Jim Butcher: Blood Rites

I watched Thomas as we walked through the room. His manner changed subtly, something I could sense without being able to define. He didn't move any more quickly, but his steps became more fluid somehow. He looked around the room as we went through, his eyelids a little heavy, and he started drawing the eyes of every woman we walked past.

I drew no such looks, even with the grey puppy sleeping in the crook of my arm. It's not like I'm Quasimodo or anything, but with Thomas walking through the room like a predator angel, it was tough to compete.

Madge led us past the party room and into a small room with bookshelves and a desk with a computer. "Have a seat and I'll go find him," she said.

"Thank you," I said, and settled down onto the chair at the desk. She left, her eyes lingering on Thomas for a moment before she did. He perched on a corner of the desk, his expression pensive. "You look thoughtful," I said, "which seems wrong somehow. What is it?"

"I'm hungry," Thomas said. "And thinking. Madge is Arturo's first ex-wife."

"And she's hosting a party for him?" I asked.

"Yeah. I never thought she liked the guy much."

"What did she mean about investing?"

Thomas shrugged. "Arturo broke off from a larger studio on the West Coast to found his own. Madge is real practical. She's the kind of person who could despise someone while still being professional and working with him. Acknowledging his talents. If she thought it was a winning bet, she wouldn't be worried that she didn't like the person in charge. It wouldn't be out of character for her to have invested money in Arturo's new company."

"What kind of money are we talking about?"

"Not sure," Thomas said. "Seven figures, maybe more. I'd have to get someone to look."

I whistled. "Lot of money."

"I guess," Thomas said. Thomas was rich enough that he probably didn't have much perspective on the value of a buck.

I started to ask him more questions, but the door opened, and a tall and vigorous man in his fifties entered, wearing dark slacks and a grey silk shirt rolled up over his forearms. He had a head of magnificent silver locks framing a strong face with a dark, short beard. He had a boater's tan, pale smile lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, and large, intelligent dark eyes.

"Tommy!" the man boomed, and strode to Thomas. "Hey, I was hoping I would see you tonight." His voice had a thick accent, definitely Greek. He clapped both hands on Thomas's shoulders and kissed him on either cheek. "You're looking good, Tommy boy, real good. You should come work with me, huh?"

"I don't look good on camera," Thomas said. "But it's good to see you, too. Arturo Genosa, this is Harry Dresden, the man I told you about."

Arturo looked me up and down. "Tall son of a bitch, huh?"

"I ate my Wheaties," I said.

"Hey, pooch," Arturo said. He scratched the grey puppy behind the ear. The little dog yawned, licked Arturo's hand once, and promptly went back to sleep. "Your dog?"

"Temporarily," I said. "Recovered him for a client."

Arturo nodded, his expression calculating. "You know what a strega is, Mr. Dresden?"

"Practitioner of Italian folk magic," I responded. "Divinations, love potions, fertility blessings, and protections. They also can manage a pretty vicious set of curses with a technique they call the malocchio. The Evil Eye."

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Guess you know a thing or two, huh."

"Just enough to get me into trouble," I said.

"But do you believe in it?"

"In the Evil Eye?"

"Yes."

"I've seen stranger things."

Arturo nodded. "Tommy boy tell you what I need?"

"He said you were worried about a curse. Said some people close to you died."

Arturo's expression flickered for a second, and I saw grief undermine his confidence. "Yes. Two women. Good souls, both."

"Uh- huh," I said. "Assuming there is a curse involved, what makes you think it was meant for you?"

"They had no other contact with each other," Arturo said. "Far as I know, I was the only thing they had in common." He opened a drawer in his desk and drew out a couple of manila file folders. "Reports," he said. "Information about their deaths. Tommy says maybe you can help."

"Maybe," I agreed. "Why would someone curse you?"

"The studio," Arturo said. "Someone wants to stop the company from getting off the ground. Kill it before the first picture gets made."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Protection," Arturo said. "I want you to protect the people on my crew during the shoot. Don't want anything else to happen to anyone."

I frowned. "Can be a tough job. Do you know who would want to stop production?"

Arturo scowled at me and stalked across the room to a cabinet. He opened it and withdrew an already opened bottle of wine. He pulled out the cork with his teeth and took a swig. "If I knew that, I wouldn't need to hire an investigator."

I shrugged. "I'm a wizard, not a fortune-teller. Got any guesses? Anyone who might want to see you fail?"

"Lucille," Thomas said.

Arturo glanced at Thomas, scowling.

"Who is Lucille?" I asked.

"My second ex-wife," Arturo answered. "Lucille Delarossa. But she is not involved."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"She would not," he said. "I am certain."

"Why?"

He shook his head and stared down at his wine bottle. "Lucille… well. Let us say that I did not marry her for her mind."

"You don't have to be smart to be hostile," I said, though I couldn't really think of the last time someone stupid had pulled off powerful magic. "Anyone else? Is there another ex-wife around?"

Arturo waved a hand. "Tricia would not try to stop the picture."

"Why not?" I asked.

"She is the star."

Thomas made a choking sound. "Christ, Arturo."

The silver-maned man grimaced. "No choice. She had a standing contract. Could have killed me in court if I did not cast her."

"Is there an ex-wife number four?" I asked. "I can keep track of three. If there's four, I have to start writing things down."

"Not yet," Arturo muttered. "I am single. So far just the three."

"Well, that's something," I said. "Look, unless whoever is bringing this curse onto you does something right in front of me, there's not a lot I can do. We call a spell like the Evil Eye an entropy curse, and it's damned near impossible to trace any other way."

"My people must be protected from the malocchio ," Arturo said. "Can you do that?"

"If I'm there when it goes down, yes."

"How much does that cost?" he asked.

"Seventy- five an hour, plus expenses. A thousand up-front."

Arturo didn't hesitate. "Done. We start shooting in the morning, nine o'clock."

"I'll have to be close. Within sight, if possible," I said. "And the less anyone knows about it, the better."

"Yeah," Thomas agreed. "He'll need a cover story. If he stands around in the open, the bad guy will just wait until he leaves or goes to the bathroom or something."

Arturo nodded. "He can boom for me."

"Boom?" I asked.

"Boom microphone," Thomas supplied.

"Oh. That isn't such a hot idea," I said. "My magic doesn't get on so well with machines and such."

Arturo's face clouded with annoyance. "Fine. Production assistant." Something in his pants made a chirping sound, and he drew a cell phone from his pocket. He held up a hand to me and stepped over to the other side of the room, speaking in low tones.

"Production assistant. What's that?" I asked.

"Gofer," Thomas said, "Errand boy." He stood up, his movements restless.

There was a knock at the door, and it opened to admit a girl who may not have reached drinking age. She had dark hair, dark eyes, and was a little taller than average. She wore a white sweater with a short black skirt that showed off a lot of leg, and even compared to the pretty people outside, she was a knockout. Of course, the last time I'd seen her she'd been naked except for a red, Christmas-present-type bow, so it was possible that I was biased.