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.
I shook it, smiling, and had no need to fake it. "Father Forthill. What are you doing here?"
"Harry," he said amiably. "Lending some moral support, by and large."
"He's my attorney," Charity added.
I blinked. "He is?"
"He is," Forthill said, smiling. "I passed the bar before I entered the orders. I've kept my hand in on behalf of the diocese and my parishioners. I do some pro bono work from time to time, too."
"He's a lawyer," I said. "He's a priest. This does not compute."
Forthill let out a belly laugh. "Oxymoronic."
"Hey, did I start calling you you names?" I grinned at him. "What can I do for you?" names?" I grinned at him. "What can I do for you?"
"Molly was supposed to be waiting for us downstairs," Charity said. "But we haven't found her. Do you know where she is?"
The universe conspired against me. If Charity had asked the question ten seconds sooner, I would have been fine. But instead, the bathroom door opened, and Molly appeared in a swirl of steam. She had a towel wrapped around her hair, and was holding another around her torso. Hotel towels and Molly's torso being what they were, the towel didn't quite get all the way around her, and barely maintained modesty. "Harry," she said. "I left my bag out he-" She broke off suddenly, staring at Charity.
"This, uh, isn't what it looks like," I stammered, turning back to Charity.
Her eyes blazed with cold, righteous rage. An old Kipling axiom about the female of the species being more deadly than the male flashed through my mind, right about the time Charity introduced my chin to her right hook.
Light flashed behind my eyes and I found myself flat on my back while the ceiling spun around a little.
"Mother," Molly said in a shocked voice.
I looked up in time to see Forthill put a firm hand on Charity's arm, preventing her from following up the first blow. She narrowed her eyes at Forthill, but the old man's fingers dug into her biceps until she gave him a slight nod and took a small step back into the hallway.
"Dress," she told Molly, implacable authority in her tone. "We're leaving."
The kid looked like she might just start falling apart on the spot. She grabbed her bag, ducked into the bathroom, and was dressed in under a minute.
"There was nothing going on," I mumbled. It came out sounding more like, "Mmrphg ggggh oonng."
"I may not be able to keep you away from my husband," Charity said, her tone cold, her diction precise. "But if you come near one of my children again, I will kill you. Thank you for calling me."
She left, the weary Molly following her.
"There was nothing going on," I said again, to Forthill. This time it sounded mostly like English.
He sighed, looking after the pair. "I believe you." He gave me a smile that was one part amusement to four parts apology, and followed them.
Murphy must not have reached the elevators before Charity and Forthill had arrived. She appeared in the doorway, peering inside the room, and then back the way Charity had gone. "Ah," she said. "You all right?"
"I guess," I sighed.
Her mouth twitched, but she didn't quite smile or laugh at me. "Seems to me that you should have seen that one coming."
"Don't laugh at me," I said. "It hurts."
"You've had worse," she said heartlessly. "And it serves you right for letting a little girl into your hotel room. Now get up. I'll be downstairs."
She left, too.
Mouse came over and started patiently nuzzling my chin and putting slobbering dog kisses on the bruise I could feel forming there.
"Women confuse me," I told him.
Mouse sat down, jaws dropping open into a doggie grin. I groaned, pushed myself to my feet, and set about preparing the redirection spell, while outside my room's window the sun raced for its nightly rendezvous with the western horizon.
Chapter Twenty-four
I shut the door again and rushed to prepare the beacon spell, hurrying, certain that every second counted. I would only get one shot at diverting the phages, and I finished my preparations in feverish haste. shut the door again and rushed to prepare the beacon spell, hurrying, certain that every second counted. I would only get one shot at diverting the phages, and I finished my preparations in feverish haste.
Nothing happened.
The sun set, leaving me mostly in the dark, since I hadn't bothered to turn on any lights.
Nothing continued happening.
I knelt in my circle of sand until my legs cramped and then went numb, and my knees felt like they were resting in molten lead.
And all that nothing just kept on coming.
"Oh come on, on," I snarled. "Bring on the doom, already."
From his spot near the door, Mouse heaved a sigh.
"Oh, shut up," I told him. I didn't dare take a break. If the bad guys moved and I wasn't ready, people would get hurt. So I knelt there, holding the spell ready in my mind, uncomfortable as hell, and swearing sulfurously under my breath. Stupid, lame-ass summoner. What the hell was he waiting for? Any half-competent villain would have had monsters roaming the halls hours ago.
