Chapter 20
I don't remember anything of the ride, or of being carried out of the car. Nor did I recall anything of my initial medical treatments. There was nothing, not even dreams or delusions of an inner self, until the first of the two manacles popped free of my wrist.
I gasped as I awoke, the sudden departure of the steel shocking me more violently out of my comatose slumber more than an alarm ever could. My body lurched on its own, kicking off the heavy wool blanket that'd been draped over my lower half as I reflexively tried to stave off a non-existent attack. I glanced about in surprise, my mind struggling to understand where I was, and who was with me.
"Whoa there," Murphy said, putting a hand on one shoulder and pushing me back down onto the cot. There was a surprising strength to her slight form, thanks to her years of judo and assorted martial arts. Not enough to keep me down if I resisted, but enough to persuade me to relax. Which I tried to do, as she tugged the blanket back into place.
"Seriously," said another voice, one faintly familiar and filled with youthful snark. "Don't go waiving that thing around again. You're libel to poke someone's eye out."
I blinked away the mental fog to focus on the young girl crouching beside the cot. As my eyes started making sense of things, I noted the blond hair framing a pretty face and startling blue eyes. She was wearing a pair of sweats and a Star Wars top that featured R2. There was a blush to the girl's cheeks as she leaned forward again, having retreated as I'd awoken.
"Molly?" I asked in surprise when I recognized her. "Molly Carpenter?"
"The one and only," the girl replied as she stood to step around to the other side of the cot. Once she reached my side, she settled back down to her knees and reached for my wrist.
I'd met Molly years earlier when I'd first started working with Michael. The eldest of his kids, she'd been nothing more than a runt at the time. She was still young, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old, but was already beginning to fill out. Given time, she'd probably be a stunner liker her mom. But hopefully of better temperament.
"What are… where am I?" I asked, looking around in bewilderment. I could see sunlight filtering in through one of the windows. It'd lost that early morning shading, and I figured a few hours might have passed since we'd made our escape.
"We're at the Carpenters," Murphy replied, even as Molly started fiddling with the lock on the other manacle.
As she said it, I finally recognized the inside of Michael's workshop. It wasn't much more than a large shed in his back yard, where he kept his tools. "Why here?"
Murphy settled onto a camp chair close at hand, one she'd probably just vacated as I'd awoken. "When we were planning your rescue, Shiro told me to bring you here." She smiled ruefully. "I think he knew what was going to happen all along."
I grunted softly at that, not wanting to think about what the man was probably going through. I knew all too well.
"Anyway," Murphy continued. "He figured the Denarians would have worked you over."
"Apparently they're in to the torture thing," I confirmed.
"Shiro thought as much," Murphy continued. "I told him taking you to a hospital wouldn't end well. But he said that Michael or Charity could take care of any injuries."
Molly snorted at that. "As if."
I looked down at my chest, which had indeed been cleaned and bandaged. "Looks like they did alright."
"That was dad," Molly corrected me as she frowned down at the manacle. "Mom refused to help."
"Ah," I said, laying my head back on the cot. But it was only for a second, before I turned back to Murphy. "Wait, I thought Michael was in holding after the hotel thing?"
"He was," she replied tiredly. "But we started the paperwork to get him released yesterday, and he was freed first thing this morning. No easy thing, for a weekend," she added with a shrug. "When he got here, he helped with your wounds, before he and Sanya went to see if they could find Shiro."
My head spun again, possibly from trying to follow her words, or possibly because the girl fiddling with the thorned manacle had jostled its barbs deeper into my skin. "Careful," I cautioned her as politely as I could through clenched teeth.
"Sorry."
"When we arrived, Charity refused to help," Murphy continued. "Refused to let you in the house, even."
"That's understandable," I replied as I rested my head back again. "After all, I got one of her kids killed."
The girl working at my wrist froze, but I didn't spare a glance to see what her reaction was. I saw Murphy tense in the chair.
"What?" she asked, shocked.
It took me a moment to work up the courage to speak. "You remember the Nightmare?" I asked, before inwardly flinching as the woman blanched. Of course she remembered it. It had invaded her mind and trapped her in a psychological horror for days. Way to be sensitive, Harry.
