Chapter 2

I could feel my jaw trying to submit to gravity at the news Father Forthill had brought me. A single Denarian was bad enough. But nine of them that are probably pissed off at being kept out of the game for a while? That was serious bad news. I hurriedly wedged my door open and gestured for Father Forthill to come inside.

Immediately upon entering my apartment my cat Mister hit me with his customary shoulder check to the shins and darted out the door for his daily prowl. Mouse, my part Tibeten mastiff/part stegosaurus, looked up from his nap at the activity, gave me a chuff, and padded over to sniff at Father Forthill, who absently scratched his ears while I tried not to throw my back out closing the door. I really needed to get that fixed one of these days.

Once I got the fire going and we settled into a pair of mismatched chairs, I gave Forthill a long, level look without meeting his gaze. I was pretty sure a soulgaze wouldn't tell me anything I didn't know about the man, but I was hesitant about letting him see me that way.

"Okay, so they were stolen?" I finally asked with raised eyebrows. "I thought those coins were some of the most closely guarded artifacts the Church possessed."

"They are, Harry." Forthill replied. "We're pretty sure it was one of our own who took them."

"I guess even the clergy is susceptible to corruption." I remarked. "Any idea who it was?"

Forthill sighed and stared at the ground for a moment before answering.

"Alexei Federov." he finally said. "He was my protege, in line for his own congregation over in Gary, Indiana. Sanya knows him. They liked having someone around they can speak their native language with."

Made sense. Not a whole lot of Russian speakers in Chicago. At least not in the circles men of the cloth would travel in.

"Now for the sixty-four thousand dollar question, padre." I said. "Why only nine of them? Why not take all fourteen?"

"We've been wondering the same thing, Harry." he replied. "There's no obvious reason why anyone interested in the coins would leave five of them behind."

"I trust you know which coins were taken?" I asked him

Father Forthill rummaged in his pocket for a moment and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper with some names written on it.

"Let's see." he said. "Ah, here it is. The coins taken contain the essences of Graviel, Kuriel, Neviel, Vraniel, Pyleriel, Delend, Astaroth, Molokiel. And Zadkiel. They're all worrisome, but Zadkiel and Vraniel concern me the most. Zadkiel used to be the leader of the Denarians until Nicodemus and Anduriel betrayed him and took over some fifteen hundred years ago. His coin has been in our possession the longest. Nearly a century if I recall correctly. Vraniel was his right hand."

"How did you manage to keep a Nickelhead on ice for that long?" I asked " I would think they'd get back into circulation at some point like they always seem to do."

"That was one of the Church's better ideas over the years." Forthill responded. "We moved the coins every so often to a random secure location with only the transporter knowing for sure where they were going. They were stored at the Vatican for decades until the increased foot traffic from tourists made that too risky."

"Let me guess." I said "Alexei was the transporter this time?"

"Correct." Forthill answered with a pained expression "Alexei was always very interested in the coins. I should have been more vigilant to the possibility that he'd been seduced by their power."

"I know the feeling" I replied sagely. Forthill was one of a handful of people that knew I'd had Lasciel's coin for several years without being corrupted. "While we're on the subject, do you know if any of the fallen that were taken have a thing for lighting people's souls on fire without killing or physically harming them?"

"I'm not sure." the priest answered. "Pyleriel maybe? I know she has a penchant for using fire in general that would be deemed pyromania in a human. A few of the scholars at the Vatican believe she started the Great Chicago Fire of 1871 for her own amusement. Why do you ask?"

I filled him in on the case Murphy had called me about.

"Just wondering if there might be a connection, Father."

"I can do a little digging and see if I can find out more about the nine that were taken." he told me. "I can't overstate the gravity of Zadkiel being loose again. He's stronger than Anduriel, but not nearly as subtle. He also thinks himself too good to engage in a partnership with a mortal. If Zadkiel finds a host he typically burns out most of their personality and essentially hijacks their body. Attempting to redeem his hosts has never been successful, and several Knights have died trying."

I gave a low whistle at that.

"Sounds like a real piece of work." I remarked.