Mouse's tail thumped against the wall, and a moment later the room's lock clicked, and Rawlins opened the door. He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that concealed the bandages on his wounded arm, and he carried a wardflame candle in one hand. The blocky, dark-skinned officer leaned down and held his hand out to Mouse, who sniffed Rawlins in typical canine fashion and wagged his tail some more.
Rawlins remained in the doorway and said, "Hello? Dresden?"
"Here," I muttered.
Rawlins thumped at the wall until he found the lights and flicked them on. He stared at me for a minute, eyebrows slowly rising. "Uh-huh. There's something I don't see every day."
I grimaced. "Murphy found you, I see."
"Almost like she's a detective," Rawlins said, grinning.
"Your boss know you're here?" I asked.
"Not so far," he replied. "But I expect someone might notice and tell him about me at some point."
"He won't be happy," I said.
"I just hope I can live with myself later." He waved his little candle. "Murphy sent me up here to make sure you was still alive."
"I'm going to need knee surgery," I sighed. "I never planned on it taking this long."
"Uh-huh," Rawlins said again. "You ain't one of those Satan worshipers are you?"
"No," I said. "More like Pythagoras."
"Pih-who?"
"He invented triangles."
"Ah," Rawlins said, as if that had explained everything. "So, what are you doing here?"
I explained it to him, though it looked like he was having trouble accepting my words. Maybe I lacked credibility. "But I figured he would have moved by now."
"Crooks are funny that way," he agreed. "No respect."
I scrunched up my face in thought. I was hungry, thirsty, tired, hurting, and I had to use the bathroom in the worst way. None of those things were going to become easier to bear as the night went on, and I needed to have all the concentration I could get.
"Okay," I said. "Be smart. Take a break." I leaned down and broke the circle by sweeping the sand aside with my hand, letting the energy of the spell I'd been holding ready drain away. At least I'd already done it once. Getting it back into position wouldn't take nearly as long as the first time.
I tried to rise, but my legs were incommunicado. I grimaced at Rawlins and said, "Give me a hand here?"
He set his candle aside and helped me up. I wobbled precariously for a couple of seconds, but then stumbled to the bathroom and back out.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I'm good. Tell Murphy to hold steady."
Rawlins nodded. "We'll be downstairs." He paused and said, "Hope this happens soon. There's some kind of costume contest going on."
"Is it bad?"
"There are a lot of skimpy getups, and some of those people should not not be wearing them." be wearing them."
"Call the fashion police," I said.
Rawlins nodded gravely. "They've crossed a line."
"Do me a favor?" I asked him. "Take Mouse out for a walk?" I dug a couple of bills from my back pocket and passed them to Rawlins. "Maybe get him a hot dog or something?"
"Sure," Rawlins agreed. "I like dogs."
The dog's tail thumped rapidly against the wall.
"Whatever you do, don't give him nachos. I didn't bring my gas mask with me."
Rawlins nodded. "Sure."
"Keep your eyes open," I said. "Tell Murph I'll be reset in a couple of minutes."
Rawlins grunted and left.
I had a canteen of fruit punch in my backpack, along with some beef jerky and some chocolate. I went to the bag and started wolfing down all three while pacing back and forth to stretch my legs. Holding myself ready to strike had been more than simply a physical strain. My head felt like someone had packed it in wool, while at the same time my senses seemed slightly distorted; edges made sharper, curves more ambiguous, the whole combining to make the hotel room feel like a toned-down Escher painting. There was no help for that. The use of magic was mostly in the mind, and holding a spell together for a long time often triggered disconcerting side effects.
I polished off the food as fast as I could gulp it down, went easy on the drink, in case I was there for another several hours, and settled back down in my circle, preparing to close it again.
When the room's phone rang.
"Deja vu," I commented to the empty room. I stood up, my knees creaking, and went to the phone.
"Dresden Taxidermy," I said. "You snuff it, we'll stuff it."
There was a beat of startled silence from the phone, and then a young man's voice said, "Um. Is this Harry Dresden?"
I recognized the voice-Boyfriend Nelson. That made my ears perk up, metaphorically speaking. "Yeah, this is him," I said.
"This is..."
"I know who it is," I told him. "How did you know where I was?"
"Sandra," he said. "I called her cell. She told me you'd checked in."
"Uh-huh. Why Why are you calling me?" are you calling me?"
"Molly said...she said you helped people." He paused to take a breath, and then said, "I think I need your help. Again."
"Why?" I asked. Keep the questions open, I thought. Never give him one with a simple answer. "What's going on?"
"Last night, during the attacks. I think I saw something."