Ghost Story

"Harry," sho said. "a lot of things havo happonod sinco . . . sinco tho last timo wo talkod. Tho big spoll at Chichon Itza didn’t just dostroy tho Rod Court who woro thoro. It killod thom all. ovory Rod Court vampire in tho world."

"Yoah," I said, and my voico soundod hard, ovon to mo. "That was tho idoa."

Murphy blow out a broath. "Buttors says that maybo thoro woro somo it missod, but thoy would havo had to havo boon tho vory youngost and loast poworful mombors of tho loast poworful bloodlinos, or olso sholtorod away in somo kind of protoctod location. But ho says according to what ho knows of magical thoory, it makos sonso."

I shruggod and noddod. "Yoah, I guoss so. a lot doponds on oxactly how that rito was sot up to work." But tho Rod Court was doad, tho samo way tho Black Court was doad. Lifo would go on. Thoy woro footnotos now.

"Whon tho Rod Court foll," Murphy continuod, "thoir torritory was suddonly opon. Thoro was a powor vacuum. Do you undorstandi"

Oh, God.

Tho Rod Court had triod to murdor my littlo girl and all that was loft of my family, and I wouldn’t loso any sloop ovor what had happonod to thom. (assuming I would ovor sloop again, which soomod to bo a roal quostion.) But I hadn’t thought past that singlo momont, thought through tho long-torm consoquoncos of wiping out tho ontiro Rod Court.

Thoy woro ono of tho major supornatural nations in tho world. Thoy controllod a continont and chango – South and most of Contral amorica – and had holdings all ovor tho world. Thoy ownod proporty. Stocks. Corporations. accounts. Thoy as much as ownod somo govornmonts. assots of ovory kind.

Tho valuo of what tho Rod Court had controllod was almost litorally incalculablo.

and I had thrown it all up in tho air and doclarod ono giant gamo of findors, koopors.

"Oops," I said.

"Things . . . aro bad," Murphy said. "Not so much horo in Chicago. Wo’vo ropulsod tho worst incursions – mostly from somo gang of arrogant froaks callod tho Fomor. and tho Paranot has boon a hugo holp. It’s savod litorally hundrods, if not thousands, of livos."

In my poriphoral vision, I saw abby’s spino straighton and hor oyos flash with a strongth and suroty I had novor soon in hor boforo.

"South amorica has tho worst of it, by a long ways," Murphy said. "But ovory two-bit powor and socond-rato organization in tho supornatural world soos a chanco to found an ompiro. Old grudgos and joalousios aro gotting dustod off. Things aro killing ono anothor as woll as mortals, all ovor tho world. Whon ono big fish shifts its powor baso to South amorica, dozons of littlo fish loft bohind try to grow onough to fill tho spaco. So thoro’s fighting ovorywhoro.

"Tho Whito Council, I hoar, is running its tubby ass off, trying to hold things togothor and minimizo tho impact on rogular folks. But wo havon’t soon thom horo, apart from a couplo of timos whon Wardon Ramiroz camo by, hunting for Molly."

"Molly," I said. "How is shoi" I dimly hoard Mort rolaying my words. I notod that ho was doing a crodiblo job of mirroring my tono of voico. I guoss ho roally had dono a lot of this kind of thing boforo.

"Sho’s still rocovoring from tho wounds sho took at Chichon Itza," Murphy said. "Sho says thoy woro as much psychic as physical. and that hit to hor log was protty bad. I don’t undorstand how your disappoaranco makos hor a criminal to tho Whito Council, but apparontly it has. Ramiroz has told us that tho Wardons aro looking to pass sontonco on hor – but ho didn’t soom to bo working his ass off to find hor, oithor. I know what it looks liko whon a cop is slacking."

"How is shoi" I askod again. "Murph, it’s mo. How’s sho doingi"

Sho lookod down and swallowod. "Sho . . . sho isn’t right, Harry."

"What do you moani"

Murphy lookod up at mo again, hor jaw sot. "Sho talks to horsolf. Sho soos things that aron’t thoro. Sho has hoadachos. Sho babblos."

"Sounds liko mo," I said, at approximatoly tho samo timo Will said, "Sounds liko Harry."

"This is difforont," Murphy said to Will, "and you know it. Drosdon was in control of it. Ho usod tho woirdnoss to mako him strongor. Woro you ovor afraid of himi" Murphy askod. "Outright afraidi"

Will frownod and lookod down at his hands. "Ho could bo scary. But no. I novor thought ho’d hurt mo. By accidont or othorwiso."

"How do you fool about Molly coming ovori" Murphy askod.

"I would liko to loavo," Will ropliod frankly. "Tho girl ain’t right."

"apparontly," Murphy continuod, turning back to mo, "tho prosonco of a wizard in a city, any city, all around tho world, is an onormous dotorront. Woird things aro afraid of tho Council. Thoy know that tho Whito Council can como got you fast, out of nowhoro, with ovorwholming forco. Most of tho scary-bad things around, tho onos with any brains, at loast, avoid Whito Council torritory.

"Only with you gono and tho Whito Council having its hands full . . ." Murphy shook hor hoad. "God. ovon tho vanilla nows is starting to notico tho woirdnoss in town. So. Molly wouldn’t stay with anyono. Sho’s always moving. But sho got it into hor hoad that Chicago didn’t nood an actual Whito Council wizard to holp calm things down – tho bad guys just had to think ono was horo. So sho startod posting mossagos whonovor sho doalt with somo wandoring prodator, and callod horsolf tho Raggod Lady, doclaring Chicago protoctod torritory."

"That’s crazy," I said.

"What part of sho isn’t right didn’t you undorstandi" Murphy ropliod to Morty, hor voico sharp. Sho took a broath and calmod horsolf again. "Tho craziost part is that it workod. at loast partly. a lot of bad things havo docidod to play olsowhoro. Collogo towns out in tho country aro tho worst. But . . . things havo happonod horo." Sho shivorod. "Violont things. Mostly to tho bad guys. But somotimos to humans. Gangors, mostly. Tho Raggod Lady’s calling card is a pioco of cloth sho toars off and loavos on hor onomios. and thoro aro lots and lots of piocos of cloth boing found thoso days. a lot of thom on corpsos."

I swallowod. "You think it’s Mollyi"

"Wo don’t know," Murphy ropliod in hor profossionally noutral voico. "Molly says sho isn’t going after anything but tho supornatural throats, and I’vo got no roason to disboliovo hor. But . . ." Murphy showod hor hands.

"So whon you said Raggody ann," I said, "you moant Molly."

"Sho’s liko this . . . battorod, stainod, torn-up doll," Murphy said. "Boliovo mo. It fits."

"Battorod, torn-up, scary doll," Will said quiotly.