enough. Except for the polka."
Murphy smiled again and said, "What do you know?"
"Nothing I can tell you," I said. "I agreed to keep the information confidential."
Murphy peered up at me for a moment. Once upon a time, that comment might have sent her into a fit of stubborn confrontation. But I guess tunes had changed. "All right," she said. "Are you holding back anything that might get someone hurt?"
I shook my head. "It's too early to tell."
Murphy nodded, her lips pressed together. She appeared to weigh things for a moment before saying, "You know what you're doing."
"Thanks."
She shrugged. "I expect you to tell me if it turns into something I should know."
"Okay," I said, staring at her profile. Murphy had done something I knew she didn't do very often. She'd extended her trust. I'd expected her to threaten and demand. I could have handled that. This was almost worse. Guilt gnawed on my insides. I'd agreed not to divulge anything, but I hated doing that to Murphy. She'd gone out on a limb for me too many times.
But what if I didn't tell her anything? What if I just pointed her toward information she'd find sooner or later in any case?
"Look, Murph. I specifically agreed to confidentiality for this client. But … if I were going to talk to you, I'd tell you to check out the murder of a Frenchman named LaRouche with Interpol."
Murphy blinked and then looked up at me. "Interpol?"
I nodded. "If I were going to talk."
"Right," she said. "If you'd said anything. You tight-lipped bastard."
One corner of my mouth tugged up into a grin. "Meanwhile, I'll see if I can't find out anything about that tattoo."
She nodded. "You figure we're dealing with another sorcerer type?"
I shrugged. "Maybe. But if you give someone a disease with magic, it's usually so that you make it look like they haven't been murdered. Natural causes. This kind of mishmash … I don't know. Maybe it's something a demon would do."
"A real demon? Like Exorcist demon?"
I shook my head. "Those are the Fallen. The former angels. Not the same thing."
"Why not?"
"Demons are just intelligent beings from somewhere in the Nevernever. Mostly they don't care about the mortal world, if they notice it at all. The ones who do are usually the hungry types, or the mean types that someone calls up to do thug work. Like that thing Leonid Kravos had called up."
Murphy shivered. "I remember. And the Fallen?"
"They're very interested in our world. But they aren't free to act, like demons are."
"Why not?"
I shrugged. "Depends on who you talk to. I've heard everything from advanced magical resonance theory to 'because God said so.' One of the Fallen couldn't do this unless it had permission to."
"Right. And how many people would give permission to be infected and then tortured to death," Murphy said.
"Yeah, exactly."
She shook her head. "Going to be a busy week. Half a dozen professional hitters for the outfit are in town. The county morgue is doing double business. City Hall is telling us to bend over backward for some bigwig from Europe or somewhere. And now some kind of plague monster is leaving unidentifiable, mutilated corpses on the side of the road."
"That's why they pay you the big bucks, Murph."
Murphy snorted. Butters came back in, and I made my good-byes. My eyes were getting heavy and I had aches in places where I hadn't known I had places. Sleep sounded like a great idea, and with so many things going on, the smart option was to get lots of rest in order to be as capably paranoid as possible.
I walked the long route back out of the hospital, but found a hall blocked by a patient on some kind of life-support machinery being moved on a gurney from one room to another. I wound up heading out through the empty cafeteria, into an alley not far from the emergency room exit.
A cold chill started at the base of my spine and slithered up over my neck. I stopped and looked around me, reaching for my blasting rod. I extended my magical senses as best I
Murphy smiled again and said, "What do you know?"
"Nothing I can tell you," I said. "I agreed to keep the information confidential."
Murphy peered up at me for a moment. Once upon a time, that comment might have sent her into a fit of stubborn confrontation. But I guess tunes had changed. "All right," she said. "Are you holding back anything that might get someone hurt?"
I shook my head. "It's too early to tell."
Murphy nodded, her lips pressed together. She appeared to weigh things for a moment before saying, "You know what you're doing."
"Thanks."
She shrugged. "I expect you to tell me if it turns into something I should know."
"Okay," I said, staring at her profile. Murphy had done something I knew she didn't do very often. She'd extended her trust. I'd expected her to threaten and demand. I could have handled that. This was almost worse. Guilt gnawed on my insides. I'd agreed not to divulge anything, but I hated doing that to Murphy. She'd gone out on a limb for me too many times.
But what if I didn't tell her anything? What if I just pointed her toward information she'd find sooner or later in any case?
"Look, Murph. I specifically agreed to confidentiality for this client. But … if I were going to talk to you, I'd tell you to check out the murder of a Frenchman named LaRouche with Interpol."
Murphy blinked and then looked up at me. "Interpol?"
I nodded. "If I were going to talk."
"Right," she said. "If you'd said anything. You tight-lipped bastard."
One corner of my mouth tugged up into a grin. "Meanwhile, I'll see if I can't find out anything about that tattoo."
She nodded. "You figure we're dealing with another sorcerer type?"
I shrugged. "Maybe. But if you give someone a disease with magic, it's usually so that you make it look like they haven't been murdered. Natural causes. This kind of mishmash … I don't know. Maybe it's something a demon would do."
"A real demon? Like Exorcist demon?"
I shook my head. "Those are the Fallen. The former angels. Not the same thing."
"Why not?"
"Demons are just intelligent beings from somewhere in the Nevernever. Mostly they don't care about the mortal world, if they notice it at all. The ones who do are usually the hungry types, or the mean types that someone calls up to do thug work. Like that thing Leonid Kravos had called up."
Murphy shivered. "I remember. And the Fallen?"
"They're very interested in our world. But they aren't free to act, like demons are."
"Why not?"
I shrugged. "Depends on who you talk to. I've heard everything from advanced magical resonance theory to 'because God said so.' One of the Fallen couldn't do this unless it had permission to."
"Right. And how many people would give permission to be infected and then tortured to death," Murphy said.
"Yeah, exactly."
She shook her head. "Going to be a busy week. Half a dozen professional hitters for the outfit are in town. The county morgue is doing double business. City Hall is telling us to bend over backward for some bigwig from Europe or somewhere. And now some kind of plague monster is leaving unidentifiable, mutilated corpses on the side of the road."
"That's why they pay you the big bucks, Murph."
Murphy snorted. Butters came back in, and I made my good-byes. My eyes were getting heavy and I had aches in places where I hadn't known I had places. Sleep sounded like a great idea, and with so many things going on, the smart option was to get lots of rest in order to be as capably paranoid as possible.
I walked the long route back out of the hospital, but found a hall blocked by a patient on some kind of life-support machinery being moved on a gurney from one room to another. I wound up heading out through the empty cafeteria, into an alley not far from the emergency room exit.
A cold chill started at the base of my spine and slithered up over my neck. I stopped and looked around me, reaching for my blasting rod. I extended my magical senses as best I
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