Storm Front

"Come on," I told her. "Sit down. I’ll get you a drink while I refuse to tell you anything."

"Harry," she admonished me, "you don’t know I’m here on business." She sat down on the barstool next to me. She was a woman of average height and striking, dark beauty, wearing a crisp business jacket and skirt, hose, pumps. Her dark, straight hair was trimmed in a neat cut that ended at the nape of her neck and was parted off of the dark skin of her forehead, emphasizing the lazy appeal of her dark eyes.

"Susan," I chided her, "you wouldn’t be in this place if you weren’t. Did you have a good time in Branson?"

Susan Rodriguez was a reporter for the Chicago Arcane, a yellow magazine that covered all sorts of supernatural and paranormal events throughout the Midwest. Usually, the events they covered weren’t much better than: "Monkey Man Seen With Elvis’s Love Child," or "JFK’s Mutant Ghost Abducts Shapeshifting Girl Scout." But once in a great, great while, the Arcane covered something that was real. Like the Unseelie Incursion of 1994, when the entire city of Milwaukee had simply vanished for two hours. Gone. Government satellite photos showed the river valley covered with trees and empty of life or human habitation. All communications ceased. Then, a few hours later, there it was, back again, and no one in the city itself the wiser.

She had also been hanging around my investigation in Branson the previous week. She had been tracking me ever since interviewing me for a feature story, right after I’d opened up my business. I had to hand it to her – she had instincts. And enough curiosity to get her into ten kinds of trouble. She had tricked me into meeting her eyes at the conclusion of our first interview, an eager young reporter investigating an angle on her interviewee. She was the one who had fainted after we’d soulgazed.

She smirked at me. I liked her smirk. It did interesting things to her lips, and hers were already attractive. "You should have stayed around for the show," she said. "It was pretty impressive." She put her purse on the bar and slid up onto the stool beside me.

"No thanks," I told her. "I’m pretty sure it wasn’t for me."

"My editor loved the coverage. She’s convinced it’s going to win an award of some kind."

"I can see it now," I told her. " ‘Mysterious Visions Haunt Drug-Using Country Star. Real hard-hitting paranormal journalism, that." I glanced at her, and she met my eyes without fear. She didn’t let me see if my jibe had ruffled her.

"I heard you got called in by the S.I. director today," she told me. She leaned toward me, enough that a glance down would have afforded an interesting angle to the V of her white shirt. "I’d love to hear you tell me about this one, Harry." She quirked a smile at me that promised things.

I almost smiled back at her. "Sorry," I told her. "I have a standard nondisclosure agreement with the city."

"Something off the record, then?" she asked. "Rumor has it that these killings were pretty sensational."

"Can’t help you, Susan," I told her. "Wild horses couldn’t drag it out of me, et cetera."

"Just a hint," she pressed. "A word of comment. Something shared between two people who are very attracted to one another."

"Which two people would that be?"

She put an elbow on the counter and propped her chin in her hand, studying me through narrowed eyes and thick, long lashes. One of the things that appealed to me about her was that even though she used her charm and femininity relentlessly in pursuit of her stories, she had no concept of just how attractive she really was – I had seen that when I looked within her last year. "Harry Dresden," she said, "you are a thoroughly maddening man." Her eyes narrowed a bit further. "You didn’t look down my blouse even once, did you," she accused.

I took a sip of my ale and beckoned Mac to pour her one as well. He did. "Guilty."

"Most men are off-balance by now," she complained. "What does it take with you, anyway, Dresden?"

"I am pure of heart and mind," I told her. "I cannot be corrupted."

She stared at me in frustration for a moment. Then she tilted back her head to laugh. She had a good laugh, too, throaty and rich. I did look down at her chest when she did that, just for a second. A pure heart and mind only takes you so far – sooner or later the hormones have their say, too. I mean, I’m not a teenager or anything, anymore, but I’m not exactly an expert in things like this, either. Call it an overwhelming interest in my professional career, but I’ve never had much time for dating or the fair sex in general. And when I have, it hasn’t turned out too well.

Susan was a known quantity – she was attractive, bright, appealing, her motivations were clear and simple, and she was honest in pursuing them. She flirted with me because she wanted information as much as because she thought I was attractive. Sometimes she got it. Sometimes she didn’t. This one was way too hot for Susan or the Arcane to touch, and if Murphy heard I’d tipped someone off about what had happened, she’d have my heart between two pieces of bread for lunch.

"I’ll tell you what, Harry," she said. "How about if I ask some questions, and you just answer them with a yes or a no?"

"No," I said promptly. Dammit. I am a poor liar, and it didn’t take a reporter with Susan’s brains to tell it.

Her eyes glittered with cheerfully malicious ambition. "Was Tommy Tomm murdered by a paranormal being or means?"

"No," I said again, stubbornly.

"No he wasn’t?" Susan asked, "Or no it wasn’t a paranormal being."

I glanced at Mac as though to appeal for help. Mac ignored me. Mac doesn’t take sides. Mac is wise.

"No, I’m not going to answer questions," I said.

"Do the police have any leads? Any suspects?"

"No."

"Are you a suspect yourself, Harry?"

Disturbing thought. "No," I said, exasperated. "Susan – "

"Would you mind having dinner with me Saturday night?"

"No! I – " I blinked at her. "What?"

She smiled at me, leaned over, and kissed me on the cheek. Her lips, that I’d admired so much, felt very, very nice. "Super," she said. "I’ll pick you up at your place. Say around nine?"

"Did I just miss something?" I asked her.

She nodded, dark eyes sparkling with humor. "I’m going to take you to a fantastic dinner. Have you ever eaten at the Pump Room? At the Ambassador East?"

I shook my head.