"He is. And Vraniel is almost as bad." Forthill continued "He revels in physical combat and is one of the more formidable of the fallen. He has power enough to not need to engage physically, but seems to enjoy causing pain 'up close and personal'. He is almost always found in Zadkiel's company or very close by. They've been strongly allied, near as we can tell, since the beginning."

"So, what you're saying is," I said "If they're getting the band back together those two will be setting the beat?"

"Very likely." Forthill conceded "Of all of them, Astorath is the least predictable. He doesn't like taking orders from anyone and will only go along with it as long as it directly benefits him in some way."

"I have to ask how it is you know so much about these particular Nickelheads, Padre." I asked

"Working with the Knights leads one to collecting a lot of information on the fallen they are pursuing." he said "It helps a great deal to know the foe's abilities and tendencies."

I had to admit he had a point. I had gone in guns blazing without knowing what I was getting into too many times not to realize that.

"So can you be of assistance, Harry?" Father Forthill inquired.

"I have the sinking feeling your missing Nickelheads and my mysterious Burning-Not-Burning Man are connected in some way." I replied "I'll do what I can to help."

"God bless you, Harry Dresden." Forthill said with a smile "A lot of people in the Church don't trust you, but I have had faith in you ever since the day Michael introduced us."

After I saw Father Forthill out I put my heavy robe on and climbed down to my lab to see if I could dig up some information on my mystery alley assailant.

"Bob!" I said loudly "Wake up you low budget Skeletor, we've got work to do!"

One orange eyelight sparked into being in the skull that housed Bob, the spirit of intellect that served as an information repository for the technologically challenged. Bob was the closest thing to a computer a wizard like me could ever use.

"Really, Harry?" Bob groused "A He-Man reference? That's pretty juvenile, even for you."

I gave him an exaggerated shrug

"What can I say? I'm running low on skull and bones related material."

"Still, you could do better than that." he complained "I'm almost insulted."

"Tell you what," I said "help me with this one and I'll renew your Penthouse Forums subscription."

Bob was immediately alert and chipper.

"What are we waiting for, Harry?" he exclaimed "Let's get to work!"

I chuckled at his predictability and started filling him in on what I had found out

"So," I said "I'm looking for something or someone that burns people's souls without otherwise harming them, radiates intense heat, and possibly rides a motorcycle. Any of that sound familiar at all?"

Bob went silent for a few minutes while he thought. While he pondered the question I started humming the theme from Jeopardy, just because I knew it irritated him.

"Okay" he said after a while "There are a few possibilities, but I don't think you're going to like them."

"Do I ever?" I replied

"Well, no, but you're really not going to like it this time."

"Stop worrying about whether I'll like it and just spill it already." I told him. "This thing has turned one guy's eyes into charcoal already, and I need to stop him before he strikes again."

Bob swiveled his skull around to stare at me with his jaw open.

"What did you just say?!" he nearly shouted at me, which surprised me a bit.

"I said it turned one guy's eyes into charcoal, why?"

"Oh, shit, Harry." Bob stammered "Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. He's back."

"Who is back, Bob?" I pressed "Why are you so worked up?"

I was actually starting to get a little worried myself now. Bob rarely actually swore, and he had just done so four times in the last ten seconds.

Bob was silent for a good thirty seconds and he was actually trembling. I hadn't even realized he could tremble, but he was.

"Harry." he said in a very small voice "The Rider's back."

"Okay, Bob." I said, a little frustrated now. "What the flaming hell is the Rider?!"

I gave him a few more minutes to calm down while I went upstairs to grab a Coke out of my icebox. Yes, an actual icebox. Wizards and technology. I could keep the Maytag man busy for sure.

When I got back downstairs I fixed Bob with a long, level look.

"Okay, Bob." I said in my best wizard-voice "Spill it. Why are you so terrified of this 'Rider'?"

"Because he doesn't need to catch me outside my skull to kill me, Harry." Bob replied in a flat voice.