When she slowly nodded, I continued. "When I took it out, I didn't do a good enough job. Its power lingered. It's… hold, on Charity, and… and you, was left intact because of it." After a moment, I added, "I'm sorry."
Murphy sat back, her brittle posture still tenuous but somewhat more stable as she considered my words. "I see."
We sat there in silence for a minute, until Molly finally resumed her efforts. She did so carefully, for which I was grateful.
"Anyway," Murphy finally said, shaking her head as if to rid it of dark memories. "She refused to help, but Molly came down and said we could set up shop in the shed." She cast a look at the girl. "I don't think Charity approved."
The girl snorted again. Based on her skill, it was something she probably practiced often, most likely at the expense of her mother. "That's understating it." Her blue eyes shot to me quickly before averting their gaze. "Especially when she saw us dragging you out of the car, wizard staff and all."
I groaned audibly as the girl's words brought a slight smile to Murphy's lips. "When Michael arrived, he bandaged you up and brought you out some of his clothes."
I nodded. "He and Sanya went back to the sewers?"
Murphy nodded grimly. "Haven't heard back yet, but my hopes aren't high. They likely moved out of there as soon as they realized we'd escaped."
I figured she was right. "I can't believe he did that."
To my surprise, Murphy's soft smile returned. "You know, I'm not." When I looked to her, she shrugged. "We spent a day together, and it was enough to know him. He came to me yesterday morning, after everything at the hotel. Told me all about what was going on."
"Oh."
"That's when I started on the paperwork for the others," she continued. "I offered to help Shiro, and we spent the day trying to track down those… those things."
"The Denarians," I informed her.
"I know what they are," she said softly. "I know all about the Churchmice, and the Shroud, and the auction. I know you got away with the Shroud, and then delivered it to Nicodemus."
The last was said without judgment, but I still felt like I had to defend myself. "I wasn't going to. But they had Father Vincent." I grimaced. "Well, I thought they did."
"Vincent was dead," she said, surprising me with her knowledge. At my look, she explained, "Shiro and I spoke with Garcia and Father Forthill. When I was getting Shiro up to speed, Forthill overheard me explaining about the body in the morgue, and the tattoo. Apparently the two go way back. Both of them have one."
"Damn," I whispered, wishing I'd known that. Wishing I'd followed up more on the body. But with everything else going on, it'd slipped under the radar.
"We saw your showdown," Murphy said. "When Vincent came out of the limo, Shiro knew something was up. We tried to get to you, but…"
"It's okay," I told her with chagrin. "I just wish—"
My words cut off as the second lock was sprung, and the steel manacles slipped from my flesh with a wet sucking noise. As soon as they did, I gasped in relief, even as a surge of cold power coursed through me.
The mantle was restored.
When I held my wrists up, a somewhat familiar set of wounds adorned each, albeit much worse than I'd expected. Sure, I'd worn thorned manacles before, but they'd done nothing more than leave small scars that had somewhat faded in time.
The wound from steel manacles piercing the flesh of the Winter Knight was something else entirely.
There were numerous puncture wounds in both wrists from where the thorns had cut into me. Each was blackened, as if the metal itself had been hot enough to burn. Beneath the sooty edges were pink puckering lacerations, some of which were already brimming with fresh scarlet blood and pale puss.
If left open, they'd leave some more nasty scars on my already pockmarked body.
But then again, having someone sew them shut with a steel needle didn't sound all that helpful either.
"Thanks," I managed to gasp out as I looked to Molly, who was holding the manacles up, her face twisted in disgust. A shiver went through her as she studied them.
"No problem," she replied with a weak grin. "Sorry I didn't have a key for these."
"Why would you?" I asked, blinking.
The girl's eyes flickered briefly to the cop. "Let's just say I would have been a lot quicker if they'd been fun-time cuffs, or even bad-time cuffs." She frowned as she held the manacles up and moved them to the floor beside her. "Don't have much to help with wizard-torture cuffs."
I glanced at Murphy, mouthing, "Fun-time cuffs?"
