"Information doesn't stop fangs, Dresden. If I start using what I know against them, I'd be a threat. Five minutes after I get involved I'll be the one with his throat cut."
"Better them than you, huh?"
He looked up and spread his hands. "I am what I am, Dresden. A coward. I don't apologize for it." He folded his fingers and regarded me soberly. "What's the fastest way for me to get you away from my home and out of my life?"
I leaned my staff against the table and slouched into my chair. "What do you know about what's been happening in town lately?"
"Black magic?" Mort asked. "Not much. I've had nightmares, which is unusual. The dead have been nervous for several days. It's been difficult to get them to answer a summons, even with Halloween coming up."
"Has that happened before?" I asked.
"Not on this scale," Mort said. "I've asked, but they won't explain to me why they're afraid. In my experience, it's one way that spiritual entities react to the presence of dark powers."
I nodded, frowning. "It's necromancy," I said. "You ever heard about a guy named Kemmler?"
Mort's eyes widened. "Oh, God. His disciples?"
"I think so," I said. "A lot of them."
Mort's face turned a little green. "That explains why they're so afraid."
"Why?"
He waved a hand. "The dead are terrified of whatever is moving around out there. Necromancers can enslave them. Control them. Even destroy them."
"So they can feel their power?" I asked.
"Absolutely."
"Good," I said. "I was counting on that."
Mort frowned and arched an eyebrow.
"I'm not sure how many of them are in town," I said. "I need to know where they are-or at least how many of them are here. I want you to ask the dead to help me locate them."
He lifted both hands. "They won't. I'll tell you that for certain. You couldn't get a ghost to willingly appear within screaming distance of a necromancer."
"Come on, Mort. Don't start holding out on me."
"I'm not," he said, and held up two fingers in a scout's hand signal. "My pledge of honor upon it."
I exhaled, frustrated. "What about residual magic?"
"What do you mean?"
"Whenever these necromancers work with dark magic it leaves a kind of stain or footprint. I can sense it if I get close enough."
"So why don't you do it?"
"It's a big town," I said. "And whatever these lunatics are up to, it's got to happen by midnight Halloween. I don't have time to walk a grid hoping to get close."
"And you think the dead will?"
"I think the dead can move through walls and the floor, and that there are a whole lot more of them than there are of me," I said. "If you ask them, they might do it."
"They might attract attention to themselves, you mean," Mort said. "No. They may be dead, but that doesn't mean that they can't get hurt. I won't risk that for Council infighting."
I blinked for a second. A few years ago Mort had barely been able to crawl out of his bottle long enough to cold-read credulous idiots into believing he could speak to their dead loved ones. Even after he had gotten his life together and begun to reclaim his atrophied talents, he had never displayed any particular indication that he wanted anything more than to turn a profit on his genuine skills rather than with fraud. Mort always looked out for number one.
But not tonight. I recognized the quiet, steady light in his eyes. He was not going to be pushed on this issue. Maybe Mort wasn't willing to go to the wall for his fellow human beings, but apparently with the dead it was different. I hadn't expected the little ectomancer to grow a backbone, even if it was only a partial one.
I weighed my options. I could always try to lean harder on Mort, but I was pretty sure that it wouldn't do me much good. I could try contacting the ghosts of Chicagoland myself-but while I knew the basic theory of ectomancy, I had no practical experience with it. I had no time to waste floundering around like a clueless newbie in an area of magic totally outside my practical experience.
"Mort," I said, "look. If you mean it, I'll respect that. I'll go right now."
He frowned, his eyes wary.
"But this isn't about wizard politics," I said. "Kemmler's disciples have already killed at least one person here in town, and they're going to kill more."
He slumped a little in his chair and closed his eyes. "Bad things happen to people, Dresden. That's not my fault."
"Please," I said. "Mort, I have a friend involved in this. If I don't deal with these ass**les, she's going to get hurt."
He didn't open his eyes or answer me.
Dammit. I couldn't force him to help me. If he wasn't going to be moved, he wasn't going to be moved.
"Thanks for nothing then, Mort," I told him. My voice sounded more tired than bitter. "Keep on looking out for number one." I rose, picked up my staff, and walked toward the door.
I had it unlocked and half-open when Mort said, "What's her name?"
I paused and inhaled slowly. "It's Murphy," I said without turning around. "Karrin Murphy."
There was a long silence.
"Oh," Mort said then. "You should have just said so. I'll ask them."
I looked over my shoulder. The ectomancer stood up and walked over to a low bureau. He withdrew several articles and started laying them out on the table.
I shut the door and locked it again, then went back to the ectomancer. Mort unfolded a paper street map of Chicago and laid it flat on the table. Then he set candles at each of its corners and lit them. Finally he poured red ink from a little vial into a perfume atomizer.
After watching him for a moment, I asked, "Why?"
"I knew her father," Mort said. "I know her father."
"She's a good person," I said.
"That's what I hear." He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. " Dresden, I need you to be quiet for a while. I can't afford any distraction."
"All right," I said.
"I'm going to ask them," Mort said. "You won't hear me, but they will. I'll spray the ink into the air over the map, and they'll bring it down wherever they find one of your footprints."
"You think it will work?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Maybe. But I've never done this before." He closed his eyes and added, "Shhh."