Chapter 4

Soul Gaze

I woke up on the floor of my apartment, which was just as uncomfortable as it sounds. The floor is covered with as many rugs as I could lay my hands on, but they are no substitute for an actual mattress. Unfortunately, Butters had my bed, Thomas had the couch and Mouse had abandoned me to serve as a pillow for Kai. Annoying as that was, Mouse was an excellent judge of character. If he thought Kai and Irene were trustworthy enough for the cuddly treatment, that was an enormous vote in their favour.

Maybe I had lucked out with my allies for once.

What had woken me was persistent knocking – as well as shouting – at my front door. Sensible. Whoever it was knew better than to try to let himself in; the wards would take his hand off. And probably an arm as well.

Around me, my roommates were waking up, but I was the only one who could disable the wards, so the task of opening the door fell to me.

Billy Borden was standing a sensible distance away. 'Harry.'

'Billy.' I failed to suppress a yawn. My brain was waking up at a slightly slower rate than the rest of my body, but it gently reminded me that Billy didn't usually come by my apartment without good reason. 'What happened?'

His face creased in concern. 'I was hoping you could tell me. Artemis Bock called, said you got into a fight last night.'

'Two fights.' My shoulder still twinged, but less than it did a few hours ago. 'You should see the other guy.'

Somehow that didn't lessen the concern on Billy's face. 'I found your car smashed up,' he reported.

So much for my plan to recover the Blue Beetle before I started working down the list the Little Folk had turned up. I needed wheels to get around. I didn't have the kind of time to get everywhere on foot or public transport. Halloween was tomorrow. Mavra's deadline was looming.

And so were a number of other things.

'I called your mechanic and had it towed,' Billy said.

That saved me some trouble at least.

'Thanks, Billy.'

'What's going on, Harry?'

Of course he wanted to help. And on many other cases, I would have been happy to have him watching my back. But Cowl had been right about one thing: this was the heavyweight division. Billy and the Alphas were not in it. If they went up against these people, they would have their arses handed to them. In very tiny pieces.

I shook my head. 'No.'

'You didn't…'

'You were about to ask if you could help,' I said. 'And the answer is no.'

It had been easy to forget in the madness of last night that Mavra had told me I should do this alone or she would ruin Murphy. Kai and Irene were bad enough, but I could maybe convince her that they were on their own investigation, because they were. There was some overlap, but they were not interested in The Word of Kemmler, and I had carefully not mentioned it last night. But bringing in the Alphas was different.

'Harry…'

'No.' I didn't shout, but I did make my voice firm. 'This is too big. You need to warn the crowd to keep their heads down for a few days and to be behind a threshold after dark.' I saw Billy gearing up for another protest, and slapped it down again: 'Billy, you have done good with the minor threats, but this is in another league. It would be me watching your backs instead of you watching mine.'

I didn't mention that I was not sure I was in the right league either. Cowl was a hell of a lot stronger than I was, I had no reason not to assume that Grevane and whatever other necromancers currently hanging around Chicago were any different, and that didn't even touch the nightmare that was Alberich. I did not scare easily, but what I had seen of him and what Irene had told me made me acutely aware that I was perhaps in more danger than I had realised.

Billy clearly didn't like it. He crossed his very muscled arms over his chest, but I didn't bend, not on this.

He folded eventually. 'At least take the car, if you're going to run around saving the day,' he said. He gestured behind him to the street where an absolute beast of a car was parked. It looked big, strong and indestructible, but my wizard thing would probably make every sensitive computer system onboard short out before the end of the day.

'You know I will break it.'

Billy shrugged. 'It's still under warranty.' He had yet to uncross his arms. 'If we can't help any other way, we'll do it this way.'

And I did not get a vote.

Not that I was arguing very hard, because I did need to get around somehow.

We had a very brief breakfast before setting off on the tasks we needed to do. I left an unhappy Thomas and Mouse on Butters guarding duty, Kai and Irene went back to the Harold Washington Library Center to figure out what they could from the late Librarian's research and I was off to work my way down the list of places where necromancy had been done.