"I think you're both a little young for fun-time cuffs," Murphy said, holding her hands up. "And I don't want to know any more, seeing as I'm still a cop."
"Right. Probably best," Molly said with a sharp nod of her head, before glancing toward the front of the shed when a car door slammed shut. It was quickly followed by another. "That's probably dad. I'll go give him an update." She turned back to me as she stood. "Just give me a ring if you need help with anything like this again."
"You mean the next time I find myself bloodied, naked and cuffed?" I asked with a bemused smile.
The girl's eyes sparkled around her wink. "Two out of three aren't bad." And then she was gone.
As the door shut behind her, I heard Murphy snort derisively. "Little young, Dresden."
"What?" I said, startled. "I wasn't… She's like twelve."
"Fourteen," Murphy replied quickly, to my surprise. When she saw my puzzled look, she misinterpreted its cause. "Old enough to be impressed by a tall, dark idiot."
"I don't think I'm impressing anyone, lying here bleeding out like a stuck pig," I replied wryly.
"Maybe, maybe not," Murphy said. "But she did go back in to change into a smaller, tighter shirt."
I opened my mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say, so I closed it again.
The woman seemed amused by my confusion, but the look faded as we both turned back to the door. It opened to reveal the large and looming form of Michael Carpenter, who's face was set into a grim mask as he entered.
When he saw me awake, the look softened. "Harry."
"Michael," I said, somewhat thickly. Despite the assurances Lacuna had provided, I'd worried that he'd suffered more lasting damage after the fight in the hotel. But from appearances, he only looked as worn and tired as Murphy did. Between the three of us, I was by far the worst off.
"Too late?" Murphy asked, noting the man's mood. Michael nodded.
"I'm sorry," I said, unable to relay just how much so with words alone. I tried to rise, but Michael stepped forward as he looked down at the wounds on my wrists.
"I'll need to dress those," he said, heading for a medical kit.
I wanted to tell him not to worry about it. That ever since I'd become the Winter Knight, injuries tended to heal faster and cleaner. Nothing incredible, mind you, but I didn't think tetanus was going to be the thing to take me out.
But I let him dress the wounds all the same. Because sometimes it's not about the medicine. Sometimes it's about the human touch. The contact with a friend that would not hesitate to help you, even when you'd insulted and injured him in your last two encounters. A friend that hadn't given up on you even when you'd sold your soul to the first devil that offered salvation.
After cleaning the wounds, he surprised me by applying something to help seal the holes shut. When I asked, he said it was something called Dermabond, a heavy duty liquid adhesive used to close wounds when stitches weren't an option. Apparently he'd used it once or twice over the years.
Once the adhesive was on, he wrapped both wrists in bandages, to help keep the glue undisturbed. He was gentle and caring, and by the time he was done, I was almost in tears. Thankfully he assumed they must be from pain, as he offered me some aspirin, which I gratefully accepted.
My eyes fell to the bloody rags and red-stained manacles. "Michael…"
"I'll dispose of it properly," he assured me as he gathered up everything that had my blood on it. Only the blanket remained, the one still pretending to offer me some dignity.
As Michael cleaned his gear in a sink to one side, I tossed aside the blanket and made for the loaner clothes set to one side.
"Jesus, Dresden," Murphy said, averting her eyes as a slight blush appeared on her cheeks.
Michael made a tutting sound, but didn't lay into her like he would have if I'd used the Lord's name in vain. "I think we're a little beyond coy glances, Murph," I said as I pulled on the pants. It was harder than I cared to admit, given that my body was still aching from my night hanging out with the Denarians.
But I had the sneaking suspicion that they'd already dosed me with painkiller while I was still out, as the pain wasn't as bad as it should have been. I managed to get the pants on all by myself, which really should have garnered a round of applause. Instead, the other two just seemed relieved.
Once those were on Murphy turned back, her eyes trailing over the bandages on my chest, torso and arms where Deirdre and Cassius had had their fun.
