Chapter 6

Mind Game

Butters blinked. His eyes went from the fire – understandable – to the medical instruments on the floor to me and then to Alberich. 'Dr Brioche?'

'Dr Brioche can't come to the phone right now,' Alberich smiled.

'That's not Brioche,' I said through clenched teeth, wondering how I could get to Butters and then get us both out of the room without Alberich following.

I didn't like our chances much. The room was too small and cramped to really let rip with the magic. I had no room to manoeuvre, and now I had Butters to think of as well.

Butters whimpered.

Alberich smiled some more. 'Harry Dresden, you…'

I decided not to wait around for what he wanted to do to me, so threw another burst of kinetic energy at him. I threw him back against the wall through the desk, which splintered on impact. The probably very expensive computer that had been on it fell to the floor and died in a rain of sparks.

Alberich didn't even wince. 'Floor, o…'

Just for good measure I gave him a blast of the old 'fuego!' again. The room was already on fire. What was a little more?

He tried to throw himself out of the way, but the limited space really worked against him as much as it worked against me. The fire hit him full in the face, which gave him something else to think about and stopped him from trying to work his magic on me again.

I didn't hang around. I grabbed Butters, who had shown a clear grasp of priorities by making a grab for his polka contraption, manhandled him through the door and only let him go long enough to slam my right hand on the fire alarm next to it. A few more sirens started wailing. Belatedly the sprinklers switched on, so that when we joined the panicked people at the front of the building we were smoked and wet, as well as clanking with every step because, just in case you didn't know, these polka suit things make a lot of noise.

Sirens in the distance announced the imminent arrival of firefighters and the police. Given that I was now definitely guilty of arson, it seemed a good idea not to hang around. In the general confusion I pulled Butters to the car before anyone could start asking such awkward questions such as 'did you see what happened?' and 'have you seen Dr Brioche by any chance?'

The bulk of Dr Brioche was probably awaiting autopsy in one of the Institute's top notch freezers.

Butters was too overwhelmed to venture any suggestions, so he followed me to the car, whimpering occasionally. I couldn't blame him. Alberich was easily one of the scariest opponents I had ever gone up against, and I was supposed to be used to the scary guys. This was only Butters's second brush with danger.

I directed him into the passenger seat, shoved the polka ensemble into the back seat, got behind the wheel myself and started the car.

'The door is ajar.'

I'll say this for the SUV, it got away fast. I drove randomly around town to make sure that we weren't followed, but if we were followed they were very subtle. I saw no one.

Eventually I drove to the parking lot that was closest by at the time to get my bearings again and deal with Butters.

'The door is ajar.'

I shut off the engine. The door suddenly wasn't ajar anymore.

Butters had stopped whimpering, but he was very pale. 'What was that?' he asked, which meant that he was starting to get the hang of walking around in my world.

Unfortunately, Alberich was still human. Or some part of him was. 'Someone evil walking around in Dr Brioche's skin,' I said, leaving out the finer details. 'Dr Brioche is dead.'

Butters closed his eyes as if that would make it all go away.

I knew from experience that it wouldn't.

'Could you find out anything about Dr Bartlesby?' I asked, hoping that if I focused him on something other than Alberich, he might calm down a bit.

It had the opposite effect. Butters closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing. 'He was a mess, Harry.' He breathed in and out a few more times. 'Some parts were missing. A few organs and muscles mainly. I didn't get a good look; the alarm went off.'

Missing bits. My knowledge about necromancy was negligible – and I would be happy if it remained that way – but any rituals that called for human body parts to power them were not rituals I liked.

'Good job.' Under the circumstances, it had been. I was sure that it was relevant somehow. I just didn't know how yet. 'I'll get you back home. My home.' There might be nothing Grevane could learn from Butters anymore – if Hercule was the object of his interest, there was now nothing left of him – but I wasn't sure what Alberich wanted. Better to park Butters safely behind my wards and Irene's until I figured that out.

Butters nodded. 'That's fine, Harry. Excellent even. Definitely amazing.' I had never met someone so keen to be locked in a basement before.

I started the engine and drove out of the parking lot. 'The door is ajar.'

It was the never-ending 'the door is ajar' routine that calmed Butters down. By the time I dropped him back home with Thomas he was even chuckling at it. I was about ready to burn the thing and thought longing thoughts of the Blue Beetle.

I made sure that Butters and his suit were safe and then went out again. A lot of clues pointed straight at Bock Ordered Books, so that was where I went next.

