Jim Butcher - Ghost Story

I could see the front door from where I stood outside the window, and a couple of seconds after the radio stopped counting aloud, it opened upon a White Court vampire.

She was maybe five-two, with a dimpled smile and dark, curly hair that fell to her waist. She was wearing a white blouse with a long, full white skirt and bright scarlet ballet slippers. The first thought that went through my head was Awww, she’s tiny and adorable —followed closely by the notion that she would be fastidious when blood was everywhere. I could just see her carefully lifting the hem of her pristine skirt so that only the scarlet slippers would touch it.

“Good evening, everyone,” she said, breezing through the door without an invitation, speaking with a strong British accent. “I apologize for being a few moments late, but what’s a lady to do with weather like this? Tea? Lovely.” She minced over to the table and poured some hot tea into an empty cup. Her eyes fastened on Daniel as she did, and she bowed just low enough to draw the young man’s eyes to her décolletage. He flushed and looked away sternly. After a second.

Tough to blame the kid. I’ve been a young man. Boobs are near the center of the universe, until you turn twenty-five or so. Which is also when young men’s auto insurance rates go down. This is not a coincidence.

The vampire smirked, a surprisingly predatory expression on her cupid’s-bow lips, and glided back to the empty chair by the door, seating herself in it like Shirley Temple on a movie set, sure that she held the attention of everyone there.

“Gutsy,” I said quietly.

“Why do you say that?” Sir Stuart asked.

“She came in without an invitation,” I said.

“I thought vampires couldn’t do that.”

“The Reds ca—That is, they couldn’t without being half-paralyzed. The Black Court vampires can’t cross a threshold, period. The Whites can, but it cripples their abilities, makes it very difficult to draw on their Hunger for strength and speed.”

Sir Stuart shook his head. “Ah yes. She’s a succubus.”

“Well . . . not exactly, but the differences are academic.”

The shade nodded. “I’m not exposing Mortimer to that creature.”

“Probably not a bad idea,” I agreed. “He’s got access to way too much information. They’d love to get someone like Mort under their thumb.”

“Hello, Felicia,” Murphy said, her tone cool and professional. “All right, people. Mr. Childs won’t be here tonight. I’m holding his proxy.”

Felicia curled the fingers of both tiny hands around the teacup and sipped it. The tea had been scalding when the others had first sipped it. They’d been cautious. The vampire took a mouthful as if it had been room-temperature Kool-Aid and swallowed it down with a little shiver of apparent pleasure. “How convenient for you. Shall we ever see the dapper gentleman again?”

“That will be up to Marcone,” Murphy replied. “Abby?”

Toto was staring at Felicia and standing with stiff legs on Abby’s lap. If he’d been capable of a threatening growl, he’d have been doing it. Instead, there was just a steady squeaking sound coming from his general direction.

Abby took a firmer grip on Toto and looked down at a notebook in her lap. “The Paranet continues to operate at better than seventy-five percent of its original capacity. We actually regained contact with Minnesota, Massachusetts, and Alabama this week.” She cleared her throat and blinked her eyes several times. “We lost contact with Oregon.”

“Seattle or Tacoma?” Murphy asked.

“Yes,” Abby said quietly. “No one has heard from a member in either place there for the past three days.”

Forthill crossed himself and said something beneath his breath.

“Amen, Father,” Felicia murmured.

“Someone got their roster,” Daniel said, his voice harsh.

Will grunted and nodded. “Do we know who?”

“Um,” Abby said, giving Will a brief, apologetic smile. “We haven’t heard from anyone. So no. We’ll have to send someone to investigate.”

“Ugh,” Murphy said, shaking her head. “No. If that many people have been taken, it means one of the larger powers is at work. If the Fomor have come to Oregon in strength, we’d just be throwing our scout into a snake pit.”

“If we move quickly enough,” Abby disagreed firmly, “we might be able to save some of them.”

Murphy’s expression turned introspective. “True. But there’s nothing we can do from here.” She looked at Forthill.

“I’ll find out what I can through our channels,” he promised. “But . . . I fear you will find little in the way of remedy there.”

Murphy nodded. “We’ll kick this one up to the Wardens.”

Daniel snorted at exactly the same time I did. “Oh, sure, the White Council,” the young man said. “They’re the answer to this. Because they care so much about the little guy and the immediate future. They’ll wander in right away—a mere year or two from now.”

Will gave Daniel a flat look, and the muscles along his jaw twitched.

Murphy lifted a hand and said, “I’ll call Ramirez and ask him to expedite. I’ll ask Elaine Mallory to back me up.”

Elaine Mallory. When Murphy said it, the name cracked something in my head and a geyser of memories erupted from it. Elaine had been my first. First friend. First crush. First lover. First victim—or so I had believed for years, at any rate. She somehow escaped the flames that consumed my old mentor, Justin DuMorne.

About a million sense-memories hit me all at once. It was like trying to watch a warehouse wall lined with televisions, all of them on different stations, all of them blaring at maximum volume. Sunshine on skin. Smooth curve of slender waist and leanly muscled back as Elaine dove into a moonlit swimming pool. The blindingly gentle sensation of our first kiss, slow and tentative and careful as it had been.

Elaine. Who had been subverted into Justin’s slave. Who hadn’t been strong enough to defend herself when Justin came to claim her mind. Who I failed to protect.

Joy and pain came with those memories. It was deliriously intense, as disorienting and overwhelming as any drug.

Hell’s bells, I hate being the new guy.

I managed to push the memories off after a few moments, in time to hear the vampire speak. Felicia cleared her throat and lifted a hand. “As it happens,” she said, “I know that we have some assets in the area. It’s possible they might be able to find something.”

“It’s also possible that they’re responsible for the disappearances,” Marci said mildly.

“Nonsense, child,” Felicia responded with a little toss of her head. “We hardly need to capture our prey and corral them where their thick numbers will make hunting simple.” She gave Marci a sweetly dimpled smile. “We already have such pens. They’re called cities .”

“We will be happy for any information the White Court is willing to provide, Felicia,” Murphy said, her calm, professional, neutral tone expertly dulling the edges of the previous words. “What about Chicago, Abby?”

“We lost two this week,” Abby said. “Nathan Simpson and Sunbeam Monroe.”

“A ghoul took Simpson,” Will supplied at once. “We settled his account.”

Murphy glanced at Will in approval. “Have I met Sunbeam?”

Abby nodded. “The college student from San Jose.”

Murphy winced. “Right. Tall girl? Hippie-esque parents.”

“That’s her. She was accompanied to the El station, and someone was waiting at her destination. She never arrived.”

Murphy made a growling sound that more than made up for Toto’s lack. “We know anything?”

Will looked at Marci. The stringy girl shook her head. “The snow is holding too many scents in place. I couldn’t find anything solid.” She looked down at her knees and added, “Sorry.”