There were strips of adhesive bandages all across my body, presumably covering more of that liquid stitch stuff. The venom from Cassius's snake bites had disappeared as soon as the man had stopped manifesting them, but the punctures had remained, as had Deirdre's deeper-than-necessary cuts.
I pulled on Michael's spare shirt, finding the thing a little baggy and short in the sleeves. But it'd do for the the moment.
Once I was dressed, Murphy seemed to be able to take me seriously again. "What's the plan?"
"Plan?" I asked as I adjusted the long-sleeve shirt. I could make a tent with all of the extra fabric where Michael's muscles had stretched it out. "There's no plan."
Murphy looked up at me, a frown spreading across her face. "You plan on letting them get away with the Shroud?"
"Hell no," I assured her. "But I'm fresh out of plans. I'd settle for an idea."
"We must find them, and recover the Shroud," Michael said from the sink. Because it was just that simple for him. Stupid Knights of the Cross and their inherent luck. He probably thought a passerby was going to mention the nefarious man wearing a noose he'd seen just around the corner. Because sometimes that's how it worked for them.
"I don't think your bosses are working overtime to help us," I told him, which drew his gaze around. "Unless you're feeling like going for a walk in a certain direction?"
The Knights of the Cross had no power of their own, but that didn't mean they were powerless. From what I'd seen, they tended to get put into the right place at the right time to help when help was most needed. Which meant Michael usually counted on nothing more than faith to guide him to where he needed to be.
But as far as I could tell, no-one On High was helping us out. With Shiro captured, they were already down a Knight, and the bad guys had the Shroud. Things weren't looking good for Team Heaven.
"Maybe we should compare notes?" Murphy asked. "Maybe we can figure out what they're doing?"
"Oh, I know what they're doing," I assured her. When she looked to me in surprise, I explained. "When I asked Nick how Cassius found the Churchmice, he said he used the threads I'd requested. Apparently Cassius was put out that he hadn't thought of having more threads delivered to 'Father Vincent'."
"More threads?" the detective asked, picking up on things quickly.
"Yup," I confirmed with a nod. "It seems the original Vincent had some threads with him, but Nick said Cassius had, 'already used them'." I provided tentative air-quotes.
Murphy's nose squished up at that. "What does that mean?"
"The only reason he couldn't have used the original threads to track the Shroud was if their nature had drastically changed," I said softly. "He must have done something with them that corrupted them, made them incompatible with the rest of the Shroud."
Murphy and Michael shared a look, neither one picking up on it.
"The plague curse," I explained, looking to her.
Her eyes widened. "You're talking about the body in the morgue. Vincent's body."
I nodded. "It took some serious power to conjure up those diseases he was infected with. Serious power, the kind that most practitioners don't have."
"You're saying he used pieces of the Shroud to inflict harm?" Michael asked, sounding offended at the idea.
"It's got a reputation for healing magic," I informed them. "But I think Cassius somehow managed to turn it on its head; used it to inflict harm rather than heal."
Michael's face hardened. "Such blasphemy is in line with Nicodemus's methods. He's using the Shroud for evil, just as he wields the Barabbas Curse."
"The what?" I asked, not recognizing the name.
"It's a powerful curse tied to the noose he wears," Michael explained grimly. "When the Romans condemned men to die, they would offer the Jews the power to choose one prisoner to be pardoned and given life. It is said they chose a man named Barabbas, rather than the Savior."
"How's that fit in?" Murphy asked.
"Just as they could spare one life, the noose allows Nicodemus to mandate a death that cannot be avoided," Michael said. His eyes met mine. "We believed that he would cast it upon you; to ensure your death, as the prophecy foretold."
"Damn," I muttered. "That noose has some serious mojo."
Michael nodded. "The Church's records are incomplete, but we know some things. Including that the noose is incredibly powerful. So long as he bears it, he apparently cannot die."
Murphy whistled at that. For my part, I wondered.
"Wait," I said after a moment as another thought struck me. "So if he cursed me or whatever, am I still in danger?"
"No," Michael said with a quick shake of his head. "We cannot stop the curse, but we Knights can take the place of its subject, if we choose to." A sad look crossed his face, one that I didn't miss. "Shiro chose to."
