Storm Front

But mostly I remember the way her hand felt on mine – cold with a little bit of nervousness to the soft fingers, small beneath my great gawking digits, and strong. She scolded and threatened me the entire way back to the apartment, I think. But I remember the way she made sure she held my hand, as though to assure herself that I was still there. Or to assure me that she was, that she wasn’t going anywhere.

There’s a reason I’ll go out on a limb to help Murphy. She’s good people. One of the best.

We got back to my apartment sometime before noon. Murphy helped me down the stairs and unlocked the door for me. Mister came running up and hurled himself against her legs in greeting. Maybe being short gives her better leverage or something, since she didn’t really wobble when Mister rammed her, like I do. Or maybe it’s the aikido.

"Christ, Harry," she muttered. "This place is dark." She tried the light switch, but the bulbs had burnt out last week, and I hadn’t had the cash to replace them. So she sat me down on the couch and lit some candles off of the glowing coals in the fireplace. "All right," she said. "I’m putting you in bed."

"Well. If you insist."

The phone rang. It was in arm’s reach so I picked it up. "Dresden," I mumbled.

"Mister Dresden, this is Linda. Linda Randall. Do you remember me?"

Heh. Do men remember the scene in the movie with Marilyn standing over the subway grating? I found myself remembering Linda Randall’s eyes and wondering things a gentleman shouldn’t.

"Are you naked?" I said. It took me a minute to register what I’d said. Whoops.

Murphy gave me an arch look. She stood up and walked into my bedroom, and busied herself straightening the covers and giving me a modicum of privacy. I felt cheered. My slip had thrown Murphy off better than any lie I could have managed. Maybe a woozy Harry was not necessarily a bad Harry.

Linda purred laughter into the phone. "I’m in the car right now, honey. Maybe later. Look, I’ve come up with a few things that might help you. Can you meet me tonight?"

I rubbed at my eyes. It was Saturday. Tonight was Saturday night. Wasn’t there something I was supposed to do tonight?

To hell with it, I thought. It couldn’t have been all that important if I couldn’t even remember it. "Sure," I told her. "Fine."

She mmmmed into the phone. "You’re such a gentleman. I like that, once in a while. I get off at seven. All right? Do you want to meet me? Say at eight?"

"My car exploded," I said. My tongue felt fuzzy. "I can meet you at the 7-Eleven down the street from my apartment."

She poured that rich, creamy laughter into my ear again. "Tell you what. Give me an extra hour or so to go home, get a nice hot bath, make myself all pretty, and then I’ll be there in your arms. Sound good to you?"

"Well. Okay."

She laughed again, and didn’t say good-bye before disconnecting.

Murphy appeared again as soon as I hung up the phone. "Tell me you didn’t just make a date, Dresden."

"You’re just jealous."

Murphy snorted. "Please. I need more of a man than you to keep me happy." She started to get an arm beneath me to help me up. "You’d break like a dry stick, Dresden. You’d better get to bed before you get any more delusions."

I put a hand against her shoulder to push her back. I didn’t have that kind of strength, but she backed off, frowning. "What?"

"Something," I said. I rubbed at my eyes. Something was bothering me. I was forgetting something, I was sure of it. Something I said I would do on Saturday. I struggled to push thoughts of drug wars and people driven mad by the Third Sight visions given them by the ThreeEye drug, and tried to concentrate.

It didn’t take long to click. Monica. I had told her I would get in contact with her. I patted at my duster pockets until I found my notepad, and took it out. Fumbled it open, and waved at Murphy.

"Candle. Need to read something."

"Christ, Dresden. I swear you’re at least as bad as my first husband. He was stubborn enough to kill himself, too." She sighed, and brought a candle over. The light hurt my eyes for a moment. I made out Monica’s number and I dialed her up.

"Hello?" a male child’s voice asked.

"Hi," I said. "I need to speak to Monica, please."

"Who’s this?"

I remembered I was working for her on the sly and answered, "Her fourth cousin, Harry, from Vermont."

" ‘Kay," the kid said. "Hold on." Then he screamed, without lowering the mouthpiece of the phone from his lips, "MOM! YOUR COUSIN HARRY FROM VERMONT IS ON THE PHONE LONG-DISTANCE!"

Kids. You gotta love them. I adore children. A little salt, a squeeze of lemon – perfect.

I waited for the pounding in my head to resolve into mere agony as the kid dropped the phone and ran off, feet thumping on a hardwood floor.

A moment later, there was the rattle of the phone being picked up, and Monica’s quiet, somewhat nervous voice said, "Um. Hello?"

"It’s Harry Dresden," I told her. "I just wanted to call to let you know what I’d been able to find out for y – "

"I’m sorry," she interrupted me. "I don’t, um … need any of those."

I blinked. "Uh, Monica Sells?" I read her the phone number.

"Yes, yes," she said, her voice hurried, impatient. "We don’t need any help, thank you."

"Is this a bad time?"

"No. No, it’s not that. I just wanted to cancel my order. Discontinue the service. Don’t worry about me." There was an odd quality to her voice, as though she were forcing a housewife’s good cheer into it.

"Cancel? You don’t want me looking for your husband anymore? But ma’am, the money – " The phone began to buzz and static made the line fuzzy. I thought I heard a voice in the background, somewhere, and then the sound went dead except for the static. For a moment, I thought I’d lost the connection entirely. Blasted unreliable phones. Usually, they messed up on my end, not on the receiving end. You can’t even trust them to foul up dependably.

"Hello? Hello?" I said, cross and grumpy.

Monica’s voice returned. "Don’t worry about that. Thank you so much for all of your help. Good day, bye-bye, thank you." Then she hung up on me.

I took the phone away from my ear and stared at it. "Bizarre," I said.

"Come on, Harry," Murphy said. She took the phone from my hand and planted it firmly in its cradle.

"Aww, mom. It’s not even dark yet." I made the lame joke to try to think about something besides how terribly my head was going to hurt when Murphy helped me up. She did. It did. We hobbled into the bedroom and when I stretched out on the cool sheets I was reasonably certain I was going to set down roots.