I hadn't really stopped to think about it, but now I wondered about Alberich showing up. At first I was too busy fighting for my life. When I found out that Kai and Irene knew him, I assumed he had followed them, but now I wasn't so sure. They had come here through the Library and any place with Library wards would not let in Alberich, so he couldn't have come through the Library himself.

He must already have been in this world and, for whatever reason, he must have thought that what he wanted could be found at Bock Ordered Books. How had he got that idea? I thought about the business card in my pocket, Alberich's appearance in the Forensic Institute, added one to the other and arrived at the conclusion that he was starting to look a lot like the murderer. Especially since he apparently had the reputation that he killed Librarians.

I made sure to park the car a few streets away, just in case another fight happened. I gathered my staff and really wished I had crafted a new blasting rod after all. My shield bracelet was in good order and the ring was fully charged. At least this time I would be ready for it.

So naturally, there wasn't any sign of trouble whatsoever. Bock was alone in the shop. One of the windows was boarded up, but that might have been my fault. Or Cowl's. Or Alberich's. But sticking them with the bill might be tricky.

He did not seem pleased to see me. 'I don't want any trouble.'

'I am not here for trouble,' I assured him, hoping very much that last night's excitement had been the exception rather than the rule. 'Just some questions.'

That didn't make him happy either.

The sooner I had answers, the sooner I would be out of his hair. I gave him the business card I had found with Hercule Vincent's things. 'A Dr Hercule Vincent had this on him when he died. Did you know him?'

'Hercule is dead?'

He hadn't known. 'Three days ago. Car accident.' Of a sort. Where the driver had done the driving over the unsuspecting pedestrian very deliberately. And very fast. And very violently.

Bock's face fell even further, which answered my first question.

'He was a friend?' I asked.

'A good one,' Bock confirmed. 'And a frequent customer. Most of the books he was after had to do with fairytales and legends. He wrote a book about it, and he said he was working on something similar. But he had a nose for rare books as well, fiction mainly.'

A Librarian who wrote about the Fae was murdered at the same time that a book about a lord of Faerie was suddenly in high demand and a man who had corrupted himself with Faerie powers showed up in Chicago. That was a lot of coincidence.

Bock studied me intently. 'You wouldn't be asking questions about him if he died in an accident, Harry.'

'It's looking likely that it was murder,' I admitted. 'Did he have enemies?'

Bock snorted. 'Hercule? You clearly never knew him. Friendliest fellow you'd ever meet. The worst he had were professional rivalries, and he took his rivals out for dinner and drinks.'

I would be the first to admit that the circles of academia are a bit of an unknown area for me. For all I knew it was a ruthless world where scholars used poisoned pens to slit each other's throats behind stacks of books.

'He was.'

'Did he know you had Die Lied der Erlking in stock?' I asked.

'I was going to send him a note,' Bock said. 'It was the sort of book he'd be interested in, but both copies were sold before I could and there wasn't much point after.' He frowned. 'Are you investigating?'

I wasn't exactly sure what I was investigating. I had too many snippets of information that I was sure were related somehow, but I had almost too many pieces and too little time to sit and think things through. I couldn't see the murderer for the necromancers. I didn't know why anyone wanted to summon the Erlking and I didn't know what the necromancers were up to. Perhaps most disastrously, I didn't have a single lead on The Word of Kemmler, and time was rapidly running out.

'It's got tied up in something I am investigating,' I replied. 'But I will try to do my best to find out who did it.'

Bock considered that. 'Good enough.' He gestured towards the back. 'I've got a few copies of his book in the cage. I'm surprised you never read it.'

He let me into the cage and pointed out the middle shelf, which indeed held three copies of Dr Hercule Vincent's Tales of the Sidhe: Origins and Influences. Another copy was on the top shelf, prominently displayed.

'Signed copy,' Bock explained. 'Not for sale.' He took it from the shelf and handed it to me. 'But you can look through it if you think it helps.'

He left me to it.

I couldn't see how the book could help, but I leafed through it anyway and was positively surprised. It was as good of a summary about the Sidhe and their interactions with humans throughout history as you were likely to find beyond the White Council.

As interesting as it was, what really drew my attention was the handwritten dedication on the title page. "To my friend Artemis, thank you for many hours of books, drinks and good company. Your good friend, Hercule." There was nothing special in the words themselves, except to drive home the message that Hercule had been a real human being who was murdered because he somehow got involved with the wrong books.

I put the signed copy back where it came from and took one of the unsigned with me, not because I thought that I could uncover a clue about Hercule's death from it, but because it looked like a really informative book I probably should have read a while ago.

I left the cage and walked back into the shop, where conditions had deteriorated in my absence. The young man and woman from Dr Bartlesby's photograph were in front of the counter. And they weren't looking very happy.

