White Night (The Dresden Files 9)

"Yes," she said. "They would."

"Dammit," I said. "We could use your help."

"I don't doubt it," she said. Her eyes hardened and her voice went suddenly cold. "But I will not be used. Not by anyone. Never again."

I blinked and turned to her.

She lifted her chin slightly, green eyes bright with unfallen tears. "No, Harry."

I turned my hand under hers, and we intertwined our fingers with the careless ease of an old habit. "Elaine. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push. I hadn't realized..."

She blinked several times and looked away from me. "No, I'm the one who should be sorry. I'm going all neurotic on you, here. I don't mean to be." She stared out the window at the city. "After you killed DuMorne, I spent a year having a nightmare. The same one, every single night. I was sure that it was true. That he was still alive. That he was coming for me."

"He wasn't," I told her.

"I know," she said. "I saw him die just as you did. But I was so afraid... " She shook her head. "I ran to the Summer Court because of it. I ran, Harry. I couldn't face it."

"Is that what you're doing, going public?" I asked. "Facing your past?"

"I have to," she said, her voice growing firmer. "It scares the crap out of me, all the time. And over the years... I've had problems with crowds. With enclosed spaces. With heights. With wide-open spaces. Night terrors. Panic attacks. Paranoia. God, sometimes it seems like there's nothing I haven't had a phobia about."

What Elaine had described was about what I would have expected from someone whose mind had been invaded by an outside will. Magic can get you into someone's head, but if you decide to start redecorating to your tastes, there is no way to avoid inflicting damage to their psyche. Depending upon several factors, someone who has been put under that kind of control can be left twitchy and erratic at best - and at worst, totally catatonic or completely dysfunctional.

And there was the utterly normal element of emotional pain to consider, too. Elaine had, in the course of a single evening, lost absolutely everything she loved. Her boyfriend. Her adopted father. Her home.

Losing a home means a lot more to an orphan than it does to most other people. I'm in a position to know. Like me, Elaine had spent most of her childhood bouncing around from one foster home to another, one state-run orphanage to another. Like me, being given a real home, a real house, a real father figure had been a desperate dream come true. It had been a terrible loss to me, and Justin hadn't gotten any hooks into my head. For Elaine, that series of events had been infinitely more painful, infinitely more frightening.

"I let fear control one part of my life," Elaine said, "and it took root and started growing. I had to get involved, Harry. I have to use what I know to change things. If I don't, then all I'll ever be is DuMorne's tool. His terrified little weapon. I will not allow anyone to take control of my life away from me. I can't." She shrugged. "And I can't stand by and do nothing, either. I threw the tests. I don't regret it. I sure as hell am not going to apologize for it - not to you or to anyone."

I grunted.

"Well?" she asked.

"I think I get it," I said.

"Are you willing to work with me, then?"

I squeezed her hand a little. "Of course."

The tension in her shoulders eased, and she squeezed my hand back. "My turn," she said.

"Your turn?"

She nodded. "You recognized the killer when you looked at the photo."

"What?" I said. "No, I didn't."

She rolled her eyes. "Come on, Harry. It's me."

I sighed. "Yeah, well."

"Who is he?" she asked.

"Thomas Raith," I said. "White Court."

"How do you know him?"

"He's..." Not many people knew that Thomas was my brother. It was safer for both of us to keep that information limited. "He's a friend. Someone I trust."

"Trust," Elaine said quietly. "I notice you use the present tense."

"Thomas isn't hurting anyone," I said.

"He's a vampire, Harry. He hurts someone every time he feeds."

He'd been doing quite a bit of that lately. "I know Thomas," I maintained. "He isn't the killer."

Elaine frowned. "Treachery hurts, Harry. Believe me, I know."

"Nothing has proved Thomas is behind these killings," I said. "It could be someone else, or something else, masquerading as him. It isn't as if there aren't plenty of shapeshifting things around that could do it."

"Little bit of a reach, though," Elaine said. She nodded at the photos, where I'd set them on the dashboard. "The simplest explanation is usually the correct one."

"Sooner or later," I said, "I'll have a case where everything is simple. But I don't think this one is it."

Elaine exhaled slowly, studying my face. "You care about him."

No point in denying that. "Yeah."

"He trusts you in return?"

"Yeah."

"Then why hasn't he explained himself to you?" she asked. "Why hasn't he gotten in touch with you?"

"I don't know. But I know he's not a killer."

She nodded slowly. "But there he is, with Olivia."

"Yeah."

"Then I think you should agree with me that we need to find him."

"Yeah."

"Can you?"

"Yep."

"All right, then," she said, and put on her seat belt. "We'll find him. We'll talk to him. I'll try to keep an open mind." She looked at me. "But if it turns out to be him, Harry, he's got to be stopped - and I expect you to help me."

"If it turns out to be him," I said, "he'd want me to."

Chapter Twenty

I've been working as a detective in Chicago for a while now, and there's one thing you do a lot more than almost anything else: You find things that get lost. I'd first designed my tracking spell to catch up to the house keys I kept losing when I was about fourteen. I'd used it a few thousand times, now. Sometimes, it had helped me find things I really didn't want. Mostly, it helped me get into trouble.

This time, I was fairly sure it would do both.

I could have used my blood to trace Thomas's, probably, but I could use my silver pentacle amulet too. My mother had given me the one I habitually wore, and she'd given one to Thomas, too. I knew that he wore it just as habitually as I wore mine, and unless someone had taken it away from him, he'd be wearing it now.