I was stunned by that. Bob was vulnerable outside his skull to anyone with the right skills and knowledge. Granted, you had to be pretty damn powerful to hurt him, since he knew more about magic than the entire Senior Council combined, but certain beings could destroy him. But inside his skull he was virtually unassailable. His knowledge of magic was enough that he could keep all but the most powerful beings out there from getting at him through all the wards he had set up. Mab could do it if she really wanted to, and maybe the Erlking, but I didn't know of too many others. If this Rider could get at him through all that and actually kill him, that put a whole new spin on things.

"Alright, Bob." I said in my sternest tone "If he's really that tough, I need to know everything you know about him. NOW."

"Okay, okay, okay." Bob said quickly, reminding me a lot of Joe Pesci in Lethal Weapon 2 "I'll tell you what I know, but it's not much."

"Whatever you've got, Bob." I said "I need to know it. This thing is out there...well, not killing people, but he might as well be."

Bob sighed and looked a little glum.

"If you buy it on this one, can you make sure I end up with the sexy blonde, or whatever color her hair is this week?" he asked, looking hopeful.

"No way." I told him flatly. "Molly is not even close to being responsible enough to not use the knowledge you have. The Council already wants to kill her, Morgan especially. Now stop stalling."

Looking crestfallen, Bob started telling me what he knew about the Rider.

"The first sighting was reported just before the Revolutionary War." he started "Something they called a 'fiery demon' appeared and started taking out people who had harmed innocents. He was described as being tall and gaunt with a flaming skull for a head. Since he always appeared on a black horse with flaming hooves, people started calling him the Ghost Rider."

I raised an eyebrow at that, then gestured for Bob to continue

"Always bad guys, he never went after innocent people that I've heard. He appeared all over the colonies over the next fifteen years or so, always the same way. He'd appear at a settlement's gates at dusk and start through the town, burning down anyone who had harmed an innocent. Sometimes they'd die, sometimes not. The theory is the punishment matched the crime. Domestic abuse got you singed but you'd live through it. Murderers always died. And as near as anyone can tell, he was never wrong. If he went after someone, they were guilty. A couple towns tried using him as a sort of trial-by-Rider. When they got word that he'd been sighted nearby anyone who had been accused of a crime was tied up in the town square and left for him to judge guilty or innocent."

"That backfired in one town when he refused to judge a man who everyone in the town had watched kill another man in a brawl. They apparently didn't get the memo that he only punished those who had harmed an innocent. The man who was killed was far from innocent.

I held up a hand to interject.

"So, if he punishes people who harm innocents, what makes him so dangerous?" I asked.

"A theory put together by the handful of people who realize he exists, Harry." Bob responded testily "I'm getting to that. Be patient."

"After a while he stopped appearing and most people forgot about him. Until he popped back up in Texas in the 1840's and started all over again. Same methods. Same basic mission. But he was described as looking slightly different. He was shorter this time, and not as gaunt. And the horse was a piebald. But the flaming skull and hooves were the same."

"His next known appearance was just after the Civil War. That time he was dressed as a Union cavalry officer. Same skull and hooves, only this time he had a flaming cavalry sabre too. After that was Arizona around the turn of the century. That time, he looked like a stereotypical cowboy, only more fiery. He used a whip and a revolver that he could apparently infuse with fire and had a thing for avenging men who had been wrongfully lynched. He wasn't seen again until the 1930s. This time he'd switched up the transportation aspect and appeared driving a black Model A. With flaming tires."

Light bulb. I thought back to the grooves I had seen in the asphalt leading away from the alley scene and connected what Bob had just said to it.

"He also wore a brown fedora that somehow didn't burn and a trench coat. And he carried a tommy gun. This time he was only active for about five years before he vanished suddenly. Then he showed up in World War Two in Europe. Flaming skull and all. This time he was wearing a US Army uniform and rode a motorcycle. He was all over the front lines, mostly going after Nazi officers. And I think we both know how guilty those guys were."

"On another note, Kemmler was freaking terrified of him. He forbid me to talk about him and if he got word that he was nearby he'd run like a scalded dog as far away as he could get. I'm guessing necromancy and vengeful demon guys don't mix well."

