White Night (The Dresden Files 9)

Murphy snorted without taking her wary eyes from Marcone. "He's got a point, Dresden."

"That was one time," I muttered. Something in one of the envelopes dug at me through my duster pocket, and I reached down to take it out.

Hendricks may have been big, but he was not slow. He had a gun out before my fingers had closed on the envelope.

Murphy went for her gun, hand darting beneath the baggy shirt.

Marcone's voice cracked like a whip. "Stop. Everyone."

We all did it, a reflexive response to the complete authority in his tone.

There are reasons Marcone runs things in Chicago.

Marcone hadn't moved. Hell, he hadn't blinked. "Mister Hendricks," he said. "I appreciate your zeal, but if the wizard wished to harm me, he'd hardly need to draw a concealed weapon to do it. If you please."

Hendricks let out another rumbling growl and put the gun away.

"Thank you." Marcone turned to me. "I trust you will forgive Mister Hendricks's sensitivity. As my bodyguard, he is all too aware that whenever you get involved in my business, Dresden, matters tend to become a great deal more dangerous."

I scowled at them both and drew the folded materials from my duster pocket, tossing them down beside the discarded gym bag. "No harm, no foul. Right, Murph?"

Murphy remained motionless for a long moment, hand under her shirt - long enough to make a point that no one was ordering her to do it. Then she returned her hand to her lap.

"Thank you," Marcone said. "Now, shall we tilt at one another a few more times or just skip to the point of your visit, Dresden?"

"I want information about one of the women who worked here."

Marcone blinked once and said, "Go on."

"Her name was Jessica Blanche. Her body was found a few days ago. The ME couldn't find a cause of death. I did. I've got more bodies. I think the killings are related. I need to find the link between Jessica and the other victims so I can figure out what the hell is going on and put a stop to it."

"That information is specific," Marcone said. "My knowledge of operations here is merely general. My manager will be more familiar with such things than I."

"Ms. Demeter, I take it."

"Yes. She should be here momentarily."

"Or sooner," said a woman's voice.

I turned to the doorway.

A woman walked through it, dressed in a somber black skirt suit, a white blouse, black pumps, pearls. She walked calmly across the office to stand behind Marcone, her left hand coming to rest on his right shoulder.

"Well, Dresden," Helen Beckitt murmured. "It took you long enough."

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I stared, momentarily silent. Marcone's teeth showed again.

"I don't believe it is polite to gloat," Helen murmured to him.

"If you knew the man, you would realize what a rare moment this is," he replied. "I'm savoring it."

Murphy glanced from Helen to me and back. "Harry...?"

"Shhh," I said, holding up a hand. I closed my eyes for a second, chasing furiously down dozens of twisty lanes of demented logic and motivation, trying to fit each of them to the facts.

The facts, man. Just the facts.

Fact one: Male operatives of House Skavis and House Malvora had been engaging in murders that attempted to frame the Wardens as the perpetrators.

Fact two: House Raith, their nominal superior, led by the White King (sort of), had pursued a policy of armistice with the White Council.

Fact three: That dippy twit Madrigal jumped into the deal on Malvora's side, pitching in a murder or two of his own, evidently to attract my attention.

Fact four: Thomas, though aware of the lethal intentions of his fellow White Court vampires, had shared nothing of it with me.

Fact five: The victims had been women of magical talent, universally.

Fact six: Vampires live for a long, long time.

Fact seven: In a whole graveyard full of the corpses of minor-league practitioners, one normal, pretty young girl named Jessica Blanche had been killed. Her only connection to the others was Helen Beckitt.

Fact eight: Helen Beckitt worked for Marcone.

Fact nine: I don't like Marcone. I don't trust him. I don't believe him any further than I can kick him. I've never hidden the fact. Marcone knows it.

"Son of a bitch," I whispered, shaking my head. Things went from bad to worse when Marcone showed up, and I naturally figured that the dangerometer had peaked.

I was wrong. Really, really wrong.

I needed one question answered to be sure what was going on, even though I was fairly sure what the answer would be - the only problem was figuring out whether or not the answer would be an honest one.

I could not afford to get it wrong.

"Helen," I said quietly. "If it's all right with you, I'd like to speak to you alone."

A small smile graced her mouth. She took a deep breath and let it out with a slow, satisfied exhalation.

"You needn't, if you do not wish to do so," Marcone said. "I do not react well when others threaten or harm my employees. Dresden is aware of that."

"No," Helen said. "It's all right."

I glanced aside. "Murph..."

She didn't look overjoyed, but she nodded once and said, "I'll be right outside."

"Thanks."

Murphy departed under Hendricks's beady gaze. Marcone rose as well, and left without glancing at me. Hendricks went last, shutting the door behind him.

Helen ran a fingertip lightly over the pearls on her necklace and settled into the chair behind the desk. She looked quite comfortable and confident there. "Very well."

I took a seat in one of the chairs facing the desk, and shook my head. "Jessica Blanche worked for you," I said.

"Jessie..." Helen's dead eyes flickered momentarily down to her folded hands. "Yes. She lived near me, actually. I gave her a ride to work several days each week."

Which must have been when Madrigal had seen them together - out in public, presumably not in their "professional" clothes, and the moron had just assumed that Miss Blanche was another member of the Ordo. From there, it wouldn't have been hard for him to ease up to the girl, snare her with the incubus come-hither, and take her off to a hotel room for a little fun and an ecstatic death.

"You and Marcone," I said. "That's one I can't figure. I thought you hated him. Hell, you were trafficking with the powers of darkness, helping to create an addictive drug - helping the Shadowman kill people, to get back at him."

"Hate," she said, "and love are not so very different things. Both are focused upon another. Both are intense. Both are passionate."