The first two yielded nothing beyond some unsettling cold spots and a few specks of what may have been dried blood. There was no police, no ambulance, no do-not-cross tape, nothing at all to suggest that a crime had been committed there. That was the problem with necromancers; they took their victims with them when they moved on. Dawn had dispelled most of the lingering energies, but there was enough left to tell me that some very dark magic had been worked here.

In case I still thought necromancy was magic of the sunshine and rainbows variety.

The car began to malfunction when I set off to the next place on the list, the Field Museum. When I started the engine, the probably very expensive navigation system informed me that I was entering Helsinki. By the time I parked the beast, it had changed its mind and I was now leaving Rotterdam on the A29 heading south.

Even before I exited the car I could tell that some evidence had been left behind here, because police cars and ambulance were forming a parade in front of the building.

Bingo.

Since Murphy was on holiday, there was no chance the cops were going to let me on the crime scene, so I did what I don't normally do; I took the subtle approach.

There's a first time for everything.

Whilst circling the gigantic surviving skeleton of Sue, the Tyrannosaurus Rex the museum had on display, I did some Listening to the exchanges between museum security and the cops, from which I learned a few useful things.

The first was that the deceased was a Dr Bartlesby, who had worked on some Native American artifacts. The cop doing the questioning enquired as to the whereabouts of the Doctor's two assistants, but they had apparently not been seen since the previous day. A necromancer and a drummer? I wondered. Or fresh zombies to be used for some necromancer's purposes? The fact that a body had been left behind was not usually a necromancer's modus operandi, unusual enough to warrant some notice.

The second thing I learned was that this harmless academic had been killed in his office downstairs.

Someone had left a clipboard on a side table. I snatched it and held it very visibly before me. Then I boldly made my way through a door that was clearly labelled as staff. Everyone assumes that you have a right to be there if you have enough confidence and a clipboard. People with clipboards are not the ones who get inspected. They are the ones who perform the inspections. He with the clipboard is king.

Downstairs was a maze of identical looking corridors. It was a good thing I didn't run into anyone down there, because my ruse would never have survived a close inspection of me peering down hallways looking for the tell-tale police tape on a crime scene. By the time I finally found it I had begun to wonder if I was running around in circles.

I had some luck; the two guards on duty just left, grumbling that their replacements were taking their sweet time and that, since they had been on duty since last night and there was no one around anyway, the crime scene could be unguarded for five minutes.

Five minutes were just what I needed. I hid in a doorway staring intently at my clipboard until they were gone, and then ducked under the tape to the doctor's office.

Which looked like something fresh out of a horror movie.

The body had been removed. The blood hadn't. Even from the doorway, which was as far as I went, I could see that everything, from the desk to the smallest pencil, was liberally splattered with it. The largest concentration was on the floor where the victim had lain. Who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?

The stench was horrible.

Worse than all the blood was the trace of magic that still lingered. It was cold, vicious, malicious, and dawn had barely diminished it. Corruption hung in the air. Somehow, almost impossibly, something stronger and darker than even necromancy had been worked here.

My stomach clenched. Alberich, maybe? Or another necromancer, stronger than even Cowl?

None of my options sounded very appealing.

I glanced around the room, forcing the revulsion down. I didn't have a lot of time, so I'd make it count. The books were either popular novels or thick tomes on the subject of Native American paraphernalia, so probably no use. The few photo frames in the room were also covered in blood, but the one in the middle was unsplattered enough to make out an elderly man flanked by two young people: an Asian looking man and a very pretty young woman with curly hair. The Doctor and his missing assistants, I suspected.

I couldn't learn much more from the room, so I beat a quick retreat before someone charged me with crime scene contamination or murder. Just in time too; I heard footsteps in the corridors, so I brandished my clipboard and walked quickly in the opposite direction.

At which point I lost my way. Again.

