict them all." Her voice hardened. "Even the children."
My stomach twitched unpleasantly. "I hadn't ever heard that."
"Not many know."
I mopped a hand over my face. "God. Kids."
"I want to help. To do something. I've found where I can help down there, Harry. A job. I'm going to take it."
Something in my chest hurt, a literal pain. "I thought this was our decision."
"I'm coming to that," she said.
I nodded. "Okay."
She slipped to the floor next to me and said, "You could come with me."
Go with her. Leave Chicago. Leave Murphy, the Alphas, Michael. Leave a horde of problems-many of them ones I'd created for myself. I thought of packing up and heading out. Maybe fighting the good fight. Being loved again, held again. God, I wanted that.
But people would get hurt. Friends. Others who might be in my kind of danger and have no one to turn to.
I looked into Susan's eyes and saw hope there for just a moment. Then understanding. She smiled, but it was somehow sadder than ever. "Susan-" I said.
She pressed a finger to my lips and blinked back tears. "I know."
And then I understood. She knew because she was feeling the same way.
There are things you can't walk away from. Not if you want to live with yourself afterward.
"Now do you understand?" she asked.
I nodded, but my voice came out rough. "Wouldn't be fair. Not to either of us," I said. "Not being together. Both of us hurting."
Susan leaned her shoulder against mine and nodded. I put my arm around her.
"Maybe someday things will change," I said.
"Maybe someday," she agreed. "I love you. I never stopped loving you, Harry."
"Yeah," I said. I choked on the end of the word, and the fire went blurry. "I love you too. Dammit." We sat there and warmed up in front of the fire for a couple of minutes before I said, "When are you leaving?"
"Tomorrow," she said.
"With Martin?"
She nodded. "He's a coworker. He's helping me move, watching my back. I have to put everything in order here. Pack some things from the apartment."
"What kind of work?"
"Pretty much the same kind. Investigate and report. Only I report to a boss instead of to readers." She sighed and said, "I'm not supposed to tell you anything else about it."
"Hell's bells," I muttered. "Will I be able to reach you?"
She nodded. "I'll set up a drop. You can write. I'd like that."
"Yeah. Stay in touch."
Long minutes after that, Susan said, "You're on a case again, aren't you?"
"Does it show?"
She leaned a little away from me, and I drew my arm back. "I smelled it," she said, and stood up to add wood to the fire. "There's blood on you."
"Yeah," I said. "A woman was killed about five feet away from me."
"Vampires?" Susan asked.
I shook my head. "Some kind of demon."
"Are you okay?"
"Peachy."
"That's funny, because you look like hell," Susan said.
"I said no scolding."
She almost smiled. "You'd be smart to get some sleep."
"True, but I'm not all that bright," I said. Besides, I didn't have a prayer of falling asleep now, after talking to her.
"Ah," she said. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Don't think so."
"You need rest."
I waved a hand at the stationery pad. "I will. I just have to run down a lead first."
Susan folded her arms, facing me directly. "So do it after you get some rest."
"There probably isn't time."
Susan frowned and picked up the pad. "Marriott. The hotel?"
"Dunno. Likely."
"What are you looking for?"
I sighed, too tired to stick to my confidentiality guns very closely. "Stolen artifact. I think the note is probably about a site for the sale."
"Who is the buyer?"
I shrugged.
"Lots of legwork, then."
"Yeah."
Susan nodded. "Let me look into this. You get some sleep."
"It's probably better if you don't-"
She waved a hand, cutting me off. "I want to help. Let me do this for you."
I opened my mouth and closed it again. I guess I could relate. I knew how much I'd wanted to help her. I couldn't. It had been tough to handle. It would have been a relief to me to have done her some good, no matter how small it was.
"All right," I said. "But just the phone work. Okay?"
"Okay." She copied down the word and the number on a sheet she tore from the bottom of the memo pad and turned toward the door.
"Susan?" I said.
She paused without turning to look back at me.
"Do you want to get dinner or something? Before you go, I mean. I want to, uh, you know."
"Say good-bye," she said quietly.
"Yeah."
"All right."
She left. I sat in my apartment, in front of the fire, and breathed in the scent of her perfume. I felt cold, lonely, and tired. I felt like a hollowed-out husk. I felt as if I had failed her. Failed to protect her to begin with, failed to cure her after the vampires had changed her.
Change. Maybe that's what this was really about. Susan had changed. She'd grown. She was more relaxed than I remembered, more confident. There had always been a sense of purpose to her, but now it seemed deeper, somehow. She'd found a place for herself, somewhere where she felt she could do some good.
Maybe I should have gone with her after all.
But no. Part of the change was that she felt hungrier now, too. More quietly sensual, as if every sight and sound and touch in the room was occupying most of her attention. She'd smelled drops of blood on my clothing and it had excited her enough to make her move away from me.
Another change. She had an instinctive hunger for my blood. And she could throw vampires twenty feet through the air. She sure as hell wouldn't have any trouble tearing my throat out in an intimate moment if her control slipped.
I washed my face mechanically, showered in my unheated shower, and went shivering to my bed. The routine hadn't helped me. It only delayed me from facing the harshest truth of my relationship with Susan.
She had left Chicago.
Probably for good.
That was going to hurt like hell in the morning.