When the ghoul started pulling me backward, I couldn't struggle, but I managed to twist my hips a little and bend my good knee. I fell over sideways, onto the wounded leg. The fall drove the shuriken a little harder into my calf, and the world went white with pain.
Corpsetaker shrieked. I heard a metallic clatter, as if she had stumbled into a trash can, and I felt my arms and legs come all the way back under my command. The ghoul stumbled on his mangled leg. He pushed off the wall and came at me. I spun on the small of my back and kicked out hard and straight at his good knee.
That's a nasty defensive technique Murphy taught me, and one that doesn't rely upon raw physical power. The ghoul's weight was all on that leg, and the kick connected hard. There was a grinding pop, and he let out a spitting snarl of pain.
I scrambled away from him on one leg and the heels of my hands. I could see my blood on the floor of the alley, smeared in a trail from my wounded leg. There were little stars fluttering through my vision, and I felt as weak as a starved kitten. Everything was spinning around so much that I didn't even bother to get to my feet. I crawled out of the cold shadows of the alley, onto the sidewalk, and into broad daylight.
I heard someone shout something. There were police sirens a block or two away. They were doubtless heading for Bock's place, after someone had seen me throw the ghoul out through the plywood-covered door. Give them two minutes to sort out what was going on, and I'd have men with silver shields and a strong desire to speak to the dead professor's missing assistants all around me.
Of course, by then I'd probably have been dead for a minute and a half.
The wounded ghoul, his face twisted, jaws lolling open wide to show yellowed fangs, came shambling out of the alley after me.
I heard a woman shout, the sound high and furious and totally unafraid. There was a whooshing sound, a spinning shape, and then an ax- a freaking double-bladed ax-buried itself to the eye in the ghoul's flank. Just as it hit, there was a flash of light from a spot on the blade, so bright that it left a red mark in the shape of a single rune burned into my vision. There was a loud bark of sound as the ax hit the ghoul. The creature was thrown forcefully to the sidewalk, and thin, greenish-brown fluid sprayed everywhere in a disgusting shower.
A woman in a dark business suit stepped into my line of sight. She was better than six feet tall, blond, and coldly beautiful. Her blue eyes burned with battle-lust and excitement as she drew a sword with a straight, three-foot blade from the scabbard at her side. As I watched, she took several smooth steps to place herself between the ghoul and me. Then she pointed the tip of the sword at him and snarled, "Avaunt, carrion."
The ghoul tore the ax from his side and staggered into a crouch, holding the weapon in both hands with a panicked desperation. He took a pair of awkward, shuffling steps back.
An engine roared and a grey sedan swerved up onto the sidewalk.
"Avaunt!" cried the woman; then she raised the sword and glided toward the ghoul.
Li Xian didn't want any part of it. His inhuman face twisted in recognizable fear. He dropped the ax and fled back down the alley.
"Coward." The woman sighed, clearly disappointed. She snatched up the ax, then said to me, "Get in."
"I know you," I said. "Miss Gard. You work for Marcone."
"I work for Monoc Securities," the woman corrected me. Her hand clamped down on my arm like a slender steel vise, and she hauled me to my feet without effort. My wounded calf clenched into a nasty cramp, and I could feel the steel blades continuing to cut at my muscles. I clenched my teeth, snarling my defiance at the pain. Gard gave me a quick glance of approval and tugged me toward the grey sedan. I still had to hobble on my staff, but with her help I made it to the car and fumbled my way into the backseat. More hands pulled me in.
The whole time Gard kept her sharp, cold blue gaze on the alley and the street around us. Once I was in, she shut the door, sheathed the sword, and undipped the scabbard from her belt before getting into the passenger's seat. The grey sedan pulled out into the street again, and started away from the scene.
The driver turned his head just enough to catch me in his peripheral vision. His neck was too thick for any more movement than that. He had red hair clipped into a close buzz, shoulders wide enough to build a deck on, and he'd had to get his business suit at the big-and-tall store.
"Hendricks," I greeted him.
He looked up into the rearview mirror with his beady eyes and glowered.
"Nice to see you again, too," I said. I settled back into the seat as much as I could, trying to ignore my leg, and refusing to look at the man sitting beside me.
I didn't really need to look at him. He was a man a little over average height, somewhere in the late prime of his life, his dark hair flecked with grey. He had skin that had seen a lot of time out in the weather, leaving him with a perpetual boater's tan, and eyes the color of wrinkled old dollars. He'd be wearing a suit that cost more than some cars, and making it look good. He looked handsome and wholesome, more like the coach of a successful sports team than a gangster. But John Marcone was the most powerful figure in Chicago's criminal underworld.
"Isn't that a little childish?" he asked me, his voice amused. "Refusing to look at me like that?"
"Indulge me," I said. "It's been a long day."
"How serious is your injury?" he asked.
"Do I look like a doctor to you?" I asked.
"You look more like a corpse," he answered.
I squinted at him. He sat calmly in his seat, mirroring me. "Is that a threat?" I asked.
"If I wanted you dead," Marcone said, "I would hardly have come to your aid just now. You must admit, Dresden, that I have just saved your life. Again."
I closed my eye again and scowled. "Your timing is improbable."
He sounded amused. "In what way?"
"Coming to my rescue just as someone was about to punch my ticket. You must admit, Marcone, that it smells like a setup."
"Even I occasionally enjoy good fortune," he replied.
I shook my head. "I called you less than an hour ago. If it wasn't a setup then how did you find me?"
"He didn't," said Gard. "I did." She looked over her shoulder at Marcone and frowned. "This is a mistake. It was his fate to die in that alley."
"What is the point of having free will if one cannot occasionally spit in the eye of destiny?" Marcone asked.
"There will be consequences," she insisted.
Marcone shrugged. "When aren't there?"
Gard turned her face back to the front and shook her head. "Hubris. Mortals never understand."
"Tell me about it," I said. "Everyone makes that mistake but me."
Marcone glanced at me, and his eyes wrinkled at the corners. It was very nearly a smile. Gard turned her head slowly and gave me a cold glare that wasn't anywhere close to smiling.
"Let's get to the part of the conversation where you tell me what you want," I said. "I don't have time for any more banter."
"Ah," Marcone said. "I suspected you would somehow become involved in the events at hand."
"What events would those be?" I asked.
"The situation concerning the death of Tony Mendoza."
I scowled at him. "What do you want?"
"Unless I miss my guess," Marcone said, "I want to help you."
"Yeah," I said. "Right."
"I'm quite serious, Dresden," he told me. "I allow no one to harm those in my employ. Whoever murdered Mendoza must be chastised immediately-whether or not they happen to be necromancers."
I blinked. "How did you know what they were?"
"Miss Gard," he replied serenely. "She and her colleagues have outstanding resources."
I shrugged. "Good for you. But I'm not interested in helping you maintain your empire."