It took me the better part of twenty minutes to find my way back to where I had started. The good thing about this was that as well as looking around me for a way out, I got some thinking done. I had some suspicions, but I needed some help to tell me if I was on the right path.

I got back into the SUV, which then repeatedly complained that I wasn't wearing my seatbelt. By the time I made it back home, it had changed tack and informed me that 'the door is ajar.' I was missing the Blue Beetle. It was battered and ramshackle, but at least it didn't talk to me.

I like that in a car.

Butters took some convincing to come out from out behind the wards. Thomas gave me a meaningful look, which I ignored. Butters may be a coward, but a lot of people are. Cowardice usually means that people are wise enough to avoid danger and to take cover when things get dangerous.

On the whole, cowards have a longer life expectancy than heroes.

It took some promising on my part that I wouldn't leave him alone and that I would protect him in case another necromancer showed up. Even after that, he was jittery when he got into the car. Surprisingly it was the car's malfunctioning that got him to calm down.

'Now entering Lyon,' said the pleasant voice emerging from the dashboard. 'Bear right, then take the second exit on the roundabout.'

Butters frowned. 'I think the car is lost.'

I shrugged. 'My fault.'

'Your wizard thing?' Butters asked.

'You can bet.' I should probably be happy the car hadn't broken down yet.

Butters fiddled with his coat for a bit. 'You know, Harry, it doesn't hurt my ego to be in hiding. I'd be happy to hide.'

'Relax, Butters. I'll be with you the whole time.' Although it might take some explaining why a man with a staff was in the room.

My initial plan was to park some distance away and sneak in around the back to avoid the police, but to my surprise there was no police presence at the Forensic Institute. Everything looked ordinary.

I considered the other places where the necromancers had been, and came to the conclusion that Grevane had taken poor dead Phil with him when he left.

So I parked in front and we walked boldly – in my case – and nervously – in Butters's – in through the front door. Butters made awkward small talk with the security guard, but he gained confidence as he went. This was his home ground after all. He'd had a bad experience here, but this was still a place he knew and where he was comfortable.

I kept an eye out for any trouble, but if anyone had followed us, they had been careful and I didn't see them. Butters finished his conversation with the security guard, who let us through with a friendly smile.

'What exactly do you need?' Butters asked.

I had explained back home, but suspected Butters hadn't really heard me then, so I explained again. 'There's a Doctor who was murdered at the Field Museum last night,' I said. 'Dr Bartlesby. I need you to take a look at him and tell me what you can. That's one thing.'

Butters paled, but didn't run away screaming. 'And the other?'

'When Grevane came in last night, there was something he thought you could do for him. I'm thinking he had an interest in that last victim that was added to your docket. A doctor, I think.' Butters had mentioned a name, but the subsequent appearance of a necromancer and a recently deceased security guard had given me a few other things to think about.

'Doctor H. Vincent,' Butters said.

We reached Butters's room. I went in first, just in case someone was waiting for us. There was no one. More interestingly, someone had gone to great lengths to make it look as if nothing had happened here. All the furniture had been put back. Even Butters's polka contraption looked untouched.

Grevane knew how to cover his tracks.

That's not a quality I appreciate in the bad guys.

I let Butters in. He took a deep breath and stepped past me. I closed the door.

'Right,' Butters said. 'You stay right here.'

I leaned against the door. Fortunately it opened inwards, so I wouldn't fall in an undignified manner backwards when someone tried to open it.

Butters switched on the computer on the other side of the room. 'Dr Brioche has allocated Dr Bartlesby to himself,' he said, consulting the documents. 'It's the more prestigious one, so of course he has.' He peered at the screen. 'He should be nearly done, so I could probably take a peek in about fifteen minutes.'

I nodded. 'And the other doctor?'

'Still mine. Let's have a look.'

He likely didn't even notice, but his nerves were gone. His manner was brisk and businesslike. He wheeled out the corpse of the late Dr H. Vincent with calm detachment.