I hid behind a shelf before they could see me. With any luck they would go away without knowing I was there.

'It is a simple enough question,' the woman insisted impatiently. 'Who bought Die Lied der Erlking?' Her pronunciation was impeccable.

'I don't keep those kinds of records,' Bock said calmly, but I could have sworn that his hands were doing things under the counter. Shotgun, maybe? 'Customers don't have to tell me their personal details to buy books.'

'You sold the book recently,' the woman said, narrowing her eyes. 'Do you need help refreshing your memory?' The smile that accompanied that suggestion was downright nasty.

'I had two copies,' Bock said. 'I sold them both. If I had a third, I would sell it to you.'

Obviously, this was not the correct answer. 'So, you have chosen a side.'

I reviewed what I knew, which wasn't much. But what I did know wasn't good. If she was making threats like this she was almost certainly a necromancer and definitely stronger than I was, if Cowl and Grevane were any indication.

Going for round three of Dresden versus necromancers didn't sound very appealing, but Bock was on his own with only a shotgun.

That wasn't much of a dilemma.

I put Hercule's book in my pocket, made sure my .44 was within easy reach, leaned my staff against the shelf just out of sight and then grabbed an armful of books on stargazing and the hidden properties of crystals and the like, which hopefully would mark me out as an eccentric, harmless fool. At least long enough to lull my opponents into a false sense of security. Then I stepped into full view, trying to look like a vapid idiot.

'Hey Bock, I finished Die Lied der Erlking!' I butchered the pronunciation on purpose. 'Riveting read. I don't suppose you have the sequel?'

Three pairs of eyes turned on me. None of the looks were flattering.

'Him?' the woman demanded incredulously, turning to Bock. 'You sold Die Lied der Erlking to him?'

'Oh, is that how you pronounce that?' I said interestedly. 'I was wondering.'

'Give it to me,' she ordered, holding out her hand.

I deliberately misinterpreted that. I threw the book at her. Actually, I threw all six of them. The first hit her square in the forehead, the second hit her associate in the throat. Two books went wide, and the other two didn't hit anything that would particularly hurt, but it was the thought that counted.

While they were dealing with that change in setting, I took my staff and threw the lackey through the plywood covering on the window out into the street.

That enraged her. 'Give me the book, wizard.'

'No. I make it a point of principle to keep that kind of literature out of the hands of the likes of you.'

'So you refuse?'

She apparently was a little slow on the uptake. 'Yes, moppet, I refuse. I deny thee. No, already.'

That must have communicated the message effectively. She didn't speak, but something happened. The shop went darker, like the light was somehow sucked out of the space, to be replaced with sinister shadows, crawling all over the shop, surrounding me, but not yet coming close enough to touch. And the light wasn't the only thing to go. Everything seemed to go, leaving only emptiness in its wake. It was a hungry sort of emptiness, and what it apparently wanted to eat was me.

I was so very out of my depth.

I was nowhere near strong enough to take this on. I wouldn't know where to begin.

'I don't like your answer,' the necromancer smiled. She was still keeping up the spell, and she wasn't showing the strain.

'If you want the book so badly, why not ask Grevane?' I suggested, smiling on the general principle. She didn't need to know how nervous this made me. 'I've seen him dragging his copy around everywhere. I mean, for all I know he just really likes to read, but between you and me, taking a book to the morgue is a bit strange.' If I was really lucky, she'd tell me what Grevane had been doing there, since I still didn't have a clue what he wanted with the late Librarian.

The necromancer clearly thought I was going somewhere else with this. 'You found it,' she breathed. 'You succeeded where he failed, didn't you?' I kept smiling, since that was better than admitting I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. 'Perhaps we can reach an understanding.'

Not this again. 'Funny. He said the same thing.'

'You turned him down?'

'I didn't like his hat.' Or his face, or his actions, or anything about him really.

Apparently this made me show wisdom for one so young. Not that I was particularly keen on compliments from people who go around creating zombie armies. And I didn't like offers of employment from them either.

But she was still going, smiling as if she had been given a Christmas gift. 'Give me the book,' she said eagerly. 'Give me the Word. Stand with me at the Darkhallow. I will grant you autonomy and the principality of your choice when the new order rises. The gratitude of the Capiorcorpus will be generous, wizard.'

The name was making my skin crawl. Taker of corpses, or bodies, both equally as likely. I didn't plan on becoming one of the bodies she took. Was that what she had done with poor Bartlesby? That would go some way in explaining that dark lingering energy in the office. I had a sinking feeling that until not so very long ago, she had walked around in his skin. And then she jumped ship, hopped into someone young and strong, and killed the old body.

