Jim Butcher - Ghost Story

Murphy ignored that last bit. “She shouldn’t have been traveling alone. We’re going to have to stress the importance of partnering up.”

“How?” Abby asked. “I mean, it’s in every circular.”

Murphy nodded. “Will?”

Will drummed his fingertips on his biceps and nodded. “I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you.”

Abby blinked several times and then said, “Karrin . . . you can’t possibly mean . . .”

“People are dying,” Murphy said simply. “A good scare can do wonders to cure stupidity.”

“Or we could try protecting them,” said Daniel.

Forthill lifted a hand again, but the younger man ignored him, rising to his feet. Daniel’s voice was a rich, strong baritone. “All over the world, dark things are rising up against mortals connected to the supernatural. Killing them or dragging them away into the dark. Creatures that haven’t been seen by mankind in the past two millennia are reappearing. Fighting mortals. Fighting one another. The shadows are boiling over with death and terror, and no one is doing anything about it!

“The Wardens went from fighting the Vampire War to a new one, against an enemy without a face or an identity. The White Council doesn’t have Wardens enough to handle everything that’s happening anyway. If a cry for help is sent up anywhere but a major city, there’s no chance at all of them showing up. Meanwhile, what are we doing?” Daniel’s voice filled with quiet scorn. “Telling people to travel around in herds. Scaring them ourselves to make them do so, as if there wasn’t terror enough in the world already.”

Murphy stared steadily at him. Then she said, her tone hard, “That’s enough.”

Daniel ignored her, planting his feet and squaring his shoulders. “You know. You know what must be done, Ms. Murphy. You’re holding two of the greatest weapons against darkness that the world has ever known. Bring forth the Swords.”

A dead silence settled on the room, into which Sir Stuart asked me, conversationally, “Which swords?”

“The Swords of the Cross,” I said quietly, out of habit—I could have sung it operatically without anyone there noticing. “The ones with the nails from the Crucifixion worked into them.”

“Excalibur, Durendal, and Kusanagi, yes, yes,” Sir Stuart said, his tone a little impatient. “Of course I know the Swords of the Cross. And the little blond woman has two of them?”

I just stared at the burly shade for a long second. I’d found what amounted to a rumor that Amoracchius was, in fact, the same sword given to King Arthur, but I hadn’t ever heard anything about the other two— despite some fairly exhaustive research over the years. The shade had dropped their identities as if they were everyday knowledge.

Sir Stuart frowned at me and said, “What is it?”

“I just don’t . . . Do you know how much research I . . .” I blew out an exasperated breath, scowled, and said, “I went to public school.”

Back inside, Murphy didn’t break the silence. She just stared at Daniel for maybe two minutes. Then she directed a rather pointed glance at Felicia and eyed Daniel again.

The young man glanced at Felicia and closed his eyes as his cheeks got redder and his passion swiftly deflated. He muttered something under his breath and sat down again rather quickly.

The vampire sat in her chair, staring at Daniel over the rim of her teacup and smiling as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. For all I knew, it wouldn’t. “I love young men,” she purred. “I just love them.”

“Mr. Carpenter,” Murphy said. “I assume you have divulged secrets enough to the enemies of humanity for one evening?”

Daniel said nothing.

“Then perhaps you can join Eyes and Fuzz in keeping watch outside.”

He rose at once, slipping into his heavy, fleece-lined, blue denim coat. It was an old, well-used garment. I’d seen his father wearing it, but it was a little big on Daniel. Without a word, he left the living room for the kitchen and went out the back door.

Silence was heavy when he left.

“Both swords,” Felicia said, her tone light, her periwinkle eyes on Murphy. “My, my, my.” She sipped at her tea and said, “Of course, you’ll have to kill me, dear. If you can.” The diminutive vampire looked casually at each person in the room. “I give you one chance in four.”

“I can’t let the White Court know about the Swords,” Murphy agreed. Her fingers hung near the handle of her gun.

Will watched with sleepy eyes. But sometime in the past few seconds he had managed to center his weight over his feet. Marci still crouched with her legs curled up to the rest of her, but they were under her dress now. Within a heartbeat, she could have it off and clear it from impeding her shapeshifting.

Felicia was in exactly the same posture as several minutes before. She looked entirely unconcerned with any possible danger. I made a mental note never to play poker with her. “Well, darling. If you intended to dance, there would already be music. So perhaps we should talk.” She smiled, and her eyes glittered, suddenly several shades lighter than before. “Just us girls. We can go for a walk.”

Murphy snorted. She drew her gun from her belt and set it on the armrest of her chair. She rested her hand over it, not quite touching the trigger. “I’m not an idiot, Felicia. You’ll stay right where you are. As will I. Everyone else, outside.”

Abby had risen before Murphy finished speaking, holding Toto carefully as she left.

Will frowned at Murphy. “You sure?”

Father Forthill rose, frowning, and said, “These old legs want to go for a little walk, in any case. Good evening, Ms. Murphy. William?”

Will literally growled, and it came out sounding like no noise a human being ought to be able to make. But then he nodded to Murphy and turned toward the door. Marci hurried to her feet and went after him. Forthill stumped off after them. I heard everyone leave the house by the back door, probably to gather on the stone-paved patio just outside.

“I like this,” Felicia said into the silence, smiling. “This charming little house feels so intimate. Don’t you think?” She tilted her head. “Are the Swords on the premises?”

“I think you should name your price,” Murphy responded.

Felicia arched an eyebrow, a sensual little smile bending one corner of her mouth into a smirk.

“F—” Murphy cleared her throat. “Forget that. It isn’t happening.”

The vampire turned her mouth down in a mocking little pout. “Such a Puritan work ethic. Business and pleasure can coexist, you know.”

“This isn’t business, Ms. Raith. It’s blackmail.”

“To-may-toe, to-mah-toe,” Felicia said with a shrug. “The point is, Karrin, that you can hardly afford to be squeamish.”

“No?”

“No. You’re intelligent, skilled, and strong-willed—quite formidable. . . .” She smiled. “For a mortal. But, in the end, you are a lone mortal. And you are no longer beneath the aegis of city law enforcement or resident members of the White Council.”

Murphy moved nothing but her lips. “Meaning?”

Felicia sighed and said in a practical, dispassionate tone, “The Swords are valuable. They could be traded for a great deal of influence. Should the White Court learn of this and decide to take the Swords, they will take you. They will ask you where they are. They will force you to surrender them.”

Murphy might have twitched one shoulder in a shrug. Then she got up and walked toward Felicia, gripping her gun loosely in hand. “And . . . what? If I give you what you want, you’ll stay quiet?”

Felicia nodded, her eyelids lowering as she watched Murphy approach. “For a few days, at any rate. By which time, you will have been able to take measures to prevent them from being taken.”