There was a wet, snuffling sound by my ear, and Mouse licked my cheek.
"Good," I said. "Butters?"
There was silence.
Thomas looked at the backseat, frowning.
"Butters?" I repeated. "Heya, man. Earth to Butters."
Silence.
"Butters?" I asked.
There was a long pause. Then a slow inhalation. Then he said, in a very weak voice, "Polka will never die."
I felt my mouth stretch into a fierce grin. "Damn right it won't," I said.
"True." Thomas sighed. "Where are we going?"
"We can't go back there," I said. "And with the wards torn down, it wouldn't do us too much good anyway."
"Where, then?" Thomas asked.
I stopped at a stop sign and patted at my pockets for a moment. I found one of the two things I was looking for.
Thomas frowned at me. "Harry? What's wrong?"
"The copy of the numbers I made for Grevane," I said. "It's gone. Liver Spots must have grabbed it from me when we were tussling."
"Damn," Thomas said.
I found the key to Murphy's house in another pocket. "Okay. I've got a place we can hole up for a while, until we can figure out our next move. How bad is the cut?"
"Bleeder," Thomas said. "Looks worse than it is."
"Keep pressure on it," I said.
"Thank you, yes," Thomas said, though he sounded more amused than annoyed.
I got the Beetle moving again, frowning out the windows. "Hey," I said. "Do you guys notice something?"
Thomas peered around for a moment. "Not really. Too dark."
Butters drew in a sharp breath. His voice still unsteady, he said, "That's right. It's too dark." He pointed out one window. "That's where the skyline should be."
Thomas stared out. "It's gone dark."
"Lights are out," I said quietly. "Do you see any anywhere?"
Thomas looked around for a moment, then reported, "Looks like a fire off that way. Some headlights. Some police lights. The rest are…" He shook his head.
"What happened?" Butters whispered.
"So that's what Mab meant. They did this," I said. "The heirs of Kemmler."
"But why?" Thomas asked.
"They think that one of them is going to become a god tomorrow night. They're creating fear. Chaos. Helplessness."
"Why?"
"They're preparing the way."
Thomas didn't say anything. None of us did.
I can't speak for the others, but I was afraid.
The Beetle's tires whispered over the streets as I drove through the cold, lightless murk that had fallen over Chicago like a funeral shroud.
Chapter Twenty-four
Murphy's house had belonged to her grandmother. It was a dinky little place, and resided in a neighborhood built before Edison's lights went into vogue, and while some areas like that became ragged and run-down, this particular street looked more like some kind of historical real estate preserve, with well-kept lawns, trimmed trees, and tidy paint jobs on all the homes.
I pulled the Beetle into the driveway, hesitated for half a second, and then continued up onto the lawn and around to the rear of the house, parking beside a little outbuilding that looked like a toolshed as envisioned by the Gingerbread Man. I killed the engine, and sat for a moment listening to the car make those just-stopped clicking sounds. Without the headlights, it was very dark. My leg hurt like hell. It seemed like a really great idea to close my eyes and get some rest.
Instead I fumbled around until I found the cardboard box I keep in the car. Next to a couple of holy-water balloons, an old pair of socks, and a heavy old potato, I found a crinkling plastic package. I tore it open, bent the plastic tube inside sharply, and shook it up. The two chemical liquids inside mixed, and the glow stick began to shine with gold-green light.
I got out of the car and hauled my tired ass toward the back door. Thomas and Mouse and Butters followed me. I unlocked the door with Murphy's key, and led everyone inside.
Murphy's place was… dare I say it, really cute. The furniture was old Victorian, worn but well cared for. There were a lot of doilies in its decorating scheme, and all in all it was a very girly sort of place. When Murphy's grandmother passed away and Murphy moved in, she hadn't changed it much. The sole concession to the presence of Chicago's toughest little detective was a simple wooden stand on the fireplace mantel, which held a pair of curved Japanese swords one over the other.
I went from the living room into the kitchen, and got into the drawer where Murphy kept her matches. I lit a couple of candles, then used them to find a pair of old glass kerosene lamps and get them going.
Thomas came in while I was doing that, grabbed the glow stick, and held it in one hand while he opened the refrigerator and rummaged inside.
"Hey," I said. "That's not your fridge."
"Murphy would share, wouldn't she?" Thomas asked.
"That isn't the point," I said. "It's not yours."
"The power's out," Thomas replied, shoulder deep in the fridge. "This stuff is going to spoil anyway. All right, pizza. And beer."
I stared at him for a second. Then I said, "Check the freezer, too. Murphy likes ice cream."
"Right," he said. He glanced up at me and said, "Harry, go sit down. I'll bring you something."
"I'm fine," I said.
"No, you aren't. Your leg is bleeding again."
I blinked at him and looked down. The white bandages had soaked through with fresh, dark red. The bandage wasn't saturated yet, but the stain had covered most of the white. "Damn. That's inconvenient."
Butters appeared in the kitchen doorway, ghostly somehow in his pale blue scrubs. His hair was a mess, all muddy and mussed. His glasses were gone, and he had his eyes squinted up as he looked at us. He had a cut on his lower lip that had closed into a black scab, and he had one hell of a shiner forming over his left cheekbone, presumably where Grevane had struck him.
"Let me wash up," Butters said. "Then I'll see to it. You'll want to make sure that stays clean, Harry."
"Go sit down," Thomas said. "Butters, are you hungry?"
"Yes," Butters said. "Is there a bathroom?"
"Hall, first one on the left," I said. "I think Murphy keeps a first-aid kit under the sink."
Butters moved silently over to one of the candles, took it, and left just as quietly.
"Well," I said. "At least he's clear now."
"Maybe so," Thomas said. He was moving things from the fridge to the kitchen counter. "They know he doesn't know anything. But you risked your life to protect his. That might start them to thinking."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You were willing to die to protect him. You think Grevane understands enough about friendship to comprehend why you did it?"
I grimaced. "Probably not."
"So they might start wondering what made him so valuable to you. Wondering what you know that they don't." He rummaged in a cupboard and found some bread, some crackers. "Maybe it won't amount to anything. But it might. He should be careful."
I nodded agreement. "You can keep an eye on him."
Thomas glanced at me. "You think you're going out now?"
"Soon as I eat something," I said.
"Don't be stupid," Thomas said. "Your leg is hurt. You can barely walk straight. Eat. Get some sleep."
"There's no time," I said.
He glared at me for a second, then pressed his mouth into a line and said, "Let's talk about it after we eat something. Everyone's angry when they're hungry. Makes for bad decisions."
"Probably smart," I said.
"Take the coat off. Go sit down. Let Butters look at your leg."
"It just needs a new bandage," I said. "I can do that myself."
"You're missing my point, dummy," Thomas said. "A friend would let Butters deal with a problem that he's capable of handling. He's had plenty of the other kind tonight."