I observed from a distance. The deceased doctor was an elderly man with a receding hairline. A car had slammed into him at the kind of speed that had done a fatal amount of damage. There was so much damage I couldn't even begin to guess at the direction from which he had been hit. Everywhere, especially below the chest, was just messy and bloody, like it had been through the meat grinder.

My mind was telling me I missed something very obvious.

'What was his first name?' I asked.

Butters consulted his paperwork. 'Hercule,' he said. 'Hercule Vincent.'

Hercule was the name of the Librarian who had died in the car accident. Two people with the same name, the same death date and the same cause of death seemed unlikely. So what did Grevane want with a professional book thief? He'd already bought Die Lied der Erlking. It couldn't be about that.

So far I was getting more questions than answers.

'What about his effects?' I asked.

Butters gestured behind him. I walked over to the pile indicated. Dr Vincent's clothes were predictably blood-stained, and his glasses had not survived the collision with the car. The book he had been reading, a treatise on the origin of faerie stories, was as blood-stained as his clothes.

'This is it?'

Butters made a noise indicating confirmation.

I shook the book. Only a small business card fell out. It landed on the table.

Bock Ordered Books.

The card was not old – Bock had changed the design last year – but well-handled. Clearly Dr Vincent had had it a while. Not that strange that a Librarian had the business card of a bookshop that traded in rare books, but given the fight outside Bock Ordered Books, it might pay to ask Artemis Bock some questions.

Perhaps he'd sold the Beginner's Guide to Necromancy to some shady types recently.

I slipped the business card into my pocket.

In the meantime Butters had turned Dr Vincent onto his stomach. 'Harry, look at this.'

Under the shoulder blades, under severe abrasions and a lot of blood, the deceased had a tattoo, his first name framed by flowing script. Just in case I wondered if he was part of some organisation. It looked like a brand.

'The cause of death is clear enough,' Butters said.

'Definitely the car?'

'Definitely the car.' Butters shook his head. 'It must have hit him hard. There's massive trauma… everywhere.'

The question was who was driving the car. I was beginning to suspect Hercule's death was not as much of an accident as Irene wanted to believe. I'm not a leading expert on what car accident victims were supposed to look like, but this seemed too much damage for a simple hit and run.

Butters checked the time. 'I'm going to go and see if Dr Brioche is done,' he said. He hesitated for a moment, then braced himself and added: 'You wait here.'

I didn't get the chance to ask if he was sure; he was already gone.

I'm not a superstitious or squeamish guy, but being left alone with at least one visible corpse and possibly several unseen ones on a case that was crawling with necromancers was enough to unsettle me a little.

Butters had barely gone two minutes when the door opened. Another medical examiner walked into the room, dressed in the obligatory white lab coat and his name stencilled on his left breast pocket. Dr Brioche apparently.

If he was here with me, he wasn't annoying Butters, so I prepared to summon up a decent excuse for my presence next to a corpse in a room where I was not supposed to be.

Then I noticed the eyes.

Last night Irene's commentary about recognising Alberich by his eyes sounded less than helpful. That was last night.

There was no good way to describe how I knew that he was right in front of me. I only knew that I knew. I had never met Dr Brioche, so I couldn't tell if there was something wrong with his manners or posture. I didn't know if he always had such a cold, cruel gaze. For all I knew he had.

But I knew this was not Dr Brioche.

And he knew that I knew. The surprise at finding me in a room that was supposedly empty made way for realisation. And he was not afraid. He was pleased.

That thought was enough to make my bowels feel very watery.

He met my eyes.

And held them.

I was too taken aback to avert my own gaze quick enough. I was pulled into the soulgaze.

My first thought was that he apparently had enough human bits left to be able to start a soulgaze.

My second thought was the human part was just a very small remnant.

Alberich's soul was mangled, twisted beyond recognition, hollowed out and filled up with power and insanity. Like Alice in Wonderland, if Alice was tripping on acid, vengeance and psychosis.

