Proven Guilty (Page 48)

"I noticed that," Murphy said, her tone patient. "But why?"

"He’s spooky," I murmured.

She frowned, looking over her shoulder and up at me. "What is he?"

"I told you. Spooky." I shook my head. "Other than that I don’t know."

She blinked. "What do you mean, you don’t know?"

"I don’t know," I said. "Something about him hit me wrong. When he offered you his hand, it seemed… off. Dangerous."

Murphy shook her head. "I figured he was going to go for the hold-and-caress routine," she said. "It’s a little bit insulting, but it isn’t all that dangerous."

"Unless maybe it is," I said.

"You’re sure he’s from your side of things?" she asked.

"Yeah. He recognized me. He started pulling out the standard Old World reasons for avoiding public confrontation. And Mouse didn’t like him-or his lawyer, either."

"Vampire?" she asked.

"Could be," I said, chewing on my lip. "Could be a lot of things. Hell, could be human, for that matter. Without knowing more we shouldn’t make any assumptions."

"Think he’s involved in the attacks?"

"I like him for it," I said. "If I was making the call alone, he’d definitely be our asshole. He’s got all the earmarks."

"If he’s the guy, he’s out of my reach," she said. "He’s got a hair-trigger attorney and has already spoken to Greene and Rick. Any police pressure I brought against him would be harassment. Greene won’t act on my suspicions."

"Well," I said. "Good thing I’m not Greene."

Chapter Twenty-two

Murphy and I walked around the hotel, and as we did I popped open a fresh can of blue Play-Doh. At the corners of major intersections and at the exterior exits, I pinched off bits and plunked them down on top of the molding over doorways, inside flowerpots, inside fire extinguisher cabinets, and anywhere else where they wouldn’t be easily or immediately noticed. I made sure to leave plenty of them in unnoticed little spots along the hallways chiefly in use for the convention, especially Dutside the rooms that the schedule designated as showing films as evening approached.

"What are we doing again?" Murphy asked.

"Setting up a spell," I said.

"With Play-Doh."

"Yes."

She gave me a level look.

I shook out the can that still had most of the original material in it, and showed it to her. "The little pieces I’ve been leaving around are part of this piece. See?"

"Not yet," she said.

"They used to be one piece. Even when they’re separated, they still have a thaumaturgical connection to the original," I told her. "It means that I’ll be able to use the big piece to reach out and connect to the little pieces."

"That’s what you meant by a web?"

"Yes. I’ll be able to…" I twisted up my face, searching for the words to explain. "I can extend energy out to all the smaller pieces. I’ll set it up so that if one of the little pieces picks up on a disturbance of the energies, I’ll be able to feel it through the larger piece."

"Like… seismographs, sort of," Murphy said.

"Yeah," I said. "And we use blue Play-Doh. Blue for defense."

She arched a brow at me. "Does the color really matter?"

"Yes," I said, then thought about it for a second. "Well, probably no. But yes, for me."

"Huh?"

"A lot of the use of magic is all tied up with your emotions. With what you believe is real. When I was younger, I learned a lot of stuff, like the role of colors in the casting of spells. Green for fertility and prosperity, red for passion and energy, white for purity, black for vengeance, and so on. It could be that the color doesn’t matter at all-but if I expect the spell to work because of the color used, then that color is important. If I don’t believe in it, the spell won’t ever get off the ground."

"Like Dumbo’s magic feather?" Murphy asked. "It was his confidence that was really important?"

"Yes," I said. "The feather was just a symbol-but it was an important symbol."

I gestured with the can. "So I use blue, because I don’t have to do too much introspection, and I don’t introduce new doubts in a crisis situation. And because it was cheap at Wal-Mart."

Murphy laughed. "Wal-Mart, huh?"

"Wizarding doesn’t pay much," I said. "You’d be surprised how much stuff I get from Wal-Mart." I checked a clock on the wall. "We’ve got about two hours before the first movie starts showing."

She nodded. "What do you need?"

"A quiet space to work in," I told her. "At least six or seven feet across. The more private and secure, the better. I’ve got to assume that the bad guy knows I’m around here somewhere. I don’t want to get a machete in the back when I’m busy running the spell."

"How long do you need to set it up?"

I shrugged. "Twenty minutes, give or take. What I’m really concerned about is-"

"Mister Dresden!" called a voice from across the crowded convention hallway. I looked up to see Sandra Marling hurrying through the crowd toward me. The convention’s chairwoman looked exhausted and too nervous to be awake, much less standing, much less politely pushing her way through a crowd, but she did it anyway. She still wore the same black T-shirt with the red SplatterCon!!! logo on it, presumably the same I’d seen her in the night before.

"Ms. Marling," I said, nodding to her as she approached. "Good afternoon."

She shook her head wearily. "I’m such… this is such an enormous amount of… but I don’t know who else I can turn to about this." Her words failed her, and she started trembling with nerves and weariness.

I traded a frown with Murphy. "Sandra. What’s wrong?"

"It’s Molly," she said.

I frowned. "What about her?"

"She came here from the hospital a couple of hours ago. The police came to talk to her and I don’t think she’s come out since then, and none of the officers I’ve spoken to know where she is. I think-"

"Sandra." I told her, "Take a breath. Slow down. Do you know where Molly is?"

The woman closed her eyes and shook her head, bringing herself under control, lowering her voice several pitches. "They’re still… interrogating her, I think? Isn’t that what they say? When they try to scare you and ask questions?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Yeah," I said. "Was she arrested?"