Jim Butcher - Changes

“That wasn’t an actress, Till,” Murphy said quietly. “I was there. I saw it happen. The tape was genuine. You have my word.”

Tilly frowned again. He ducked his head down slightly, dark eyes focused on his thoughts, as if he were reading from a report only he could see.

“Look, man,” I said quietly. “Think about it like this. What if you’d never heard me say the word vampire ? What if I’d said drug cartel or terrorists instead? And I told you that this group of terrorists was financed by shady corporations and that one of them had blown the office building to prevent their illegal data from being stolen and exposed to the world? What if I had told you that because I’d pissed them off, a bunch of terrorists had taken my daughter? That they were going to cut her head off and put the video on the Internet? That Susan and the mystery man were spooks from an organization I was not at liberty to divulge, trying to help me find and recover the girl? Would it still sound crazy?”

Tilly cocked his head for a second. Then he said in a subdued voice, “It would sound like the plot of a cheesy novel.” He shrugged. “But . . . the logic would hold up. I mean . . . they don’t call those assholes ‘extremists’ for nothing.”

“Okay,” I said gently. “Then . . . maybe we can just pretend I said it was terrorists. And go from there. It’s my daughter, man.”

Tilly looked back and forth from me to Murphy. He said quietly, “Either you’re both crazy—or I am—or you’re telling me the truth.” He shook his head. “And . . . I’m not sure which of the possibilities disturbs me more.”

“You got a piece of paper?” I asked him.

Bemused, he opened his drawer and got out a pad.

I grabbed a pen and wrote on it:

Susan,

Tell him everything.

Harry

I tore off the page, folded the note, and said, “I guess Susan hasn’t said much to you.”

Tilly grunted. “Nothing, in fact. Literally nothing. Which is fairly hard-core, in my experience.”

“She can be stubborn,” I said. “Go give her this. You know I haven’t seen her in hours. Get her story, off the record. See how well it matches up.”

He took the note and looked at it. Then back at me.

“Hard to know who to trust,” I said. “Talk to her. Try to take the story apart. See if it stands up.”

He thought about it for a moment and said, “Keep him here, Murphy.”

“Okay.”

Tilly left.

There were two chairs, and neither looked comfortable. I settled down on the floor and closed my eyes.

“How bad is it?” she asked me.

“Pretty bad,” I said quietly. “Um. I need to ask you a favor.”

“Sure.”

“If . . . Look. I have a will in a lockbox at the National Bank on Michigan. If something should happen to me . . . I’d appreciate it if you’d see to it. You’re on the list of people who can open it. Listed as executor.”

“Harry,” she said.

“Granted, there’s not much to have a will about at the moment,” I said. “Everything was in my house or office, but . . . there are some intangibles and . . .” I felt my throat tighten, and cut short my request. “Take care of it for me?”

There was silence, and then Murphy moved and settled down next to me. Her hand squeezed mine. I squeezed back.

“Sure,” she said.

“Thanks.”

“There’s . . . there’s nothing in there about Maggie, obviously,” I said. “But if I can’t be there to . . . I want her in a good home. Somewhere safe.”

“Hey, emo boy,” she said. “Time to take a gloom break. Right? You aren’t dead yet, as far as I can tell.”

I snorted quietly and opened my eyes, looking up at her.

“You’ll take care of her yourself when this is done.”

I shook my head slowly. “I . . . can’t, Murph. Susan was right. All I can offer her is a life under siege. My enemies would use her. She’s got to vanish. Go somewhere safe. Really safe. Not even I can know where she is.” I swallowed on a choking sensation in my throat. “Father Forthill at St. Mary’s can help. Mouse should go with her. He’ll help protect her.”

Murphy looked at me, troubled. “You aren’t telling me something.”

“It isn’t important for now,” I said. “If you could find Mister . . . Molly might like to have him around. Just so long as he’s taken care of.”

“Jesus, Harry,” Murphy said.

“I’m not planning a suicide run, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I said. “But there’s a possibility that I won’t come back from this. If that happens, I need someone I can trust to know my wishes and carry them out. In case I can’t.”

“I’ll do it,” Murphy said, and let out a short laugh. “For crying out loud, I’ll do it, just so we can talk about something else.”

I smiled, too, and Rudolph entered Tilly’s office and found us both on the floor, grinning.

Everyone froze. No one looked certain of how to react.

“Well,” Rudolph said quietly. “I always figured this for what it was. But, boy, did you have everyone at your headquarters fooled, Murphy.”

“Hi, Rudy,” I said. “You’ve got a beautiful home.”

Rudolph gnashed his teeth and drew an envelope out of his pocket. He flicked it to the floor near Murphy. “For you. A cease-and-desist order, specifying that you aren’t allowed within two hundred yards of this case or anyone involved in the active investigation, until your competence and noncomplicity have been confirmed by a special tribunal of the Chicago Police Board. Also a written order from Lieutenant Stallings, specifying that you are to have nothing to do with the investigation into the explosion, and relieving you of duty forthwith if you do not comply.” His eyes shifted to me. “You. I haven’t forgotten you.”

“Shame,” I said. “I’d almost forgotten you, but you’ve ruined that. Walking into the room and all.”

“This isn’t over, Dresden.”

I sighed. “Yeah. I’ve been having that kind of week.”

Murphy opened the envelope and read over a pair of pages. Then she looked at Rudolph and said, “What did you tell them?”

“You have your orders, Sergeant,” Rudolph said coldly. “Leave the building before I relieve you of your weapon and your shield.”

“You mosquito-dicked weasel,” she said, her voice coldly furious.

“That remark is going into my report for the tribunal, Murphy,” Rudolph said. There was a vicious satisfaction in his voice. “And once they read the rest, you’re done. With your record? They aren’t paying you any more slack, bitch. You’re gone.”

Something dark and ugly stirred in my chest, and the sudden image of Rudolph pinned to the wall by a ton of crystalline ice popped into my brain.

“ Bitch? ” Murphy said, rising.

“Whoa,” I said, drawing out the word as I came to my own feet, and speaking as much to myself as to the furious woman. “Murph, don’t play his game here.”

“Game?” Rudolph said. “You’re a menace, Murphy, and a disgrace. You belong behind bars. Once you’re out, it’ll happen, too. You and this clown both.”

“ Clown? ” I said, in the exact same tone Murphy had used.

And the lights went out.

There was a sudden hush all around us, as FBI headquarters was plunged into powerless darkness. After several seconds, the emergency lights still hadn’t come on.

“Harry,” Murphy said, her tone annoyed.

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck crawling around. I lowered my voice and said, “That wasn’t me.”

“Where are the emergency lights?” Rudolph said. “Th-they’re supposed to turn on within seconds. Right?”

“Heh,” I said into the darkness. “Heh, heh. Rudy, old buddy, do you remember the night we met?”