Proven Guilty (The Dresden Files 8)

"Is he here?" Murphy said.

"Gut feeling," I said. "He seems like the kind who sees something through."

"He also seems like the kind who's been injured. No chance he'd get active duty here."

"He didn't have it at the hospital, either," I pointed out.

"True," Murphy said.

I caught my breath a little, and asked, "Anything at Pell's theater?"

Murphy nodded and crossed the room to pick up two of the candles. "A lot of nothing. Place was locked up tight. Chains on the front doors, and the back door was locked. Sign on the door said they were closed until further notice."

I grunted. "You'd think Pell would be wild to have the place open, if the convention was providing a significant amount of his income-even if he was in a hospital bed. Hell, especially if he was in a hospital bed."

"Unless he doesn't have anyone he trusts to run it for him."

"But he does have someone he trusts enough to lock it up?" I said. "That doesn't track. Pell sure as hell didn't lock up after he was attacked."

Murphy frowned, but she didn't disagree with me. "I tried to call him to ask him about it, but the nurse said he was sleeping."

I ran my fingers back through my hair, frowning over the situation. "Curiouser and curiouser," I said. "We're missing something here."

"Like what?" Murphy asked.

"Another player," I said. "Someone we haven't seen yet."

Murphy made a thoughtful sound. "Maybe. But imagining invisible perpetrators or hidden conspiracies veers pretty close to paranoia."

"Maybe not another suspect, then," I said thoughtfully. "Maybe another motive."

"Like what?" she asked, though I could see the wheels turning in her head as she followed the logic chain from the notion.

"These phage attacks look fairly simple at first glance. Like... I don't know. Shark attacks. Something hungry shows up to eat someone and then leaves. Natural occurrences. Or rather, typical supernatural occurrences."

"But they aren't random," Murphy said. "Someone is sending them to a specific place. Someone who used magic to try to stop you when you interfered with one of the phages."

"Which begs the obvious question..." I began.

Murphy nodded and finished the thought. "Why do it in the first place?"

I stuck my left hand out to one side of me and said, "Look over here." Then I mimed a short jab with my right fist.

"It's a rope-a-dope," Murphy said, her eyes narrowing. "A distraction. But from what?"

"Something worse than homicidal, shapeshifting, supernatural predators, apparently," I mused. "Something we'd want to stop a lot more."

"Like what?"

I shook my head and shrugged. "I don't know. Not yet, anyway."

Murphy grimaced. "Leave it to you to make paranoia sound plausible."

"It's only paranoia if I'm wrong," I said.

Murphy glanced over her shoulder and shivered a little. "Yeah." She turned back to me, squared her shoulders, and took a steadying breath. "Okay. What's the play, here? I assume you've got something in mind beyond having a minute or two of warning."

"Yes," I said.

"What?" she asked.

"It gets kind of technical," I said.

"I'll try to keep up," she said.

I nodded. "Anytime something from the spirit world wants to cross into the mortal world, it has to do a number of things to cross the border. It has to have a point of origin, a point of destination, and enough energy to open the way. Then it has to cross over, summon ectoplasm from the Nevernever, and infuse it with more energy to give itself a physical body."

She frowned. "What do you mean by points of origin and destination?"

"Links," I told her. "Sort of like landmarks. Usually, the creature you're calling up can serve as its own point of origin. Whoever is opening the way across is usually the destination."

"Can anyone be the destination?" she asked.

"No," I said. "You can't call up anything that isn't..." I frowned, looking for words. "You can't call up anything that doesn't have some kind of reflection inside you, a kind of point of reference for the spirit being. If you want evil, nasty, hungry beings, there's got to be evil, nasty, and hunger inside of you."

She nodded. "Does the way have to be opened from this side?"

"Generally," I said. "It takes a hell of a lot more oomph to get it done from the other side."

She nodded. "Go on."

I told her about my plan to turn the phages back upon their summoner.

"I like that," she said. "Using their own monsters against them. But what does that leave me to do?"

"You buy me time," I said. "There will be a moment just when the phage or phages cross over, where they will be vulnerable. If you're able to see one and distract it, it will give me more time to aim them back at their summoner. And it's possible that my spell might not work. If it goes south, you'll be near enough to help clear people out, maybe do them some good."

Murphy began to speak-then she paused, turned around, and asked, "Harry. Is there someone in the shower?"

"Uh. Yeah," I said, and rubbed at the back of my neck.

She arched a brow and waited, but I didn't offer any explanation. Maybe it was my way of getting petty vengeance for her brutal honesty in the elevator.

"All right then," she said, and took up the candles. "I'll get downstairs and look for Rawlins. Otherwise, I'll grab one of my guys from SI."

"Sounds good," I said.

Murphy left, while I started planning out my redirection spell. It didn't take me long.

Mouse lifted his head suddenly, and a second later someone knocked at the door. I went over and opened it.

Charity stood on the other side, dressed in jeans, a knit tank top, and a blue blouse of light cotton. Her features were drawn with stress, her shoulders clenched in unconscious tension. When she saw me, her features became remote and neutral, very controlled. "Hello, Mister Dresden."

It was probably the friendliest greeting I could expect from her. "Heya," I said.

Standing beside her was an old man, a little under average height. What was left of his hair was grey, trimmed neatly, though hardly a fringe remained. He had eyes the color of robin's eggs, spectacles, a comfortably heavy build, and wore black slacks and a black shirt. The white square of his clerical collar stood out distinctively against the shirt. He smiled when he saw me, and offered me his hand.