I smiled at the thought of that evil SOB being afraid of something, though the rational part of me wondered why I was prepared to square off with this thing if someone like Kemmler was afraid enough to run away.

"That time the Rider stayed active through the 50s, but mostly confined to Europe. He could have gone anywhere in Europe, Africa, or Asia during that span. No one is really sure since records of supernatural events in those areas tend to be sporadic and not always reliable."

"I can see that. Locals are usually reluctant to tell those stories to outsiders." I commented.

"The last time he was spotted was in the 1970s. This time he was wearing black motorcycle leathers and riding a black bike. His activities usually kept pace with a carnival that traveled back and forth across the country, suggesting that he was somehow connected to it. Everyone attached to the carnival denied any knowledge of his existence though, so that's just conjecture. After he went quiet that time, he hasn't been seen for nearly forty years. Until now. Probably."

"Want to know the theory that's been pieced together about what he might be?" Bob asked me

I suddenly realized that I had gotten so engrossed in Bob's story that the candles had guttered out. Bob's eyelights illuminated the room enough that I hadn't even noticed

"Flickum bickus" I muttered irritably. "You couldn't just have told me that part without the Aesop's Fable?"

"Grouchy wizard is grouchy." Bob said. Must be something he picked up on one of his rare outings. "Fine. The theory is, the Rider isn't human."

"Um, duh?" I replied sarcastically. "All that research to figure that out?"

"There's more" Bob said, totally ignoring my sarcasm. "The prevailing theory is that whatever the Rider is, he needs a human host to manifest in the material world. And the amount of time he can be here is dependent on that host's natural life span. Specifically when he can manifest is probably limited in some way as well, otherwise he'd be sighted a lot more often. The Rider himself is probably immortal, but his host isn't. It is very likely that each time he's been sighted in a different form than the previous time, he is probably in a new host body. No one knows the specifics of the Rider/host relationship, like whether it is a symbiotic thing or outright possession. And no one knows exactly what he is capable of, other than that normal weapons don't seem to faze him in the slightest. It's all just theories pieced together out of a handful of sightings. I mean, Harry, this guy is a myth even among the supernatural community. The big players likely know he exists, but he's a faerie tale to the rest." Bob snickered at that last part. "He's the boogeyman's boogeyman."

"You know," I mused "This Rider of yours actually sounds an awful lot like a Denarian."

"I know, boss." Bob responded seriously "but given his history of actively hunting down people who hurt innocents, I'd bet a month's pay that he is aware of them and that they are very much on his shit list."

"You don't get paid, Bob" I noted

"I know!" he said exuberantly "It's a win-win!"

After I'd left Bob to his latest romance novel and gotten myself another Coke, I decided I'd go order a pizza and see if Toot-Toot and the Guard had seen anything. I placed the order at the Pizza Spress nearest the alley the victim had been found in and got my gear ready to go.

Naturally, the phone rang again before I could get out the door. It was Murphy again.

"Dresden," she said "we've got another one. One the same as before. And we've also got a body. Our perp stepped it up this time."

A/N: I know. Lots of dialog. I'll get to some action pretty soon, I promise.

Irony: Jim Butcher mentioned that he created Bob to poke fun at the "talking head" trope (a character who only exists to explain things) by making him literally a talking head. I decided I'd sort of do the same in this chapter.

Ghost Rider fans have probably guessed, but I'm setting this around the Vicious Cycle comic run. So, if you think about what was revealed in that run your guess as to why the Rider was quiet for 40-ish years is probably really close.

And yes, the Old West Ghost Rider was indeed Carter Slade.

For reference, Ghost Rider is among the most powerful things Harry has ever encountered. There are things in the Dresden-verse that can go toe-to-toe with him and a few that might even win (Mab, Titania, Odin...I mean Vadderung), but it's going to be challenging to write something with his power level NOT just curbstomping everything he comes across.

I'm still getting a handle on writing from Harry's perspective. I'm not used to writing already well-established characters. So if anything is really off or out of character, let me know so I can fix it. Same goes for the other characters in the Dresden-verse.