My throat thickened, as I recalled the man in the tunnel that had given his life to free me. A man that I'd had no kind words for when we'd met, and yet had still made the ultimate sacrifice for a man willing to make deals with devils.
"Damnit," I whispered, shaking my head to will away the tears. Damn pain and all that.
"What's done is done," Murphy said, eying me. "And we don't know for sure that he's dead yet. We just need to find Nicodemus and the others, and maybe we can still get him back."
There was more hope in her voice than I would have dared to feel, and it was enough to convince me. I nodded. "Right. The Shroud. If I'm right, they'll use the Shroud for the plague curse, only it'll be infinitely worse than it was with just a few threads."
"How much worse?" Murphy asked, her brow furrowing.
"It could wipe out Chicago," I said grimly. "I don't know how long it'll last, but even if its just a single night, it'll be disastrous to the city. Perhaps the state, even."
"Could they have already finished?" Michael asked as he crossed himself.
"I don't think so," I told him. "Despite Nick's supposed protests over my treatment, I got the impression that Cassius and Deirdre were working me over with a purpose. I think they were using my pain to prepare for the curse. They might have to start over now that… now that they're using Shiro."
The other two paled at the thought of Shiro suffering at the hands of the Denarians. "Lord preserve," Michael said, crossing himself again.
"Lets hope someone's listening," I muttered helpfully. "But the good news is that we have time."
"How much?" Murphy asked. "It's been hours since we rescued you."
"I think we've got time yet," I said, glancing toward the window. "Dark magic doesn't have to be performed at night, but there's a reason it often is. A metaphysical one." I looked to Murphy. "And Nicodemus made a point of ensuring that Shiro wouldn't try to escape before nightfall. I think that was intentional."
The detective nodded, a hope sparking in her eyes. "Then we can still get to him."
"Maybe," I said, trying to not smother her hope. "But we're going to need a miracle. Because even if we know what they're doing, we don't know where they are."
Murphy frowned for a moment, before looking at me again. "You can track people using their blood, right?"
"Well, yeah," I said after a moment. "Did Shiro think to give you some of his blood?"
Murphy's head was shaking as I spoke. "No. But we gathered blood from the hotel. A lot of which supposedly came from this Cassius person," she added.
My eyes widened. "Snake Boy did bleed a lot at the hotel."
Murphy nodded. "That's what Shiro said. Would that work?"
I started to reply that it would, but hesitated. "It might. I don't know," I admitted. "He was transformed into his demon form. Whatever blood he left might have broken down when he reverted back to his true form."
"What about Shiro's blood?" Michael asked. "He might have gotten out before the police arrived, but I saw him trade cuts with Nicodemus." He was polite enough to cough lightly before adding. "And there was an icicle…"
"If he bled, we have it," Murphy said. Her eyebrows were pinched with concern. "But we haven't identified any of the samples yet."
"Then we'll need all of it," I told her.
Murphy glared at me. "I can't do that, Harry. It's an ongoing investigation. One that's gotten the attention of some powerful people, considering Marcone's involvement."
"But you—"
"I was thinking I could sneak out one sample," Murphy said, cutting me off. "I figured Cassius's sample wouldn't be too hard to find; there were only so many blood samples taken from large pools of blood without a dead gangster lying beside them. The rest are just droplets. And there are dozens of samples."
I cursed under my breath. "And I suppose the hotel has already started cleaning up?"
"They started the moment our people were done," Murphy confirmed.
I shook my head. "Then we're going to need the samples. All of them."
"How—" Michael began.
"We'll go through them one by one," I said. "Almost everyone that was present is either here, at the hospital, or in the morgue. I'll plop myself over a map and see who doesn't look to be where they should."
The other two looked about as hopeful as I felt. But with time not on our side, there was little to argue over.
"Fine," Murphy said sharply. "I'll see what I can do. But if this costs me my job…"
"I'm sure it will all work out," Michael said, his normally optimistic tone sounding forced.
I hoped he was right, and that someone Upstairs was looking out for Shiro. Because as far as I could tell, They'd sure as hell forgotten about the rest of us.