Which did not bode well for the young woman whose skin she currently wore.

What was it with body-hoppers on this case?

'I'll tell you what I told Alberich: I don't do well as a flunky.'

Her eyes glittered in a way that only the truly insane ever seem to achieve. The Corpsetaker was calm, confident and utterly mad. She kept trying to catch my eyes, but I made sure to look elsewhere. I had seen enough madness for one day; I didn't want to get up close and personal with it in another soulgaze.

'Give me the Word,' she repeated. 'Give me the books. Where are they?'

If I knew that, we wouldn't be standing here having this conversation. Hercule had known, though. It was the only reason I could think of for why both Grevane and Alberich would be so interested in his corpse, or the things he'd had on him at the time. If I got out of this alive, I'd have to start digging a little deeper there.

You'd think she heard me the first half dozen times. 'What? You think I'm stupid enough to take them with me? I've got them hidden.' Half-true, I supposed. Die Lied was in the bookcase at home. Not that hidden, but at least safe behind a double layer of wards. 'And I'm not giving them to you.'

'I could take the information from you,' she said calmly, as though she was only discussing the weather and this was something she did every day. It was an effort to stop my knees from knocking together. 'I prefer to attempt reason before I destroy a mind.'

Given that I was still surrounded by the shadows and that horrible emptiness, I had no doubt she could do that. I already knew she had no respect for the Laws of Magic. Why should she stop at raising the dead if she could invade minds as well?

I made sure to raise my defences before I answered her: 'I didn't know you could reason with the clinically insane.'

The expression on her face turned murderous. The pressure on my mind was instantaneous, but the Corpsetaker came up against my defences and they held. Having said that, the pressure was enormous. I needed all my attention just to keep them together. There certainly wasn't anything to spare for such necessities as running away or sending her after her minion through the window.

I was breathing hard, trying to keep my defences intact, but the Corpsetaker was much, much stronger than I was. I could feel them crumbling.

It should have made me afraid, and I was. I was very afraid. But it also made me very angry. I'd had Alberich looking around in there and I had an image of one of the Fallen taking up permanent residence and poking around in my head as if she had any right to it. And now the Corpsetaker thought she could join the party?

One woman in my mind was quite enough. If I was going to have no choice in sharing headspace with her, she might as well make herself useful before my brain became too crowded to stand. Hey, Lasciel, can you help repel the invasion here?

She flickered into being at the edge of my vision, still in the librarian get-up. Appropriate, I supposed, given the bookshop. 'It will be my pleasure, my host.'

She disappeared from sight again, but somehow the pressure on my mind lifted. The cracks that had fallen in my wall of defences were filled up. Suddenly this wasn't a fair fight, but the odds were stacked against the Corpsetaker.

She wasn't used to that. She grinned, as though relishing the challenge and doubled down. Lasciel lashed out with a volley of mental Hellfire that wiped the smile off the Corpsetaker's face. They went back and forth, the Corpsetaker launching assault after assault, and Lasciel repelling them as easily as if she was swatting away a fly. She did it by drawing on my reserves of energy, I could feel that, as I was tiring fast. That could be a problem, especially since I was beginning to wonder where the Corpsetaker's drummer had got to.

As if my thoughts had summoned him, he stalked back into the shop, looking murderous and not at all human anymore. I just had time to think Hell's bells, ghoul and then he launched himself at me.

Lash, stop playing with her. Kick her out!

It was a good thing I still had my gun in my duster, because there was no chance I was able to throw magic around with all my energy getting tied up in repelling the Corpsetaker's mental attacks. I put three bullets in the ghoul, but all that did was slow him down and piss him off.

Lasciel did as she was told and pushed the Corpsetaker out with a final assault that, even by my standards, was a little heavy on the – mental – fire. The energy drain made me stumble. Good thing that there was a convenient bookshelf nearby for me to stumble into.

Fortunately, it made the Corpsetaker stumble as well. Her pretty face twisted into an expression of maddened rage. Any moment now she would try to take my eyes out with her nails.

She never got the chance.

I had forgotten where I was. This was a bookshop and that tended to attract readers. Librarians for instance.

Kai and Irene walked into the shop, clearly not surprised at anything currently going on. The new arrivals drew the attention away from me and to them, which lined the Corpsetaker and her minion up perfectly for what happened next. I had only thrown the book at them. Irene went one step further and flung the entire bookcase at them: 'Bookcase which I am touching, fall on the woman in the black boots.'

Next time: alarming amounts of property damage.

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