Jim Butcher - Changes

“So,” he said. “It’s Mr. Known Associate. Just as well. I needed to talk to you again anyway.”

“I’m a popular guy this week,” I said.

“You’re telling me,” Tilly said. He folded his arms, frowning. “So. We got a car rented by a mystery man using a bogus identity, right outside a building that blows up. We got sworn testimony from two local snoops that this leggy looker named Susan Rodriguez was seen in his company. We got a pancaked Volkswagen Bug, belonging to Harry Dresden, and seventy thousand dollars’ worth of property damage near the house of a local crooked IA cop who lied his ass off to point me at you. We got a file that says that Susan Rodriguez was at one point your girlfriend. Eyewitnesses that place both her and the mystery man at your apartment—which seemed to be a little too clean of anything that could implicate you. But before we could go back and take a real hard close look at it for trace evidence, it burns to the ground. Fire chief is still working on the investigation, but his first impression is arson.” Tilly scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know if you’re current on investigative technique, but when there are this many connections between a relatively small number of people and events, it can sometimes be an indicator that they might be up to something nefarious.”

“Nefarious, huh?” I asked.

Tilly nodded. “Good word, isn’t it.” He scrunched up his nose. “Disappoints me, because my instincts said you were playing it level with me. Close to the chest, but level. I guess you can always run into someone better at lying than you are at catching them, huh.”

“Probably,” I said. “But you didn’t. At least not with me.”

He grunted. “Maybe. Maybe.” He glanced back into his office. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re playing with dynamite again, Tilly,” said Murphy’s voice.

“Murph,” I said, relieved. I leaned around Tilly and waved at her. She looked at me and shook her head. “Dammit, Dresden. Can’t you ever do anything quietly and in an orderly fashion?”

“No way,” I said. “It’s the only thing keeping Tilly here from deciding I’m some kind of bomb maker.”

Murphy’s mouth twitched up at one corner, briefly. She asked soberly, “Are you okay?”

“They burned down my house, Murph,” I said. “Mister got out, but I don’t know where he’s at. I mean, I know that a lost cat isn’t exactly a priority right now but . . .” I shrugged. “I guess I’m worried about him.”

“If he misses his feeding,” Murphy said wryly, “I’m more worried about me . Mister is the closest thing to a mountain lion for a few hundred miles. He’ll be fine.”

Tilly blinked and turned to Murphy. “Seriously?”

Murphy frowned at him. “What?”

“You still back him,” Tilly said. “Despite all the flags he’s setting off.”

“Yeah,” Murphy said.

Tilly exhaled slowly. Then he said, “All right, Dresden. Step into my office?”

I did. Tilly shut the door behind us.

“Okay,” he said. “Tell me what’s going on here.”

“You don’t want to know,” Murphy said. She’d beaten me to it.

“That’s funny,” Tilly said. “I just checked in with my brain about an hour ago, and at that time, it told me that it did want to know.”

Murphy exhaled and glanced at me.

I held up both hands. “I hardly know the guy. Your call.”

Murphy nodded and asked Tilly, “How much do you know about the Black Cat case files?”

Tilly looked at her for a moment. Then he looked at his identification badge, clipped to his jacket. “Funny. For a second there, I thought someone must have changed it to say ‘Mulder.’ ”

“I’m serious, Till,” Murphy said.

His dark eyebrows climbed. “Um. They were the forerunner to Special Investigations, right? Sixties, seventies, I think. They got handed all the weirdo stuff. The files make some claims that make me believe several of those officers were having fun with all the wonderful new psychotropic drugs that were coming out back then.”

“What if I told you they weren’t stoned, Till?” Murphy asked.

Tilly frowned. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

“They weren’t stoned,” Murphy said.

Tilly’s frown deepened.

“SI handles all the same stuff the Black Cats did. It’s just been made real clear to us that our reports had better not sound like a drug trip. So the reports provide an explanation. They don’t provide much accuracy.”

“You’re . . . standing there, right in front of me, telling me that when Dresden told me it was vampires, he was being serious?”

“Completely,” Murphy said.

Tilly folded his arms. “Jesus, Karrin.”

“You think I’m lying to you?” she asked.

“You aren’t,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean there are vampires running around out there. It just means that you believe it’s true.”

“Maybe I’m just gullible,” Murphy suggested.

Tilly gave her a reproachful look. “Or maybe the pressure is getting to you and you aren’t seeing things objectively. I mean—”

“If you make some comment even obliquely alluding to menstruation or menopause and its effect on my judgment,” Murphy interrupted, “I will break your arm in eleven places.”

Tilly pressed his lips together sourly. “Dammit, Murphy. Can you hear yourself? Vampires? For Christ’s sake. What am I supposed to think?”

Murphy spread her hands. “I’m not sure. Harry, what’s actually happening?”

I laid out the last couple of days, focusing on the events in Chicago and leaving out everything but the broadest picture of the White Council and the Red Court and their involvement.

“This vampire couple,” Murphy said. “You think they’re the ones who got to Rudolph?”

“Stands to reason. They could put pressure on him a lot of different ways. They wanted to remove him before he could squeal and sent their heavy to do it.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing here,” Tilly said.

“So when are you moving?” Murphy asked me, ignoring him.

“Tonight.”

“No one is moving anywhere until I get some answers,” Tilly said. To his credit, he didn’t stick any bravado into the sentence. He made it as a statement of simple fact.

“Don’t know how many of those I can give you, man,” I said, quietly. “There’s not much time. And my little girl is in danger.”

“This isn’t a negotiation,” Tilly said.

“Agent,” I said, sighing. “There’s still a little time. I’m willing to talk with you.” My voice hardened. “But not for long. Please believe me when I say that I can take Susan out of this building, with or without your cooperation.”

“Harry,” Murphy said, as if I’d just uttered something unthinkably rude for which I ought to be ashamed.

“Tick-tock, Murph,” I answered. “If he pushes me, I can’t afford to stand here and smile.”

“Now I’m curious,” Tilly said, bristling almost visibly. “I think I’d like to see you try that.”

“Till,” Murphy said in exactly the same voice. “Mother of God, boys, would it kill either of you to behave like adults? Please?”

I folded my arms, scowling. Tilly did the same. But we both shut up.

“Thank you,” Murphy said. “Till . . . Do you remember that tape that was on the news a few years back? After the deaths at Special Investigations?”

“The werewolf thing?” Tilly asked. “Yeah. Blurry, badly lit, out of focus, and terrible effects. The creature didn’t look anything like a werewolf. Only suddenly the tape mysteriously vanishes, so it can’t be verified by anyone. Secondhand versions are probably on the Internet somewhere.” He mused and said, “The actress they had playing you was pretty good, though.”