I tried to make my tone a little warmer. “What do you know about their abduction, specifically, Marcy? Can you tell me anything at all that might point toward the identity of the kidnappers?”
She shook her head. “I can’t think of anything that I picked up beforehand. But I’m certain it was Andi and Georgia who were taken.”
“How can you be sure?” I asked.
Will cleared his throat and spoke quietly. “Marcy’s got a nose. She’s better with scents than any of the rest of us.”
I eyed Marcy. “Could you pick up their trail?”
“They were taken downstairs and loaded into the back of a car,” Marcy said promptly. “An older model, burning too much oil. But I couldn’t follow them after that. I think I’ll be able to recognize the scent of their captors, though, if I run into it.”
I nodded. She’d gotten a ton more out of the scene than Will had. Such a talent could be damn useful.
All the same, I wasn’t sure. She sounded sincere to me, and I’m pretty good at knowing when someone isn’t. But there’s always a better liar out there. I just wasn’t sure.
But . . . you have to trust someone, sometime. Even when it seems risky, when lives are on the line.
Maybe even especially then.
“Okay,” I said calmly, and took a seat in another chair. “Will,” I asked, “what did you find out?”
“There are half a dozen other folks who have gone missing in the past day and a half,” Will said. “At least, that’s how many Bock and McAnally know about. Word about the kidnappings is out on the Paranet, and has been spreading since yesterday morning. People are moving places in groups of three and four, at least. McAnally’s is packed. The community knows something is up. They’re scared.”
Marcy nodded. “It isn’t just Chicago. It’s happening all over the country. Group leaders are keeping everyone informed, asking after their people, reporting them missing to the local cops, for whatever good that might do. . . .” Her voice trailed off into a little squeak as she looked at me. “Um. Sorry.”
I ignored her. Martian for
He shook his head. “No one has seen or heard anything at any of the disappearances. But there are rumors that someone found a gang of Red Court vampires torn apart in a basement across town. Maybe that has something to do with what’s going on.”
“It doesn’t,” I said, firmly. “Not directly, at least. Dresden killed the Red Court.”
Will blinked. “You mean . . . those vampires in the basement?”
“I mean the Red Court,” I said. “All of them.”
Will let out a quiet whistle. “Uh. Wow. That’s pretty big magic, I guess.”
“Yeah,” I said.
Marcy’s face was twisted up in a frown of concentration. “Was . . . was this the night before last, by any chance?”
I glanced aside at her and nodded once.
“If there was a really big surge of magic . . . maybe that explains the dreams,” she said. “It wasn’t just the three of us. The night before last, a lot of people—Paranet people, I mean—had nightmares, too. Some of them were bad enough that people haven’t slept since. A couple of folks wound up in the hospital.” She blinked at Will. “That’s what happened with you, Will.”
“What do you mean?” Will said.
“When Georgia called you. She’d had the nightmare twice, during the day, when she tried to sleep. She must have had it again and tried to call you.”
“There’s no point in speculation for now.” I looked at Will. “In short, more people missing, bad dreams, everyone is gathering in defensive herds. That about it?”
“More or less,” Will said. “What did you get?”
“I sent an e-mail to the address Marcone gave us. Told them I had a talent in need of placement. I got a public phone location. I’m supposed to be there to answer a call at nine tonight.”
Will frowned. “So they can get a look at you first, right?”
“Probably.”
“You shouldn’t look like you,” Marcy blurted. Her face colored slightly. “I mean, like, you’re the supernatural cop in Chicago. Everyone knows that. And it makes sense that anyone planning something here wouldn’t have much trouble finding out who might actually get in their way.”
“Unfortunately,” I said, “I don’t have a different look.”
Will looked at Marcy, frowning, and then said, “Ah. Makeover.”
“We have a little time,” Marcy said, nodding.
“Hey,” I said.
“She’s right, Ms. Murphy,” Will said. “You’ve been seen with Dresden a lot. And, no offense, but not many people look like you do.”
“Meaning?” I asked him. I smiled.
Will’s eyes might have checked the distance between himself and the door. “Meaning you’re outside the norm for adult height and weight,” he said. “Exceptionally so. We should do what we can to make it harder to identify you.”
Will had a point, I supposed. Annoying as it might be, his logic was sound. And I was almost certainly a little sensitive where my height was concerned. I sighed. “All right. But if I hear montage music starting to play, I’m cutting it short.”
Will, seeming to relax, nodded. “Cool.”
Marcy nodded with him. “So what about Will and me? I mean, what do the two of us do?”
I looked at the pair of young werewolves and pursed my lips. “How do you feel about duct tape?”
WHEN I ANSWERED the pay phone outside a small grocery store on Belmont, I felt like an idiot. In the windows of a darkened shop across the street, I could see my reflection.
Halloween had come early this year. I wore boots not unlike Herman Munster’s, with elevator soles about three inches thick, making me look taller. My hair was dyed matte black and was slicked down to my skull. There was so much product in it, I was fairly sure it would deflect bullets. I wore some black dance tights Marcy had donated to the cause, a black T-shirt, and a black leather jacket in a youth size.
My face was the worst part of the disguise. I was all but smothered beneath the makeup. Dark tones of silver that faded to black made a mess of my eyes, altering their shape by means of suggestion, through clever application of liner. In the evening light, I might have looked Asian. My lips were darkened, too, a shade of wine red that somehow managed to complement the eye shadow. The lipstick changed the shape of my mouth slightly and made my lips look fuller.
I glowered at the reflection. This costume had exactly one thing going for it: I didn’t look a thing like me.
The phone rang and I picked it up, jerking it off the base unit as if impatient. I glared around me, my eyes tracking across every spot I thought could contain an observer, and said, “Yeah?”
“The merchandise,” murmured a soft, sibilant voice with an odd accent. “Describe.”
There was something intrinsically unsettling about the voice. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “One male and one female, mid- to late-twenties. Shapeshifters.”
There was a rustle of static over the line, unless the speaker could make an extremely odd hissing sound. All things considered, I gave it even odds.
“Ten thousand,” said the voice.
I could have played it a couple of different ways. The kinds of people who get into this sort of deal come in about three general types: greedy, low-life sons of bitches; cold professionals engaged in a business transaction; and desperate amateurs who are in over their heads. I’d already decided to try to come across as the first on the list.
“Forty thousand,” I shot back instantly. “Each.”
There was a furious sound on the other end of the phone. It wasn’t a human sound, either.
“I could pluck out your eyes and cut your tongue into slivers,” hissed the voice. Something about it scared
