Butters's nose had swollen up. There was still some blood on his face, and he already had a matched set of gorgeously colorful black eyes. He leaned over and fussed with the bandages on my stomach.
"Hey," I said quietly. "I told you to run. I was doing that heroic rearguard thing. You screwed it all up."
"Sorry," he answered, his voice serious. "But... I got outside and I couldn't run. I mean, I wanted to. I really wanted to. But after all you've done for me..." He shook his head. "I just couldn't do that."
"What did you do?"
"I ran around the outside of the museum. I tried to find help, but with all the rain and the dark there wasn't anyone around. So I ran to the car and got Mouse. I thought that maybe he could help you."
"He could," I agreed. "He did."
Mouse's tail thumped on the floor, and he kept on licking at my head. I realized, dully, that he was cleaning the dozens of tiny snakebites.
"But he couldn't have done it without you, Butters," I said. "You saved my life. Another five minutes and I'd have been history."
He blinked down at me for a moment and then said, "I did, didn't I?"
"Damned brave of you," I said.
His spine straightened a little. "You think?"
"Yeah."
"And check it out," he said, gesturing at his face, his mouth opening into a toothy smile. "I have a broken nose, don't I?"
"Absolutely," I said.
"Like I'm a boxer. Or maybe a tough-as-nails gumshoe."
"You earned it," I said. "Hurt?"
"Like hell," he said, but he was still smiling. He blinked a few times, the gears almost visibly spinning in his head, and said, "I didn't run away. And I fought him. I jumped on him."
I kept quiet and let him process it.
"My God," he said. "That was... that was so stupid."
"Actually, when you survive it gets reclassified as 'courageous.'" I reached out my right hand. Butters shook it, gripping hard.
He looked at Cassius's body, and his smile faded. "What about him?" he asked.
"He's done," I said.
"That's not what I mean."
"Oh," I said. "We'll leave the body here. No time to move it. He'll be a John Doe on the public records, and there probably won't be a heavy investigation. If we get out quick it shouldn't be an issue."
"No. I mean... I mean, my God, he's dead. We killed him."
"Don't kid yourself," I told him. "I'm the one who killed him. All you did was try to help me."
His brow furrowed and he shook his head. "That's not what I mean either. I feel sorry for him."
"Don't," I said. "He was a monster."
Butters frowned and nodded. "But he was also a man. Or was once. He was so bitter. So much hate. He had a horrible life."
"Note the past tense," I said. "Had."
Butters looked away from the corpse. "What happened there at the very end? There was a light, and his voice sounded... weird. I thought he'd killed you."
"He hit me with his death curse," I said.
Butters swallowed. "I guess it didn't work? I mean, because you're breathing."
"It worked," I told him. I'd felt that vicious magic grab hold of me and sink in. "I don't think he was strong enough to kill me outright. So he went for something else."
" 'Die alone'?" Butters asked quietly. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know," I said. "Not sure I want to." I took a deep breath and then exhaled. I didn't have enough time to lie there waiting to recover. "Butters, I don't have any right to ask this of you. I'm already in your debt. But I need your help."
"You have it," he said.
"I haven't even told you what it is," I said.
Butters smiled a little and nodded. "I know. But you have it."
I felt my lips peel back from my teeth in a fierce grin. "One little assault and you've gone habitual. Next thing I know you'll be forming a fight club. Help me up."
"You shouldn't," he said seriously.
"No choice," I said.
He nodded and then stood up and offered me his hand. I took it and rose, waiting to sway or pass out or throw up from the pain. I did none of those things. The pain was there, but it didn't stop me from moving or thinking. Butters just stared at me and then shook his head.
I found my staff, picked it up, and walked to the Buffalo Bill exhibit. Butters got the candle, and then he and Mouse kept pace. I looked around for a second, then picked up a long, heavy-duty extension cord running from an outlet on the wall to power some lights on an exhibit in the center of the room. I jerked it clear at both ends and gathered it into a neat loop. Once I had it, I passed it to Butters.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Preparing," I said. "I found out about the Darkhallow."
Butters blinked. "You did? How?"
I grunted. "Magic."
"Okay," he said. "What did you learn?"
"That this isn't a rite. It's a big spell," I said. "It all depends on drawing together a ton of dark spiritual energy."
"Like what?" he asked.
"Like a lot of things. The necromantic energy around animated corpses and manifested shades. The predatory spirits of ancient hunters. All the fear that's been growing since last night. Plus, the past several years have seen some serious magical turbulence around Chicago. Kemmler's disciples can put that turbulence to work for them, too."
"Then what?"
"They gather it together and get it going in a big circle. It creates a kind of vortex, which then funnels down into whoever is trying to consume the energy. Poof. Insta-god."
He frowned. "I'm not very clued in on this magic stuff, but that sounds kind of dangerous."
"Hell, yeah," I said, and crossed the room to a rack of riding equipment. "It's like trying to inhale a tornado."
"Holy crap," Butters said. "But how does that help us?"
"First of all, I found out that the vortex itself is deadly. It's going to draw off the life of every living thing around it."
Butters gulped. "It will kill everything?"
"Not at first. But when the wizard at the vortex draws down the power, it's going to create a kind of vacuum where all that power used to be. The vacuum will rip away the life energy of everything within a mile."
"Dear God. That will kill thousands of people."