Imagine a house, well-built, with a nice garden in the front and back. Now imagine that the owner ripped out all the plants, dug up the lawn and replaced it with creeping weeds, barbed wire and land mines in the ground. Then imagine that he threw the furniture onto a bonfire and gutted the house. He pulled out the wiring, and the plumbing, everything that made it work. He left cracks in the wall, and covered them up with duct tape. Then he ripped out the floor boards and threw them haphazardly around the house. The thrown out furniture he replaced with the worst pieces found in the garbage dumpsters, none of which even remotely matched. Through it all the house has become so fragile that the first decent wind will knock it down.

Now imagine that the owner is standing in the middle of all that, cackling and proudly gesturing around him at the improvement he had made to his house.

That was Alberich's soul.

He was completely, utterly, irrevocably insane. He had stripped away almost everything that was human. Only a few bare bones remained. He had filled those empty places up with a mixture of power from all kinds of sources, most of which wouldn't mash together naturally. The only thing that stopped him from falling apart at all was a laser focus of will and purpose. Hate for the Library and a need for vengeance fuelled everything he was and did. Underneath that was something else, another motive that I couldn't quite see, which powered the hate against the Library.

The soulgaze ended as abruptly as it had begun. My stomach clenched, both with fear and revulsion. I fought dangerous people before. They didn't scare me nearly as much now as they did a few years ago. But I had never seen madness and power go together like this.

It was utterly terrifying, because now I knew beyond a doubt that there was absolutely nothing he would not do in pursuit of his goals.

And I was currently in his way.

The only advantage I had was that I had done soulgazes before and I knew what to expect. Judging by the startled look on his stolen face, Alberich was a novice at this. Either that, or he had seen something in me that had thrown him off balance. I didn't want to know. The depths of my soul are not places I like to explore too deeply.

So when Alberich recovered himself, I was ready. I had gathered my will, prepared my shield bracelet for immediate action and gripped my staff tightly.

'Get out of my way,' he demanded.

'Or what?' I countered, because sometimes I just couldn't help myself.

He smiled nastily. 'You have no stake in this fight, wizard. You could just walk away.'

'So you can kill me when my back is turned,' I said. 'No, thanks.'

After the soulgaze he now avoided looking directly at my eyes. It wouldn't happen again, but he didn't know that. Instead he looked over my shoulder, to where Hercule still lay on his belly, waiting for a medical examiner's attention.

He wasn't here for me. He was here for the Librarian. Or his things. With what I now knew about him, it seemed a safe conclusion that he had plans for the use of that skin.

'Shame,' Alberich shrugged. 'You would make a useful ally.'

'I don't do well as a minion,' I said.

I turned around, focused my will and cast: 'Fuego!' Hellfire engulfed the body on the examining table. Even if Alberich put out the flames now, he would only be using that body if he liked his skin extra crispy. Then, just for good measure, I aimed another stream of fire at Hercule's effects. They went up like dry wood.

Somewhere in the building an alarm went off.

Alberich's scream of rage drowned out even that. Spittle actually flew from his mouth. If I still wondered if he was insane, I only had to look at his eyes now to know. But his will was still there, as was his resourcefulness.

He didn't bother with the fire. He focused on me: 'Medical instruments in this room, made of silver, of steel, all of which can hear my voice, fly into Harry Dresden.'

The length of his command enabled me to bring up my shield in the nick of time. Most of the instruments bounced off my shield. The few that got past it didn't make it past my spell-protected leather duster.

I hit him with a well-aimed burst of kinetic energy while he was marshalling his next assault. It slammed him into the wall with the kind of speed that should have broken every bone in his body.

He only grinned viciously at me. If that collision had hurt, it didn't show. There was no bleeding, no disorientation. Nothing.

Just an Alberich-shaped dent in the wall.

And I was in some serious trouble. The fire behind me was growing, so I couldn't go back. I would need to get past Alberich to get to the door. Alberich knew that I knew it. I was trapped like a rat in a barrel.

And if things were not bad enough, the door opened and Butters came back in.

Hell's bells.

Next time: Kai and Irene try to get some detective work done, but get repeatedly interrupted.

Reviews would be very much appreciated.